LOOKING INTO THE FACE OF TRUE MASTERY

 by Phillip Starr

I consider myself very fortunate to have met and in some cases, trained with, some of the finest martial arts masters in the world. Many people nowadays like to refer to themselves as “Master”, “Hanshi”, or even “Grandmaster”, and it seems that many martial artists are elevated to such status (by themselves or others) simply because they have been involved in the martial arts for a long time. So let me tell you what authentic mastery looks like...

Hidetaka Nishiyama was, in my opinion, probably the finest karate master of the last century. I first met him when he visited by friend, Chris Smaby (now an 8^th dan with the JKA). On one day, he was demonstrating a timing drill; Chris was to punch at him with a strong reverse punch and Nishiyama sensei would lightly slap his wrist and then deliver his own reverse punch. They did this several times and Nishiyama's slaps were sharp but not brutally forced. His punches just touched Chris's chest, making a light slapping sound and not jolting him at all.

Later, we retired to the dressing room to prepare for a much needed lunch break and Chris looked at his wrist. The blood vessels just under the skin had virtually exploded due to his teacher's light slaps. When he removed his jacket, the truth was evident...every place that Nishiyama sensei had touched him with his fist, the blood vessels had burst! Chris raised his eyebrows and said, “My God! Another inch of penetration and my lungs would have burst!” Nishiyama's punches were sharp but he exerted no brute force; in fact, he seemed not to exert any real force at all! I'd never seen that kind of thing before and I've never seen it since.

Arthur Lee was, I believe, the world's highest authority on Fut-Ga, a southern form of shaolinquan. His teacher was the legendary Lum Dai Yong. Arthur wasn't a big, hulking man; he was of very slight build and was always ready with a smile. His power was well-concealed. Many years ago when he was visiting students and friends in San Francisco, he was asked by Tiger Claw Martial Arts Company to help test their newest focus pad. He reluctantly agreed. When he arrived at their headquarters, they provided him one of the pads and asked him to give it a good whack and see if he could damage it. Using his palm, he delivered a sharp slap (Fut-Ga specializes in a kind of “slapping power”) and the pad split in two! The CEO of Tiger Claw sighed...it was back to the drawing board for a pad that such men couldn't destroy...

When I was in Japan in November of 2016, I was able to meet the legendary swordmaster, Kuroda Tetsuzan. He had practiced a family style of martial arts (which is not limited to using only a sword) all his life and had been teaching for a very long time. I found him to be very amiable and of course, exceedingly polite as he invited me and my student, Hiro Misawa to observe his class. At one point, he was demonstrating the “disappearing body” technique, so I paid attention. His student stood before him with his sword raised overhead in the familiar jodan-no-kamae while Kuroda sensei was poised in the waki-kamae with his bokken held low to the rear. The student was instructed to strike if he even thought that his teacher was about to move...

And...Kuroda vanished. In the blink of an eye (literally) he was standing beside his student, having figuratively gutted him! The student hadn't seen the movement,either; his sword was still raised overhead. I turned to my student, “WTF just happened? It looked like something you'd see on a film, as if 3-4 frames had been cut out! One second he was there and then he just disappeared! He set up to demonstrate it again...

I focused my eyes. Although I'm diabetic and my eyesight isn't what it used to be, it's still VERY good. So I focused in on Kuroda sensei...and he did it AGAIN! I shook my head, “HOW in God's name does he DO that?” Hiro hadn't seen it, either. We leaned forward to focus even closer as the master prepared to repeat the lesson. He did it 4 more times and it was only on the last one that I could detect a VERY TINY weight shift before he evaporated...

My primary kung-fu teacher, Master Y.C. Chen (I mistakenly thought the first character of his given name was pronounced with a “w” sound...but it means “cloud”, which, in pinyin, is spelled with a “y.”) could do much the same thing. Instructing me to strike at him as I wished, we would square off. I watched him closely because, even though he was in his 50's at the time, he was extremely fast and slippery. I was still in my teens, very fit and very, very fast. I quickly drove forward with my best pengquan (the reverse punch used in xingyiquan)...and he was gone! Then I felt a light tap on my shoulder. Looking over, I saw my teacher standing beside me...chuckling.

Hino Akira is a martial arts genius. I met him in Japan in 2016 as I had Kuroda sensei. Hino sensei is quite small, barely making it to my shoulders and weighing in at something like 120 lbs. after a hefty meal. He is very friendly; constantly smiling and laughing. He has demonstrated his remarkable skills around the world. In one such performance, he has as many as six men stand front to back in a single file line with the front man holding a thick kicking pad against his chest. Beginning with his fist but a short distance away, Hino delivers an effortless but sharp thrust into the pad, sending the last man in the line almost flying backward several yards! One television crew thought the whole thing was fake, so they asked if they could experience it firsthand. Hino sensei smilingly agreed and again, the last man was sent back several yards, crashing into the wall of the studio. They became believers very quickly. To this day, I remain in contact with this remarkable man.

Enoeda Keinosuke was known as the “Tiger of Shotokan”, and rightly so. It was aid that if you wanted to learn about body connections and biomechanics, you should go to Nishiyama. To see really masterful kata, see Kanazawa. But if you wanted to look death in the face, go to Enoeda. One one occasion, he was standing in front of a young man, trying to explain the real meaning and value of timing. The student wasn't getting it. Exasperrated, Enoeda fired a classical mawashi-geri (roundhouse kick)...the original version travels in a slightly downward arc...and stopped it just in front of the fellow's nose. The student hadn't noticed a weight shift or any indication that the technique was imminent...and remember, they were facing each other at a normal conversation distance. Enoeda held his foot before the young man's face. “Timing”, he said, “It's all timing.”

Master Oyata Seiyu hailed from Okinawa and had been training in karate and kobudo since his youth. A bonafide 10^th dan, his skill in striking vital points and applying “tui-te” (joint twisting) techniques was truly remarkable. He had also mastered the use of the staff. Once, when he visited me at my school in Cedar Rapids, IA., he wanted to demonstrate its use. He offered to receive any attack from any student of mine who wished to try his prowess with a weapon of his choosing.

I had a very impressive weapons rack and one of my senior students, Jim, volunteered. Picking up a broadsword, he approached Oyata sensei who told him to attack in whatever manner he wished. Jim swung the blade at the older man and suddenly, the broadsword was on the other side of the room and the tip of Oyata's staff was positioned just an inch from Jim's throat.

Not to be outdone, Jim ran over to the rack and selected a three-section staff. He whirle it quickly as he delivered his attack, but Oyata repeated the same maneuver. Jim sheepishly looked down at the tip of the staff and smiled. He was certainly no match for Oyata sensei.

One of my teacher's classmates was the renowned Wang Shujin, who went to Japan in the 1950's (which was quite an undertaking, considering that WWII had ended just a few years before that and feelings were still pretty raw). Wang taught xingyiquan, baguazhang, and a lot of taijiquan. He was rather large (especially by the Chinese and Japanese standards of the day); over six feet tall and weighing in at about 400 lbs.! There are many, many stories about him. One such story really stunned me. When I visited the Meiji Shrine in Tokyo inn 2016 with my student and dear friend, Hiro Misawa, I was awed by the enormity of the posts of the huge Tori gate. Hiro told me that Wang had tested the power of his palm (strike) against one of the pillars...and made it sway! Incredible, to say the least!

I have a great many stories of things I've seen and other genuine masters I've met I the past 60 years. There's not enough room here to tell many more of them but these few should serve as fine examples of what it's like to look authentic mastery in the face...

JUKOZO

 by Phillip Starr

*Excerpted from the book, “REFINING JIN” by the author.

Japan is a beautiful island nation that is plagued with frequent earthquakes, some almost imperceptible, and some that are terribly destructive. Yet, many (if not most) of their ancient temples have withstood this terrible force of nature and remain standing after more than a thousand years. Why is this? What is their secret and what does it have to do with the practice of martial arts?

The world-renowned sensei, Akira Hino, has spoken appreciably on this subject. He emphasizes “jukozo” (flexible structure) as being the primary underlying reason for this phenomenon. The terribly destructive force of earthquakes has led to the developments of new forms of architecture in areas frequented by this force of nature. Even newer cars feature vibration-resistant construction to alleviate the shock of a collision. However, this type of special construction existed in Japan long ago and is truly representative of Japanese culture and mindset.

The ancient architects determined that rather than constructing buildings that would attempt to resist nature's power, they would design buildings that would be able to adapt to nature. The joints in the buildings were not permanently fixed; pillars and columns were/are constructed by the complex art of wood joining. This allowed for some play in the joints, which could absorb the shock of an earthquake. Coexistence with nature was preferred over (the Western notion of) trying to control nature or fight against it directly. This was the development of jukozo (the “ju” of jukozo is the same “ju” used in “judo.”). How these ancient builders knew exactly how much play would exist in their structures is unknown; wood takes about 200 years to settle...

The human body exists because of this same principle. Living on this planet means that we must endure the force of gravity all the time. Were it not for the cartilaginous tissues that act as cushions between our joints, we would not be able to move and survive for long. The principle of jukozo is of the important elements that supports life on earth. And it (should be) properly applied to our practice of martial arts.

When we receive an attack it is better to absorb or re-direct its force rather than oppose it. Consider the act of catching and then immediately throwing a baseball. When the ball is caught, the body (joints) are not tensed so as to oppose its force. Rather, we learn the absorb its force by allowing the jukozo of our bodies to receive and absorb its energy. Then we can learn to “return” its energy as we immediately (and without stopping our movement) throw the ball back. A baseball coach often reminds his players to “relax” when they do this, which is essential in maintaining one smooth movement from start (catching the ball) to finish (throwing the ball). However, what he really means is that the players must maintain “song” (a Chinese word that I translate roughly as, “using no more muscular force than is absolutely required”). The players must learn to utilize the principle of jukozo in their actions.

And so it is in martial arts. Imagine stiffening up when catching the ball and then tightening the muscles when returning it! Yet, this is (figuratively) what many martial artists do when they receive an attack.

Receiving an attack is called “uke” in Japanese and “shou” in Chinese. To properly receive an attack, the amount of jukozo must be just so, not too much nor too little. Too much play is as bad as no play at all but many internal kung-fu stylists (particularly taijiquan practitioners) do it much of the time. They completely “give in” to the force of an attack, causing them to become similar to lifeless, air-filled bags and when the incoming force disperses most of the air, they collapse. Jukozo means to be flexible, not empty. It is essential to learn to use our God-given flexible structures to our best advantage. That's going to take some considerable practice.

JUDGING THE REIHO

 by Phillip Starr

As some of you may already know, I'm an avid practitioner of iaido (pronounced “eeh- ai- doe” for you rednecks). It is the art of drawing and cutting with the Japanese sword. There is much, much more to every aspect of it than meets the eye, believe me...the way in which the hakama is worn and tied, the manner of gripping the saya (scabbard), the proper way to grip the sword itself...there are a thousand tiny, seemingly insignificant details that must be performed just exactly so lest the technique be rendered ineffective and consequently, incorrect.

The sword isn't gripped or swung like a Louiseville Slugger or a lumberjack's axe. Not at all. Something as seemingly simply as drawing the sword in a given kata (there are 12 fundamental forms and trust me, none of them involve cartwheels, side kicks, twirling the sword like a mini-skirted cheerleader, or any other such nonsense) may require years of daily practice before any of them can be done CORRECTLY, let alone effectively!

Heck, it took me more than six months to learn how to wear my hakama properly so that it supported my sword and actually assisted me in executing certain techniques! And learning to perform what appears to be a simple cut requires years of practice and careful study of many very tiny and seemingly insignificant principles!

On top of all that, there's the reiho (proper method of bowing in and out, and how to place the sheathed sword in your obi - belt). Like everything else, it has to be done just so. It's not a simple matter at all. It took me several months just to memorize the sequence of movements (it's much like a kata in and of itself) and then many months more before I could even begin to do it smoothly. Even now, I still often get my fingers tangled in the sageo (a long cord attached to the scabbard) as I endeavor to switch hands during the reiho procedure...

And so...with 12 kata, each of which involves what seems to be a thousand tiny details, I was told that on a given examination one's skill and performance of the reiho accounts for more than 50% of one's score! Your kata may be sterling but if your reiho even vaguely resembles a schoolboy trying to unhook his girlfriend's bra for the first time, you may well fail the exam...

A number of you may well wonder why this is? Why do they place such importance on how well you perform a bowing procedure? Isn't the object to learn how to wield the katana (Japanese sword) correctly? Well, yes and no...

If the reiho is incorrect or sloppy, it's a poor reflection of one's level of dedication and seriousness (about learning) the art. The kata(s) may look good to the casual observer, but they'll be flawed due to the same lack of practice and attention to detail.

And so it is with the bowing procedure(s) for your karate, judo, taekwondo, or (insert the name of your martial discipline). It applies equally to the moment(s) prior to the first movement of your form, when you're standing still. There's a correct way to do it and countless incorrect ways...it is a reflection of how you practice. It is a reflection of your discipline, of your spirit.

THE HATCHLING

 by Phillip Starr

In the treatise on zen known as the Blue Cliff Record, an odd expression - “sottaku doji” is found. Sottaku means “a pecking noise” and doji means “simultaneously.” In ordinary conversation, this expression refers to the reaction between a mother bird and her chicks that are about to hatch. While still in the egg, the hatchling makes little pecks against the inside of the egg's shell and upon hearing this, the mother bird pecks at the outside of the egg to assist the hatchling in its struggle to enter the world.

This same expression is occasionally heard in conjunction with the martial arts of Japan (as well as other arts of that culture) because it offers insight into the relationship between the teacher and student. The search for a master or even a good teacher can be what seems an overwhelming task and the once the search has been completed, it's a mistake to think that the path before you will be smooth and easily travelled. Less so for those who attempt to learn without the guidance of a good instructor. Books and DVDs can be of service as reference materials, but one really needs the hands-on instruction of a worthy teacher.

I recall a time many years ago when I was trying to perform a particular movement in the form of baguazhang that I was learning. One leg was to be lifted to the front and then placed on the floor behind me just before I was to pivot and strike. Try as I might, I kept losing my balance. When my teacher did it, it was as smooth as flowing water. No loss of balance at all. It looked so effortless...WHY couldn't I do it? For weeks I did my best to imitate him but I still stumbled.

Then one day, he came up to me as I was frustrating myself and said, “You have trouble because your weight is in the wrong place. Put your weight here and move from here”, he said as he grasped one of my knees and pointed to my lower belly. I followed his advice and VOILA! The movement came off as slick as snot on a glass doorknob!

Later, I was angry with him for not showing me these simple adjustments from the beginning. I was really steamed until a small voice in my head asked, “If he had told you in the beginning, would you have heard him?” I realized that no, I wouldn't have truly “heard” him. I might have heard the words, but my body wouldn't have been able to translate them into physical actions. My teacher knew this and he knew just when to give me what I needed.

To walk the martial path is unlike most journeys; the road ahead is far from smooth and easily seen. It is replete with pitfalls and many obstacles that aren't always easily seen. This is why a good teacher is important. He leads but sometimes he sits and watches as the student struggles, giving a little push when it is finally needed.

In modern martial arts schools that are often filled with many students, this sottaku doji doesn't occur; the emphasis seems to be similar to managing an assembly-line. Students are taught en masse and because of the roar of modern commercialism, the teacher can't hear the hatchling pecking at the inside of its shell. He is oblivious to it. Sottaku doji requires a quiet, personal relationship between student and teacher. Without that, there is little chance that the hatching will ever be truly born.

FULL AND EMPTY?

 By Phillip Starr

You square off with your opponent with the intention of delivering an effective blow, one way or another. But before you do something foolish, you must determine if your intended target is xu or shi (in Japanese, kyo or jutsu). I see some of you raising your eyebrows...let me explain.

If your opponent is physically, mentally, AND spiritually prepared, he is in a condition known as shi (実jutsu), which means “reality”, but which I prefer to translate as “full.” That is, he's:

• physically stable and poised to attack or counter-attack easily and quickly.

• mentally focused on you and the task at hand.

• possesses the will; the determination to engage and defeat you.

  

To attack such an opponent would be foolhardy. Even if he is a novice with minimal fighting skills, he can quickly evade your attack in some fashion and cause your attack to fail. If he's a skilled fighter, you're betting that you're faster or stronger than he is. And that is a bet that seldom brings victory. Why on earth would you attack someone who is fully prepared? Yet, this is exactly what most practitioners do.

The terms kyo and jutsu are most often heard in the practice of kendo/kenjutsu (Japanese fencing) but are seldom used in the practice of other martial disciplines. They should be.

The opposite of shi is xu (虚 kyo), which means “unprepared” but I often refer to it as “deficient” or “ko” (a “hole”). This is also known as “tsuki” in Japanese (隙,pr. “ski”, which is “gap” in Chinese), but still pronounced “xu” in Chinese. It refers to a “gap”; a chink in your opponent's armor, a window of opportunity, a moment of vulnerability that leaves him exposed and in an untenable position. If he physically, mentally, or spiritually “off” (or a combination of any of these three), he is xu:

• physically unprepared or vulnerable. He may be out of position or unstable.

• mentally unprepared for battle. Perhaps he is distracted...

• spiritually unprepared. He becomes frightened or loses the will to fight.

  

The window of opportunity may be small and your timing will likely have to be razor-sharp to get through it, but it can be done. For instance, an analogy that is often used is that of tossing a coin in the air. When it reaches it's highest point, there is a momentary pause before it begins to fall. That moment is akin to what we call xu. The window is rather small...

In the system that I teach (yiliquan), we recognize 9 types of xu, each of which must be studied very carefully. And there are two methods of dealing with xu; active and passive. The passive method is simple...you wait for the opponent to become xu. Sooner or later, he'll do so (unintentionally). For instance, every time he takes a step, there is a moment of xu (when he has no balance), It's very small, but it's there. If he attacks, there is a moment of xu (so we say that all attacks are inherently flawed because to attack is to momentarily produce a vulnerable opening). Even his breathing pattern provides small moments of xu.

The active method requires you to induce the opponent to become xu. The use of a feint is the most obvious and easily understood method. Other methods are very subtle and the opponent is often completely unaware that he is vulnerable...until it's too late.

Warriors of the past reasoned that they had only one chance in three of surviving a given encounter; if the enemy's skill exceeded theirs, they'd likely be killed. If the enemy's skill matched theirs, one of them would be killed on the spot and the other (if there was a survivor) would probably die later. Only if their skill exceeded that of their foe could they be assured of a good chance of survival. So they would train to get “that extra edge”; find thing(s) that could provide them with an advantage in a life and death struggle. Studying shi and xu could provide just that.

This is also why warriors of the past didn't engage each other by bouncing around like rabbits on amphetamines. To do that places you in the condition of kyo almost constantly and if your opponent is skilled, he'll bring you down in the blink of an eye. Nowadays, however, fighters with that kind of skill are very rare. In times past, swordsmen faced each other with very little (if any) movement involved. They extended their minds to FEEL the enemy's spirit; to FEEL kyo if and when it occurred. One of them would inevitably err (sometimes the opening was all but invisible to the eyes) and in a flash the conflict was over. The “Hollywood versions” of such encounters that involve numerous clashes of steel and deft maneuvers to evade the enemy's blade are just that; celluloid fighters acting for the sake of thrilling audiences. This is a far cry from the real thing, the way it was. It's a very far cry from what we see in contemporary competitions...

My book, MARTIAL MANEUVERS covers this subject in detail.