BOARDS DON'T HIT BACK...?

by Phillip Star

In the classic martial arts movie, “Enter the Dragon”, the famous martial arts actor of the day, Bruce Lee, faced off against the opposition's main axe-man who began the match by tossing a board into the air and breaking it with a quick thrust. “Boards don't hit back”, Lee sneered...and then went on to pummel his foe into the ground. Another well-known martial arts figure once stated that, “Bricks and boards give a resounding thwack, but bricks and boards don't hit back.”

True enough. I've heard the same thing from numerous martial arts teachers over the years but I always wondered if they'd ever considered that heavy bags and striking posts don't back, either. I realize that they were saying simply that the ability to break various objects with the bare hands and feet are not necessarily indicative of one's martial skill in so far as fighting is concerned, but then...neither is striking the heavy bag. I think that people who makes such statements are missing the point. After all, silhouette targets that are used by firearms enthusiasts don't shoot back, either...

They would likely argue that hitting the heavy bag fosters the development of strong technique (if it's done correctly... and a great many people use it incorrectly). I think I would counter with the same argument regarding board and brick breaking. More importantly, the breaking techniques promote the development of a strong spirit and teach practitioners how to extend their yi (mind, intention, will...), which isn't always the case with using pieces of equipment like the heavy bag. Different training devices assist in the development of different aspects of a chosen martial discipline; there is no single piece of equipment that helps to develop all of them.

The legendary Masutatsu (“Mas”) Oyama, founder of the Kyokushin style of Japanese karate, emphasized the importance of the breaking techniques because he regarded them as invaluable aids in the promotion of a strong spirit. Although he said that they can be used as a sort of barometer by which we can measure the power of a given technique, the main idea was the development of an indomitable spirit and it is this point that so many contemporary practitioners miss.

If you fail to make a particular break, it's because:

• Your technique is flawed one way or another
• You failed to extend your yi properly, or
• Your spirit is weak

Or any combination thereof. All of these things are necessary for the development of real fighting skill. At the same time, you can hit the heavy bag incorrectly (which is something that many people do everyday without knowing it), you can strike it without extending your yi (ditto), and it does not necessarily reflect a lack of spirit. So there.

The breaking techniques were not intended to be used as a form of showmanship. Back in the old days it was practiced primarily in the training hall, out of sight of the public at large. It was when the martial arts were brought to the West that these practice routines were used to enthrall audiences. The idea snowballed and before long, we had people performing all kinds of breaking techniques that had little to no value as far as training goes, but the public loved them! Of course, the same happened with freestyle sparring and the demonstrations of forms.

So, to those who say that breaking techniques are without value, I say, “take a closer look.” You'll be surprised at what you find...

A WORD FROM WATTS

by Phillip Starr

For those may not have heard of him, Alan Watts (6 January 1915 – 16 November 1973) was a British-born philosopher, writer, and speaker, best known as an interpreter of Zen. A one-time Episcopal priest, the church still utilizes some of his writings to this day. He was a prolific writer, particularly after studying Eastern ways of thought. authoring some 25 books and many articles. His first book, “The Way of Zen” (1957) remains a classic to this day. I was most fortunate in being able to meet him at a summer seminar in 1973 shortly before his untimely demise in an airplane crash. I learned more from him than I ever suspected at the time and a number of things that he told me that day have stayed in my mind ever since. This article is in regards to one of them.

Few people, even most fans of his, know that Watts was an avid practitioner of aikido. I found out because I was young, didn't know much about him or his fame (thus, I wasn't awed by him in the least until a few hours later), and I asked him directly, “Mr. Watts, do you practice martial arts?” He glanced sideways at me and I told him that I was a teacher of Chinese martial arts. It was then that he admitted to studying....and loving, aikido. In fact, he was very interested in all of the martial ways and because it was a rarity to find a practitioner of Chinese martial arts in those days, we talked at some length.

As we discussed martial arts he said, “Any physical activity taken to its extreme, becomes s spiritual path and leads to awakening.” I asked what he meant by, “extreme?” I remember that he smiled as he answered me. “If you strive for perfection in it, it eventually becomes a spiritual experience.”

“Even something like...tennis?” I asked.

He chuckled. “Yes, even tennis...or baseball, or crocheting. Any activity.”

I've mulled this over for many years now. The operative phrase in his answer is, “strive to perfect.” If we attend classes on a regular basis, that isn't enough. If we simply engage in the practice of basic techniques, kata, two-person routines...it isn't enough. We have to CONSCIOUSLY strive to perfect our skills as this leads towards self-perfection. It is the underlying theory of all martial arts. It is why we continue to practice for decade after decade. We don't do it for the exercise, although that certainly provides many wonderful side benefits. And we don't do it for self-defense; heck, we've acquired more than adequate self-defense skills after a fairly short time in training. We (should) do it because we are aiming at self-perfection.

Is such a thing even possible? I would have to answer, “No, not in this lifetime.” But that shouldn't discourage you in the least.

MARTIAL ARTS; DIFFERENCES BETWEEN EAST AND EAST

      No, the title of this article isn't a typo. It means what it says. It is an introduction into my thoughts about how and why the Japanese, Okinawans, Koreans, and Chinese practice their various martial forms.

      With the unification of Japan under the Tokugawa shogunate, civil war in Japan came to an end. The once highly-independent lords now served Tokugawa and had no need for the maintenance of large private armies. They “downsized” their military forces considerably and many samurai suddenly found themselves unemployed. A number of them opened their own dojos in an effort to keep food on the table and a roof over their heads. They had been taught, practiced, and still taught the “jutsu” forms of their respective disciplines. These arts are focused exclusively upon practical combatives without any concern for the student's spiritual development or anything else. They were, after all, originally developed to ensure the survival of the clan.

      With the passage of time and the relative disintegration of the “clans”, many of these arts morphed into “do” forms; martial disciplines that focus not only on developing fighting skills but also on the development of character and ultimately, spiritual awareness.

      The Japanese have always been a highly-disciplined people and their culture has always had a militaristic tendency. The samurai of days long past were, and still are, held in very high esteem. And although no one carries swords nowadays, feudal Japan is still very much alive. Ball-point pens have replaced swords. And almost all of the CEO's in modern Japan are descended from samurai families...which means that they are, in fact, samurai themselves.

And so they have continued to hold their traditional martial ways in the highest regard although they are now considered as being somewhat old-fashioned. For a time, the numbers of practitioners of the budo dwindled but their numbers are once again on the rise. They are, after all, a very large part of what has kept Japan Japanese! Many executives of various corporations bow to their teachers and engage in the practice of martial arts such as kendo, karate, and aikido in dojos that are maintained inside the buildings where they work! It is thought that the regular practice of these arts helps employees stay healthy, reduce stress, improve focus, and ultimately, improve productivity in the workplace.

      Many martial forms have been modified for the competition arena in Japan. These include kendo, karatedo, and of course, judo (which was originally developed from jujutsu as a sport method). There are numerous Japanese instructors who feel that the “sportification” of their arts has contributed to an overall degeneration and I would have to say that for all intents and purposes, that's true. However, the Japanese strive to maintain the spirit of the budo (even in competition) and this has helped prevent their arts from spiraling downward, out of control. It's a site better than what we see in the West, that's for sure!

      Unlike the Japanese, the people of Okinawa never developed much of a militaristic culture. Although they did have a warrior class, it was a far cry from that of Japan. The warrior's first obligation was to protect his emperor and country. After that, his loyalty was to his family. In some ways, much of early Okinawan culture mirrored that of its closest ally; China. Many Chinese visited or moved to Okinawa and numerous Okinawans spent a good deal of time in China, so it's only natural that they learned Chinese forms of martial arts. This is especially true of southern Chinese martial arts systems. And although most of us were taught that the Okinawans didn't learn Japanese martial arts, the truth is far different. Several well-known Okinawans traveled to Japan and became top-notch adepts at swordsmanship; several were even awarded menkyos (license to teach)!

      Okinawan martial ways seem to focus primarily on self-defense. They do engage in competitions but rarely do they train primarily for sport. In the past, the emphasis was almost wholly on combat practicality. This matches up with the “jutsu” forms of Japanese martial arts, which were intended to preserve the safety and perpetuation of the “clan.” With the passing of time the Okinawan forms, like the Japanese disciplines, were gradually transformed into “do” forms, emphasizing not only combative practicality but the development of character and spirit as well.

      Korean martial arts were, like all other martial arts, originally focused on self-defense. The Koreans didn't develop a warrior culture as did the Japanese although for a time they were served by the “hwarang”, which means “flower boys.” I saw several of you smile... and yes, they did use make-up and perfume but they also trained assiduously in horsemanship, archery, and swordsmanship. Comprised largely of young men from the kingdom of Silla (when Korea was divided into three kingdoms), very little was known about them until the end of WWII in 1945. Following the unification of its three kingdoms (the fighting was won by the kingdom of Koryo...thus, the name, “Korea”), people turned away from appreciating their military. In fact, there was a saying that perfectly expressed their attitude; :One does not make nails out of the best steel, and one does not make soldiers out of the best men.” This kind of feeling contributed to the eventual demise of many Korean martial forms.

      The original Korean martial arts were heavily influenced by their Chinese neighbors and almost none of them. such as cha-bi, survived to the present day. Current Korean martial ways include arts such as taekwondo, tangsoodo, and a handful of other spin-offs. Their founders were military men, so it was only natural that the arts they learned (mainly from the Japanese) were taught to their troops. Training was extremely rugged and could be said to have been quite brutal.

      Following the war in Vietnam (in which several ROK units were deployed), Korean instructors saw the huge demand for Asian martial arts in the West. They were only too happy to accommodate. And as tournaments became more and more popular in the West, the majority of Korean martial arts teachers modified their arts to better suit them to the contest arena. This was done to such a degree that it is now very difficult to find a Korean martial arts school that isn't almost wholly sport-oriented. 

 

      China has never embraced a warrior culture. On the contrary, the Chinese seemed to place great emphasis on other arts such as painting, calligraphy, poetry, music, and dancing. Certainly, martial arts teachers were highly respected but they weren't held in the same esteem as, say, a well-known painter or poet. Martial arts were practiced as forms of self-defense. A number of styles were developed for teaching to military troops as well. Although there were occasional contests of sorts, they were rather rare and never became very popular. 

 

      Very rarely did members of the upper class participate in martial arts practice. This is still true today. Such rigorous activities were only marginally popular with the middle class as well. However, member of the lower middle class and lower classes enjoyed this kind of vigorous practice. Many of them had had only minimal educations (if any at all...a good number of them were illiterate), so the odds of getting a decent job were rather small. However, if they could become skilled at martial arts they might well land a job as a bodyguard or convoy escort. 

 

      During WWII, martial arts instruction was all but impossible to find. China was in a state of total upheaval and after the end of the war, things only got worse in so far as martial arts are concerned. The establishment of the People's Republic of China ended the open practice of any martial discipline; such things were strictly forbidden until the end of the Cultural Revolution in 1976. China realized that its martial arts were, in fact, a great treasure and they sought to find ways to popularize it. Among other things, this led to the development of contemporary “wushu” (which means “martial arts”) that combined martial arts movements with gymnastics and Chinese opera. However, although modern wushu did become quite popular both in China and the West, the traditional martial ways entered a headlong dive.

      Currently, there are very few teachers of the traditional martial ways left in China and almost none of them possess all of the information regarding the system that they practice. Soccer and basketball are the most popular sports and “real” kung-fu is something that youngsters read about in comic books. China's entrance onto the world stage at the beginning of the 20^th century and the direction it took afterwards mortally wounded the once-legendary traditional martial arts. Their energy and spirit bled out, leaving behind an empty corpse, which has now been reduced to little more than a skeleton.

DO WHAT YOU CANNOT DO

“Do what you cannot possibly do.

Make the impossible possible.”

-Masutatsu Oyama

Founder of Kyokushin karate

I first heard those words many, many years ago and I took them to heart. Martial arts were my great passion and they remain so to this day. I wanted to push the envelope; to see just how far I could go. I read about numerous masters of times past and determined that I would do what they'd done. After all, they weren't gods; they were men just like me. If they could do it, I could do it.

Many of you are probably shaking your heads and thinking, “What a fool... That's a fine way to get hurt very badly. Or killed. You were certainly a very foolish young man.” And looking back on those days, I'd have to agree with you. But I wasn't stupid.

I read about the legendary “arrow catch”, which is an extremely dangerous technique that involves catching an arrow in mid-flight. The legendary “godhand”, Master Masutatsu Oyama, said that of 1,000 students, only one or two would attempt to learn such a technique. And of the 1,000 who set out to perform it, only a couple who be successful. It kind of makes you wonder what happened to the 998 who failed, doesn't it? But I didn't consider that. I was never much good at math, anyway.

I was still in college and young enough to think that I was invincible; that I could be one of the “one or two” who would succeed. “If they can do it, I can do it”, I thought. One of my students was a very skilled archer who owned a good recurved bow and he agreed to work with me, We spent months practicing together. Eventually, I would face him at the opposite end of a basketball court. An arrow-net was placed behind me to prevent arrows from striking the walls of the old college gym. Just as he released the arrow, I'd pivot and catch it.

This isn't something that can be accomplished after only a couple of weeks of practice. I may have been foolhardy but I wasn't stupid. We started out by having me simply stand off to one side and observe how quickly the arrows passed by me. Then I would reach out and try to grab them. It was a slow and gradual process that required some considerable time. I would go on to demonstrate this technique at several demonstrations.

I also wanted to test myself by breaking large stones. Starting with very small ones, I eventually succeeded in cutting a 25 lb. stone with my sword-hand. My hand shook uncontrollably for three days but I was pleased that I had accomplished what I'd set out to do. I continued to train until I could shatter a “paver” brick (which is a little more than an inch thick) with my fingertips and split a coconut with a single blow.

Now, I'm not bragging. I've never been one to indulge in self-aggrandizement. I've never had much time for people who do. The point of this short essay is simply this; although what I pushed myself to do was often very dangerous, it had a very profound impact on my mind and spirit. Martial arts isn't just about learning some exotic forms of kicking and punching; it's also about pushing yourself beyond what you perceive as your limits. It's about setting goals and then going beyond them. If you mindlessly practice a few punches and kicks once or twice a week, you're not really practicing martial arts; you're dancing. Without proper spirit, martial arts devolve into little more than some nifty-looking calisthenics.

Certainly, I'm not suggesting that you run to the nearest sporting goods store and purchase a good bow and a handful of arrows or drive through the countryside until you can find a 20 lb. stone. After all, techniques such as the arrow-catch are fraught with danger and anyone who aspires to do them must train very carefully and gradually. You must push yourself slowly, step by step. Remember that when I trained to perform these things I was young, in excellent physical condition (I suppose my mental condition could be called questionable), and I had practiced martial arts for a very long time.

What I'm suggesting is that you strive to push yourself past your “limits.” After all, it's YOU who set those limits in the first place! It's going to take some considerable work and sweat to get to the very edge of your limits... and then it'll require more than just sweat to go beyond them; it's going to take time, guts, and belief in yourself.

A WORD FROM WATTS

by Phillip Starr

For those may not have heard of him, Alan Watts (6 January 1915 – 16 November 1973) was a British-born philosopher, writer, and speaker, best known as an interpreter of Zen. A one-time Episcopal priest, the church still utilizes some of his writings to this day. He was a prolific writer, particularly after studying Eastern ways of thought. authoring some 25 books and many articles. His first book, “The Way of Zen” (1957) remains a classic to this day. I was most fortunate in being able to meet him at a summer seminar in 1973 shortly before his untimely demise in an airplane crash. I learned more from him than I ever suspected at the time and a number of things that he told me that day have stayed in my mind ever since. This article is in regards to one of them.

Few people, even most fans of his, know that Watts was an avid practitioner of aikido. I found out because I was young, didn't know much about him or his fame (thus, I wasn't awed by him in the least until a few hours later), and I asked him directly, “Mr. Watts, do you practice martial arts?” He glanced sideways at me and I told him that I was a teacher of Chinese martial arts. It was then that he admitted to studying....and loving, aikido. In fact, he was very interested in all of the martial ways and because it was a rarity to find a practitioner of Chinese martial arts in those days, we talked at some length.

As we discussed martial arts he said, “Any physical activity taken to its extreme, becomes s spiritual path and leads to awakening.” I asked what he meant by, “extreme?” I remember that he smiled as he answered me. “If you strive for perfection in it, it eventually becomes a spiritual experience.”

“Even something like...tennis?” I asked.

He chuckled. “Yes, even tennis...or baseball, or crocheting. Any activity.”

I've mulled this over for many years now. The operative phrase in his answer is, “strive to perfect.” If we attend classes on a regular basis, that isn't enough. If we simply engage in the practice of basic techniques, kata, two-person routines...it isn't enough. We have to CONSCIOUSLY strive to perfect our skills as this leads towards self-perfection. It is the underlying theory of all martial arts. It is why we continue to practice for decade after decade. We don't do it for the exercise, although that certainly provides many wonderful side benefits. And we don't do it for self-defense; heck, we've acquired more than adequate self-defense skills after a fairly short time in training. We (should) do it because we are aiming at self-perfection.

Is such a thing even possible? I would have to answer, “No, not in this lifetime.” But that shouldn't discourage you in the least.

BE CAREFUL WITH YOUR WORDS!

By Phillip Starr

Over the decades that I've been involved in teaching martial arts and qigong, I've come to better understand the importance of the words we use and how they impact a student's performance as well as our own. This is something that most teachers (and students, for that matter) rarely consider but I think it's really very important.

For instance, in teaching students to rotate their hip(s) quickly when executing certain techniques (as in the body action of “Rotation”, which is discussed in detail in my book, Martial Mechanics. If you don't have a copy, get off your butt and get one!), I would tell them to “quickly turn” or “rotate” it. This resulted in them making a smooth but rather slow movement and that wasn't quite what I wanted. I wanted the rotation to be smooth and correct but FAST! So, I'd tell them to do it FASTER! That had about as much effect as telling it to the nearest shrubbery. Nada. Same old thing.

Okay...I tried telling them to “snap” the hip. That brought about some improvement but it wasn't quite where I wanted it...yet. It was some time before I tried using the word, “twitch.” And that did it! That word flashed through their skulls (and my own) and suddenly, their hip rotation was right where I wanted it!

And in so far as qigong (or anything else) goes, here's a story:

Many years ago, I was teaching a two-person qigong exercise known as the Unbendable Arm to a large group of students in my martial arts school in Iowa. An old friend of mine (who was then a professor of psychology in Missouri and an avid practitioner of taijiquan) was visiting me. He listened as I finished giving instructions and then asked if he might speak to the students about this technique. Of course, I agreed.

As he talked to them I could see that he was simply reiterating what I had already told them. I wondered why he had wanted to speak to them at all! When he had finished his brief talk, he told them to go ahead and try to perform the technique…and almost all of them failed! This had never happened in one of my classes! I could not understand what had just occurred and asked my friend if he had any recommendations. He laughed and said, “When you teach them, you tell them to just ‘do it’, and they always succeed. They do exactly what you tell them to do because they have faith in you as their teacher. But I told them to ‘try’ to do it. That single word, ‘try’, suggested the possibility of failure…and that’s exactly what they did!”

This was an extremely valuable lesson that I’ve never forgotten. If your mind believes that you may fail, you probably will. However, if your mind does not acknowledge that possibility, then success is assured. And learning to perform this basic practice technique proves the truth of that statement!

“The word 'try' suggests the possibility of failure and because failing is almost always easier than succeeding, the mind chooses the path of least resistance. If you want to succeed at something, never use the word 'try.'

There are many others. Instead of using the word “speed” (e.g., “You need more speed in your kicks”...), try using “fast-sounding” words such as “zip.” We hear and use the “speed” so often in daily life that when we hear it in training, our minds tend to more or less ignore it. Another such word is “power.” That's a very common word and really doesn't express the concept of what we're after in so far as martial arts training is concerned. Words like “bang” work much better.

It'll take some time to re-evaluate the words and phrases that you use in your training or in teaching others but believe me, it's worth the effort. It can make all the difference in the world!

DID YOU EVER WONDER...?

      I remember watching a martial arts demonstration many years ago where the instructor informed the audience, which was comprised largely of other teachers, that he and his students would be performing an ancient Japanese martial discipline. He then proceeded with his exhibition, which featured various and sundry forms of punching, kicking, and swordsmanship. To say that his use of the Japanese katana was somewhat flawed would be a very serious understatement; I, for one, was amazed that he didn't cut himself as he whipped the blade around with one hand, flipping it this way and that.

      His empty-hand sets weren't much better. They featured the usual variety of punches, strikes, and kicks, including roundhouse kicks, side snap kicks, and...HOLD ON! ROUNDHOUSE KICKS? SIDE SNAP KICKS? Yep. Little did he suspect that techniques such as these are far from “ancient” and most martial arts enthusiasts would never suspect the truth, anyway. So here's a couple of eye-openers...

      The roundhouse kick, as we know it, didn't exist until the 1950's! That's right. The familiar form of executing the kicks with the thigh raise up parallel to the ground and striking with the ball of the foot was actually developed by an instructor of the Japan Karate Association (he was a classmate of the President of the JKA, Masatoshi Nakayama) in the 50's. It was designed for use in jyu-kumite (freestyle sparring) competition and it has worked quite well in that regard. But this is also why this popular kick is not to be found in ANY of the original Okinawan karate katas; it simply didn't exist!

      The old Chinese forms sometimes used a form of roundhouse kicking that actually bears a closer resemblance to the muay-thai “cutting kick.” The foot in chambered lower and contact is usually made with the top of the instep as the kicks comes in at a rising angle. In my opinion, it lacks the destructive power of the newer Japanese version. But this kind of kick is also very rare in Chinese forms, appearing only in a very few sets of northern Chinese origin. It does not appear in southern kung-fu styles and it is from these styles that most Okinawan karate forms evolved.

      The method of using the top of the instep to strike with a roundhouse kick actually was rather uncommon prior to the development of foot pads in competition. This is because such a kick could easily become a religious experience; if your kick connected with an opponent's elbow or other similar bony protrusions, you'd swear you could see God! When the foot pads came along, competitors saw that they could point their toes and make contact with the tip of the pad to score a point, The pad provided them with up to an extra twelve inches of reach, This led to many instructors actually teaching their students to execute this kick with the instep rather than with the ball of the foot.

      The same thing is true of the side snap kick. Now, there are two ways of executing a “side kick.” One method utilizes a quick snapping movement from the knee (the snap kick), and the other drives the edge of the foot out in a straight line, more or less (the thrust kick). In chambering the side snap kick, the kicking knee points out at an angle. If you're facing north and you chamber your right leg, your knee will point towards a northeasterly direction. The thrust kick is done differently because it is very powerful and requires a strong hip rotation. When you chamber the leg, your knee will be pointed straight ahead (in the same direction that you are facing).

      The snap kick is considerably weaker than the thrust kick and is not to be seen in any of the ancient Okinawan kata. Moreover, the old katas don't include ANY kicks that travel above the level of the waist. The side thrust kick is almost always directed at the knee of the opponent. To kick much higher would expose the groin to a quick counter-attack which wouldn't necessarily require much power!

      Nonetheless, the JKA developed the side snap kick for use in kata competition because it is exciting to watch and allowed for more variety in (kata) kicks than seeing the same old front snap kick performed repeatedly.

      Many shotokan karate stylists broke away from the JKA because of these changes but the influence of the JKA was felt throughout the entire karate community. Taekwondo and Tangsoodo, both of which are Korean arts, were developed from shotokan and subsequently include these peculiar kicks.

      So, there you have it; a short but interesting lesson in the history and development of modern-day karate. And there's more. Much, much more.

GOT JIN?

      The little voice in my head wouldn't calm down. “You need to write about the coiling power”, it said. “For future generations, you must write it down.” The nagging was constant but I was hesitant; no one had attempted to write a book about this subject. I had seen it mentioned in a small handful of Chinese martial arts books but the information they provided was insufficient and in many cases, it was just plain wrong. Writing a book on this subject and presenting the information that had been passed down to me by my teacher, Master W. C. Chen, certainly wouldn't make a lot of people happy.

      Sure, I'd seen several videos on the subject that had featured highly-respected and world famous “masters” performing various and sundry training exercises. Some of them had a notion of how this enigmatic power could be developed but their demonstrations were woefully inadequate. The more I watched, the more convinced I became that they honestly didn't know much about the subject.

      I asked my two most senior students what they thought. They told me that they felt that the information needed to be preserved in writing. They were very excited about the project... but I wondered. After all, this is an aspect of training (in the neijia) that really requires a “hands on” approach and a book can't possibly provide that. In days long past, teachers of this arcane art would instruct only a small handful of students at a time. It is my belief that the main reason this special skill has all but disappeared is because the real masters of it became very popular and were eventually swamped with many new students. It simply isn't possible to teach the finer aspects of coiling power to large groups of people. Like I said, it requires a “hands on” approach.

      At the same time, I felt that my students were right. The information did need to be preserved. However, it would likely ruffle more than a few feathers. Some very well-known teachers of the neijia were making truckloads of money through their seminars on coiling power and what they were demonstrating was little more than a vague shadow of the real thing. The real coiling power is very subtle and difficult for the uninitiated to see; these contemporary “masters” made large, overt movements that looked very flowery and beautiful. But they lacked substance; they were all but completely devoid of real power. Their fanciful demonstrations quickly attracted many Western students who were impressed with their “smoke and mirrors” exhibitions. It was, and still is, shameful.

      One of my teacher's best-known classmates was a gentleman known as Wang Shujin. My teacher described him as “very tall and very fat.” Sifu Chen didn't pull punches when it came to descriptions. His classmate was, in fact, over six feet tall (which was very tall for a Chinese person in those days), and weighed more than 300 lbs. Wang eventually taught in Japan where he gathered a very large following. In the main, he taught taijiquan but he also taught a few groups xingyiquan and baguazhang. Several Japanese martial arts enthusiasts didn't appreciate Wang's efforts to introduce neijia to the Japanese; after all, this occurred in the 1950's and memories of WWII were still pretty raw.

     Wang was challenged numerous times by teachers and students of karate and jujutsu but his skill never left him. He remained undefeated. On one occasion, Wang was challenged by two high-ranking jujutsu practitioners. As usual, he readily accepted their offer to “cross hands.” The first man quickly grabbed Wang's arm and was rendered unconscious almost instantly when Wang caressed him with his fist. The other aggressor though he could do better and grasped Wang in a hug from the rear. It is said that Wang, whose arms were pinned to his sides, shook his body as a dog shakes off water. His opponent collapsed on the spot and was rushed to a hospital, suffering from a couple of broken ribs and internal bleeding!

      What Wang had done was to use the coiling power and emit it through his whole upper body. I suppose his foe would have felt as though he'd latched onto a huge blender! Truly, Wang was a master of this art. Such skill is not seen today. The hucksters would tell similar stories but they couldn't possibly demonstrate it. Those of you who know me will chuckle when I say that I decided not only to ruffle their feathers; I'd pluck them! And so I started to work.

I regarded this project to be of the utmost importance. I know this statement isn't going to help me win the “Most Popular Kung-Fu Teacher of the Year” award, but let me say that if any of the neijia – taijiquan, xingyiquan, or baguazhang – aren't practiced with the (genuine) coiling power, they are NOT really neijia and they're no different than any other percussive martial art. And the painful truth is that the vast majority of neijia enthusiasts in the world (including China) - teachers and students alike - have no clue about developing or applying this special power.

      There were many times that I wondered if I'd bitten off more than I could chew. This subject is more than a little difficult to put into writing. To make things even more complicated, I moved to southern China! The photos were done by students and friends in the U.S. and I thought they did a magnificent job. It made me wonder if it was because I wasn't there (as I had been in previous projects) to whine and complain! Adjusting to life in China made things even more difficult and I honestly wondered if this book would ever be completed.

      In the end, I was very pleased with the book. It was the very best that I could do, the best instruction that I could provide without actually being physically present. I'm anxious to see how this book will be accepted by the neijia community.

HARD vs. SOFT

      Is your style of karate or kung-fu considered a “hard style” or a “soft style?” Most Western practitioners of these disciplines are able to answer this question in a heartbeat. They may elaborate on the subject a bit, but they immediately understand the question and what it implies; “hard styles” rely on the development and application of brute, muscular force while “soft styles” emphasize relaxation, minimal muscular effort, and the utilization of qi (internal power). I remember when the terms “hard style” and “soft style” were first introduced to Western martial arts enthusiasts by the martial arts media back in the 1960's. I'd never heard of these phrases and I asked my teacher, Master W. C. Chen about them. I was astounded when I saw that he was every bit as confused as I was. These appellations have never been used in China or any other part of Asia. They were, as nearly as I can determine, created by the martial arts magazines of the day.

      Some karate and kung-fu enthusiasts elaborate a bit further and explain that “hard styles” utilize techniques that travel in straight lines and “soft styles” promote the use of circular techniques. I've never understood how anyone could accept this terribly flawed explanation and when would ask for some elaboration, the answers I received were almost comical. “We use straight punches”, they would say. I would counter this statement and remind them that the so-called “soft styles” utilize exactly the same type of forefist thrust. Moreover, this type of direct punch employs a (circular) turn of the hips as well as a (circular) screwing motion of the wrist just prior to contact.

      Not to be so easily dissuaded, they would argue that their kicks were directed along a straight path. They would happily demonstrate a front snap kick and a side thrust kick as proof of this. I countered easily and showed them that both kicks travel along arcs (as they must, since they are chambered from the height of the kicker's knee). I would also show them techniques such as sword-hand and backfist strikes, both of which travel along semi-circular paths.

      Even so, they would not be dissuaded. “Our blocking techniques are circular but our punches are straight”, they argued. I had to shrug my shoulders. There's no point in quibbling with a closed mind. Their convictions were based on remarks made in their favorite monthly martial arts publications, so there could be no doubt as to their validity, right?

      You bet.

      These were the same magazines that avowed that “soft styles” such as taijiquan and baguazhang didn't require the application of any muscular effort whatsoever. Many aspiring martial arts masters understood this to mean that any “98 lb. weakling” could easily become an expert at time travel by knocking his larger opponent into next week! The few taiji schools that were available were soon packed to the gills with students and the cash flowed quickly and easily. But the truth got lost in there somewhere.

      Some karateists prided themselves on practicing systems that were touted as being both hard and soft. Goju-ryu is a prime example. “Go” means “hard”, they would say. And “ju” means “soft.” So there you have it, right?

      No, not quite. Like the early practitioners of judo, who believed that the “ju” of judo meant “soft, gentle”, they didn't bother to learn something of the Japanese language and culture. The word “ju” does NOT mean “soft.” Not by a long shot. Rather, it refers to a type of pliability such as we might see with the flexible limbs of a young tree. Push against it and it gives way easily. It does not, however, collapse entirely. When you release it, the limb will snap back to it's original shape. This kind of elasticity is what “ju” refers to.

      All martial arts, from karate to kendo, aikido, kung-fu and kendo underscore the importance of doing more with less. That's a fancy way of saying that one shouldn't use any more (muscular) strength than is absolutely necessary. Ever. A highly skilled practitioner of karate, which is generally referred to as a “hard style”, will perform his techniques with celerity but without excessive brute force. I have trained and socialized with some of the finest karate masters of the last century such as Hidetaka Nishiyama and Seiyu Oyata. Their techniques were crisp and quick, delivered with minimal muscular effort. To the novice, such techniques would appear to be lacking any real destructive power but those senior practitioners who had had the dubious pleasure of being on the receiving end of those techniques knew better.

      At the same time, I have known a great many practitioners of taijiquan who prided themselves on their ability to push a foe some distance. The fact is that their pushing technique was seriously flawed and was more of what I call a”shove” rather than a “push.” And in any case, I've never known a push to end a serious conflict! Taijiquan, as well as baguazhang and xingyiquan (the three classical “sister” styles that are generally referred to as “soft” or “internal”) utilize a wide variety of punching, striking, and kicking techniques that, when applied correctly, are terrifically powerful. But if you're thinking of finding someone who can demonstrate such skill to you, you'd best plan to travel for a long, long time. Such skill nowadays in the “soft styles” is extremely rare, even in China.

      The terms “external style/school” (waijia) and “internal style/school” (neijia) are often used interchangably with “hard” and “soft”, respectively. Again, such phrases are rarely used in China. They were originally coined by a famous teacher of the neijia, Sun-Lutang, back in the 1930's. Some people argue that they actually refer to where a given style originated; those that originated outside of China were called “waijia” and those that were native to the Middle Kingdom (that's China for you rednecks) were referred to as “neijia.” Put simply, this argument is wrong.

      Sun wanted to differentiate between styles that rely on the development of “coiling power” (chansi-jin) and the manipulation of small, inconspicuous, internal tissues and those that focus solely on the use of the larger, overt muscle groups. Such a distinction does, in fact, exist. Most contemporary karate styles do not utilize coiling power at all. However, my research indicates that the early Okinawan forms of karate did. Over the generations, most of this information has been lost or forgotten. However, this would qualify such styles as forms of neijia! That statement probably won't help me win any martial arts popularity contests, but it's true.

So, hard or soft, internal or external, what counts is that you learn to perform your techniques and form correctly. Hard and soft eventually become one. And THAT is where real skill lies.

DO WHAT YOU CANNOT DO

“Do what you cannot possibly do.

Make the impossible possible.”

-Masutatsu Oyama

Founder of Kyokushin karate

      I first heard those words many, many years ago and I took them to heart. Martial arts were my great passion and they remain so to this day. I wanted to push the envelope; to see just how far I could go. I read about numerous masters of times past and determined that I would do what they'd done. After all, they weren't gods; they were men just like me. If they could do it, I could do it.

      Many of you are probably shaking your heads and thinking, “What a fool... That's a fine way to get hurt very badly. Or killed. You were certainly a very foolish young man.” And looking back on those days, I'd have to agree with you. But I wasn't stupid.

      I read about the legendary “arrow catch”, which is an extremely dangerous technique that involves catching an arrow in mid-flight. The legendary “godhand”, Master Masutatsu Oyama, said that of 1,000 students, only one or two would attempt to learn such a technique. And of the 1,000 who set out to perform it, only a couple who be successful. It kind of makes you wonder what happened to the 998 who failed, doesn't it? But I didn't consider that. I was never much good at math, anyway.

      I was still in college and young enough to think that I was invincible; that I could be one of the “one or two” who would succeed. “If they can do it, I can do it”, I thought. One of my students was a very skilled archer who owned a good recurved bow and he agreed to work with me, We spent months practicing together. Eventually, I would face him at the opposite end of a basketball court. An arrow-net was placed behind me to prevent arrows from striking the walls of the old college gym. Just as he released the arrow, I'd pivot and catch it.

      This isn't something that can be accomplished after only a couple of weeks of practice. I may have been foolhardy but I wasn't stupid. We started out by having me simply stand off to one side and observe how quickly the arrows passed by me. Then I would reach out and try to grab them. It was a slow and gradual process that required some considerable time. I would go on to demonstrate this technique at several demonstrations.

I also wanted to test myself by breaking large stones. Starting with very small ones, I eventually succeeded in cutting a 25 lb. stone with my sword-hand. My hand shook uncontrollably for three days but I was pleased that I had accomplished what I'd set out to do. I continued to train until I could shatter a “paver” brick (which is a little more than an inch thick) with my fingertips and split a coconut with a single blow.

      Now, I'm not bragging. I've never been one to indulge in self-aggrandizement. I've never had much time for people who do. The point of this short essay is simply this; although what I pushed myself to do was often very dangerous, it had a very profound impact on my mind and spirit. Martial arts isn't just about learning some exotic forms of kicking and punching; it's also about pushing yourself beyond what you perceive as your limits. It's about setting goals and then going beyond them. If you mindlessly practice a few punches and kicks once or twice a week, you're not really practicing martial arts; you're dancing. Without proper spirit, martial arts devolve into little more than some nifty-looking calisthenics.

       Certainly, I'm not suggesting that you run to the nearest sporting goods store and purchase a good bow and a handful of arrows or drive through the countryside until you can find a 20 lb. stone. After all, techniques such as the arrow-catch are fraught with danger and anyone who aspires to do them must train very carefully and gradually. You must push yourself slowly, step by step. Remember that when I trained to perform these things I was young, in excellent physical condition (I suppose my mental condition could be called questionable), and I had practiced martial arts for a very long time.

      What I'm suggesting is that you strive to push yourself past your “limits.” After all, it's YOU who set those limits in the first place! It's going to take some considerable work and sweat to get to the very edge of your limits... and then it'll require more than just sweat to go beyond them; it's going to take time, guts, and belief in yourself.

THE TRAINING UNIFORM

      Many traditional martial arts require that students wear a special practice uniform. The names for these numerous forms of apparel often vary from one discipline to another but there are certain common elements that are found in all of them:

• They tend to be what we refer to as “rather baggy” and “loose fitting.” Stylish looks means nothing in a training hall where efficiency is the key word. Clothing that is tight or restrictive is not particularly conducive to quick, smooth movements.

• They are devoid of items that may result in injury to one's training partner or oneself. Zippers, snaps, and hard buttons are not to be found on traditional martial arts uniforms. And anyway, zippers and snaps simply didn't exist at the time these uniforms came into existence. In fact, several types of traditional uniforms are versions of ancient streetwear.

• They are usually made of fairly rugged material that will stand up to rigorous physical training. This especially true of the grappling arts.

• Students are expected to keep their training uniforms clean and in good repair at all times.

      In other articles I have written about the evolution of various training uniforms; in this chapter I'd like to discuss why I feel that wearing the proper uniform is an important part of your martial arts practice.

      As a lifelong practitioner of the Chinese martial arts, let me begin by admitting that except for the grappling art of shuai-jiao, there is no such thing as a standardized kung-fu uniform. I currently reside in southern China and martial arts enthusiasts generally wear the same attire that they have always worn for martial arts practice; their street clothes!       

     Some wear what are referred to as “Tang clothes” (so named because they were popular during the Tang Dynasty) but by and large, they wear sports shirts or t-shirts and everyday trousers. Nothing special.

      Consequently, many Western kung-fu schools disdain the wearing of any kind of formal training attire. I think this is a serious mistake that adversely affects their training. Participants dress casually and, because how we dress affects how we behave, they tend to approach their training in a rather casual manner. This isn't particularly contributive to the development of a strong (martial) spirit or maintaining a well-disciplined class.

      Moreover, street attire was never intended to hold up to the rigors of a spirited martial arts class. Shirts and trouser are easily torn and ruined and their buttons, snaps, and zippers can easily result in injuries to both participants. So, instructors are left with one of two choices; they can either conduct a proper class and watch as their student's clothes are gradually reduced to shredded scraps, or they can tone down the training and ensure that their students (and their wallets) remain happy.  The latter is almost always the choice that is selected.                  

      Training uniforms were developed over many years because the martial arts practitioners of times past understood that ordinary street clothes were simply not suitable for training. Also, a consideration that is often overlooked is the fact that in most martial arts schools, all training uniforms look the same...or very nearly so. This is a policy that is often strictly enforced. Students must understand that they are all equal and they are all “related”, as it were. They are members of a martial arts “family.” Thus, they all wear the same uniforms.

The training uniform gives the new student the feeling of authenticity; a feeling of, “Now I'm really doing it!” He becomes enthusiastic about training. This is exactly why many martial arts schools include a uniform with a new student's first tuition payment. It has a considerable impact on the student's attitude about his training and his place in the school.

      It is for this same reason that I tell my students to wear their uniforms when they practice at home. Putting on the uniform reminds them that they are “really doing it” and they are less likely to slack off or cut their training period short when they get a little winded. They try just a little harder because of that special uniform. However, sometimes they are unable to wear the full uniform. I tell them that in such cases, they should at least wear the trousers. And it helps. Training without the uniform just isn't the same.

DON'T THROW THAT PUNCH! HAND ME THE SCREWDRIVER!

      MARTIAL MECHANICS was my second book. I'd always wanted to write a book like this; explain the principles of physics and kinesiology as they apply to martial arts technique and movement. It was great fun to write! I decided that I'd write in the same that I'd actually teach (well, except for some of the expletives) because I'm tired of the usual sterile approach that reads like a math textbook. That's about as interesting as watching paint dry on a storm fence.

My editor didn't appreciate some of the humor -like the line about squeezing the anal sphincter when you execute certain movements, where I told the reader to imagine training in a prison shower... that line was unceremoniously removed. :-) I had to argue with copy editors about leaving in a lot of the humor. They said no one would know what a “klick” is...I told them not to worry. Most people would understand. If they didn't, they could bloody well ask a friend.

      I'd taught these principles so many times that the words came easily. The photo sessions were tough, though. I learned a lot about what editors like in terms of photos for a book and we had to do many re-shoots. It was really a LOT of work!

      When the book came out, we had a few – very few - people (mostly high school teachers) whine that the physics were faulted. I contacted a couple and asked exactly what they meant. One argued that the words “power” and “force” as I'd used them, were incorrect in terms of classical physics. I reminded him that I was aware of that but I was writing for people who'd probably never studied classical physics...not for a class of science students! That settled the matter. Another critic (in the UK, on Amazon in the UK) didn't like my use of “American humor.” I figured he needed a laughter enema.

      On the whole, the book was very well received and many people wrote to me about how the book had actually changed the way that they practiced their martial arts. I was very happy to hear that my efforts had helped them. I'd perused a couple of other books on the subject (I won't mention their names here); one was fair but incomplete and the other was seriously flawed. I wanted mine to be as accurate as possible. To describe some of the body actions was trickier than I'd anticipated.

All in all, the book has done very well. My thanks to everyone who purchased a copy. I hope it's been of help to you in understanding how to improve your technique!

Seven Years For The Foundation

     Last April marked my 57th year in the martial arts. I recall looking through a copy of my first book, The Making Of A Butterfly, and thinking back to my early days of training under Master W. Chen.  I remembered something he'd said that made me wonder if I would be able to continue training in the Chinese martial arts.
     I was in the throes of a religious experience. That is, I thought I was seeing God! I was doing my best to hold the "ma" (commonly known as "ma-bu", but more correctly called "qi ma-bu", or "horse-riding stance"). My legs were on fire and shaking like a jackhammer. I could hardly keep my back straight and breathe correctly. I collapsed, of course, but I resolved to get right back up and continue the exercise. And within a few seconds my legs gave way again.
     Sifu Chen stopped me and told me about the vital importance of learning the "ma", of building a solid foundation. He told me that the first seven years of training were devoted to this end.
SEVEN YEARS???
     Yep. He said it calmly, as if it was a fact that everybody knew and accepted. I couldn't imagine continuing this kind of training for seven years! But that's what he meant and that's exactly what I ended up doing.
     Oh sure, I was taught many other things during that time. I learned all kinds of techniques and forms and two-person exercises and joint techniques and throws and...lots of stuff. But the emphasis on the ma was always there. I can't count the number of times that I listened to lectures about the importance of it.
     I figured that if it was important enough for my sifu to constantly lecture us about it, it was something I'd better practice. A lot. And I did. Eventually, I came to understand its value. This isn't something that can be completely understood just by reading or thinking about it. It has to be practiced, physically experienced over an extended period of time. That's the only way to "get it", to acquire the knowledge and ability that comes as a result of such painful practice.
     The reason I thought about it was because my editor had sent me a copy of a little blurb they were putting on the back cover of my book. It's a quote from the book about learning the "ma." I thought about how long it had been since I'd first started training and then noticed another line they'd put on the cover...that I'd been training for over 50 years (at the time the manuscript was sent in, it was only 48 1/2 years) and I was stunned. I guess time flies when you're having fun.
     But even after five decades of practice (part of which passed before I met Sifu Chen), I have to say that he was absolutely right. Without a proper foundation, learning real martial arts is impossible.
     Building a strong "ma" doesn't necessarily mean that you only practice standing in a horse-riding stance for a certain length of time each day; it also has to do with learning how to step, how to shift your weight and move, how to stand in other stances (although the "ma" is the mother of all stances), how your breathing affects your movement, how your yi (intention) affects your movement, how to maintain balance when standing still and moving...lots of things. But they all have to do with the foundation. The "ma."

     I remember back when beginning judo students were made to spend most of their practice time learning not only ukemi (breakfalls), but the basic stance (jigotai). It's kind of a second cousin to the "ma." Students practiced shifting and stepping in this position. Times have changed; I don't think most modern judoists have ever in so much as even heard of this posture.
     There's no question that the vast majority of contemporary kung-fu (and karate) practitioners have ever practiced the "ma." They may know what it is but they don't "have" it. They can intellectualize about it but they have no real foundation.
     Sometimes I hear internal stylists argue that they don't use the horse-riding stance very much, if at all. That's fine. "Ma" literally means "horse" (as well as other things), but the term "ma" when it's use in conjunction with fundamental stance(s) simply refers to the style's most basic way of standing. In xingyiquan, baguazhang, the basic stance is "sanzai" (aka. "san tsai"). That's their "ma." In taijiquan - well, it depends on who you talk to...some would say they do have a horse-riding stance (it appears in the posture known as Commencement) while others use the "sanzai" stance. Whatever. The point is that they do have a single, fundamental stance.
     The problem is that most martial arts enthusiasts nowadays don't practice their "ma" anymore. In many cases their teachers don't (and probably never have), either. The teacher is sometimes afraid that if he makes students engage in such uncomfortable training, they'll quit - and that means loss of income. So they don't make students do it anymore. And now we're seeing the results - martial arts practitioners who have no real power, no real skill. No "ma."
     I remember that my sifu used to insist that if we stood in the "ma" every day, our vital energy (qi) would eventually sink down to the dantien and we would be able to express great power. I couldn't imagine how this was possible. How could standing in this painful position accomplish that?
     And he said that unless we built a solid "ma" we'd never be able to emit real power. We'd have no true strength. That confused me, too. But he was absolutely right. And after watching the development of martial arts over the last fifty years, I must say that this old time-tested training method needs to be re-emphasized.
     Practicing the "ma" has a positive impact on both physical and mental health, too. Many years ago, kung-fu teachers in China would often recommend it as a sort of therapy for a variety of ailments, especially for problems with the stomach and intestines. It was prescribed for some respiratory sicknesses, too.
It's also an excellent tool for developing a strong yi (intention) and spirit. Try standing in it for ten or fifteen minutes and you'll understand why.
     Most students loathe this kind of training. They want to jump right into the martial arts and get into the "meat" of it. They fail to see how standing in some static posture or doing boring drills like "walking the square horse" are going to help them become superior fighters.
     But they do. It just takes time. You can't hurry the process. You have to learn patience, you have to willing to endure great discomfort, and you have to develop an iron will.
     For seven years.

KAMAE

      All martial disciplines feature various forms of kamae, which are physical postures that practitioners assume just prior to engaging an opponent. Most of them are proactive; designed to provide a measure of protection against an assailant's attack. In this wise, they may be compared to a shield. However, the proper kamae should also bring many of the practitioner's bodily weapons to the fore. Thus, he is prepared to defend himself and deliver a quick counter-attack.

      The traditional martial disciplines wherein the warrior was armed with some kind of weapon often featured “openings”, apparent flaws in the postures that could be exploited by the enemy. However, these gaps were intentional; they were actually traps that were meant to ensnare an unsuspecting foe. The warrior meant to tempt his opponent into trying to take advantage of his supposed weakness. Naturally, the opening had to be rather small; if it was too obvious, his adversary would see the flaw for what it was.

      Using this type of tactic could provide the feudal warrior with a real advantage. He would know from what quarter his enemy's attack would come and he'd be prepared to deal with it instantaneously. He wanted to induce his opponent to attack a target that wasn't really there.

It's interesting to note that the bare-handed martial forms didn't utilize any kind of formal pre-combat kamae. Early films of karate instructors (many of whom would go on to become some of the most famous teachers in the world) show them engaged in jyu-kumite (freestyle sparring), which, as you'll recall, was a new innovation at that time. There is no distinctive placement of the arms and hands.

      As time marched on and more karate enthusiasts began to participate in this new-fangled exercise known as jyu-kumite, well-defined kamae began to emerge. Not unexpectedly, they initially often resembled a type of kamae used in classical kenjutsu (swordsmanship). Their interest was in winning the match. They wanted to score points against the opponent while preventing him from doing the same thing to them.

      With the advent of karate tournaments in the West, the kamae underwent further modifications, especially after the introduction of padded gloves and footgear. Fighters assumed the kamae that one would expect of a Western boxer, whose hands are employed to protect his face and head (thus preventing a knockout) whilst his arms and elbows are used to protect his torso. Because striking below the belt and kicking into the groin and legs are not permitted, there is no need to concern oneself with their protection.

      The differences between the classical forms of kamae and the more contemporary versions may not seem glaringly obvious but a little introspection will reveal the truth. The feudal warrior's primary concern was the destruction of his enemy and the preservation of his clan. Self-defense was of secondary importance. His approach to combat was aggressive; his intention was to draw his enemy into a trap and utterly destroy him.

      After the disappearance of the feudal systems, the emphasis shifted to a more personal level, that of self-protection and defense. And when competition walked onto the scene, winning the game became the first priority.

      In so far as actual self-defense is concerned, you usually don't have time to adopt some kind of formal kamae. Things often happen to quickly for that. It's best to utilize the principles of the formal kamae in common, everyday postures. These are often referred to as shizentai (natural postures). After all, it's from these positions that you may have to move quickly and defend yourself. It sounds simple enough to do but it will actually require some considerable practice. This is why the founder of aikido, Morihei Uyeshiba, said, "Kamae is for beginners. Shizentai is for advanced pupils."

THE COCOON

      In 2005, I decided to try my hand at professional writing. Once of my students, Dennis Mace, had told me that he and many of his classmates enjoyed essays I'd written about my teacher, my classmates, and myself. So, my busy little fingers went to work on my keyboard and I began to write. And edit. And write. And edit...

      I was living in Unionville, Iowa at this time. For those of you who are unfamiliar with this place (and why on earth would you be?), it is a village of about 100 people, including dogs, babies, and chickens. It features only two real streets – Front Street and Back Street – and most of its inhabitants make their livings by working at local factories, digging in the ground, or both. And one of them aspired to be a writer.

      I had relocated there from Omaha, Nebraska, where I had run a martial arts school for many years. I thought that Unionville would be a fine place to raise my children. I had lived in both Fairfield and Ottumwa (cities in southeast Iowa) and I knew the area very well. My wife at the time was originally from Unionville.

      I had started teaching a small kung-fu class in the nearby town of Centerville and I had worked for the Wapello County Sheriff's Department.

      I was told that writing my book was a waste of time. Thousands of aspiring authors send in their manuscripts to various publishers every day; how could I possibly hope to have my book published? The odds were stacked against me. “Stop wasting your time”, the critics said. “You'll only be very disappointed in the end.”

      But I wasn't about to throw in the towel. No. Way.

      After I'd about finished the manuscript, I reasoned that I needed to find a literary agent to help me find my way through the quagmire of the publishing industry and I was very excited to find such a man. A 6^th grade black belt in Kenpo, John (not his real name) had put up a shingle as a literary agent and he was familiar with several publishing houses that specialized in martial arts books.

      John was a great help to me and taught me a great deal about professional writing. He liked my manuscript and sent sample copies to several publishers. I waited with bated breath for their replies... but none were forthcoming. The weeks passed slowly. One promising editor who worked for North Atlantic Books was mildly interested but just as my hopes had begun to rise, John called to say that the editor had gone to work for another publisher. “It happens a lot with editors”, he said.

      Then, just when I'd about given up hope, John quit working as a literary agent. “It just doesn't bring in the money fast enough”, he said. So there I was...no agent, no publisher interested in my work. But I wouldn't give up. Nope. BUT...I was dead in the water.

      A couple of days later I had to drive into Centerville to buy a few groceries. My head had been spinning, trying to think of solutions to the problem of getting my book published but no answers were forthcoming. So, like most people do when they've tried everything else first, I prayed. I've always liked to think that the Almighty and I have developed a very close, personal relationship, especially after the tragic death of my youngest son, Christopher. In fact, you could say we're on a first-name basis; He calls me whatever He wants and I call him “Almighty God.”

      I prayed aloud and told our God that I really needed some encouragement. If writing was something that He intended for me to do, I needed a sign. And since I'm not much good at picking up subtle signals, I asked that the sign be reasonably clear.

On my way home I was still thinking about possible solutions to my problem. I'd all but forgotten about my prayer. I arrived home, carried the groceries inside the house and skipped back out the door to get the day's mail. And there...there it was. His sign!

      I saw a letter from the Tuttle Publishing Company. Tuttle is one of the largest publishing houses in the U.S. and they specialize in titles having to do with various aspects of Eastern life and thought. Any martial arts writer worth his salt would give his eye teeth to be published by such a renowned firm!

      I tore the letter open and anxiously read the brief letter that had been written by one of the main editors. They were interested in my book! They wanted to see the full manuscript!!! And I looked up and thanked God for the “not so subtle” sign... Yes, He wanted me to write. That was clear.

      Days passed and turned into weeks but there was no word from Tuttle. I didn't understand this. If God wanted me to write, why wasn't anything happening? I was confused and very tired. I had spun a very strong cocoon for myself and I stayed deep inside it.

      The telephone rang while I was watching television one evening. I answered and a voice asked, “Is this Phillip Starr?”

      Now, insurance salesmen are about the only people who call me by my real first name and I generally dislike having to deal with them and their sales pitches. Even so, I replied, “Yes, it is.”

“Mr. Starr, my name is Richard Grossinger. I'm the owner of North Atlantic Books and I was just cleaning out a few things from the office of our former martial arts editor, Mr. Sykes.”

My heart was beginning to skip beats... God has certainly not forgotten me!

      “And I found a post-a-note taped to a manuscript that you had written. I assumed the telephone number on the note was yours. I read the manuscript and...well, I'd like to publish your book.”

      My heart came to a dead stop. I was light headed, almost giddy with joy. “Uh...Yes!!! Yes, that would be wonderful”, I replied in a sudden moment of clarity.

      And the rest is history. “The Making Of A Butterfly” would be published in 2006 and followed, at the time of this writing, by four more titles (with more being generated). Oddly enough, the name of the book and the saying that was first penned by Richard Bach, which I inserted into one of the first pages of the book (from his novel, “Jonathan Livingston Seagull”(...if you've never read it, get a copy today!) was most appropriate to my entrance into the world of professional writing...

“What the caterpillar sees as the end of the world,

the Master sees as a butterfly.”

      I had broken free of my cocoon and opened my wings.