THE FOUR LEVELS OF APPLICATION

 by Phillip Starr

Back in the day, China didn't have training halls such as those we enjoy in the West. They still don't; most training was and still is, conducted outdoors. And the teachers of those bygone years were very concerned about people hiding in the bushes and watching them teach and practice; they feared that the secrets of their style might be learned by others who might then find ways of defeating them. I'm quite sure that they didn't plan to “spoon-feed” their students; they wanted and expected them to train hard to learn the entire system. Those who were in a hurry or who just didn't want to bother with it weren't worth the trouble of teaching beyond a certain level, anyway.

And so it was that they began to “camouflage” certain techniques in the forms. The veils were several, which I refer to as “levels” of breaking down the information contained in various forms. I'll cover them briefly here:

The first level I call “Obvious” because what you see is exactly what you get. A punch is no more than a punch and a kick is just a kick. Not every technique or posture contains hidden breakdowns and too many people, in their enthusiasm for unveiling these things get carried away and start “seeing a wolf behind every tree.”

The second level I call “Concealed” and it involved hidden joint techniques and/or chokes as well as holding techniques. These can be rather difficult to uncover; an extensive knowledge and understanding of such techniques is necessary. If you're not familiar with a variety of such techniques, you're not likely to spot them.

The third level is the “Mysterious” level and involved hidden takedowns and throws that are concealed within the form(s). Like the previous level, finding them requires familiarity with such techniques.

The fourth level is the “Dark” level, wherein certain types of blows are applied to certain vital points. The points are mapped out in the form. But most forms do not contain this level of information; only a few do. You must learn to “decode” certain movements as you “read” your form.

To find levels 2 and 3 also require that you recognize certain “red flags”; that is, movements that don't seem to make sense in the form. For instance, in the first form of most karate styles as well as taekwondo -heian shodan (some call it ping-an shodan, and Okinawan styles refer to it as ping-an nidan) and known in taekwondo as chon-ji, there are several red flags right out of the gate:

1. You step to the left in a forward stance and do a left low block. RED FLAG!

2. You advance the right foot in a forward stance and execute a right lunge punch. RED FLAG!

3. You pivot on the left foot, moving to the right. The right foot steps around 180 degrees to a forward stance and do a right low block. RED FLAG!

That didn't take long, huh? Why are these movements red flags? Well...

Movement #1: We're usually told that we're blocking a low level attack coming from the left. WHY would you ADVANCE into an attack to block it? If it's a kick, it'll certainly reach you before you get halfway through your step!

Movement #2: We're often told that following the block, we advance to punch the bad guy. Nah. If you're close enough to block, you're much too close to execute a lunging thrust! WAY too close!

Movement #3: We're told that a second bad guy attacks from the rear, so we turn and block his low-level attack. Then I ask, WHY are you stepping the long way around? It'd be much faster and more efficient to cimple reverse your stance, wouldn't it?

Red flags such as these indicate that the movements are not as they seem. To be brief, the first movement isn't a block at all...it's a pre-emptive thrust. The 2nd and 3rd movements show a peculiar throw, not another block and punch.

Forms are replete with such red flags. You must learn to recognize one when you see one, and then work diligently to figure it out (this is why familiarity with various throws and joint manipulations is so necessary). It is also why each movement in a form is to be done exactly so and why, if you don't understand a particular movement, you mustn't just go ahead and change it.

ENJOYING THE MEAL

 by Phillip Starr

Most group activities (such as meetings of almost any kind) in China involve various foods. And the Chinese truly love their native cuisine. It's the same in Japan. Unlike many Western barbarians (I say that with a smile), they take time to truly savor each mouthful while they also appreciate the aroma and even the appearance of the food. So many of us slug down our food with such zest that we often miss many of the subtleties, which add so much to the meal.

It is often the same in our martial arts practice; we tend to gobble down the meal without taking time to experience every part of it. While visiting Japan with my senior student, Hiro Misawa ( a guide of inestimatable value), we stopped in at a local sushi restaurant just a few blocks from the room where I was staying. It was a traditional eatery and Hiro started us off with two bowls of miso soup. Before I tried it, he told me that the cook had used a very subtle fish stock to cook the dish and I tried a spoonful. Instead of simply gulping down the soup as is my wont, I took time to gently savor it. Yes, the hint of fish was there; it was veiled and delicate rather than overbearing... I very much enjoyed this special soup.

It has occurred to me that this should be done with our techniques and especially, our forms. If we simply go crashing through them with hurried enthusiasm (what my teacher called “youthful enthusiasm”), we miss out on so much that is shrouded and difficult to see or feel. Such seemingly nebulous details will, once experienced, add so much to the technique or form! That which we once regarded as rather bland suddenly becomes a magnificent feast!

Go back to your first form, your first technique and taste it again. Savor it carefully and look for subtle flavors.

DON'T JUST SIT IN YOUR STANCE!

 By Phillip Starr

The legendary Tadashi Yamashita (10^th dan, Kobayashi Shorin-ryu karate) once said that one of the great “secrets” of karate was in the correct training of stance, but very few people do it anymore. And he is 100% right.

First, we must determine just what is the purpose(s) of a given stance? Think about it for a second, I'll wait......

First and foremost, a stance is a stable platform from which we can deliver powerful blows (bearing in mind that the platform must be capable of withstanding the force of said blows). Secondly, some stances are stable positions from which we can move quickly and easily in a firm, contolled manner. And that's it. They do not exist for purposes of aesthetic appeal.

In so far as issuing power is concerned, we must consider the proper (leg) tension that is to be used and there are only two; inside tension and outside tension. Inside tension involves contracting the adductors (muscles of the inner thighs) to “lock” you into place. Styles such as Goju-ryu and Uechi-ryu karate as well as Chinese forms such as Wing Chun (should) utilize this principle a great deal; they are “in-fighting” styles and as such, they must be able to lock themselves into place when delivering close-quarters techniques.

Footwork is what happens in between stances, moving from one to another in various ways. It must be balanced and controlled. But footwork and stances are two separate subjects...

Additionally, stances such as the empty-leg stance (aka., cat stance), the sancai stance found in internal forms of gong-fu, the pigeon-toe stance, and hook stance use inward tension to stabilize the stance.

Outward tension involves tension in the legs in opposite directions. This is used for longer strikes and thrusts. For instance, in the forward stance (aka., zenkutsu-dachi, bow and arrow stance) the front leg presses forward while the rear leg thrusts down and back – opposite directions. This helps stabilize the position and even adds some impetus to the blow.

The only stances that don't use either inward or outward tension are those that involve standing on one leg only. To create inward or outward tension in a stance, it's necessary to have BOTH feet planted on the ground.

In any case, you must not simply “sit” in your stance, leaving it devoid of proper tension. I call this a “dead stance” because once you assume such a position, you can neither move as quickly nor strike as powerfully as you could from a properly “loaded” stance. And in a life and death struggle, that can mean the difference between life and death.

CHICKEN FEET

 by Phillip Starr

One of my senior students who had his own gong-fu club employed a rather unique method to help him determine the sincerity of a prospective student. He didn't advertise at all; so those who came to him for instruction had learned of his group by word of mouth. Of course, most of them were quite certain that they REALLY wanted to learn his art in depth and if they were insistent about it, he'd invite them to lunch.

When they arrived, he'd drive them to a very traditional Chinese restaurant (the area in which he lives has quite a number of such places; they serve authentic Chinese cuisine as opposed to the “made for Americans” version, which is what is usually found in most cities). Once seated, they'd peruse the dim sum delicacies being pushed around on small carts and offered to customers. He'd select (for both of them) something like chicken's feet or other unusual dishes and watch the prospective student's reaction.

If the visitor balked and wouldn't even try the “delicacy” placed before him, he would suggest that the potential student go elsewhere for instruction; clearly, he would shirk trying something that didn't meet his expected “tastes.” He felt that such a person, who was unwilling to try something new in the restaurant, would very likely also be unwilling to “try something new” when it came to learning the art...especially concepts and training routines that didn't fit with his “tastes” and culture.

I experienced the same kind of “tests” when I moved to China some years back. Whenever we'd go out with friends for dinner, they'd see to it that I was offered some rather strange cuisine. My Chinese wife and a few members of her family as well as friends expressed concern that I, as a Westerner, would be unable to adapt to Chinese culture. They sought to test as well as teach me as I was served things like chicken stomachs and intestines in bowls of chicken soup, fish eyes (they're crunchy!), and other tidbits that were clearly foreign to me. And, of course, there were the hot and spicy dishes for which Guangxi Province is known. A couple were peculiar to the city of Liuzhou, where I lived.

A little extreme? Perhaps. But likely fairly accurate.

THE CATFISH AND THE GOURD

 by Phillip Starr

The depiction of a catfish swimming around a gourd is a common sort of decoration in the art of old China and Japan. It can be found as the subject of Zen-inspired ink paintings that are often artistic parables. Why is this? Even if I told you that a dried, hollow gourd was used to catch catfish – that still wouldn't explain why these two things (gourd and catfish) have been so popular among Zen artists. The answer lies in the way that the gourd is used to catch the fish and the meaning behind this story has meaning in both Zen and martial arts training.

If you gave many people a hollow gourd and told them there were catfish in the stream, they'd walk into the water and do their best to scoop up their unwary prey...and come up empty-handed. Catfish are slippery critters and you'd likely die of old age before you could get one into a little opening at the end of a dried gourd. At the very least, you'd get soaking wet and probably create some very colorful adjectives to describe your feelings about using such an idiotic trap.

Those who understand catfish would consider the problem, then wade into the water and gently sink the gourd to the bottom of the stream. Then they'd return to dry land where they'd wait and perhaps make preparations for cooking their fish dinner. They understand the nature of catfish, which are very curious critters. The fish would approach the gourd and examine it for a bit before giving in to the temptation of a quick meal (or perhaps an interloper) and the fish swims into the narrow neck of the gourd to see what's inside...and then he's trapped, unable to turn around in that narrow space and escape.

This has much to do with your approach to learning martial arts. I'm sure you've seen people like the first would-be fishermen I described; they jump in and start flailing around, trying to catch a catfish. They're fun to watch, Perhaps you're even one of them. They come to class with a furious inensity; if a new technique is shown to them, they're relentless and follow their motto - “I'm going to get this right if it takes all night!” And they puff and strain and turn beet red in the face.

This kind of “do or die” enthusiasm is certainly admirable but it doesn't help much in class. That's because even the most basic techniques of any martial art are not entirely (or even predominantly) physical skill. Like the horse-riding stance, which seems simple enough...you can be TOLD how to do it but your body needs some time to “fit in” to it and this isn't going to happen in just one class...or even a week or month. The catfish can't be forced into the gourd.

Another example is that of making wine. Assuming that you knew how, could you – within a couple of weeks – turn out a vintage wine even if you had the best grapes, the finest facilities, and an unlimited budget? No. Wine must age and mature. There are no shortcuts. This process can't be changed, regardless of how much “spirit” you put into it. The martial Way is often compared to a path, which is a fine analogy. But remember that his road has its own peculiar geography and it certainly is nothing like Kansas. Sometimes, the path is so steep that you can hardly raise your eyes. You may come to flatter areas where you can travel more easily and you have insights that provide a broader perspective. Then it'll get rocky and hilly again and there's no way you can see the destination before you've covered the whole of the route.

Now, I'm not saying that you should adopt a lackadaisical attitude. Far from it; you must train with total effort. You may be tempted to despair and think that you'll never be able to get it right – and that's hardly a good frame of mind for class or training on your own. Do your best and give it your total effort. The catfish will be trapped eventually, just as your techniques or forms will eventually come on their own.

You have to train hard but at the same time, you must be mature enough to understand that it's going to take some time. Although patience and time are essential ingredients, they can't replace hours, months, and even years of dedicated practice. You have to understand that there's a balance that must be struck. Like catching fish in a gourd, it may not be the most cost effective way of doing it but in the long run, it's better than chasing the fish all over the stream and ending up with nothing more than getting wet.

THE BROKEN BOW

 by Phillip Starr

“The bow is shattered, arrows are all gone.

At this critical moment, cast aside all doubts.

Shoot, without the slightest delay.”

These lines were penned by Zen master Bukko Kokushi during the Kamakura era (1226-1286) in Japan. Typical of Zen-inspired poetry, it's a bit puzzling. How do you shoot if your bow is broken and your arrows are all gone? For an answer, we must turn to kyudo...most of you have never practiced it and fewer than that will ever engage in it but the answer it provides can be applied to any martial Way.

Kyudo is the Japanese Way of archery. It's one of the less popular martial disciplines, especially outside of Japan (where high-level teachers are pretty much non-existant). Equipment is terribly expensive; a good yumi (the bow, which is handmade with laminations of bamboo and various woods) can cost as much as $4,500.00, although you can get modern ones of considerable less quality for as little as $500. Then, too, the precise dictates of the art seem to have more in common with the tea ceremony than with a bloody fighting art. A kyudo neophyte will spend months learning the intricacies of kyu-ha, the etiquette and rituals of the art.

The details involved are intimidating and all of them must be committed to memory until the practitioner has integrated them on a level that is virtually instinctive. For instance, there are a certain number of steps taken to approach the shooting stand, the angle at which the bow is held when the arrow is nocked must be just right. All of the various facets of the mechanics and movements of drawing and shooting are precisely set into forms that have been formalized for many, many years. And they must all be learned exactly. There is even a set of certain movements used for approaching the target, leaning the bow against it, and removing arrows from the target! Kyudo is a bit long on outer movements, to say the least.

Many of you will think that kyudo focuses an awful lot on seemingly petty details, but consider that a beginning karate or gong-fu student likely thought he could throw a pretty decent punch...until he started training. His chin must be held just so, his shoulders have to be adjusted here, his hips have to move exactly this way, and so on. I've been known to spend as much as two hours going over the details of a simple reverse punch and I could easily have gone on for another two or three. I've seen novices become so overwhelmed by the details of their art that they actually freeze. Their eyes betray their minds, which are frantically trying to recall all of the details...and they become as statues!

Many uninformed people present considerable criticism about this approach to what is allegedly a “fighting art.” They often make very ignorant commentaries, claiming that the practitioner who trains in this way will be so concerned with ensuring that all of the tiny details are just right that he'd be quickly pounded into dogmeat before he can mount an effective defense. This reasoning is based on the erroneous assumption that this stage of training (known as toteki), is the FINAL goal. Not hardly.

In time, the kyudo student (kyudoka) begins to integrate the details of the art into his performance. He doesn't have to count his steps as he approaches the stand; they come out naturally. The arrow is correctly nocked without conscious effort. This is the beginning of what is called zaiteki; the bow and archer are becoming one. Practitioners of other martial Ways may use other terms to describe the same thing; they often speak of mushin (無心 wuxin in Chinese), which is a term often heard in the practice of Zen. Mu (Wu) means “nothing” or “without”, while shin (xin) refers to the mind or consciousness. Thus, the term is often translated as “without consciousness” (also, “no mind”). Rather than inferring that one is unconscious, this term indicates that the practitioner no longer has to consciously “think” about what to do.

The practitioner moves naturally; he has passed beyond the level of training that required him to concentrate on the details of his technique. His movements are spontaneous and correct. The technique has become “no-technique.” If you can drive a car, play the piano, or even tie your shoes, you already are familiar with this concept. But there was a time when you stared at the piano keys and tried to get your fingers to move to the right spots. With lots of practice, you eventually reached a stage wherein you no longer had to think about it; your fingers “knew” where to go.

If you're a skilled typist and you've been at it a while, you'd likely be stumped now if someone asked you about the layout of the keys/keyboard. Like, which keys are on either side of the letter “J?” You may be able to type 80 words a minute, but that question confounds you. That's because you've achieved a certain mushin in your ability to type. Now, there's a considerable difference between the “no-technique” of the highly skilled martial artist and the “non-technique” of the novice. Neither the expert nor the beginner can probably tell you what adjoins the “J” key but that doesn't mean they're at the same level in terms of their understanding and ability to type. One must strive to achieve the stage of “no-technique” and there's no short-cut, no way to bypass technique altogether. It's going to take time. Lots of it.

The bow, the arrows...as the Zen master's poem reminds us, these are external details. Drive yourself past them through severe, unceasing training and effort and press in to the core of the art. When you art is fully integrated in body, mind, and spirit, the bows and arrows, the details of the punch, kick, or throw are unimportant. At the critical moment, as Bukko advised, you must penetrate the target without the slightest delay.