Life and Death

     The young samurai approached the fencing master cordially and bowed.  "Sir," he began, "I wish to be instructed in the techniques of swordsmanship," he said.  The master looked at the young man and saw that he wore the color (of clothing) worn by the imperial guards who he instructed regularly.  However, he did not recognize the youngster.  "How is it," the master replied, 'that you wear the color of the shogun's guards and yet you request instruction?  I teach the samurai of the shogun several times each week."

     The young man quivered.  "I was previously employed only as one of my lord's lower samurai," he explained.  "Now I have been promoted into the ranks of his palace guards, so I must improve my technique."  He went on to explain that his skill with the sword was minimal; that he had very little knowledge of the art of the sword.

     The master instructor nodded.  "Alright.  Pick up a bokken (wooden sword) and I will see what you can do."  He led the young man out onto the floor of the training hall.  They faced each other squarely and the master raised his sword into the "middle position."  He suddenly lowered his wooden blade and frowned.  "Why have you been dishonest with me?"  The young man stuttered, "I have not been dishonest, sir."  "Yes!" the master said.  "You said that you have little skill with the sword but I can see that you are a master of it!"

     "Truly sir," the young samurai replied, "I have little knowledge of the sword.  In fact, I've never been very good at anything in my life.  I was probably promoted because of my father's reputation but I've never had the discipline to practice anything at all...save for perhaps one thing."  The master raised his eyebrows.  "And what is that?"

     "Well, when I was young," the samurai said, "I had no aptitude for the bujutsu (martial arts) and I determined that I would probably be killed very quickly if I should ever go into battle.  I began to contemplate my own death.  It was on my mind constantly.  Then one day, I realized that I no longer feared it.  I have no concern about it at all now."

     The master walked over to a table and took out a brush and certificate.  Signing the certificate and stamping it with his seal, he said, "There is nothing that I can teach you that you don't already know.  To overcome life and death is the greatest mastery."

 

     This is a story I have excerpted from Dave Lowry's book, "Autumn Lightning."  It illustrates perfectly the calm, centered mind that is needed for understanding and ultimate mastery of martial arts.  In Yilichuan, the Primary Principle is "Keep One-Point At All Times."  Many younger students take this to mean that it is really a physical sort of technique but it goes way beyond that.  It has to do with "being centered" as well as moving from the "center."  This is not the same being centered that one might hear about in various New-Age groups (most of them haven't a clue as to what the phrase really means, anyway).

 

     The late, great karate master, Masutatsu Oyama, once said the karateka (karate student) must forget about winning or losing; forget life and death and focus on the present.  He was, of course, absolutely correct.

     In our western culture, winning is usually considered everything.  Survival is at the top of the list of priorities.  This is in marked contrast to what the eastern, particularly the Japanese and Chinese martial artists, emphasized.  It has to do with what in Japanese is called mushin and what, in Chinese, is, I believe, known as buxin.

     Literally translated, it means "no mind."  It is also referred to as "without mind" or as another author succinctly puts it, "non-abiding mind" (which I prefer).  It is not a particularly difficult concept to understand on the surface, but to truly understand it, and even more importantly - to be able to implement it - requires a great deal of dedication and practice. It has it's roots in zhan (in Japanese, zen) which places all importance on the moment; the now, which it insists is the only true reality that we can know.

 

     In battle, whether it be single combat or a crowded battlefield, the martial artist must train his mind to be aware of everything but distracted by nothing.  Distractions are a "clinging" to a particular thing, whether it be a physical phenomena or a thought or feeling.  When the mind is thus distracted, it is not fully aware and one is physically, mentally, and spiritually weakened; unaware.  In the old days, this would surely result in a quick death.

 

     I used to tell students that when they looked at their opponent, they should look at him as though looking at a mountain.  In viewing a mountain from a distance, one does not "cling" to any particular part of it; one views the mountain it it's entirety.  The same is true when, for instance, looking at a tree.  One looks at the entire tree rather than focusing on individual leaves and branches separately.

     Looking at the "whole" rather than it's individual parts may be compared to buxin.  One is aware of every detail without becoming distracted by or attached to any of them.  Things which are of no importance are discarded from one's awareness while things that have importance are perceived as part of a whole.  As part of the situation.

 

     The uncluttered mind allows for clarity of the situation and spontaneity of technique.  The mind is centered, but without being attached even to that fact.  It "flows" freely and naturally.  It flows through the now rather than settling on future or past.  And the now is all that we can ever experience in this life. 

 

     In terms of fighting in martial arts, focusing on "past" may lead us to worry about "future."  "He did this technique before, so will he do that technique next?"  Or, "he is famous for this technique.  Is that what he will use?"  And so on.  Such "clutteredness" only bogs down the mind and prevents it from perceiving things clearly.  This, in turn, has a negative affect on one's ability to act or react spontaneously and correctly, according to what is (as opposed to what was or might be). 

 

     An old martial arts adage compares the mind to a pool of still water.  It will reflect accurately any image put before it.  Thoughts, fears, and the like act like pebbles of different sizes which are tossed into the water.  They cause large or small ripples which distort the image and one cannot perceive it clearly.

 

     For the serious wudao (martial way) student, the concept of wuxin must permeate every moment of his existence.  At least, that's what we strive to do.  In is demonstrated not only in how we practice our martial arts, but also in every aspect of our lives.  In times past, one who had attained this state disdained the gaudy because he/she felt that such gaudiness was contrary to this wuxin; this "feeling" of zhan.  Rather than outward ornamentation or gaudy decoration, the person who has grasped wuxin seeks inner perfection; simplicity....a reality stripped of artifice and illusion which can assist him/her in going beyond the concerns of life and death.  It is a fusion of what the Japanese call zanshin ("continue mind/spirit") and wuxin.