LENGFAN

 by Phillip Starr

Sun Lutang (1860-1933), renowned founder of the Sun styles of both baguazhang and taijiquan rose early each morning in Beijing to walk to his baguazhang practice with the famous master, Cheng Tinghua. Upon completing his bagua training for the day, he'd immediately set out to walk to the other side of the city where he'd train in xingyiquan under the tutelage of the legendary Guo Yunshen (the “Divine Crushing Fist”). That must have been a really arduous task; even in those days, Beijing was huge. The foot traffic had to be all but impassable, but he walked the route every day, in the blistering heat of summer and the snowy days of winter.

In 1938, Masutatsu Oyama left Korea (being a native Korean named Choi Young Li, and he would later adopt the Japanese name, Masutatsu Oyama) to apply at the Yamanashi Aviation School. He had high hopes of becoming a pilot but was refused because of his nationality, so he managed to find a menial job driving a small truck through Tokyo in the wee hours of the morning. After studying karate under Gigo Funakoshi at Takushoku University, he went into the wilds of Mt. Minobu in Yamanashi Prefecture where he trained outside of the small hut he'd constructed. Eventually, he stopped living in the run-down structure and when he no longer received supplies of food from a friend who had been bringing them to him regularly, he lived outdoors...even in the winter! He noted that he'd sleep on the snow-packed ground and hunt for berries and other foodstuffs to sustain him during the nearly 3-year period he spent on the mountain. He would go on to found the Kyokushin school of karate.

Morihei Uyeshiba (founder of modern aikido) often allowed his most senior disciples to live in his home and he'd wake up in the middle of the night, having dreamt of a new technique. He'd wake his pupils, who would act as his uke (receiver) although they were still half-asleep and bleary-eyed.

And today...students ignore the aches and pains of daily training, push aside the concerns of a day at work or school, and do their best to resist the urge to settle back onto the couch and watch a movie or settle in with a good book. On certain evenings they venture out to class, where they'll be thrown about and be attacked with a variety of punches and kicks...for reasons that are a little difficult to verbalize. They're bright enough to understand that practicing their chosen art will likely never land them a Hollywood contract, turn them into invincible super-heroes, or enable them to enjoy a wealthy lifestyle. But they endure through the humidity of summer and the ice of winter to continue travelling their path where the reward for suffering through the physical and intellectual maze of technique and form is to have more of the same heaped on. And the further they travel along this path, the more demanding it becomes.

Errors and lapses in attention might be forgiven when they are beginners, but illuminated in a harsh spotlight by their teachers as they progress. And finally, as they approach the level where their teachers have no more to teach or even criticize, they may think their journey is nearing the end. Not so. At this advanced level, the practitioner must turn inward to re-examine his technique and lifestyle to seek out weaknesses, impose upon himself even more hardships, and searching for a level of the Way that is increasingly severe.

This is sometimes referred to as “lengfan” or “eating cold rice.” Unless you eat rice as a part of your regular diet, you may wonder about this expression. Well, the next time you find some leftover rice in the refrigerator, try a mouthful before you warm it back up. You'll probably find it a bit less than palatable. Very different from the freshly steamed variety. Soldiers in the field would eat cold rice because they lacked the equipment and time to heat it. Bachelors are known to garf it down in the morning when there's nothing else available for breakfast. A bowl of cold rice can make us appreciate that even the most blessed and fortunate among us will suffer from time to time. Not every meal will be just as we like it...

Eating cold rice puts eating in a new perspective. If we're hungry, it sustains us. The austere training of the martial will fill our bellies even though it's not as tasty as we'd like. The austerity of practice in the martial Ways is a lot like that...they are disciplines that are stripped of self-indulgences and ego decorations. To follow them requires a certain amount of stoicism and an enduring spirit. The true martial artist doesn't mind cold rice; he sees it as an essential means of improving himself and perfecting his spirit.

He doesn't prefer cold rice, but he accepts it; he knows that true contentment is not gained through acquiring things. If one cannot be happy or content unless they have hot rice (or that new car, or the latest fashionable shoes...), one is probably going to live a very unsatisfied, unhappy life. But if you can be content with the rice – hot or cold – chances are that you'll find contentment in everything life offers.

The masters of days past ate cold rice many times in their lives; they endured and moved forward. Their lives weren't centered on material goals; they'd accepted a different path – one that requires accepting some hardships. Without such a stoic outlook, they'd have learned much less than they did. One well-known author said that all of the valuable lessons he'd learned in life were learned through suffering. So those who have chosen to follow the martial Ways must determine in what direction they want to go. But they must be prepared to eat a bowl of cold rice from time to time...

WELL, THAT WAS FUN...

 by Phillip Starr

As Westerners, we place a lot of value on “having fun” when we engage in various activities, including martial arts. Having been involved in teaching the martial ways for more than five decades (and practicing them for more than six), I will say that more emphasis is placed on this idea than in years past. For those instructors who run full-time schools, it has become one of the top priorities of their class curriculum; after all, if students don't have fun in training, aren't they less likely to continue to attend class? Probably. Our priorities are flawed.

When you enroll in a martial arts school/group in the East, the #1 priority is learning the art and acquiring skill as opposed to having “fun.” They feel that strength of will and spirit, and the building of character is achieved primarily through very hard training. Period. For instance, kendo is very arduous and rigorous. After training one day, one young man remarked to his friend that “class today was a lot of fun.” He didn't notice that the instructor happened to be standing within earshot. The next day's class was fairly brutal...

The teacher(s) aren't trying to mistreat students at all; they're determined to teach them an authentic martial discipline and assist them in becoming better people. Spirit and character, they feel, is not to be developed any other way. I've had many students over the years who expressed a desire to learn the “spiritual” side of the martial ways, but were apalled at the severity of the training. The spiritual side of these arts is not to be achieved through meditation or simply reading about it; the spiritual truths are revealed only through relentless training over a period of time.

Now, I'm not anti-fun or anything like that...having fun has its place in training, but for the most part, training should be serious and rigorous.

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.