PUTTING IT ALL TOGETHER

 by Phillip Starr

“There is no magic in punching like this”, my teacher told us as he performed a crisp corkscrew punch. I didn't altogether understand what he was trying to say because I was simply too young and all wrapped up in learning various movements (techniques) that I thought would bestow great power upon me. As the years passed and I continued my training – and most importantly, as I began teaching – I finally realized what his words really meant. I have since often repeated them to my own students.

The key to any given martial art isn't so much in the technique; the real secret(s) lie in the proper body structure. This is one of the reasons I wrote MARTIAL MECHANICS. But I later wrote a sequel to it that delves deeper into the subject (MARTIAL STRUCTURE).

There's much more to martial art than simply standing in a certain manner and executing a particular technique. Much. More. Body structure is what gives the technique real power. There's no need for what I call “oomph strength” in a given technique. Just precision and correct structure. If those two things are added to the mix, the technique suddenly becomes enormously powerful and devastating with minimal physical effort.

Proper structure is one of the main reasons for the regular practice of zhan-zhuang (stake standing). Many practitioners of Chinese martial arts believe that the main reason for their use (mainly in the internal arts) is for the cultivation of qi but I believe they are mistaken; the main reason for their regular practice is to teach correct structure and alignment (which will naturally lend itself – once it is thoroughly learned – to the cultivation of intrinsic energy).

Internal martial forms such as taijiquan, baguazhang, and xingyiquan, are all about proper structure. It's one thing to get it when you're standing in a static posture (and even that takes some time!), but it's quite another to maintain proper structure when you move...hence, the reason taiji is practiced mostly in slow motion and why all three of the neijia emphasize the importance of “holding” certain postures.

The study of proper body structure must necessarily involve more than an understanding of the various laws of physics. It must also involve a good understanding of kinesiology (how the human body works). Sometimes the two seem to be at odds with each other and in those cases, kinesiology wins out.

For instance, physics will tell us that the greater the size of the base (your stance) relative to the height of the object (how tall you are), the more stable it is. But this isn't necessarily true when we're dealing with a human body. According to strict physical laws, your horse-riding stance should be very stable if you widen your base by spreading your feet as far apart as possible...and we all know how that's going to work out! So we must figure in the principles of kinesiology...

Did all of the martial arts masters of times past know about this? I don't think so. Many clearly did, as seen by the emphasis placed on structure in the methods that have been passed down to us. However, quite a number didn't know about this as evidenced by the same thing. Many of these principles were regarded as secret and not taught openly and/or were taught only to trusted worthies. So the secrets remained secret and are still secret (for the most part) to this day.

One highly respected Japanese master, sensei Akira Hino, “re-discovered” many of these principles by studying ancient texts and training as they directed him. He began training in Goju-ryu karate and had been told that the kata of Sanchin was really the heart of that art. He would practice this kata for several hours every day and eventually realized that its value lay in what it teaches in terms of structure. Sensei Hino began carefully studying and analyzing ancient texts on the various ancient arts. He subsequently developed a special method of training that focuses on correct structure and currently teaches in Japan and offers seminars worldwide.

So the secrets remain safely obscure to this day...unless you know where and how to look and you have the willingness to cast aside your pride and be as a blank slate.

THE PREMISE

 by Phillip Starr

Ask most martial artists what the basic premise of their art is, and you'll likely get the well-known “deer in the headlight” look or an answer that may well be fairly laughable. I have often encountered this when speaking with practitioners of the internal Chinese martial arts but it is equally applicable to virtually any style or art...

“Upon what premise is this style/art based?”, I ask. The answers vary as much as do the hairstyles of the people I encounter, but it shouldn't be that way. The problem is that most of us have never considered the question.

First you must scrutinize the “hallmark” or “signature” of your style/art. Many martial arts devotees honestly don't know. It's the MAIN THING that sets your style/art apart from the others. You must identify what that is. The premise is the basis for that hallmark. It's the “why” of it.

For instance the style of baguazhang's hallmark is an exercise known as “walking the circle.” Okay...I've asked numerous bagua zealots about the reason (premise) for such a bizarre exercise and I've received various different answers such as:

• It confuses the opponent and may make him dizzy.

• It makes you a moving (and therefore, difficult to hit) target. Wishful thinking...

• It's a form of qigong (an important part of a neijia style).

• It develops balance, agility, and tones/strengthens the legs and hips.

• All or several of the above.

  

I remind them that the premise can only be one thing. So they choose one of the singular answers...which is, of course, incorrect. To date, I've never met a bagua devotee – not a single one - who could answer this question correctly (including Chinese “masters”, some of whom are/were very well known or even revered).

Very frustrating.

Oftentimes, it is necessary to do some detective work to find the answer. It's going to take some research and time. You may have to dig into the history of the style/art's founder and the country in which he lived. It's the same kind of work that you should do if you want to truly understand why your forms/techniques are done in a certain way...

• What kind of person was the founder? Short-tempered, serene, or what? Was he large and strong, small and thin? What did he do for a living? How would he have dressed on a day to day basis? All of these factors could (and likely did) impact his fighting style.

• Did he have any prior experience in a form of martial art?

• Was he well-educated or not? If he came from a well-to-do family, he likely was. If not, it is much less likely. He may well have been illiterate. This could impact how effectively he could transmit his teachings.

• What was the weather like in that part of the country? Cold in the winter or tropical? And what about the topography? Flat and smooth, rocky, mountainous...?

• What was the political climate like? Civil unrest or peaceful? High violent crime rate or not? Was there a war going on?

And so on...try to take into account everything that might have impacted the development of a fighting art.

For instance, in southern China squabbles were often settled in VERY narrow alleys. To engage in a fight on the street would quickly attract the police (who didn't and still don't care who started it...) and a huge number of witnesses. Their styles had to be suitable for very close-quarters combat.

If your founder served in the military at the time, he would likely dress in rather heavy clothing and wear very heavy cotton-soled boots (the soles of these boots are VERY thick) and these factors would inhibit certain types of movements. If violent crime was common or there was warfare, the forms may contain various methods of dealing with armed adversaries...and so on. It may also contain techniques for use against an armed adversary when one has lost one's weapon and is dressed in armor.

There are many factors that would have had a strong influence on the development of a given style/art. They must all be carefully considered.

Determining the premise of your style/art can strongly influence how you understand and perform it. Believe me, it's worth the effort.

PRACTICALITY; WASTE NOT, WANT NOT

 by Phillip Starr

It was Master Seiyu Oyata (dec., 10^th dan of Okinawan karate) who told me, “Karate is very practical. In the kata, nothing is wasted. Every movement has a special meaning (application).” And he proceeded to demonstrate exactly what he meant. I recall working on a portion (actually, just the first two movements) of the kata known as Naihanchi Shodan (in Japanese karate, it is often called “Tekki”) for four hours one afternoon! Although I'm a kung-fu stylist, I'm familiar with several karate katas and I would never have suspected how much information was concealed within this simple form.

The people of all Asian cultures are very pragmatic. They try not to waste anything (this is especially true of food, especially meat of an kind). This is particularly true of their martial arts. In arts such as karate and kung-fu, EVERY movement following the bow or salute has a special application. There are no “empty” movements that lack practical application. In some cases involving forms that feature various movements prior to the bow/salute, the movements BEFORE the bow have special applications. Nothing is empty or wasted.

And so it should be in the practice of jyu-kumite (freestyle sparring). No movements are wasted. One moves only when it is necessary or to one's advantage. There is no hopping up and down like a kangaroo on methamphetamine..

POLITICALLY CORRECT MARTIAL ARTS?

 By Phillip Starr

I remember when karate tournaments first began in this country. The year was 1963. I was too young to go to Chicago to compete...in fact, it would be five more years before I was able to go to St. Louis and participate for the first time (in the First Gateway Open Karate Tournament hosted by Bob Yarnall). In those days, competition was extremely fierce and when you entered kata competition, your kata had better be precise (to put it very mildly).

With the passage of time, I began to notice that things were beginning to slip. A competitor would enter the arena, announce the name of his kata, and then perform something that was close to, but not exactly that particular form. Two or three different techniques or stances had been inserted here and there. Upon closing his performance, the contestant would be called up to the judging panel (which was very common) and asked about it (most or all of the officials were very familiar with most katas back then). Oftentimes, they were told that the competitor's teacher had taught it to him that way!

At first, the officials would call the teacher himself to the front and chew on him him pretty good for changing the kata but eventually, they stopped doing this...”Well, if his teacher taught him to do it that way, then he did a good job”, they'd say. “We should score him on level of difficulty” and so on. Of course, I disagreed. “If we do that”, I said, “Then where does it end? Some guy can walk in here and do a homemade set and claim that that was what his teacher taught him...” And of course, that's exactly what happened. But the tournament officials were more concerned about not hurting anyone's feelings than demanding traditional kata and ensuring that they were done properly.

Enter the gong-fu stylists. Until then, kata competition consisted of traditional Japanese, Okinawan, and Korean sets. The officials either practiced a good number of them themselves or were very familiar with them. There was no escaping their sharp eyes. But the Chinese forms were virtually unknown to them, so they had to rely on other factors such as level of difficulty, and so on.

Before long, things really went sideways. One nationally-renowned female competitor (who went on to star in the film industry) performed a nice long-fist set (attired in a rather revealing, form-fitting top that proudly displayed certain fine physical attributes) and ended with a twirl that placed her cross-legged on the ground with her hands spread apart like a dying swan and her head bowed so that her long blonde hair draped over her front. I called her to the fore and asked the application of that final movement. “Oh, I took that from modern dance”, she said. I thanked her and when the time came to score her, I gave her a 1.0 for having the guts to perform such a homemade mess in front of God and everyone, She was furious! Other officials, impressed with her, uh....attributes, scored her considerably higher.

Eventually, things became so bizarre that special form divisions had to be devised for competitors who preferred to perform “eclectic” (now known as “extreme”) forms, which meant that they were entirely homemade. These exercises had/have no martial application whatsoever. They are simply the martial arts' answer to gymnastics.

The same kind of thing happened to sparring competition, especially after the advent of padded protective gear. Instead of crisp reverse punches, backfists, and front snap kicks, we began to see right hooks and left jabs. In Japan, attempting to use such techniques can and will get you disqualified for failure to use proper martial arts technique.

What began as “politically correct” officiating ultimately gave birth to what we often witness in modern, “open” competition. Is it possible to reverse what has happened to martial arts competition and go back to the days when clean, sharp, traditional technique and kata were insisted upon?

OMOTE AND URA

 by Phillip Starr

Many, if not most, new participants in a given martial art are interested primarily in learning effective self-defense. And there's no denying that outwardly, the martial ways appear the be violent to one degree or another. The aim of Japanese ikebana (roughly, “flower arranging”) would logically seem to be to present a beautiful arrangement of blossoms and the traditional tea ceremony's goal would certainly seem to be to quench one's thirst.

But no, not quite.

There is a kind of apparent contradiction between that which is (or seems) obvious and readily observable, known as omote, and that which is not, is ura. For instance, if you watch a group of judoka jostling and tossing each other on the mat, it would appear that the main aim is to throw your partner or force him to submit to a joint lock or choke. An observer of kyudo (Japanese archery) might think it's a bit stiff and ritualistic, but the goal must be, HAS to be, to hit the bull's eye. Right?

However, below judo's superficiality (omote) as a fine sport the art is an ura, a dimension of profound spirituality and hoary, venerable symbolism. The same holds true for kyudo and virtually all of the martial ways. Ikebana may initially attract those who want to learn to create attractive floral arrangements but if one's sensei is good, one will come to understand that such is simply the omote of the art, The ura lies in harmonizing oneself with nature and letting go of the ego through the rigid and demanding process of arranging floral geometrics in a timeless, fragile way.

In the martial ways, below the omote of outward violence lies the ura of a special way of life, a journey towards dignity, respect for oneself and others, and a path that exemplifies that which is moral, good, and beautiful. Although not easily seen on the surface, it is certainly there.

There is no question that the greatest danger that the martial ways face in the West is the celebration of their omote and the ignorance of their ura. The omote of these arts travels very easily but the ura is difficult to export. We see this in many of the martial arts now practiced in the West; many have become little more than athletic contests or a means of developing “self-defense” skills. Some practitioners use them as a means of attracting followers by prancing through fancy, homemade forms, smashing piles of lumber, or demonstrating what they tout as supreme self-defense skill. It is only through the guidance and persistence of of talented masters that the hearts of Western exponents will be captured.

MOVEMENT

 by Phillip Starr

The martial ways are really a panapoly of movement; there is often jostling and clashing...weapons of steel, wood, or bamboo twitch and flash, hands and feet shoot out quickly, the quick jolts of the judo/jujutsu practitioners as they strive to take their opponents to the mat, the sudden thrust of the staff, the snap of the arrow from the bow.... These called “yundong” (“movements”) in Chinese and “sabaku” in Japanese.

The Japanese character for sabaku means “to judge decisively a cut.” This is readily applied to the kimono maker; if he makes a proper cut, he will get all that he needs with a single cut so than none of the precious cloth is wasted. And so, the movements of the bugeisha (practitioner of the martial ways) are described with this in mind...

Sabaku is not random motion; there is no nervous fidgeting or displaced movement such as we see in untrained people or prey animals when they're faced with the stress of an impending attack. Rather, his movements are calculated. He conserves his energy. Sabaku is the movement of the predator. Tigers don't roar when they attack their prey, eagles, falcons, and hawks don't flutter or scream when they dive down on their quarry. In the midst of chaos, fear, and mutual danger, they appear quite relaxed. Their actions are the essence of economy.

Could it be that the ability to relax, move easily and economically, and release energy only when it is required are the reasons that allow the advanced martial artist to continue to practice long after other athletes have had to shelve their chosen activities? His/Her movements seem almost leisurely while younger practitioners exhaust themselves by exerting unnecessary power or effort in almost every movement.

Certainly, it's no coincidence that these senior martial artists remained active even in old age. And when death finally comes, it is as a flame that has burned its candle to the end. It sputters and then is extinguished. It is reminiscent of the decisive cut of the kimono maker, cutting with absolute precision. Not a single shred of cloth is wasted...

THE MEANING OF THE BLACK BELT

 by Phillip Starr

The black belt is regarded much differently in the West than it is in the Orient. In Japan, achieving the grade of shodan (first grade black belt) simply means that you have reached a good level of skill with the basic techniques and that you understand certain fundamental principles. It certainly doesn't mean that you're an expert; it means that you're an “advanced beginner” and you're now physically and mentally prepared to learn the true art. As one saying states, it means that you have finished packing for the journey.

The idea of what it means to receive a shodan is often completely different in the West. It is frequently regarded as the mark of an expert adept or one who is proficient enough to be called an “instructor.”

The difference is easily seen in the exams that aspiring shodans must undergo. I have known instructors in whose schools a shodan test lasts for many hours or even a couple of days! The test is grueling and those who aspire to take it must be able to endure hours of physical punishment and pain. Small wonder the number of black belts in such schools is usually very small...

In my view, the test for shodan should be efficient rather than tortuous. The objective is to determine if the examinee had developed a good level of skill with the basic techniques and to ensure that he/she understands the basic principles involved. Period. It isn't to ensure that the student is as fit as an Olympic champion or as tenacious as a Navy SeAL.

The most efficient tests for this grade that I ever witnessed were those administered by the Japan Karate Association. The entire test lasted no more than 90 minutes at best. The students had to answer questions regarding the history of their art, perform various basic techniques and a handful of combinations, 3-step and 1-step exercises, about three two-minute freestyle sparring matches, and a couple of kata. The examiners would choose one kata from a list (so it was a good idea if the student could perform all of them with a fair level of skill), and the student selected a kata as well. There would be tests for ability to focus and control one's technique, and perhaps one demonstration of board breaking. And that was it.

One teacher told me that after watching an examinee fire off no more than a couple of punches and a front kick or two, he knew whether or not that person was worthy of shodan grade. The rest of the exam was window dressing. I have to agree with him. There's simply no need for the student to demonstrate every technique, every self-defense application, and every form that he's ever learned. There's no point in having him engage in several freestyle sparring bouts with gloves (so that fighters can feel free to beat the bejeezus out of each other), do 100 push-ups, or otherwise be tortured or torture themselves.

In contemporary iaido (the art of drawing and cutting with the Japanese sword), there are 12 kata. Each kata is quite short, rarely involving more than three cuts/thrusts. That makes it sound like it should be fairly simple to do. Not. Every tiny detail must be just so, from the placement of the hands on the saya (scabbard) and the handle of the sword, to the alignment of the bladeguard with the navel...there are just too many minute details to list here.

he board of examiners closely watch everything that the aspiring shodan does...and I mean EVERYTHING – from the way his hakama is worn and tied, to the way he kneels, bows, grasps his sword...everything! They will select 5 kata from the list of 12, but the most fundamental kata(s) will always be included. After he has performed the kata within the allowed time limit, they make their decision. The entire test lasts no more than six minutes! But the judges can tell, after the student moves to make his first draw, if he's worth the grade or not. There's no point in requiring him to perform all 12 kata or do anything else.

But the main point of this article is to assure those who aspire to reach, or have already achieved, the rank of shodan that they have just set their feet firmly on the path (of martial arts). There's much more to learn, more polishing to be done. The journey is far from ended. It starts now.