LEARNING...STILL LEARNING

 by Phillip Starr

“I’m still learning.” These were the parting words of famous Italian Renaissance artist Michelangelo. This man died at the ripe old age of 88; quite a feat, considering it was 1564 and people were lucky if they made it past 40. And 40 was a long time ago in my case and I have to agree with the Italian genius....I'm still learning.

I began my walk along the martial path more than 60 years ago, starting out with judo. Before I had traveled very far, I fell passionately in love with these old, arcane arts. So began a love affair that continues to this day. When my teacher taught me something new, it was like receiving a special gift and I was always very excited. Like many youngsters who are given new gifts, I delighted in trying to take them apart to find out how and why they worked. Little did I suspect that my teacher was giving me so much more than a new technique or form...

He was stoking a flame that he saw burning within me; the desire to learn all I could about whatever he taught me. He would always encourage and support me in my efforts. And that flame still burns.

After my teacher passed away, I was often very surprised at how I learned things (often found in the forms) on my own. Then I realized that that's exactly what he'd always encouraged me to do. And there's so much to be learned (just within the traditional styles that he taught me), that I never need to worry about completing all of it. To this day, when I find something new I can hear his voice congratulating and encouraging me to continue further.

People sometimes ask me why I continue to study the martial ways. Well for one thing, I still love learning new things and there's no shortage of new goodies to be found! Sometimes they're buried rather deeply or they lie underneath a heavy stone, but I know the treasures are there. And I'm as determined as ever to find them.

Then there's the question of improving. Pablo Casals was a brilliant cellist, and I love a remark that he reportedly made when he was in his eighties or nineties. He continued to practice intensely with his cello in those golden years, and when he was asked why he was so diligent he replied with one of these statements:

“I think I’m making progress.
I think I see some improvement.”

If he can do it, I can do it. How about you?

IS IT SOUP YET?

 By Phillip Starr

Many moons ago when I was training under my sifu, I used to wonder why he didn't introduce me to some of the more advanced principles of my chosen art earlier? I felt that I was ready to learn them. Why was he holding me back?

One of the main reasons was that I simply wasn't yet physically prepared to engage in more advanced principles. Had I tried, I would have lacked the proper body control/coordination to perform them properly (which could have resulted in injury or, at the very least, the development of bad habits), or I would have lacked the proper muscle tone to perform them. I thought my basics were pretty much up to snuff, but I was wrong...by a very long shot.

I wasn't really mentally prepared to learn such advanced material, either. Had he tried to demonstrate and/or explain it to me, I wouldn't have understood what he was saying. I was unable to really grasp such advanced concepts.

And I wasn't spiritually ready, either. I would have become very frustrated and discouraged (largely because of my lack of physical and mental unpreparedness) and I would probably have given up.

Learning and assiduous practice (and study) of the basics lays the foundation for learning more advanced material. Achieving the grade of shodan indicates that the last brick has been placed into the foundation. Now you're ready to build a beautiful structure on it. But the foundation must be strong. Unfortunately, most people who make it to shodan walk away soon after the last brick of the foundation has been moved into place.

It's much the same in school; you begin by learning to read very basic material and then progress to more and more difficult material, right? Once you graduate from high school, you've laid a foundation for further advancement. Or we can use the subject of math as a good analogy. You don't jump right into trigonometry once you've learned to add and subtract single digit numbers!!! You must first master the basics and that takes time and study. Once you've mastered basic addition and subtraction, you're ready to move into multiplication and division, and so on. To skip or hurry through a phase is usually disastrous. You must build a solid foundation and then proceed forward step by step.

Too many martial artists begin teaching shortly after reaching the level of shodan. This is a serious mistake; it's akin to becoming a professor right after graduating from high school! They, themselves, don't understand nor are they capable of practicing or teaching the more advanced principles of their chosen art. After all, shodan means “first grade.” A shodan is an advanced beginner; one who has finally achieved a measure of skill in the basic techniques and has laid a foundation. But nothing rests atop the groundwork...yet.

In the West (and America, particularly) we want everything FAST. Fast food (ugh!), instant entertainment...and we tend to carry this same line of thinking into our practice of martial arts. We want to learn quickly and swiftly achieve rank and skill. Some schools seek to appease their clientele's desires and do just that. But there's really no measurable skill achieved and the subsequent rank is meaningless...

Real skill and knowledge is developed slowly over time and there's simply no hurrying the process. In fact, the ponderous pace at which ones moves through the process is, in fact, an important part of the process itself! Like brewing good homemade soup.

HOMEWORK

 by Phillip Starr

When many of us attend our martial arts class we are excited about the prospect of learning something new but we fail to realize that if we don't do our “homework”, our progress will be slowed considerably. If the instructor teaches something new, it will probably take up only a fraction of the time spent in class, which is mostly a review and polishing of material already learned. And during the time spent on review, the teacher can very readily assess just who has done his/her homework and how well.

The time we spend at home reviewing and honing material we've already learned needn't be as boring or sterile as the homework we had to do in school. I always looked at that as being about as interesting as watching paint dry. Doing your martial arts homework is a time for exploring, digging, and discovery. By taking the time to do it (and yes, that includes repetition of basic techniques and forms), you learn how to learn and this will be a critical skill when comes the day that your instructor is no longer readily available for class.

My gong-fu teacher knew perfectly well that improvement of techniques and forms could not be achieved if students practiced them only in class. He KNEW who had and hadn't been doing their homework and those who'd been skipping it were held back in their training. This often disappointed and even angered them, but sifu Chen knew that they simply hadn't yet developed the actual physical and/or mental skills necessary for moving forward. He said that they weren't truly serious about their training. And he was right.

Real skill isn't developed in class. It's developed outside of class. Some martial arts practitioners of arts such as judo, aikido, kendo, and other methods that involve training with a partner sometimes try to argue that it's pointless to try to train at home without a partner.

Nonsense. It's always possible to train “dry-run” (solo, without a partner) and doing so allows you to focus on pertinent aspects of your art, such as posture, footwork, breathing, correct placement of the hands and arms, and so on. When a partner is present, you often fail to really focus on these important points. Without a partner, there is no pressure on you to succeed in doing/finishing the technique. You can focus on more minute aspects of the art.

A good martial arts teacher won't “spoon feed” everything; he knows that many things mean so much more to you if and when you discover them for yourself. What he isn't showing you is as important as what he does teach openly. But you'll find these things if you do your homework!

HITTING THE MARK

 by Phillip Starr

In kyudo (Japanese archery; “the Way of the bow”) the object is quite dissimilar to that of Western archery. The beginning of archery in Japan is prehistoric. The first images picturing the distinct Japanese asymmetrical longbow are from the Yayoi period (ca. 500 BC – 300 AD). Although the familiar katana is associated with the samurai (and sometimes referred to as the “samurai sword”), the bow was the original weapon of the warrior class.

The changing of society and the military class (samurai) taking power at the end of the first millennium created a requirement for education in archery. This led to the birth of the first kyujutsu ryūha (style), the Henmi-ryū, founded by Henmi Kiyomitsu in the 12th century. The Takeda-ryū and the mounted archery school  of Ogasawara-ryū were later founded by his descendants. The need for archers grew dramatically during the Genpei War (1180–1185) and as a result the founder of the Ogasawara-ryū (Ogasawara Nagakiyo), began teaching yabusame (mounted archery).

From the 15th to the 16th century, Japan was ravaged by civil war. In the latter part of the 15th century Heki Danjō Masatsugu revolutionized archery with his new and accurate approach called hi, kan, chū (fly, pierce, center), and his footman's archery spread rapidly. Many new schools were formed, some of which, such as Heki-ryū Chikurin-ha, Heki-ryū Sekka-ha and Heki-ryū Insai-ha, remain today. During the Edo period (1603–1868) Japan was turned inward as a hierarchical caste society in which the samurai were at the top. There was an extended era of peace during which the samurai moved to administrative duty, although the traditional fighting skills were still esteemed. During this period archery became a "voluntary" skill, practiced partly in the court in ceremonial form, partly as different kinds of competition. Archery spread also outside the warrior class. The samurai were affected by the straightforward philosophy and aim for self-control in Zen Buddhism that was introduced by Chinese monks. Earlier archery had been called kyūjutsu (the skill of bow), but monks acting as martial arts teachers led to creation of a new concept: kyūdō (the Way of the bow).

Kyūdō practice, as in all budō, includes the idea of moral and spiritual development. Today many archers practise kyūdō as a sport, with marksmanship being paramount. However, the goal most devotees of kyūdō seek is seisha seichū, "correct shooting is correct hitting". In kyūdō the unique action of expansion (nobiai) that results in a natural release, is sought. When the technique of the shooting is correct the result is that the arrow hits the target. To give oneself completely to the shooting is the spiritual goal, achieved by perfection of both the spirit and shooting technique leading to munen musō, "no thoughts, no illusions". This however is not Zen, although the Japanese bow can be used in Zen-practice or kyūdō practised by a Zen master. In this respect, many kyūdō practitioners believe that competition, examination, and any opportunity that places the archer in this uncompromising situation is important, while other practitioners will avoid competitions or examinations of any kind.

Unlike Chinese, Korean, and Mongolian bows (which are rather short), the Japanese bow will run from 84” to 97” in length. When I visited Japan in 2016, I saw several young ladies dressed in kimono and carrying very long silk or cotton bags, which contained their bows. They would take the subway trains to their classes and nobody thought anything of it.

And unlike Western archery, the primary object of kyudo is not necessarily to hit the mark (“bull's eye”). It is an art steeped in ritual and every aspect of it is pregnant with meaning. Zen-like in its approach, the focus is on strengthening, forging, and tempering the spirit. Each movement (including the steps taken to the spot from which the archer will shoot, nocking the arrow, and virtually everything else) is perfected and polished for its own sake. It is said that when the mind is ready, the arrow will release itself. In time, accuracy comes naturally.

It is rather the same in all forms of budo. However, we Westerners tend to focus too much on hitting the mark rather than perfecting each tiny movement. In our forms, we often rush through to the end, thinking something like, “There! I finished that form.” But the truth is far different. We did not take time to gently polish each movement, to experience and “taste” it. We hurry, like a child in a candy store...filling our mouths with so many candies that we can scarcely taste any one of them. Each candy (and movement) must be savored...delicately at first. Like the arrow in kyudo, accuracy will come along naturally.

A HIGHLY ADVANCED FORM?

 By Phillip Starr

In the system of gong-fu that I teach (Yiliquan), there exists a training routine that is very similar to a form; it must be memorized and practiced relentlessly. However, it isn't listed as a proper “form”, per se. There are no punches, blocks, or kicks of any kind in it. It's translated name is “Nine Steps Form”, although it isn't really regarded as a form.

Jiubuquan (the name of the set) is made up entirely of fundamental stances and basic footwork (steps). It's taught during the earliest stage of training in Yiliquan and drilled repeatedly even into the senior stages. There's hell to pay for a senior who's forgotten any part of it, too.

It's fairly short – only 25 movements (on each side) but repeated practice fosters the development of stability, balance, and agility...all essential ingredients for acquiring real martial skill. But there's more to it than the aforementioned items...

To perform the set skillfully requires that a student “move from the dantien (in Japanese, tanden)”, which is a special skill than absolutely must be mastered. Moving from the dantien is the ONLY way in which the entire body – from the crown to the heels – can move as a single, integrated unit. This is a very powerful way of moving, much more so than the usual method(s) that feature “broken” forms of movement wherein the limbs move independently of the rest of the body.

Moreover, to acquire and maintain stability in any given stance or when moving, proper breathing is essential. Unless one knows how to breathe correctly, balance and “root” are all but lost. Repeating this routine over and over will (unconsciously) teach a student how to breathe in the right way. Although they're taught how to breathe in the right way in the very early stages of training, constant training in Jiubuquan “cements” it so that they don't have to consciously “think” about how to do it.

Does your chosen martial discipline have a similar training routine?

HAVE FAITH!

 By Phillip Starr

My teacher, sifu Chen, struggled to teach me the various zhan-zuang (post standing) postures as much as I struggled to do them correctly. I did my best to imitate the posture that he demonstrated. “Like this”, he said. He glanced at me and immediately stepped in front of me.

“No”, he said as he adjusted my hands, elbows, and hips. “Ah...better”, he muttered. “Stand like this every day for twenty minutes.”

After the adjustments he'd made, I felt very uncomfortable. TWENTY MINUTES? I thought that what he asked was nigh on to impossible. And he noticed my apprehension. “Yes”, he went on. “At least twenty minutes. Longer is better, too. It will help you develop your gong-fu skills a lot. It helps in many ways that you don't understand yet.”

And so I did it. I didn't altogether understand the whole concept but I had faith in my teacher and what he taught me. It would be some time before I came to realize the profundity of what he gave me that day and many other days. But I believed in him. I had faith.

This is perhaps the most important element of learning martial arts. If you lack faith in your teacher, you probably won't practice as he tells you. And if that's the case, you can easily miss your goal by a very wide margin.

In the East, it's a given that the student have absolute faith in his teacher and that the student will do whatever the teacher tells him to do. Sometimes what he tells you to do is very tedious and boring; at other times, it can be downright painful. But in the East the student will do it, regardless. Westerners are often (perhaps even usually) less apt to do this. They want to know “why.” And to a traditional teacher, that's nothing short of an affront to his authority. His “answer”, such as it is, may often be quite painful.

Sometimes, perhaps even much of the time, what he teaches will seem a bit incomplete. This is very common in traditional teachers. They may want to test your resolve; to see if you'll strive to dig deeper to more thoroughly understand what they gave you. They also understand that what a student learns by digging deeper is more broadening, more meaningful than if it was simple “spoon-fed” to them. That said, I have found that many Western students almost insist on being mollycoddled and “catered to”, believing that since they've paid good money for instruction, everything should be openly given to them. But the teacher knows better. If the student really wants to learn, this is how it should be done.

But it requires faith. Without that critical ingredient in the relationship, the recipe for real learning is incomplete.

ESSENTIAL INGREDIENTS

 by Phillip Starr

What's the first thing you do when you set out to bake a cake? If you're like me (I know almost nothing about the subject...), you first determine just what ingredients you need. If you leave out only one item, God only knows what you'll end up producing but the odds are good that you wouldn't necessarily want to eat it! It's the same in the study of any given martial art. You need the right ingredients...

• DETERMINATION (Strong Spirit): This is of the utmost importance but one that is often left out of the recipe. Having a strong spirit means never giving up; it means overcoming any and all “obstacles” that appear, regardless of how insurmountable they seem.

  

• COURTESY: True courtesy comes from the heart. It is not simply a series of empty gestures or hollow words. Believe it or not, practicing genuine courtesy (at all times!) will impact your training.

  

• FAITH: Having faith in your teacher is essential. You must have faith in what he or she teaches. He's been where you're going.

  

• OBEDIENCE: You must adhere to the instruction given to you by your teacher, even if it involves discomfort or inconvenience.

  

• DISCIPLINE: You must train regularly (and bear in mind that 90% of your practice is done outside of class). If your training is “hit-or-miss” you're just spinning your wheels and getting nowhere. Worse, you're opening yourself up to injuries that will only further hamper your development. Maintain a strict discipline.

  

• AN OPEN MIND: You're going to be introduced to new ideas, customs, and attitudes. Don't approach your training with a closed mind. Keep it open so that you can fully absorb new information. Avoid harboring preconceived notions about any parts of your training.

  

• PATIENCE: This is perhaps the one ingredient that is most often missing in Western students. To learn and develop new skills takes time. There's no way around it and no short-cuts, regardless of what some hucksters will tell you. Trying to hurry often ends in injury, disappointment, and frustration.

  

Like baking a cake, if you use all of these ingredients you can produce a very delicious and beautiful cake. If you leave out any of them, the end result will be less than desirable.