SENSEI, I SHRUNK THE...

 by Phillip Starr

Back in the early 70's, I read an interesting article in one of the martial arts magazines of the day. A writer interviewed one of the students of the legendary founder of aikido, Morihei Uyeshiba. The student (whose name I can't recall after all these years) had actually lived with the famous Master and had become a renowned instructor himself. The journalist asked him several questions and his last one was especially interesting. “What is the secret to your powerful technique?”, he asked.

The teacher replied, “You begin by taking something very large and make it very small.” This apparently dumbfounded the interviewer who, I suspect, had little (if any) firsthand experience in martial arts himself. Not grasping the importance of the old man's response, he simply moved on to the next question. This was, I thought, a terrible shame. The old sensei had just provided the journalist with one of the great secrets of the martial arts but he'd missed it completely!

What he said pertains not only to aikido, but to all other martial arts as well. When we first learn the various movements – the footwork, the punches and kicks – our movements must, of necessity, be rather large. We struggle and sweat trying to master the fundamentals and they eventually become well-polished and strong. Unfortunately, this is where most practitioners stop, thinking that they've achieved a high level of skill...and they have, but there's more to it. Higher levels.

As we become more and more comfortable with the techniques and other movements, we should strive to make them smaller, to condense them, as it were. This can be a rather lengthy process but for those who wish to truly master a martial art, it's essential. The movements must be slowly “shrunk” without losing any of their power. This is why a true master can make a very small movement but emit tremendous force.

If and when novices see a Master perform in this way, they sometimes try to imitate him and this is a mistake. They're wasting their time; before attempting to shrink the movement, one must acquire a high degree of skill with them and understand how and why they work. Then the real trick is learning to condense them without losing any of their energy. In the art of Yiliquan, this theory is known as the “point and circle theory.” A circle, when it is reduced enough, becomes a point...but in martial arts, the point is very potent!

THE SECRET TO MASTERY

 by Phillip Starr

Years ago, I had a saying in the training hall that said, "There is only one secret to real mastery...(practice)!" I think most students altogether misunderstood what that meant. They believed that one must put in hours of practice every day if one was to expect to really master a martial art. That's true and untrue at the same time.

Life back in the "old days"; back in the days of the "old masters" wasn't really too much different than life today. Like us, they had families and most of them didn't teach martial arts for a living. They ran the gamut of schoolteachers to owners of spectacles shops and bakeries. Some were professional fighters such as convoy escorts or bodyguards, but the vast majority had ordinary jobs of the day. The difference was in the way in which they approached their training, and how often they trained.

They were very serious about their training. They didn't practice just to stay "fit" or lose a few pounds and they had no interest in winning trophies (there weren't many, if any, tournaments back then anyway). Most of them probably started learning martial arts because they wanted to be able to defend themselves, but once they had reached that level of skill they kept going. They practiced because that's what they loved to do and they did it just to do it! I don't think any of them probably thought, "I'm going to be a great and revered master someday..." They just really loved to learn and practice their art. Their interest went beyond merely learning basic, physical techniques; they were inquisitive and sought to learn the real essence of their arts.

They practiced and dug and scraped and asked questions (of themselves and others) and experimented (and failed and then kept trying) and theorized and discussed and...well, you get the picture. Although they didn't necessarily teach martial arts full-time, their lives were centered around their training.

"But I can only attend class a couple of times a week," many students proclaim. So what? What matters is what you get out of your formal training in class. Do you practice at home? "Training" doesn't necessarily refer only to the time you spend in class with your teacher and classmates.

What the old masters did was to make life their training class. Most students today don't do that, probably because there are so many distractions in today's modern world as compared to a hundred years ago (or more). But we can still do it. We can still practice our art throughout the day, whether at work or play, and make the world our training hall. After all, martial arts aren't meant to be confined to a formal training hall or practice area. It's meant for use in your life and if it can't be applied to your life, you're wasting your time.

If we learn to apply our martial arts to our daily activities, then we are able to practice almost constantly. Whether it be sitting behind a keyboard, running a lathe, dealing with customers...we can practice our martial arts continuously. And this has a real impact on one's physical abilities! Most martial arts students never understand this idea and never practice their arts in their day-to-day lives. Their achievements will be small compared to those who do.

For instance, people (who are familiar with Chinese/Japanese calligraphy) marvel at the calligraphy written by various masters or artwork done by them. It is said that one's real skill and qi is clearly shown in such works. Japan's "sword saint", Miyamoto Musashi, was really quite an accomplished artist although he had never received any formal instruction of any kind in these things. His ink-painting of Da-Mo is regarded as a masterpiece and he was also very well known for designing artful tsubas (bladeguards) for Japanese swords. Musashi insisted that he used the brush as he used his sword. With his body, mind, and spirit unified, he produced beautiful works.

This is not to say that calligraphy or artwork is the only way in which we can apply and practice to refine our skill. No matter what you do, you can practice. People who have a discerning eye will notice that there is "something different" about your work or your approach to your work as compared to others. And there should be.

Martial arts isn't just about fighting. It's about living. It should improve the quality of every aspect your life. But it requires constant practice. Hours and hours every day. You may not be firing off punches or running through a form, but you are always practicing. Before long, it becomes a habit and you do it without even having to think about it. It affects everything a real master does because he and the art have become one. He no longer thinks, "Now I have to practice my form...". He practices all the time! Of course, he does practice his form and techniques and so forth on a regular basis, but when he is at work or "play" and unable to do so, he is still practicing because that's what he is. He could no more stop practicing than stop his heart.

SAYA NO UCHI DE KATSU

 by Phillip Starr

The title of this lecture can be translated as, "Victory is in the scabbard"; a snippet of sound advice from the era in Japan when swords were worn daily and put to their intended use not infrequently. This short saying clearly infers that victory (katsu) is actually determined by the potential of the blade before it is drawn - while it is still seated inside (uchi) the scabbard (saya). Numerous martial arts teachers have expounded on the true meaning and spirit of this saying, and most of them place considerable emphasis on the importance of resolving conflicts peacefully so that one need not (figuratively) draw one's sword. And there's a good deal of merit to this idea.

One of my favorite martial arts authors, Mr. Dave Lowry, devotes an entire chapter to this idea in his newest book, "The Karate Way". He reminds us that in ancient Japan, the samurai were constantly armed. One would no more walk out of one's house without one's swords than one would step into the street without clothing. Many non-samurai also carried swords (although only samurai were permitted to carry both the long and the short swords). Imagine living in a place where every other (male) member of your caste was armed, as well as many other members of society. You would be constantly aware of the weight, both physical and psychological, of the weapon(s) you wore at your side.

Police officers and military personnel can vouch for this idea. I know I can, having served as a peace officer in more than one capacity during my lifetime. I was always acutely aware of the weight of the handgun I carried (both on and off duty) and the implications of its use should I ever be forced to empty my holster. Wearing that weapon was a terrible responsibility that I both enjoyed and loathed. Whenever I was called upon to enter into some difficult situation, whether it was to resolve a dispute or make an outright arrest, I would do my level best to diffuse hostilities and do my duty without having to resort to drawing my weapon. Like the sword of the samurai, my weapon was never drawn to threaten anyone. It had only one function.

But I digress. My personal rendering of the spirit of "Saya no uchi de katsu" is a bit different from that which is presented by the most other martial arts enthusiasts. To me, it means that one's spirit and shengxin (in Japanese, "zanshin") should be strong enough that the enemy is unable to resist them when you enter into a conflict. The (figurative) sword is sheathed but you will not hesitate for even a microsecond to draw it and cut the enemy down if the need should arise. If your spirit is strong enough, your opponent will be rendered incapable of resisting you. Victory is achieved at the instant that you determine to enter into the conflict, long before your sword is drawn (if it is, in fact, ever drawn at all).

Developing this kind of spirit and shengxin is not something that can be deliberately achieved. In fact, the more you reach for it, the further it slips away. It will come to you in time if you train hard and with a true heart. So look at it, consider it, and then forget about it.

PROPER USE OF THE HEAVY BAG

by Phillip Starr

*Partially excerpted from the author's book, “Martial Mechanics.”

I've seen numerous videos of martial arts practitioners hitting the heavy bag with a variety of punches and kicks and happily smiling as the bag swings out away form them. In fact, there's some footage of a well-known deceased kung-fu enthusiast performing a step-in side thrust kick against a large heavy. His kick caused the bag to swing out to a near-horizontal position and viewers comment on the remarkable power of such a kick.

And they're wrong.

Consider this; if the bag moves away from you when you strike it, you're PUSHING it! The further it swings out, the more of a “push effect” you generate...and in the practice of real martial arts, we're not interested in shoving things; we actually want to deliver what I call “body shock”, which is considerably different than pushing.

Watching the bag swing away from you certainly engenders a feeling of great power and makes you feel all a-twitter about the strength of your technique but it's all an illusion. Although it's fun to watch the bag swing violently when you hit it, its swinging reaction indicates that the force of your blow is being expended on the surface of the target instead of penetrating through it.

Bruce Lee's legendary “one-inch punch” sent his partner sprawling backwards for some distance. At the risk of creating a whole new slew of antagonists, I will state for the record that this is indicative of a push rather than a shocking punch. A genuinely shocking blow would have dropped his partner almost where he stood. For this reason, I refer to it as the “one-inch push”, which, although it certainly LOOKED impressive...was no more than a strong push.

Focused shock won't cause the bag to swing much at all! If you hold a .357 magnum against the bag which generates more shocking power than any of your techniques can generate on your very best day) and fire it, what will happen? The bag certainly won't swing away from the blast to any large degree at all. It might “scissors.” It might even jump a bit. But it won't swing much. The same thing should occur with your technique, if it's correct. If your focused blow generates shock that penetrates THROUGH the bag instead of spreading all over its surface, the bag won't swing very much. It might “scissors” or jump, but it won't swing. So the next time you practice with the heavy bag, watch what it does when you hit it forcefully. Don't get caught up in the game of seeing how far you can move it. Try doing just the opposite...

POLISH AND PERFECTION

 by Phillip Starr

There's often a lot of talk about being a good fighter and a good martial artist, and there's a qualitative difference that I think many people miss. Fighters train to be better fighters; to win the prize (in the case of competitive fighting), or to defeat their opponents. Period. A traditionally trained martial artist trains to “not lose”, which is different from “winning.” Moreover, he strives to perfect his movements and technique for purposes of self-perfection, which cannot be achieved in a single lifetime but he strives for it anyway.

In martial arts, the idea is to perfect the technique and everything associated with it (ie., body movement, stance, posture, and so on). The idea is to do more with less. This isn't necessarily the case with “fighters.” My experience has been that they tend to have a different mindset.

Traditional martial arts involve much more than just practicing certain techniques, movements, and squaring off against a training partner or an opponent in a competition. Certain traditions, which have been maintained for centuries, must be followed (and that often involves some considerable practice) and (and this is vitally important) understood very thoroughly. Without understanding, they become meaningless caricatures. There are those who say that “This is America (or any other Western nation). Why should we have to follow meaningless, pointless, Oriental traditions?”

Such statements are made by those who haven't taken the time to deeply study these traditions and they don't understand them or the need for them. Sadly, one of the things they fail to grasp is that the understanding and continued practice (still seeking perfection) of these arcane traditions actually impacts one's overall martial skill.

The true martial artist is never satisfied with his skill. In that regard, he lives outside of a “comfort zone.” He is constantly polishing various aspects of the art that he practices. Like a mirror...

THE ONE CHANCE MINDSET

 by Phillip Starr

In a old thread on a martial arts forum, an instructor who is a close friend of mine presented a quote from Master Chosin Chibana, wherein he emphasized that (traditional) karate training is directed towards developing the ability to kill in a single blow. This was a very apt quote and one with which both the karate teacher and I (as well as many senior Yiliquan practitioners) agree whole-heartedly. Although I've done two or three lectures on this concept I'd like to toss out one more, which has to do with the mindset of this concept which seems to have been tossed by the wayside in most of today's modern martial arts schools.

Actually, the Okinawan and Japanese schools have always emphasized this more heavily than the Chinese. Insofar as kung-fu is concerned, the implementation of this concept and type of rigorous training varied from one system to the next. In some forms of Shao-lin boxing, the idea of killing in one strike was heavily emphasized, but in other styles such as Wing Chun and others, it is not (the idea is to land a "hit" and eventually beat the poop out of the other guy). My primary kung-fu teacher stressed the importance of developing this kind of skill and intent, and, of course, my early karate teachers pushed the same thing.

The idea of, and training for, killing an opponent with a single blow is one of the main things that separates traditional Asian percussive martial arts from their more modernized counterparts (many of which have become "sportified") as well as from numerous martial disciplines from other parts of the world. European fencing, for example, is not necessarily directed towards this end. Traditional Japanese kenjutsu is. Filipino arnis is not directed mainly to kill the enemy in a single strike, either...nor is western boxing, French savate, Russian systema (as nearly as I can determine considering my limited exposure to it), or South American caperoira. Karate (the original version) is. *Note: Grappling arts such as judo, sambo, jujutsu, and others are not percussive martial disciplines and do not really enter into this part of the article.

This is why the past Okinawan karate teachers were so selective about their students (the same is true of numerous Chinese styles) and why they were so insistent that training be approached with the utmost seriousness. Students were, after all, training so as to be able to kill another human being in one blow; of literally turning their bodies into living, breathing weapons which were capable of penetrating through light armor and ending the life of the person inside. In one strike.

The Japanese sword is not designed for lengthy sword fights such as one might witness in a European-style duel. The styles of Japanese swordsmanship did not provide training for such drawn-out affairs; the idea was to end the fight with a single cut. This is what their sword is made to do...to kill a man in a single blow (most swords are not capable of withstanding that kind of powerful shock). If you failed, you died. End of conflict.

I have seen dozens and dozens of teachers and styles both of karate and kung-fu which say, "If the enemy attacks like this, I can do this and this and this...." and so on. The oldsters would have simply shifted and dropped the bad guy where he stood. No fancy "twisting like a dragon" movements. Just shift, BANG!, and it was over. However, this kind of approach to fighting is foreign to us (Westerners). I suppose it has to do with our being accustomed to boxing matches and "fair fights" (whatever that is) and perhaps our sense of "morality" which shrinks from the thought of killing another human being. In the ancient Orient, such "morality" would get you dead very quickly. The old saying, "He who hesitates is lost" was never more apt.

In a sense, the old-time martial arts practitioners were akin to the gunfighters of the old American West. He wouldn't hesitate for an instant to blow you away and anyone who hesitated for even a microsecond because the thought of killing another human being was distasteful (or whatever) would end up with a new bodily orifice and a bed of pine wood. An old friend of mine from my law enforcement days who was a special agent for the FBI told me, "Never draw your weapon unless you intend to use it. And when you shoot, shoot to kill." It was a line I'd heard many times before but somehow, it meant more to me hearing it from him.

If someone makes a "small attack"; one that is not overly-dangerous, it can be handled with simple self-defense techniques. But if the situation is more severe, remember his words. "Never draw your weapon (karate/kung-fu) unless you intend to use it. And when you shoot (strike), shoot to kill."

Many, perhaps even most, of our contemporary versions of alleged "martial arts" are not directed towards this end; towards downing the enemy in an instant. We have "submission" wrestling (I still can't figure out how "submission" works in a street fight, especially when your life is on the line), "reality" fighting (I guess the traditional martial arts represent the "fantasy" forms...huh) - most of which has had very limited or no testing in reality...go figure, "natural" forms of fighting ("a baby moves his arm like this, so it's natural...and this is how you should strike, because it's natural")...except I've never seen an infant win a street fight...and God knows how many other variations on the theme. I think that when you get down to it, most people simply don't want to put out the effort required to develop the high levels of skill which are demanded in the traditional martial arts.

Whatever.

I know how I'm going to continue to practice. How about you?

MUSIC AND MARTIAL ARTS

 by Phillip Starr

Many moons ago, the founder of Kyokushin karate, Masutatsu Oyama, remarked on the types of people who are able to achieve skill in karate rather quickly. He included musicians (and secondarily, those who love to listen to music) in his rather short list. It was some time before I figured out why.

To become a skilled musician, you must acquire an understanding of rhythms; you must understand half-beats and even quarter-beats... and the same is true of those wishing to become skilled in the martial arts. For someone who is unfamiliar with the (musical) concept of rhythms, the idea of striking an enemy in a half-beat seems quite foreign. It is no coincidence that many of the finest and best-known warriors of times past had a genuine appreciation of music and more than a few were accomplished musicians themselves! Inscrutable.

Consider that everything in life has rhythm(s). We have the four seasons, which rise and fall with a certain rhythm (except in southern China where I lived); it's not unusual to skip Fall and go directly from Summer to Winter. I guess it's a “skipped beat!”. Your gait has a certain rhythm. Relationships, health, the life cycle, dancing, and even painting all have rhythms. And there are rhythms within rhythms. If you can become finely attuned to your opponent's rhythm, how can he ever hope to successfully attack you? Were he to make such an attempt, he would be instantly defeated.

In the West, we've pretty much adopted the four-beat rhythm in our music. One noted author believes that this may be largely due to the rhythmical beat of horse's hooves. On the other hand, he says, most people in feudal Japan, Okinawa, Korea, and China didn't ride horses. For one thing, acquiring and keeping a horse was quite expensive. Another consideration is that of the local roads, which were really dirt paths of varying sizes. Special passes were often required of those wishing to ride horses or pull heavy wagons over these trails; the wheels of too many wagons would result in deep ruts, which would inhibit foot traffic considerably. And horse's hooves would simply tear up the smoothed dirt. In the West, travel by wagon or horse was much more common and I guess they didn't care about ruts (heck, they didn't even care about cleaning themselves after defecating; it was the Chinese who introduced the use of “toilet paper” to Europeans).

The aforementioned author goes on to say that in the East, musical “rhythms” were taken from nature; the dripping of water after a rain, for instance. Thus, the reason for the differences in tempos between Eastern and Western music. For purposes of gaining a deep understanding of rhythm, I think it's a good idea to appreciate both types of music. In my classes, I always played Eastern music, figuring that my students got their fill of Western music on their own...

Not all kata utilize the same rhythm. Each one has its own special rhythms. Different sections of a given kata employ different rhythms and unless you know and practice them, you're doing little more than a sophisticated forms of jumping jacks. You have to study them in detail because they can change the entire meaning (breakdown) of a form. The vast majority of martial arts practitioners (and that includes instructors) are missing this vital element in their kata. I've even seen a number of world-renowned teachers plopping through their kata without so much as a whisper of rhythm! So, please make it a point to learn the various rhythm of your kata and always include them in your practice.

If you ask most karate or taekwondo teachers about the purpose of 3-step fight, most of them will tell you that this familiar exercise, which confuses beginners and bores advanced students half to death, is intended primarily to teach the applications of various blocking techniques. They secondarily teach the application of basic striking, thrusting, and kicking techniques. This has become the “traditional” explanation because most people have been doing it this for generations. When beginners first learn to practice this form of kumite, it is very useful in teaching them basic applications of techniques as well as how to properly advance and retreat. Advanced students, however, rarely practice 3-step fight because they have acquired a good level of skill in these things.

But.

3-step fight is also an exercise through which students learn about rhythm; they learn how to “break” the opponent's rhythm. This is a crucial aspect of kumite that is often overlooked. A detailed, illustrated explanation of this is provided in my book, “MARTIAL MANEUVERS.” If you don't already have a copy, get one!

The next step is 1-step fight, which not only teaches evasive maneuvers and the applications of technique, but also a slightly more subtle (and hence, more difficult) method of learning to feel and respond to an opponent's rhythm. This is virtually impossible to do unless one has mastered the methods that are to be learned in 3-step fight. Only after achieving some appreciable skill in understanding rhythm via 1-step kumite, should one engage in vigorous jyu-kumite (freestyle sparring).

The discerning practitioner will soon discover that “speed”, per se, isn't nearly as important as being able to detect and respond to the opponent's rhythm. If you can feel his rhythm, there's no need to “hurry.” This is how and why aging masters seem to be extraordinarily fast and able to defeat much younger adversaries with ease; their ability to feel and react to an opponent's rhythm (their “timing”) is razor-sharp. Let's face it, no 80 year old, regardless of how physically fit he may be, is ever going to be faster than a 25 year old. As the years pass, our speed declines and there's simply nothing we can do about it. But timing can always be improved, regardless of age. So when a younger opponent attacks an older master with great speed and power, the latter responds at the right instant and this gives the illusion that he is moving at extremely high speed.

It takes study, introspection, and LOTS of practice... not just in martial arts, but in other aspects of daily life, too. And an understanding of rhythms can lead to a deeper understanding of other things as well. Now, go back to your first kata and find the rhythm. It is how your kata speaks to you. Listen to it.