Budo and Non-action

I haven’t written anything in a few weeks, which I’m sorry for.  Life has a way of happening that has nothing to do with plans or intentions. Family emergencies and work just get in the way. That doesn’t mean I haven’t been doing budo. It just means I haven’t been doing formal budo practice.

What I have been doing is applying budo. Breathing while balancing stillness and movement. Budo isn’t life, but it is a way of living, of doing, and being. Sometimes the best thing to do is nothing. Stillness is tough though. All of our instincts, and much of our socialization is to “do something.” The classic trope is  “fight or flight.” This reduces our options to a ridiculous degree, and ignores one of the more powerful options: “stay calm and do nothing.”

All of our education and life preparation is about doing things, being active. Don’t wait. Be proactive! The early bird gets the worm. Don’t just sit there, do something!

Then there is chapter 10 of the Tao Te Ching:

Understanding and being open to all things,

Are you able to do nothing?

What does it mean to be “able to do nothing?”

Early on in jodo I learned the importance of staying calm and doing nothing. Sensei would move forward in the kata and stretch out the timing and spacing until the mental tension made me snap into doing something.  Sensei was perfectly calm. He could attack or not. Either was fine with him. I couldn’t wait and do nothing. I had to take action.

Of course, as soon as I moved I was dead. Sensei hadn’t given me any reason to move. He was just standing there, within attacking range, not doing anything except making my mind and pulse race with worry about what he would do. Then I would move and he would cut me down (gently, and with great good humor, but cut me down all the same).  I’m a slow learner sometimes; it took me a while to learn the simple lesson to breathe and accept the moments when I don’t need to, and should not, do anything.

In chapter 37 the Tao Te Ching says

           

            Tao abides in non-action

Yet nothing is left undone.

Like the Dude, the Tao abides, and abiding was something I had to learn to do in jodo. Non-action isn’t inaction. For someone who enjoys working with words as much as I, it seems strange that I can’t give a clear, straightforward definition of “non-action.” I have come to my present understanding slowly, over many years, and like budo, it’s not something I can fully verbalize. I prefer to use the Chinese term in my own thoughts: wu-wei.  For anyone coming to the Tao Te Ching for the first time, I realize that term is useless. Until you’ve got some experience with different translations and some sort of physical practice, “wu-wei”  is meaningless, and “non-action” will have to serve to get you started along the path. 

Budo training is physical philosophy. The lessons of any budo art are really found on the dojo floor as we work the kata. In the dojo, words are like the finger pointing at the moon in Chuang Tzu; they are there to direct you in the proper direction. But - Once you’re going in the right direction words become just a distraction from the real lesson.

Once I learned to just accept that I don’t set the pace of these kata, I was able to begin learning jodo. Learning to accept things as they are and not waste energy trying to change what I can’t control is tough lesson to learn in the dojo. It’s even more difficult to apply outside the dojo where there are so many more factors to be concerned with. In the dojo it’s just you and your partner that you have to worry about. Outside the dojo things are rarely that uncomplicated and concentrated.

The more comfortable I get with wu-wei, with non-action, the more relaxed my jodo becomes. Once I stopped trying to force the kata to to go faster than my partner wanted, I stopped getting hit when I anticipated an attack and moved too early. Learning to let go of that need to push things along at my own speed allowed me to stay relaxed and loose. Stiff, tight muscles are slow. Breathing out, remaining relaxed whatever my partner does, or does not do, I can respond more quickly and more fluidly.

When I leave the dojo and rejoin the wildly complicated everyday world, does this lesson still apply? I seem to find new places to apply it every day. When I don’t rush to “win” a conversation, I learn so much more. When I can be quiet and just wait in negotiations, often the person on the other side of the table gets so anxious for a conclusion that they give me what I’m looking for without my having to argue much of anything.

The most frequent application is dealing with all the little things that don’t go as fast as I think they should. The little things like traffic that’s too slow, a child that won’t move, a teapot that won’t whistle. When I let the world take its own pace without trying force things, I discover the traffic pattern that is the most efficient and soon find myself outdistancing the guys trying to weave from lane to lane for a one-car length advantage. Engaged in a battle of wills, a six-year old will dig in until they explode in a tantrum. Faced with a battle of patience, they soon become distracted and once they’re distracted they’re easy to move.　Teapots, well, nothing I can do is going to make the water boil faster. That’s one of those things where being able to do nothing is its own reward. The other option is to be impatient and annoyed and upset by things I cannot influence.

Chapter 48 of the Tao Te Ching:

Less and less is done

Until non-action is achieved.

It’s a lot like lessons in judo. The more I try to do things to my partners, the harder I work and the less I accomplish. When I let go of whatever strategy or technique I’m clinging to and stop trying to force it on the match, I begin to  flow with my partner. Instead of getting frustrated because I am having difficulty doing the technique of my choice, I am delighted to discover that a range of techniques become possible. Blinded by my focus on doing a certain technique, I can’t see the opportunities my partner is giving me. Relaxed and clear minded, it’s possible to see the patterns of my partner’s movement and turn their strong movement into a natural fall.

Doing the same thing outside the dojo is far more challenging, but as much as the level of difficulty increases, so do the rewards. It’s nice to flow into a natural technique in the dojo. It’s satisfying to respond to attacks as they really are without trying to create openings and trying to force things. The satisfaction is that much deeper at home or work when I get out of the way and let things develop naturally.

In the last few weeks there have been a lot of events in my life that I couldn’t influence. The best I could do was stay relaxed and not let them disrupt my heart and mind. Relax, breathe and abide. It’s enough. I don’t have to attempt to fix the world, or even my little corner of it. Most of life is beyond my control or even influence. Can I breathe and abide until it is time for me to move? When tragedy strikes and no one can fix things, breathing and letting people be is tough. I want to help, to fix things. Understanding that I can’t really do either,  just waiting calmly for a space in which I should act, is far more difficult than anything I do in the dojo. However, the dojo practice of waiting for Sensei to really strike, remaining calm and still and prepared to move when the moment actually calls for it, has prepared me.

Sometimes the finest thing you can do for those around you is to be there and do nothing. Wait, watch, be aware of what they are experiencing, and only act when there is a need for it. So easy to write, so difficult to do. In the dojo we practice breathing and being and just standing there waiting for Sensei to attack with a big stick. If we can learn that lesson, it’s amazing how often we can apply our budo in the world.

Are you able to do nothing?

So You Wanna Cross-Train?

My friend and colleague, Deborah Klens-Bigman is an accomplished martial artist and respected scholar of Japanese classical dance. She often does me the honor of serving as a sounding board for ideas, and generously edits my posts to make them polished. This time Klens-Bigman Sensei responded to my ideas with an essay of her own, which I 'm proud to be able to publish here.

Deborah Klens-Bigman  Photo Copyright Iaikai 2016

So you wanna cross-train?

Previously,  two posts considered cross-training in other budo.  The first set out the benefits as a means to deepen understanding of your primary art.  The subsequent post looked at another side of the issue - that some martial arts teachers might forbid their students to seek training at another dojo.  That post also suggested that students caught up in such an arrangement may have picked the wrong person to train with in the first place, and speculates on such teachers' selfish motivations.

So - here we have two solid arguments in favor of "cross-training."  It seems like a good idea, right?  Find a different (though maybe related) art form, and go for it, right?  Not so fast.  There's a right way, and a wrong way, to train at a different dojo.  If done right, you can obtain benefit for yourself and do credit to your home dojo.  If not, well - read on.

Let's first assume that you are a student in good standing, who is also not a raw beginner.  A very-beginning student who seeks training in another art form gives a teacher the impression that you are not serious in your practice in the first place.  The term for this (at least in English) is "dojo-hopper."  The sense is that the student is in some sort of martial arts shopping mall, with various things on offer.  Come in, poke around, try a couple things on, and go on to the next store.  This is definitely how to shop for a prom dress, but most budo teachers take their practice seriously, and expect students to do likewise.  

Next, let's consider motivations.  I am not talking about jumping ship and looking for a new teacher - that's a different subject altogether (see above).  And I seriously doubt you would look around and think to yourself, "I'll bet I could deepen my understanding of the principles of [fill in name of current practice] by trying out [something else]."  More likely you saw something on YouTube or even (shockingly, but it does happen) at a live demo and you thought it looked cool and would be fun to try.  NYC is a veritable feast of martial traditions, both Asian and Western, old and new (and even theatrical and cinematic!).  It's easy to feel like a kid in a candy store.  There is nothing wrong with this motivation.  But there is a proper way to go about it.  So I am offering a list - from smartest to dumbest - ways to go about cross training in a different budo form.

1.  Talk to your teacher and ask for permission to try something else, and ask for her suggestions as to where to find another dojo.  For example, you could say, "I was thinking about trying a jujutsu class.  I wanted to run the idea past you first.  Do you have any suggestions as to who I could study with?"  Believe it or not, even in a place as huge as the Big City, many budo teachers at least know each other by reputation, if not personally.  Moreover, we know who the crank teachers are; or, at least, we have the means to find them out.    Asking for permission, along with asking for advice, accomplishes several goals - it shows the teacher you respect her, and that you respect her opinion.  It also puts you in line for a good recommendation with one of her colleagues.  Having been recommended and accepted for cross-training in another dojo also shows respect with regard to the other teacher, who then has a clear idea of who you are and may have a sense of what you might be able to accomplish by training with him.

 2.  Ask your teacher for permission only.  This is not as smart as suggestion number 1, but it at least shows enough respect to your teacher that she won't throw you through the nearest wall.  Most teachers will say yes (and if she doesn't agree, there is probably a reason, as in she doesn't think you are ready to branch out.  If you respect the teacher, you will respect her opinion and ask again later).  Some may volunteer advice if they think you might be interested in hearing it; others may just say it's fine, and you are then free to roam.  

 3. (Moving to less-smart ways).  Go somewhere else and don't tell either the primary teacher or the new teacher what you are doing.  I don't recommend this, but it can actually work, as long as you exercise some discretion.  Don't do what one of my students once did: blow off a request to perform at a demo by explaining that you have a tournament with another teacher that weekend.  Just say you're sorry and you can't make it; and you hope to be able to perform with the group at another time.  Being so up front about your conflicted schedule may send a teacher the message that you are so enamored with the new style that you are not as interested in what she has to teach (even if that isn't strictly true).  Moreover, not supporting the dojo when it asks for your help also makes you look less serious about your practice, unless it involves work or family issues.  Your perceived lack of interest may result in the teacher's attention being directed a little bit more to other students instead.  Tangentially, if the second teacher learns about your primary art form by other means than your telling him about it, you may find yourself getting the same treatment.  I'm jus' sayin'.  We like to think that our teachers have better tempers and more wisdom than lowly students (and they might), but they are also human beings (with a lot more experience than you) and they have feelings, too.  And those feelings should be respected if you are serious about your art form.

 4.  Declare that you are going "budo shopping" for other stuff to do - you say you may come back to the home dojo someday, but then again you may not.  Believe it or not, this has actually happened.  At the risk of stating the obvious, the student has given the impression that the teacher (and her art form) are interchangeable; with one practice being not any better or worse than another.  The now-former student in question was fortunate to have done this via email and not in person.  Needless to say, this person is no longer welcome (except, just *possibly* as a guest, and paying the guest mat fee).  Unless you really intend not to come back at all, I don't recommend this method.  

 5.  Just show up at a new place and disparage your primary teacher to gain favor with the new one.  As I said, we all know each other, by reputation if not personally.  Remember the six degrees of separation?  In the budo world, it's more like one or two.  You won't be accepted once the truth comes out.

 As my colleague the Budo Bum has said, there are many benefits to cross-training, and most of them won't be revealed until you have spent months (or even years) training in another form.  In my budo career, though my primary art is iaido, I have also done some training in naginata, kyudo, kendo, some empty-hand, and I am currently studying jodo as a rank beginner.  I also train in Japanese classical dance; an art form that developed in the Edo period that shares many principles of movement with koryu budo forms.   Many of my colleagues and teachers both in the U.S. and Japan also cross-train.  For the most part, all of their teachers know and respect each other, and are cross-trainers themselves.   My teacher, Otani Sensei, when I spoke to him specifically about working with another teacher, interrupted my carefully-rehearsed permission-asking speech by saying, "That's okay, that's okay.  Once you know the principle, the technique doesn't matter."  I still can't say, all of these years later, that I fully understand his point, but I knew then I had the freedom to figure it out.

Bio Note: Deborah Klens-Bigman is Instructor at Iaikai Dojo, in New York City.   The dojo website is www.iaikai.com

Deborah Klens-Bigman Photo Copyright Iaikai