IS MORE BETTER?

 By Phillip Starr

“More is better.” Although I'm tempted to say that this kind of thinking is exclusive to the West, I've seen it in the East, too. But seeing it applied to martial arts practice IS rare in the East, while it is all too common in the West. For instance, one of my students built a striking post to use at home during his daily practice. I had given him the proper dimensions but when he invited me to his house to see the finished product, I was a bit taken aback. He was using a 4x4” post! He'd simply wrapped rope around it, without using a pad of any kind. I struck it a couple of times and told him, “Looks like you've got a first-class tree here.”

He smiled and said, “I know you told me it should be no thicker than 1 inch at the top and it should be padded under the rope, but I figured this would be stronger and do the job.”

“What...job?”, I asked.

“Toughening my hands”, he answered.

Wrong answer. Way wrong. And I let him know it, using some very colorful adjectives, which I won't repeat here. The striking post is NOT intended to toughen the hands! He said that he'd reasoned that a solid post would work better than one that flexed when struck. The striking post is SUPPOSED to flex, but he'd ignored that and just figured that a solid, unmoving post would work...the “more is better” mindset.

Another student insisted on practicing with a very heavy, iron sword to strengthen his grip, shoulder, and forearm. But although I'd recommended doing it for rather short periods of time, he tripled it, hoping to shorten the process...and ended up with seriously inflamed wrists such that he was unable to practice again for a couple of weeks. More isn't necessarily better at all.

IF YOU WANT TO TEACH

 by Phillip Starr

So, you want to teach your particular martial art? If you do and you want to be a good teacher, there's a few things that you must do; obligations of a teacher...

• First, you must know your art very thoroughly; and not just the HOW. You must also know the WHY. The well-worn excuse of, “That's just the way we do it”, doesn't cut it. WHY do you do it that way? If you don't know, you need to find out.

  

• You must be able to transmit your art effectively. That means learning how to communicate with different people in different ways; never “talking up” to them, or “talking down.” Use words and phrases that they can easily understand. Corrections should be made in a way that is not offensive.

  

• You must always ARRIVE EARLY for class. Showing up late indicates a lack of interest in teaching and makes you appear to be uncaring about the students. Get in early and warm up!

  

• Your uniform should be clean and should NEVER look like you've slept in it for a week! Show that you have respect for both yourself and your students.

  

• The training hall (or whatever area you use) should be very tidy and clean. Many instructors teach in places that are shared with other groups, so the area may be a bit less than well-maintained when they arrive EARLY for class. If it's needed, it's their responsibility to clean the area before class. Students can clean the area afterwards.

  

• You absolutely MUST train regularly outside of class...NEVER use class time as your own training time! Not ever! You must continue to strive to polish your own skills. If you don't do it, how can you expect your students to do it? I'm a firm believer in “leading from the front.” Don't ask your students to do anything that you won't (or don't) do.

  

• You should study things like human learning, effective communication, and so on. And never forget how confused and uncoordinated you were when you started. Extend courtesy, understanding, and kindness.

  

• Remain humble rather than haughty...and be willing to learn from your students. They can be your best teachers. A teacher who cannot or will not learn from his/her students is in the wrong business.

  

• Remember – teaching, being a sifu/sensei is a PRIVILEGE.

  

And above all, you must truly CARE about your students. A little compassion goes a long way.

I DON'T HAVE TIME

 by Yang Shuangxing

If I had a nickel for every time a student or prospective student told me that they didn't have time to practice, I'd be a very wealthy man! I'd ask, “You mean you don't have 30 minutes of free time every day?” And they'd sullenly shake their heads as they presented me with a whole list of “chores” that had to be done every day. It was really very silly.

Usually, I didn't argue with them; the actual translation of “I don't have time” is “I don't want it bad enough.” I'd often remind them of a common saying; “You'll never have time...you have to MAKE time.” Did they think that the practitioners and masters 300 years ago had it any easier? If anything, their lives were likely busier than what ours are today! The difference is that there were fewer distractions and they really WANTED to learn and perfect their skills. They were strong-willed and possessed strong spirits. And they were willing to make certain sacrifices to achieve their goals. Most people nowdays are much less inclined to do the same thing.

It's really a question of how high up on your list of priorities your training is. If it's near the top, you'll find a way to do it; you'll MAKE time. Otherwise, you'll just make excuses. And every excuse is a reason for failure.

If a wannabe truly doesn't have 30 minutes of free time every day, he should (A) quit, or (B) get a new life.

HOW MANY REPS?

 By Yang Shuangxing

I have a suggestion for those of you who really want to understand your forms and who have the gumption to undergo a rather tedious process of training. It is simply this: In addition to whatever else you do in your daily training, practice just one of your forms five to eight times a day. Every. Day. For 30 days. Don't skip a day. If you miss a day for any reason, start over from Day One. Want to give it a try?

I can hear some of your starting off with, “But...” If you said that word (“but”), don't bother with this exercise. You're not ready. Not committed to learning. Maybe try it later, sometime.

It's well to do this exercise with your most basic form the first time around. Most of those who object to this type of practice prefer to be “spoon-fed”; they want someone to show and tell them everything that their form contains. They don't want to put up with the tedium and sweat of digging for themselves. Theirs will be a shallow art.

If you do this training exercise with your system's first form, you'll probably be very surprised at how poorly you perform (at first). Many of us, once we've learned that form and passed the basic examination(s) that require it, just toss it to the wayside and ignore it for a very long time. It gets pretty rusty. But it shouldn't.

YOUR HANDS MUST HAVE EYES

 by Phillip Starr

Some time ago, I was teaching more senior students how to strike certain vital points. One of them was located on the upper arm and when hit correctly (using the second knuckle of one finger), the strength on that affected side of the body vanishes and the opponent is unable to continue the fight. Striking this point isn't particularly dangerous if practiced under supervision, however.

One student had quite a bit of difficulty striking the point...he kept missing. I told him what my teacher told me many, many years ago; “Your hands must have eyes.” Of course, I was confused when he first spoke those words. But over time, I came to realize their truth. It required a great deal of practice with live partners (no, nobody was ever injured during such practice sessions) until it seemed that my hands “knew” exactly where to go, as if they could actually “see” the points.

Numerous gong-fu styles, particularly southern forms such as white crane, dragon boxing, white eyebrow, and southern praying mantis, are designed for very close-quarters combat. Many of their strikes are very short-distance techniques, intended to strike certain vital points. Learning to issue any substantial power with such short-range blows requires a great deal of special training; even more is required if one hopes to have hands that “see” the vital points, and strike and hit the mark without the slightest hesitation.

This same skill can and should be developed with martial disciplines that utilize longer-range techniques.

COMMONALITIES

 by Phillip Starr

“The stroke is executed by cutting back and then down”, is the teaching given in an ancient scroll, “followed by a swift, slight rise to the right like the movement of striking with a whip.”

Another scroll, almost equally antique, contains poetic (as well as enigmatic) about the practitioner's state of mind, likening it to a “flower scattering, falling without a sound upon moss, a flower scattering to be heard through the depths of the mountains.”

Only those unaquainted with the paradoxes of art and the cultures of China, Japan, and Korea would be surprised to learn that the first commentary is concerned with the gentle skills of calligraphy and the second to the art of swordsmanship. At the core, the particulars of instruction, the matters of effectuation contained in these two old scrolls are secondary to learning either art. It's the underlying principles, in a broad range of different arts of the culture – fine, folk, performing, and martial – are fundamentally synonymous. And these principles are vital to the mastery of any and all of them.

The actor in the Japanese Noh drama or Beijing Opera strives to make his way across the stage without a gap in his concentration and without a single superfluous movement. There is a sense of self and place surrounding the actor that is perfectly understood by the warrior in the perilous arena in which he performs.

The musician playing the shakuhachi (Japanese flute) or the Chinese pipa plays from his or her body's center and perfects his/her breathing; the Japanese swordsman strikes from his center and perfects his breathing because the efficacy of his blow is assured by proper attention being given to his respiration. The goals differ but the attitude is the same.

But it's not only in some technical details that the varied endeavors of these arts converge. From flower arranging to tea ceremony to archery, the aesthetics, the spirituality, and the motivations of these seemingly disparate arts have a wonderful commonality. The unity of these artistic forces is exemplified in two disciplines, seemingly discreet but at the very heart of Japan and China; the Way of the sword and the Way of the brush.

THE CIRCULAR STAIRWAY

 by Phillip Starr

The students had completed the rigorous examination for sandan (3^rd grade black belt). The board of instructors had completed their assessments and the group stood at attention before their teacher. “You have all performed very well. You have passed the test.” The students all smiled, some looking at the others and winking. “You have taken a big step forward”, the teacher continued, “Now, I hope you will all take a step back.”

The group was understandebly confused. It's understandable that we tend to view all of our undertakings in a linear fashion. That is, we think that our work, our learning, our relationships...everything that we try to accomplish in life, will progress in a series of straight steps that move us forward and upward as we continue. We begin school in the first grade and then move on to the second. Military personnel “go up through the ranks”, businessmen “climb the corporate ladder” and we all take things “step by step.” And we take it for granted that the progression follows a straight path. The second-grader doesn't expect to have to repeat the simple printing of the letters of the alphabet; the newly-promoted Colonel would be chagrined if he was told he had to practice close-order drill again with some new recruits, and the new corporate VP would be considerably less than thrilled to find himself having to learn simple secretarial chores. So, you can understand the newly-promoted sandans wondering why they had to go back and practice things that they'd learned in the earliest stage of training.

“Jiben” (in Japanese, “kihon”) are the fundamentals of all the martial Ways; the foundation upon which all other skills are based. But most martial arts enthusiasts see them as simple stepping stones, I think. The karate or taekwondo enthusiast must first learn the basics of a solid stance so that he can learn to execute well-balanced kicks...and then leaping kicks, and then against multiple assailants. He sees the basics as the first step in the process. But if he thinks that once a basic thing is learned, he can go on and never give it a second thought...he is sorely mistaken.

The martial Ways are an exception to the linear, step-by-step, vertical staircase concept of progress. Rather, they are like a circular, spiral staircase. But although you're moving in a circular, winding manner, you still moving UPWARD. When the advanced kendo practitioner comes to class and discovers that the evening's lesson will be on the basic overhead strike, he needn't be disappointed in having to do THAT again...not if he's smart. It's not like going back to the beginner's class where he was first introduced to this technique. Although he is repeating the same technique he learned as a newbie, he understands that he's progressed several flights up the staircase and he will be discovering new insights about this basic technique that are way over the head of a new recruit.

And he will continue to learn new angles (little “tweaks”) for as long as he continues training. He'll make new discoveries...”Hey, I never noticed THAT before! So that's how this strike should be done!” He's made another revolution around the spiral staircase. He's undergone a change. The strike hasn't necessarily changed, but his understanding and mastery of it have progressed. So, always be ready to take a step back. It's the only way to get ahead in the martial Ways.