SHODO

 by Phillip Starr

A friend of mine recently posted this anecdote. I find a lot of truth and value in it... Shodo, by the way, is the art of writing Chinese/Japanese characters with a brush...It pertains to traditional martial arts as much as it does shodo...

___________________________A woman who had practiced the art of shodô for more than 40 years came to speak to a group of beginners attempting to learn the fundamentals in a local class. She told them that they were going learn a little bit about the art by trying it. “But first,” she explained, “it is important that you understand that shodô is more than writing. It requires a very deep practice.”

Deep practice . . .

So to begin, she held up a brush and asked the group of students to do the same.

“This is called a 'fude',” she said. “You can’t hold it like you would hold a pencil or a pen for writing.” Demonstrating for them, she then held the brush in the center of the handle and turned it so that it was pointed down at a ninety-degree angle from the paper below. “This is how the brush is held,” she explained, “and this is how it will be used.” Placing a long, thin paperweight (a 'bunchin', she called it) at the top of the white page, she then gently placed her left hand on the lower corner of her paper and dipped the brush into the black ink, and held it in her right hand exactly perpendicular to her paper. “This is the form. When you brush, you must keep this form.”

The students were then each given a few sheets of old newspaper and she encouraged them to practice brushing a single vertical line. She asked the young group of students to pay attention to how the shape of the brush, the density of the ink, and the pressure from their fingers changed the line. “Do not rush,” she said. “You must go very slowly and very smoothly.”

Although she had just mentioned the importance of form, more than half of the group gradually slid their fingers down the handle and began to tip the brush into a deep angle as if for writing with a pen. She didn’t say a word, but the look in her eyes was very clear!

These were the students who could not copy.
They looked, but then (consciously or unconsciously) deferred to what was their habit.

Then she showed them how to brush a single horizontal line – ichi – and asked them to do the same. “Please do this,” she said. “And please try brushing only one stroke for each page this time.” While some of the students started out this way, more than a few began to fill the page with doodles, or go back to working on the vertical stroke, or even tried to jump ahead to draw a kanji (Japanese/Chinese character) we had just learned in school, like the one for “Tiger” or “Nihon.”

As she walked around the room, her look was subtle - but there it was again…these were the students who would not practice.

Eventually, an aide brought the students each a few sheets of very delicate white paper to practice the kanji “川” for river/flow and while these sheets were being distributed, she said to them; “It is important that you brush each stroke of this idea in a very specific order. You need to brush these three lines from left to right. Brush one…then, two…then, three.”

By now, being much more comfortable with the tools, almost all of the students were using only the base of the brush to paint and many had pushed aside the paperweight so that it wouldn't be in their way. Some even whispered to each other that they didn’t see the point. “After all,” one said out loud, “you can draw the lines out of order and they still look the same.”

At this, she smiled and the other students could hear her tell him that she admired his creativity. 
These were the students who had discarded the form for their own ideas.

As the lesson went on, it was interesting to see that some abandoned the project because they ran out of paper and a few even decided that their work was no good because the flimsy school brushes were not as nicely made as the “real” ones. There were those who managed to get ink all over their hands, and then there was one or two who avoided brushing on the white paper altogether for fear of messing up. Some brushed so quickly that the characters ended up being unrecognizable, and some were so tense that each stroke had a worried-looking edge and the ink soaked through to the tablecloth from the pressure of their fingers. There were even a few who managed to watch and to copy as best they could, but when they finished they attempted to re-dip the brush and correct the angle of a completed stroke.

“You’ve made a mistake,” the Sensei said. "But you cannot stop and start over in the middle. The beginning has left already. You can’t re-brush the same line.”

Out of the sixty or so students who began the class, there were maybe three that caught a mild look of interest from the Sensei’s critical eye.

And at the end of the lesson, as the group of beginners began to put their brushes away, it was only to one that she leaned over and asked, “maybe you would like to begin to practice shodô?”

⊙ ÔTAGAKI RENGETSUNI (太田垣 蓮月), 1870

SEEING AND FEELING

 by Phillip Starr

All too often, I see practitioners of various forms of karate, kung-fu, and taekwondo execute their forms “by the numbers”, void of any real “feeling” of an opponent(s). Thus, the form has no “spirit”, no life. They might as well do jumping jacks...

Of course, you first have to memorize the individual movements of a given form. That takes time and you mustn't try to hurry it. But once your body remembers the form so that you no longer have to think about what comes next, it's time to breathe life into it. It's time to “create” it.

When you stand at the position of readiness, you must calm yourself; calm your spirit as you visualize enemies approaching or surrounding you. Strive to feel the tension, such as that which you get in your gut when a life or death struggle is about to ensue (most of you have never felt what this is like, so imagine it). Imagine actually SEEING them. Don't turn your head back and forth to look at them; keep your eyes straight ahead and see them with your peripheral vision.

Which one will attack first? How will he attack? Keep your One-Point and don't let these thoughts overtake your mind. When the first attack is launched, you'll have just a fraction of a second to respond. Keep your mind calm, like the surface of unbroken water that accurately reflects everything placed before it. This is what the Japanese call “mizu no kokoro”; a mind like water; anxiety, fear...emotions cause ripples on the surface of the water (this includes even joy) so that the reflection(s) become distorted and you can't see clearly. Your fate is sealed if this happens...

Imagine that you can also HEAR and perhaps even SMELL your foes (maybe they're low-lifes who haven't bathed in a while...). This is, strange as it may seem, an important feature. Bear in mind that your “mind” (in this case, your subconscious) can only experience reality through the body's five senses. And it can't tell the difference between what is real and what isn't...if you utilize only one sense, that's barely enough – but if you use as many senses as possible, your mind will (after enough repetitions of this form) believe that the experience is REAL. Thus, your body will be made to move as if this whole thing is actually happening!

The slightest error; the tiniest hesitation...such things will result in your immediate demise. There's no room for error. But if you do stumble...you don't pay the price that actual combat would have demanded. You get to try it again!

When the form is finished and you return to the position of readiness, you mustn't lower your guard. Keep your senses alert. Don't look around, just be aware of movement(s) with your peripheral vision. There may be other foes waiting in the shadows, ready to jump in and finish you off if you're distracted...and maybe one of the brutes that you struck down isn't out of the fight; maybe he's “playing possum”, only pretending to be down and out until you're momentarily distracted. You must stay sharp!

And be aware of another feature - one of which I wasn't really aware until my iaido teacher mentioned it – you have, after all, just taken several lives! How do you feel? Certainly, you wouldn't be proud or happy... You have survived a terrible fight and lives were lost. You're sweating, perhaps covered in blood. Remorseful? How do you feel?

Only when you are certain that all of your assailants are no longer among the living and there are no others preparing to jump you should you finally let down your guard (to “Condition Yellow”) and finish the set with a bow.

Believe me, this is an entirely different experience from just “walking through” the form and caring only that you remember it and look good. The form that you just executed no longer exists. But you can (and will) create another.

THE 3 GEMS OF COMBAT; PART TWO TIMING

 by Phillip Starr

Timing is the second of the “Three Jewels” of combat (Distance, Timing, and Rhythm). I define timing as the moment during a given movement when the technique is executed. That is,

• Does your technique occur AFTER the movement is completed?

• Does your technique occur AT THE SAME INSTANT that the movement is complete?

• Does your technique occur BEFORE the movement is completed?

There is no right or wrong answer... The first form of timing is for beginners who are still learning to move and punch. First, they must step properly into a solid stance, then they must ensure that they execute their technique correctly.

Once the above timing is learned, we learn to step and strike simultaneously. And that's where most martial arts practitioners stop their timing development. This is, after all, essentially what is done in all the forms (kata), right? Yes...but there's more and it's often IMPLIED in certain forms.

Firing off a full-throttle technique before the step is completed is an advanced method.

Like Distance, we divide Timing into 3 categories. First Timing (aka. “body timing”) is YOUR timing; that is, at what point during your movement do you execute your technique?

Second Timing is the OPPONENT'S timing; at what point during his movement does he execute his technique? This requires training with a partner before it can be determined.

The third timing is called Interval and it is said that whoever controls the intervals usually wins the fight. If we liken 1^st Distance to a melody played on a musical instrument, and 2^nd Distance to a melody played on another instrument, Interval is what happens when they both play at the same time...a third, different melody (which is a blend of the first two) is created.

The above analogy is probably difficult for you to imagine (that is, how does this apply to fighting?). So let me use another example...a professional boxing match. Watch such a bout when you get the chance. But don't bother with watching the punches; notice how one of the fighters seems to “take control” of (the timing of) the contest. I assure you, one of them will. And he'll likely be the victor. He seems to gradually get this opponent to move just how and where he wants him and he takes full advantage of this.

Some of the best fighters have learned to do this to some degree. The renowned full-contact fighter, Bill “Superfoot” Wallace, is one such fighter. I first met Bill back in the 70's on the point-fighting circuit. In a few years, he learned how to “read” his opponent and take control of the interval within only a few seconds! And THAT is what made him so effective. Yes, he had/has extremely fast kicks...but if his distance or timing was off, he wouldn't hit anything! He learned to control the interval and “place” his opponent right where he wanted him and even how to “manipulate” him into firing off a technique(s) or make a particular movement so that Bill could take advantage of it.

This concept is known as “seme” in Japanese, which means (roughly) “attack.” It is most often heard in the practice of kendo. Seme doesn't necessarily refer to an actual physical attack; it can also imply an attack against the opponent's spirit or qi (“ki” in Japanese). Few people ever master this peculiar skill...

Years ago, one of my former students took up kendo and iaido. At one national event, she was approached by an elderly Japanese teacher who had taken a liking to her. A hachidan (8^th dan, the highest rank in kendo), he asked if they might “keiko” (practice sparring. Of course, she enthusiastically agreed. Opportunities like this are exceedingly rare! When they squared off wit their shinai (split bamboo swords) the older man stood stock still in the position of chudan kamae (middle level fighting posture). Now normally, my former student is a very aggressive fighter. Very. Aggressive. And fearless (but not stupid). As she faced her opponent, she felt as if there was almost a “force field” between them. She WANTED to attack but her body simply wouldn't comply. The older gentleman had “taken the center” and she was completely at his mercy.

Sensei Akira Hino (a martial arts genius who I met in Japan in 2016 and who I regard as a mentor), mentions this in a story... in the late 180's in Japan, one of the best swordsmen was Shirai Toru. As a boy, he was extraordinarily strong and at the age of eight, he took up the study of Kijin-ryu Kempo. At fifteen, he began training in Nakanishi Itto-ryu (a school of swordsmanship). He practiced every day and even at night, swinging a heavy wooden sword and shreiking as he delivered blow after blow. As a young adult, he went on a journey to further develop his skills. When he returned to Edo (now Tokyo), he called on the senior of his school, Terada Muneari sensei. Shirai was then 28 years of age and Terada was 63.

Shirai wondered if martial arts was only for the young or if he had been training properly. Most swordsmen, he noted, begin to decline after the age of 40 or so. Was he a fool who had wasted so much time? He determined to find out. When he met Terada, he reasoned that he couldn't possibly be as good as he once was and he asked if his senior would teach him. Terada calmly agreed and they took up fighting poses...Shirai was excited about the prospect of defeating this man, who he admired. He described what happened next...

“I wanted to hit his upper torso with my best technique but I could not move; Terada sensei was calmly waiting, holding up his sword in stillness. It felt as if his sword was enclosing my whole body. His spirit was go great that my body shrank and sweat kept running down. I felt as if I was in a dream, not knowing what to do with my arms or legs.” Shirai threw down his bokken (wooden sword), kneeled, and put his forehead to the ground. He asked if Terada would accept him as a pupil...”

With lots of practice, you'll come to understand that Distance and Time (timing) are ACTUALLY THE SAME THING. Like space-time. But don't concern yourself with that now. Just practice. A lot.

LOOKING INTO THE FACE OF TRUE MASTERY

 by Phillip Starr

I consider myself very fortunate to have met and in some cases, trained with, some of the finest martial arts masters in the world. Many people nowadays like to refer to themselves as “Master”, “Hanshi”, or even “Grandmaster”, and it seems that many martial artists are elevated to such status (by themselves or others) simply because they have been involved in the martial arts for a long time. So let me tell you what authentic mastery looks like...

Hidetaka Nishiyama was, in my opinion, probably the finest karate master of the last century. I first met him when he visited by friend, Chris Smaby (now an 8^th dan with the JKA). On one day, he was demonstrating a timing drill; Chris was to punch at him with a strong reverse punch and Nishiyama sensei would lightly slap his wrist and then deliver his own reverse punch. They did this several times and Nishiyama's slaps were sharp but not brutally forced. His punches just touched Chris's chest, making a light slapping sound and not jolting him at all.

Later, we retired to the dressing room to prepare for a much needed lunch break and Chris looked at his wrist. The blood vessels just under the skin had virtually exploded due to his teacher's light slaps. When he removed his jacket, the truth was evident...every place that Nishiyama sensei had touched him with his fist, the blood vessels had burst! Chris raised his eyebrows and said, “My God! Another inch of penetration and my lungs would have burst!” Nishiyama's punches were sharp but he exerted no brute force; in fact, he seemed not to exert any real force at all! I'd never seen that kind of thing before and I've never seen it since.

Arthur Lee was, I believe, the world's highest authority on Fut-Ga, a southern form of shaolinquan. His teacher was the legendary Lum Dai Yong. Arthur wasn't a big, hulking man; he was of very slight build and was always ready with a smile. His power was well-concealed. Many years ago when he was visiting students and friends in San Francisco, he was asked by Tiger Claw Martial Arts Company to help test their newest focus pad. He reluctantly agreed. When he arrived at their headquarters, they provided him one of the pads and asked him to give it a good whack and see if he could damage it. Using his palm, he delivered a sharp slap (Fut-Ga specializes in a kind of “slapping power”) and the pad split in two! The CEO of Tiger Claw sighed...it was back to the drawing board for a pad that such men couldn't destroy...

When I was in Japan in November of 2016, I was able to meet the legendary swordmaster, Kuroda Tetsuzan. He had practiced a family style of martial arts (which is not limited to using only a sword) all his life and had been teaching for a very long time. I found him to be very amiable and of course, exceedingly polite as he invited me and my student, Hiro Misawa to observe his class. At one point, he was demonstrating the “disappearing body” technique, so I paid attention. His student stood before him with his sword raised overhead in the familiar jodan-no-kamae while Kuroda sensei was poised in the waki-kamae with his bokken held low to the rear. The student was instructed to strike if he even thought that his teacher was about to move...

And...Kuroda vanished. In the blink of an eye (literally) he was standing beside his student, having figuratively gutted him! The student hadn't seen the movement,either; his sword was still raised overhead. I turned to my student, “WTF just happened? It looked like something you'd see on a film, as if 3-4 frames had been cut out! One second he was there and then he just disappeared! He set up to demonstrate it again...

I focused my eyes. Although I'm diabetic and my eyesight isn't what it used to be, it's still VERY good. So I focused in on Kuroda sensei...and he did it AGAIN! I shook my head, “HOW in God's name does he DO that?” Hiro hadn't seen it, either. We leaned forward to focus even closer as the master prepared to repeat the lesson. He did it 4 more times and it was only on the last one that I could detect a VERY TINY weight shift before he evaporated...

My primary kung-fu teacher, Master Y.C. Chen (I mistakenly thought the first character of his given name was pronounced with a “w” sound...but it means “cloud”, which, in pinyin, is spelled with a “y.”) could do much the same thing. Instructing me to strike at him as I wished, we would square off. I watched him closely because, even though he was in his 50's at the time, he was extremely fast and slippery. I was still in my teens, very fit and very, very fast. I quickly drove forward with my best pengquan (the reverse punch used in xingyiquan)...and he was gone! Then I felt a light tap on my shoulder. Looking over, I saw my teacher standing beside me...chuckling.

Hino Akira is a martial arts genius. I met him in Japan in 2016 as I had Kuroda sensei. Hino sensei is quite small, barely making it to my shoulders and weighing in at something like 120 lbs. after a hefty meal. He is very friendly; constantly smiling and laughing. He has demonstrated his remarkable skills around the world. In one such performance, he has as many as six men stand front to back in a single file line with the front man holding a thick kicking pad against his chest. Beginning with his fist but a short distance away, Hino delivers an effortless but sharp thrust into the pad, sending the last man in the line almost flying backward several yards! One television crew thought the whole thing was fake, so they asked if they could experience it firsthand. Hino sensei smilingly agreed and again, the last man was sent back several yards, crashing into the wall of the studio. They became believers very quickly. To this day, I remain in contact with this remarkable man.

Enoeda Keinosuke was known as the “Tiger of Shotokan”, and rightly so. It was aid that if you wanted to learn about body connections and biomechanics, you should go to Nishiyama. To see really masterful kata, see Kanazawa. But if you wanted to look death in the face, go to Enoeda. One one occasion, he was standing in front of a young man, trying to explain the real meaning and value of timing. The student wasn't getting it. Exasperrated, Enoeda fired a classical mawashi-geri (roundhouse kick)...the original version travels in a slightly downward arc...and stopped it just in front of the fellow's nose. The student hadn't noticed a weight shift or any indication that the technique was imminent...and remember, they were facing each other at a normal conversation distance. Enoeda held his foot before the young man's face. “Timing”, he said, “It's all timing.”

Master Oyata Seiyu hailed from Okinawa and had been training in karate and kobudo since his youth. A bonafide 10^th dan, his skill in striking vital points and applying “tui-te” (joint twisting) techniques was truly remarkable. He had also mastered the use of the staff. Once, when he visited me at my school in Cedar Rapids, IA., he wanted to demonstrate its use. He offered to receive any attack from any student of mine who wished to try his prowess with a weapon of his choosing.

I had a very impressive weapons rack and one of my senior students, Jim, volunteered. Picking up a broadsword, he approached Oyata sensei who told him to attack in whatever manner he wished. Jim swung the blade at the older man and suddenly, the broadsword was on the other side of the room and the tip of Oyata's staff was positioned just an inch from Jim's throat.

Not to be outdone, Jim ran over to the rack and selected a three-section staff. He whirle it quickly as he delivered his attack, but Oyata repeated the same maneuver. Jim sheepishly looked down at the tip of the staff and smiled. He was certainly no match for Oyata sensei.

One of my teacher's classmates was the renowned Wang Shujin, who went to Japan in the 1950's (which was quite an undertaking, considering that WWII had ended just a few years before that and feelings were still pretty raw). Wang taught xingyiquan, baguazhang, and a lot of taijiquan. He was rather large (especially by the Chinese and Japanese standards of the day); over six feet tall and weighing in at about 400 lbs.! There are many, many stories about him. One such story really stunned me. When I visited the Meiji Shrine in Tokyo inn 2016 with my student and dear friend, Hiro Misawa, I was awed by the enormity of the posts of the huge Tori gate. Hiro told me that Wang had tested the power of his palm (strike) against one of the pillars...and made it sway! Incredible, to say the least!

I have a great many stories of things I've seen and other genuine masters I've met I the past 60 years. There's not enough room here to tell many more of them but these few should serve as fine examples of what it's like to look authentic mastery in the face...

JUKOZO

 by Phillip Starr

*Excerpted from the book, “REFINING JIN” by the author.

Japan is a beautiful island nation that is plagued with frequent earthquakes, some almost imperceptible, and some that are terribly destructive. Yet, many (if not most) of their ancient temples have withstood this terrible force of nature and remain standing after more than a thousand years. Why is this? What is their secret and what does it have to do with the practice of martial arts?

The world-renowned sensei, Akira Hino, has spoken appreciably on this subject. He emphasizes “jukozo” (flexible structure) as being the primary underlying reason for this phenomenon. The terribly destructive force of earthquakes has led to the developments of new forms of architecture in areas frequented by this force of nature. Even newer cars feature vibration-resistant construction to alleviate the shock of a collision. However, this type of special construction existed in Japan long ago and is truly representative of Japanese culture and mindset.

The ancient architects determined that rather than constructing buildings that would attempt to resist nature's power, they would design buildings that would be able to adapt to nature. The joints in the buildings were not permanently fixed; pillars and columns were/are constructed by the complex art of wood joining. This allowed for some play in the joints, which could absorb the shock of an earthquake. Coexistence with nature was preferred over (the Western notion of) trying to control nature or fight against it directly. This was the development of jukozo (the “ju” of jukozo is the same “ju” used in “judo.”). How these ancient builders knew exactly how much play would exist in their structures is unknown; wood takes about 200 years to settle...

The human body exists because of this same principle. Living on this planet means that we must endure the force of gravity all the time. Were it not for the cartilaginous tissues that act as cushions between our joints, we would not be able to move and survive for long. The principle of jukozo is of the important elements that supports life on earth. And it (should be) properly applied to our practice of martial arts.

When we receive an attack it is better to absorb or re-direct its force rather than oppose it. Consider the act of catching and then immediately throwing a baseball. When the ball is caught, the body (joints) are not tensed so as to oppose its force. Rather, we learn the absorb its force by allowing the jukozo of our bodies to receive and absorb its energy. Then we can learn to “return” its energy as we immediately (and without stopping our movement) throw the ball back. A baseball coach often reminds his players to “relax” when they do this, which is essential in maintaining one smooth movement from start (catching the ball) to finish (throwing the ball). However, what he really means is that the players must maintain “song” (a Chinese word that I translate roughly as, “using no more muscular force than is absolutely required”). The players must learn to utilize the principle of jukozo in their actions.

And so it is in martial arts. Imagine stiffening up when catching the ball and then tightening the muscles when returning it! Yet, this is (figuratively) what many martial artists do when they receive an attack.

Receiving an attack is called “uke” in Japanese and “shou” in Chinese. To properly receive an attack, the amount of jukozo must be just so, not too much nor too little. Too much play is as bad as no play at all but many internal kung-fu stylists (particularly taijiquan practitioners) do it much of the time. They completely “give in” to the force of an attack, causing them to become similar to lifeless, air-filled bags and when the incoming force disperses most of the air, they collapse. Jukozo means to be flexible, not empty. It is essential to learn to use our God-given flexible structures to our best advantage. That's going to take some considerable practice.