BATTLE OF THE INTELLECT

 by Phillip Starr

It's not a new thing...in days long since past, samurai would sometimes sneer at a fellow who claimed to be highly skilled in swordsmanship and say something like, “He smells of books.” What they meant was that the self-proclaimed swordsman had no genuine, practical skill because (they believed) that he'd spent most of his time reading about various “intellectual aspects” of the art rather than pouring sweat in daily practice. We have much the same thing today, especially in the internal martial arts community...

The internal martial arts (such as taijiquan, xingyiquan, and baguazhang, as well as a few others) easily lend themselves to to various and sundry abstruse concepts and principles largely because the early writings about them tend to be rather cryptic. In fact, some of them are so enigmatic that the Chinese themselves have some difficulty understanding exactly what they mean.

Thus, there began innumerable opinions, discussions, and arguments about these arts...most of which have little or nothing to do with their original purposes and/or how they function. Groups of “internalist snobs” came into existence and although they could (and still do) talk the talk, most of them certainly can't walk the walk. They prefer to talk about their theories and intellectualize about these arts rather than sweat.

Many of them have all but forgotten (or ignored) the fact that these arts were created as martial arts, which are to be used for fighting rather than improving the functioning of one's liver, finding one's inner child, or bringing one to a state of near-nirvana. They were intended to kill an assailant as quickly as possible. Period. And the manner(s) in which they were to be applied towards this end are often more than a little gruesome.

Taijiquan, which is renowned for improving health, is actually a very vicious martial discipline. It's techniques can be very brutal and even lethal but only IF the practitioner studies and learns their applications...and then practices them in a “controlled violence” manner.

Many practitioners (and teachers, as well) of baguazhang become enamored with the concept of relating the art to the eight trigrams (for which the art was named). This idea was first formulated by a fellow named Zheng-Xingsan who was a well-known scholar and student of Yin-Fu. After the collapse of the Qing government in 1911, Zheng found himself suddenly unemployed. To keep himself occupied, he wrote down everything he had learned and tried to formulate a relationship between the boxing art and the Yijing (the ancient “Book of Changes”, which is based on the study of 64 hexagrams, which are formed by placing one trigram atop another. There are 64 possibilities.). This poor guy really needed a girlfriend.

Cheng-Tinghua was influenced by Ji-Fengxiang, who was an astrologer and who was also both a friend and a student. The result was that the theories of the Yijing and its eight trigrams, the sixty-four hexagrams, and their alleged relationship to the boxing art became closely related to virtually all aspects of training. This would inspire another of Cheng's students, Sun-Lutang, to further expound upon these ideas. Sun became very well-educated 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 certain Taoist philosophies and the internal martial arts. Ultimately, it was Cheng who coined the name “baguazhang” for this art, which was originally named “zhuanzhang” (“turning palms”) by the founder, Dong Haiquan.

The sad truth is that there is no relationship between the eight trigrams and this boxing art. It's the same for taijiquan, which actually has very little to do with the cosmological principle(s) of Yin and Yang, and xingyiquan, which is NOT based on the “five elements.” Sun Lutang is responsible for that idea and in later life, he admitted that he had done it to confuse people so that only the most worthy students would learn the true art. Even so, most contemporary xingyi practitioners still adhere to Sun's deception...

It all makes for a lot of intellectual material that may be fun to discuss or bicker about, but it's all pointless. Sweat is the key; not intellectualizing.

A MATTER OF KOKORO

 by Phillip “Pete” Starr

When facing an opponent, whether it be a contest or an actual conflict, what is your ultimate goal? Of course, most people will answer, “To win.” That's understandable. However, according to the famed Japanese martial arts master, Hino sensei (who I met in 2016) as well as numerous masters of times long past, such desires must be eliminated if one aspires to genuine mastery.

The Japanese word “kokoro” is known as “xin” in Chinese and is generally translated as “heart, mind, spirit.” But it also refers to much more; it is thought to be the center/creator of all emotions and thoughts. Moreover, it is said to be the sensitivity that is fundamental and common to all living creatures. It is the essence of the invisible that gives birth to the visible.

The legendary swordmaster, Shirai Toru (1782-1843) explained: “Even after years of arduous training to attain the state of “engaging in emptiness and forgetting the body”, I find myself back to square one when I encounter a very aggressive opponent. The emptiness is gone and I am filled with the desire to beat him – an evil attitude takes over me.”

Hino sensei tells us that this “challenge” can never be overcome through regular practice, no matter how often you do it. When you're focused on the visible forms of movement (technique), the real challenge cannot even be clearly seen. You will see it (and the answer to it) when you see it. Shirai eventually found it.

Katsu Kaishu (1823-1899) recalled his encounter with Shirai:...”This man's swordmanship has some kind of spiritual power, to put it dramatically. When he swung his sword in a fight, his poise, dignity, and sacred spirit filled his sword to the very tip. It was such a mysterious thing...I could not even stand in front of him. I wanted to achieve that same state, so I devoted all my time and effort to practice. But I couldn't reach it at all. Frustrated, I asked Shirai about it. He laughed and said, 'You feel fear towards my sword because you have knowledge and experience in the art of sword fighting. A person with no ego and no thought has no fear. That is the so-called secret of sword fighting.'”

Shirai made it clear that the true Way was not to be found in the maneuvers or techniques. Katsu, who was a highly skilled swordsman, couldn't even stand before him. Shirao also tells Katsu that the cause of Katsu's fear was due to his experience with the sword and that “a person with no ego and no thought has no fear.” Shirai was an extraordinary swordsman who had studied at the feet of Terada Muneari, a master of incredible skill and understanding. Shirai determined that his preconceived ideas about fighting had blocked his understanding. When he turned 28, he realized that relying on strength, ferocity, and technique alone was not the Way. That's what brought him to Terada. He wanted to free himself from his habitual ways of thinking.

When you see someone do something remarkable, you ask yourself, “How can I learn to do that?” If you fail to ask, “What must I do to achieve that skill?”, your preconceptions set in and interpret for you what you've seen so that you believe you understand it. This forms a block against your growth and development.

Hino sensei said that it's about facing yourself face-to-face. Many people are loathe or even fearful of doing this. Theirs will be a short path. You must be willing to do this and to eliminate your “habits” and preconceived ideas.

90% of YOUR TRAINING

 by Phillip Starr

Many years ago, one of my students told me that he believed 90% of a student's training occurs outside of the training hall/class. Of course, he was 100% correct! And yet, the vast majority of students engage in little or no training outside of class. They provide many varied reasons for this such as work, family, and so on...but that doesn't change the fact that they're missing out on 90% of their training. As sensei Mark Uchida (who is, I believe, the highest authority on iaido in this country) remarked, “The dojo is a merely place where you try out what you have been practicing.”

I have had to deal with these things in my own life; I worked (often an overnight shift) as a peace officer, I had children (and I never missed any of their school or social events!), injuries, illnesses, and all the rest...but I always managed to find a way to train everyday. It was simply a question of how badly I wanted to learn and develop skill. Had my desire for knowledge and skill been small, I could easily have found excuses to miss out on practice.

I recall two students who were learning the same taijiquan set. One of them noticed, “Jim and I started at the same time but he's already completed the form. I have a ways to go yet...” I told him that I knew they'd started learning the form at the same time. “But”, I replied, “Jim practices every day. Every. Day.” The student who had asked why he wasn't further along than his friend almost never practiced outside of class. The difference in their progress was galaxies apart...

It isn't necessary to spend huge amounts of time everyday in your personal training. 30 minutes will do. Surely, you have 30 minutes to spare each day! I have found that it's the best way to stay fit (for your particular martial discipline) physically, mentally, and emotionally. I remember back when I entered college my father (who knew nothing about martial arts except that I loved them), who was always a stickler for high grades, told me that I should study for no more than an hour at home...then I was to practice my martial arts for at least 15-20 minutes before sitting down to hit the books again. “It'll sweep the cobwebs out of your brain”, he said. And he was right. And he insisted that I rise early every morning so that I could get in at least 30 min. of practice before heading off the school. It would prepare my mind and body for the day.

I've maintained that same discipline for most of my life. Won't you join me?

ZHIJIEXIN

 

by Phillip Starr

Zhijiexin…a word (and concept) that is rarely heard in the practice of modern Chinese martial arts. It is pronounced “zee jyeh shin” and is comprised of three characters. The first character is “zhi”, which means “straight, direct.” The second character, “jie”, is translated as “meet, connect, join.” Together, these two characters mean, “immediate, direct, without delay.” “Xin” means, roughly, “mind.” Thus, the term, zhijiexin, may be translated as “direct mind.”

And just what, pray, does this obscure idea have to do in so far as the practice of martial arts is concerned? Well…everything.

You move through the stages of your chosen discipline, learning how to execute certain techniques, analyzing various forms, studying different methods of footwork and body shifting…and that’s all fine and well. You cannot possibly learn martial arts without doing these things. And when you begin learning how to apply your footwork and techniques against a partner, everything is usually prearranged and practiced in a very controlled manner. Again, this is absolutely necessary.

But it isn’t real. Not even close.

It is interesting to look at what happens when a student is suddenly attacked in a very realistic manner. I remember an incident that involved our Chief Instructor and an intermediate student. The instructor was teaching basic self-defense techniques that can be applied against various holds, grabs, and strangles. He wished to emphasize that the most important feature of any self-defense technique was maintaining composure and keeping centered. “If you lose your center,” he said, “you are completely lost and you won’t be able to defend yourself.”

So saying, he directed one of the students to stand in front of him. “I will attack you with a front strangle,” he said. “Are you ready?” The student, who had practiced the standard defensive maneuver against this form of attack many times, confidently nodded his head. Without the slightest delay, the teacher’s hand shot out and seized the student’s throat with enough force that he stumbled backward. He kept back-pedaling, unable to catch his balance while the instructor continued to squeeze his throat and cut off his air. His eyes opened as wide as possible and the student fumbled for the instructor’s hands, trying desperately to free himself. He couldn’t. The look of utter, stark, fear was painted all over his face as he was slammed up against the wall and his teacher continued to squeeze his throat.

Finally, he reacted appropriately and executed the defensive technique that he had practiced so many times before. The teacher relinquished his grip and smiled. “Now you know what I mean,” he said. “You’ve done that self-defense technique many times but it was never real. When I made it real you started to flounder…until you centered yourself.” Pale and perhaps a bit embarrassed, the student agreed. Of course, every one of his classmates knew that they would have reacted in exactly the same way…or worse.

Some martial arts enthusiasts would have tried to make excuses; “I wasn’t ready”, or “It doesn’t happen that way in the street”, or “I would have reacted differently if I’d been on the street”, and so on. The list is endless but whether or not their excuses are accurate is pointless within the context of the martial arts. In the training hall an attack or defensive maneuver either succeeds or fails. Period. There’s no in-between, no excuses. Responses (or lack of them) cannot be explained away. They either work or they don’t. You can only respond to each attack directly and sincerely, without the slightest hesitation. That is zhijiexin.

This is why instructors sometimes encourage students to act without thought. There can be no analyzing, no deliberation, no excuses…only action that is as immediate and natural as slapping a mosquito that has landed on your arm. Direct Mind.

FORMS? WHY?

 By Phillip Starr

Why should we bother to learn forms? Aren't they just antiquated relics from the past? Do they have any use in the 21^st Century? Doesn't seem like memorizing a bunch of “dance steps” has any application in the “real world”... They're just traditions of very old cultures, aren't they?

And so on. They're legitimate questions, however, and they demand answers. Turning our noses up at those who ask these kinds of questions doesn't help the matter; it only makes it worse.

Forms, per se, originated in pre-historic times when warriors/hunters found certain techniques and footwork that worked for them. They would practice them over and over in an effort to remember and improve on them. They would link together several such methods to ensure that they could be remembered and then passed this information on to the the younger generation who, in time, would expand upon the foundation(s) that they'd been given by their father/teacher.

In time, as civilizations advanced and people grouped together and built more secure places to live, the evolution of effective fighting methods continued. Forms for different types of situations (such as fighting on open ground, in small alleys, on rocky ground or even in boats, on stairs, and so on) were developed and passed on to succeeding generations. However, as they evolved they included more than just several simple series of techniques that were committed to memory. Our martial arts ancestors weren't stupid and most of them had considerably more experience in what some like to call “real world combat” than we'll ever imagine.

Hand-to-hand fighting hasn't changed much over time. People fought the same way 500 years ago that they do today. In many areas there wasn't much in the way of law and order, and you depended largely upon yourself for survival. You couldn't call 911 for help. And much as some contemporary pugilists like to pat themselves on the back for practicing and even competing in forms of “real world fighting”, it's well to remember that there were no rounds, no referees, no throwing in the towel if you got a bloody nose, no trophies or prize money...and no rules. There was only survival.

“But people don't fight like that”, many modern fighters argue. “It's not realistic to practice memorized forms.” They misunderstand. No, you're not supposed to fight as though you're doing a form! To think otherwise is silly and dangerous. And that's NOT what forms are meant to teach and develop, either. Forms are largely intended to teach various principles of striking, body shifting and stepping, maintaining balance, and so on...everything that is critical in developing real fighting skill. Weight shifting, distance, timing...these are all of primary importance in a life and death skirmish and such things are exactly what our forms teach us; they provide us with an organized routine for developing skill in these things and they show us exactly how they are to be done.

Karate, kung-fu, and taekwondo are not fixed, dead postures. Combat is ever-changing, dynamic, and fluid. Our ancestors knew that better than most of us ever will. At the same time, combat is not a game wherein both participants go home at the end of the engagement. Our ancestors wanted to preserve what worked for them. And they wrote it all down in what we now know as forms.

THE SPIRIT OF THE KATA

 by Phillip Starr

I believe that it was in the mid to late 1970's that I witnessed what was probably the finest performance of kata that I have ever seen. It occurred at a tournament that was sanctioned by the old USKA (United States Karate Association) and was performed by an American. The young man who demonstrated this kata was Randy Holman, the adopted son of Mr. Phil Koeppel of Peoria, IL. Mr. Koeppel was one of the finest karate teachers in the country.

I was sitting on the panel of judges for the Black Belt Kata Division. We had already judged several kata, all of which were done very well but when Holman's name was called, the entire gym went suddenly quiet. I mean DEAD quiet. Those of you who have attended tournaments know how noisy and confusing they can be, right? They're about as calm and quiet as the bombing of Dresden in 1945.

Unlike many competitors who sat at ringside in a rather slovenly manner, Holman had been seated in a cross-legged position with his back straight and no expression whatsoever on his face. He never moved while the other competitors performed their kata. When his name was called it was as if a tiger had come to its feet. There was a spirit to him that commanded respect and the room fell silent. The “bombing” came to a sudden halt!

He walked calmly up before the panel. He did not scowl at the judges or shout his name as many competitors do nowadays. He spoke quietly, respectfully, and firmly. He would perform Seiunchin (a kata from the Gojy-ryu style). He backed up, bowed, and prepared himself. I swear, you could almost SEE his assailants beginning to surround him!

And then it began. Every movement was perfectly measured and masterfully executed. Clearly, he could SEE his opponents...but the strange thing was, I COULD SEE THEM, TOO!! At about the halfway mark, I realized that I was unconsciously tensing and relaxing my body in synch with his! My breath matched his breath... I had been DRAWN INTO HIS KATA!

I saw what he saw, felt what he felt. And when he had completed his performance, I was sweating! Honestly! He didn't kiai with every movement, didn't over-dramatize his kata, didn't strike any theatrical poses...he simply performed the kata the way it was intended to be done. And it was perfect.

Perfect.

When the scorekeeper called for our scores, I gave him a 9.5 (in those days, kata was judged by full and half points only and one could NOT give a 10; it simply wasn't done). Mine was the highest score. The other judges, all well-known and highly-respected karate teachers from around the U.S. , looked over at me and raised their eyebrows. “That kata cannot be done any better than that by any living human,” I said. A couple of them nodded their agreement.

I asked Holman to step forward and he did so. “Mr. Holman,” I said in my most commanding voice, “If I EVER see you perform a kata like that again... (I could see he was holding his breath, wondering what he'd done wrong)... “I will award you a score of 10.” He smiled broadly and thanked me very quietly.

A few weeks later at another fine USKA tournament, I kept my promise.

I do not know whatever became of Randy Holman. A few years later, he disappeared from the martial arts scene and I have never heard of him since. But I have always remembered the day that I was literally drawn into another person's kata and physically felt its spirit. It is something for which we all should strive.