Correlative Factors

Initially I didn't realise there was a connection.
My ukemi was superb, and my instructor new it. He called me up to demonstrate with him for each and every technique, for close to a month. He threw me around like a rag doll, and my ukemi rarely resisted his fluid instruction. It was beautiful, perfect. Like a dance where each partner knows their moves, and follows through with confidence and intent.
That was 6 months ago. My ukemi worsened, and I eventually levelled out at my 'regular' ukemi training level. How? Why?
During that period of high ukemi performance, I regularly visited the local parkland during lunch breaks to swing my Bokuto and Jo, experimenting with the sensation, trying to "discover something new" as my teacher is always advising.

I have started this practice again, visiting the local parkland (this time a different park, my workplace has since moved to the far western suburbs. Nevertheless, this hardly affects my weapons training - except to say that I am *more* cautious to cover my weapons when walking with them along the street) and swinging my Bokuto, playing with the swirling and swishing movements of my Jo.

I love my Jo, it does everything that my Bokuto does and more. It extends beyond the measure of my arms and fingers, beyond its own length, touching distant trees, shrubbery, grass. My ki extends through the Jo, and beyond, blending and uniting with nature at my discretion.
The feeling is unifying and harmonious.

I teach myself a 31 move kata, yet it's complicated. Regardless, I practice diligently, and become excited by my progress.
I spin the Jo through my fingers, twirling it like a baton. When did I develop such fancy (yet possibly useless) skill with this weapon?
I drop it, deliberatly, and spin it back up through the air with my foot. Fancy? Showy? Or am I becoming one with this weapon? Have I finally began to cotton on to what my teacher has been trying to explain to me these past 12 months?

I *am* the Jo. My energy extends through it, beyond it, merges with it and yet leaves it. My energy traces the imaginery line that the Jo creates, and touches distant horizons. This works in reverse also. I draw energy *in*, from the distant horizon, from distant trees, flora and fauna, through the end of my Jo, up the length of my arm, down into my centre. It becomes part of my Ki.

What is Ki? I don't know what it is to you, or what is to my teacher, or what is to my fellow Aikidoka, but this is what it is to me.