BABY STEPS

 by Phillip Starr

Although the term, "kung-fu" (also, "gongfu"), serves as a generic term for Chinese martial arts, use of the term in that regard is actually a misnomer. As most of you already know, "kung-fu" refers to a fine, high level of skill that is developed over a period of time through hard work. Thus, "kung-fu" can actually be applied to any martial discipline as well as many other activities that require rigorous and regular practice over a period of time.

Throughout the Orient it is understood by most persons who endeavor to train in any martial form that substantial skill cannot be acquired quickly and any teacher who promises otherwise is nothing more than a charlatan whose main interest (and skill) lies in separating a student's money from his wallet. At the same time, there are those who come from the other end of the spectrum and insist that students must practice this or that training routine (and pay for it every month, of course) for an extraordinarily long period of time if he or she hopes to acquire a high level of skill.

The truth, of course, lies somewhere in the middle and students must be careful about selecting a good teacher.

In the West we are accustomed to things being accomplished fairly quickly. We have microwaveable meals (which aren't really food....), instant entertainment (just turn on the television), quick diets (which don't work), and so on. When we want something, we want it NOW. When martial arts were first introduced to the West, a number of enterprising instructors realized that a great deal of money could be made by short-cutting training routines and providing forms of "instant martial arts." My own teacher envisioned this happening although his young pupil (moi) just couldn't see it coming down the pike. But it arrived like a thunderbolt and it's here to stay.

No doubt, some of the old, traditional training routines were extremely tedious but they were necessary for the development of genuine martial skill (as opposed to what is presented nowadays as being martial skill). Westerners, being the way they are, sought to find short-cuts through much of what they regarded as "unnecessary, old-fashioned, unrealistic" training. Many honestly believed that they had found ways to shorten the training process but the truth is much different.

My teacher likened the process to making tea. To make tea the old way takes time and any attempt at hurrying the process will only ruin the drink. To be sure, we now have "instant tea" but my teacher couldn't stand the taste of it. There's tea and then there's tea.

Even so, most of those who have undertaken the study of a traditional martial discipline with the understanding that it's going to take time to develop real skill will still often catch themselves "shaving corners" and trying to take "big steps." Such attempts at hurrying the training process and the evolution of genuine skill almost always result in frustration and/or injury.

I knew one young man who wanted to develop large callouses of his punching knuckles. He beat the living bejeezus out of his striking post (which was incorrectly made and was akin to hitting a tree) and mangled his hands...he didn't realize that hardening the hands is NOT the primary objective of training with this particular device, and he finally had to give it up. Of course, he then argued that training with the post was "old-fashioned", unnecessary, and unrealistic.

Another fellow dreamed of being able to execute his form with the same precision, grace, and power as his teacher. He trained his form for 2-3 hours every day, suffering pulled muscles as well as numerous other minor injuries. He ultimately gave up, insisting that forms were "old-fashioned", unnecessary, and unrealistic.

And yet another student envied the uncanny fighting skill of his seniors. He dreamed of becoming an invincible warrior and practiced shadow-boxing and sparring incessantly. When he engaged in sparring practice he often went at it with a bit too much power and the wrong mind-set (he was determined to "win"), so, of course, he often went home with bruises, cracked ribs, black eyes, and many other booboos. He finally gave up, saying that traditional training was "old-fashioned", unnecessary, and unrealistic.

Progress in real martial arts comes in what I call "baby steps"; little steps that are sometimes too small to even measure or notice right away. Regular practice is essential. After all, a toddler will never learn to walk if he or she only tries to do it once in a while. So, if you train (at home) just every now and then, you can be assured that you're getting nowhere. On the other hand, if you're training at home 3 days a week or more and you're taking your time (taking "baby steps"), you can be confident that you're developing genuine skill - and if you keep at it long enough you'll develop real "kung-fu."

YIN AND YANG?

By Phillip Starr 

*Partially excerpted from the author's book, “Martial Maneuvers.”

The double-fish diagram known as “taiji” (Grand Ultimate) is familiar to anyone who is even vaguely familiar with Chinese culture. The dark side is referred to as Yin and the light side is known as Yang.

In observing and analyzing the physical world, the ancients used these twin concepts. Yin and Yang do not refer to actual physical phenomena as some people mistakenly believe; they simply represent two opposing but complementary and interdependent forces or principles that can be observed throughout the tangible universe. This seemingly incongruent supposition forms the cornerstone of most branches of Chinese philosophy.

The character for Yin is an ideogram of the shaded side of a hill. It is used to represent darkness, cold, the negative aspect, stillness, and so on. The ideogram for Yang is indicative of the sunny side of a hill and represents light, warmth, the positive aspect, movement and so on.

You'll notice that the Yin side of the diagram includes an element of Yang, which is indicated by the small white circle. Yang also contains an element of Yin, as shown by the small black circle. This is meant to show that each of these aspects contains a trace of the other and that there is no absolute Yin or Yang, and both of these twin principles can be infinitely subdivided into Yin and Yang qualities.

Additionally, the diagram should be seen as being static. Rather, it is constantly moving and changing. When one aspect increases, the other decreases. And when one aspect is carried to its extreme, it gives way to its opposite. Night (Yin) is ultimately transformed into day (Yang) and too much sweet (Yang) eventually becomes bitter (Yin).

Many neijia enthusiasts get lost in this concept; it's as if they regard Yin and Yang as actual “things/entities”, which, of course, they are not. They are simply mental constructs that the ancients used to help them better understand the world in which we all live.

In the practice of the neijia these twin concepts are generally applied from two viewpoints, the first of which is the execution of individual techniques. For instance, the hand or foot that is executing the technique is considered Yang while the unused hand or foot is Yin. The leg bearing the majority of the body's weight becomes Yang and the other is Yin, and so on.

The second view has to do with practical application against an aggressor and this is where some people get pretty confused. Some people believe that when the opponent attacks, he becomes Yang and this requires that the receiver should become Yin. Not. When the attacker strikes with, for instance, his right hand, his right hand becomes Yang and his left is regarded as Yin. The instant after he has discharged his force, his right hand becomes empty (Yin). So, the opponent is not entirely Yang simply because he is attacking.

You should not totally yield to his aggression because you will then become too Yin and become unbalanced, as it were. My teacher, W. C. Chen, explained that one must become “insubstantial” (which is, I think, a more accurate way of thinking of the condition known as Yin) AT THE POINT where the aggressor directs his attack. For instance, if the aggressor seizes your wrist, you should not apply your strength in an attempt to release it. Rather, you should become Yin AT THE POINT he has seized; you receive his force without becoming “empty.” This is an important point to remember.

Moreover, whenever an assailant attacks he must necessarily expose certain vital areas and weaknesses in his posture, both of which can be readily exploited by a skilled fighter.

My teacher explained these two ideas very simply; he likened it to punching water. “If you punch water, what will happen?”, he asked. I figured this was a no-brainer, so I answered simply, “You'll get wet!” He nodded and asked another question. “Can you break the water?”

I knew this had to be an intellectual trap but there was only one answer that I could think of. “No...”

“Yes!”, he replied. “It becomes Yin when you hit it! But does ALL of the water become Yin?” I shook my head, “No...”

“Exactly!”, he smiled. It becomes Yin only at the spot where you hit it, right?” I nodded as he continued with his questions. “What does the rest of the water do?”

I wasn't altogether sure what he wanted me to say and my answer was too slow in coming. He answered for me. “It reacts by enveloping your hand and wrist and splashing you!”

Duh. Why hadn't I thought of that sooner?

“So that part of the water becomes Yang! Where you punch it, it becomes Yin. The rest becomes Yang!”, he said. “So it's very simple. Not hard to understand.”

THE WUDAO (BUDO) SPIRIT

 by Phillip Starr

It was during my last year of high school back in 1967 that I decided to attend Tokyo University. I frankly didn't care one whit about which university I attended; I wanted to go to Japan and study the martial arts - especially karate. I wrote to Master Masutatsu ("Mas") Oyama, who was the founder of the Kyokushin style of karate. I held a black belt grade in his system and discovered that he allowed a certain number of foreigners to live in the honbu dojo (headquarters training hall) each year. I had visions of waking up, cleaning the dojo, working out for a short time before breakfast...what a life!

Ah, but life had different plans for me. I was accepted at Tokyo University and Mr. Oyama actually wrote me back and invited me to stay at his dojo...but try as I might, I couldn't get enough money put together to bring this dream into reality.

I still have that letter that the legendary "god-hand' (Mr. Oyama) sent me. One of his statements stuck in my head and it's still there. For some years I couldn't figure out exactly what he meant but as I matured and kept training, I came to understand it. He wrote, "I always look forward to teaching my foreign students in Japan. The most important thing for them to learn while they are here is spirit..." He said that it was the most difficult thing to teach Westerners.

What Master Oyama was talking about has nothing to do with religion, ghosts, or any of that sort of thing. What he was referring to is the very glue that holds together each aspect of the martial ways of the East. It is very a very real, almost palpable thing although it cannot be weighed, measured, seen, heard, or tasted... But without it, there are no true martial arts - just exercise and dance routines.

You cannot really understand this concept through intellectualizing about it. Talking or reading about it may help you acquire a basic grasp of its meaning but to truly know it you must experience it directly. It isn't something that you try to experience from time to time - it's something that has to be strengthened, refined, and lived every day.

To find a simple definition of it is far from simple. It is a striving for perfection - perfection of technique, perfection of form, perfection of physical skill - and these lead to perfection of character, proper behavior, correct etiquette at all times, and consideration and respect for yourself and others.

You don't seek perfection only within the boundaries of your chosen martial art. At first, that seems to be the goal but with time, introspection, and incessant training, you seek perfection in everything you do.

It begins with relentless training of the body, which leads to training and refinement of the mind. This means training daily. In the East, it's understood and accepted that training in any martial discipline is going to be painful and new students accept that (for the most part). In the West, things are very different. In our society, any form of discomfort is to be avoided. If training in aikido or kendo or any other martial form results in bumps, bruises, sprains, strains, and other assorted "ouchies", we either discontinue practicing until we feel that we're properly healed up or we might quit altogether. In short, we're wimps.

The find and develop this spirit, you must train daily even when you don't feel like it. You have to push yourself and find the strength to go on even when your body or mind feels like giving up. Now, I'm not encouraging you to practice when you have a serious injury or illness. Spirited training doesn't mean that you should be foolish...but it does mean being mature, tough, and unwilling to accept anything short of perfection. It means that you're unwilling to accept any excuses that you make up for yourself as to why you just can't practice every day, why your punch, kick, iai kata, or whatever, just isn't up to snuff.

No excuse is acceptable...to you.

It means being a useful and productive member of your community and society. It means being sincere and honest, and it means being honorable and standing up for what is right.

It's not something that you strive to develop and feel only when you don your practice uniform or attend your martial arts class. If that's what you're doing, then you're just playing "make believe" and your training will come to nothing. You either dive in head-first and immerse yourself in it or you stay out of it altogether. It's not something that you can do on a part-time basis.

You have to want to learn badly enough that you won't allow anything (I repeat...anything) to stand in your way. Words like "quit" are not a part of your vocabulary when speaking of your training or doing anything else that you set your hand and mind to do. To you, such ideas are shameful and unacceptable.

This kind of constant training will reveal to you, as well as your teacher and many of your classmates, much about your personal makeup. All of the ugliness and flaws, as well as the beauty of your personality and spirit will be laid bare. Your true self will be unveiled. This can be more than a little unnerving but it is part and parcel of traveling the path of the martial ways.

You must determine that even if your desire to learn should lead you to your own death, you'll do it. I know this probably sounds a bit melodramatic but that's how it truly is. The price for learning and acquiring a high level of skill in genuine martial arts can be very high and it involves much more than dollars and cents.

WHAT WILL YOU DO WITH ONE CORNER?

 By Phillip Starr

I was recently reading about a young man’s first visit to Japan. He had trained in iaijutsu and kenjutsu for several years with a Japanese instructor who had come to the U.S. as a college professor. The young American had traveled to Japan to spend time with his sensei and to immerse himself in the country from which his chosen martial disciplines had originated.

When he arrived in Japan, the young American took some time to take in the sights and he was given the opportunity to visit an iaido dojo in a rather small Japanese town. The dojo was run by a hachidan (8th dan, of which there are only a few) who asked him to perform the first basic kata known as “mae.”

The American felt that he had done an adequate job but the headmaster thought differently. He told his guest to work on one particular movement of the kata – it was a bit rough and needed polish. They exchanged bows and the American prepared to repeat the kata.

He gave it his very best but when he finished it he noticed that the headmaster was on the other side of the dojo, giving instruction to another student. What happened next actually showed what this American was made of; it showed his heart.

He continued to practice the kata (which he had practiced for many years as it’s the very first kata taught to beginning iaido students) until he was soaked with sweat. After more than an hour’s worth of repeating the same fundamental kata, one of the senior students walked up and told him to perform the second kata! The American noticed that the headmaster was standing with his arms folded on the other end of the dojo, watching him.

And so it went for the ten “seitei” katas. The American could barely get undressed and walk back to the house where he was staying. His legs were exhausted and he could barely lift his shoulders. But he was back in training the next day.

Now, I often walk away from my students while they are working on a particular form or technique – just to see what they’ll do. Most of them will continue to practice what they were told. A few will walk over to me to ask what they should do and some (yes, it happens with black belts, too) discontinue practicing as they begin to talk and socialize with their classmates.

Confucius said that if a teacher shows the student one corner, the student should be able to find the other three. If he cannot (or will not), then the teacher should leave him alone because he’s simply a waste of time.

My teacher would sometimes show us a particular technique or an aspect of a technique or form and then see what we did with it. Most of my classmates promptly forgot whatever it was that he’d shown them. They didn’t practice it on their own time and their performance didn’t improve. They were not shown any of the deeper aspects of the art because such things require a great deal of practice at home and he knew they’d never meet that requirement.

A few of the others would “fool around” with what they had been shown; they didn’t put in much time on their own and they’d often ask Sifu Chen if they were doing it right, and so on. Again, they received none of the deeper instruction because there was simply no point in it.

Very, very few actually trained regularly (and vigorously) at home with the material they had been shown. But our teacher was watching…always watching. He’d smile and laugh with us but he was always watching and evaluating. And in the end, very few students qualified (in his mind) to learn the real kung-fu.

Which group do you fall into?

THE SECRET OF TRAINING

 by Phillip Starr

One day as the revered zen master, Dokuon, was idly smoking his long bamboo pipe, he was approached by Tesshu, a well-known samurai who had been studying zen for some time. "I have finally grasped the essence of kara," Tessuhu exclaimed. "I am now empty." And the swordsman went on to explain how the universe is empty, about there being no difference between subjective and objective, and so on.

Dokuon listened quietly for a short time and then suddenly smacked Tesshu on the forehead with his pipe. Tesshu was outraged and jumped to his feet. "That hurt, you stupid old fool!" he snarled. "I could cut you down for doing that!"

"My, my," Dokuon said quietly. "This emptiness is certainly quick to show anger, isn't it?"

Tesshu smiled sheepishly, hung his head, and crept away silently.

Endless repetitions of reverse punches, side thrust kicks, front snap kicks, back fists....Trying to memorize those cursed forms, trying to understand what they mean, their spirit...perfecting footwork, stances, timing, breathing. SO much to remember and SO MUCH to practice! Sifu/Sensei says that it'll come naturally someday but how far off is that??? Look here, pay attention to that, don't think of this, focus your mind over here...where does it all end? All these techniques and movements...do they really work? What's all of this about, anyway?

I'm sure these thoughts have run through your head many, many times and they'll continue to do so for some time. It's a natural part of the learning process.

And for all the repetitions of various techniques, the constant polishing of timing, the striving for perfection in footwork and forms, it all really boils down to training one thing.

Your mind.

The mind perceives what's going on outside of itself through brain's utilization of the five senses. It responds via the body, so your body must be trained to do exactly what the mind commands.

At the same time, the mind has to be sharpened and polished. It has to be trained to perceive instantly and clearly. This process will necessarily involve some pretty frightening concepts - like letting go of attachments that are or will interfere with its ability to see and react clearly and without hesitation. "That doesn't sound too awfully difficult," you say. "What could be so scary about letting go of certain attachments?"

Well, there's the natural attachment to life; to your own safety and survival. If you engage one or more opponents in a life and death struggle, how can you focus 100% of your attention on them if you're worried about your own survival? You'll always keep a part of your focus on yourself; a part of your yi (intention, mind) and chi/ki remains withdrawn and cannot be extended towards the enemy (or whatever threat it is that you face). You are unable to fully commit yourself at the moment of truth. You may hesitate and suffer the fate that you fear.

You only maintain your attachment to survival if you maintain a fear of death. So, you must come to grips with death - understand and accept it, and then discard all of your concerns about it.

This is what training is ultimately about. You must free your mind as you train your body so that your mind can express itself freely and without the slightest hesitation. Then and only then are you truly free to move through life boldly and experience it without fear.

I can already hear some of you asking, "How do I do this? How do I train my mind in this way? Should I practice meditation, study books on the subject...what should I do?"

The answer is simple but it's probably not what you want to hear. No, meditation won't necessarily achieve it. Intellectual endeavors almost certainly won't help you achieve it. I know of only one thing that will bring success...

Incessant training. Rigorous, spirited, unrelenting. It is without end. As Musashi Miyamoto, Japan's "sword saint" told us, "The Way is in training."

THE REAL THING

 by Phillip Starr

When I first took up the study of martial arts I believed that the peculiar forms of punching, striking, and kicking contained some special force, a kind of "magic" (for want of a better word) that would enable me to knock the largest adversary flat on his butt. You have to admit that the forms of punching as they are demonstrated in the various forms of karate and kung-fu are a little strange and not at all like the knee-jerk, "natural" form of haymaker that most people would throw if they were engaged in a scuffle.

I'm convinced that my first teachers believed in that same magic because they never mentioned things like, "using the whole body as a fist" or "striking with the force of the entire body."

Needless to say, I found out in pretty short order that the peculiar punches, strikes, and kicks bestowed no mystical power on me. Being a very slow learner, I suffered many beatings before I had to admit that something was amiss. But what? What could be missing? Surely, there was more to these arts than I could see.

It was my primary kung-fu teacher, Master W. C. Chen, who opened my eyes. "You are relying on using your strength," he said. "And you are too small to exert much strength. You are fast but you have no real power. You hit only with your arm or leg. A strong enemy can overcome your technique easily."

And so it was that I began learning REAL martial art. It began with the horse-riding stance (ma bu) and then the bow and arrow stance (gong bu), cat stance (ding bu), and several others. "Strength begins in the legs," Chen told me. "If your legs are weak you cannot get (generate) real power. If you cannot stand, you cannot walk. If you cannot walk, you cannot run. So, first you must learn to stand. Just stand."

Once my "foothold" was firm, I learned how to move my body to generate power. This was done via six forms of body movement (which are known as the "six body actions" in Yiliquan - and which have since been expanded to "eight body actions"). So, Chen first emphasized the foothold. The next step involved learning basic technique and the third step included learning to apply the foothold (root) and technique via the six body actions. This was what Chen called "quan (chuan) shu", which means, "fist art" and refers to the (outer) form of martial art. It is what is easily seen, what is often admired by the public, and it is only the first stage of true skill.

Most modern martial arts adepts aspire only to learn the "quan shu" and once they have developed skill in it, they feel that they have reached the pinnacle of martial prowess. But they are wrong. All they have done is acquired skill in the outer shell (wai zhuang) of the art. They have yet to examine the meat of the matter.

Once the pupil has trained in the wai zhuang to develop quan shu (and this absolutely MUST be done correctly), he or she is then ready to begin practicing the nei zhuang (internal power) of the art. It is presented in stages. In Yiliquan (the art that I teach), students may, even during the wai zhuang training, begin to learn and practice some of the nei zhuang gong (special conditioning exercises intended to strengthen, stretch, and toughen the unseen internal tissues that are utilized in generating real internal force) and the so-called "engaging" exercises, in which intrinsic force "inflates" the internal tissues.

Only after the internal tissues have been properly conditioned and trained to "engage" can the student begin to learn the panjaozhang gong (hand/arm coiling exercises and power) and eventually the special qipanjao (energy/breath coiling) techniques, which are practiced in stages:>

1. Standing, Big Frame Coils

2. Moving, Big Frame Coils

3. Standing, condense the coils to make them Small Frame Coils

4. Moving, ditto

Only through the application of these "coils" can true fajin be generated.

It is my contention that the original forms of karate, which developed largely from southern forms of Chinese boxing, contained all of this information and it is still hidden within some of their kata (forms).

The small, unseen tissues (ligaments, fascia, and so forth) not only of the arms, waist, and legs, but the torso as well, must be properly employed in the correct sequence and to put this down in writing would be extremely difficult. Besides, I fear that there would be those who might try to learn the nei zhuang from such writings and that is simply impossible.

Even in my own training hall, it is necessary for students to place their hands on my body and actually feel what is going on inside as the coiling technique is applied and fajin is generated. Only then can they really begin to understand it. Incorrect practice can lead not only to simple failure; it can result in very real damage to internal tissues.

Too often, students hear about the nei zhuang and get in a hurry to learn it. This is foolhardy since the development of proper wai zhuang is essential before moving into the realms of nei zhuang. Nowadays, there are teachers (including Chinese!) who assure their students that they can begin the nei zhuang even in the early stages of their training but be assured that this is intended only to fatten the purse of the teacher at the risk of injuring or, at the very least, discouraging the hapless pupil who doesn't understand why he "just can't get it."

Even in the "old days", real "kung-fu" (also, "gongfu") was very rare. It still is.