HEALING AND HURTING

by Phillip Starr

In days long since past, the village kung-fu teacher also frequently served as the village doctor. He might not have had much knowledge regarding the treatment of many ailments but he was usually quite skilled in dealing with various injuries. Many teachers were highly skilled in one of the fields of traditional Chinese medicine; acupuncture, tui-na (remedial massage), herbal medicine, and of course, qigong. This was a tradition that continued for many generations until fairly recently.

In his well-known book, Iron and Silk. author Mark Salzman tells the story of what happened when he went into a local park (in China) to practice. In a short time, he was surrounded by many people who asked if he would treat their injuries and/or illnesses. He knew nothing about Chinese medicine but the people would have none of it; tradition held that anyone who possessed skill in martial arts was also trained in traditional medicine!

As karate developed in Okinawa, various aspects of Chinese medical therapy were taught along with it. The herbal preparations were often mixed with local herbal mixtures and techniques to produce therapies that were uniquely Okinawan.

In my first book, The Making Of A Butterfly (those of you who haven t read it should pick up a copy!), I relate the story of watching my teacher perform acupuncture on his lovely wife. Scared me to death! Remember - I was just a young American who had never even HEARD of shoving needles into people like that! But my teacher assured me that this was a very common form of Chinese medicine and over the years, he taught me as best he could. I would later construct a small clinic within my martial arts school and treat many, many patients.

It is terribly unfortunate that the tradition of teaching healing techniques along with martial arts techniques and forms has, for the most part, been lost. I require all of my senior students to learn certain aspects of Chinese medicine as well as first-aid and CPR. It is important for them to understand what Mei (my teacher s beautiful wife) once told me& that healing and hurting are two sides of the same coin. To truly understand and acquire real martial skill, one must understand both sides of the coin. And, my teacher added, as we move down the path of life we all have more opportunities to apply healing skills than destructive, fighting skills.

Moreover, the principles of Chinese and old, traditional Okinawan martial arts are based upon the principles that are found in their traditional healing arts. To gain a true and full understanding of these principles, one must study the healing arts. And, I would add, to truly understand the essence and spirit of martial arts, one must acquire some measure of skill in the arts of healing.

GOOD TEACHERS, WORTHY STUDENTS

by Phillip Starr

When I was finishing my first book, “The Making Of A Butterfly”, I asked my literary agent about the odds of finding a publisher who might be interested in it. He chuckled. “Authors often worry a lot about whether or not they'll find a publisher who will accept their work. The truth is that publishers are always on the look out for good writers! They need you as much as you need them.” As years passed and I published more books, I realized the truth of his words. I now pass them to aspiring authors.

The same thing is true of martial arts teachers and students. Students seek instructors who are eminently qualified. At the same time, good martial arts teachers are looking for students who have what it takes to learn what they teach. This is a terribly difficult task, much moreso than the student's search for a good instructor.

At the time of this writing, I live in southern China. To be quite frank, real martial arts in China are, for all intents and purposes, dead. Anyone who says differently is either lying or has never lived here. There is a tiny handful of teachers who are skilled in the authentic martial ways still alive, but they are as rare as hen's teeth. I was recently contacted by another American who's presently living in the nightmare of Beijing. He's been here for quite a number of years and has been training with an older gentleman who is likely one of (or perhaps, the) highest authorities on the Yin style of baguazhang.

The teacher is on the wrong side of eighty and his health is beginning to fail. My friend tells me that he's not sure how much longer his teacher will be with us. This highly knowledgeable instructor has only four students and two of them are foreigners! How sad. My friend sighs and says that his teacher has a great wealth of knowledge but because of the lack of dedicated pupils, he'll probably take much of it with him to his grave. This how martial arts systems slowly die out.

My old friend, Master Seiyu Oyata (dec.), a 10^th dan in Ryukyu kempo, had a similar story. As a young man, he had learned tui-te from the legendary Chojun Miyagi. It was, he was told, the form of tui-te that belonged to the Miyagi clan (of which he was actually a member, but that's a story for another time). Oyata said the only other form of tui-te that he knew of was from the family of Motobu. There were three Motobu brothers, the youngest of which was Choki. The two older brothers disapproved of Choki's penchant for fighting and wouldn't teach him the family tui-te system. Instead, they passed it down to one of their students whose family name was Uyehara. When I first met Master Oyata, Master Uyehara was in his 90's and still living in Okinawa. According to Master Oyata, Uyehara had no worthy students to whom he felt he could teach the Motobu clan's method of tui-te. In any event, Uyehara was much too old to teach it at that time... so, Oyata mourned the loss of another martial art system. It died for lack of worthy students.

Good teachers and good students need each other.  

MY TEACHER AND ME

by Phillip Starr

Many years ago, I used to write articles about various aspects of the martial arts and send them out to my senior students. Along with those articles, I included a number of anecdotes involving my teacher and me. After some time, one of my students suggested that I collect such anecdotes and put them into book form.

I considered his suggestion; I remembered so many stories and valuable lessons about both martial arts and life from my teacher! Maybe, just maybe...people nowadays would enjoy learning these same lessons! They could actually learn from my teacher!!! I thought that would certainly be a great opportunity, so I set about writing my first book, THE MAKING OF A BUTTERFLY.

Memories flooded my mind. I tried to select anecdotes with a special lesson(s) included. In this way, my teacher could still speak to those willing to listen and learn. Of the five books I've authored, it's still my favorite!

*Available on Amazon.com and fine bookstores.

DOTTING I'S AND CROSSING T'S

by Phillip Starr

     I'll bet I studied something in elementary school that the rest of you didn't (except for some of the oldsters out there).  And what might that be?

     Penmanship. 

     Really.  We actually had inkwells built into our desks and used pens with removable heads which you dipped into the ink!  After class, we had to wash off the inkpen heads and remove them from the stem (of the pen).  It was just about one klik up from using the old featherpens of the 19th century.

     As lousy as my memory tends to be, I clearly remember those boring classes.  We had lined paper which featured a thick, solid line and then a dotted line...then a solid line, then a dotted line...all the way down.  Upper-case (capital) letters had to touch the top and bottom of the solid lines while the lower case letters touched only the top of the dotted line.

     We'd practice just making loops and circles and wavy lines...I thought I had it down pat, but the teacher was always at my side telling me that it was terribly sloppy and to start again.  I remember getting really frustrated.  Then she demonstrated what she meant and her circle and whirls were flawless.  Really smooth and beautiful.  So I did my best to imitate that.  We practiced how to hold the pen correctly between the thumb and forefinger with the shaft resting on the side of the middle finger.  It had to rest at a specific angle.  They were very persnickety about all of this business.  And when you finished a few loops, you had to learn how to soak up the excess ink with a "blotter."

    Eventually, we got around to writing individual letters.  They had to be just so.  The loops, dots, and crosses had to be just right and pleasant to look at.  We practiced every day.  For two years.  Later, if you wrote something and the teacher didn't like the handwriting, he'd give it back to you and tell you to do it over!  It didn't matter if the material was correct or not, if it looked even mildly sloppy, you'd get to do it again. 

     Recently, I watched as a local police officer (a good friend of mine) wrote out an incident report.  I could barely make out his writing.  It was tiny and the letters weren't clearly formed.  I suppose you notice junk like this as you get older.  I never used to pay much attention to it... So I teased him about it and he made reference to my personal hygiene and ancestry.

     Later, I wrote a check at one of the registers in a department store.  The young lady looked at the writing and remarked, "What pretty handwriting!  I've never seen a man write like that."  Actually, I thought it was kind of sloppy, but compared to my police officer friend, it was a work of art. 

     I have my paternal grandmother's high school autograph book.  Seriously.  Some of the poems and autographs in it are dated back as far as 1867.  What is most incredible is the magnificently beautiful handwriting in it.  Even the boys had beautiful writing and many must have used broad-tipped pens.   

     You don't see writing like that anymore.  It was just too much extra work, I suppose and nobody saw a need for anyone to have to learn it.  And that's my point. 

     The martial arts is exactly the same thing.  We used to do our best to imitate our teacher's flawless movements.  A lot of martial arts don't do that anymore; they have a kind of 1970's "do your own thing" sort of approach...which doesn't work.  Your "own thing" will likely be wrong.  Stick to the things that have been proven to work over time.  It may be boring, tedious work, but it's worth it.

     I have to admire the systems that adhered so closely to their teacher's movements that they even imitated little quirks.  The founder of Isshin-ryu, Tatsuo Shimabuku, had a crippled leg due to his getting rickets when he was very young.  He could never execute a proper kick with it (I think it was his right leg).  He made a kind of little short, jerking kick with it because that was the best he could do.  His American students (who didn't speak much Japanese or Okinawan dialect) imitated it perfectly.  To this day, their kick(s) in certain kata are done just as he did them...but the kicks made with the other leg are different because his left leg hadn't been so severely crippled.

    Another Okinawan karate master (Asano, I think), had had beriberi when he was a youth.  He couldn't completely straighten his fingers.  When he formed a shuto (knife-hand), his little and ring fingers bent inwards considerably.  Consequently, his students imitated that form and it has been carried through to this day.  The karate styles which descended from his teachings all use the same form of shuto.

     Many years ago, one of my own students noticed that the forefinger of my right hand did not flex fully when I made a fist.  It remained nearly straight at the first knuckle.  Knowing that some Okinawan karate styles use a similar form of fist, he figured that that was what I was doing...and he formed his fists in the same manner.  I didn't notice it for years and then when I saw it, I asked WTH he was doing making a geeky-looking fist like that.  He told me that he was making his fist in the same manner as I formed mine.  I had to laugh and I told him that when I was young, the flexor tendon of my right forefinger (first knuckle) had been severed and I couldn't bend it!  That was why I formed a fist the way I do.  But I have to give him credit; he was watching very closely for the little things that might make a difference.  Like how to make a smooth and beautiful loop with an old inkpen. 

     The old and beautiful form of handwriting that existed only four or five decades ago is now gone.  Think about that.  People didn't see the need for it and stopped practicing and teaching it.  Now it's gone.

     Let's not let that happen to the real martial arts.  It doesn't take long for things in this world to disappear forever.  Keep practicing those loops and learning how to correctly dot your i's and cross your t's. 

HARD vs. SOFT

by Phillip Starr

Is your style of karate or kung-fu considered a “hard style” or a “soft style?” Most Western practitioners of these disciplines are able to answer this question in a heartbeat. They may elaborate on the subject a bit, but they immediately understand the question and what it implies; “hard styles” rely on the development and application of brute, muscular force while “soft styles” emphasize relaxation, minimal muscular effort, and the utilization of qi (internal power). I remember when the terms “hard style” and “soft style” were first introduced to Western martial arts enthusiasts by the martial arts media back in the 1960's. I'd never heard of these phrases and I asked my teacher, Master W. C. Chen about them. I was astounded when I saw that he was every bit as confused as I was. These appellations have never been used in China or any other part of Asia. They were, as nearly as I can determine, created by the martial arts magazines of the day.

Some karate and kung-fu enthusiasts elaborate a bit further and explain that “hard styles” utilize techniques that travel in straight lines and “soft styles” promote the use of circular techniques. I've never understood how anyone could accept this terribly flawed explanation and when would ask for some elaboration, the answers I received were almost comical. “We use straight punches”, they would say. I would counter this statement and remind them that the so-called “soft styles” utilize exactly the same type of forefist thrust. Moreover, this type of direct punch employs a (circular) turn of the hips as well as a (circular) screwing motion of the wrist just prior to contact.

Not to be so easily dissuaded, they would argue that their kicks were directed along a straight path. They would happily demonstrate a front snap kick and a side thrust kick as proof of this. I countered easily and showed them that both kicks travel along arcs (as they must, since they are chambered from the height of the kicker's knee). I would also show them techniques such as sword-hand and backfist strikes, both of which travel along semi-circular paths.

Even so, they would not be dissuaded. “Our blocking techniques are circular but our punches are straight”, they argued. I had to shrug my shoulders. There's no point in quibbling with a closed mind. Their convictions were based on remarks made in their favorite monthly martial arts publications, so there could be no doubt as to their validity, right?

You bet.

These were the same magazines that avowed that “soft styles” such as taijiquan and baguazhang didn't require the application of any muscular effort whatsoever. Many aspiring martial arts masters understood this to mean that any “98 lb. weakling” could easily become an expert at time travel by knocking his larger opponent into next week! The few taiji schools that were available were soon packed to the gills with students and the cash flowed quickly and easily. But the truth got lost in there somewhere.

Some karateists prided themselves on practicing systems that were touted as being both hard and soft. Goju-ryu is a prime example. “Go” means “hard”, they would say. And “ju” means “soft.” So there you have it, right?

No, not quite. Like the early practitioners of judo, who believed that the “ju” of judo meant “soft, gentle”, they didn't bother to learn something of the Japanese language and culture. The word “ju” does NOT mean “soft.” Not by a long shot. Rather, it refers to a type of pliability such as we might see with the flexible limbs of a young tree. Push against it and it gives way easily. It does not, however, collapse entirely. When you release it, the limb will snap back to it's original shape. This kind of elasticity is what “ju” refers to.

All martial arts, from karate to kendo, aikido, kung-fu and kendo underscore the importance of doing more with less. That's a fancy way of saying that one shouldn't use any more (muscular) strength than is absolutely necessary. Ever. A highly skilled practitioner of karate, which is generally referred to as a “hard style”, will perform his techniques with celerity but without excessive brute force. I have trained and socialized with some of the finest karate masters of the last century such as Hidetaka Nishiyama and Seiyu Oyata. Their techniques were crisp and quick, delivered with minimal muscular effort. To the novice, such techniques would appear to be lacking any real destructive power but those senior practitioners who had had the dubious pleasure of being on the receiving end of those techniques knew better.

At the same time, I have known a great many practitioners of taijiquan who prided themselves on their ability to push a foe some distance. The fact is that their pushing technique was seriously flawed and was more of what I call a”shove” rather than a “push.” And in any case, I've never known a push to end a serious conflict! Taijiquan, as well as baguazhang and xingyiquan (the three classical “sister” styles that are generally referred to as “soft” or “internal”) utilize a wide variety of punching, striking, and kicking techniques that, when applied correctly, are terrifically powerful. But if you're thinking of finding someone who can demonstrate such skill to you, you'd best plan to travel for a long, long time. Such skill nowadays in the “soft styles” is extremely rare, even in China.

The terms “external style/school” (waijia) and “internal style/school” (neijia) are often used interchangably with “hard” and “soft”, respectively. Again, such phrases are rarely used in China. They were originally coined by a famous teacher of the neijia, Sun-Lutang, back in the 1930's. Some people argue that they actually refer to where a given style originated; those that originated outside of China were called “waijia” and those that were native to the Middle Kingdom (that's China for you rednecks) were referred to as “neijia.” Put simply, this argument is wrong.

Sun wanted to differentiate between styles that rely on the development of “coiling power” (chansi-jin) and the manipulation of small, inconspicuous, internal tissues and those that focus solely on the use of the larger, overt muscle groups. Such a distinction does, in fact, exist. Most contemporary karate styles do not utilize coiling power at all. However, my research indicates that the early Okinawan forms of karate did. Over the generations, most of this information has been lost or forgotten. However, this would qualify such styles as forms of neijia! That statement probably won't help me win any martial arts popularity contests, but it's true.

So, hard or soft, internal or external, what counts is that you learn to perform your techniques and form correctly. Hard and soft eventually become one. And THAT is where real skill lies.

AS A MAN THINKETH

by Phillip Starr

    As we enjoy our practice of our chosen martial disciplines we tend to get caught up in what I call the "punch-kick" mentality. That is, we’re looking at the outside of what we do and not thinking much about anything else. It’s kind of like driving your car and being overly-concerned with how it looks as opposed to what’s going on inside; how it should work compared to how it’s working at the present time (that’s usually too scary to contemplate), and what makes it work in the first place – or even what can be done to make it work better.

     The Buddha once said, "As a man thinketh, so he is…" Truer words were never spoken although most of us, after hearing these words, simply acknowledge their profundity and then go on with our lives and training as usual.

     Some time ago a former student of mine who has taken up iaido and kendo said she happened to open up a book written by Mr. Dave Lowry entitled, "Autumn Lightning." She looked at the page before her and read about how Mr. Lowry’s iaido teacher (a Japanese gentleman who was teaching at a nearby university) insisted that his iaido pupil learn to speak Japanese. This, he said, was essential if one was to understand the true spirit of the art. And he was right.

     You see, we’re brought up to speak American (we don’t speak English; the British speak English and believe me, it’s a bit different than the American version) and the result is that we unconsciously learn to think in American. This can be a real problem when we’re presented with (foreign) concepts for which our language has no word or phrase. Not only is it difficult for us to find an appropriate American word or phrase to match to the foreign tongue, it’s often impossible to IMAGINE the concept in the first place because it doesn’t fit into our language/thought processes!

     The most ready example is the word qi (“ki” in Japanese). There simply is no American/English equivalent for this concept and the end result is that many of us completely misunderstand the whole idea! And we get charlatans trying to prove that they can knock people over without touching them and generally playing "Star Trek" with their bare hands…

     Or shen (“shin” in Japanese), which we roughly translate as "spirit" but that’s not quite right. And yi, which is often translated as "intention" or "mind" but the real meaning goes much deeper than that… I believe that language impacts the way in which we think (and subsequently act). It can also limit the way in which we (are able to) think…and this can lead to misunderstandings about the arts that we practice; how they should be practiced and what makes them tick.

     Let’s take the word "yi." It is written with two radicals, one above the other. One radical means "sound" and the other means "heart." In traditional Chinese medicine, it is believed that the heart houses the emotions and what we call "mind" (not the brain). So if you take a little time to consider what this means, it can change the way you feel about the word "yi." Those of you who practice a martial art such as Xingyiquan may acquire a finer understanding of what the name implies.

     Xingyi is usually translated as "Form/Shape of the Mind" but once you understand the FEELING behind the word for mind (yi), it can change your understanding of the name of the art and how it’s intended to be practiced.

     The word Xing is usually translated as "form, shape, pattern." It can also mean "image." That has a slightly different implication than "form." Moreover, the Japanese/Okinawan pronunciation for (the character) Xing is…KATACHI (for you taekwondo stylists, it is "Hyung")!

     So it really helps if you learn, at least to some degree, how to speak the language of the culture in which your particular art was developed, and to read some of it as well. Most westerners are loathe to do this and consider it too much of a bother. But the fact is, if you truly want to understand your art more fully, you need to spend some time immersing yourself in its culture – and that includes language.

     But there’s more.

     Consider mathematics. I always hated math. But my teacher, Master W.C. Chen, once told me that the reason mathematics is so heavily emphasized in school has little to do with whether or not we’ll ever use algebraic equations as we go through life…it’s because mathematics is a language! And just as the languages we learn to speak impact the way we think, mathematics teaches us new and different ways of analyzing and thinking.

     Many years later my own father would echo these same words. "Math teaches you to think in a certain way," he said. It would be some years before I fully understood what he meant.

     If we learn only one "language", as it were, our "way" of thinking is very limited. By learning more languages, we develop our mental faculties more fully.

      My teacher, Master W. C. Chen told me that individual techniques are like words. Combinations of techniques are like sentences and paragraphs. A bad combination – one in which the techniques do not flow smoothly – is like a badly written sentence. Good combinations are like fine poetry and our forms are books, being comprised of many sentences and paragraphs.

      Moreover, each form teaches us to think in a certain way! Each one is different; it has its own sentences and spirit (like a "style" of writing, no?). Your forms may use many of the same words but the sentences and the style of writing are very different. A comma here, and semi-colon there, parentheses over here (and what’s inside those parentheses?), indentations for paragraphs, and so on.

     It’s a book! At first you learn to read it like you did when you first learned to read. For me, back in the days of covered wagons, we used the old "Dick and Jane" readers; incredibly boring and stupid stories which everyone read aloud in a REALLY boring monotone with no emphasis on any particular words or phrases… Then as you become more literate and you can read with greater skill, your form (your recitation of the book) takes on more meaning and life! And as you continue to practice it, that form will teach you to think in a certain way!

     This is very important. Very. Important. Go back and re-read that last paragraph.

    It’s the same thing when you first learn to play a musical instrument. You can’t possibly start off with the classical, complex, highbrow stuff. On a piano, you have to learn the keyboard and start with really simple, boring stuff…but there’s more to it than just memorizing keys and melodies. You’re learning to think in a new way! And when you learn to play a particular piece of music you learn another way of thinking and hearing and tasting and experiencing and BEING the music.

    Then you move on to another piece to expand your understanding and learn to think in yet another way. Music is, after all, a LANGUAGE! Like math. They’re much the same thing.
And as you learn more "languages", you are better able to express yourself and you are better able to understand others!

     Remember, as you think…

DO WHAT YOU CANNOT DO

by Phillip Starr

“Do what you cannot possibly do.

Make the impossible possible.”

-Masutatsu Oyama

Founder of Kyokushin karate

I first heard those words many, many years ago and I took them to heart. Martial arts were my great passion and they remain so to this day. I wanted to push the envelope; to see just how far I could go. I read about numerous masters of times past and determined that I would do what they'd done. After all, they weren't gods; they were men just like me. If they could do it, I could do it.

Many of you are probably shaking your heads and thinking, “What a fool... That's a fine way to get hurt very badly. Or killed. You were certainly a very foolish young man.” And looking back on those days, I'd have to agree with you. But I wasn't stupid.

I read about the legendary “arrow catch”, which is an extremely dangerous technique that involves catching an arrow in mid-flight. The legendary “godhand”, Master Masutatsu Oyama, said that of 1,000 students, only one or two would attempt to learn such a technique. And of the 1,000 who set out to perform it, only a couple who be successful. It kind of makes you wonder what happened to the 998 who failed, doesn't it? But I didn't consider that. I was never much good at math, anyway.

I was still in college and young enough to think that I was invincible; that I could be one of the “one or two” who would succeed. “If they can do it, I can do it”, I thought. One of my students was a very skilled archer who owned a good recurved bow and he agreed to work with me, We spent months practicing together. Eventually, I would face him at the opposite end of a basketball court. An arrow-net was placed behind me to prevent arrows from striking the walls of the old college gym. Just as he released the arrow, I'd pivot and catch it.

This isn't something that can be accomplished after only a couple of weeks of practice. I may have been foolhardy but I wasn't stupid. We started out by having me simply stand off to one side and observe how quickly the arrows passed by me. Then I would reach out and try to grab them. It was a slow and gradual process that required some considerable time. I would go on to demonstrate this technique at several demonstrations.

I also wanted to test myself by breaking large stones. Starting with very small ones, I eventually succeeded in cutting a 25 lb. stone with my sword-hand. My hand shook uncontrollably for three days but I was pleased that I had accomplished what I'd set out to do. I continued to train until I could shatter a “paver” brick (which is a little more than an inch thick) with my fingertips and split a coconut with a single blow.

Now, I'm not bragging. I've never been one to indulge in self-aggrandizement. I've never had much time for people who do. The point of this short essay is simply this; although what I pushed myself to do was often very dangerous, it had a very profound impact on my mind and spirit. Martial arts isn't just about learning some exotic forms of kicking and punching; it's also about pushing yourself beyond what you perceive as your limits. It's about setting goals and then going beyond them. If you mindlessly practice a few punches and kicks once or twice a week, you're not really practicing martial arts; you're dancing. Without proper spirit, martial arts devolve into little more than some nifty-looking calisthenics.

Certainly, I'm not suggesting that you run to the nearest sporting goods store and purchase a good bow and a handful of arrows or drive through the countryside until you can find a 20 lb. stone. After all, techniques such as the arrow-catch are fraught with danger and anyone who aspires to do them must train very carefully and gradually. You must push yourself slowly, step by step. Remember that when I trained to perform these things I was young, in excellent physical condition (I suppose my mental condition could be called questionable), and I had practiced martial arts for a very long time.

What I'm suggesting is that you strive to push yourself past your “limits.” After all, it's YOU who set those limits in the first place! It's going to take some considerable work and sweat to get to the very edge of your limits... and then it'll require more than just sweat to go beyond them; it's going to take time, guts, and belief in yourself.