BAGUAZHANG, THE 8 DIAGRAMS, AND THE YIJING

 by Phillip Starr

Many of you will be familiar with the “8 diagrams” (aka. “trigrams”), which form a part of Chinese cosmology and philosophy. Each diagram is composed of three lines, some of which may be broken and others solid. This provides eight possible combinations. A broken line is representative of Yin while a solid line represents Yang. The diagrams portray eight stages of change and are intended to depict a pattern, which shows how one event or condition gives rise to another.

When one trigram is placed atop another, it becomes a “hexagram.” This creates 64 possibilities. The Chinese classical “Book of Changes” (the Yijing, aka., “I-Ching”) was originally intended to illustrate, through the arrangement of the hexagrams, certain patterns in nature that transpire between, or are the result of, naturally occurring phenomena that exist throughout the physical universe.

Obviously, the study of the hexagrams and the Book of Changes is extraordinarily complex; so much so that the ancient sage, Kung-Fuze (Confucius), did not take up its study until he was past the age of 60! He felt that until that point in his life he simply lacked the maturity and wisdom to fully understand it. In the West and even among many of the common people of China, the Book of Changes is often used in the practice of divination, which is not at all in keeping with its original intended purpose.

The martial discipline of baguazhang emphasizes the importance of change, the ability to readily adapt to the fluidity of combat as well as life. Some of the revered teachers of the past alluded to the practice of 64 postures, which allegedly correspond to the 64 hexagrams of the Yijing. However, after having studied this boxing art for several decades I must say that I have found that this art originally had no connection whatsoever to these philosophical concepts.

Dong-haiquan, the first known practitioner of the art, made no mention of the boxing art he taught and the lofty philosophical and cosmological aspects of the Yinjing. In fact, the first generation of baguazhang enthusiasts was composed largely of uneducated people who were barely (if at all) literate and who knew very little about sublime Taoist cosmological principles or philosophy. The original name of the art, “zhuanzhang” (which means “turning palms”), is not at all indicative of any association between the art and the enigmatic trigrams of the Yijing.

The use of the name “baguazhang” in referring to this martial art first appears in a book entitled, Bagua Zhuanzhang Hui-lan”, which was authored by Zheng-Xingsan, a well-known scholar and a student of Dong's most senior disciple, Yin-fu. After the collapse of the Quing government in 1911, Zheng found himself suddenly unemployed. To keep himself occupied he wrote down everything he'd learned and tried to formulate a relationship between the art and the Yijing. This guy really needed a life. Or a girlfriend.

Dong's second most senior student, Cheng-Tinghua, was influences by Ji-Fengxiang, who was an astrologer as well as a good friend and student. The result was that Cheng began to expound upon the theories of the 8 trigrams, the Yijing, and the accompanying 64 hexagrams...and their supposed relationship to the boxing art. This affected virtually all aspects of training.

Cheng's merging of ancient Taoist concepts with his martial art would inspire another of his students, Sun-Lutang, to further expound upon these ideas. Sun trained assiduously in Taoist forms of qigong and also made a detailed study of the Yijing. Between 1915 and 1927, he authored several texts that tried to show a definitive relationship between a number of Taoist philosophies and the internal martial arts (the neijia).

But believe me, if you;re trying to find a correlation between certain baguazhang postures and the trigrams or hexagrams, you're wasting your time. It may be an interesting intellectual distraction but it won't enhance your (fighting) skill one iota! In speaking to a female teacher here in China, I found that her husband had trained in baguazhang while in college. She asked if I had learned the “secret inner parts” of the art. Now, having practiced this discipline for nearly five decades, I wasn't altogether sure of what she was talking about. “Like telling the future”, she said. “My husband's teacher is very famous”, she explained. “He taught my husband how to predict the future by practicing baguazhang.”

Uh-huh. Small wonder that this magnificent art is all but dead today... The vast majority of baguazhang teachers in China have learned the outer form but they have no skill in the practical applications. That is, they have no real fighting skill. They'll demonstrate applications of movements but they don't look any different than applications as applied in numerous other forms of kung-fu. Where, I ask, is the signature footwork of bagua? Where is its special coiling power? And where, oh where, are these trigrams and hexagrams supposed to fit in? I think the death of real baguazhang has been brought about by too much intellectualizing, too much speculation about the positions of the moon and stars correspond to certain physical postures, and so on. It has come to taste like (as one of my dear friends describes it) a “crispy new age oatmeal cookie.”

If this art is to survive at all, it's time to toss out the oatmeal batter and get back to the true method.

YOU AND YOUR BIG MOUTH!

 By Phillip Starr

It's been said that the voice is a second face and I believe this to be true. Think about it; people who tend to be withdrawn, shy, or fearful rarely speak with much feeling or volume. In fact, it's often rather difficult to hear their words at all! Their voices are, in my opinion, outward expressions of the condition(s) of their minds and spirits. If the spirit is weak and timid, if the mind is skittish and afraid, the (quality of the) voice reflects their condition.

You might wonder if increasing the volume and spirit of the voice can promote the development of a strong spirit and bolster one's courage. I believe that it can. However, it is necessary to maintain proper physical posture, ensuring that certain bodily structures are aligned. This fosters the free flow of vital force (qi) while it also brings the diaphragm into the position from which it can provide maximum assistance in speaking with greater volume and spirit. Thus, the physical posture and voice are interrelated. This is the main reason that I sometimes have students (including beginners) count cadence during certain routines that are practiced in class.

The posture and movements of people whose voices are weak and lack spirit usually reveal their timidity. Think about it. The mousy-voiced fellow who addresses you often looks at the floor or over your shoulder because he cannot work up the nerve to look you in the eye, as it were and the feeble-spirited lady may cower a bit, intertwining her fingers as she speaks to you. As inside, so outside. As I've said in earlier articles (see the article entitled, “Inseparable”), body and mind are inseparably united. The body is the visible, outward expression of the (condition of) the mind. Mind and body mirror each other perfectly.

Naturally, as a martial arts enthusiast, you'll wonder if practicing the kiai (shout) can help improve the quality and power of the voice. Yes, I believe it can. However, that same strong spirit must be carried over into the student's natural speaking voice. This usually requires some practice. By the way, this will also help those who are fearful of public speaking. Adjust the physical posture and focus on the spirit of the voice. Frankly, it's difficult to speak in a feeble, trembling voice when one's posture is correct; the two just don't go together very well at all. Correct posture (and consequently, correct movement) promotes self-confidence and that is readily evident in the voice.

In traditional martial arts, it is said that the voice is a very powerful weapon and this statement is truer than most people realize. But bear in mind that there is a right way and countless wrong ways to execute a strong kiai. I have discussed this in my book, “Martial Mechanics.”

Keep these ideas in mind today as you go out into your daily life and when you practice your chosen discipline. In a short time, you'll see how your voice can begin to change many aspects of your life...

TRAINING PROGRESSION

 by Phillip Starr

In an earlier article I spoke of being consistent in training. Consistency is essential to acquiring and maintaining skill in anything, especially a physical activity. However, the other half of the equation is training progressively. That is, learning step by step, taking your time and avoiding the temptation to hurry or move things out of sequence so that you (think) you'll learn and achieve skill faster.

A good instructor is careful that students learn everything progressively. There are reasons for this:

• Until a given movement (I'll call it “A”) is learned thoroughly, the student simply lacks the coordination and/or the proper strength/muscle tone to perform more complex movements. If the student attempts to do so, she may develop some really bad habits (which can be more than a little difficult to break) or even injure herself.

• The principle(s) learned in “movement A” are often essential for learning more complex movements. The basic principle(s) upon which “movement A” are based must be thoroughly learned and a certain level of skill in the application of that principle must be attained before going any further.

  
  
  

Of course, this necessarily means that students can't go whizzing through a list of techniques. They have to learn them progressively, step by step...and that means that there will be times that they will become rather bored with the tedious repetition of fundamental movements and techniques. There are ways around this, of course and that will be the subject of another article...but many instructors worry that students will drop out of training if they become bored. And that means loss of income. That has had a very negative impact on contemporary martial arts worldwide. It is my opinion that a good instructor, an instructor who is true to himself and his art, will train his students properly. Period.

Training progressively also applies to your own personal training outside of the training hall. If you stop practicing for an extended period and then start up again, you can’t simply start up where you left off. Your body is not longer accustomed to the movements and you may injure yourself. It’s like lifting weights. You move along progressively and if you stop lifting for a month or so, you mustn’t start up where you left off. An injury is pretty much guaranteed if you do!

Progressive training isn’t structured haphazardly. A good progressive training schedule is carefully developed over time by a teacher who understands not only the art and the various elements that comprise it, but human learning as well. Your personal training schedule should closely mirror the schedule used by your instructor. You can develop some slight variations by inserting various drills that make your daily practice more interesting and enjoyable but in the main, it should follow closely the schedule used by your teacher.

We learn faster and more thoroughly if we are relaxed and enjoying the process (as opposed to being fearful, tense, and/or bored half to death). Use your imagination to develop effective, challenging, and enjoyable training routines. Just because training must be progressive doesn’t necessarily infer that it has to be tedious!

TIMING AND DISTANCE BECOME ONE

 by Phillip Starr

When students reach a certain level of skill, I tell them that timing and distance are actually the same thing and I demonstrate what I mean. It's kind of the martial arts definition of “space-time.” We measure distances by how long it takes to go from Point A to Point B at a given speed (unless you're Canadian, since they measure distances in beers). Changing the distance and/or the speed or velocity of one's movement will impact the timing of the movement/technique.

So we must first define “timing.” It is, roughly, the point during a given movement when you execute your technique. Take a lunging punch, for example...should your punch land AFTER your front foot hits the floor, AT THE SAME TIME that your front foot hits the floow, or...BEFORE your foot hits the floor? You'd hopefully tell me that it depends on how far the target is from you. So the distance determines the timing...right?

Most of us practice to step and strike at the same time. This is what our forms teach us to do.

But...we can adjust things a bit.

The object in combat is to take the enemy's ground. That means that he can no longer be occupying the piece of real estate that he's currently standing on. It also means that we must drive in powerfully and PENETRATE him as he strike; we must literally run over him like a high-speed tank. If we fail to do this; if we step up TO him and strike AT him so that there still remains a little distance between us, he can shift or maybe just lean back a bit and defend himself without too much trouble. Then he fires out a blow and we must do the same thing...and back and forth and so on until one of us manages to land a technique. It's the old “kung-fu fighting” scenario.

Ugh.

How about driving THROUGH him? If you learn to do it correctly, he CANNOT adequately defend himself and he is struck almost before he sees you move. But to do it right, you're going to have to adjust your timing. Training for this is shown in my book, “Martial Maneuvers.” It requires considerable practice.

If you reflect on it, you'll see that timing and distance are actually the same thing. Initially, they're taught separately but they eventually must meld into one.

THE GAP

 by Phillip Starr

As practitioners of various martial disciplines, we're all very familiar with what Bruce Lee termed, “the gap.” In the form of kung-fu that I teach, yiliquan, “the gap” is known as “mutual distance.” Simply put, it's the distance between you and your opponent. It's not a fixed thing; it's “unfixed” and constantly changing as you and your opponent move about, searching for that elusive opening in each other's defenses. Scores of martial arts practitioners have spent countless hours trying to find effective ways to “bridge the gap”, ways to successfully get within effective striking range without getting your dental structure rearranged in the process.

First, consider that there are two ways in which the gap can be bridged. The first way is to let the opponent bridge it for you. That is, you can either wait for him to attack or entice him to do so and then take advantage of the flaw in his defense. No matter what the opponent's attack may be, there's an opening in his defenses somewhere. This is why I say that all attacks are flawed. Of course, the key is finding and responding to the opening that occurs when he attacks. This requires a lot of practice with a partner. The window of opportunity will usually be very small, so you must be prepared to take advantage of it when it presents itself.

Of course, this “window” is much easier to see and exploit if you entice your foe into attacking. And whatever “bait” you use must be believable. I've seen some fighters attempt to con their opponents and induce an attack but the snare was just to obvious. It was easy to see that it was a bushwhack. And if the enemy sees that you've set up an ambush, he can readily turn the tables on you by acting as though he's about to attack in a certain way. When you begin to respond, he turns the tables on you, and...!

Regardless, you have caused your opponent to close the gap for you. Once that's done, you're on what I call “full tilt boogie” because both you and your antagonist are within each other's defensive perimeters. You can easily reach other and strike each other. There is no longer a gap.

The second way(s) of bridging the gap is to take advantage of the moment of “ko” (which means “hole” in Chinese but is more correctly referred to as “xu”, which means “unreality” or “false.” In Japanese it is referred to as “kyo.”). Again, you can wait for this moment to occur (and you may have a rather long wait if your enemy is a skilled fighter...and during that time, he may find a flaw in YOUR posture and attack) or you can actively induce it. I refer to these as the passive and active approaches, respectively. There are several of them and each must be studied and practiced individually. You'll eventually find one or two that seem to suit you and you must then strive to polish and master them.

The opposite of “xu” is “shi” (or “jutsu” in Japanese), which means “reality.” I refer to it as “full.” If your opponent is in this condition, he is physically, mentally, and spiritually prepared. To attack him would be foolish and dangerous, wouldn't it? Yet, I've seen countless martial arts practitioners, beginners and instructors alike, do exactly that. It would be akin to facing an enemy who has both guns pointed at you with the hammers cocked back. And you decide that you can draw your weapon and shoot him before he can squeeze the triggers? I don't think so...

However, if your enemy's physical posture is lacking, if he is mentally distracted in some way, if his spirit wavers momentarily and he loses the will to fight...these are all examples of “xi” or “ko” and there is an opening which, if your timing is sharp enough, you can exploit. It is a subject that is often ignored by martial artists but it should be studied in minute detail.

The various types of “xu” are discussed in detail in my book, “MARTIAL MANEUVERS.” If you don't already have a copy, save up your beer money and get one!

THE SILENT TEACHER

 by Phillip Starr

It's your best friend but oftentimes, it seems as if it hates you and everyone else. It doesn't care what style you practice; it hates everybody equally. But it will teach you a great deal in a very short time. If there's a flaw in your technique, it'll point it out to you in a way that you won't quickly forget. Some years ago, I conducted a training session at my home and everyone was politely introduced to my personal striking post. One student even started off by giving it a kiss and a hug but it didn't matter. It still bit him...but through its vicious exterior, it taught him.

The striking post was once one of the most common pieces of equipment in most training halls and/or the homes of martial arts teachers. Whether they taught forms of bare-handed fighting or swordsmanship, there was almost always a striking post nearby and if you think hitting one with your fist is a pain, try it with a wooden sword!

An old friend of mine, Sherm Harrill (who trained under the founder of Isshin-ryu, Tatsuo Shimabuku), once said, "Any karate school that doesn't have a makiwara in it is just teaching dancing." It is my opinion that he pretty much hit the nail on the head. All hardcore, traditional karate dojos sport at least one makiwara and its pad is usually adorned with plenty of dried blood, which is a testament to the spirit of those who tempered their bodily weapons on it. Even in modern Okinawa and Japan, there is usually a makiwara in or near any karate dojo.

From "day one" in America, the striking post has been almost unknown. Americans didn't like to practice basics over and over; they wanted to learn how to fight. They didn't, and many still don't, get the connection. If your basics are weak or incorrect, you have almost no chance in a real fight.

Trust me, if you want to know if you can really knock an opponent down with your thrust or strike, try it out on a striking post. The odds are good that you'll find a flaw in there somewhere and that you're not really hitting as hard as you thought. When you start out, don't hit it full-power! If you do, you won't do it a second time. Start off gently with, say, 25 good punches and strikes. Gradually increase the power and number of blows as you're able. Take your time! When I train(ed) with my post, I perform(ed) 500 thrusts (with each hand) per day. I also practiced 50 to 100 of other type of strikes, which included the sword-hand and backfist. By the time you've worked up to 100 strong thrusts per day, your punch will be stronger than you might think. When you hit an opponent he'll stay hit, believe me.

I have often heard students and even instructors of various forms of karate and kung-fu declare that one of the primary reasons for makiwara training is to develop thick callouses on the striking surfaces of the hands and feet (and some traditionalists also practiced hitting it with various kicks and even elbow strikes). This is usually their excuse for not emphasizing the use of this simple device; it's not practical anymore because we don't need heavy callouses with which to punch through armor.

Foo.

Regular, correct use of a striking post will not build thick, heavy callouses. Rather, it will toughen the flesh on the striking surfaces of your bodily weapons, which reduces the risk of injuring yourself when you smack some scumbag. The fact is that most martial arts practitioners are afraid to hit something with full power because they fear injuring themselves and the resulting pain of delivering such a blow. Oftentimes, they’re not even consciously aware of this fear; it’s below the level of consciousness. Subconsciously, they know that if they ever hit anything with full power they’ll injure themselves. Because of this, the mind simply does not allow the body to strike full strength. It causes the practitioner to “hold back.” For obvious reasons, this can prove to be a real problem when the chips are down. However, a person who trains regularly on the striking post harbors no such fear and will happily strike his opponent with every ounce of power he can generate.

Some people fear that they will permanently damage their hands if they train with this piece of equipment. Stories abound about well-known martial arts teachers whose hands were supposedly rendered into little more than bludgeons on the ends of their wrists. The world-famous master, Masutatsu Oyama, is often cited as an example. But the truth is very different. Oyama maintained full dexterity in his hands right up until his dying day. Certainly, I have known people who injured their hands on the makiwara and it’s because they were training improperly! You can easily injure yourself lifting light weights, using a heavy bag, or even using a toilet the wrong way! If you’re going to use a piece of equipment, learn to do it right or leave it alone.

So, why use the striking post? Well, let's have a look…

• The main thing that the post teaches you is to strike directly through your target and to focus your power onto a single point. This sounds easy enough to do but I’ve watched numerous senior martial arts instructors strike the post and discover, albeit very painfully, that their technique was incorrect. Oftentimes, their fists slid across the pad (which is wrapped in a type of straw rope), leaving some flesh and blood behind. With practice, you will learn to strike directly into your target flawlessly.

• The striking post lets you know - usually in not-so-gentle ways - if you have glitches in your technique. Hit her solid with a bad technique and she'll immediately let you know that you have erred. For instance, you may be striking with the wrong part of your hand. If this is the case, you’ll find out about it in a hurry. If your shoulder, elbow, or wrist is out of line, she’ll let you know. It's a painful, traumatic way of correcting your errors but it works! And many's the time that I didn't even know that I had a bug in my technique...until I hit the post. She didn't whisper it in my ear, either. She glared at me. Errors in your technique which are so slight that your instructor may not even notice are made glaringly obvious on the post.

• Third, the post teaches you to strike with the force of your whole body rather than just your arm. You should feel the recoil clear down to the soles of your feet. If your stance is unstable she'll let you know about it.

• And the constant repetition of striking the padded post gradually causes the bones of the striking surface to become denser and denser...until they're like iron. This is especially true of the old Okinawan/Japanese makiwara, which is tapered at one end so that it flexes back when it's struck. The vibrations from the flexible post travel up through the bones of the hand, through the wrist, arm, and to the shoulder, causing them to eventually become very, very dense. Think about this. A person whose weapons have been tempered on the striking post possesses very formidable weapons, indeed. His knuckles are as hard as ballpeen hammers (but they need not be calloused) and his other weapons - the sword-hand, pheonix-eye (second knuckle of the forefinger), and other weapons are similarly tempered. If you get hit with one of these weapons, you'll stay hit.

There are lots of different flavors of striking posts. For instance, the well-known “wing chun dummy” is a rather extravagant type of striking post. At the opposite end of the spectrum are various forms of kung-fu that simply use a bare post. And while many contemporary practitioners of the traditional neijia (internal martial arts of China; taijiquan, xingyiquan, and baguazhang) insist that using this device is detrimental to developing internal power and can be injurious to one's health, the fact is that their martial arts forefathers used various types of striking posts on a daily basis. If you dig deep enough into the history of these arts and the men whose skill in them became legendary, you can find numerous references to their use of the striking post. The Okinawan karate masters of times long past emphasized that training consisted of four parts (although most contemporary practitioners emphasize only the first three). These include kihon (basic techniques), kata (forms), kumite (practice with a partner), and makiwara.

The truth of the matter is that most people simply don't want to have to endure the initial pain (and scraped knuckles) of this kind of training. And too many internal stylists would rather intellectualize about striking with power - yada, yada, yada - than actually get off their duffs and put in the required pain and sweat. Actually, the pain eventually goes away as your weapons become better tempered but the sweat will always be with you.

I recall a story told to me by my friend, Chris Smaby, who trained under the reknowned karate master, Hidetaka Nishiyama. Back in the 1970's, Nishiyama and a handful of senior Japanese karate teachers were visiting various Shotokan schools around the U.S. At one such school the owner proudly displayed his five new makiwaras, which he had mounted inside his dojo. One of Nishiyama's classmates walked up to one of them and shot out a reverse punch...and the end of the post snapped off! He went down the line, hitting each one and breaking the ends off until he came to the last one.

"Please, sensei," the school owner pleaded, "Don't break this last one!" The senior karateka nodded in agreement. After the owner had thanked him and had run off to rejoin the rest of the group, the senior instructor saw that he was alone with the last makiwara. He fired out one last punch...and broke the end off the post! He looked around and quietly set it back up on the post, hoping that no one would notice right away. Then he skipped off to join his friends.

In Japan, a young man practiced diligently on a makiwara, which was mounted just outside of the karate dojo. He noticed an older man sitting on a nearby bench. The fellow was reading a newspaper but every now and then he'd glance over at the youngster. This made the karate student punch even harder. He'd show this oldster some real karate technique!

Finally, the old man walked over and informed the young man that his punch wasn't quite right. Exasperated, the karateka asked the old man what he meant. The gray-haired senior fired out a quick thrust and snapped off the top twelve inches of the post. "Do it like that," the old man said. And he walked off to get on his bus. The young karate student was so astonished that he didn't even get the old man's name.

There's a story about a famous xingyiquan master who, when he was yet a student, practiced hitting a post until he could break a tombstone with his piquan (literally, "splitting hand", which strikes with the little-finger edge of the palm). Mind you, this is a Chinese tombstone we're talking about and they're considerably smaller than the huge, heavy Western tombstones but still, it was no mean feat. His teachers wouldn't teach him another technique until he could successfully perform this feat. Talk about being picky!

So if you can, set up a striking post but be sure to build it correctly. You must never, ever practice hitting something that doesn't "give." Your force will simply be returned to you and you can injure not only your hands but your internal environment as well. So don't go out and start whacking the nearest tree. Don't be a lazy cheapskate. Build one and do it right.

I’ve seen world-famous karate masters demonstrating how they beat their hands on huge stones, trees, and similar immovable objects. There is a technical term used in physics that describes such practice. It is foolhardy! I don’t care who it is that does this kind of thing, who he is, how famous he is, what rank he holds, or anything else. It is a reckless, harmful way to practice! Do it right and do it regularly. You'll discover that the striking post is a wonderful, albeit a sometimes harsh, teacher.