THE REAL THING

 by Phillip Starr

When I first took up the study of martial arts I believed that the peculiar forms of punching, striking, and kicking contained some special force, a kind of "magic" (for want of a better word) that would enable me to knock the largest adversary flat on his butt. You have to admit that the forms of punching as they are demonstrated in the various forms of karate and kung-fu are a little strange and not at all like the knee-jerk, "natural" form of haymaker that most people would throw if they were engaged in a scuffle.

I'm convinced that my first teachers believed in that same magic because they never mentioned things like, "using the whole body as a fist" or "striking with the force of the entire body."

Needless to say, I found out in pretty short order that the peculiar punches, strikes, and kicks bestowed no mystical power on me. Being a very slow learner, I suffered many beatings before I had to admit that something was amiss. But what? What could be missing? Surely, there was more to these arts than I could see.

It was my primary kung-fu teacher, Master W. C. Chen, who opened my eyes. "You are relying on using your strength," he said. "And you are too small to exert much strength. You are fast but you have no real power. You hit only with your arm or leg. A strong enemy can overcome your technique easily."

And so it was that I began learning REAL martial art. It began with the horse-riding stance (ma bu) and then the bow and arrow stance (gong bu), cat stance (ding bu), and several others. "Strength begins in the legs," Chen told me. "If your legs are weak you cannot get (generate) real power. If you cannot stand, you cannot walk. If you cannot walk, you cannot run. So, first you must learn to stand. Just stand."

Once my "foothold" was firm, I learned how to move my body to generate power. This was done via six forms of body movement (which are known as the "six body actions" in Yiliquan - and which have since been expanded to "eight body actions"). So, Chen first emphasized the foothold. The next step involved learning basic technique and the third step included learning to apply the foothold (root) and technique via the six body actions. This was what Chen called "quan (chuan) shu", which means, "fist art" and refers to the (outer) form of martial art. It is what is easily seen, what is often admired by the public, and it is only the first stage of true skill.

Most modern martial arts adepts aspire only to learn the "quan shu" and once they have developed skill in it, they feel that they have reached the pinnacle of martial prowess. But they are wrong. All they have done is acquired skill in the outer shell (wai zhuang) of the art. They have yet to examine the meat of the matter.

Once the pupil has trained in the wai zhuang to develop quan shu (and this absolutely MUST be done correctly), he or she is then ready to begin practicing the nei zhuang (internal power) of the art. It is presented in stages. In Yiliquan (the art that I teach), students may, even during the wai zhuang training, begin to learn and practice some of the nei zhuang gong (special conditioning exercises intended to strengthen, stretch, and toughen the unseen internal tissues that are utilized in generating real internal force) and the so-called "engaging" exercises, in which intrinsic force "inflates" the internal tissues.

Only after the internal tissues have been properly conditioned and trained to "engage" can the student begin to learn the panjaozhang gong (hand/arm coiling exercises and power) and eventually the special qipanjao (energy/breath coiling) techniques, which are practiced in stages:>

1. Standing, Big Frame Coils

2. Moving, Big Frame Coils

3. Standing, condense the coils to make them Small Frame Coils

4. Moving, ditto

Only through the application of these "coils" can true fajin be generated.

It is my contention that the original forms of karate, which developed largely from southern forms of Chinese boxing, contained all of this information and it is still hidden within some of their kata (forms).

The small, unseen tissues (ligaments, fascia, and so forth) not only of the arms, waist, and legs, but the torso as well, must be properly employed in the correct sequence and to put this down in writing would be extremely difficult. Besides, I fear that there would be those who might try to learn the nei zhuang from such writings and that is simply impossible.

Even in my own training hall, it is necessary for students to place their hands on my body and actually feel what is going on inside as the coiling technique is applied and fajin is generated. Only then can they really begin to understand it. Incorrect practice can lead not only to simple failure; it can result in very real damage to internal tissues.

Too often, students hear about the nei zhuang and get in a hurry to learn it. This is foolhardy since the development of proper wai zhuang is essential before moving into the realms of nei zhuang. Nowadays, there are teachers (including Chinese!) who assure their students that they can begin the nei zhuang even in the early stages of their training but be assured that this is intended only to fatten the purse of the teacher at the risk of injuring or, at the very least, discouraging the hapless pupil who doesn't understand why he "just can't get it."

Even in the "old days", real "kung-fu" (also, "gongfu") was very rare. It still is.

THE MISSING INGREDIENT

 by Phillip Starr

*Excerpts from “Martial Maneuvers” by the author.

My first encounter with what is known as “zanshin” (残心) occurred back in the days when I studied Kyokushin karate. I would complete my kata and my instructor would shake his head and say, “No. Your kata is wrong. There was no zanshin.” When I asked him what that meant he told me that at the end of the form I should maintain and, in fact, extend my fighting spirit as if other opponents might be waiting in the shadows for me to let down my guard so they could quickly attack me. He told me that I should maintain my guard, my spirit, for a few seconds after completion of the kata, imagining that other assailants might be hiding nearby.

When I undertook the study of kung-fu under the tutelage of Master W.C. Chen, I was reminded of this same idea although it had no formal name. Sifu Chen emphasized the importance of beginning each form with the same feeling, that numerous opponents were encircling me. I was to breathe down to my dantien (tanden) and place my spirit there and wait to see which aggressor attacked first.

I was to VISUALIZE these opponents and that required considerable effort. However, once I got the hang of it I discovered that it was an excellent training tool. Any form, whether it is a karate kata, a taijiquan or shaolinquan form, is EMPTY if there is no spirit in it. It's like a doughnut; there's nothing in the middle to give it strength. No zanshin.

Zanshin (which is actually “shengxin” in Chinese) is comprised of two character. The first, “zan”, means “remaining, left over.” The second character, “shin” means “heart.” In this case, shin doesn't refer to the actual organ itself, but to its essence. In traditional Chinese medicine it is felt that the heart is the seat of the emotions and the spirit (as in “fighting spirit”). Put the two together and you have “remaining spirit.”

When I first began to study Japanese kenjutsu and iaido I encountered another feature of this concept. I was informed that zanshin was to be exercised BEFORE the beginning of the kata. I realized then that this powerful mental and spiritual technique should be applied BEFORE assuming the posture we refer to as “commencement.”

Only then did I fully understand the importance of zanshin and how it is to be practiced in all of the martial ways. Whether one if practicing a form or an individual technique, zanshin is to be maintained from the moment one begins until after one has completed the exercise. To do otherwise is to “play” at a sort of mental and spiritual gymnastic exercise, and martial arts is not play. It is to be practiced with deadly seriousness, intention, and FEELING. If the proper feeling isn't there, one is simply exercising rather than training.

It is unfortunate that today's Chinese martial arts practitioners don't even suspect what zanshin (shengxin) is. When told about it, most will simply look rather confused. Others will say that it is a Japanese concept and has no place in the practice of kung-fu. It is this kind of narrow-mindedness that has brought the neijia to a standstill.

In feudal times the practice of zanshin was of paramount importance. If two warriors met on the field of battle, they both extended their spirits to feel the spirit of the other. The slightest distraction, the smallest fear, crack, or flaw in the shengxin of the opponent would result in instantaneous attack! In less than a second, it was over.

Soldiers in our modern military can readily understand this concept. As they prepare to enter hostile territory they prepare themselves both physically and mentally. They achieve a state of shengxin long before the fighting commences. As they move through the area, their zanshin must be very strong. When they move through the battle zone, they must maintain strong zanshin. When the area is declared clear of enemy activity, they would do well to maintain their zanshin for a time.

Modern-day police officers are also familiar with this condition. When an officer approaches a given situation she achieves shengxin immediately. Her senses are on full alert and she is literally prepared for anything. If and when she takes a bad guy down and brings him under control, she must maintain shengxin in case the creep has friends nearby, waiting for her to relax her guard.

Martial arts practitioners who survived repeated encounters of this sort passed down their art to their students. Through the generations this information has been maintained and the concept and practice of zanshin is one of the most important features. Without this training, we are told, defeat is certain. It is not simply a state of mind that one learns to imitate; it is a very real power, A FORCE ALL ITS OWN, and it must be mastered if one is to truly understand one's art.

Modern combat shooting schools have developed a scale of ascending mental states that are comparable to zanshin:

• CONDITION WHITE: No possibility of threat. Completely relaxed. This condition is permitted only during sleep.

• CONDITION YELLOW: There is the possibility of danger. Senses alert, but somewhat relaxed. If you're awake; if you're taking a shower, shaving, walking your dog...doing whatever...you must maintain this condition.

• CONDITION ORANGE: Danger imminent. Senses on full alert. Zanshin on full alert status.

• CONDITION RED: Danger immediate and present. Hostilities have commenced. Everything goes on full-tilt boogie.

When you stand up to execute your form, you should be in Condition Orange. This occurs before Commencement! Just before the first movement, you go into Condition Red. Hostilities begin and you engage in mortal combat. When the fight is over you do not relax completely; you slowly drop down to Condition Orange, execute the Conclusion (closing) of the form, and then go to Condition Yellow (your normal waking condition) before relaxing and sitting down.

Non-warriors live their lives in Condition White, oblivious to danger until it is too late. The warrior knows that the world can be a very hostile, dangerous place and he learns to live in a constant state of zanshin. Some of the best-known warriors of the past even trained themselves to maintain this condition while sleeping!

So next time you practice your form, exercise your basic techniques, or train with a partner in the various fighting drills, make sure that you maintain a strong zanshin. It isn't as easy to develop as you might think. It requires a great deal of training and must be exercised regularly.

SOME STRENGTH REQUIRED...

 by Phillip Starr

In a conversation I once had with Master Seiyu Oyata (10^th dan, Okinawan karate) one afternoon following a rigorous practice, he remarked that “...if a person's art requires him to be very strong, it is not really a martial art.” I asked for further clarification and he continued, “Real martial arts teach us to defeat an enemy who is bigger or stronger than us.” I nodded my understanding, but the master wasn't quite finished. “But you cannot use 'tricks' to defeat a bigger enemy”, he said. “You must train hard and develop real skill, real strength.”

Oyata sensei was saying that what we call “brute force” must not be applied to martial arts. Instead, one must develop “trained strength.” The two are at opposite ends of the spectrum. “Trained” strength refers to the type(s) of strength that is developed through proper martial arts training routines and the subsequent “toning” of various muscles and tendons. Raw, brute strength is of little use in so far as martial arts are concerned.

Different styles of karate and kung-fu utilize different training routines, which foster the development of various forms of “trained strength” in accordance with the style. There are many exercises that are used by numerous schools and some that appear to be unique to one particular school. For instance, authentic taijiquan makes use of several routines that a Goju-ryu stylist would have no use for at all.

Make no mistake; the traditional neijia (internal martial arts) routinely practice a variety of very rigorous exercises that are intended to toughen and strengthen different parts of the body, in accordance to their special ways of moving and engaging in combat. Having been involved in these arts for several decades, I can attest to their difficulty and effectiveness.

Developing the various forms of “trained strength” for any given martial art is not something that can be done quickly; to attempt to do so will only result in injury. Such strength is developed gradually. Many Westerners dislike this; they like quick gratification but in the martial arts, there's no such thing. It's best if you simply enjoy the journey...

THE SPIRITUAL SIDE OF MARTIAL ARTS

 by Phillip Starr

On various martial arts forums I've recently noticed an interest being shown in what can best be described as "the spiritual side of the martial arts." What is it? Why is it? How do you get there?

I don't pretend to have all the answers. Heck, I don't even know many of the questions! But maybe I can ramble on about this subject a bit and explain some of my personal thoughts about it.

First off, let me say that the spiritual side of the martial arts has nothing to do with religion, per se. Religion can be defined as the belief in and reverence for a supernatural power or being(s) which is/are usually regarded as creator(s) or ruler(s) of the universe, and a personal or institutionalized system grounded in such belief and subsequent worship. And let me state that regardless of what some people believe, no martial art requires its practitioners to adhere to any particular religious faith.

Certainly, acquiring a fundamental grasp of the tenets of Buddhism, Daoism, and Shintoism can help students better understand the culture(s) from which their chosen art came, what its originators believed, and how they lived. But to practice judo one need not engage in the practice of Shinto and you needn't become a Buddhist in order to study karate or a Daoist in order to train in Taijichuan.

I believe that students begin to get glimpses of the "spiritual side" of the martial arts when they begin to realize that there is more to them than what they see (or otherwise normally perceive). As they continue in their training (which should be regular and vigorous) they periodically catch glimpses of certain (spiritual) truths and as they encounter and overcome various obstacles - often with the help of a good teacher - they begin to realize that the only real obstacles we ever face are those we've created ourselves. And we're the only ones who can overcome them - no one can do it for us.

With gentle and loving "nudging" by their teachers, the students gradually push themselves beyond the limits of what they thought possible. They "do what cannot possibly be done" and "make the impossible possible", one step at a time. If they keep an open mind and heart as they take these steps they will begin to acquire a better understanding of who we are, what we are, why we are, and our relationship to each other and to all life.

But it doesn't happen all at once. Truths come in snippets. The discerning student will pay attention to these slivers of understanding because one small fragment, which is akin to a piece of a large puzzle, can give rise to so much more (understanding). One begets two, two begets four, and so on. Slowly, the student begins to "awaken." This is, I believe, a natural process and it occurs in every person who devotes him or her self to the study and training of a given martial discipline over an extended period of time.

Those individuals who skip from one martial art to another, who have no real foundation in any particular art, and who dabble in this and that, are perpetually learning the "outer shells" of various disciplines and will probably never penetrate beyond the superficial aspects of any given art.

Over the many years that I have taught martial arts I have had numerous people enroll in my classes in the hopes of becoming "enlightened." They sought spiritual truths first and martial skill last. The sad truth is that it doesn't happen that way and although I did my best to explain this fact to them, they persisted in their mistaken beliefs.

Spiritual truths are realized only after the student has "paid his or her dues" in buckets of sweat, endless hours of repetitious tedium, more than a little pain (in fact, we have some types of pain that are referred to as "religious experiences" because you'd swear that you can actually see God!), sacrifice, and great courage (the willingness to do what you cannot possibly do). The "spiritual seekers" weren't prepared for this and I don't recall that any of them lasted for more than a few weeks.

Besides, they were looking for a teacher who resembled what they envisioned as the classical image of an Asian sage, complete with wispy beard and flowing robes. What they got was a pot-bellied old fart who smokes and makes comments in class like, "You've got a nice tush but tuck it in and keep it to yourself, Buckwheat." I guess it was too much of a let-down. They weren't able to look beyond the obvious.

There was a time when martial arts zealots deliberately pushed themselves beyond their own limits. This can be dangerous, of course, and they understood that but they felt that the benefits outweighed the risks and they went ahead anyway. Usually, they weren't seeking any sort of spiritual truths; they simply wanted to test their strength and push themselves further, physically, mentally, and spiritually, little by little. Masutatsu Oyama was one such person.

For some people martial arts will never be anything more than a sophisticated form of combat. Their hearts and minds are closed to the possibility of the existence of a "spiritual side" to the martial arts. I think this may often be due to confusing spiritual insight with religion and those individuals who, for one reason or another, have become disenchanted with religion...and subsequently turn their backs on this particular aspect of martial arts. But I think that if a person trains diligently and pushes him/her self, he or she will eventually come face to face with certain spiritual truths which cannot be denied.

SENSEI, I SHRUNK THE...

 by Phillip Starr

Back in the early 70's, I read an interesting article in one of the martial arts magazines of the day. A writer interviewed one of the students of the legendary founder of aikido, Morihei Uyeshiba. The student (whose name I can't recall after all these years) had actually lived with the famous Master and had become a renowned instructor himself. The journalist asked him several questions and his last one was especially interesting. “What is the secret to your powerful technique?”, he asked.

The teacher replied, “You begin by taking something very large and make it very small.” This apparently dumbfounded the interviewer who, I suspect, had little (if any) firsthand experience in martial arts himself. Not grasping the importance of the old man's response, he simply moved on to the next question. This was, I thought, a terrible shame. The old sensei had just provided the journalist with one of the great secrets of the martial arts but he'd missed it completely!

What he said pertains not only to aikido, but to all other martial arts as well. When we first learn the various movements – the footwork, the punches and kicks – our movements must, of necessity, be rather large. We struggle and sweat trying to master the fundamentals and they eventually become well-polished and strong. Unfortunately, this is where most practitioners stop, thinking that they've achieved a high level of skill...and they have, but there's more to it. Higher levels.

As we become more and more comfortable with the techniques and other movements, we should strive to make them smaller, to condense them, as it were. This can be a rather lengthy process but for those who wish to truly master a martial art, it's essential. The movements must be slowly “shrunk” without losing any of their power. This is why a true master can make a very small movement but emit tremendous force.

If and when novices see a Master perform in this way, they sometimes try to imitate him and this is a mistake. They're wasting their time; before attempting to shrink the movement, one must acquire a high degree of skill with them and understand how and why they work. Then the real trick is learning to condense them without losing any of their energy. In the art of Yiliquan, this theory is known as the “point and circle theory.” A circle, when it is reduced enough, becomes a point...but in martial arts, the point is very potent!

THE SECRET TO MASTERY

 by Phillip Starr

Years ago, I had a saying in the training hall that said, "There is only one secret to real mastery...(practice)!" I think most students altogether misunderstood what that meant. They believed that one must put in hours of practice every day if one was to expect to really master a martial art. That's true and untrue at the same time.

Life back in the "old days"; back in the days of the "old masters" wasn't really too much different than life today. Like us, they had families and most of them didn't teach martial arts for a living. They ran the gamut of schoolteachers to owners of spectacles shops and bakeries. Some were professional fighters such as convoy escorts or bodyguards, but the vast majority had ordinary jobs of the day. The difference was in the way in which they approached their training, and how often they trained.

They were very serious about their training. They didn't practice just to stay "fit" or lose a few pounds and they had no interest in winning trophies (there weren't many, if any, tournaments back then anyway). Most of them probably started learning martial arts because they wanted to be able to defend themselves, but once they had reached that level of skill they kept going. They practiced because that's what they loved to do and they did it just to do it! I don't think any of them probably thought, "I'm going to be a great and revered master someday..." They just really loved to learn and practice their art. Their interest went beyond merely learning basic, physical techniques; they were inquisitive and sought to learn the real essence of their arts.

They practiced and dug and scraped and asked questions (of themselves and others) and experimented (and failed and then kept trying) and theorized and discussed and...well, you get the picture. Although they didn't necessarily teach martial arts full-time, their lives were centered around their training.

"But I can only attend class a couple of times a week," many students proclaim. So what? What matters is what you get out of your formal training in class. Do you practice at home? "Training" doesn't necessarily refer only to the time you spend in class with your teacher and classmates.

What the old masters did was to make life their training class. Most students today don't do that, probably because there are so many distractions in today's modern world as compared to a hundred years ago (or more). But we can still do it. We can still practice our art throughout the day, whether at work or play, and make the world our training hall. After all, martial arts aren't meant to be confined to a formal training hall or practice area. It's meant for use in your life and if it can't be applied to your life, you're wasting your time.

If we learn to apply our martial arts to our daily activities, then we are able to practice almost constantly. Whether it be sitting behind a keyboard, running a lathe, dealing with customers...we can practice our martial arts continuously. And this has a real impact on one's physical abilities! Most martial arts students never understand this idea and never practice their arts in their day-to-day lives. Their achievements will be small compared to those who do.

For instance, people (who are familiar with Chinese/Japanese calligraphy) marvel at the calligraphy written by various masters or artwork done by them. It is said that one's real skill and qi is clearly shown in such works. Japan's "sword saint", Miyamoto Musashi, was really quite an accomplished artist although he had never received any formal instruction of any kind in these things. His ink-painting of Da-Mo is regarded as a masterpiece and he was also very well known for designing artful tsubas (bladeguards) for Japanese swords. Musashi insisted that he used the brush as he used his sword. With his body, mind, and spirit unified, he produced beautiful works.

This is not to say that calligraphy or artwork is the only way in which we can apply and practice to refine our skill. No matter what you do, you can practice. People who have a discerning eye will notice that there is "something different" about your work or your approach to your work as compared to others. And there should be.

Martial arts isn't just about fighting. It's about living. It should improve the quality of every aspect your life. But it requires constant practice. Hours and hours every day. You may not be firing off punches or running through a form, but you are always practicing. Before long, it becomes a habit and you do it without even having to think about it. It affects everything a real master does because he and the art have become one. He no longer thinks, "Now I have to practice my form...". He practices all the time! Of course, he does practice his form and techniques and so forth on a regular basis, but when he is at work or "play" and unable to do so, he is still practicing because that's what he is. He could no more stop practicing than stop his heart.