Circles of Influence, Part Two: Kotabibito & The Martial Way.

Where Part One explored the formal titles of aikido and the circles of influence they create, this piece turns toward something less visible but equally powerful: the symbolic roles we inhabit, often without recognition or ceremony. Not every influence in a dojo comes from rank or title. Some arise from character, compassion, and the quiet burdens people carry for the sake of others.

To explore this, I draw on a figure from Welsh and border‑county folklore — the Sin Eater — and the archetype of the solitary traveller. Though far removed from Japanese martial terminology, the symbolism resonates deeply with the emotional and spiritual undercurrents of training.

There is an old figure from Welsh and border‑county folklore that has always fascinated me: the Sin Eater. Though not a Japanese term like Sensei or Shihan, the symbolism behind it speaks deeply to the themes of burden, influence, and responsibility explored in Part One.

A sin eater was a person who took part in a funeral ritual intended to symbolically remove the sins of the dead. Bread, food, or ale would be placed near the deceased, and the sin eater would consume it, taking on the spiritual burden of the departed. The practice survived into the 19th century and is tied to folk Christianity, pre‑Christian customs, death rites, and ideas of spiritual transference. Symbolically, the meaning is simple:

Sin — moral burden, wrongdoing, spiritual weight

Eater — one who absorbs, carries, or consumes

Culturally and poetically, the sin eater becomes:'One who bears the burden of others.'

The idea appears in folklore studies, gothic literature, fantasy, occult symbolism, and spiritual metaphor. It is not a Japanese concept, yet if one wished to express it in a Japanese‑style form, it could be rendered as 罪喰い (Tsumi‑kui) — Sin Eater or 罪食者 (Tsumi‑shokusha) — The one who consumes sin. Both carry a ceremonial, title‑like tone.

But the deeper idea I want to explore is not the literal sin eater. It is the archetype behind it — the person who walks a difficult path so others do not have to. The one who absorbs tension, conflict, or hardship to protect the group. The one who carries the weight of others. In Japanese, this idea can be expressed poetically as 孤独を歩む者 Kodoku o ayumu mono — 'One who walks in solitude.' Or more fully: 人のため孤道を往く者.

Hito no tame kodō o yuku mono — 'One who walks the solitary path for the sake of others.'

A shorter, title‑like expression is 孤旅人 (Kotabibito) — 'The solitary traveller.'

This figure appears in many cultures — the guardian, the wanderer, the quiet protector. In martial arts, it often manifests as the senior practitioner who absorbs pressure so others can learn freely; the instructor who carries the emotional weight of the dojo; the leader who shields others from conflict or politics. It is a role rarely acknowledged yet deeply felt. There is a related Japanese concept that complements this idea: Shizentai (自然体).

Shizentai means being natural and true to yourself. It is not about doing whatever you want or conforming to what others want; it is about not forcing, not pretending, not inflating yourself. Like a tree grows or water flows, you act without unnecessary tension. There is beauty in being relaxed, balanced, and comfortable with who you are. That effortless way of being — calm, grounded, unforced — is Shizentai.

When I think of my current path in the association, I see someone who embodies both ideas: the willingness to carry weight for others, and the ability to remain natural, unforced, and authentic while doing so.

The solitary traveller is not a title anyone claims. It is a role that emerges quietly, shaped by circumstance, character, and compassion. In the circles of influence within martial arts — from student to Sensei, from Shihan to Soke — there are those who walk this path so others may walk more easily.

Understanding this archetype helps us recognise the unseen labour that sustains a dojo, a lineage, or a community. It reminds us that leadership is not only about authority or recognition, but about the willingness to carry burdens with grace, humility, and Shizentai.

Some who train with me will notice the badge on the back of my hakama — depicting the Hanged Man. I wear it deliberately. Not as a statement of darkness or morbidity, but as a symbol of the journey described above: the willingness to shoulder weight so others can move freely; the acceptance of solitude when necessary; the commitment to walk the harder path with integrity.

For me, it is a reminder of the spiritual thread that runs beneath my practice — the meaning‑making that shapes how I teach, how I lead, and how I try to show up for others.

In acknowledging the solitary traveller, we also acknowledge the quiet, often invisible work that keeps a community whole. And perhaps, in recognising these roles — whether we hold them or witness them — we learn how to walk our own path with a little more awareness, courage, and care.

NB: This year, my path has been a tough one. However, I wish to recognise my aikido family who have been there and stood shoulder to shoulder with me. For this, and for everything else, thank you for your love and integrity.

Sensei Marc George is dojo lead at Ty Sign Aikido based in South Wales, UK.