WHAT WILL YOU DO WITH ONE CORNER?

 By Phillip Starr

I was recently reading about a young man’s first visit to Japan. He had trained in iaijutsu and kenjutsu for several years with a Japanese instructor who had come to the U.S. as a college professor. The young American had traveled to Japan to spend time with his sensei and to immerse himself in the country from which his chosen martial disciplines had originated.

When he arrived in Japan, the young American took some time to take in the sights and he was given the opportunity to visit an iaido dojo in a rather small Japanese town. The dojo was run by a hachidan (8th dan, of which there are only a few) who asked him to perform the first basic kata known as “mae.”

The American felt that he had done an adequate job but the headmaster thought differently. He told his guest to work on one particular movement of the kata – it was a bit rough and needed polish. They exchanged bows and the American prepared to repeat the kata.

He gave it his very best but when he finished it he noticed that the headmaster was on the other side of the dojo, giving instruction to another student. What happened next actually showed what this American was made of; it showed his heart.

He continued to practice the kata (which he had practiced for many years as it’s the very first kata taught to beginning iaido students) until he was soaked with sweat. After more than an hour’s worth of repeating the same fundamental kata, one of the senior students walked up and told him to perform the second kata! The American noticed that the headmaster was standing with his arms folded on the other end of the dojo, watching him.

And so it went for the ten “seitei” katas. The American could barely get undressed and walk back to the house where he was staying. His legs were exhausted and he could barely lift his shoulders. But he was back in training the next day.

Now, I often walk away from my students while they are working on a particular form or technique – just to see what they’ll do. Most of them will continue to practice what they were told. A few will walk over to me to ask what they should do and some (yes, it happens with black belts, too) discontinue practicing as they begin to talk and socialize with their classmates.

Confucius said that if a teacher shows the student one corner, the student should be able to find the other three. If he cannot (or will not), then the teacher should leave him alone because he’s simply a waste of time.

My teacher would sometimes show us a particular technique or an aspect of a technique or form and then see what we did with it. Most of my classmates promptly forgot whatever it was that he’d shown them. They didn’t practice it on their own time and their performance didn’t improve. They were not shown any of the deeper aspects of the art because such things require a great deal of practice at home and he knew they’d never meet that requirement.

A few of the others would “fool around” with what they had been shown; they didn’t put in much time on their own and they’d often ask Sifu Chen if they were doing it right, and so on. Again, they received none of the deeper instruction because there was simply no point in it.

Very, very few actually trained regularly (and vigorously) at home with the material they had been shown. But our teacher was watching…always watching. He’d smile and laugh with us but he was always watching and evaluating. And in the end, very few students qualified (in his mind) to learn the real kung-fu.

Which group do you fall into?

THE SECRET OF TRAINING

 by Phillip Starr

One day as the revered zen master, Dokuon, was idly smoking his long bamboo pipe, he was approached by Tesshu, a well-known samurai who had been studying zen for some time. "I have finally grasped the essence of kara," Tessuhu exclaimed. "I am now empty." And the swordsman went on to explain how the universe is empty, about there being no difference between subjective and objective, and so on.

Dokuon listened quietly for a short time and then suddenly smacked Tesshu on the forehead with his pipe. Tesshu was outraged and jumped to his feet. "That hurt, you stupid old fool!" he snarled. "I could cut you down for doing that!"

"My, my," Dokuon said quietly. "This emptiness is certainly quick to show anger, isn't it?"

Tesshu smiled sheepishly, hung his head, and crept away silently.

Endless repetitions of reverse punches, side thrust kicks, front snap kicks, back fists....Trying to memorize those cursed forms, trying to understand what they mean, their spirit...perfecting footwork, stances, timing, breathing. SO much to remember and SO MUCH to practice! Sifu/Sensei says that it'll come naturally someday but how far off is that??? Look here, pay attention to that, don't think of this, focus your mind over here...where does it all end? All these techniques and movements...do they really work? What's all of this about, anyway?

I'm sure these thoughts have run through your head many, many times and they'll continue to do so for some time. It's a natural part of the learning process.

And for all the repetitions of various techniques, the constant polishing of timing, the striving for perfection in footwork and forms, it all really boils down to training one thing.

Your mind.

The mind perceives what's going on outside of itself through brain's utilization of the five senses. It responds via the body, so your body must be trained to do exactly what the mind commands.

At the same time, the mind has to be sharpened and polished. It has to be trained to perceive instantly and clearly. This process will necessarily involve some pretty frightening concepts - like letting go of attachments that are or will interfere with its ability to see and react clearly and without hesitation. "That doesn't sound too awfully difficult," you say. "What could be so scary about letting go of certain attachments?"

Well, there's the natural attachment to life; to your own safety and survival. If you engage one or more opponents in a life and death struggle, how can you focus 100% of your attention on them if you're worried about your own survival? You'll always keep a part of your focus on yourself; a part of your yi (intention, mind) and chi/ki remains withdrawn and cannot be extended towards the enemy (or whatever threat it is that you face). You are unable to fully commit yourself at the moment of truth. You may hesitate and suffer the fate that you fear.

You only maintain your attachment to survival if you maintain a fear of death. So, you must come to grips with death - understand and accept it, and then discard all of your concerns about it.

This is what training is ultimately about. You must free your mind as you train your body so that your mind can express itself freely and without the slightest hesitation. Then and only then are you truly free to move through life boldly and experience it without fear.

I can already hear some of you asking, "How do I do this? How do I train my mind in this way? Should I practice meditation, study books on the subject...what should I do?"

The answer is simple but it's probably not what you want to hear. No, meditation won't necessarily achieve it. Intellectual endeavors almost certainly won't help you achieve it. I know of only one thing that will bring success...

Incessant training. Rigorous, spirited, unrelenting. It is without end. As Musashi Miyamoto, Japan's "sword saint" told us, "The Way is in training."

THE REAL THING

 by Phillip Starr

When I first took up the study of martial arts I believed that the peculiar forms of punching, striking, and kicking contained some special force, a kind of "magic" (for want of a better word) that would enable me to knock the largest adversary flat on his butt. You have to admit that the forms of punching as they are demonstrated in the various forms of karate and kung-fu are a little strange and not at all like the knee-jerk, "natural" form of haymaker that most people would throw if they were engaged in a scuffle.

I'm convinced that my first teachers believed in that same magic because they never mentioned things like, "using the whole body as a fist" or "striking with the force of the entire body."

Needless to say, I found out in pretty short order that the peculiar punches, strikes, and kicks bestowed no mystical power on me. Being a very slow learner, I suffered many beatings before I had to admit that something was amiss. But what? What could be missing? Surely, there was more to these arts than I could see.

It was my primary kung-fu teacher, Master W. C. Chen, who opened my eyes. "You are relying on using your strength," he said. "And you are too small to exert much strength. You are fast but you have no real power. You hit only with your arm or leg. A strong enemy can overcome your technique easily."

And so it was that I began learning REAL martial art. It began with the horse-riding stance (ma bu) and then the bow and arrow stance (gong bu), cat stance (ding bu), and several others. "Strength begins in the legs," Chen told me. "If your legs are weak you cannot get (generate) real power. If you cannot stand, you cannot walk. If you cannot walk, you cannot run. So, first you must learn to stand. Just stand."

Once my "foothold" was firm, I learned how to move my body to generate power. This was done via six forms of body movement (which are known as the "six body actions" in Yiliquan - and which have since been expanded to "eight body actions"). So, Chen first emphasized the foothold. The next step involved learning basic technique and the third step included learning to apply the foothold (root) and technique via the six body actions. This was what Chen called "quan (chuan) shu", which means, "fist art" and refers to the (outer) form of martial art. It is what is easily seen, what is often admired by the public, and it is only the first stage of true skill.

Most modern martial arts adepts aspire only to learn the "quan shu" and once they have developed skill in it, they feel that they have reached the pinnacle of martial prowess. But they are wrong. All they have done is acquired skill in the outer shell (wai zhuang) of the art. They have yet to examine the meat of the matter.

Once the pupil has trained in the wai zhuang to develop quan shu (and this absolutely MUST be done correctly), he or she is then ready to begin practicing the nei zhuang (internal power) of the art. It is presented in stages. In Yiliquan (the art that I teach), students may, even during the wai zhuang training, begin to learn and practice some of the nei zhuang gong (special conditioning exercises intended to strengthen, stretch, and toughen the unseen internal tissues that are utilized in generating real internal force) and the so-called "engaging" exercises, in which intrinsic force "inflates" the internal tissues.

Only after the internal tissues have been properly conditioned and trained to "engage" can the student begin to learn the panjaozhang gong (hand/arm coiling exercises and power) and eventually the special qipanjao (energy/breath coiling) techniques, which are practiced in stages:>

1. Standing, Big Frame Coils

2. Moving, Big Frame Coils

3. Standing, condense the coils to make them Small Frame Coils

4. Moving, ditto

Only through the application of these "coils" can true fajin be generated.

It is my contention that the original forms of karate, which developed largely from southern forms of Chinese boxing, contained all of this information and it is still hidden within some of their kata (forms).

The small, unseen tissues (ligaments, fascia, and so forth) not only of the arms, waist, and legs, but the torso as well, must be properly employed in the correct sequence and to put this down in writing would be extremely difficult. Besides, I fear that there would be those who might try to learn the nei zhuang from such writings and that is simply impossible.

Even in my own training hall, it is necessary for students to place their hands on my body and actually feel what is going on inside as the coiling technique is applied and fajin is generated. Only then can they really begin to understand it. Incorrect practice can lead not only to simple failure; it can result in very real damage to internal tissues.

Too often, students hear about the nei zhuang and get in a hurry to learn it. This is foolhardy since the development of proper wai zhuang is essential before moving into the realms of nei zhuang. Nowadays, there are teachers (including Chinese!) who assure their students that they can begin the nei zhuang even in the early stages of their training but be assured that this is intended only to fatten the purse of the teacher at the risk of injuring or, at the very least, discouraging the hapless pupil who doesn't understand why he "just can't get it."

Even in the "old days", real "kung-fu" (also, "gongfu") was very rare. It still is.

THE MISSING INGREDIENT

 by Phillip Starr

*Excerpts from “Martial Maneuvers” by the author.

My first encounter with what is known as “zanshin” (残心) occurred back in the days when I studied Kyokushin karate. I would complete my kata and my instructor would shake his head and say, “No. Your kata is wrong. There was no zanshin.” When I asked him what that meant he told me that at the end of the form I should maintain and, in fact, extend my fighting spirit as if other opponents might be waiting in the shadows for me to let down my guard so they could quickly attack me. He told me that I should maintain my guard, my spirit, for a few seconds after completion of the kata, imagining that other assailants might be hiding nearby.

When I undertook the study of kung-fu under the tutelage of Master W.C. Chen, I was reminded of this same idea although it had no formal name. Sifu Chen emphasized the importance of beginning each form with the same feeling, that numerous opponents were encircling me. I was to breathe down to my dantien (tanden) and place my spirit there and wait to see which aggressor attacked first.

I was to VISUALIZE these opponents and that required considerable effort. However, once I got the hang of it I discovered that it was an excellent training tool. Any form, whether it is a karate kata, a taijiquan or shaolinquan form, is EMPTY if there is no spirit in it. It's like a doughnut; there's nothing in the middle to give it strength. No zanshin.

Zanshin (which is actually “shengxin” in Chinese) is comprised of two character. The first, “zan”, means “remaining, left over.” The second character, “shin” means “heart.” In this case, shin doesn't refer to the actual organ itself, but to its essence. In traditional Chinese medicine it is felt that the heart is the seat of the emotions and the spirit (as in “fighting spirit”). Put the two together and you have “remaining spirit.”

When I first began to study Japanese kenjutsu and iaido I encountered another feature of this concept. I was informed that zanshin was to be exercised BEFORE the beginning of the kata. I realized then that this powerful mental and spiritual technique should be applied BEFORE assuming the posture we refer to as “commencement.”

Only then did I fully understand the importance of zanshin and how it is to be practiced in all of the martial ways. Whether one if practicing a form or an individual technique, zanshin is to be maintained from the moment one begins until after one has completed the exercise. To do otherwise is to “play” at a sort of mental and spiritual gymnastic exercise, and martial arts is not play. It is to be practiced with deadly seriousness, intention, and FEELING. If the proper feeling isn't there, one is simply exercising rather than training.

It is unfortunate that today's Chinese martial arts practitioners don't even suspect what zanshin (shengxin) is. When told about it, most will simply look rather confused. Others will say that it is a Japanese concept and has no place in the practice of kung-fu. It is this kind of narrow-mindedness that has brought the neijia to a standstill.

In feudal times the practice of zanshin was of paramount importance. If two warriors met on the field of battle, they both extended their spirits to feel the spirit of the other. The slightest distraction, the smallest fear, crack, or flaw in the shengxin of the opponent would result in instantaneous attack! In less than a second, it was over.

Soldiers in our modern military can readily understand this concept. As they prepare to enter hostile territory they prepare themselves both physically and mentally. They achieve a state of shengxin long before the fighting commences. As they move through the area, their zanshin must be very strong. When they move through the battle zone, they must maintain strong zanshin. When the area is declared clear of enemy activity, they would do well to maintain their zanshin for a time.

Modern-day police officers are also familiar with this condition. When an officer approaches a given situation she achieves shengxin immediately. Her senses are on full alert and she is literally prepared for anything. If and when she takes a bad guy down and brings him under control, she must maintain shengxin in case the creep has friends nearby, waiting for her to relax her guard.

Martial arts practitioners who survived repeated encounters of this sort passed down their art to their students. Through the generations this information has been maintained and the concept and practice of zanshin is one of the most important features. Without this training, we are told, defeat is certain. It is not simply a state of mind that one learns to imitate; it is a very real power, A FORCE ALL ITS OWN, and it must be mastered if one is to truly understand one's art.

Modern combat shooting schools have developed a scale of ascending mental states that are comparable to zanshin:

• CONDITION WHITE: No possibility of threat. Completely relaxed. This condition is permitted only during sleep.

• CONDITION YELLOW: There is the possibility of danger. Senses alert, but somewhat relaxed. If you're awake; if you're taking a shower, shaving, walking your dog...doing whatever...you must maintain this condition.

• CONDITION ORANGE: Danger imminent. Senses on full alert. Zanshin on full alert status.

• CONDITION RED: Danger immediate and present. Hostilities have commenced. Everything goes on full-tilt boogie.

When you stand up to execute your form, you should be in Condition Orange. This occurs before Commencement! Just before the first movement, you go into Condition Red. Hostilities begin and you engage in mortal combat. When the fight is over you do not relax completely; you slowly drop down to Condition Orange, execute the Conclusion (closing) of the form, and then go to Condition Yellow (your normal waking condition) before relaxing and sitting down.

Non-warriors live their lives in Condition White, oblivious to danger until it is too late. The warrior knows that the world can be a very hostile, dangerous place and he learns to live in a constant state of zanshin. Some of the best-known warriors of the past even trained themselves to maintain this condition while sleeping!

So next time you practice your form, exercise your basic techniques, or train with a partner in the various fighting drills, make sure that you maintain a strong zanshin. It isn't as easy to develop as you might think. It requires a great deal of training and must be exercised regularly.

SOME STRENGTH REQUIRED...

 by Phillip Starr

In a conversation I once had with Master Seiyu Oyata (10^th dan, Okinawan karate) one afternoon following a rigorous practice, he remarked that “...if a person's art requires him to be very strong, it is not really a martial art.” I asked for further clarification and he continued, “Real martial arts teach us to defeat an enemy who is bigger or stronger than us.” I nodded my understanding, but the master wasn't quite finished. “But you cannot use 'tricks' to defeat a bigger enemy”, he said. “You must train hard and develop real skill, real strength.”

Oyata sensei was saying that what we call “brute force” must not be applied to martial arts. Instead, one must develop “trained strength.” The two are at opposite ends of the spectrum. “Trained” strength refers to the type(s) of strength that is developed through proper martial arts training routines and the subsequent “toning” of various muscles and tendons. Raw, brute strength is of little use in so far as martial arts are concerned.

Different styles of karate and kung-fu utilize different training routines, which foster the development of various forms of “trained strength” in accordance with the style. There are many exercises that are used by numerous schools and some that appear to be unique to one particular school. For instance, authentic taijiquan makes use of several routines that a Goju-ryu stylist would have no use for at all.

Make no mistake; the traditional neijia (internal martial arts) routinely practice a variety of very rigorous exercises that are intended to toughen and strengthen different parts of the body, in accordance to their special ways of moving and engaging in combat. Having been involved in these arts for several decades, I can attest to their difficulty and effectiveness.

Developing the various forms of “trained strength” for any given martial art is not something that can be done quickly; to attempt to do so will only result in injury. Such strength is developed gradually. Many Westerners dislike this; they like quick gratification but in the martial arts, there's no such thing. It's best if you simply enjoy the journey...

THE SPIRITUAL SIDE OF MARTIAL ARTS

 by Phillip Starr

On various martial arts forums I've recently noticed an interest being shown in what can best be described as "the spiritual side of the martial arts." What is it? Why is it? How do you get there?

I don't pretend to have all the answers. Heck, I don't even know many of the questions! But maybe I can ramble on about this subject a bit and explain some of my personal thoughts about it.

First off, let me say that the spiritual side of the martial arts has nothing to do with religion, per se. Religion can be defined as the belief in and reverence for a supernatural power or being(s) which is/are usually regarded as creator(s) or ruler(s) of the universe, and a personal or institutionalized system grounded in such belief and subsequent worship. And let me state that regardless of what some people believe, no martial art requires its practitioners to adhere to any particular religious faith.

Certainly, acquiring a fundamental grasp of the tenets of Buddhism, Daoism, and Shintoism can help students better understand the culture(s) from which their chosen art came, what its originators believed, and how they lived. But to practice judo one need not engage in the practice of Shinto and you needn't become a Buddhist in order to study karate or a Daoist in order to train in Taijichuan.

I believe that students begin to get glimpses of the "spiritual side" of the martial arts when they begin to realize that there is more to them than what they see (or otherwise normally perceive). As they continue in their training (which should be regular and vigorous) they periodically catch glimpses of certain (spiritual) truths and as they encounter and overcome various obstacles - often with the help of a good teacher - they begin to realize that the only real obstacles we ever face are those we've created ourselves. And we're the only ones who can overcome them - no one can do it for us.

With gentle and loving "nudging" by their teachers, the students gradually push themselves beyond the limits of what they thought possible. They "do what cannot possibly be done" and "make the impossible possible", one step at a time. If they keep an open mind and heart as they take these steps they will begin to acquire a better understanding of who we are, what we are, why we are, and our relationship to each other and to all life.

But it doesn't happen all at once. Truths come in snippets. The discerning student will pay attention to these slivers of understanding because one small fragment, which is akin to a piece of a large puzzle, can give rise to so much more (understanding). One begets two, two begets four, and so on. Slowly, the student begins to "awaken." This is, I believe, a natural process and it occurs in every person who devotes him or her self to the study and training of a given martial discipline over an extended period of time.

Those individuals who skip from one martial art to another, who have no real foundation in any particular art, and who dabble in this and that, are perpetually learning the "outer shells" of various disciplines and will probably never penetrate beyond the superficial aspects of any given art.

Over the many years that I have taught martial arts I have had numerous people enroll in my classes in the hopes of becoming "enlightened." They sought spiritual truths first and martial skill last. The sad truth is that it doesn't happen that way and although I did my best to explain this fact to them, they persisted in their mistaken beliefs.

Spiritual truths are realized only after the student has "paid his or her dues" in buckets of sweat, endless hours of repetitious tedium, more than a little pain (in fact, we have some types of pain that are referred to as "religious experiences" because you'd swear that you can actually see God!), sacrifice, and great courage (the willingness to do what you cannot possibly do). The "spiritual seekers" weren't prepared for this and I don't recall that any of them lasted for more than a few weeks.

Besides, they were looking for a teacher who resembled what they envisioned as the classical image of an Asian sage, complete with wispy beard and flowing robes. What they got was a pot-bellied old fart who smokes and makes comments in class like, "You've got a nice tush but tuck it in and keep it to yourself, Buckwheat." I guess it was too much of a let-down. They weren't able to look beyond the obvious.

There was a time when martial arts zealots deliberately pushed themselves beyond their own limits. This can be dangerous, of course, and they understood that but they felt that the benefits outweighed the risks and they went ahead anyway. Usually, they weren't seeking any sort of spiritual truths; they simply wanted to test their strength and push themselves further, physically, mentally, and spiritually, little by little. Masutatsu Oyama was one such person.

For some people martial arts will never be anything more than a sophisticated form of combat. Their hearts and minds are closed to the possibility of the existence of a "spiritual side" to the martial arts. I think this may often be due to confusing spiritual insight with religion and those individuals who, for one reason or another, have become disenchanted with religion...and subsequently turn their backs on this particular aspect of martial arts. But I think that if a person trains diligently and pushes him/her self, he or she will eventually come face to face with certain spiritual truths which cannot be denied.