THE SWORD THAT GIVES LIFE, THE SWORD THAT TAKES LIFE...

 by Phillip Starr

In Japan, old-timers sometimes speak of “setsuninto”; killing swords. Finely wrought and yet cruel, their inmost essence was said to drive their owners mad. Other blades were just as cruelly beautiful but imbued with a spirit that inclined towards the good. They sang in their scabbards to warn of danger; they were bright, beautiful, miraculous things and, in the right hands, could become “katsujinken” (life-giving swords).

In real life, the sword that takes life is also the sword that gives life. What, exactly, does this mean? The world around us often seems chaotic, now serene and peaceful, now unspeakably ruthless and violent. Good and evil, life and death, ebb and flow. There are innumerable pitfalls (some more dangerous and better concealed than others), and although the fauna may appear to be very beautiful, some of it is thorny or poisonous. We like to think that we can exert some measure of control over all of this...life. But the truth is far different. It is the way of nature.

Try as we might, we cannot control it. Attempting to do so often seems to make things even more confusing, less desirable. Nonetheless, this is where we live and struggle to survive. The sword is a tool. Nothing more. Within the training hall, we see the world for what it is – perhaps with greater clarity -and we strive to take the chaos of violence and channel it; we struggle to forge ourselves into people who can bend violence for better purposes. It isn't easy to do this. You all know that. And it is this very struggle that plays a large part in the forging process.

There is no choosing of either peace or violence. Violence will always be with us. So we strive to use it as a tool to polish ourselves...for that which we perceive as good. The sword that takes life IS THE SAME as that which gives life. On the surface, it would appear to be a weapon if violence; a thing that takes life and spills blood. And it is. But it is that very thing that makes it a thing that we can use to forge ourselves into something better.

Just as the gentle hands that caress a lover's face and hold a precious baby are also capable of becoming as sharpened steel; emitting terribly destructive force. The “sword” needn't necessarily be made of steel.

SHU, HA, RI

 by Phillip Starr

“Shu, Ha, Ri”....words sometimes heard in the practice of Japanese swordsmanship but their meaning can be easily applied to any martial discipline, regardless of its place of origin. These terms represent the three main stages of development.

SHU (守) means to protect or obey. It is traditional wisdom; learning the fundamentals and basic techniques. This is where we all must begin. Getting through this stage takes time and a great deal of practice. The movements must be trained thoroughly so they come second-nature and are fully “internalized” so that you no longer have to “think” about how to do them correctly.

In the Chinese stage of progression, this is known as EARTH (地 , di). It is the stage of learning the fundamentals. There are no short-cuts; this stage can't be completed in just a few weeks or months. It's more than just learning the basics and remembering them. They must be learned thoroughly in minute detail so that they are absolutely correct every time you practice them.

HA (破) means “to detach, digress.” In China, it is referred to as the stage of HUMAN (人 , ren). In this advanced stage, we may make innovations but they must be grounded in the foundation we built in the previous stage. Some people have interpreted this stage as breaking with tradition and tossing away that which we struggled to learn earlier. This is grossly incorrect.

It means that we so internalize the techniques and forms that we perform them in perfect accordance with our own bodies and minds. This doesn't infer that we necessarily find a “new” way of doing them; our bodies have adapted to them and they have become a part of our natural being. There is no longer any thought of “I am doing this technique/form”; the technique/form just does itself.

RI (離), known as TIAN (天 , Heaven) in Chinese arts, means “to leave, separate.” You no longer think in terms of techniques and you act in accordance with what your mind desires; unhindered, while not overstepping laws/principles. To reach this stage requires many years of arduous practice.

The problem is that many practitioners, anxious to explore their own creativity and “do it their way” often assume that they have reached the limits of the first two stages after a rather short time and believe that they can then “have it their way.” This is where we see “freestyle forms” and eclectic martial disciplines sprout up... There are many who push against the edges of the envelope, chomping at the bit to break free of the restraints of tradition and they often decide much too early that they're ready to sprout their own wings and “be free.” The first indication that they are far from ready is that their desire to “break free” exists at all.

There are reasons for tradition. Adhering to many of them can be tiresome and frustrating but they're not there just as a matter of exotic, Asian decoration. They often serve as the “shells” of the eggs within which we develop. The shell should not be broken too early...

RULES?

 

by Phillip Starr

Rules, rules, rules...they're the main reason why good traditional martial arts practitioners sometimes lose competitions against boxers and MMA devotees. I define “rules” as follows: “a convention which help to ensure fair play, so long as they are followed by all involved participants.” Of course, if one (or more) participants refuse to adhere to the rules, those who do strive to adhere to them are guaranteed to lose.

Imagine a boxing match wherein only one of the fighters had to follow the rules. Which one do you think stands the best chance of winning? Boxing, per se, was developed as a sport and all sports involved the enforcement of certain rules. So boxing evolved within that framework. The same is true of MMA.

Traditional forms of karate and gong-fu were never intended to be applied as sports and consequently. They didn't care much about rules. There weren't any. Survival was the only concern. But human nature being what it is, competitions were developed and this necessarily required the development of rules to ensure not only fairness, but to reduce the chances of injury or worse. Many martial forms became “sportified.”

Now, when a practitioner of one of those traditional disciplines competes against, say, a boxer – and he's required to adhere to boxing rules – who is most likely to win? Even with their rules in place, traditional martial arts allowed for wide variety of techniques, which are forbidden in boxing;

*In boxing one cannot strike with the edge of the glove in the manner of a sword-hand strike.

*Striking to targets on the back are also forbidden.

*No striking is permitted below the waist.

*NO kicking or foot-sweeping is allowed at all.

*You cannot strike with your elbows or knees...

And so on and on. Moreover, modern martial arts competitions forbid techniques directed to the eyes and other such things that can result in severe injury. The original martial forms had NO interest in following any sets of rules. The object was to end the conflict as quickly as possible. This sometimes meant that at least one of the participants wouldn't go home after the fight. Ever.

If a boxer who was required to stick to the rules was put up against a traditional martial arts practitioner who was allowed to do anything he wanted, who do you suppose would walk away?

Remember, rules work only if ALL participants adhere to them...

THE RECEPTIVE MIND

 by Phillip Starr

Nyunanshin. It's a Japanese term that is sometimes heard in conjunction with learning traditional martial arts. It means, roughly, “soft-heartedness” and refers to the student's mental and even spiritual receptivity to instruction. Nowadays, we'd call it “open-mindedness” as opposed to being “close-minded” or “stiff-necked.” Heaven knows I've certainly had my share of students who, although they expressed a strong desire to learn martial arts, weren't particularly receptive to certain aspects of the Way. And I've had some who were actually “unteachable.”

I tell beginning students (and sometimes have to remind them periodically) that they must maintain a condition of receptivity – total receptivity of both mind and spirit if they are to truly learn. I have found that some build a sort of “wall” around certain subjects and won't allow new considerations/ideas to be absorbed and studied, contemplated, and/or expressed. This seriously stunts their growth in the arts and may even stop it altogether.

To truly learn and mature in the traditional martial Ways, you must set aside notions of what you think they SHOULD be, how they should be taught or practiced, and so on. Take the blinders off, open your eyes, your mind, and your heart, and be willing to see fully.

REAL KNOWLEDGE

 by Phillip Starr

There is a Chinese saying that tells us, “Real knowledge comes only through direct experience.” This is, I feel, very applicable to martial arts. It's not so much a question of how a given technique or combination is to be applied; rather, it's more applicable to just HOW a given technique or movement is to be done and WHY it is done in such and such a way.

Simply learning a given technique isn’t enough. You may be able to do it in a basic way, but you don’t truly KNOW how to do it. And you won’t know that until you CAN DO IT! Seem like a bit of a quandary? It is…

A good example of this is my senior student, Hiro Misawa. He became very interested in finding the most efficient way of executing a lunging punch. Generally, this is presented to novices as a simple forward step and thrust with the fist…and no instruction beyond that is provided. But there’s more. Lots more.

Although any technique or movement will suffice, we’ll use Hiro’s lunging thrust (known as “oi-tsuki” in Japanese, and it may be called “sudden chasing thrust: - 突追招 tu zhui zhao –in Chinese, which means the same as the Japanese translation), with which Hiro is enamored at this time. He has seen me as well as other teachers (such as the famed Naka sensei in Japan) do it and has seen Kuroda sensei (the best swordsman in Japan) virtually vanish before his opponent, and he determined to learn how to do it.

He’s previously trained with the legendary Hino sensei and he reflected on Hino’s words as well as those of Kuroda sensei and another revered teacher who wrote down his ideas many years ago. He understood that before anything else, he’d have to eliminate all unnecessary tension before executing the movement, and study – in minute detail – just how certain joints had to move (such as the elbow, shoulders, and knees) without creating tension. That required several months of introspection and feeling what was happening inside his body as he moved. We would talk and bit by bit, he came to understand the ultra-fine and subtle changes that had to be made to his posture and balance, and the timing of the thrust. After about a year, he began to truly understand how the lunge punch is to be done.

For starters, the lunging thrust is an ATTACKING technique. It generally isn’t applied as a counter-punch. So – if it’s to be used as an attack, how do we apply it with any chance of success? You rarely see anyone use it as an attack nowadays…they’ll tell you it’s too slow and your opponent can easily see it coming and either evade it and deliver a quick counter. The real translation of this is, “I don’t know how to do it correctly.”

In teaching this technique at many seminars, I can see the disbelief on the faces of participants when I tell them that I can easily use this technique successfully and there is no defense against it; by the time my opponent sees it, he’s been hit. They still don’t buy it, so I invite a couple of their top fighters to spar…and I demonstrate the truth of my claim, even at my advanced age. It is a fine example of not truly KNOWING until you CAN DO it.

But there’s more; catching “the right moment” is also crucial. Understanding and FEELING this concept of distance and timing (which, he came to realize, are the same thing) takes more time. And the whole movement must be made just so; if done correctly, an opponent who is standing in front of you cannot see the technique coming! Understanding how to do it is one thing, but everything changes when you actually CAN do it! Real knowledge and understanding comes about ONLY through physical practice. Many like to intellectualize about how something is to be done, but very few comes to actually KNOW how it’s to be done; most people just won’t put in the required time and arduous physical practice.

NO CREDIT!

 By Philip Starr

One of my taijiquan teachers, George Hu, had a handwritten sign up on the wall of his school that said simply, “No Credit!” And being the inquisitive type, I asked him what it meant. At that time, his English wasn't too good but I was able to understand what he meant...

Firing off a punch, he grimaced, “No credit!” He did the same thing as he performed a snappy kick and bent over to touch his chin to his toes...”No credit!” Then he spread his feet to stand in a solid horse-riding stance. “This makes credit”, he said. “Only this.”

What he meant was that although you may have a lightning kick and thunderbolt punch, they were worthless if you hadn't developed a proper “foothold” through the practice of a proper horse-riding stance (qi ma-bu). He believed, as I do, that although a technique may appear to be powerful, it actually had no real power if the foothold hadn't been developed. It was, he insisted, the only way to develop a strong root, which is essential for the cultivation of real strength.

The old, time-tested way of developing a strong “ma” is to hold the stance in a static manner (knees a bit higher than the buttocks) for varying lengths of time, depending upon the instructor. Certain breathing exercises may also be included. Personally, I recommend starting off or 60 seconds, then adding increments of 30 seconds when the previous time limit has become relatively comfortable...until the position can be maintained for 15 minutes. There's really no point in going beyond that.

Strength is developed slowly in the legs and hips as well as the ankles. The breath (and subsequently, the qi) drops to the lower abdomen. One becomes firmly “rooted” to the ground and the power of one's blows dramatically increases. There are no short-cuts; it's going to take a while. Patience is developed as well as power.

Many instructors nowadays don't bother with this training, fearing that students might quit because of the extreme discomfort involved. And maybe they will...but teaching authentic martial arts shouldn't be about simply making money. It's much more than that. Give credit only where and when credit is due.

MORE THAN TECHNIQUE

 by Phillip Starr

For all the attention that is, and must be, given to learning proper techniques, there is a subtle development that is also being fostered. Our instructors constantly correct our movements, berate us for doing them incorrectly, and insist that we repeat them over and over. I remember my own primary gong-fu teacher, W. C. Chen, making us perform punches over and over until I literally thought I was going to puke! He didn't appear to care; he was focused on our performance...and as I got older, I realized that he was also watching something else. Something none of us could see. But he could.

When we made to stand in the horse-riding posture for extended periods, I began to refer to the practice as a “religious experience” because I thought I could see God! Our legs would burn and shake uncontrollably...and then, one by one, we'd collapse in a heap. I'd struggle back to my feet and start again as did most of my classmates. A few would just sit for several minutes, rubbing their legs. They wouldn't be back. But those of us who persisted with the exercise would...

There were numerous other forms of self-torture that we were admonished to practice...every day (like the xingyiquan posture of santi). And then there were the basics that we repeated incessantly, until both our bodies and minds became numb. And the forms...over and over again and again. And again. Many times I wondered if my body could continue to take it.

Small injuries such as split lips, bloodied nose, muscle spasms...were patched on the spot and we'd continue with practice. Gut it out. We thought nothing of it. We got stronger but more importantly, we became mentally tougher. And that's what our teacher was looking for; the development of an indomitable spirit, the willingness to persevere regardless of what we had to endure.

It prepared us not only for personal combat, but for life.