OMOTE AND URA

 by Phillip Starr

Many, if not most, new participants in a given martial art are interested primarily in learning effective self-defense. And there's no denying that outwardly, the martial ways appear the be violent to one degree or another. The aim of Japanese ikebana (roughly, “flower arranging”) would logically seem to be to present a beautiful arrangement of blossoms and the traditional tea ceremony's goal would certainly seem to be to quench one's thirst.

But no, not quite.

There is a kind of apparent contradiction between that which is (or seems) obvious and readily observable, known as omote, and that which is not, is ura. For instance, if you watch a group of judoka jostling and tossing each other on the mat, it would appear that the main aim is to throw your partner or force him to submit to a joint lock or choke. An observer of kyudo (Japanese archery) might think it's a bit stiff and ritualistic, but the goal must be, HAS to be, to hit the bull's eye. Right?

However, below judo's superficiality (omote) as a fine sport the art is an ura, a dimension of profound spirituality and hoary, venerable symbolism. The same holds true for kyudo and virtually all of the martial ways. Ikebana may initially attract those who want to learn to create attractive floral arrangements but if one's sensei is good, one will come to understand that such is simply the omote of the art, The ura lies in harmonizing oneself with nature and letting go of the ego through the rigid and demanding process of arranging floral geometrics in a timeless, fragile way.

In the martial ways, below the omote of outward violence lies the ura of a special way of life, a journey towards dignity, respect for oneself and others, and a path that exemplifies that which is moral, good, and beautiful. Although not easily seen on the surface, it is certainly there.

There is no question that the greatest danger that the martial ways face in the West is the celebration of their omote and the ignorance of their ura. The omote of these arts travels very easily but the ura is difficult to export. We see this in many of the martial arts now practiced in the West; many have become little more than athletic contests or a means of developing “self-defense” skills. Some practitioners use them as a means of attracting followers by prancing through fancy, homemade forms, smashing piles of lumber, or demonstrating what they tout as supreme self-defense skill. It is only through the guidance and persistence of of talented masters that the hearts of Western exponents will be captured.

MOVEMENT

 by Phillip Starr

The martial ways are really a panapoly of movement; there is often jostling and clashing...weapons of steel, wood, or bamboo twitch and flash, hands and feet shoot out quickly, the quick jolts of the judo/jujutsu practitioners as they strive to take their opponents to the mat, the sudden thrust of the staff, the snap of the arrow from the bow.... These called “yundong” (“movements”) in Chinese and “sabaku” in Japanese.

The Japanese character for sabaku means “to judge decisively a cut.” This is readily applied to the kimono maker; if he makes a proper cut, he will get all that he needs with a single cut so than none of the precious cloth is wasted. And so, the movements of the bugeisha (practitioner of the martial ways) are described with this in mind...

Sabaku is not random motion; there is no nervous fidgeting or displaced movement such as we see in untrained people or prey animals when they're faced with the stress of an impending attack. Rather, his movements are calculated. He conserves his energy. Sabaku is the movement of the predator. Tigers don't roar when they attack their prey, eagles, falcons, and hawks don't flutter or scream when they dive down on their quarry. In the midst of chaos, fear, and mutual danger, they appear quite relaxed. Their actions are the essence of economy.

Could it be that the ability to relax, move easily and economically, and release energy only when it is required are the reasons that allow the advanced martial artist to continue to practice long after other athletes have had to shelve their chosen activities? His/Her movements seem almost leisurely while younger practitioners exhaust themselves by exerting unnecessary power or effort in almost every movement.

Certainly, it's no coincidence that these senior martial artists remained active even in old age. And when death finally comes, it is as a flame that has burned its candle to the end. It sputters and then is extinguished. It is reminiscent of the decisive cut of the kimono maker, cutting with absolute precision. Not a single shred of cloth is wasted...

THE MEANING OF THE BLACK BELT

 by Phillip Starr

The black belt is regarded much differently in the West than it is in the Orient. In Japan, achieving the grade of shodan (first grade black belt) simply means that you have reached a good level of skill with the basic techniques and that you understand certain fundamental principles. It certainly doesn't mean that you're an expert; it means that you're an “advanced beginner” and you're now physically and mentally prepared to learn the true art. As one saying states, it means that you have finished packing for the journey.

The idea of what it means to receive a shodan is often completely different in the West. It is frequently regarded as the mark of an expert adept or one who is proficient enough to be called an “instructor.”

The difference is easily seen in the exams that aspiring shodans must undergo. I have known instructors in whose schools a shodan test lasts for many hours or even a couple of days! The test is grueling and those who aspire to take it must be able to endure hours of physical punishment and pain. Small wonder the number of black belts in such schools is usually very small...

In my view, the test for shodan should be efficient rather than tortuous. The objective is to determine if the examinee had developed a good level of skill with the basic techniques and to ensure that he/she understands the basic principles involved. Period. It isn't to ensure that the student is as fit as an Olympic champion or as tenacious as a Navy SeAL.

The most efficient tests for this grade that I ever witnessed were those administered by the Japan Karate Association. The entire test lasted no more than 90 minutes at best. The students had to answer questions regarding the history of their art, perform various basic techniques and a handful of combinations, 3-step and 1-step exercises, about three two-minute freestyle sparring matches, and a couple of kata. The examiners would choose one kata from a list (so it was a good idea if the student could perform all of them with a fair level of skill), and the student selected a kata as well. There would be tests for ability to focus and control one's technique, and perhaps one demonstration of board breaking. And that was it.

One teacher told me that after watching an examinee fire off no more than a couple of punches and a front kick or two, he knew whether or not that person was worthy of shodan grade. The rest of the exam was window dressing. I have to agree with him. There's simply no need for the student to demonstrate every technique, every self-defense application, and every form that he's ever learned. There's no point in having him engage in several freestyle sparring bouts with gloves (so that fighters can feel free to beat the bejeezus out of each other), do 100 push-ups, or otherwise be tortured or torture themselves.

In contemporary iaido (the art of drawing and cutting with the Japanese sword), there are 12 kata. Each kata is quite short, rarely involving more than three cuts/thrusts. That makes it sound like it should be fairly simple to do. Not. Every tiny detail must be just so, from the placement of the hands on the saya (scabbard) and the handle of the sword, to the alignment of the bladeguard with the navel...there are just too many minute details to list here.

The board of examiners closely watch everything that the aspiring shodan does...and I mean EVERYTHING – from the way his hakama is worn and tied, to the way he kneels, bows, grasps his sword...everything! They will select 5 kata from the list of 12, but the most fundamental kata(s) will always be included. After he has performed the kata within the allowed time limit, they make their decision. The entire test lasts no more than six minutes! But the judges can tell, after the student moves to make his first draw, if he's worth the grade or not. There's no point in requiring him to perform all 12 kata or do anything else.

But the main point of this article is to assure those who aspire to reach, or have already achieved, the rank of shodan that they have just set their feet firmly on the path (of martial arts). There's much more to learn, more polishing to be done. The journey is far from ended. It starts now.

LEARNING...STILL LEARNING

 by Phillip Starr

“I’m still learning.” These were the parting words of famous Italian Renaissance artist Michelangelo. This man died at the ripe old age of 88; quite a feat, considering it was 1564 and people were lucky if they made it past 40. And 40 was a long time ago in my case and I have to agree with the Italian genius....I'm still learning.

I began my walk along the martial path more than 60 years ago, starting out with judo. Before I had traveled very far, I fell passionately in love with these old, arcane arts. So began a love affair that continues to this day. When my teacher taught me something new, it was like receiving a special gift and I was always very excited. Like many youngsters who are given new gifts, I delighted in trying to take them apart to find out how and why they worked. Little did I suspect that my teacher was giving me so much more than a new technique or form...

He was stoking a flame that he saw burning within me; the desire to learn all I could about whatever he taught me. He would always encourage and support me in my efforts. And that flame still burns.

After my teacher passed away, I was often very surprised at how I learned things (often found in the forms) on my own. Then I realized that that's exactly what he'd always encouraged me to do. And there's so much to be learned (just within the traditional styles that he taught me), that I never need to worry about completing all of it. To this day, when I find something new I can hear his voice congratulating and encouraging me to continue further.

People sometimes ask me why I continue to study the martial ways. Well for one thing, I still love learning new things and there's no shortage of new goodies to be found! Sometimes they're buried rather deeply or they lie underneath a heavy stone, but I know the treasures are there. And I'm as determined as ever to find them.

Then there's the question of improving. Pablo Casals was a brilliant cellist, and I love a remark that he reportedly made when he was in his eighties or nineties. He continued to practice intensely with his cello in those golden years, and when he was asked why he was so diligent he replied with one of these statements:

“I think I’m making progress.
I think I see some improvement.”

If he can do it, I can do it. How about you?

IS IT SOUP YET?

 By Phillip Starr

Many moons ago when I was training under my sifu, I used to wonder why he didn't introduce me to some of the more advanced principles of my chosen art earlier? I felt that I was ready to learn them. Why was he holding me back?

One of the main reasons was that I simply wasn't yet physically prepared to engage in more advanced principles. Had I tried, I would have lacked the proper body control/coordination to perform them properly (which could have resulted in injury or, at the very least, the development of bad habits), or I would have lacked the proper muscle tone to perform them. I thought my basics were pretty much up to snuff, but I was wrong...by a very long shot.

I wasn't really mentally prepared to learn such advanced material, either. Had he tried to demonstrate and/or explain it to me, I wouldn't have understood what he was saying. I was unable to really grasp such advanced concepts.

And I wasn't spiritually ready, either. I would have become very frustrated and discouraged (largely because of my lack of physical and mental unpreparedness) and I would probably have given up.

Learning and assiduous practice (and study) of the basics lays the foundation for learning more advanced material. Achieving the grade of shodan indicates that the last brick has been placed into the foundation. Now you're ready to build a beautiful structure on it. But the foundation must be strong. Unfortunately, most people who make it to shodan walk away soon after the last brick of the foundation has been moved into place.

It's much the same in school; you begin by learning to read very basic material and then progress to more and more difficult material, right? Once you graduate from high school, you've laid a foundation for further advancement. Or we can use the subject of math as a good analogy. You don't jump right into trigonometry once you've learned to add and subtract single digit numbers!!! You must first master the basics and that takes time and study. Once you've mastered basic addition and subtraction, you're ready to move into multiplication and division, and so on. To skip or hurry through a phase is usually disastrous. You must build a solid foundation and then proceed forward step by step.

Too many martial artists begin teaching shortly after reaching the level of shodan. This is a serious mistake; it's akin to becoming a professor right after graduating from high school! They, themselves, don't understand nor are they capable of practicing or teaching the more advanced principles of their chosen art. After all, shodan means “first grade.” A shodan is an advanced beginner; one who has finally achieved a measure of skill in the basic techniques and has laid a foundation. But nothing rests atop the groundwork...yet.

In the West (and America, particularly) we want everything FAST. Fast food (ugh!), instant entertainment...and we tend to carry this same line of thinking into our practice of martial arts. We want to learn quickly and swiftly achieve rank and skill. Some schools seek to appease their clientele's desires and do just that. But there's really no measurable skill achieved and the subsequent rank is meaningless...

Real skill and knowledge is developed slowly over time and there's simply no hurrying the process. In fact, the ponderous pace at which ones moves through the process is, in fact, an important part of the process itself! Like brewing good homemade soup.

HITTING THE MARK

 by Phillip Starr

In kyudo (Japanese archery; “the Way of the bow”) the object is quite dissimilar to that of Western archery. The beginning of archery in Japan is prehistoric. The first images picturing the distinct Japanese asymmetrical longbow are from the Yayoi period (ca. 500 BC – 300 AD). Although the familiar katana is associated with the samurai (and sometimes referred to as the “samurai sword”), the bow was the original weapon of the warrior class.

The changing of society and the military class (samurai) taking power at the end of the first millennium created a requirement for education in archery. This led to the birth of the first kyujutsu ryūha (style), the Henmi-ryū, founded by Henmi Kiyomitsu in the 12th century. The Takeda-ryū and the mounted archery school  of Ogasawara-ryū were later founded by his descendants. The need for archers grew dramatically during the Genpei War (1180–1185) and as a result the founder of the Ogasawara-ryū (Ogasawara Nagakiyo), began teaching yabusame (mounted archery).

From the 15th to the 16th century, Japan was ravaged by civil war. In the latter part of the 15th century Heki Danjō Masatsugu revolutionized archery with his new and accurate approach called hi, kan, chū (fly, pierce, center), and his footman's archery spread rapidly. Many new schools were formed, some of which, such as Heki-ryū Chikurin-ha, Heki-ryū Sekka-ha and Heki-ryū Insai-ha, remain today. During the Edo period (1603–1868) Japan was turned inward as a hierarchical caste society in which the samurai were at the top. There was an extended era of peace during which the samurai moved to administrative duty, although the traditional fighting skills were still esteemed. During this period archery became a "voluntary" skill, practiced partly in the court in ceremonial form, partly as different kinds of competition. Archery spread also outside the warrior class. The samurai were affected by the straightforward philosophy and aim for self-control in Zen Buddhism that was introduced by Chinese monks. Earlier archery had been called kyūjutsu (the skill of bow), but monks acting as martial arts teachers led to creation of a new concept: kyūdō (the Way of the bow).

Kyūdō practice, as in all budō, includes the idea of moral and spiritual development. Today many archers practise kyūdō as a sport, with marksmanship being paramount. However, the goal most devotees of kyūdō seek is seisha seichū, "correct shooting is correct hitting". In kyūdō the unique action of expansion (nobiai) that results in a natural release, is sought. When the technique of the shooting is correct the result is that the arrow hits the target. To give oneself completely to the shooting is the spiritual goal, achieved by perfection of both the spirit and shooting technique leading to munen musō, "no thoughts, no illusions". This however is not Zen, although the Japanese bow can be used in Zen-practice or kyūdō practised by a Zen master. In this respect, many kyūdō practitioners believe that competition, examination, and any opportunity that places the archer in this uncompromising situation is important, while other practitioners will avoid competitions or examinations of any kind.

Unlike Chinese, Korean, and Mongolian bows (which are rather short), the Japanese bow will run from 84” to 97” in length. When I visited Japan in 2016, I saw several young ladies dressed in kimono and carrying very long silk or cotton bags, which contained their bows. They would take the subway trains to their classes and nobody thought anything of it.

And unlike Western archery, the primary object of kyudo is not necessarily to hit the mark (“bull's eye”). It is an art steeped in ritual and every aspect of it is pregnant with meaning. Zen-like in its approach, the focus is on strengthening, forging, and tempering the spirit. Each movement (including the steps taken to the spot from which the archer will shoot, nocking the arrow, and virtually everything else) is perfected and polished for its own sake. It is said that when the mind is ready, the arrow will release itself. In time, accuracy comes naturally.

It is rather the same in all forms of budo. However, we Westerners tend to focus too much on hitting the mark rather than perfecting each tiny movement. In our forms, we often rush through to the end, thinking something like, “There! I finished that form.” But the truth is far different. We did not take time to gently polish each movement, to experience and “taste” it. We hurry, like a child in a candy store...filling our mouths with so many candies that we can scarcely taste any one of them. Each candy (and movement) must be savored...delicately at first. Like the arrow in kyudo, accuracy will come along naturally.

ESSENTIAL INGREDIENTS

 by Phillip Starr

What's the first thing you do when you set out to bake a cake? If you're like me (I know almost nothing about the subject...), you first determine just what ingredients you need. If you leave out only one item, God only knows what you'll end up producing but the odds are good that you wouldn't necessarily want to eat it! It's the same in the study of any given martial art. You need the right ingredients...

• DETERMINATION (Strong Spirit): This is of the utmost importance but one that is often left out of the recipe. Having a strong spirit means never giving up; it means overcoming any and all “obstacles” that appear, regardless of how insurmountable they seem.

  

• COURTESY: True courtesy comes from the heart. It is not simply a series of empty gestures or hollow words. Believe it or not, practicing genuine courtesy (at all times!) will impact your training.

  

• FAITH: Having faith in your teacher is essential. You must have faith in what he or she teaches. He's been where you're going.

  

• OBEDIENCE: You must adhere to the instruction given to you by your teacher, even if it involves discomfort or inconvenience.

  

• DISCIPLINE: You must train regularly (and bear in mind that 90% of your practice is done outside of class). If your training is “hit-or-miss” you're just spinning your wheels and getting nowhere. Worse, you're opening yourself up to injuries that will only further hamper your development. Maintain a strict discipline.

  

• AN OPEN MIND: You're going to be introduced to new ideas, customs, and attitudes. Don't approach your training with a closed mind. Keep it open so that you can fully absorb new information. Avoid harboring preconceived notions about any parts of your training.

  

• PATIENCE: This is perhaps the one ingredient that is most often missing in Western students. To learn and develop new skills takes time. There's no way around it and no short-cuts, regardless of what some hucksters will tell you. Trying to hurry often ends in injury, disappointment, and frustration.

  

Like baking a cake, if you use all of these ingredients you can produce a very delicious and beautiful cake. If you leave out any of them, the end result will be less than desirable.