A DAILY HABIT

 by Phillip Starr

Most of us engage in certain daily “habits” without thinking much about them and if we consciously skip over one of them, we feel as if we've neglected to do something important. We wake up, brush our teeth, and tend to various small chores such as shaving, brushing our hair, making the bed, and so on. Such things have become a part of our lifestyles.

Daily practice of your chosen martial art must likewise become a daily habit...like brushing your teeth. It needn't use up a great deal of time. If you can put in just 20-30 minutes, that's fine. Don't have time? Stop with the excuses...everybody has 20-30 minutes of free time each day. If you're convinced that you absolutely don't have the much free time, I suggest getting up a bit earlier. It's a matter of priorities...how important is your training to you? If it's really important, you'll find a way; if not, you'll find an excuse.

You should strive to do it at least 6 days a week. If you do this for 30 days, it'll become a habit and as you continue to do it, the more ingrained the habit becomes. Practicing only once a week (or less) or Tuesdays and Thursdays just doesn't cut it IF you want to make your art your lifestyle. It mustn't be relegated to the status of a curious hobby that you do on certain days of the week; doing so will not foster the development of high skill. At all.

Daily practice will soon produce some very positive results...not just in terms of your skill level, but also in your health, productivity at work, and even relationships. It doesn't happen all at once or very quickly; it takes time. But good things come to those who practice everyday.

YIN AND YANG?

 By Phillip Starr

*Partially excerpted from the author's book, “Martial Maneuvers.”

The double-fish diagram known as “taiji” (Grand Ultimate) is familiar to anyone who is even vaguely familiar with Chinese culture. The dark side is referred to as Yin and the light side is known as Yang.

In observing and analyzing the physical world, the ancients used these twin concepts. Yin and Yang do not refer to actual physical phenomena as some people mistakenly believe; they simply represent two opposing but complementary and interdependent forces or principles that can be observed throughout the tangible universe. This seemingly incongruent supposition forms the cornerstone of most branches of Chinese philosophy.

The character for Yin is an ideogram of the shaded side of a hill. It is used to represent darkness, cold, the negative aspect, stillness, and so on. The ideogram for Yang is indicative of the sunny side of a hill and represents light, warmth, the positive aspect, movement and so on.

You'll notice that the Yin side of the diagram includes an element of Yang, which is indicated by the small white circle. Yang also contains an element of Yin, as shown by the small black circle. This is meant to show that each of these aspects contains a trace of the other and that there is no absolute Yin or Yang, and both of these twin principles can be infinitely subdivided into Yin and Yang qualities.

Additionally, the diagram should be seen as being static. Rather, it is constantly moving and changing. When one aspect increases, the other decreases. And when one aspect is carried to its extreme, it gives way to its opposite. Night (Yin) is ultimately transformed into day (Yang) and too much sweet (Yang) eventually becomes bitter (Yin).

Many neijia enthusiasts get lost in this concept; it's as if they regard Yin and Yang as actual “things/entities”, which, of course, they are not. They are simply mental constructs that the ancients used to help them better understand the world in which we all live.

In the practice of the neijia these twin concepts are generally applied from two viewpoints, the first of which is the execution of individual techniques. For instance, the hand or foot that is executing the technique is considered Yang while the unused hand or foot is Yin. The leg bearing the majority of the body's weight becomes Yang and the other is Yin, and so on.

The second view has to do with practical application against an aggressor and this is where some people get pretty confused. Some people believe that when the opponent attacks, he becomes Yang and this requires that the receiver should become Yin. Not. When the attacker strikes with, for instance, his right hand, his right hand becomes Yang and his left is regarded as Yin. The instant after he has discharged his force, his right hand becomes empty (Yin). So, the opponent is not entirely Yang simply because he is attacking.

You should not totally yield to his aggression because you will then become too Yin and become unbalanced, as it were. My teacher, W. C. Chen, explained that one must become “insubstantial” (which is, I think, a more accurate way of thinking of the condition known as Yin) AT THE POINT where the aggressor directs his attack. For instance, if the aggressor seizes your wrist, you should not apply your strength in an attempt to release it. Rather, you should become Yin AT THE POINT he has seized; you receive his force without becoming “empty.” This is an important point to remember.

Moreover, whenever an assailant attacks he must necessarily expose certain vital areas and weaknesses in his posture, both of which can be readily exploited by a skilled fighter.

My teacher explained these two ideas very simply; he likened it to punching water. “If you punch water, what will happen?”, he asked. I figured this was a no-brainer, so I answered simply, “You'll get wet!” He nodded and asked another question. “Can you break the water?”

I knew this had to be an intellectual trap but there was only one answer that I could think of. “No...”

“Yes!”, he replied. “It becomes Yin when you hit it! But does ALL of the water become Yin?” I shook my head, “No...”

“Exactly!”, he smiled. It becomes Yin only at the spot where you hit it, right?” I nodded as he continued with his questions. “What does the rest of the water do?”

I wasn't altogether sure what he wanted me to say and my answer was too slow in coming. He answered for me. “It reacts by enveloping your hand and wrist and splashing you!”

Duh. Why hadn't I thought of that sooner?

“So that part of the water becomes Yang! Where you punch it, it becomes Yin. The rest becomes Yang!”, he said. “So it's very simple. Not hard to understand.”

THE WUDAO (BUDO) SPIRIT

 by Phillip Starr

It was during my last year of high school back in 1967 that I decided to attend Tokyo University. I frankly didn't care one whit about which university I attended; I wanted to go to Japan and study the martial arts - especially karate. I wrote to Master Masutatsu ("Mas") Oyama, who was the founder of the Kyokushin style of karate. I held a black belt grade in his system and discovered that he allowed a certain number of foreigners to live in the honbu dojo (headquarters training hall) each year. I had visions of waking up, cleaning the dojo, working out for a short time before breakfast...what a life!

Ah, but life had different plans for me. I was accepted at Tokyo University and Mr. Oyama actually wrote me back and invited me to stay at his dojo...but try as I might, I couldn't get enough money put together to bring this dream into reality.

I still have that letter that the legendary "god-hand' (Mr. Oyama) sent me. One of his statements stuck in my head and it's still there. For some years I couldn't figure out exactly what he meant but as I matured and kept training, I came to understand it. He wrote, "I always look forward to teaching my foreign students in Japan. The most important thing for them to learn while they are here is spirit..." He said that it was the most difficult thing to teach Westerners.

What Master Oyama was talking about has nothing to do with religion, ghosts, or any of that sort of thing. What he was referring to is the very glue that holds together each aspect of the martial ways of the East. It is very a very real, almost palpable thing although it cannot be weighed, measured, seen, heard, or tasted... But without it, there are no true martial arts - just exercise and dance routines.

You cannot really understand this concept through intellectualizing about it. Talking or reading about it may help you acquire a basic grasp of its meaning but to truly know it you must experience it directly. It isn't something that you try to experience from time to time - it's something that has to be strengthened, refined, and lived every day.

To find a simple definition of it is far from simple. It is a striving for perfection - perfection of technique, perfection of form, perfection of physical skill - and these lead to perfection of character, proper behavior, correct etiquette at all times, and consideration and respect for yourself and others.

You don't seek perfection only within the boundaries of your chosen martial art. At first, that seems to be the goal but with time, introspection, and incessant training, you seek perfection in everything you do.

It begins with relentless training of the body, which leads to training and refinement of the mind. This means training daily. In the East, it's understood and accepted that training in any martial discipline is going to be painful and new students accept that (for the most part). In the West, things are very different. In our society, any form of discomfort is to be avoided. If training in aikido or kendo or any other martial form results in bumps, bruises, sprains, strains, and other assorted "ouchies", we either discontinue practicing until we feel that we're properly healed up or we might quit altogether. In short, we're wimps.

The find and develop this spirit, you must train daily even when you don't feel like it. You have to push yourself and find the strength to go on even when your body or mind feels like giving up. Now, I'm not encouraging you to practice when you have a serious injury or illness. Spirited training doesn't mean that you should be foolish...but it does mean being mature, tough, and unwilling to accept anything short of perfection. It means that you're unwilling to accept any excuses that you make up for yourself as to why you just can't practice every day, why your punch, kick, iai kata, or whatever, just isn't up to snuff.

No excuse is acceptable...to you.

It means being a useful and productive member of your community and society. It means being sincere and honest, and it means being honorable and standing up for what is right.

It's not something that you strive to develop and feel only when you don your practice uniform or attend your martial arts class. If that's what you're doing, then you're just playing "make believe" and your training will come to nothing. You either dive in head-first and immerse yourself in it or you stay out of it altogether. It's not something that you can do on a part-time basis.

You have to want to learn badly enough that you won't allow anything (I repeat...anything) to stand in your way. Words like "quit" are not a part of your vocabulary when speaking of your training or doing anything else that you set your hand and mind to do. To you, such ideas are shameful and unacceptable.

This kind of constant training will reveal to you, as well as your teacher and many of your classmates, much about your personal makeup. All of the ugliness and flaws, as well as the beauty of your personality and spirit will be laid bare. Your true self will be unveiled. This can be more than a little unnerving but it is part and parcel of traveling the path of the martial ways.

You must determine that even if your desire to learn should lead you to your own death, you'll do it. I know this probably sounds a bit melodramatic but that's how it truly is. The price for learning and acquiring a high level of skill in genuine martial arts can be very high and it involves much more than dollars and cents.

WHAT WILL YOU DO WITH ONE CORNER?

 By Phillip Starr

I was recently reading about a young man’s first visit to Japan. He had trained in iaijutsu and kenjutsu for several years with a Japanese instructor who had come to the U.S. as a college professor. The young American had traveled to Japan to spend time with his sensei and to immerse himself in the country from which his chosen martial disciplines had originated.

When he arrived in Japan, the young American took some time to take in the sights and he was given the opportunity to visit an iaido dojo in a rather small Japanese town. The dojo was run by a hachidan (8th dan, of which there are only a few) who asked him to perform the first basic kata known as “mae.”

The American felt that he had done an adequate job but the headmaster thought differently. He told his guest to work on one particular movement of the kata – it was a bit rough and needed polish. They exchanged bows and the American prepared to repeat the kata.

He gave it his very best but when he finished it he noticed that the headmaster was on the other side of the dojo, giving instruction to another student. What happened next actually showed what this American was made of; it showed his heart.

He continued to practice the kata (which he had practiced for many years as it’s the very first kata taught to beginning iaido students) until he was soaked with sweat. After more than an hour’s worth of repeating the same fundamental kata, one of the senior students walked up and told him to perform the second kata! The American noticed that the headmaster was standing with his arms folded on the other end of the dojo, watching him.

And so it went for the ten “seitei” katas. The American could barely get undressed and walk back to the house where he was staying. His legs were exhausted and he could barely lift his shoulders. But he was back in training the next day.

Now, I often walk away from my students while they are working on a particular form or technique – just to see what they’ll do. Most of them will continue to practice what they were told. A few will walk over to me to ask what they should do and some (yes, it happens with black belts, too) discontinue practicing as they begin to talk and socialize with their classmates.

Confucius said that if a teacher shows the student one corner, the student should be able to find the other three. If he cannot (or will not), then the teacher should leave him alone because he’s simply a waste of time.

My teacher would sometimes show us a particular technique or an aspect of a technique or form and then see what we did with it. Most of my classmates promptly forgot whatever it was that he’d shown them. They didn’t practice it on their own time and their performance didn’t improve. They were not shown any of the deeper aspects of the art because such things require a great deal of practice at home and he knew they’d never meet that requirement.

A few of the others would “fool around” with what they had been shown; they didn’t put in much time on their own and they’d often ask Sifu Chen if they were doing it right, and so on. Again, they received none of the deeper instruction because there was simply no point in it.

Very, very few actually trained regularly (and vigorously) at home with the material they had been shown. But our teacher was watching…always watching. He’d smile and laugh with us but he was always watching and evaluating. And in the end, very few students qualified (in his mind) to learn the real kung-fu.

Which group do you fall into?

THE TORCH IS PASSED

 by Phillip Starr

November 8th of 2008 may have passed by quietly for most people but for the world's martial arts community it marked a very significant event. Hidetaka Nishiyama, 10th dan and one of the greatest karate masters of our time, passed away. A direct student of Gichin Funakoshi, who introduced karate to Japan from Okinawa, Nishiyama was instrumental in the formation of the JKA (Japan Karate Association). He was the first person to write a book on karate in English and developed and chaired JKA International after moving to Los Angeles back in the 1960's. Later on, he formed the International Traditional Karate Federation and was ultimately named a "National Treasure" by the Emperor of Japan. He was a legend in his own time and his contributions to the art of karate are truly immeasurable.

For some years now, my students have had to put up with me telling and re-telling the following story but I feel that it must be repeated one more time. It took place back in the mid- 1980's in Cedar Rapids, Iowa, where I had opened a full-time kung-fu school. The head of the Iowa branch of the JKA and I had become close friends. Mr. Chris Smaby had studied under master K. Enoeda in England and was presently one of master Nishiyama's senior instructors. Chris had arranged for his current teacher to come to Cedar Rapids and spend a weekend teaching seminars on the mechanics of karate.

And so it was that I found myself seated at a dinner table with Chris and the legendary karate master who had deeply impressed me with his profound understanding of the principles of human movement and his remarkable physical skills. In fact, I was sitting right next to him and I found him to be very amiable and easy to talk to. The three of us shared "war stories" and compared our ideas regarding the development and the future of martial arts.

Just two weeks prior to master Nishiyama's visit, another good friend of mine had come to Cedar Rapids. Seiyu Oyata, a 10th dan in Okinawan karate who was in high demand to teach seminars around the United States, had shown up unexpectedly on my doorstep with two of his senior students. He simply wanted to pay me a visit and teach me a bit more about genuine karate. During that weekend we also discussed the current problems and the uncertain future of authentic karate.

I told master Nishiyama that master Oyata had lamented the decline of true karate in his homeland. As he saw it, the problem was that young people in Okinawa were no longer interested in studying traditional karate. They didn't want to sweat, strain, and put in the long, painful hours of training that karate demands. Instead, they wanted to be more like American teenagers. Nishiyama nodded his head slowly, indicating that he understood the problem only too well.

I had been to China only a few years earlier and had seen what passed for Chinese martial arts there. I was not at all impressed. Mr. Zhang was the head coach of one of the Provincial Wushu Teams (Zhang is not his real name but I prefer not to use his actual name for obvious reasons). Zhang, who had also trained in a traditional form of kung-fu for many years, told me that real martial arts were almost non-existent in modern China. Like Oyata, he complained that the young people weren't interested in learning traditional kung-fu. Instead, they preferred to model themselves after Westerners - or how they perceived Westerners.

Both Oyata and Zhang told me that their respective traditional arts had been transplanted in the West. It was, they insisted, the only way that these arts could survive. Had these arts not been taken to the Occident, they would have surely died out. It was a very sad state of affairs. What, I asked, was the "state of the arts" in Japan? Was it any better than in Okinawa or China? Master Nishiyama looked down and sighed. It was, he said, no better than China or Okinawa. Then he looked up and said, "My generation is retiring or dying out. Soon we will all be gone..."

He pointed at each of us with his forefinger. "You are the next generation of Nishiyamas, Oyatas, and Zhangs. The future of karate and kung-fu lies in your hands. You can preserve them or you can destroy them; it's your choice. But if you allow them to be destroyed, they will never come back. It took too long to develop them in the first place."

I felt a shiver run up my spine as I realized the truth of his words.

"You have been given a great gift and a great responsibility", he said. "So, remember what I have told you because there isn't much time left for you to prepare yourselves."

Three of the finest martial arts masters in the world had all said the same thing. Their arts had been transplanted in the West and it would be our responsibility to nurture this unique garden, lest the beautiful martial fauna of it shrivel and die out forever. I don't know about the other instructors who were seated at that table, but I shuddered at the thought of having to shoulder such tremendous responsibility. And I knew that although most of us would go home and tuck Nishiyama's words back into the furthest corners of our memories, we could not prevent the inevitable. Sooner or later, our time would come and it would be up to us to preserve the arts to which we had devoted our lives.

On November 8th of 2008, the torch was passed.