THE FISHBOWL

 by Phillip Starr

There's a saying that tells us, “A fish grows according to the size of its container.” Fish that are kept in small fishbowls don't get very large. Those kept in larger aquariums can become much larger. And so it is with the martial ways. When I was much younger, one of my taijiquan teachers (a fine Chinese gentleman whose taiji was a joy to watch and I'll just call him Bing) determined that he would enter a local tournament – in Chicago (!!!) - and show them just what gong-fu was all about. He was accomplished not only in taiji, but seven-star praying mantis and long fist (changquan) as well. He had no idea what he was up against, but I did and I tried to warn him. He thought karate was a weak martial art and he'd show them some genuine skill. When the sparring competition began, I saw many of my friends – all karate practitioners – and I warmly greeted them. This upset my taiji teacher a bit and when it came time for him to compete, he happily jumped into the ring.

Now, this was long before the invention of hand and foot pads worn today AND it was Chicago...their tournaments were notoriously violent and bloody in those days of the early 1970's. The two contestants bowed and the contest was on full tilt rock 'n roll. Bing's opponent's backfist smacked him fully in the face. He hadn't even seen it coming and his hands hadn't moved at all. The point was given to the attacker. Bing got up from the floor and settled into his fighting stance again...and was immediately knocked down with another backfist! The match was over and Bing's confidence in his fighting skill was so badly shaken that I had a tough time convincing him not to give up taiji and his gong-fu. But I did quickly convince him that he needed to get a “bigger bowl.”

I remember one karate instructor who told me that fighting Shotokan (a form of Japanese karate) stylists was easy because they always attacked in a straight line, leaving their flanks exposed. I asked how many Shotokan stylists he'd fought. You guessed it; he'd never squared off with one. Ever. I told him that they were darned tough and very dangerous because, although they do tend to attack directly forward, they're incredibly fast and their attacks are truly overwhelming. But he'd grown up in a small fishbowl. He didn't know any better. He found out. Painfully.

In those days, there was quite a riff going on between gong-fu and karate stylists. Much of it was created and maintained by the martial arts magazines of the day to promote higher sales. It worked, too. I met numerous karate practitioners who were convinced that gong-fu stylists were all about fluff and looking fancy, but couldn't fight their way out of a group of Girl Scouts. Many of them found out how wrong they were when they had to square off against the likes of John Morrow (one of my students), James Cook, Al Dacascos, or – God forbid – Tayari Casel (who is the fastest human being I've ever met).

I was fortunate in being able to train in Judo prior to taking up gong-fu. Later, I would study Kyokushin, and Shito-ryu karate (two Japanese forms; Shito-ryu is a close cousin to Shotokan) while I was also studying Chinese martial arts. Many years later I trained in Jeet Kune Do, too. I was curious. I took up Iaido in my mid-sixties and still practice it under a wonderful teacher. I recall my gong-fu teacher, W. C. Chen, telling me that most gong-fu teachers, although they taught one particular discipline, almost always had trained in other forms as well. He himself, had studied not only the three neijia, but also Baixingquan (a form of shaolinquan), and Hung-Ga.

Over the decades that I've been involved in the martial arts, I've met many practitioners – students and instructors alike – who ridiculed various martial forms without ever having had any direct contact with them. Such people live in very small fishbowls.

THE FAMILY TREE

 by Phillip Starr

One of my editors wrote to me, asking for a few paragraphs about me to be used on the back cover of one of my books, so I fired off some information that I thought was adequate. I listed the name(s) of my shifu, and his teacher, and his teacher. I listed the traditional martial disciplines that I have studied and listed a few of the exponents of those forms who had descended from the same lineage I had, along with some of their accomplishments. Any serious martial arts enthusiast can rattle off his lineage until the average listener is ready to slit his own wrists, so I skipped over quite a bit of information in the hopes of saving space. I figured my editor would find it more than sufficient.

Not. She wrote back, saying that although what I'd sent was very informative, she wanted to know more about ME and who I am. I replied and said that where I came from IS who I am... The importance of lineage is often a difficult concept for Westerners (as well as modern Chinese and Japanese) to really grasp. Reading through magazines and books concerning the martial arts, you'll find plenty of stories about well-known tournament champions or teachers that contain almost no information about who their teachers were. In fact, it's rare to find even one of these popular practitioners who can name his teacher's teacher (his martial arts “grandfather”).

This kind of attitude (in America, anyway) may have to do with our singular sense of identity; one of the great things about America is that it offers us the chance to become our own person, regardless of ancestry...the “self-made” man/woman. But in terms of the martial ways, identifying ourselves must be tempered with an awareness of our (martial) past. In a very real sense, one's merit is largely determined by one's pedigree. It has always been this way in the East. At the same time, having come from a renowned lineage doesn't guarantee that one necessarily has high skill or is a good person; there have been some fairly sleazy types who have descended from very highly regarded lineages...

However, if you tell me that you are, say, a 5^th dan in some system of karate or that you trained gong-fu regularly for a lengthy period, and you tell me the name of your teacher(s), and I recognize those names and know them to be teachers of high quality, I have at least some idea of how hard you can punch. This is certainly a faster way of determing level of skill than asking for a demonstration.

Most importantly, the reason our martial arts ancestries are so important has little to do with etsablishing ur reputations or proving our abilities...rather, the provides us with a real sense of who we are and gives us a certain self-awareness. Isn't this why so many people nowadays are digging through old records to determine where an ancestor died during the Civil War and so forth? Although our society has long looked to the future for its sense of well-being and fulfillment, many seem to be digging into the past to help them better understand their world and themselves. The martial ways are no different.

Since the arts were introduced to the West, we've been busy making changes to this and that in an effort to “improve” them. But many interested practitioners now seem to understand that all of this has only traded a priceless knowledge and understanding of the past for a rather uncertain future that has no real roots. They have begun to look into their lineages and the history that created the arts they practice.

I have met some practitioners who tell me that their forms were closely-guarded “secrets”, which is why they're not better known. In so far as Japanese martial ways are concerned, this is largely impossible; the many daimyo (lords) who maintained fiefs throughout that country ensured that they KNEW every form of martial art practiced therein. They dared not allow any “secret” styles to develop for fear of an uprising. This is why the lineages of the numerous ryu are readily available to anyone who cares enough to do the research.

As for China, there were arts that were taught only to members of certain families and not disseminated among the people. Such forms are exceedingly rare, however. And even so, a teacher of such a form should be easily able to provide a lineage.

Our lineage provides us with a structure and form and just as we are influenced by it, those of us who live in its shadow will strive to embody the soundness of the geneology that is behind us. It's who we are.

EAT HIS REAL ESTATE!

 By Phillip Starr

The internal Chinese style of xingyiquan is renowned for its aggressive approach to combat. Rather than stand and block an enemy's attack, the xingyi stylist attacks the attack as he advances explosively forward and “takes the enemy's ground.” After all, no battle was ever won by simply coming up TO the enemy and striking or firing AT him...and not taking his ground. Holding your ground is defensive, not offensive. This is what most practitioners do when they practice basic 3-step and 1-step fight routines; the attacker advances with his attack and the receiver usually steps back, blocks the attack, and then deivers his counter-attack...without ever attempting to “take the enemy's ground.”

And since there's still “space” between the two participants, the attacker could (if he was allowed to do so) effectively block the receiver's counter-attack and deliver a second technique (and maybe even advance again)...and so on. So in xingyiquan, the objective is to either penetrate THROUGH the opponent and/or finish by standing on the piece of real estate that he was standing on when he initiated his attack. There is zero distance between them!

This, of course, requires a careful study of the relationship between distance and timing; distance is measured by time. For instance, will you punch AFTER your leading foot steps forward, will you deliver your attack AT THE SAME TIME that your foot hits the ground, or will your attack arrive BEFORE your foot touches down? It depends on the distance.

Moreover, it's essential that you train assiduously to maximize the distance that you can drive out (in a single step) and deliver an effective technique. For the average practitioner, a distance of about 7-8 ft. can be covered when delivering a lunging attack (that is, advancing the rear foot and strike with the same hand and foot forward). It's considerably less when executing a “reverse punch” - advancing the front foot and striking with the rear hand. With proper training and lots of sweat, the distance covered can be increased considerably. I have had students who could deliver an effective lunging thrust at a distance of about 12 ft.! To do this requires LOTS of daily practice and buckets of sweat...

BUT the object isn't to hit an enemy who's standing 6, 10, or 12 feet away! Even if he's a raw novice, he'll see you coming and evade your attack easily. So, why should you practice so hard to maximize your “driving distance?” Well, consider this...what is the average fighting distance? If you and your partner square off in fighting postures, it's usually about 3 feet. If you can drive out a distance of, say, 10 feet, imagine what will happen if you use the same amount of drive when your enemy is just 3 feet in front of you! He won't even see you move and if he does, there's no chance that he'll be able to evade you or effectively block your attack!

You will penetrate THROUGH him and take his ground! There are training routines for developing this skill and they're described and illustrated in my book, “MARTIAL MANEUVERS.”

THE DOOR

 by Phillip Starr

There is a Japanese proverb that tell us,

“A man is judged by how he opens the door.

A woman is judged by how she shuts it.”

To grasp the meaning of this statement, it's first necessary to understand something of the architecture (and doors), as well as some of the customs of ancient Japan. Unlike the hinged doors of the West, Japanese doors slid back and forth along grooved wooden tracks on the floor. They were generally opened in the same way; you knelt at the crack of the door and gently pushed it open before entering the room (often done by sliding on the knees). Well-bred people knew the you use the hand nearest to door to open it a bit (“the length of a forefinger”, according to one old school of proper etiquette), then switch hands and open it the rest of the way. This is an extremely simplified explanation of how this is to be done. There are all kinds of manners to be observed in the simple action of entering a room in so far as the protocols of old Japan are concerned. During the feudal times, even an ordinary thing such as entering a room had significance and a certain order that evolved around it.

Such a simple act, when performed with the proper spirit and mental attitude could be seen as a type of kata and the meaning of the expression shown at the beginning of this article is to be found in that spirit and attitude. Look...it'd be pretty easy to make a flashy, macho entrance through a Japanese style door. You could sling it open so it whacks the frame, swagger in, and stand tall. But in an old Japanese home, people sat on the floor and as you swagger into the room, you'll tower over all of them. Yes, you'll be an imposing figure and have everone's attention. To many people, this would seem like a fine way to enter a room...so why does Japanese etiquette require the exact opposite?

The answer would be that many of the manners found in Japan are aimed at preserving social harmony. Getting along with the other fellow was important, as was the idea that the individual's welfare was not so significant as the welfare of the group. This way of thinking can be found in other cultures but in Japan, it was of paramount importance. The higher one sat in the social order, the more humble and self-effacing was his conduct. That is, the “classier” the individual, the less he felt that he needed to display himself. Secure in his social position, he didn't need to remind himself or others of his status. He entered the room quietly and shuffled in on his knees so that he maintained a level equal to that of others in the room. So, a man can be judged by how he enters a room...but why the distinction between men and women? Is it indicative of a different standard of manners between the sexes?

Well, yes. In old Japan, women were often in subordinate positions; if a group of men were in the room, it would likely be a woman who served tea and various foods. She would then leave, closing the door behind her. But the distinction made in the saying about gender is superfluous; what matters is the spirit and attitude with which an individual conducts him or her self.

This spirit and attitude has pervaded Japanese culture and as the martial arts (of Japan) are a product of that culture, it should come as no surprise that such concepts are an integral part of the martial ways. And that's also why it's so disappointing to see many people who claim to be serious about making the martial ways a part of their lives remain determinedly ignorant of this spirit and who (worse still) choose to disregard it. Such forms of etiquette also exist within the culture of China, although they're not so easy to see. But if you know what to look for, you'll see them there as well.

How many times have I seen some martial arts “master” come strutting onto the floor of a tournament usually with the title emblazoned on the back of his uniform) or the winning competitor prancing around the ring with his hands held high! If you've seen similar things, then you've been an unfortunate witness to the arrogant and ignorant disregard for the traditions in which the arts were developed. The skills of opening and closing a sliding door are a part of “reishiki” (etiquette) as is moving in a balanced, graceful way when sliding on one's knees along the floor and it's this mastery of the self that allows us to get along with others and present ourselves to the world in a respectful way.

Sadly, such things are disappearing in our modern world. People who are conversant with these traditions tend to be exponents of the classical arts, such as martial arts and the tea ceremony; people who are willing to spend time to learn things that seem to be of little practical, modern value. Although in present day Japan, you'd get along just fine without knowing much about these things but still, some manners (which have been called those “unwritten laws by which the people keep even the kings in awe”) have a way of transcending time and immediate circumstance. We are all judged by the little things we do...like entering or leaving a building. Those who follow the traditional martial ways are aware that outer form is often an expression of an inner state. This should give you something to consider the next time you open or close a door, whether you turn the knob, push it, or slide it along a track...

DIRECT MIND

 by Phillip Starr

Zhixin in Chinese (直心) is pronounced “jikishin” in Japanese. The first character (zhi/jiki) means “directly, immediately, without delay.” The second character (xin/shin) literally means “heart”, but as the heart is thought to be the seat of the mind as well as the emotions, the term zhixin/jikishin translates as “direct mind.” In the city of Kyoto (Japan), there is a small chaseki (single-room hut used for the tea ceremony) that was built by the 17^th century warrior and tea master, Furuta Oribe. As with most of these traditional huts, an alcove can be found in one corner of the room where flowers and a single scroll are usually placed. Oribe's favorite scroll was one that read, “Jikishin kore dojo” - “jiki-mind is the place to practice.”

This phrase is simple and very straightforward, and the term “jikishin” can even be found in the names of a couple of very old and traditional Japanese martial ways (one involves the use of the sword, and the other centers on the naginata). Although the term “jiki/zhi” seems very basic, it isn't easily appreciated and has wider significance for the martial arts practitioner. Consider how most of us experience our environment every day; obviously, the way we spend our waking hours is considerably different from the way our early ancestors spent theirs. Their experience with the world tended to be direct and immediate. If a man was hungry, he went out to find something to eat; he either impaled it with his spear or grubbed around in the ground or bushes. Even as recently as a century ago, many of our forefathers butchered their own livestock and harvested their own crops. Nowadays, we rarely see food that has not been processed and wrapped in plastic. This important distinction in the way we relate to the world as compared to how our ancestors did can be seen in numerous cultural and personal practices.

We don't bury our own dead, women rarely give birth without the attendance of a doctor and oftentimes, the administration of medicines that actually distance the mother from the act of bearing the child. Today, people live life (or a lot of it, anyway) filtered through all kinds of artificial filters or mediums. Now, I'm not complaining; I'm very happy that I didn't have to kill and butcher the cod that I ate last night, and I love my air-conditioning. But the point remains that we live our lives without a lot of the immediate, direct experiences that were an everyday fact of life for our ancestors.

These filters of our day-to-day experiences impact the way that our current generation organizes their thought processes. If a predator (such as a lion) with an empty tummy showed up at the entrance to his shelter, early man didn't stop to rationalize about it; he had little use for such philosophy. He reacted instantly, grabbing his spear or whatever was handy and did what he had to do. If he was slow or took time to think about it, he'd end up as a very icky spot on the ground. America's pioneers faced an environment equally as hostile and they dealt with it in an equally direct and simple way. That's why you're here, reading this article today.

But the current genre of dangers and challenges we meet are usually of a different type altogether. They're often just as serious, often in the forms of lawsuits, and legal or financial crises. But again, we have intermediaries such as lawyers, accountants, and politicians to deal with them for us. Now, there's no doubt our ways of dealing with many problems are more sensible; if someone hits your car, it's better to sue for damages rather than cutting him in half with a sword. But if we rely too much on the intermediaries and filters, we can lose something valuable in ourselves; we can lose the ability to act and react as directly and immediately as our forefathers did.

To get an idea of what I mean, just watch the reactions of a student in the training hall react the first time he is “attacked” in even a remotely realistic manner. Sure, he's practiced the proper response many times but he's always had time to think and rationalize about it. But when the attack is made without warning or prior instruction, and it's made with a fair measure of intensity, the “filters” are gone. The reaction must be visceral and immediate, much like the cave-dweller facing that lion at his door. But most of the time, the student will jump back or attempt a frantic and usually ineffective parry. Afterwards, he may think that he needs a LOT more practice or rationalize it all and claim that he wasn't “ready” (which is the whole point). He may even claim that that's not how it would happen “on the street.” But all of the excuses (accurate or not) are immaterial; there's no need and no place for excuses, no matter how relevant they may be. We cannot rely on intermediaries or filters; we must respond with zhixin/jikishin...direct mind.

We must react without conscious forethought. A lawyer may succeed with clever rhetoric, a businessman may prevail by using careful economic analysis that gives him an edge, and a scientist may advance through careful study and deliberation. Not so in the training hall; all such approaches go right out the window. In the training hall, we are reminded of Oribe's scroll, “the direct mind is the place to practice.”

A DASH OF SOYA

 by Phillip Starr

When I first arrived in China, I knew next to nothing about Chinese cooking. According to my wife, I knew less than nothing about REAL Chinese cooking. So I was a fine student; she was quite adept at it and I wanted to learn. I didn't bring any preconceived notions along with me. I wouldn't stand next to her and say, “Oh yeah, that's how Jones showed how to do it in his book, which I've read twelve times”, or “That's not how they ground up the peppers in the television show I watched about this...” Nope, I'd never watched it done, nor had I ever read anything about it. I was a blank slate and ready to be filled with new information. I soon learned that although a dash or two of soya is used in preparing some dishes, it is very rarely found on the table and used after the meal has been served...it's regarded much the same way as ketchup; I was asked, “Why would you ruin the taste of a good meal by pouring soya on it?” My bad.

The average person who's interested in the traditional martial arts of Japan or China (and also those who have an interest in Korean martial arts although taekwondo is not a traditional martial discipline of Korea...it's much too recent) really doesn't know much about them. He knows nothing about their structure or how they are propogated. And that's fine. What is NOT fine is that oftentimes, the average person fails to recognize his/her lack of knowledge. And he/she believes that he/she knows quite a bit about the subject – perhaps even more than the teacher – but this is never through personal exposure to them.

This kind of prospective student may have read a book or two, watched some questionable videos or movies, or spoken to someone who was once involved in the study of a traditional martial discipline (or better yet, someone whose kids have been involved). When the class doesn't meet his/her expectations, he/she is disappointed.

I am sometimes asked to give talks about living in China (as opposed to simply going on a tour). I always enjoy doing this but the biggest obstacle I often face is not the relative ignorance or misunderstandings that most Westerners have about China; it's those who are absolutely convinced that they KNOW the subject, even if they've never even been to Chicago. One lady was so angry about what she perceived as a tone of flippancy on my part regarding food in China. “Preparing meals in China is almost a sacred thing”, she hissed. I asked if she'd ever been to that country and she replied, “No, but I've read A LOT about it...” Exactly the same kind of attitude we sometimes see in people regarding the traditional martial ways; they've read A LOT about the subject and they KNOW.

This problem of preconceived notions is one of the biggest problems faced by exponents who teach traditional martial arts outside of their native cultures. Another big obstacle is that of the Mistaken Assumption. Some time back on an internet forum, the subject of tatoos came up. One inquiring individual asked if having easily visible tatoos would be a problem in approaching a teacher of the traditional martial arts. One very senior Chinese exponent said that he would not allow a student to begin studying with him if he sported that kind of body art. Of course, there was an immediate outcry that rivaled the bombing of Dresden...the teacher was accused of being a prude, of being insensitive, of being too stiff-necked to allow for this kind of artistic expression. Yet, none of the protesters had had anywhere near the experience with a traditional martial discipline that the teacher had (some had NO experience with a traditional form) but what caught my eye was that none of them bothered to ask WHY the teacher had such a policy.

This is a fine example of people with little or no experience assuming that they know more than the teacher. These folks had mistakenly believed that the traditional disciplines must meet their standards; they must be democratic, open to everyone, and tolerant of individual tastes and needs. They have to be “fair.” Instead of asking why the teacher maintained the aforementioned policy, the respondents blazed away with their mistaken assumptions.

Nobody enjoys being told that they don't know what they're talking about; we all hate to think that all of our reading about a particular subject has been a waste of time. And we really resent having our ignorance pushed into our faces. The next time you're tempted to become angry about having your preconceived notions or mistaken assumptions are held up to you, please think about Chinese cooking. Think less about having your ideas shot down and open yourself to being exposed to something new. It isn't always pleasant and may be something you don't want to hear, but it's the best way to learn how to cook Chinese style...

BEYOND TECHNIQUE

 by Yang Shuangxing (Phillip Starr)

Yes, I'm using my Chinese name this time – just for fun. It was given to me by my family in China and I'm proud of it...

I am often rather surprised at the number of martial arts practitioners who don't know that there is a dimension to their art that lies beyond technique and it is even more discouraging to hear them say that there is nothing beyond the punches and kicks and forms that they claim to practice every day. They insist that they KNOW this is true. Unfortunately, theirs will always be a shallow art.

The Yagyu Shinkage-ryu is an old, traditional style of Japanese swordsmanship. Yagyu Muneyoshi is accepted as the founder of this remarkable school. After many years of striving for techical perfection with the sword, he realized that technique would take him only so far. There was more to it than that...the secret was simple but extremely profound. It took him beyond technique and made his form of swordsmanship so effective that it was rumored that the warriors of this clan actually received special instruction from the “tengu” (spiritual goblins that were thought to inhabit various forests in Japan) and other supernatural beings.

To achieve genuine high skill, it is necessary to supersede physical technique. There's much more to the art than just learning how to punch and memorization of forms. It has to do with training the mind and spirit. I have been most fortunate in having met and trained with masters who realized this truth. On the other hand, I've met a good number of “masters” who not only had no clue about this feature of martial skill; they didn't even suspect.

How is this level of skill to be reached? First, one must be certain that there is a realm of skill that lies beyond technique; technical proficiency will only take us so far. Then it is most helpful if one has a teacher who has himself realized this truth and gone beyond. There are many who sense that going beyond technique is not only possible, but essential for those wishing to truly master the art. However, many such believers lack the gumption to train hard enough to attain physical perfection or anything close to it. Muneyoshi trained single-mindedly every day for years; he was obsessed with perfecting his skill. Most modern martial arts aficionados don't do this or anything close to it. It was only after his physical abilities had a reached an extremely high level that he was able to go beyond technique.