THE TEA HOUSE

 by Phillip Starr

The old Japanese tea hut (chaseki, but also known by other names) is rather small; often just a single room used for tea ceremony (chado). Sparsely decorated, it often features an alcove in one corner where a scroll and flower(s) are displayed. And that's it. No gawdy pictures or posters, no fancy furniture (one sits on the matted floor), and usually, no windows. The focus is on the ceremony itself (which maintains very precise movements not unlike kata) rather than on gulping down tea.

Sen no Rikyū, also known simply as Rikyū, is considered the historical figure with the most profound influence on chanoyu (known also as chado), the Japanese "Way of Tea". He was also the first to emphasize several key aspects of the ceremony, including rustic simplicity, directness of approach and honesty of self. It was Rikyu who determined that the entrance to the hut should be small so that persons wanting to partake of the ceremony would have to enter on their knees.

The entrance is quite small; so small, in fact, that it's not possible to simply walk inside. You must get on your knees to crawl through the doorway. This applied to anyone wishing to enter the hut, even the shogun himself. There were no exceptions. Why was the doorway made in this way? It was done so that all who entered would have to humble themselves first.

I can scarcely imagine some of today's swaggering “masters” (many of whom have the title plastered all over the back of their training uniforms) humbly entering such a place. Too bad we don't have something of this sort for competitors at tournaments nowadays...

SOME DETECTIVE WORK...

 by Phillip Starr

In my book, HIDDEN HANDS, I strongly recommend doing some investigative “detective work” on your forms, particularly in so far as the history of the founder (of a given style or form) is concerned. Piecing together what may seem like fairly insignificant details can eventually provide you with profound insights into the form and/or how it is to be done. This kind of investigation isn't at all easy; you're working what, in law enforcement terms, is a “cold case”...the person into whose character and background you're looking likely shuffled off this mortal coil quite some time ago. But even so, it is possible to gather some considerable information...if you're up for it.

Where and When?

1. Exactly where was the founder from? What is the economic climate like in that place? Blue collar, white collar...this can provide information on the kinds of adversaries he would have had to be concerned about. What was the political climate there at that time? Was there open warfare going on? A lot of banditry and other such crime? If so, the sets might contain tactics/techniques to be used against an armed assailant. If it was a peaceful area, there would probably be less concern about facing an armed opponent.

   

2. What are living conditions like in that area at that time? What was the terrain like? Rocky ground, hills, or smooth prairies, crowded cities...? Lots of rain (thus, mud)? These factors would impact footwork considerably.

   

3. The founder- what was he like, physically? Tall, short, fat, thin, very strong, average strength...? What were his hobbies (this can help you understand what kind of person he was and even how he thought, to some degree)? Married? If he was single, why?

   

4. What was his vocation? For instance, a professional soldier would wear shoes that had very thick bottoms and would affect kicking movements. He may have needed a lot hand/wrist strength for his job, maybe his job was of a higher level and he used his mind a lot...it would also give an indication of how he dressed. Someone who typically wore a long gown or robe would likely be able to move with greater freedom than someone who wore a lightweight shirt or no shirt at all.

   
   
   

5. Did he learn martial arts from someone else? Who? What was his background?

6. What was the founder's level of education? Let's face it; until fairly recently, most Chinese were only semi-literate and many were illiterate altogether. In Japan, things were better...in 1868, at the end of the Tokugawa shogunate, fully 40% of the people were literate (which compares favorably to many Western nations at that time).

   

And much as we may hate the admit it, some of our forefathers may or may not have been particularly bright or creative. This would impact their understanding, creation, and practice of the various forms and the information contained therein. Some of us would regard this statement as bordering on heresy, but it's a fact.

Doing a bit of detective work can yield a good deal of information about the system that you practice and help you better understand why certain things are done as they are. It's worth it, believe me.

THE PREPARATORY STANCE

 by Phillip Starr

A young gong-fu practitioner I know was telling me about his six-month stay in China where he'd spent time training in his particular style under an old and quite traditional teacher. His stateside instructor had written to the older instructor to let him know of his student's desire to learn from him and the older man smiled and asked the young man to participate in the class, which was already in session. Still a bit shaky from jet lag, the younger student endeavored to perform the same set as the other students in the park. Standing straight, he began and before he'd completed the first movement, the older instructor said, “No. Begin again.”

The young man was a little confused but he did as he was told. This time, he was told start over before he'd even executed the first move. “How is it wrong?”, he asked. “I didn't even begin.” He'd made a common error, although a very slight one. He'd started off with his feet placed firmly together, side by side. His teacher in the U.S. had always told his student to begin with “feet together” and this was how they all stood. It's a trivial thing, to be sure, but it was significant to the older teacher. He wanted the inner edges of the heels joined rather than the whole side of the foot. With just the inner sides of the heels touching, the feet were pointed outwards at about 45 degrees; with the sides of the feet together, the feet pointed straight ahead.

Although not as significant as an error in a particular punch or kick, the “feet together” position was regarded as an error because it is somewhat less stable than the “heels together” stance. As it was explained to me many years ago, this posture is intended to foster a sense of self-awareness as well as acting as a sort of on-guard position. In the systems that I learned, the set(s) are begun from this position. Then the feet are often brought together (side by side) and the knees may be bent slightly as the fists or open hands are drawn to the sides of the waist just prior to the execution of the first actual posture.

Every single movement is performed just so for a reason(s). Most sets were not just tossed together haphazardly and our martial arts forefathers were very pragmatic. Very. Pragmatic. I like to think of the many tiny details (such as this one) of the Way as being ends of threads that all all wound up into a large ball. Pull on the thread, and part of the ball unravels. In this way, various facets of the Way are often revealed.

PATIENCE

 by Phillip Starr

The student approached his teacher to ask what was a very important question. A friend of his who was an instructor at another karate school has just been promoted and the inquiring student felt the need to keep up with him and although he had been promoted to a rather high grade less than two years prior to his, he felt that he was ready to move forward again. “Sensei”, he began, “What do I need to learn to make it to the next grade?”

His teacher, seated at the small desk in his office, glanced up and said calmly, “Patience.”

In our fast-paced, modernized world, patience is more of a virtue than it's ever been; it's often in rather short supply. This is true not only in having patience with others, but in being patient with ourselves, as well. When we're training and polishing our meager skills or trying to develop new ones, progress doesn't happen in a flash. It moves very, very slowly – so slowly that it's often impossible to perceive it. But you can be assured that it's happening; your mind/body digests very gradually.

Trying to hurry the process will only forestall it and may well result in injury. Remember the old adage, “The hurrieder I go, the behinder I get”...? It's very apt here. The more we hurry, the more slowly we advance.

Yagyu Matajiro was born into the Yagyu family after his family was already firmly established themselves as highly skilled swordsmen. Although encouraged to learn the art, he was a lazy pupil...so much so that his father banished him from the dojo. His pride crushed by such harsh punishment, he set out to master the sword and prove his father wrong. He traveled far and wide to find a worthy master and wandered into the Province of Kii, which is a beautiful mountainous area, festooned with waterfalls and thick forests.

On his travels, he'd heard of a legendary swordman, now retired and known as Banzo, who lived here. He found the ramshackle hut where the eccentric old man lived and announced himself to what appeared to be an empty room. “I am here to learn swordsmanship”, he began. Then he added, “How long will it take?”

“Ten years”, came the reply.

Matajiro frowned. “That's too long! What if I train very hard in class and practice everday?”

“Twenty years”, Banzo said loudly from the kitchen.

Well put. Being in a hurry only retards progress. I think a lot of it has to do with maturity. Oftentimes, younger students try to hurry. Those who are older and more mature have learned better. Developing real skill takes time and there's simply no way to hurry the process. Some younger students become frustrated and give up and decide to follow other ways or teachers that promise a high level of skill in a much shorter time. Of course, they never achieve genuine skill...

As Westerners (especially Americans), we're used to many things being “quick and easy.” In fact, we tend to prefer them that way. We have “fast food” (which really isn't food), “instant tea” (which my teacher loathed), and so on. And that's what we expect of martial arts. And although there are many who promise to deliver “quick and easy” skill, there's really no such animal.

NO WAY?

 By Phillip Starr

There's a considerable difference between what the Japanese refer to as forms of “jutsu” -like jujutsu, kenjutsu, aikijutsu, and even karate-jutsu – and the forms referred to as “do” - judo, kendo, aikido, karate-do, and so on – that evolved from them. Most of you probably know this already. The character for “jutsu” (術, or 术 in simplified Chinese) is pronounced “shu” in Chinese and refers to an art of some kind. In the Japanese martial arts, the “jutsu” arts were/are focused on protection of oneself, one's family, and one's clan. They have just one function...combat. Period. That is the beginning and end of the “jutsu” forms.

The character for “do” (pronounced “doe”) is written 道 in both Japanese and Chinese and is pronounced “dao” in Chinese. It refers to a road or path and is often translated as “Way.” The well-known martial “do” forms, such as judo, kendo, aikido, and karate-do, as well as their cousin “do” forms, such as chado (the art of making and serving tea; the tea ceremony), kado (the art of flower arranging), shodo (the art of writing calligraphy with a brush), and so on, seek to go beyond technique; they aim at developing the character and “spirit” of the practitioner. In this regard, the “do” forms refer to a way of living. They cannot be regarded as hobbies and practiced just every now and then. They are a way of life.

Distractions are many and varied, coming in many different shapes and flavors. These can easily obstruct the devotee from seeing inside himself; the mirror into which he/she peers will be warped and muddied. This is, I believe, why younger people have such a difficult time when trying to follow a “do”; too many distractions that stir the hormones and thus, the emotions. Besides that, a “do” requires that we study the history of our art and how its native culture has impacted it. This means that we must learn something of the culture itself and to do that, we have to remove our “Western-tinted” glasses and see with an open mind. For many people, this is just too much to ask.

It should be noted that “jutsu” and “do” forms, per se, do not exist within the Chinese martial arts. Although many of their followers make the practice of these arts a lifestyle of sorts, what they focus on is the “jutsu” aspect(s); that is, technique. And that's the be-all, end-all of their practice. For instance, the original term for “martial arts” in Chinese is “wushu.” Of course, that term is currently used to refer to an art form that combines martial arts movement with gymnastics and some aspects of Chinese opera. This is true even in China today. Wushu is known as a performing art only; it has no actual combat effectiveness. When they refer to a traditional martial art, they use the term “gong-fu”, which literally refers to a high skill that is realized only through a lot of practice over time.

Trying to explain the meaning of a “do” discipline to the Chinese is very trying. They're a very pragmatic people and see no practical, concrete reason(s) for practicing a “do” form. If it doesn't make them extra money or otherwise provide them with something material, why do it?

Part of my life's mission is to bring this aspect of training to the Chinese martial arts. I've been accused of trying to “Japan-ize” these arts, but that simply isn't true. I believe that one of the reasons the Chinese martial arts are in a rapid decline is because they have always been, and continue to be focused on the “jutsu” side. Although personal self-defense has become a very real necessity in our modernized world, this is the 21^st Century; we've got guns. Why spend countless hours pouring sweat, enduring aching muscles and split lips and all the rest of it just for the sake of self-defense? Isn't a firearm much more effective? Why follow ages-old disciplines that require so much dedication and training? They're outdated aren't they?

Well, in so far as the “jutsu” side is concerned, yes (although they're very handy at times when you don't have your gun with you) but that's not why we follow a “do.” For some (perhaps many), learning the “jutsu” form is enough but for others; for those who wish to delve more deeply and travel further along the path, there is the “do.”

A NEW WIFE?

 By Phillip Starr

As the prospective student sat down in my office to inquire about enrolling in class, he said, “I have a herniated disc in my lower back. So is it okay if I don't participate in any of the 'rougher stuff'?” I told him that although I'd be happy to do what I could to ensure that he didn't irritate his condition, he'd have to participate fully. He didn't care for my response...

Another young man said that he didn't have enough money to pay for classes, but he'd happily compensate me by doing various cleaning chores and he asked if we had any kinds of “scholarships” available. I told him that, no, we didn't offer scholarships of any kind. I noticed a pack of cigarettes tucked into his shirt pocket and, being a smoker myself, I knew how much he spent on that habit. I suggested that he use that money to pay for classes instead of smoking. I never saw him again.

I was reminded of an old story about a falconer. Falconry involves the raising and training birds of prey – falcons, hawks, and even eagles – to hunt. It's a very old art that requires a great deal of study regarding the behaviors of these predatory birds, and it demands a lot of discpline and patience to tame them and accommodate their highly strung natures. Falconers typically spend several hours a day with their birds, which is why it was/is an art of aristocrats who can afford to do so. Anyway, the falconer met a fellow who said that he'd love to take up falconry but he was afraid that his wife wouldn't adapt well to having such a fierce-looking predator as a permanent resident of their backyard. What should he do? The falconer turned to him and said calmly, “Get a new wife.”

As Churchill said of our modern civilization, we wish to have so much while expending so little. Kind of like having your cake and eating it, too. Parents want to raise perfect children while simultaneously pursuing careers that prevent them from seeing their offspring for more than a few minutes each day. We have single people who seek to establish deep, lifelong relationships by placing some witty lines on an online dating site. And more pertinently, we have wannabe martial arts devotees who expect to reap the benefits of the martial ways without making any real sacrifice.

The fact is that raising good children requires commitment and many sacrifices. Building a meaningful relationship demands more than just a few cute lines in an ad, and developing real skill in the martial arts requires the same things. Those who think that they can really make any meaningful headway in the martial arts without commitment and sacrifice are just fooling themselves.

Although the falconer's advice was a bit harsh (and probably not serious, either), the point he was trying to make was that an involvement into such a demanding discipline requires some fairly uncommon dedication. The fellow who asked his advice would likely not have to give up his wife, but he'd have to be willing to make some significant changes in his life if he was really serious about taking up the art.

Contrary to popular opinions, not all of the avocations available to us are alike. Many martial arts promoters and teachers offer it up as an interesting pastime – a hobby much like bowling or playing bridge. They suggest that one can slip down to the training hall one or two nights a week and then leave it all there when leaving class – kind of like joining a health club. But the real martial ways and their goals are considerably different. We have nothing like these multifaceted disciplines in the West. They require a very vigorous, demanding physical effort, a dedication to very old and often foreign cultural values, and a willingness to submit to a method of teaching and transmission of knowledge with which we are largely unfamiliar. For instance, simply moving across the floor with a peculiar form of stepping and moving the hips just so requires considerable effort. No one with less than a decade of constant training can even hope to understand the basic concepts involved. And to make matters worse, qualified instructors are still as rare as they've ever been and training may involve some travel.

The aspiring martial artist must consider all of these things, which are quite different from the things he/she would have to consider before joining a gym, softball, or an aerobics class. Martial arts are not pastimes that are ordinary, and neither can be those who want to become involved in them. Those who, for whatever reason(s) are unable or unwilling to give them the time and attention that is required to make them a truly meaningful part of their lives would be better off steering clear of them altogether.

To the fellow who happily spent money on smoking but was unwilling to make an equal investment in gong-fu training, I honestly don't know what to say except that someone with that sense of priorities would likely find that the cost of following the martial way is just too expensive.

MORSELS

 by Phillip Starr

At different times when I was studying under my gong-fu instructor, he'd drop what I call “morsels” for me to chew on. Some seemed rather small and seemed insignificant; I'd discover their real value later on. What was important was whether or not I noticed them, picked them up, and consumed them. He was always watching to see what I'd do. Some of my classmates would ignore these crumbs of information and those who did found fewer and fewer tidbits were dropped for them. They expected full-blown “meals” of a sort but they never got them...

Of course, I asked why such small crumbs were presented at different times; wouldn't it be more efficient to give me the whole meal? My sifu shook his head and frowned a bit as he replied, “No. I give you small pieces only when you are ready for them.” He went on the explain as best he could in English that to give me a whole meal would be like setting a full Thanksgiving dinner before a toddler whose teeth had not all come in yet. The youngster simply isn't physically capable of partaking of the sumptuous feast and even if he could, he's too young to truly appreciate it. He'd stuff his mouth full of everything that would fit – kind of like a hungry squirrel – and he'd fail to savor the various flavors of the different dishes.

The size of the morsels had to be just right (so I could physically “chew” and digest them without too much trouble) and they had to be dropped at the right time (age, in martial arts terms). And in the right sequence.

And so it is with my own students. Occasionally, one will ask, “Why didn't you mention this earlier?” I tell them that they weren't yet ready to hear it or physically able to do it. Then there are a few who allege, “You CHANGED it!” I calmly tell them that nothing has been changed; they're just seeing another aspect of what they've already learned. Further outbursts will put a quick end to any new morsels...