TO LEARN, YOU MUST BE OUT OF YOUR MIND!

 By Phillip “Pete” Starr

My friend, Sensei Akira Hino, has written and spoken about understanding what he calls “the incapable self” and “overcoming consciousness”, particularly as they pertain to learning new skills. This is my take on it...

When undertaking the development of a new skill, there are two fundamental attitudes one can adopt; the “I can do this” position, or the “I can't do this” position. Many contemporary teaching theories insist that we must adopt the former but this is actually an error (especially when trying to learn a fine skill) because it sets us up for failure. You may say that you can do it but of course, in reality, you can't. You fail and this results in frustration, disappointment, and discouragement. It causes stress to appear as you continually strive to do what you believe you can do (but you can't).

On the other hand, if you begin with the awareness that you're not capable of doing it, then initial failure(s) is expected. There's no frustration. You can continue to pursue your goal (and, although you may be unaware of it, taking “baby steps” forward).

I experienced this (and still do) when I formally took up the practice of iaido (drawing and cutting with the Japanese sword). I darned well KNEW that I was starting out as wholly incapable! Everything (and I mean EVERYTHING) I did was wrong...but I expected that, so I wasn't discouraged at all when my teacher kept making corrections (and most, if not all, of them many more times than once). I strived (and still do) to imitate him. I started out as a blank slate.

I began with no expectations of being able to do it and with full understanding that it was going to take a lot of time...sometimes I thought I was doing it right and (to me) it felt like it, but I was wrong. I felt like I could do it, but I couldn't.

Many people compare what they don't know or can't do with what they already know or can do. Thus, their understanding is in direct proportion to the amount of their knowledge (which may be flawed) and the level of their thinking. They tend to interpret new knowledge via their current knowledge and thinking habits. This prevents real development. It's well not to compare what you're trying to learn with what you already know.

I ran up against this problem when I began training under Master Chen. I had trained previously in a bit of northern shaolinquan and kyokushin karate. When he began teaching me xingyiquan, I automatically based what he was teaching me on what I already knew. And he would correct me by bellowing, “No! Not a karate punch!” Then he would demonstrate the xingyi method again. And again, and again...until I'd discarded the notion that I already knew how to punch and listened to him carefully. I had to become a blank slate upon which he could draw and write. There was no room for my own words or drawings.

I've encountered this problem countless times over the decades that I have taught. People came to me to study gong-fu or taijiquan and they often already had backgrounds in various forms of karate or taekwondo. They would inadvertently compare what they already knew with what I was trying to teach them (which, of course, they didn't know). They often THOUGHT they understood and could properly perform a given movement based on what they already knew. This only led to a lot of confusion and frustration for them (and me) because their movements were completely wrong. Some felt that because they held such-and-such grade of black belt, they could learn something like taijiquan rather quickly. Not so. Not at all. In fact, that kind of attitude held them back longer than if they'd never had any previous martial arts experience!

I had the same experience when I took up the study of taijiquan and baguazhang. I incorrectly ASSUMED bagua would, in some ways, be similar to xingyi. Not. That's like comparing apples to bicycles. So I had to become a totally blank slate again. Later I encountered taijiquan. Same thing. Certain principles were the same, but the ways of moving weren't similar at all. Xingyi was closer to shaolinquan in appearance – kind of like comparing apples and oranges; they both grow on trees and they're both fruits. But that's it.

Never being known as a quick study, I finally determined that I had to start from scratch with each of them. I became accustomed to living as a blank slate. But I learned and one of the most valuable lessons was that I must not compare what I already knew with what I was trying to learn. Even now – not being one to learn lessons quickly – I have to be careful not to bring my old knowledge to iaido practice. For instance, iaido doesn't use any of the stances found in karate or gong-fu but I tend to use them anyway. At the time of this writing, I'm still trying to correct that...

TIDINESS

by Phillip “Pete” Starr

After you wake up each morning, when do you make your bed? Do you shave every day? Where is your training uniform; is it on a hanger, neatly folded and inside your equipment bag, or is kind of wadded up somewhere? Some of you probably wonder what difference does any of this make? Where am I going with it?

It has to do with self-respect, self-image, and discipline. Typically, I make my bed within an hour of getting up. It has to be made just so. Simply tossing the blanket over it isn't enough. It's a discipline that I follow every day. Simple though it may be, it sets the tone for the rest of my day as far as self-discipline goes. If I don't do it because it's too much bother or because I just don't care (after all, nobody is likely to see it; I very rarely have company), what does that tell me about myself? I'm not concerned with what other people think; I'm concerned with what I think and how I see myself...

I do my best to maintain a daily routine that includes making my bed, shaving, and so forth. It doesn't matter if it's a holiday or whatever, the routine remains the same. I want to make myself presentable to people not only to be respectful of them, but also to be respectful of myself. If I allow myself to look like (or behave like) a lazy slob, how does that impact my self-image? How do I really see myself?

Gichin Funakoshi wouldn't leave the house until he had shaved, combed his hair (I don't have that problem), and dressed appropriately. In the West (particularly in America), we have become very lax about such things and it is my opinion that this neglectfulness has contributed greatly to the deterioration of our society. I remember the dress code we were required to follow in school; no jeans, shirts had to have a collar (no sweatshirts or tee-shirts), leather shoes, a leather belt, boy's hair could not be long enough to touch their ears, no mini-skirts for the girls, no heels...and so on. Of course, as youngsters (being rather rebellious as all youngsters tend to be) we all hated this stuff. Now I realize that a big part of it involved how we viewed ourselves; if we looked like slobs, we'd act and think in the same way. Eventually of course, such dress codes became very lax or vanished altogether and the results speak for themselves.

In my martial arts school, if a student showed up in a uniform that looked like he'd slept in it for a week, he'd be told to go home and come back when his uniform was clean and neat. Those who purchased various weapons (swords, staffs, and spears) with which to practice were required to ensure that the weapon(s) were maintained in proper condition at all times.

Remember that how you see yourself (which is reflected by how you look and the discipline that you cultivate) determines how you will act and even think. Ponder this...

THROUGH WESTERN EYES

 by Phillip Starr

I've been involved in the practice of martial arts for more than 60 years and one of my most important observations has been that we (Westerners) tend to look at the Eastern martial disciplines that we practice through our Western eyes. This had led to a great deal of misunderstanding and confusion regarding these arts – why they are practiced in the manner that they are practiced, why they're practiced at all, the adherence to tradition, and so on. To truly grasp the spirit of the subject, we must see them through EASTERN eyes...

To do this isn't easy. We must understand the culture from which our chosen arts were born and to do that, we must understand how those cultures SEE and THINK. As Westerners, we often like to think that we've got a handle on the martial arts that we practice/teach, that we can actually change and/or improve them in various ways, and that we really don't need certain parts of them (whether it be certain training exercises, traditions, or whatever). We approach the arts with a Western mindset and subsequently practice and teach them from that standpoint. It is my opinion, for whatever it's worth, that we lose much of what these arts have to offer by doing so.

Learning something of the language of the culture from which our arts originated is an important key to understanding the culture and it's martial ways. I'm not saying that it's necessary to become fluent in the language, but learning enough that you can carry on a very basic dialogue is most helpful; you have to learn more than just the terms for certain techniques or forms. Learning some of the spoken language will help you understand the culture as a whole, and that's what you're after...

For decades I thought that I had a pretty fair understanding of Chinese culture and although I knew “martial arts” terms in their native language, I had no grasp of the spoken tongue. I thought I understood the culture and I was very much mistaken...I was one of the first Americans to visit China many moons ago and I returned home, thinking that I understood much of the culture.

Not.

It wasn't until I actually lived in China for several years that I realized my mistake. I lived amongst the people and worked alongside them. I learned to speak the language (although not fluently) and I became immersed in their culture. I have heard many Westerners ask, “WHY do they (the Chinese, Japanese, Koreans, or whatever) DO that (whatever “that” may be)?” And I realized that Westerners, be they ordinary folks, tourists, businessmen, or politicians, wonder about these things because they're looking at the given subject THROUGH WESTERN EYES. And doing that prevents them from understanding the answers to their question(s).

Samuel Ichiye Hayakawa (1906-1992), a Canadian-born scholar of Japanese descent (he became President (emeritus) of San Francisco State College and eventually a U.S. Senator, was a strong advocate of the study of language. He made a statement in his book, “Language in Thought and Action” that stuck in my mind ever since one of my uncles presented me with a copy of the book. Hayakawa said, that we are limited in our thinking (and subsequent actions) by our language. He was of the opinion that learning more than one language was almost a necessity in our modern world. I agree with him.

Hayakawa's statement indicates that we can only see, think, and understand things according (to the limitations of) our language. This applies especially to the practice of martial arts. To understand a given art or culture, learning something of the language is essential.

Traveling to or living for a time in the country from which a given martial discipline originated is impractical for many people but there are other ways to learn about and gradually understand a given culture.

SHODO

 by Phillip Starr

A friend of mine recently posted this anecdote. I find a lot of truth and value in it... Shodo, by the way, is the art of writing Chinese/Japanese characters with a brush...It pertains to traditional martial arts as much as it does shodo...

____________________________

A woman who had practiced the art of shodô for more than 40 years came to speak to a group of beginners attempting to learn the fundamentals in a local class. She told them that they were going learn a little bit about the art by trying it. “But first,” she explained, “it is important that you understand that shodô is more than writing. It requires a very deep practice.”

Deep practice . . .

So to begin, she held up a brush and asked the group of students to do the same.

“This is called a 'fude',” she said. “You can’t hold it like you would hold a pencil or a pen for writing.” Demonstrating for them, she then held the brush in the center of the handle and turned it so that it was pointed down at a ninety-degree angle from the paper below. “This is how the brush is held,” she explained, “and this is how it will be used.” Placing a long, thin paperweight (a 'bunchin', she called it) at the top of the white page, she then gently placed her left hand on the lower corner of her paper and dipped the brush into the black ink, and held it in her right hand exactly perpendicular to her paper. “This is the form. When you brush, you must keep this form.”

The students were then each given a few sheets of old newspaper and she encouraged them to practice brushing a single vertical line. She asked the young group of students to pay attention to how the shape of the brush, the density of the ink, and the pressure from their fingers changed the line. “Do not rush,” she said. “You must go very slowly and very smoothly.”

Although she had just mentioned the importance of form, more than half of the group gradually slid their fingers down the handle and began to tip the brush into a deep angle as if for writing with a pen. She didn’t say a word, but the look in her eyes was very clear!

These were the students who could not copy.

They looked, but then (consciously or unconsciously) deferred to what was their habit.

Then she showed them how to brush a single horizontal line – ichi – and asked them to do the same. “Please do this,” she said. “And please try brushing only one stroke for each page this time.” While some of the students started out this way, more than a few began to fill the page with doodles, or go back to working on the vertical stroke, or even tried to jump ahead to draw a kanji (Japanese/Chinese character) we had just learned in school, like the one for “Tiger” or “Nihon.”

As she walked around the room, her look was subtle - but there it was again…these were the students who would not practice.

Eventually, an aide brought the students each a few sheets of very delicate white paper to practice the kanji “川” for river/flow and while these sheets were being distributed, she said to them; “It is important that you brush each stroke of this idea in a very specific order. You need to brush these three lines from left to right. Brush one…then, two…then, three.”

By now, being much more comfortable with the tools, almost all of the students were using only the base of the brush to paint and many had pushed aside the paperweight so that it wouldn't be in their way. Some even whispered to each other that they didn’t see the point. “After all,” one said out loud, “you can draw the lines out of order and they still look the same.”

At this, she smiled and the other students could hear her tell him that she admired his creativity. 
These were the students who had discarded the form for their own ideas.

As the lesson went on, it was interesting to see that some abandoned the project because they ran out of paper and a few even decided that their work was no good because the flimsy school brushes were not as nicely made as the “real” ones. There were those who managed to get ink all over their hands, and then there was one or two who avoided brushing on the white paper altogether for fear of messing up. Some brushed so quickly that the characters ended up being unrecognizable, and some were so tense that each stroke had a worried-looking edge and the ink soaked through to the tablecloth from the pressure of their fingers. There were even a few who managed to watch and to copy as best they could, but when they finished they attempted to re-dip the brush and correct the angle of a completed stroke.

“You’ve made a mistake,” the Sensei said. "But you cannot stop and start over in the middle. The beginning has left already. You can’t re-brush the same line.”

Out of the sixty or so students who began the class, there were maybe three that caught a mild look of interest from the Sensei’s critical eye.

And at the end of the lesson, as the group of beginners began to put their brushes away, it was only to one that she leaned over and asked, “maybe you would like to begin to practice shodô?”

⊙ ÔTAGAKI RENGETSUNI (太田垣 蓮月), 1870

SEEING AND FEELING

 by Phillip Starr

All too often, I see practitioners of various forms of karate, kung-fu, and taekwondo execute their forms “by the numbers”, void of any real “feeling” of an opponent(s). Thus, the form has no “spirit”, no life. They might as well do jumping jacks...

Of course, you first have to memorize the individual movements of a given form. That takes time and you mustn't try to hurry it. But once your body remembers the form so that you no longer have to think about what comes next, it's time to breathe life into it. It's time to “create” it.

When you stand at the position of readiness, you must calm yourself; calm your spirit as you visualize enemies approaching or surrounding you. Strive to feel the tension, such as that which you get in your gut when a life or death struggle is about to ensue (most of you have never felt what this is like, so imagine it). Imagine actually SEEING them. Don't turn your head back and forth to look at them; keep your eyes straight ahead and see them with your peripheral vision.

Which one will attack first? How will he attack? Keep your One-Point and don't let these thoughts overtake your mind. When the first attack is launched, you'll have just a fraction of a second to respond. Keep your mind calm, like the surface of unbroken water that accurately reflects everything placed before it. This is what the Japanese call “mizu no kokoro”; a mind like water, anxiety, fear...emotions cause ripples on the surface of the water (this includes even joy) so that the reflection(s) become distorted and you can't see clearly. Your fate is sealed if this happens...

Imagine that you can also HEAR and perhaps even SMELL your foes (maybe they're low-lifes who haven't bathed in a while...). This is, strange as it may seem, an important feature. Bear in mind that your “mind” can only experience reality through the body's five senses. And it can't tell the difference between what is real and what isn't...if you utilize only one sense, that's barely enough – but if you use as many senses as possible, your mind will (after enough repetitions of this form) believe that the experience is REAL. Thus, your body will be made to move as if this whole thing is actually happening!

The slightest error; the tiniest hesitation...such things will result in your immediate demise. There's no room for error. But if you do stumble...you don't pay the price that actual combat would have demanded. You get to try it again!

When the form is finished and you return to the position of readiness, you mustn't lower your guard. Keep your senses alert. Don't look around, just be aware of movement(s) with your peripheral vision. There may be other foes waiting in the shadows, ready to jump in and finish you off if you're distracted...and maybe one of the brutes that you struck down isn't out of the fight; maybe he's “playing possum”, only pretending to be down and out until you're momentarily distracted. You must stay sharp!

And be aware of another feature - one of which I wasn't really aware until my iaido teacher mentioned it – you have, after all, just taken several lives! How do you feel? Certainly, you wouldn't be proud or happy... You have survived a terrible fight and lives were lost. You're sweating, perhaps covered in blood. Remorseful? How do you feel?

Only when you are certain that all of your assailants are no longer among the living and there are no others preparing to jump you should you finally let down your guard (to “Condition Yellow”) and finish the set with a bow.

Believe me, this is an entirely different experience from just “walking through” the form and caring only that you remember it and look good. The form that you just executed no longer exists. But you can (and will) create another.

A PYRAMID SCHEME?

 By Phillip Starr

“Use your hips!”, my teacher would often bark as I practiced fundamental techniques. He would also remind me to “use your waist.” Whenever I heard him utter those words, I knew that he was reminding me of the importance of engaging the lower part of my body rather than relying on the strength of my limbs alone. Certainly, I got tired of hearing about it...he even went so far as to insist that I perform mundane, natural movements (such as opening a door or sitting down) “from the hips.”

Although there are no significant differences in the anatomy and physiology between Asians and those of us who hail from the West, there have evolved considerable cultural differences in how these cultures view, and generally apply, power. In the West, for instance, we often consider the measure of strength to be that which comes from the shoulders, chest, and arms. We use expressions like, “putting your shoulder to the wheel”, we admire a broad chest and muscular shoulders...the narrow waist and broad shoulders of the body builder.

However, in the East (in China and especially in Japan) the seat of one's power has always been lower, in the hips. “Koshi nukeru” is a Japanese phrase that refers to losing one's nerve. It means, “hips are loose” and a “koshinuke” is a person “without hips” - a coward. When using a Japanese saw, moving on the stage of a Noh play, or even making tea, the emphasis is on proper use of the hips and waist.

The personification of the typical Western perspective of strength is the broad chest and shoulders of our athletes. However, the Chinese – and especially the Japanese – ideal is in the thick, muscular hips of the sumo player and other such athletes. In a kind of abstract sense, the Western idea of strength would look like a pyramid turned upside down; wide at the top and narrow at the bottom (broad shoulders and slim hips). The Eastern idea is just the opposite...a pyramid set with the wide base at the bottom. Now, I'm not advocating anything like downing lots of beer in the hopes of developing a wide beer belly – we're talking about STRONG hips, not flabby, fat hips that lack any sort of tone.

I constantly admonish students to engage the waist and hips when they're performing various techniques, forms, or applications. I also remind them, as my teacher did, to do the same thing when they're moving about in daily life. This brings to mind an important distinction that must be made regarding the words “waist” and “hip” as they are used in China, Japan, and the West. In the West. The “hips” are generally regarded as the actual hip joints and the buttocks. In China and Japan, however, it refers to the area of the body from the upper thighs to the lower back and abdomen. When the gong-fu teacher tells you to move your “waist”, he means more than just the lower abdomen and when the Japanese instructor speaks of moving from the “hips”, he's not referring only to the ball and socket joints of the hips.

There's no magic in the movements made by the limbs when practicing various martial disciplines. All of them require the proper use of the hips and it's something that must be be studied assiduously by those who are serious about their training.