A BOWL OF COLD RICE

 by Phillip Starr

For those who walk the martial path and encounter seemingly impossible obstacles, this one is for you. You need look no further for inspiration than the masters who walked the very same path before us. We follow their footsteps but we seldom appreciate the obstacles they overcame and in many cases, the sacrifices they made. They certainly paid their dues...

Gichin Funakoshi, the revered “Father of Japanese Karate” arrived in Japan in 1917 to give demonstrations of this unique Okinawan martial art and to perform before the imperial court. He did so without hesitation. He returned to his homeland and returned to Japan to give more demonstrations and to teach karate in 1922. Karate became so popular that Funakoshi began conducting classes at a local university (he would also live in the dormitory there). He would not see his beloved wife again until the end of WWII.

He had three sons, all of whom would precede him in death. The youngest son, Gigo, would become the senior assistant instructor of his father's classes. The first Shotokan dojo was constructed in 1939, during the time Japan was at war with China. Near the end of the war the dojo was destroyed and many of his most senior students were killed on the battlefield. His wife had remained in Shuri, Okinawa, and when she was evacuated from there in 1945 he was finally reunited with her. Gigo would also succumb to an illness he had developed in his youth, tuberculosis. Two years later, his wife would pass away. Although Japan was devastated by the war, Funakoshi rebuilt his dojo and continued to teach.

Masutatsu Oyama, the founder of Kyokushin karate, also endured great hardships. Traveling to Japan from his native Korea in 1937, he aspired to become a pilot. The only job he could find was that of driving a small delivery truck and he couldn't find an apartment because, according to his story, he was an unwanted Korean. He did finally manage to find living quarters (I can just imagine what THAT was like) and following the end of the war, he enrolled in Takushoku University and began studying karate under Master Funakoshi. But his hardships were far from over.

He got into a scuffle at a local tavern and inadvertently killed his assailant. It was strongly suggested that he leave Tokyo and go live in the mountains. He and a student did so but within a month or so, his partner returned to civilization. And Oyama's benefactor, an old friend who would bring food and supplies to the foot of the mountain, was no longer able to do so. Oyama was on his own. He often slept on the snow and foraged for food. Still, he trained every day...for nearly two years before finally returning to Tokyo where he would found his new style of karate.

Dr. Jigaro Kano, the founder of judo, founded the original Kodokan in 1882. It had only 12 mats. Training was quite vigorous and the floor was often in need of repair. With one or two of his students, Kano would crawl under the building nightly and make the necessary repairs. He would do this until he was able to open a 60-mat school in 1893.

The famed founder of aikido, Morihei Uyeshiba, started out attempting to run a print shop. But he was no businessman and the shop quickly went bankrupt. He joined up with a group of people that were being subsidized by the government to go to Hokkaido and settle (in a mountainous area, where it gets quite cold in the winter). Even so, he continued his daily practice of aikijutsu and kenjutsu, using small logs in place of a proper bokken.

In his youth, the famous master of all three internal forms of kung-fu (taijiquan, xingyiquan, and baguazhang), Sun-Lutang, was dirt poor...and when the Chinese tell us that someone was poor, you'd better believe they were POOR! He would collect pig bristles and sell them to people who made ink brushes...but business wasn't so good. I can just imagine how much fun it must have been to collect those bristles. In any event, he became so distraught that he finally tried to end it all by hanging himself. But as fortune would have it, a passerby cut him down...and Sun would go on to become one of the best known kung-fu teachers of all time.

The list is very long; most of the “greats” of times passed suffered terrible losses, endured hardships the would have caused lesser mortals to turn back, and made great sacrifices in their journeys. But one constant remains. Perseverance. Once they set foot on the martial path, they were there to stay. And stayed they did, no matter how insurmountable the obstacles they encountered.

“Eating cold rice” is a phrase used in the East to describe very hard times. Such men certainly ate their share of it, and many had to put away several servings. I can't imagine what it would have been like to live in the devastation of Japan or Okinawa following WWII or how horrible life must have been to be extremely poor in China 150 years ago...

If these men could endure it, can we do any less?

ASPIRATIONS

 by Phillip Starr

When we train and soak ourselves with sweat, breathe in gasps, and try to assuage our screaming muscles and joints, we often look to those who have gone before us for inspiration. And we needn't look very far; there are many, many fine examples. We aspire to be like them; to climb to the heights of martial prowess and knowledge.

At the same time, we often feel that we're being “unrealistic” when we tell ourselves that we can never be like them. Not really.

So I ask, “WHY NOT?” OF COURSE you can become a skilled as they were! Where is it written otherwise?

It's critical to the survival of the martial ways that the skill of the student(s) eventually equals or better yet, surpasses, that of the teacher(s). If this doesn't happen there is a slow decline in the quality of martial arts that can only end in their untimely demise. Yet, the vast majority of students don't believe that they can ever possibly rise to the skill level of their teachers, let alone surpass them!

But you should! You should aspire to go beyond what you perceive as your limits. Don't simply try to “be the best you can be”; you don't even know what that is!!! Just exactly what IS your best? You don't know. And it changes over time.

You can easily be better than what you think is your “best.” And you should aspire to do that. That means putting in the time and sweat to do it. What you THINK is your best will, if you allow it, become an obstacle. Don't place limits on yourself. You can do more than you THINK you can! You can climb higher than you think!

ZEN AND NOW

 by Phillip Starr

A great many modern martial artists, particularly those who are engaged in the practce of a Japanese martial forms such as karate, kendo, jujutsu, and a host of others, like to think of the swordsmen of old Japan sitting in meditation and being avid practitioners of zen. However, the truth is that the samurai were never, in large numbers, ardent followers of zen... and the connection between zen and the Japanese martial arts is, in truth, not much older than rock 'n roll.

Buddhism was introduced to China in the late 12^th century. While some of the earlier forms of it appealed to the aristocracy of Japan, others became more popular with the commoners. Zen was a monastic approach, centered in Kyoto and Kamakura, where the Shogun stayed. Because of his patronage, numerous temples were constructed and zen eventually prospered. The laity were generally better educated than most; they often served as advisors to the Shogun and leaders of the warrior class. For this reason, numerous historians have assumed that the samurai were attracted to zen and that when many samurai retired, they entered the priesthood. They have also surmised that because zen stresses self-discipline and a rather austere lifestyle (qualities also admired by the samurai), the professional warriors were devoted practitioners of zen. However, this is demonstrably incorrect, if you look at the circumstances of living in feudal Japan...

The rise of Japan's warrior class was marked by war; from the 10^th to the 17^th centuries, Japan was pretty much in a constant state of war. Professional warriors of the day lived knowing that they could well meet their demise in the next battle or even in the next hour. They simply didn't have the time to spend years sitting in meditation (which is what zen requires) to develop a spirit to deal with that. It wasn't a practical approach for the guys who wanted to see through the illusions of life right NOW. Certainly, they respected zen and often relied on its priesthood for education or advice but in their letters, scrolls, and densho (transmission scrolls of various martial arts schools), there are very few references to zen made by the warrior class.

So, in what form of spiritual or religious training did the samurai engage? To a large degree, the answer is “mikkyo.” Most of you are likely unfamiliar with it. Well, zen is an exoteric form of Buddhism, The same is true for most other sects such as Jodo and Shinshu. They don't necessarily involve any esoteric, arcane teachings that are imparted to their followers; their teachings are openly transmitted to anyone wishing to follow them This is true of almost all forms of Buddhism. One exception is mikkyo (aka., Shingon), which is probably the only esoteric form of Buddhism that has deep roots in Japan.

Mikkyo's approach (in a nutshell) to the problem of dealing with illusions of life is through various psychological and neurological exercises, many of which are thought to invoke supernatural powers. The mikkyo practitioner may utilize artistic designs (mandalas), various chants, or physical movements. The best known of these is “kuji-kiri” (meaning “finger cutting” or “finger weaving”) wherein various powers are thought to be invoked through the weaving of one's fingers together. In a rather crude way, they can be thought of as “spells.” On a more sophisticated level, they are rituals designed to instill great courage and confidence, and presence of mind when danger threatens. It's easy to see why the samurai would embrace this method; it can be done in a short time (unlike zen) and was immediately available.

So, why is it that so many of us believe that the traditional martial arts were closely connected to zen? Well, Yagyu Munenori (1571-1646), who was the second headmaster of the Yagyu Shinkage-ryu school of swordsmanship, was a friend and disciple of the well-known Buddhist priest, Takuan Soho. Takuan wrote several letters to Yagyu, using the analogy of martial strategy and swordsmanship to explain zen. So, did the famous “sword saint”, Miyamoto Musashi ever meet Takuan? Yes...in a fictional serialized novel that was finally made into a movie. In reality, the two probably never met.

Because of Yagyu's relationship with the Shogun, Takuan's letters to Munenori were quite influential and read by many daimyo (feudal lords). However, almost none of them actually practiced zen. After WWII, zen was introduced to the West in a big way and the supposed connection between Japan's martial arts and zen were further cemented in the public's imagination. The famous scholar, Daisetsu Suzuki (who had never practiced martial arts) wrote his very successful “Zen and Japanese Culture”, which devoted two long chapters to zen and swordsmanship.

Eugene Herrigel, a German who had briefly studied kyudo in Japan in the 1930's penned his successful book, “Zen and the Art of Archery.” Both Herrigel's and Suzuki's books used the medium of zen to try to explain the budo. All that has been written since then (on the zen-martial arts connection) is based upon these two books and/or Takuan's writings.

Of course, if a modern follower of the budo wishes to link his art to the practice of zen, that's fine. But it's good to know the historicity of it so that one can maintain the true, original spirit of these arts. Now you know the rest of the story-

WHAT IS IT TRYING TO TEACH YOU?

 By Phillip Starr

Select any given form and ask yourself, What is it trying to teach me? What particular skill(s) is it trying to develop within me?” It's so much more than a conglomeration of punches, kicks, turns, and so forth. Much more. Each form (or, in the case of system such as taijiquan, each section of the lengthy form) is intended to teach you at least one, and sometimes two or three, very valuable things. To find out what the intended lesson is, you must search diligently...

One easy way to determine (at least a partial) answer is to count the number of techniques and/or movement that are repeated. Which one(s) are performed with the greatest frequency? Be sure to count defensive as well as offensive movements (although oftentimes, what appears to be a defensive movement – such as a particular block – is actually an offensive movement or both defensive and offensive).

How about the footwork/body movement(s) that appear in your form; that is, is there a lot of advancing movements? How about withdrawing movements (stepping backwards) or angular stepping? Which one seems to be emphasized more than the others? Do the forward movements tend to emphasize striking with the forward hand/arm or the rear one?

What stances appear with the greatest frequency? Does the form emphasize striking multiple times when a movement is made, or does it seem to emphasize striking just once? These are all very important factors to determine; the form's creator intended for students of future generations to learn certain things, certain aspects of his art through the practice of each form. It's helpful to determine just what those are.

TWO-WAY STREET

 by Phillip “Pete” Starr

One of my friends had a martial arts instructor who told her that the teacher has five responsibilities/relationships to the student and she said she'd forgotten what he'd said about it. Actually, I think it's a two-way street.

Being a teacher (of any kind) is a great and terrible responsibility. One of my students once presented me with a T-shirt that read, “To teach is to touch a life forever.” And that's very true, more than most of us realize. Martial arts instructors, especially, have a huge impact on their student's lives. It isn't just teaching techniques or footwork, or forms; it impacts the students physically, mentally, and spiritually. This is as true for adults as it is for children.

I've often said that a teacher must be ready, willing, and able to learn from his students! If he cannot or will not, he's in the wrong business.

The teacher must be thoroughly versed in the art that he teaches and train himself daily, striving for perfection and a better understanding of what he teaches. Nothing is worse than a so-called teacher who rarely practices himself and who has stopped growing in his art. It's a never-ending process. In this regard, he sets an example for the student...not just in his chosen art, but in daily life as well.

It goes without saying that the teacher must attend classes and not just show up when it's convenient, leaving his teaching duties to senior students.

Of course, the teacher must be honest with his students. If he doesn't know the answer to a particular question, he should be honest enough to admit it. So many teachers act as if they know virtually everything about their art but this is never true. I've known teachers who are angered when asked a question that they're unable to answer. This is certainly a poor example to set for the student(s) involved.

And above all, he must care...REALLY care. If his students are just so many faces and/or a means of padding his wallet, he's a charlatan. I don't think that caring is necessarily something that can be learned; one either is a caring person or not. The teacher should care about each student not just in so far as their martial development is concerned, but about their lives and how they're coping.

And the teacher must encourage and allow his students to grow, even if it means that they will exceed him in some way. That should be the goal of teaching, shouldn't it? If our students never exceed us and their students never exceed them and so on...the arts will go into a sharp decline!

As for students, they should show up for class...that's the “first discipline” as one teacher said. After all, the teacher is taking a part of his life to be there for the student...so the student should attend class, if at all possible. If he/she cannot do so for some reason, the teacher should be notified as soon as possible.

The student has an obligation to do as his teacher says and to practice diligently at home, striving to master what he has been taught. To fail in this is to waste the teacher's valuable time and to simply “spin your tires” and go nowhere. It's disrespectful.

In days past, a student who wished to learn from another teacher while still training with his primary instructor, had to get permission from the latter before doing so. Failure in this could result in rather severe punishments because it is terribly disrespectful. One famous kung-fu teacher I knew showed me his wrist after we had practiced taijiquan together and he noticed that I'd looked at it wonderingly. On the radial side (that's the thumb side for you rednecks), it looked like someone had used a spoon to scoop out tissue and bone. I asked what had happened. He told me that some time after he'd arrived in America (and became accustomed to Western ways), he'd sought instruction in quin-na (seizing and joint twisting) from another well-known teacher of the art.

Some time later when he was visiting his original teacher (who was up in years by that time) in Hong Kong, he mentioned this fact and his teacher asked him to perform one of the quin-na techniques on him so that he could experience it. When he did, his teacher immediately struck him on his wrist (causing the malformation), causing terrific pain. When his student asked why he had done it, he replied that he (the student) had never asked permission to train with another teacher! He also told him that the malformation was permanent; it would be a constant reminder of why he should adhere to the “old ways” of the student-teacher relationship...

It was always proper for the senior student(s) to look after the teacher when the teacher reached his senior years. Students would ensure that he would have a place in which to live and otherwise care for him. In those days, a teacher would usually have only a handful of students, and maybe just one! This kind of thing has been largely forgotten in the West. A pity.

TWEAKS

 by Phillip Starr

Once a student has learned the fundamentals of performing various techniques and his body has becomes acclimatized to doing it, it's necessary to “tweak” or polish it further by making slight adjustments. These seemingly small alterations may have to do with slightly revising the position or movement(s) of certain joints, body shifting and/or structure, breathing, and so on. And these (sometimes tiny) changes can and often do, dramatically change the nature of the technique by making it faster, more powerful, and so on. I frequently do this when I teach seminars, even making slight changes to the manner in which senior black belts execute basic techniques.

Many moons ago, my teacher did the same thing to me. Tiny adjustments here and there would make very large difference(s) in my technique and/or how effectively I could apply it. As the years passed, I was very fortunate in meeting and training with some of the finest instructors in the world; Hidetaka Nishiyama, Seiyu Oyata, Remy Presas, and Leo Gaje, to name just a few. Each of them would show me little tweaks, most of which I fully digested and integrated into the art I had originally learned.

No, many of my teachers did not practice a form of kung-fu but I firmly believed (and still do) that I could learn very valuable things from each of them. And I did. Had I refused to learn from them simply because they were not kung-fu adepts, my art would have suffered from enjoying a sumptuous meal (of new ideas and tweaks) that would help it grow that much stronger.

I reasoned that I'd originally involved myself in the martial arts to learn and if and when the day ever arrived that I felt I could learn no more, it would be time to hang up my uniform and take up knitting or whatever...

TSUKI

 by Phillip Starr

Tsuki ( 隙), which is prounced almost like “skee” but with a bit of a “ts” sound at the beginning – known as xi in Chinese, refers to a “gap” of some kind. In so far as martial arts are concerned, it is most often heard in the practice of kendo but it is equally applicable to virtually all of the martial ways. It is used to take advantage of an opening in the opponent's defensive posture (physical, mental, or spiritual); a window of opportunity through which you may quickly enter and deliver your counter-attack. The window is often quite small, so your ability to recognize this phenomenon must be finely honed and your timing must be razor-sharp.

1. For instance, if your opponent momentarily loses his balance and stumbles or unknowingly drops his guard (make sure this isn't an ambush), the tsuki is a physical “gap”; a chink in his armor. The pattern of the enemy's breathing also falls into this category. He is most vulnerable when inhaling. If his breath is paused (which happens for a tiny moment between inhalation and exhalation), he is also weak. In both cases, his reaction time is slowed as much as 50% and he is less able to withstand a strong blow. When he is exhaling, he is strongest.

2. If he is momentarily distracted, his attention is directed elsewhere and there is a moment of tsuki. Any time his mind focuses on aything other than the “here and now”, there is a gap.

3. If he should lose the will to fight or become frightened, his spirit is in disarray and a moment of tsuki appears.

Like everything else in the martial arts, detecting tsuki and being able to take advantage of it requires a great deal of practice. You must extend your mind into your opponent so that you can actually feel his mind. You must focus so that you can detect the slightest change in his breathing pattern or where his mind is directed. Then you must also practice to instantly (without the slightest hesitation) attack and slip through the “window.”

There are two methods for handling this; active and passive. Neither is superior to the other. It's a matter of personal preference. In the passive method, you focus and wait for your assailant to err in some way. If he's an experienced fighter, you may have a long wait and during that time, you may reveal a moment of tsuki within yourself...so it's a bit risky. Bear in mind that it appears any time that you move or even breathe! Then it's simply a question of your opponent's timing. Is he sharp enough to slip in through the window? And if you think that “striking the breath” is nearly impossible, remember that during an actual fight your breathing (and his) will be a little less than controlled or calm. Your mind is excited, your hackles are up, and breathing becomes a bit more raggedy than usual.

The moment of xi also occurs whenever you or your opponent physically moves into a new position. A simple step has three parts to it; the beginning of the step when weight is shifted, the mid-point of the step when gravity is momentary suspended, and the end when the step is completed. The most vulnerable moment is at mid-step. The opening is smaller during the initial phase when the weight is being shifted, and once the step is completed, the gap is closed altogether. Now you can see why truly skilled fighters don't bounce around; the gaps are too large! Instead, they make short, shifting movements that are completed very quickly to reduce the time of vulnerability.

The second method is the active method. This means that you CREATE tsuki; you cause it to occur.

1. You may break the enemy's balance in some fashion (a foot sweep or sudden grab and pull) or subtly cause him to drop his guard. You may entice him to make a large movement, giving you a decent opening.

2. You may feint various attacks, drawing his attention (his mind) away from the actual attack. You may even glance behind him (as if someone is standing there) to cause his mind to move backwards for a moment.

3. A powerful shout may momentarily stun or frighten him, weakening his resolve and spirit.

   
   
   

There are, of course, other ideas that can be implemented to create tsuki. Find the ones that best suit you and polish them to perfection!

Whenever the opponent attacks – in any fashion – there is tsuki. This is why I say that all attacks are flawed. For instance:

• If the opponent grabs you, where is his mind and yi (intention)? It's on the spot that he's grabbing! Your mind, however, need not be fixed on any particular place (NEVER focus your mind on where you are being grabbed or pushed)...it is free to move and enable you to respond however you wish.

• The actual attack (of any kind) originates where? IN THE MIND! Before he physically attacks, the enemy must have the intention of doing so; he must focus on exactly where he intends to attack and how. If you can catch his mind when it gives his body the command to begin the attack, he's helpless; he's in an “attack mode” and cannot easily or quickly switch into a “defense mode.” In that small instant of tsuki, he is defenseless. And there are ways of training yourself to do this...

  
  
  

So there's more to sparring (and actual fighting) than you might have suspected...