A BOWL OF COLD RICE

 by Phillip Starr

For those who walk the martial path and encounter seemingly impossible obstacles, this one is for you. You need look no further for inspiration than the masters who walked the very same path before us. We follow their footsteps but we seldom appreciate the obstacles they overcame and in many cases, the sacrifices they made. They certainly paid their dues...

Gichin Funakoshi, the revered “Father of Japanese Karate” arrived in Japan in 1917 to give demonstrations of this unique Okinawan martial art and to perform before the imperial court. He did so without hesitation. He returned to his homeland and returned to Japan to give more demonstrations and to teach karate in 1922. Karate became so popular that Funakoshi began conducting classes at a local university (he would also live in the dormitory there). He would not see his beloved wife again until the end of WWII.

He had three sons, all of whom would precede him in death. The youngest son, Gigo, would become the senior assistant instructor of his father's classes. The first Shotokan dojo was constructed in 1939, during the time Japan was at war with China. Near the end of the war the dojo was destroyed and many of his most senior students were killed on the battlefield. His wife had remained in Shuri, Okinawa, and when she was evacuated from there in 1945 he was finally reunited with her. Gigo would also succumb to an illness he had developed in his youth, tuberculosis. Two years later, his wife would pass away. Although Japan was devastated by the war, Funakoshi rebuilt his dojo and continued to teach.

Masutatsu Oyama, the founder of Kyokushin karate, also endured great hardships. Traveling to Japan from his native Korea in 1937, he aspired to become a pilot. The only job he could find was that of driving a small delivery truck and he couldn't find an apartment because, according to his story, he was an unwanted Korean. He did finally manage to find living quarters (I can just imagine what THAT was like) and following the end of the war, he enrolled in Takushoku University and began studying karate under Master Funakoshi. But his hardships were far from over.

He got into a scuffle at a local tavern and inadvertently killed his assailant. It was strongly suggested that he leave Tokyo and go live in the mountains. He and a student did so but within a month or so, his partner returned to civilization. And Oyama's benefactor, an old friend who would bring food and supplies to the foot of the mountain, was no longer able to do so. Oyama was on his own. He often slept on the snow and foraged for food. Still, he trained every day...for nearly two years before finally returning to Tokyo where he would found his new style of karate.

Dr. Jigaro Kano, the founder of judo, founded the original Kodokan in 1882. It had only 12 mats. Training was quite vigorous and the floor was often in need of repair. With one or two of his students, Kano would crawl under the building nightly and make the necessary repairs. He would do this until he was able to open a 60-mat school in 1893.

The famed founder of aikido, Morihei Uyeshiba, started out attempting to run a print shop. But he was no businessman and the shop quickly went bankrupt. He joined up with a group of people that were being subsidized by the government to go to Hokkaido and settle (in a mountainous area, where it gets quite cold in the winter). Even so, he continued his daily practice of aikijutsu and kenjutsu, using small logs in place of a proper bokken.

In his youth, the famous master of all three internal forms of kung-fu (taijiquan, xingyiquan, and baguazhang), Sun-Lutang, was dirt poor...and when the Chinese tell us that someone was poor, you'd better believe they were POOR! He would collect pig bristles and sell them to people who made ink brushes...but business wasn't so good. I can just imagine how much fun it must have been to collect those bristles. In any event, he became so distraught that he finally tried to end it all by hanging himself. But as fortune would have it, a passerby cut him down...and Sun would go on to become one of the best known kung-fu teachers of all time.

The list is very long; most of the “greats” of times passed suffered terrible losses, endured hardships the would have caused lesser mortals to turn back, and made great sacrifices in their journeys. But one constant remains. Perseverance. Once they set foot on the martial path, they were there to stay. And stayed they did, no matter how insurmountable the obstacles they encountered.

“Eating cold rice” is a phrase used in the East to describe very hard times. Such men certainly ate their share of it, and many had to put away several servings. I can't imagine what it would have been like to live in the devastation of Japan or Okinawa following WWII or how horrible life must have been to be extremely poor in China 150 years ago...

If these men could endure it, can we do any less?

ZEN AND NOW

 by Phillip Starr

A great many modern martial artists, particularly those who are engaged in the practce of a Japanese martial forms such as karate, kendo, jujutsu, and a host of others, like to think of the swordsmen of old Japan sitting in meditation and being avid practitioners of zen. However, the truth is that the samurai were never, in large numbers, ardent followers of zen... and the connection between zen and the Japanese martial arts is, in truth, not much older than rock 'n roll.

Buddhism was introduced to China in the late 12^th century. While some of the earlier forms of it appealed to the aristocracy of Japan, others became more popular with the commoners. Zen was a monastic approach, centered in Kyoto and Kamakura, where the Shogun stayed. Because of his patronage, numerous temples were constructed and zen eventually prospered. The laity were generally better educated than most; they often served as advisors to the Shogun and leaders of the warrior class. For this reason, numerous historians have assumed that the samurai were attracted to zen and that when many samurai retired, they entered the priesthood. They have also surmised that because zen stresses self-discipline and a rather austere lifestyle (qualities also admired by the samurai), the professional warriors were devoted practitioners of zen. However, this is demonstrably incorrect, if you look at the circumstances of living in feudal Japan...

The rise of Japan's warrior class was marked by war; from the 10^th to the 17^th centuries, Japan was pretty much in a constant state of war. Professional warriors of the day lived knowing that they could well meet their demise in the next battle or even in the next hour. They simply didn't have the time to spend years sitting in meditation (which is what zen requires) to develop a spirit to deal with that. It wasn't a practical approach for the guys who wanted to see through the illusions of life right NOW. Certainly, they respected zen and often relied on its priesthood for education or advice but in their letters, scrolls, and densho (transmission scrolls of various martial arts schools), there are very few references to zen made by the warrior class.

So, in what form of spiritual or religious training did the samurai engage? To a large degree, the answer is “mikkyo.” Most of you are likely unfamiliar with it. Well, zen is an exoteric form of Buddhism, The same is true for most other sects such as Jodo and Shinshu. They don't necessarily involve any esoteric, arcane teachings that are imparted to their followers; their teachings are openly transmitted to anyone wishing to follow them This is true of almost all forms of Buddhism. One exception is mikkyo (aka., Shingon), which is probably the only esoteric form of Buddhism that has deep roots in Japan.

Mikkyo's approach (in a nutshell) to the problem of dealing with illusions of life is through various psychological and neurological exercises, many of which are thought to invoke supernatural powers. The mikkyo practitioner may utilize artistic designs (mandalas), various chants, or physical movements. The best known of these is “kuji-kiri” (meaning “finger cutting” or “finger weaving”) wherein various powers are thought to be invoked through the weaving of one's fingers together. In a rather crude way, they can be thought of as “spells.” On a more sophisticated level, they are rituals designed to instill great courage and confidence, and presence of mind when danger threatens. It's easy to see why the samurai would embrace this method; it can be done in a short time (unlike zen) and was immediately available.

So, why is it that so many of us believe that the traditional martial arts were closely connected to zen? Well, Yagyu Munenori (1571-1646), who was the second headmaster of the Yagyu Shinkage-ryu school of swordsmanship, was a friend and disciple of the well-known Buddhist priest, Takuan Soho. Takuan wrote several letters to Yagyu, using the analogy of martial strategy and swordsmanship to explain zen. So, did the famous “sword saint”, Miyamoto Musashi ever meet Takuan? Yes...in a fictional serialized novel that was finally made into a movie. In reality, the two probably never met.

Because of Yagyu's relationship with the Shogun, Takuan's letters to Munenori were quite influential and read by many daimyo (feudal lords). However, almost none of them actually practiced zen. After WWII, zen was introduced to the West in a big way and the supposed connection between Japan's martial arts and zen were further cemented in the public's imagination. The famous scholar, Daisetsu Suzuki (who had never practiced martial arts) wrote his very successful “Zen and Japanese Culture”, which devoted two long chapters to zen and swordsmanship.

Eugene Herrigel, a German who had briefly studied kyudo in Japan in the 1930's penned his successful book, “Zen and the Art of Archery.” Both Herrigel's and Suzuki's books used the medium of zen to try to explain the budo. All that has been written since then (on the zen-martial arts connection) is based upon these two books and/or Takuan's writings.

Of course, if a modern follower of the budo wishes to link his art to the practice of zen, that's fine. But it's good to know the historicity of it so that one can maintain the true, original spirit of these arts. Now you know the rest of the story-

TSUKI

 by Phillip Starr

Tsuki ( 隙), which is prounced almost like “skee” but with a bit of a “ts” sound at the beginning – known as xi in Chinese, refers to a “gap” of some kind. In so far as martial arts are concerned, it is most often heard in the practice of kendo but it is equally applicable to virtually all of the martial ways. It is used to take advantage of an opening in the opponent's defensive posture (physical, mental, or spiritual); a window of opportunity through which you may quickly enter and deliver your counter-attack. The window is often quite small, so your ability to recognize this phenomenon must be finely honed and your timing must be razor-sharp.

1. For instance, if your opponent momentarily loses his balance and stumbles or unknowingly drops his guard (make sure this isn't an ambush), the tsuki is a physical “gap”; a chink in his armor. The pattern of the enemy's breathing also falls into this category. He is most vulnerable when inhaling. If his breath is paused (which happens for a tiny moment between inhalation and exhalation), he is also weak. In both cases, his reaction time is slowed as much as 50% and he is less able to withstand a strong blow. When he is exhaling, he is strongest.

2. If he is momentarily distracted, his attention is directed elsewhere and there is a moment of tsuki. Any time his mind focuses on aything other than the “here and now”, there is a gap.

3. If he should lose the will to fight or become frightened, his spirit is in disarray and a moment of tsuki appears.

Like everything else in the martial arts, detecting tsuki and being able to take advantage of it requires a great deal of practice. You must extend your mind into your opponent so that you can actually feel his mind. You must focus so that you can detect the slightest change in his breathing pattern or where his mind is directed. Then you must also practice to instantly (without the slightest hesitation) attack and slip through the “window.”

There are two methods for handling this; active and passive. Neither is superior to the other. It's a matter of personal preference. In the passive method, you focus and wait for your assailant to err in some way. If he's an experienced fighter, you may have a long wait and during that time, you may reveal a moment of tsuki within yourself...so it's a bit risky. Bear in mind that it appears any time that you move or even breathe! Then it's simply a question of your opponent's timing. Is he sharp enough to slip in through the window? And if you think that “striking the breath” is nearly impossible, remember that during an actual fight your breathing (and his) will be a little less than controlled or calm. Your mind is excited, your hackles are up, and breathing becomes a bit more raggedy than usual.

The moment of xi also occurs whenever you or your opponent physically moves into a new position. A simple step has three parts to it; the beginning of the step when weight is shifted, the mid-point of the step when gravity is momentary suspended, and the end when the step is completed. The most vulnerable moment is at mid-step. The opening is smaller during the initial phase when the weight is being shifted, and once the step is completed, the gap is closed altogether. Now you can see why truly skilled fighters don't bounce around; the gaps are too large! Instead, they make short, shifting movements that are completed very quickly to reduce the time of vulnerability.

The second method is the active method. This means that you CREATE tsuki; you cause it to occur.

1. You may break the enemy's balance in some fashion (a foot sweep or sudden grab and pull) or subtly cause him to drop his guard. You may entice him to make a large movement, giving you a decent opening.

   
   
   

2. You may feint various attacks, drawing his attention (his mind) away from the actual attack. You may even glance behind him (as if someone is standing there) to cause his mind to move backwards for a moment.

   
   
   

3. A powerful shout may momentarily stun or frighten him, weakening his resolve and spirit.

   
   
   

There are, of course, other ideas that can be implemented to create tsuki. Find the ones that best suit you and polish them to perfection!

Whenever the opponent attacks – in any fashion – there is tsuki. This is why I say that all attacks are flawed. For instance:

• If the opponent grabs you, where is his mind and yi (intention)? It's on the spot that he's grabbing! Your mind, however, need not be fixed on any particular place (NEVER focus your mind on where you are being grabbed or pushed)...it is free to move and enable you to respond however you wish.

  
  
  

• The actual attack (of any kind) originates where? IN THE MIND! Before he physically attacks, the enemy must have the intention of doing so; he must focus on exactly where he intends to attack and how. If you can catch his mind when it gives his body the command to begin the attack, he's helpless; he's in an “attack mode” and cannot easily or quickly switch into a “defense mode.” In that small instant of tsuki, he is defenseless. And there are ways of training yourself to do this...

  
  
  

So there's more to sparring (and actual fighting) than you might have suspected...

TO LEARN, YOU MUST BE OUT OF YOUR MIND!

 By Phillip “Pete” Starr

My friend, Sensei Akira Hino, has written and spoken about understanding what he calls “the incapable self” and “overcoming consciousness”, particularly as they pertain to learning new skills. This is my take on it...

When undertaking the development of a new skill, there are two fundamental attitudes one can adopt; the “I can do this” position, or the “I can't do this” position. Many contemporary teaching theories insist that we must adopt the former but this is actually an error (especially when trying to learn a fine skill) because it sets us up for failure. You may say that you can do it but of course, in reality, you can't. You fail and this results in frustration, disappointment, and discouragement. It causes stress to appear as you continually strive to do what you believe you can do (but you can't).

On the other hand, if you begin with the awareness that you're not capable of doing it, then initial failure(s) is expected. There's no frustration. You can continue to pursue your goal (and, although you may be unaware of it, taking “baby steps” forward).

I experienced this (and still do) when I formally took up the practice of iaido (drawing and cutting with the Japanese sword). I darned well KNEW that I was starting out as wholly incapable! Everything (and I mean EVERYTHING) I did was wrong...but I expected that, so I wasn't discouraged at all when my teacher kept making corrections (and most, if not all, of them many more times than once). I strived (and still do) to imitate him. I started out as a blank slate.

I began with no expectations of being able to do it and with full understanding that it was going to take a lot of time...sometimes I thought I was doing it right and (to me) it felt like it, but I was wrong. I felt like I could do it, but I couldn't.

Many people compare what they don't know or can't do with what they already know or can do. Thus, their understanding is in direct proportion to the amount of their knowledge (which may be flawed) and the level of their thinking. They tend to interpret new knowledge via their current knowledge and thinking habits. This prevents real development. It's well not to compare what you're trying to learn with what you already know.

I ran up against this problem when I began training under Master Chen. I had trained previously in a bit of northern shaolinquan and kyokushin karate. When he began teaching me xingyiquan, I automatically based what he was teaching me on what I already knew. And he would correct me by bellowing, “No! Not a karate punch!” Then he would demonstrate the xingyi method again. And again, and again...until I'd discarded the notion that I already knew how to punch and listened to him carefully. I had to become a blank slate upon which he could draw and write. There was no room for my own words or drawings.

I've encountered this problem countless times over the decades that I have taught. People came to me to study gong-fu or taijiquan and they often already had backgrounds in various forms of karate or taekwondo. They would inadvertently compare what they already knew with what I was trying to teach them (which, of course, they didn't know). They often THOUGHT they understood and could properly perform a given movement based on what they already knew. This only led to a lot of confusion and frustration for them (and me) because their movements were completely wrong. Some felt that because they held such-and-such grade of black belt, they could learn something like taijiquan rather quickly. Not so. Not at all. In fact, that kind of attitude held them back longer than if they'd never had any previous martial arts experience!

I had the same experience when I took up the study of taijiquan and baguazhang. I incorrectly ASSUMED bagua would, in some ways, be similar to xingyi. Not. That's like comparing apples to bicycles. So I had to become a totally blank slate again. Later I encountered taijiquan. Same thing. Certain principles were the same, but the ways of moving weren't similar at all. Xingyi was closer to shaolinquan in appearance – kind of like comparing apples and oranges; they both grow on trees and they're both fruits. But that's it.

Never being known as a quick study, I finally determined that I had to start from scratch with each of them. I became accustomed to living as a blank slate. But I learned and one of the most valuable lessons was that I must not compare what I already knew with what I was trying to learn. Even now – not being one to learn lessons quickly – I have to be careful not to bring my old knowledge to iaido practice. For instance, iaido doesn't use any of the stances found in karate or gong-fu but I tend to use them anyway. At the time of this writing, I'm still trying to correct that...

THROUGH WESTERN EYES

 by Phillip Starr

I've been involved in the practice of martial arts for more than 60 years and one of my most important observations has been that we (Westerners) tend to look at the Eastern martial disciplines that we practice through our Western eyes. This had led to a great deal of misunderstanding and confusion regarding these arts – why they are practiced in the manner that they are practiced, why they're practiced at all, the adherence to tradition, and so on. To truly grasp the spirit of the subject, we must see them through EASTERN eyes...

To do this isn't easy. We must understand the culture from which our chosen arts were born and to do that, we must understand how those cultures SEE and THINK. As Westerners, we often like to think that we've got a handle on the martial arts that we practice/teach, that we can actually change and/or improve them in various ways, and that we really don't need certain parts of them (whether it be certain training exercises, traditions, or whatever). We approach the arts with a Western mindset and subsequently practice and teach them from that standpoint. It is my opinion, for whatever it's worth, that we lose much of what these arts have to offer by doing so.

Learning something of the language of the culture from which our arts originated is an important key to understanding the culture and it's martial ways. I'm not saying that it's necessary to become fluent in the language, but learning enough that you can carry on a very basic dialogue is most helpful; you have to learn more than just the terms for certain techniques or forms. Learning some of the spoken language will help you understand the culture as a whole, and that's what you're after...

For decades I thought that I had a pretty fair understanding of Chinese culture and although I knew “martial arts” terms in their native language, I had no grasp of the spoken tongue. I thought I understood the culture and I was very much mistaken...I was one of the first Americans to visit China many moons ago and I returned home, thinking that I understood much of the culture.

Not.

It wasn't until I actually lived in China for several years that I realized my mistake. I lived amongst the people and worked alongside them. I learned to speak the language (although not fluently) and I became immersed in their culture. I have heard many Westerners ask, “WHY do they (the Chinese, Japanese, Koreans, or whatever) DO that (whatever “that” may be)?” And I realized that Westerners, be they ordinary folks, tourists, businessmen, or politicians, wonder about these things because they're looking at the given subject THROUGH WESTERN EYES. And doing that prevents them from understanding the answers to their question(s).

Samuel Ichiye Hayakawa (1906-1992), a Canadian-born scholar of Japanese descent (he became President (emeritus) of San Francisco State College and eventually a U.S. Senator, was a strong advocate of the study of language. He made a statement in his book, “Language in Thought and Action” that stuck in my mind ever since one of my uncles presented me with a copy of the book. Hayakawa said, that we are limited in our thinking (and subsequent actions) by our language. He was of the opinion that learning more than one language was almost a necessity in our modern world. I agree with him.

Hayakawa's statement indicates that we can only see, think, and understand things according (to the limitations of) our language. This applies especially to the practice of martial arts. To understand a given art or culture, learning something of the language is essential.

Traveling to or living for a time in the country from which a given martial discipline originated is impractical for many people but there are other ways to learn about and gradually understand a given culture.