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Late spring at the Santa Cruz Mission Plaza: people lounging on a sunny lawn; the aroma of grilling teriyaki; colorful banners waving over rows of booths and stalls. My first visit to the Japanese Cultural Fair, some twenty years ago-and my first exposure to taiko drumming.
On the festival stage, performers wail away on drums large and small, whooping as they lift their wooden sticks to strike again and again. Their eyes are afire, their faces alive, their bodies rooted yet animated, their movements a marriage of choreographed discipline and wild exuberance. I see the drummers' spirits mirrored in the enchanted faces of mesmerized onlookers, and I feel the dance resonate in my own belly - a gigantic, thrilling "Yes!"
That was the moment I fell in love with taiko. After I finally found my way to Watsonville Taiko's classes in 2014 (why on earth did it take me two decades?), I heard Ikuyo-sensei say, "Taiko is not about banging a drum. It is about moving ki - moving energy." If you aren't moving energy from your center, she told us, then your drumming will not move people's spirits.
This principle lies at the heart of taiko, just as it defines the core truth of other time-honored disciplines. (I once heard an esteemed colleague at the university say that "teaching is moving energy around.") Even as a beginner, I feel the energy coursing through my body during every taiko class -t hanks to the spirited instruction of Taeko-sensei and Ikuyo-sensei, and the camaraderie of fellow students.
I'm told it takes three years just to absorb the basics of drumming, and many more to begin mastering the art. I relish the journey. And I work for the day when I will join my fellow drummers at the Japanese Cultural Fair, moving energy together from that sunlit stage.
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