Wednesday, November 21, 2012
The Most Effective Martial Art
When people talk about how great a martial art is, the reference point used is almost always what the very greatest of practitioners of the art can do. These are inevitably fabulous and gifted martial artists. In general they can do incredible things I will never be able to dream of doing. I’ve felt this level of skill first hand. Judo is one of the arts I study, and it because it is an Olympic sport, who is the very best of the best among the competitors is not open to argument. I’ve had the good fortune to train with Olympians and world champions. I know what their skills and arts feel like (they are almost undetectable, they are generally so subtle you only realize you’ve been thrown when your back hits the floor).
The vast majority of us don’t have their gifts of speed, dexterity and sensitivity. I’ve seen that the very finest of martial artists, whether the art in question has a competitive sport or not, exhibit these same gifts of speed, dexterity and sensitivity, whether the art is unarmed or armed. What this gets to is, if we compare martial arts by comparing what the most gifted practitioners can do, we may well only be comparing who is the most gifted, and not which art has the most to give.
A lot of people talk about which martial art can beat another in a head-to-head match up. To me, that’s rather pointless, because such head-to-head match ups never happen. What I want to know, what really interests and excites me, is what can a martial art do for an average to below-average practitioner? You know, someone like me. This is where things get interesting, because now the foe isn’t some other highly trained martial artists, it’s our own clumsiness.
What will studying the martial art do for me? I already know it won’t make me an unbeatable fighter. No amount of training is going to do that for me. I don’t have the gifts. But training will do other things for me. Will it increase my sensitivity? Will it improve my timing? Will I gain a mastery of spacing? Am I likely to collect a lot of injuries while training in this particular art? WIll I enjoy the time I spend training and feel like it is benefiting me, not just on physical level, but also on a mental level? Will I learn coherent principles that can be applied across the spectrum of encounters, and not just a bunch of discrete techniques that can only be used in situations very similar to the ones they are taught in?
Considering these questions one at a time, here is what I get. “Will it improve my timing?” This is a good one that people don’t give enough consideration to, in my opinion. “Timing is everything” goes the old line, and that is certainly true in the martial arts. I’ve seen over the years that the most accomplished, most effective artists, whether in a sportive art such as kendo or judo, or in kata art such as kenjutsu or jojutsu, are the ones with the best timing. They attack when the conditions are optimum. They don’t waste energy, when the opening occurs, they are there. They move with their opponents and hit their targets with timing rather than speed. I’ve seen octogenarians completely dominate people in their teens and twenties because they understood timing. They matched their movements with their partner’s movements and timed them so they slipped naturally into place.
This brings up the next question. “Will it improve my sensitivity?” Sensitivity includes awareness of a broad range of things. From the closest, feeling and understanding your partner through their touch where they are holding you or your clothes, to your awareness of the world around you and the people in it. At the closest level, I teach students to be aware of their partners even when their eyes are closed, so they can understand and affect their partner through touch without looking at them or the point they are targeting. From there sensitivity stretches out to being aware of how someone is going to move and what they are going to do based on understanding the clues in their posture and movement. This requires a visual sensitivity first focused on your partner, and later, as you improve, extending to everything in your awareness. If all you learn to focus on it how to strike or how to see one opponent after they are declared, you aren’t learning very much. If you are becoming sensitive to the world around you, you are really learning something worthwhile.
“Will I gain a mastery of spacing?” This is a great one, because if you can control the spacing between you and a partner, you control the entire encounter. By controlling the spacing, you can limit a partner’s options and even choose what options to give them. It’s tough to learn about controlling spacing at a range of distances from just one art though. Most arts are very strong at one or two distances. I study Kodokan Judo, which is great at the most intimate distances, the range where you can reach out and hold someone. If you practice some of the kata you can learn about slightly longer distances, the range of hand strikes. It’s starts to fall down at kicking ranges and is really bad at weapons ranges. Shinto Muso Ryu Jo is great at a variety of armed ranges, but it has little to offer at the range of touch. You can’t learn everything at once, and I wouldn’t expect one art to teach you everything. But whatever you are studying, it should spend a lot of time in partner practice so you can learn about spacing. I’m not talking just about sparring, but partner practice, which includes a lot of slow, careful, thoughtful practice so you can internalize lessons about spacing without developing bad habits.
“Am I likely to collect a lot of injuries while training in this particular art?” This should be a no brainer, but we forget about it quite often. Is the training atmosphere a safe one? Are these people that I want to be around? Every physical activity has risks (know any basketball players who’ve had knee surgery?) but the risks should not be excessive. I have friends who have left dojo because of the way training was run. Usually the problem is not with the art but with the way training is done. Be aware of this. The people you train with have a huge impact on the value you will get from your training and how much you learn. If they don’t respect you physically, you could end up badly damaged with injuries that cause lifelong problems. If people don’t respect you as a person, you have to deal with not just physical risks, but with the emotional wear and tear of being treated badly as an individual. Not all injuries are physical. Make sure the particular art in the particular place you are training is safe for you and those around you.
“WIll I enjoy the time I spend training and feel like it is benefiting me, not just on physical level, but also on a mental level?” Training takes effort and motivation. If you don’t feel like you are benefiting, you’re not going to want to do it. Good training should leave you tired, and honestly, exhilarated. The effects should enrich your body through the exercise, your skills through the technical training, and your mind through the broader application of what you are learning. If you aren’t getting all three, you might want to rethink what you are doing. I know that when I leave a good training session, I may be so exhausted I can hardly walk, but mentally I am much more alive and aware, and emotionally I am, exhilarated. The training stretches my physical skills and mental awareness so that everything functions at a higher level. This extends to my emotions as well. This is one of the big reasons I love training. It just feels so good at every level.
This is the difference between a coherent art and just a random collection of stuff. “Will I learn coherent principles that can be applied across the spectrum of encounters, and not just a bunch of discrete techniques that can only be used in situations very similar to the ones they are taught in?” A lot of people argue over whether something is a “jutsu 術” or a “Do 道”. That’s not really a useful question, but I’ve already written about it here. The question to ask should be, “Is this based on coherent principles that can be applied beyond the discrete techniques being taught, or it just a collection of techniques? The best arts and teachers use techniques as pointers towards principles rather than as an end in themselves. If you are studying throws, do you learn how off-balancing and over-extending contributes to instability in a partner and how this makes powerful throws effortless and effective? If you are studying striking, do you learn how to move your hips and lower body to develop power that can be applied to not only strikes but other movements as well? If you are studying joint locks, are you learning the principles behind locking the joints to prevent movement, or are you just learning to twist the wrist *this way* so it hurts? The art should teach principles that cross all of these areas and can be applied strategically and tactically as well. Lessons from throwing will apply to striking, while striking lessons apply to joint locks and lessons about locking the body apply to throwing. The system should be coherent and the principles effective across the range of activity.
All of these things are essential to making a worthwhile art in my eyes. If what you are training isn’t giving you all of these, you aren’t getting the most possible out of your art, and the art doesn’t do very much for the people studying it. Which art is most effective is the one that does the best job of teaching you the above. Not every art is ideally suited for every person. We each bring our own strengths and weaknesses to our training. The best art will reinforce your strengths and help you overcome weaknesses. It will develop your sensitivity, timing and mastery of spacing. Your body will be strengthened and energized by your training, and your mind will be polished. You will feel better physically, mentally and emotionally after training. You will gain skills and understanding that apply far beyond mere physical confrontations.
If you’re not getting all of these from your training, you’re not studying the most effective martial art.
Thursday, November 15, 2012
Do vs Jutsu. Again.
It seems like this issue comes up a lot. I'm involved in a discussion about it on a LinkedIn discussion board right now, so I thought I would share some of what is going on over there.
The whole Do vs. Jutsu discussion only gets a lot of play outside Japan. It's something that Donn Draeger came up with. It was an interesting idea, but, frankly, he was wrong. There is no opposition between the two concepts. To have a way (Do 道) you must have skill (Jutsu 術) to build it from. In order for skills to be coherent, they must be organized in a way. 道 is founded on 術、while 道makes sense of 術。
It not either or. It is both and. Either or is something Westerners insist on. It used to make my teachers in Japan smile at my ignorance when I pressed the conversation on them.
Both together. One without the other just doesn't make sense.
When we start, we tend to focus on the skills, because we need them as a foundation to understanding what the way is. Beginners can talk about the big picture and the fundamental principles, but these have to be explored and experienced through the practice of discrete skills and techniques. These provide the map to understanding the way and the principles of the way.
The "Do" idea is a really old one in Japan. Sado 茶道 or tea ceremony has been called Sado since at least the time of Sen No Rikyu (16th century), and there are martial arts being called "Do" 道 that I have seen going back to at least the 17th century. Even the Kano Jigoro shihan recognized that the term Judo had been used by some groups long before he started using it.
Most arts though were known simply by their name (Hayashizaki Ryu, Kashima Shinryu, Shinto Muso Ryu) without adding an adjective such as jutsu or do prior to and during the Tokugawa era. Names and descriptions changed often, but the organizing principles did not. Separating a technique from the principles that make it work is, to my mind, impossible. Having a principle without any applications or techniques that express the principle is difficult to imagine.
Ideally, the principles give rise to the techniques, and the techniques point the way to the principles. Some great master had a deep insight into the principles of their art and developed techniques that express this principle. It’s a great circle with the master having an insight into principle and developing techniques based on that principle, that Way 道。 Students then study the techniques as way of learning to understand the principle behind them. The techniques serve as road markers pointing the way to the principle Way that underlies the art. The students master the techniques and come to embody the principles and express them spontaneously. They then being teaching these techniques to a new generation of students. The circle continues.
In Japanese there are a lot of terms that express the concept of Way: michi 道、houhou 方法、
kata 方 (different from the “kata” meaning form 型、形). The goal of any art, whether it is described as jutsu or do, skill or way, 術 or 道、is that the practitioner can spontaneously express the principles of the art/school/style/system spontaneously in accordance with the situation. If you only learn a collection of techniques, but don’t understand the principles that underly the techniques, you will only be able to use them in the exact situations in which you learned them. If you use the techniques as tools for learning the underlying principles, the Way, then once you begin to understand the principles, you will be able to apply them to all sorts of situations, not just the specific one covered in the technique you learned.
In a fully developed martial art/martial science, the principles and the techniques cannot be separated from each other. The techniques work because of the underlying principles, and the principles are expressed through the techniques.
Tuesday, November 6, 2012
Who do we train for?
Do you train just for the moment?
Do you remember those who brought the skills you practice down through time?
Do you consider those who may inherit the skills you are practicing?
We live in a world of fast food where everything is disposable. But somethings aren't meant to be fast food, they aren't disposable, and they aren't meant to be on a menu with "Pick any 3" written above them.
When we train budo, we are training ourselves, but we are also contributing to a tradition, even if we are training a newly created style. That style's creator had teachers, and hopeful he didn't create the style completely from his imagination. Over the centuries a lot of people have contributed to the arts we train in. Some of us are fortunate enough to train in living arts that have been around for many centuries, and we can easily look up the names of past teachers and master students. Some of the people we owe our gratitude to are easy to identify. Others, students and teachers whose names were not recorded, we will never know about. We can, and should, appreciate them all the same.
I am amazed and humbled to think of all the great teachers whose lessons I am receiving when I train in my chosen budo. And I am humbled by the thought that my teachers have decided to lavish their experience and wisdom on me. They are some of the finest people I know. One of the reasons I believe they have become such fine human beings is that their training is not just about themselves. They train, they learn, and then they share what they have learned without jealousy or greed. Their budo is much more than just a method for fighting or self-defense or to boost their ego through their own strength and power.
Budo, when practiced fully, weaves together the past and the future with the present. I have inherited a great debt from my teachers. In budo we should always be aware of just how much we have received from our teachers, and their teachers before them. And it is not a debt we can repay. It is one that can only be paid forward. Budo lessons are not something to be learned for ourselves alone. Budo cannot be practiced alone, and once we have learned lessons from budo, it is our responsibility to pass those lessons on to others.
This doesn't mean that everyone who studies budo has to go out and start their own dojo, or even that they have to teach classes. But it does mean that we have to share what we have learned with those around us in the dojo without being jealous about the lady with more talent who picks it so quickly, or the boy who has lots of free time and advances rapidly because he trains a lot more than we can. It means training with people, and sharing with them.
By training with people, and sharing what we know, we knit the next row of stitches in the fabric that is our budo. We become some of those teachers and students who created, learned and passed on what they had learned. If an art form can continue for hundreds of years to get to us, there is no reason not to expect it to continue for hundreds more. We are part of it, and we owe it to those who gave the art to us, to give it to future students. We train and learn and train with others and teach and give our art on to future students, not just those we know by name, but those who will come to the art after we have died and likely been forgotten. Very few of us will be remembered as a master teacher or a soke. But we are still a part of the art, and it is our duty as a part of the art to pass it on.
That's more than a little humbling, and I think that is why my teachers are so humble. They know that what they are doing is not just for themselves and their direct students. It is for all those who will come after, their descendants in the art. Kiyama Sensei has been doing budo for over 80 years, he can see a long way back, and I believe he can envision his budo traveling far into the future. He would never call it "his" though. It came to him from his teachers and he cannot keep it. He passes it along to his students, and we cannot keep it either. We can only ever be caretakers. We may get to polish it a little, and perhaps, if we are something astounding, we might even be able to add a nugget to the budo treasure we have been blessed enough to receive.
Always keep in mind that "your" budo doesn't really belong to you. It would be more accurate to say that you belong to the budo you practice. It is a great treasure that past teachers have given you to care for so that future generations can benefit from this budo as well. By practicing, you become a part of the fabric of the budo.
Sunday, October 14, 2012
I think about this as my own journey has slowed down because of my own injuries. Like Sensei, I'm going to need a little surgical repair, but once that is done the journey continues. If I'm honest, the journey continues even before the surgery. I'm learning new lessons about what I can and can't do, and some interesting lessons about motivation and who I think I am. I wonder what lessons Sensei took away from his journey through injury and recovery. I do know that he is back in the dojo, and back in the vegetable field. I had dinner at his house the other day, and 100% of the fruits and vegetables on the table were from his field.
Tuesday, May 22, 2012
The foundataions
Wednesday, May 2, 2012
When to specialize
Wednesday, January 11, 2012
What is Budo?
I wrote this in response to a question on an email list about "What is Budo?" and thought it was worth putting out for more public comment.
Shinto Muso Ryu, Shinto Hatakage Ryu, Judo, and Aikido all share combative function and technique as their core practices. This gets them lumped together as “bugei” (literally “martial arts”) or “bujutsu” (martial skill). “Do” or “michi” both written 道 is a much more involved idea. While bugei / bujutsu can refer to just the techniques and skills practiced, anything with the “do” 道 suffix implies a class of not just technical activity, but also a means of polishing and developing the whole self and one’s way of dealing not just with the literal techniques of combat, but with how we approach every action and non-action throughout the day. This is both an elevation of martial activity to philosophical/spiritual and a spreading it out by making it apply to everything thing we do from putting on our shoes to sitting in a chair to drinking tea. Anything that can be done mindfully should be impacted.
To me, the first thing that is required for something to be budo is that it must be effective at a technical level. If it’s not effective for what it is trying to teach at the most basic level, it can never hope to reach level of a michi. If you’re not practicing to be martially effective, you’re certainly not doing budo. Any michi has to
be grounded in reality. It’s clear how ways such as sado (Way of Tea) and kado (Way of Flowers) are grounded in reality. You are making, serving and appreciating tea, or you are arranging and appreciating
flowers. I haven’t figured out a way to fake either one of those. Budo unfortunately is rather dangerous to practice, so it easy to deceive yourself about what you are doing. I do Kodokan Judo, hopefully as budo, but it is very easy to do it as nothing more than a sport by forgetting or ignoring the parts that aren’t comfortable to do or aren’t allowed in the sporting context. In iaido, since it is a solo practice, it is easy to drift away from the martial aspects of the practice and let it become just a series of beautiful movements.
With jodo, if you and your partner are not serious, and don’t practice with strong intent, it too can become a pretty, choreographed dance sequence. Budo requires that the intent, practice, and practicality.
Effectiveness is only a necessary component of budo though. Just because something is effective doesn’t make it a form of budo. Krav Maga is extremely effective, but I’ve never heard anyone argue that it
is budo. For something to be budo, it has to have the broader application to all aspects of life, and not be limited in its practice to combative situations. It needs to have a philosophical bent to it that allows this broader application. It must be bujutsu, but it must have an additional facet that is informed by the threads of Taoism, Confucianism and 1000 years of Japanese thought on the issue of individual development through the mindful practice of mundane activities. This is the tough part, and I suspect there is a PhD dissertation in there somewhere. I’m not talking about religion, but a concept of what it means to be human and how to perfect one’s self. The practices that effective at a technical level for a narrowly defined practical activity have to applicable beyond that, to all aspects of life. There is in Japanese thought the idea that by developing the body to do practical things perfectly, the mind will be developed as well. This is why people revere masters of flower arranging, tea ceremony, and calligraphy. Through polishing a practical skill, they are polishing their whole being, and when they display outer mastery of a skill, it is seen as confirmation of their
inner development. I’m not sure it always works, but that’s the idea. The tales of simple people who have achieved true understanding of the Tao through perfection of a common task abound. The tale of Cook Ting is a great example. He has mastered the art of cooking and through that gained insight into the nature of the universe.
If your art can be do that, and be effective, then it might be a form of budo.
Saturday, December 10, 2011
Practice
Practice seems to focus on the simplest, most common activities. Lately we're spending a lot of time working on breathing in a sensible way for what we are doing, standing and moving properly. Practice is like that, even when I'm working on the "advanced" stuff. Practicing the advanced stuff mostly seems to consist of making sure I'm breathing properly, standing in a relaxed, stable manner, and moving well from my hips without messing up my breathing or my posture. Practice is always practice.
Iaido and Jodo are both kata based arts. The number of kata is very limited. You learn the basic patterns and then you continue practicing them. After a few years you've "learned" all the kata in the system. That is to say, you've learned the pattern of movements that make up the kata. But learning the kata isn't what practice is all about. Practice is doing the kata, studying it, learning to apply those basic concepts of proper breathing and posture to make the movements stronger, more solid, more unstoppable. Every time I do a kata I see things that can be improved. That's just the stuff I become aware of as I practice the kata. True horror awaits me every time I see a video tape of myself. Then I'm left with a grocery list of things to address.
Practice is going about the business of addressing those issues. It's about never being satisfied with where you are, but always trying to move yourself forward. There is always something to practice. Breathing seems like such a simple thing. Even babies do it, right? But breathing properly and fully is difficult. I think I've gotten pretty good at breathing properly and fully, at least when I'm not moving. The trick I'm working on now is breathing properly, fully, and at the right moment for each movement. It's amazing how easy it is to get engrossed in the action of a kata and forget to breath until it's over. I'm still practicing breathing.
And as for walking, I don't have nearly enough time to talk about practicing walking. That's really complicated. I keep practicing it though.
Wednesday, October 12, 2011
Art, Martial Art, and Life
I'm working on how to move in everyday life. The iaido kata I train aren't really about how I move with a sword. They are about how I move in the world. It's about how I get out of my car and how I move down the hallway. Most importantly, it's about what sort of face and posture I present to people I deal with. In iai, we spend a lot of time focused perfecting our movement. It's very similar to dance in that there are limited number of fundamentals that we drill and drill and drill. We drill until proper movement has become ingrained in our bodies so that we express it with every movement in or out of the dojo. A dancer is graceful on and off the stage, and a martial artist should be too.
In judo and jodo and other arts that emphasize paired practice, the focus shifts from perfect movement, thought this is still critical, to perfect timing and spacing. This is where the art of living in the world is practiced. In the dojo it's all about moving in time and space to be in the right place to dominate and control an opponent. Outside the dojo life is about moving in time and space to be in the right place at the right time for whatever is happening in our lives. The awareness and understanding of when and how people will move that we cultivate in the dojo is something that should be drawn on all the time. Moving through a crowd, dealing with a customer, a coworker, a boss, or a friend, what we can read from their body, and what we can accomplish by maintaining the relaxed, ready state we train for in the dojo makes budo relevant to every encounter, even ones we don't know we've had.
Friday, August 19, 2011
Washing a hakama
The first question is, is the hakama cotton or tetron or polyester?
If it's cotton, only wash it in cold water. I only wash mine in cold water and mine is tetron, but it's really important if it's cotton.
To wash the hakama, fold it neatly like you are putting it away, roll up the himo and put rubber bands on them to hold them, and then put the whole package in a delicates bag. Wash it in the delicates bag in cold water. This will help maintain the pleates so they are easy to find when you take it out of the washer.
Hang it up to drip dry. Press in the pleats with your fingers while it is still wet, and clip the bottom of each pleat with a clothes pin to help keep the pleats neat.
After it dries, fold it neatly.
If you have a tetron hakama, you probably won't need to iron it more than once or twice a year to keep the pleats looking nice. If you have a cotton hakama, this makes the post-washing ironing process MUCH easier, because the pleats don't vanish in the washing machine.
Happy laundry day!
Wednesday, August 3, 2011
Getting to Black
Let's start with the fact that the traditional, white dogi tied with a belt isn't really traditional clothing for budo training in Japan. Traditionally hakama were worn for budo practice. There is no belt visible on the outside of hakama. The hakama is tied over the top of the obi. The modern training dogi was invented by Jigoro Kano, the founder of Judo, over a period of years at the end of the 19th century. It's based on classical Japanese underwear! In other words, it's not really traditional.
Kano Sensei also invented the modern rank system using "dan" ranks instead of the tradition teaching licenses that are issued by schools that predate the creation of Kodokan Judo. As Kodokan Judo grew into a nationally practiced martial art, he wanted a visible means of telling the difference between beginners and students who had the basics, and so they used white belts for beginners and black belts for experienced students. Originally there were also only 3 dan ranks, not the 10 that are now used.
As for the belt getting dirty over time, that ignores one great feature of Japanese culture. The Japanese are fanatically clean as whole, and the idea of letting a piece of your training uniform get so dirty and nasty that it turned black is ridiculous. No teacher would have let a student train with a belt like that, and no other student would have wanted to train with someone wearing anything close to that dirty. Students take pride in their uniforms and are expected to make sure they are clean for every practice. That includes the belt.
So, given the above, can we please put that dirty, smelly, obnoxious old story about dirty belts to rest? Please.
Thursday, July 7, 2011
What makes a good martial art?
Each martial art is created and practised with a different set of assumptions about timing, spacing, what weapons are being carried and what kind of attacks will be launched. You can compare the effectiveness of a martial art in a particular scenario, but there are so many potential scenarios that all you are left with is that a particular art is better suited to any one scenario than another. It still doesn't give you a clear base for comparison, unless you're convinced that potential scenarios come in a very limited set. Is your scenario based on a confrontation in a bar, a bouncer at a nightclub, a police encounter on the street, a prison guard dealing with inmates, a soldier on the battlefield? Different skills will be demanded for each of these. And unless you work in a field where confrontation is part of the job description, the odds are good you won't need combat skills in your day-to-day living.
For me, it comes down to what the art offers me. Does it enhance some set of combat skills? Does the art address more than just the technique aspect of combat? Do the skills taught have some chance of being relevant for something in your life (not a fantasy of conflict, but what you're really liable to encounter)?
Are the skills learned applicable to anything besides actual combat?
So tell me, what makes a good martial art for you?
Friday, April 1, 2011
Effective Sword Arts
I'm afraid someone may be expecting too much from their idea of practice. For me, an effective art is one that teaches the fundamentals of how to handle and use the weapon, and spends a lot of time teaching the concepts of maai and seme and sen. Fancy techniques or "real" fighting scenarios aren't part of my practice.
"Real" martial arts are pretty well stripped down to the basics. Not watered down, but stripped down, as in anything extra or not absolutely necessary has removed. Weapons combat doesn't leave a lot of room for fancy, even archaic weapons like swords. But beyond that, when I think of effective martial arts, I think about how effective the practice is for refining myself and my understanding, not how effective it will make me in a Saturday night fight. Training goes on every day. If you're smart and just a little bit lucky, you'll never be in a fight. So which is more important, those effective sword techniques, or effective training?
Monday, March 28, 2011
Training while injured
All that said, I really look forward to having a healthy knee again.
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
Budo and injuries
The first is RICE. We've all heard it. When injured Rest, Ice, Compress and Elevate the injury. It's easy to do all of these right away, when the injury is still agonizing and the knee in question looks more like a grapefruit than a joint. It gets tougher to follow through with the prescribed treatment as the injury improves though. This is where other budo lessons come into play.
The second is LISTEN TO SENSEI. You might not realize it, but in Japan, doctors are addressed as "Sensei" just like teachers. Just as we learn to trust sensei's greater experience and knowledge in the dojo, we have to trust the doctor's greater experience and knowledge about the injury. Actually do what the sensei is telling you to do about your injury, don't just listen and ignore the parts that you find inconvenient. Sensei would not approve.
PATIENCE is the next lesson, and this one is tough. It takes years of training to advance in the martial arts, so you'd think we'd be pretty patient about rehabilitating an injury. Amazingly, I've known a lot of martial artists who's sole focus is getting back to training as soon as possible. What this really means is not "As soon as possible without risking re-injuring or permanently injuring yourself" but rather, "get back to training as soon as I can stand the pain, because I'm too tough for the consequences." I'm a little too familiar with this approach, having been a strong advocate of such stupidity when I was in college. Fortunately, I had teachers who would sit on me to keep me from going out on the mat for judo until after my ribs had finished healing. All that patience we learn as we work to polish our techniques over the years comes in handy while waiting a few weeks for an injury to heal.
Healing injuries need to be rehabbed in the right ways. The basic stretching and strengthening exercises are boring. Really boring. They can make kihon practice look fascinating (which it should be, but that's another post). Be persistent in doing the stretches to keep the muscles loose and healthy. Do them just like the therapist says. Do any exercises too.
But have some DISCRETION. Just because a little stretching and exercise are good for rehabbing an injury, it doesn't follow that a lot of stretching and exercise are better. Listen to your body and do the the exercises that are recommended, but don't overdo them. I know this is tough for a martial artist. Martial artists love to overdo training because it is the macho thing to do. That's part of why we learn so much about being injured. Have the good sense to balance any recommended rehab exercises with lots of rest.
TAKE IT SLOW when you start back. This is more patience, but it's worth repeating. You aren't going to master your art next week, so don't push your body to do things next week that it isn't ready for. Patience, discretion and listening to what your body tells you will carry you a long way without injuring you.
These are all lessons we're supposed to absorb from budo practice. Are you ready to prove that you've grown and developed these parts of yourself in addition to polishing your uchi mata?
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
Why the fascination with Zen Buddhism and Budo?
The goals of Zen Buddhism and all the other branches of Buddhism are ultimately the same, that's why they are all forms of Buddhism. The tools they use to get there are different, but they all strive for compassion, mindfulness and an escape from the cycle of rebirth. Zen uses primarily seated meditation, other forms of Buddhism meditate on mandala, or chant sutras, or use a combination of all of these techniques. With all the forms of Buddhism that have been practiced across Japan, what makes people think that only one branch of Buddhism had significant impact on something as organic and disorganized as Budo?
Friday, October 1, 2010
Kashima Gasshuku
Kaminoda Sensei covered a lot of ground in the 3 days I was at the gasshuku. The training itself was wonderful, and continued for 3 days after I had to leave. The highlight of the gasshuku is always a Hono Enbu held at the dojo on the grounds of Kashima Shrine. Everyone participates, and we get to see excellent demonstrations by Kaminoda Sensei and his top students. This year was no exception.
There were demonstrations of Shinto Ryu Kenjutsu, Isshin Ryu Kusarigama, Ikkaku Ryu Jutte, and Uchida Ryu Tanjo, in addition to many, many demonstrations of Shinto Muso Ryu. This isn’t very interesting to anyone who wasn’t there, but it was really cool to be there.
After the enbu, we paid a visit to the grave of Tsukahara Bokuden, one of the great founders of kenjutsu in Japan. He is remembered as the founder of Kashima Shinto Ryu and a brilliant swordsman. It’s always kind of amazing to that we can connect this way with such a legendary figure.
The training which surrounded the enbu was wonderful. With many shihan available to give instruction, and with a deep pool of senior students to practice with, the training was wonderful. Everyone was doing the same kata together, but each training partner brought individual differences in size and strength, reach and height, timing and maai. All together they made a wonderful stew of training.
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
Practice
This means getting out and practicing regularly, whether you have a partner or not. It means studying your art. Martial arts are learned through the conscious repetition of fundamentals. It takes a lot of dedication to repeat fundamental drills over and over again, but that’s where progress is made. Deep in the fundamentals.
There is a basic technique in Shinto Muso Ryu called Hikiotoshi Uchi. I may be a slow learner, but I keep learning new things about the technique. I also unlearn things about it very fast. I keep practicing it and discovering new things about the technique, but if I go for a while without practicing for some reason (most likely work), then my technique gets weak and sloppy. Without regular practice, I’m no good. No one is.
This should be obvious, but it doesn’t seem to be. A lot of people have a vision of being a great martial artist. The truth is, being a martial artist is mostly the potentially boring repetition of basic exercises on a regular schedule. I say “potentially boring” because one of the keys to maintaining that regular schedule is to always be looking deeper into your technique to see what needs to be improved. This involves doing a lot of repetitions of basic techniques, which can get boring fast if you only think about it as repeating the basic techniques.
If you are really learning and improving, you should never repeat the same technique. On the theory that no one is ever perfect, each repetition has to be an attempt at perfect technique, and hopefully, every repetition is better than the previous one in some way. I wish mine were like this. Instead the quality of techniques goes up and down on a day to day basis, so I have to aim for general improvement over time, so that what was good last week will qualify as poor next year. Thankfully, there is always room for improvement. Even my teachers keep practicing, although they are so much further up them mountain than I am that I can’t see what they are working on.
This is why bujutsu practice is budo. We are always working on polishing our techniques, and in the process, we should be polishing ourselves as well. We keep practicing, and we keep aiming at perfection, even if we know we’ll never hit it. Hopefully, with a little practice, tomorrow I’ll be a little closer to the target than I was today.
Monday, September 6, 2010
Mindful practice
Mushin has been described well by better martial artists and writers then I. It’s a mental state that is a goal of training. What I don’t think I’ve seen enough of is a discussion of the mental state during training. It’s good to know that the goal of training is to achieve the lofty state of mushin, but with what sort of mental state, with what mind-set should we approach training? Most of us, myself included, need more mind in our training, not less.
We need more mindfulness in our training. By this I don’t mean we need to be thinking about all the nuances and possibilities of what we are doing while we are doing it. That’s what the beer session after keiko is for. What I’m talking about is more like the zanshin that one is supposed to show at the end of kata, after the action is concluded but before the kata is officially over. In iaido, we’re always watching to make sure students don’t drop their focus after the last cut, and just saunter through the chiburi, noto, and return to the starting point. This remaining focused on the situation at hand, without letting outside thoughts or distractions move your focus is the mindfulness I’m looking for throughout practice.
It’s a lot easier to grab a students attention in jodo practice and keep them mindful through a whole kata than it is in iaido. All you have to do is change up the timing a little bit when their attention wanders and nearly hit them. Some students, like me, are stubborn about being stupid, and we actually get hit. That surprise when the senior partner comes through your defenses because you were giving him less than 100% of your attention is usually enough to keep you focused until the end of practice. The trick is to have this focus from the start of practice and to not lose it.
When I think of mindfulness, it’s not that one is full of their own mind, but rather one’s mind is full of one thing. That one thing is whatever you’re doing. In koryu bugei training, that one thing is almost always a kata. Focusing on a kata, filling your mind only with the immediate action of the kata is a lot tougher than you would think. Especially considering that the sadistic old men I train with seem to like nothing better than whacking you if your attention wanders and leaves an opening for them. With that kind of motivation, it should be easy to practice mindfully. For some reason, even with the threat of yet another whacking, it’s still difficult to stay focused on just the immediate instant.
One of the dangers of kata practice is that it can become rote. After all, everybody involved knows what’s going to happen next, and after that, and after that until the end of the kata. How much attention does it require to dance through the steps of the kata when everyone knows what those steps are? It doesn’t take much attention at all to dance through the steps of a kata. It can be done while planning dinner and a corporate takeover. To do it right though requires nothing less than your whole mind.
If your partner is good, you can’t have even one corner of your mind off thinking about dinner plans. There is a reason that in koryu bugei the senior partner is always on the losing side. That’s the teaching side. The senior’s job is to control the speed, timing, intensity and other variables of the kata so junior can learn as much as possible and stretch themselves to new levels. When the senior is good, they don’t leave any room for the junior to be anything but mindful.
Mindfulness is another one of those things in any way that can be carried out of practice and into life. The tea ceremony folks are probably the best at bringing mindfulness to ordinary life, because their training is focused on an ordinary activity. They have to learn mindfulness without the threat of getting hit with a big wooden stick. In budo practice, if we are lucky, we have the advantage and disadvantage of training with someone who will hit us if we aren’t mindful. This is useful because it can teach good focus very quickly. I’ve noticed though, that this focus can be very particular, showing up only when someone is liable to be hit, and absent the rest of the time.
Mindfulness shouldn’t require the threat of getting hit to achieve. One of the goals of training is to be able to discipline the mind to mindfulness at any time, regardless of the activity, the location, or the presence of a partner with a big stick. Watch any good budoka, and they show mindfulness from the moment they start in the dojo, not from the moment kata starts. Being mindful throughout practice at the dojo should be practice for being mindful all the time. Great budoka exude this focus all the time, inside and outside the dojo.
Mindfulness is not something that is just for the dojo. It is a skill, a way of approaching things and focusing on one activity that should extend from the dojo into everything we do. Mindfulness is one of the practices, one of the benefits of any way that should permeate our lives. My cooking is better when I’m mindful of what I’m doing in the kitchen. And I know it’s useful in the dojo when that little, old man with the stick tries to whack me.
Mushin, well, that’s a goal I’m still aiming at. Mindfulness is something I can work on right now.
Thursday, August 26, 2010
Techniques and Arts
They are always talking about which techniques are the hottest, and trying to find the ultimate killer technique. There doesn’t seem to be any discussion of ideas or principles that might bind together groups of techniques, or whole strategies of movement. Watching their training, I’m always looking for the threads that tie their techniques together. Most often, I don’t see any effort to connect the various threads of their training into a few fundamental principles.
This is one of the basic things that differentiate an art form, a way, from a collection of skills. Someone can be a great technician without understanding the principles from which the individual techniques are derived, but without a grasp of the foundations on which the techniques are built, you can never go beyond the level of a technician. You are stuck with collecting techniques. A lot of what I see in the MMA and no-gi grappling fighters are technique collectors, without anything more going on.
An art, a way, has to be something more than a collection of techniques. It has to have some fundamental principles that are expressed through the techniques, but not limited to the techniques. An art, a way, must be more than just a collection of techniques, no matter how cool or effective they are individually. Judo is the easiest example of an art because its fundamental principles were so clearly stated by the founder, Jigoro Kano. The two principles are “Jita Kyoei” (Mutual benefit and welfare) and “Seiryoku Zenyo” (Maximum efficiency, minimum effort). Those are very clear. They are not simple, nor are they easy, but all the techniques of Judo point towards them and practicing the techniques can lead you to an understanding of the principles.
I say “can” because not everyone who practices an art, even for a lifetime, will understand the principles. To reach the level of principles requires a lot of work on them beyond just mastering the techniques of the art. The techniques are just techniques. They are a means to learning the principles, but they aren’t the principles. It’s very easy to get caught up with the beauty and power of the techniques and never go any further in the learning. Studying the techniques of an art does not grant automatic understanding of the principles. Even mastering the techniques of an art does not guarantee that someone will master the principles.
I’ve known very powerful judoka who had no interest in Judo beyond what takes place on the mat. They have studied the techniques of Judo for years, decades, without ever developing the least interest in how the principles of Judo might be applied to something other than competition. To me, they have missed the real beauty of the art, but they are quite satisfied with being technicians. On the other hand, I have met people who diligently practiced the techniques without ever achieving a high level of technical skill, but who were able to grasp the principles of the art and apply them expertly in whatever they were doing.
In order to make something an art, a way, we have to practice it with the idea that there is more to it than just a collection of techniques. We have to pursue the underlying principles and how we might apply them in ways beyond the techniques. This is true no matter what art we are practicing, whether it is Judo or Tea Ceremony or Flower Arranging or any of the dozens of other arts out there. Without conscious search for the principles and a will to apply them to the world, all we have are collections of techniques.
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
Lately I've been working on Nage No Kata and the Kodokan Goshinjutsu. Both are fun, and both teach me something about working at various distances that I can't get from randori. It's especially good when my partner progresses to the level of being able to really attack. Then I have to stretch my skills to keep up with the strength and speed that he can put into the kata.
It's in the kata that I can see and really feel the sense of yawara and the seiryoku zenyo. Too often in randori I find myself substituting muscle for technique. In the kata I feel more like I am focused on the essence of Judo.
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
jutsu vs. do?
Thursday, March 11, 2010
bjj
Saturday, October 24, 2009
Ways
"Huh? You've got to be kidding." I can hear people thinking. There really is. The idea is to find the best way to do something. All the arts we study and practice, judo, sado, kado, iaido and on and on, are little ways. They are supposed to point us at the big Way of life. But it's not just the named arts. Everything has a way. The unspoken lesson of Japanese culture is that there is a way for everything we do, every day. Even simple things like how to hold a pen, pencil or brush, or how we hold and drink our tea, or how we wring out a towel.
The ancient idea is that if the outer ways are correct, the heart and mind will also be correct. Unfortunately, I've known too many elegant and polished scoundrels to believe this to be true. I do believe that we can approach everything we do with the idea that there is a way hidden within it. A friend of mine taught me about the way of standing. She worked with me and taught me how to stand. Her way was much better than what I had been doing, and had the benefit of making my back feel better. I wish she was closer because I'm sure she could teach me a lot about the way of walking.
All of these little ways should give us clues about the way of living. None of the little ways is complete in itself, but they all point a finger at how to approach the rest of life, the physical, the mental and the emotional.
Monday, August 24, 2009
Training Direction
We go to the dojo and train. Ok, so what does that get us? We will show improvement in return for making the choice and effort to go practice. This can only be a good thing. As an American, anything that gets me up and active has to be counted an improvement. Going to the dojo to train means getting some kind of instruction in your art and being able to practice it. That’s good, but relying on the teacher to provide all of the direction in your training makes for weak, inefficient training and slow progress.
If we pick some fundamental aspect of our art to work on, whether it is entering, or timing, or posture, or movement, we can refine that aspect of the art while practicing whatever it is our teacher is focusing on for the day. This gives training more continuity from practice to practice, and gives something to focus on any time we think about our art, whether we are in the dojo for formal practice, or just thinking about it when we're supposed to be accomplishing something at work. We can either float through our training, or we can choose what kind of martial artist we will become.
Saturday, July 25, 2009
Of course, once I get this down, then it has to be integrated into my practice without disturbing all of the other things I've worked on, like timing, spacing, pacing, movement, and other stuff I'll regret forgetting.
Sunday, July 19, 2009
Budo and Old Friends
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
One Punch, One Kill
Sunday, June 14, 2009
generalist or specialist
Sunday, May 31, 2009
movement
Then this morning, I went to the gym to practice, and I ended up in a different court than I usually practice in. This one has a very tacky, almost sticky floor. A lot of the movements that I usually practice almost as gliding movements across the floor I can't do that way in the court. My feet and knees stick and won't move if there is any contact with the floor at all. I have to disconnect myself from the floor to do anything. It's not really difficult, but it is different enough that I have to put a little awareness into it, without letting the other parts of the kata go because I'm changing this one aspect. Good practice.
Friday, April 24, 2009
Saturday, February 21, 2009
Timing and spacing in kata
It's one thing to know what the next attack is going to be. It's another to act at the right moment, move the appropriate distance, and do it fast enough and with without moving too much or too little. The first kata in the Kendo No Kata is simple, but teaches all of these lessons. The kata is nothing more than opponents approach each other, one attacks, the other avoids the attack, then counter attacks. That's all that's required to learn though. There are several critical lessons in this kata.
The first lesson is distance. What is the distance of engagement? This is fundamental. At what point is someone close enough to be a true threat? If he's too far away to be a true threat, you don't need to act. It's a threat without teeth. How close is too close? It's different for every person, based on reach, step length, what weapon they're using and other factors. Without this one, you'll never get to the technique.
Sunday, February 8, 2009
The important parts of a kata
It the techniques that everyone sees and focuses one. In karate, the kata are mainly about how to strike and block. In iai they are all about learning to draw quickly and with control. In koryu arts they are about learning the techniques for destoying your opponent. Or are they?
To me, the essence of kata are in how they deal with spacing, timing and the rhythm of the attack. The techniques are pretty much incidental to the primary lessons of the kata.
Sunday, January 18, 2009
Musings about Kata
What are "kata" that they generate such strong feelings and statements? They are just pre-arranged movement patterns. In budo, they are pre-arranged patterns for movement for dealing with conflict. In Japanese arts, with the exception of iaido, they are always paired practice. Since iai deals with handling a live blade, it would be tough to keep finding new partners after every mistake, this makes a certain sense. But what is being studied in these kata, and why kata instead of free sparring. After all, kata was the dominate teaching methodology for budo in Japan until the 1900s. And what was it about kata that made it strong enough to be successful against styles that emphasize randori (sparring) and in live matches for hundreds of years. It's still the dominate training method for most koryu bugei.
Kata must have something, because extremely successful systems like Yagyu Shinkage Ryu kenjutsu are all about kata. Yagyu Shinkage Ryu consists of 22 kata, through which the whole of the kenjutsu system is taught. What's going on here that an entire school of sword fighting can be boiled down to 22 forms?
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
What's important in a kata?
Sunday, December 28, 2008
Randori and Kata
I have to respectfully disagree about the necessity of randori type activity in training. People in Japan have been arguing about this for at least 400 years, but the randori folks have never achieved a noticeable advantage over the kata only folks. The kata only folks demonstrated the effectiveness of their training methodology throughout the Tokugawa era from 1600 to 1868, holding their own in challenges, fights and duels. I believe the key is that the kata system must not focus on techniques, but on higher skills such as recognizing openings, preparing feints, and dealing with surprises.
I've done both randori focused training, and kata focused for a while now. What I discovered is that my effectiveness in randori increases most dramatically when I don't do randori, but instead make kata training the center of practice. This isn't technique training, but well developed situational training where my partner controls the speed and timing of the action. To do the kata effectively, I have to learn multiple lessons about reading my partner's body set, timing, and spacing as she changes timing, spacing and speed I have to deal with.
I am always amazed at how quickly I can apply these lessons to effect in randori situations.
Randori practice on the other hand is intense and fun, the main thing I take away from most randori training is knowledge of what I'm doing that already works, and what kata need more practice. I can practice kata for a long time without doing randori. When I go back to the randori, I inevitably find myself much more effective. On the other hand, when I spend too much time doing randori, I find that my randori skills don't improve, and often they deteriorate. The chaos of randori doesn't leave enough room to focus on skill development and the desire to win can actually defeat the learning and improvement process as you shift back to relying on raw strength and speed to overcome opponents when your technique is insufficient.
Randori is fun, and it validates who has learned their lessons well, but I really don't think it is a good teaching tool. It is a great way for people to test what they have learned and find out where they need to practice.
Friday, December 26, 2008
Budo and the unflinching gaze
When using a live blade in iaido, it's difficult to find sensible people who are willing to act as training partners. You have to train solo. Solo training means you don't have independent input on your technique. The most difficult thing about iaido training is that you have to look at yourself and decide if you're doing things correctly. I don't know about anyone else, but I have a nearly limitless ability to convince myself my technique is great. Without the check of a partner, I can tell myself all sorts of stories about how fine what I'm doing is. Good iaido demands that you look at yourself without flinching. I have to think about what I'm doing very carefully so I can't let little self-deceits slip in.
I have led myself down some disasterous dead ends, even when people whose opinion I should know enough to listen too have told me how wrong I was. Even looking at myself on video didn't help much. My river of training started flowing backwards for a couple of years while I listened to the lovely lies I was telling myself. It was only when I started to look at myself without consideration of how good or bad I was did I begin to fix things. I had to stop telling myself that this or that works better for me, and only ask "How close is what I am doing to ideal iaido?" When I started doing that and looking at my iai without flinching I started making progress again.
Looking at myself like this has been really hard on my ego. As much as I try to convince myself critizism from others isn't quite right, it really hits hard when it is coming from own mouth.
Monday, November 10, 2008
Kiyama Sensei called
Oh, for the tameshigir, I just told him it was an aikido dojo and they wanted to do tameshigiri for their aikido. Now I need to send him another letter with some training questions and other things that have come to mind since the last letter. The problem is that I write Japanese so slowly, and I'm embarrassed by my poor Japanese. It communicates, but it's not pretty.