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.

KUZUSHI

 by Phillip Starr

*Portions excerpted from the book, “Martial Maneuvers” by the author.

In Japanese martial arts such a judo, “kuzushi” refers to breaking the opponent's balance. The characters for kuzushi are pronounced “bengjun” in Chinese. The first character means “to collapse.” The second character refers to balance. One author translated the first character as “demolish” and that infers a violent, explosive action and kuzushi needn't be so conspicuous. A smooth and often subtle movement causes the opponent's equilibrium to collapse, to fall in on top of itself. This is really an art form of its own.

In judo and other highly sophisticated grappling arts kuzushi was once practiced very assiduously. After all, it's very difficult to throw an opponent whose balance is intact. Not only is it difficult to throw her, it's very risky attempting to throw someone whose balance is intact because she's easily capable of countering any attempt to bring her down. She can then quickly apply powerful striking or grappling techniques of her own.

Learning how to break the opponent's balance and use her own force against her is in keeping with one of judo's famous maxims, which reminds practitioners to strive to obtain maximum effectiveness with minimum effort. There's a lot more to that statement than meets the eye.

If an opponent pushes against you and you push back or try to hold your ground, you are resisting him. In such a situation, the stronger person will win. However, if you yield to him and pull him in the direction he is pushing, you can easily gain control of his movement.

The same is true if the opponent pulls you towards himself. If you'll yield to his force and push him, his balance is easily broken and he can be brought under control without too much difficulty.

In both cases the object is to yield to the aggressor's force and thereby displace his center of balance. Once that's achieved, he's helpless unless he's allowed to regain his balance.

In the practice of aikido the art of breaking balance is a little more intriguing. When the opponent attacks, his mind (intention, known as “yi”) leads his body. A skilled aikidoka is capable of exploiting this fact, allowing the opponent to overextend himself by subtly encouraging him to do so. The enemy's force and movement can then be easily intercepted and redirected.

In both of these grappling forms, students move from the grossly overt to the fine and subtle. That is, a beginning judo student usually fails to apply kuzushi at all. He'll grunt and strain as he tries to literally lift his opponent and throw him. As he continues to study and practice the art, he'll discover the importance of kuzushi. At that point he usually grabs his partner's jacket in a death-grip and starts yanking, pushing, and pulling in outwardly gross attempts to effect kuzushi.

But the technique of the master judoist is much more subtle. Knowing that taking a powerful grip on his opponent's jacket can lead to entanglement, joint twists, and other problems, he gently HOOKS his partner's jacket with his fingertips and a delicate touch. His touch is fine so that he can feel his opponent's movements and thereby detect his intentions. This is not unlike taijiquan's “tui-shou” (push hands) exercises. When he unbalances his opponent it is done so subtly that the opponent himself is often unaware of it until he's airborne.

An aikido novice often focuses on how to turn the joint or the arm or whatever and pays little or no attention to the concept of kusuzhi. She uses her own strength in an attempt to force her assailant's joint to turn this way or that, and after just a few minutes of practice she's soaked with sweat.

The master seems to glide along a current of air and her uke (receiver) often feels that he has no control over himself at all. He is caught up in a whirlwind of movement that may result in his being tossed several feet away or brought down quickly in a painful joint twist. The more effort he uses to attack the master, the easier it is for the master to throw him or bring him into submission.

The same thing is true in Japanese kenjutsu. The two swordsmen face each other with their weapons positioned just so. There is very little overt movement; no hopping around like a rabbit on amphetamines. The first one to make an error will be struck down instantly. They're focused on what they're doing, joining their minds to feel each other's intent.

Obviously, if one stumbles, he will quickly become a popular breakfast food – toast. But there's little chance of that because they've trained long and hard to maintain physical balance. If either fighter initiates an attack with a large, gross movement, he will be struck down instantly.

They're not just standing still and admiring each other's pretty eyes. They're feeling each other's mind and spirit. If one swordsman's spirit should become unbalanced – if it should waver for even an instant – the fight will be brought to a sudden close because his opponent will sense it and destroy him. This kind of kuzushi is extremely subtle.

There is a story told about the founder of modern judo, Dr. Jigaro Kano. A British boxer who was a sailor on a ship was asked by the ships captain to have a bout with the famous judo master. He felt that a grappling art was no match for Western fisticuffs. Although Kano was dressed in a business suit, he agreed on the spot to demonstrate the effectiveness of his art. The two contestants squared off. Kano reached into the breast pocket of his suit jacket and deftly tossed a handkerchief into the air. As the boxer glanced at it, Kano skilfully took advantage of the moment and threw him, being careful to cushion his opponent's head so that he wouldn't be injured by the fall.

There's more to the story that just a chuckle. Kano distracted his opponent by UNBALANCING HIS MIND and as I've said before, mental and physical balance are inseparable. Once his opponent's mental balance wad disturbed, his physical balance was likewise (although very subtly) disturbed. And he was vulnerable. Consider the true qualities of balance. That is, one's equilibrium consists not only of one's physical posture but also one's mental poise. Thus, you can execute kuzushi and place the opponent in a very vulnerable condition by unbalancing either his body or his mind!

Of course, you must have very fine technique to take advantage of such a subtle thing. Kano's technique was so perfect that he was able to utilize that microsecond of vulnerability and throw his opponent.

There are other very subtle forms of kuzushi, particularly in so far as self-defense is concerned. For instance, when an aggressor speaks (as in giving a command), his mind is focused largely on what he's saying and his reaction time drops by almost 50%. The same is true of laughter. If he laughs, he's highly vulnerable. One officer with the Arizona Border Patrol was faced by two assailants. One held a pistol while the other aimed a shotgun at him. His own weapon was still holstered. He told them that if they'd lay down their weapons, he'd simply arrest them; otherwise, he'd be forced to kill them both. He darned well knew the reaction he'd get. They both laughed. And he killed the two of them.

Here's another useful tip. Have a partner stand normally, with his feet spread about shoulder's width. Step forward and place one foot directly between his feet. Place weight on your foot. Your partner may lean back or perhaps even stumble a bit. In any case, he will feel very uncomfortable and “unbalanced.” This is because you are stepping on what I call his “third foot”, which is actually his center of gravity. For a moment, he is quite vulnerable. This can be a useful tidbit of information when it comes to throwing, executing joint techniques, or striking (in which case you aim to step on his third foot but it will be necessary to land your blow before your foot touches down).

Remember, there's more to kuzushi than just pushing or pulling. “Balance” consists of two parts; physical balance and mental balance. Strive to improve your skill with kuzushi until you can apply it in very subtle ways. Highly advanced, masterful forms of kuzushi are not easily seen.

HAVE YOU LOST YOUR MIND?

 By Phillip Starr

I used to ask my students, “Have you lost your mind?” They'd look at me quizzically and I'd continue with my query, “Where did you put it?” And they'd continue to stare at me...

When someone grabs you or punches at you, where does your mind go? Where does it fix itself? For most people, the mind instantly becomes attached to the spot where they are being seized or on the opponent's fist...and this is a serious error. Remember, where your mind goes, so does your attention, your body, and your energy.

As an experiment, have a partner firmly grasp your wrist. If you place your mind and your attention on where he has clutched you, you will be unable to free yourself or move much at all. However, if you focus on your One-Point (my term for the dantien or “tanden” in Japanese) you will find that your body can move in any direction. Your elbow and your shoulder have not been immobilized either, and you can move them quite easily. Thus, you have many options for dealing with this form of attack...unless you fix your mind on the spot where you have been attacked.

If your partner intends to punch you, you mustn't focus your attention on his fist. In swordsmanship, you are told not to focus your mind on your opponent's sword. If you do, you will very likely lose the battle.

So, where should you fix your mind, you ask? The best example I can think of has to do with swordsmanship. You are holding your sword and are poised in front of your opponent who also wields a sword. What is your objective? If you answer that your primary intention is to stay alive, then you will probably fail. The correct is, of course, to cut your enemy! Your mind and intention should be fixed on him rather than on yourself, his weapon, or where he intends to cut you.

The opponent is, of course, at a disadvantage; he must attach his intention to a particular part of you. He must know if he's going to direct his cut at your head or shoulder, if he's going to punch you in the nose, or seize your left wrist or right lapel. This means that HIS MIND IS FIXED and not free to move about. His mind is focused on a particular form of attack, which is directed at a specific target. Consequently, it cannot immediately respond to any kind of counter-measure. It can only direct its single attack; it cannot react defensively. This is the great flaw of attack.

So next time you practice, especially with a partner, make sure you don't lose your mind... :-)

FORMS AND FIGHTING, FIGHTING AND FORMS

 by Phillip Starr

*Excerpted from “Martial Maneuvers” by the author.

Beginning piano students spend countless hours practicing simple finger exercises and eventually move on to study the classics – compositions that were created by masters of ages past. The martial arts masters who contributed to the creation of the traditional forms, the classics of Eastern martial disciplines – are our Bachs, Beethovens, and Mozarts.

The forms of your chosen craft are representative of your art and are intended to teach you how it is to be applied in combat. Therefore, the manner in which you fight should look very much like, and have have the flavor of, your forms. Unfortunately, this isn't true for most contemporary martial arts practitioners. Let me give you an example of what I mean...

Many years ago, I was invited to help officiate at a large Chinese martial arts tournament. I witnessed some truly remarkable forms that day. Performed with great celerity and precision, they were absolutely beautiful and I looked forward to watching the freestyle sparring competition because each martial discipline has its own flavor, its own way of applying various techniques as shown and practiced in its forms. However, my enthusiasm wilted when the sparring competitors, suited up with all the appropriate headgear and hand and foot pads, blasted into each other with all the finesse and technique of a second-grade schoolyard slugfest. It resembled an abysmal, ineffective mishmash of sloppy Western boxing and slipshod Muay Thai. No one demonstrated any particular style at all; they all looked the same, regardless of what form of kung-fu they practiced!

Clearly, these people did not make the connection between form and fighting.

Much of the reason for the lack of real martial skill has to do with the WAY in which many of today's practitioners train. Forms are often practiced as a matter of tradition with little attention given to the information they contain and the fighting skills that they are intended to develop. Simply running through a form “by the numbers” isn't enough; the various fighting techniques and tactics must be extracted and practiced repeatedly until they can be performed correctly without conscious effort. Unless this is done, we cannot hope to achieve “form.”

THE DEATH FACTOR

 by Phillip Starr

For all the spiritual insights that one might achieve, it is often well to remember just what the various martial disciplines were designed for; killing other human beings as quickly and efficiently as possible. They were not intended to get you in touch with your inner child, reduce stress, or help you get rid of those nasty extra pounds. Certainly, there are many benefits to be gained from regular practice of a martial discipline but don't mistake a benefit for the primary purpose of the art.

Now, I'm not advocating the practice of some kind of so-called “reality martial art” where we all wear spiffy camouflaged pants and combat boots. What I'm saying is that it is essential to practice as if our lives depend upon what we do; as if we're engaged in actual combat. When you practice your basic techniques at full-tilt boogie, when you burn through your kata, when you practice basic one-step or freestyle sparring with a partner, it should be done with the feeling that the slightest error, the smallest loss of balance, power, or anything else will result in your immediate demise. Don't just “lob” your kicks out there, don't dance your way through your forms, and don't just toss your techniques at your partner as if you're playing catch. Gichin Funakoshi, the “Father of Japanese Karate” put it very succinctly when he said, “Practice should be done with deadly seriousness.”

Sure, there are times for playing and laughing but for the most part, training should be very serious. For beginning students, it is perhaps a little less serious because they are still learning how to execute the various movements and control their techniques (to avoid injuring their partners as well as themselves), but for more senior practitioners it is much more serious. When two seniors square off to practice one-step fighting, the receiver must understand that if he makes a mistake, he may well be knocked down. He must feel as though he is looking death in the face. He must face up to the primary underlying fear that we all have in our hearts...the fear of death. And he must overcome it.

It is this experience that's vital to acquiring a real understanding of the essence of martial arts. It's one thing to attend class and enjoy the social life that it offers. It's quite another thing to face a partner who will surely knock you out of your socks if you make an error. It needn't always be this way but such serious training is a very necessary part of traveling the martial path. I once met a female taijiquan teacher who assured me that she KNEW that taiji had never been a martial art. She disdained fighting in any way, shape, or form and insisted that taijiquan had been developed to improve health and awaken a certain sense of spirituality. There was no convincing her otherwise.

Another taijiquan school had a sign outside that said, “Taijiquan; The Harmless Martial Art.” Kind of a paradox, I thought. But I was walking with some friends and decided to turn away from that one. Just another flake in a bowl of granola.

Intention is another key factor. If your training partner doesn't have the INTENTION to knock you down, how can you expect to ever learn to connect with him and FEEL his intention? The ability to do this could well mean the difference between life and death in a serious struggle.

A rough parallel can be drawn between a soldier who has completed basic training and a veteran who has looked death in the face. They both know how to use their weapons; they both received the same training but the veteran has something that the newbie lacks. Experience. He's experienced the knotting of his gut, the surge of adrenalin that pours into his bloodstream by the gallon just before combat, the fear, the doubt, and many other things that occur just before he rushes into the jaws of death. He's learned to control them, to do what he must do regardless of the fear factor and the so-called “lizard brain” theory.

It is my contention that this kind of experience and subsequently, training that is as close to the real thing as we can get without going over the edge and actually injuring each other, helps to eliminate the “lizard-brain” concept. Repeated, realistic training is the key. Unrealistic practice, especially that which involves a partner who has no real INTENTION, leads to nothing.

And it is my belief that regular, repeated training of this kind can lead to a true understanding of the spiritual side of the martial ways. One who has never “looked death in the face” can never achieve this level of understanding. As the legendary Masutatsu Oyama (founder of Kyokushin karate) told us, “To truly understand the spirit of karate, we must face death and, if necessary, be willing to die.”

THE CRITICAL INTERVAL

 by Phillip Starr

In traditional Japanese swordsmanship there is a poem that tells us,

"To strike the opponent you must have your own skin cut;

To break the opponent's bones you must be cut to the flesh;

To take the opponent's life you must have your own bones broken."

The famous Japanese swordsman, Yagyu Jubei Mitsuyoshi (first son of Yagyu Tajima No Kami Munenori, who was head swordmaster for the Tokugawa shogunate) said, "The difference between victory and defeat lies within the distance of one 'cun'." A "cun" is known in Chinese as a "tsun" (or "cun", in Pinyin). It is the measurement of the body inch used by acupuncturists and is generally found by bending the middle finger and measuring the distance between the fold of the first and second knuckles.

It's pretty darned small.

A story is told of a duel in which Jubei participated. The challenger was a samurai of a daimyo whom Jubei was visiting and he asked for a lesson with bokken (wooden swords). Although such "lessons" could easily result in serious injuries, Jubei agreed. Once the swordsmen squared off, the action was quick and the two fighters seemed to strike at each other simultaneously. It was impossible for anyone to really tell who won. The challenger asked for another chance and it was provided, but with the same outcome. Members of the audience swore that the duel had ended in a "hikiwake" (a tie) but Jubei told them that they were unable to discern the true timing of his stroke.

His opponent then demanded that they have another go at it but with shinken (live swords). Jubei tried to talk him out of it but the young man would have none of it. Thereupon, they had at it one more time but this time the challenger's kimono was soaked with blood as he backed away. He collapsed, dead on the spot. Jubei's sleeve had been cut and he suffered a slight wound from his opponent's sword. It was then that he uttered his famous saying about the distance between life and death being no wider than one "cun."

Author Dave Lowry refers to this as "yuyo", which is, I think, called "yaoyan" in Chinese. It means roughly, "critical distance"...the distance between life and death, the very essence of timing and distance (which are actually the same thing). It is mastery of real technique.

If you want to see yaoyan in action, don't go to the next karate, kung-fu, or taekwondo tournament. You won't find it there. In those fiascos, one never sees truly refined, masterful technique. In fact, you'll not see it very often in today's martial arts schools (an unfortunate fact, but true).

However, if you chance upon a traditional school and observe well-trained students practicing three-step or one-step fight, you may get a chance to witness it. The attacker will fire his technique with absolute precision, aiming to just touch the receiver. However, the receiver will shift and execute a defensive maneuver or technique at the last possible moment and fire out his own counter-technique, which, although it is delivered with maximum destructive power, will stop just short of contact. It is directed at a specific target and its timing will be flawless. The attacker, putting complete trust in his training partner, will make no attempt to block or evade the counter-attack. He might blink, but he won't move because to do so might cause him to step into the blow and, even worse, it would show his partner that he doesn't trust him or have much faith in his skill.

Those who have refined this technique even further are capable of applying it during freestyle one-step and freestyle sparring practice.

This is becoming a real rarity nowadays, especially since the advent of the padded mittens and footies that are worn by many, if not most, contemporary martial arts practitioners. Wearing pads and other such protective devices not only inhibits the development of this fine skill, it encourages participants to use brute, uncontrolled technique. Since they're wearing armor they're not overly concerned with running into their partner's attack (and remember - he's wearing pads, too...). Real martial skill goes right down the stool in the name of safety.

I say, "get a grip." It should be understood from the outset that engaging in a vigorous martial arts program is likely to result in many minor injuries (split lips, black eyes, bruises, strawberries, and the like) and the very real possibility of serious ones. It's simply the nature of the beast. I have never used protective gear in my schools and I've been teaching martial arts for over 50 years. To this day, I've never had a student seriously injured. Not once. It's simply a matter of proper training with the right attitude.