Here at the frontier, the leaves fall like rain. Although my neighbors are all barbarians, and you, you are a thousand miles away, there are still two cups at my table.


Ten thousand flowers in spring, the moon in autumn, a cool breeze in summer, snow in winter. If your mind isn't clouded by unnecessary things, this is the best season of your life.

~ Wu-men ~


Saturday, December 21, 2024

Striking Targets


At the Art of Manliness blog, there was an article on striking targets for self defense. An excerpt is below. The full post may be read here.

Getting into a physical fight is never ideal, and every self-defense expert will tell you that if you can avoid a fight if at all possible, you should. But, sometimes you can’t, and if you’re attacked and need to protect yourself, it’s important to know how to fight back. The best way to prepare for this scenario is to train in boxing, self-defense techniques, or some form of martial arts. You can’t expect to suddenly know how to punch when you’re threatened; your reaction must instead be thoroughly well-practiced.

Regardless of your level of training, one piece of know-how you should have deeply ingrained in your mind is where to direct your blows should you find yourself in an altercation. What places of your attacker’s body should you aim for if you’re looking to cause the most damage and get the most “bang for your buck”?

The best places to hit someone are the most sensitive parts of the body, including the eyes, ears, nose, and groin. But there are also many other spots where thick bones don’t protect the body’s super sensitive nerves and organs. Knowing multiple pressure points like this can help you fend off your attacker better because they won’t be able to protect all these vulnerable places at once.

The numbered list below correlates to the above illustration; keep in mind that striking these areas can cause serious injury or even death — only utilize such blows when you’re truly threatened with death or serious bodily harm. When you are though, the rules of polite society and even the sporting ring are thrown out the window; you must be willing to fight “dirty” and do what you must to incapacitate your assailant. 

1. Base of skull/neck – Also known as a rabbit punch, hitting someone at the base of the skull can cause spinal cord injuries. Punching this area is not to be taken lightly and used only as a last resort.

2. Kidneys – A successful kidney shot will deal a great amount of initial and lingering pain to a person’s back and abdominal area. Make sure to aim your shot up and under their rib cage for maximum effectiveness.

3. Tailbone – The tip of the tailbone is a small, sensitive bone. If struck with a hard shoe or boot at the right angle, it can easily break, sending waves of crippling pain into your attacker’s rear end, lower back, and legs.

Wednesday, December 18, 2024

The BaguaZhang of Wang Shu Jin


Wang Shu Jin was a giant in the 3 internal martial arts practiced in Taiwan. He was a very big (heavy) man, who move very lightly on his feet. In his later years, he regularly visited Japan to teach his martial arts there as well.

Below is a video of WSJ and some of his Japanese students, practicing and demonstrating his BaguaZhang. Enjoy.

 

Sunday, December 15, 2024

The XingYiQuan of Wang Shu Jin


Wang Shu Jin was a giant in the 3 internal martial arts practiced in Taiwan. He was a very big (heavy) man, who move very lightly on his feet. In his later years, he regularly visited Japan to teach his martial arts there as well.

Below is a video of WSJ and some of his Japanese students, practicing and demonstrating his XingYiQuan. Enjoy.

 


Thursday, December 12, 2024

Shiai and Classical Japanese Martial Arts


There is a conception that Classical Japanese Martial Arts only practiced kata. At Ellis Amdur's excellent Kogen Budo blog, there is a four part series examining free-style training and CJMA, specifically in Yagyu Shinkage Ryu kenjutsu.

 Part 1 may be read here. An excerpt is below.

Part 1 – Introduction

With this series of articles, I would like to address a certain dissatisfaction with the common debates one sees online regarding koryū, kata training and sparring or what is called “aliveness.” These are typically framed in very binary ways, something I find incongruent with both my own experience of practice, my understanding of the history of koryū in general, and Yagyū Shinkage Ryū Heihō (YSR) in specific.

  • This part will be an introduction to the argument I am addressing, the terms with which I will address it, a very general look at the history of shiai in classical Japanese martial traditions, and some of my own conclusions and speculations.
  • Part 2 will be an examination of the appearance of shiai in the early historical record of YSR. Fortunately, the historical record is relatively well-preserved, and has been printed in a number of different modern sources.
  • Part 3 will look at the modern (post-Meiji) history of shiai in YSR.
  • Finally, in Part 4, I would like to present the YSR approach to kata and free training, specifically through the lens of what we call the “shiai-seihō,” or “shiai-gata.” I’ll note that this material is adapted from private presentations I’ve made elsewhere.

I suspect that on the whole much of what I am talking about is present in other traditions, if not expressed or thought about in exactly the same terms. So, I want to stress that the ultimate goal here is not to boast about the specialness of YSR, but rather to hopefully inspire further study of these ideas in other traditions, and encourage a re-examination of commonly held assumptions.

Let’s begin by defining our terms. I’ll be using the term shiai throughout the series, mostly because that is the term used in the Japanese sources I have. What do I mean by “shiai?” Let’s first define its ostensible counterpart, kata-geiko (form training), as two-person practice utilizing certain pre-set parameters, the end result of which expresses one or a few predictable shapes. This would include very simple drills such as pad work, uchikomi-geiko in jūdō and kendō, and of course the more sophisticated kata of koryū.

Shiai is an engagement between two people with non-lethal intent, typically with semi-or full-contact, for the purpose of training or testing of skill, utilizing spontaneous expression of technique within set parameters partly or wholly outside the parameters of kata-geiko. This includes point-matches, non-point matches, jigeiko and kakarigeiko in kendō, randori in jūdō, “free practice,” and “sparring.”

I believe these can be seen as a spectrum rather than discrete items. Indeed, of the examples given above, kendō’s kakarigeiko in particular seems to straddle the line. I hope to provide another, more detailed example in Part 4.

Having defined our terms, let’s now look at the argument. The following represent ideas that I have often run into in discussions online, and even in printed material. The general argument can be summed up as this:

Koryū didn’t spar. The masters of the old days didn’t have friendly matches; they had duels. The primary training method of koryū was kata-geiko. Later, in the mid-19th century, matches with bōgu became popular, which lead to the development of modern kendō, and Kanō developed his randori and shiai-system for modern jūdō.”

I have no desire to to rehash the old “jutsu vs. dō” discussion, but I think it is fair to say that, in general, classical schools are seen as kata-centric, conservative, and focused on either battlefield combat or dueling. Modern budō, then, is seen as shiai-centric, relatively innovative, and focused on physical and mental fitness. In terms of history, kendō and jūdō are seen as new innovations of the Meiji era, distinct from classical schools, many of which have died off. It is also generally assumed that the classical schools that remain are representative of their respective eras.

All of the above strikes me as perfectly reasonable given the information that we have had available to us. The problem, however, lies in that very last assumption, that extant classical schools are representative of their eras. It underpins everything else. But I would submit that we have a survivor bias issue. Extant classical schools, far from exemplars of Edo period and earlier ryūha, almost assuredly represent only the most conservative traditions.

It’s believed that there were some one thousand four hundred martial arts ryūha existing by the time of the Meiji Restoration. Together, the Nihon Kobudō Kyōkai and Nihon Kobudō Shinkōkai account for less than eighty. While not every extant ryūha belongs to those organizations, it’s unlikely that there also exist sixty-some other traditions needed to get us to even 10% of the number that once existed. I suspect that many, probably even most pre-Meiji kenjutsu and jūjutsu schools had a strong shiai tradition, perhaps even being shiai-centric, and that these schools eventually became subsumed into kendō and jūdō.

In my opinion, the real primary difference between classical and modern budō is not necessarily based on its approach to real combat, but rather that classical budō was proprietary, while modern budō is largely open-source. And rather than a break at an inflection point in Meiji, I think there was simply a gradual shift from the classical paradigm into the modern one. Certainly, some events accelerated this shift, particularly the modernization of Japan in the Meiji era.

 


Monday, December 09, 2024

Taijiquan Instructional Drawings


At Brisbane Tai Chi, there is a large number of instructional drawings which illustrates key details of practicing taijiquan. They may be found here and it is well worth studying them.

Friday, December 06, 2024

Complacency in Combat


Below is an excerpt from an excellent article that appeared and Kenshi 24/7, about how our martial arts training after a time can become fossilized ... or not. The full post may  be read here.

In less than three month’s time I will turn 50. How I got to this age so fast I have no idea: I certainly don’t feel 50 (I look about 70 though!!!). It also feels like I arrived in Japan only a moment ago when, actually,  I’m in my 22nd year here. Something that does feel like I’ve been doing for a lifetime, however, is writing kendo-related websites. Anyway, with the big 5-0 coming up something I read by the famous Mochida Moriji sensei many years ago has been brewing in my mind, a copy of which has been pinned to my wall for at least a decade:

“In Kendo, until the age of fifty, one must study the basics with great dedication and make them one’s own.

Most people who think that they have mastered the basics are, in reality, still in the learning phase. This misconception leads  many people put study of the basics on the back burner. 

It took me fifty years to embody the basics of Kendo. My true training in Kendo began after I turned fifty*. This was because I started practicing Kendo with my mind/heart/spirit*.

At sixty, my legs and hips grew weaker. To compensate for this weakness, I relied on my heart. I worked hard to strengthen my weak points by using my heart.

At seventy, my whole body became weaker. This time, I practiced not moving my heart. When the heart stops moving, the other person’s heart reflects in my mirror. I made an effort to keep my heart calm and unmoved.

At eighty, my heart stopped moving. However, occasionally, stray thoughts still enter. I am now training to keep stray thoughts from entering my heart.”

* In the text Mochida’s “fifty years” is kind of mixed-up between “age” and “time practised.” His father taught him kendo initially, starting from the age of six, so we can infer it to mean “age” rather than length of time.

* Mind/heart/spirit: translation of 心 in Japanese is often not obvious. In this situation maybe “spirit” is the most apt, but I left “heart” in as it is a bit more… poetic.

* Date unknown but we can guess it was sometime between 1965~early 1974 (after turning 80 but before passing away in Feb. 1974)

Yeah, so I am basically 50. Realistically, I have achieved the highest grade attainable to me in kendo. In that sense, I am “done” and my kendo is “complete.” Of course, if you have read kenshi 24/7 over the years you know that I don’t actually think of kendo like this, but I do know people that use grade as a barometer (or at least seem to) to “completion” – which in itself is not necessarily bad, unless you actually do consider that kendo is something that can actually be“completed.” 

People with this mindset stop proactively learning and, retreating into their own kendo, shrink rather than expand. Not everyone is like this of course, but I have seen people like this, and continue to meet people like this even today. In the past I would’ve just branded them “lazy” but that is dismissive of their hard work until that point so, instead, I’ve settled on “complacent.” 

Fighting complacency is harder than you might imagine. In my case, I feel that I have achieved a somewhat good understanding of kendo mechanics, even if my execution is still only “moderate” at best. It would be relatively easy to just chill out, rest on my laurels, and enjoy my next few years of keiko. In fact, I’ve gone through at lot over the years, so I deserve some chill time, right?

 

Over a decade ago I wrote about a particular sensei who stated that there was value in attempting kendo’s highest grade, even if there was no realistic hope of passing it. Another time, I overheard a senior hanshi stop someone at the Kyoto Taikai and applaud them for attempting hachidan: “If you stop attempting it” he said, “your kendo will fall to pieces.” Whether the person had an actual chance of passing was irrelevant (often unsaid but sometimes intimated is the value of the attempt increases in proportion to the surety of your failure).

[Actually, I am actually in two minds about this: in theory it sounds solid, but the fact of the matter is it is a burden to attempt something where the chance of failure is 99% or more. Financially, it all adds up: travel, accommodation, testing fees, even a single attempt isn’t cheap (I know people that have tried over 20 times…). Anyway, I digress.]

 Over the past few years, first due to the arrival of my daughter then because of the pandemic,  I’ve found myself getting complacent (not lazy – I still do loads of keiko), in particular the amount of degeiko I do has been cut drastically: I used to travel to this-and-that keiko-kai and/or dojo in the Kansai region, and very occasionally wander further abroad. Nowadays, I only occasionally manage degeiko – well an adult degeiko that is. With my kendo club we do a lot of renshushiai and I do kendo with many different students from all over the area. Sometimes other schools have experienced kendo teachers I can have bash with, sometimes not. I also receive a bit of welcome variation in the guest from abroad that visit. In a lot of these cases, however, because people are coming to me (us) it’s psychologically different than travelling to keiko.

The kanji for SHI-AI (試合) could literally translate to “trying something out together” or perhaps a “trial together” which is relatively close to the English “competition.” When we do renshu-shiai I always mention to the students its not SHI-AI (試合) but TAMESHI-AI (試し合い), which – despite being the exact same kanji – emphasises the “trying” part of the experience. That is, the students should  a) test to see how their kendo fairs in front of an (sometimes unknown) opponent; b) not be over worried about “losing” or “winning” as it’s only practice; c) try out various waza or seme patterns to see their efficiency, whether they can actually execute the techniques under stress, and to see what needs improvements, and so on. 


Tuesday, December 03, 2024

Aikido - Karate Intersection?


Below is an excerpt from an article that appeared at The Budo Journeyman, which posits that during the development of Wado Ryu Karate, there were certain direct influences from Aikido's founder, Morihei Ueshiba.

The full post may be read here.

The story goes that Konishi had a connection with Ueshiba Morihei (1883 - 1969), a truly divinely inspired martial artist, also somewhat of a shaman and a mystic. In terms of martial arts of the Japanese tradition Ueshiba was almost on another planet.

The general impression we get of Ueshiba is that he was somebody who was ploughing a very lonely and insular furrow, in a very niche area; but this is incorrect. There was a cross-current involving other martial artists, through the sword and other traditions, so it doesn’t seem too far-fetched that there should be some relationship between Ueshiba and Konishi, or even Otsuka, but only up to a point. (a key facilitator might have been Kano Jigoro?)

In all writings about Konishi this relationship with Ueshiba seems unambiguous, and there are even mentions of Otsuka, Konishi and Ueshiba training together ‘almost daily’ says the Ryobukai source (see below). But I am not so sure, and what does that mean anyway?

What does seem rather odd is that the Otsuka camp, in all the retellings of his particular personal story, make no mention of any connections between Otsuka and Ueshiba (I have tried to tease this one out with those involved with the continuing Otsuka connections, but with no luck). Like all traditions, the retelling of the tale always includes some element of ‘curation’, so one has to be careful when trying to get to the bones of the matter, especially with all the time that has elapsed.

A couple of things to set context with Ueshiba:

Historically, the timeline tells us that Ueshiba finally settled in Tokyo from 1927 and stayed there all the way through to the war years. So, possibly, right place, right time?

It has to be remembered that he was ten years older than both Konishi and Otsuka, (he would have been around 45 to 50 years old at the time, and as some would say, in his physical prime; this was before he adopted the long wispy beard look, the elder shaman that he became).

With Konishi, the general story is that he showed Ueshiba the solo kata he had been working on with Okinawan karate, and Ueshiba was not impressed.

In Konishi’s 1976 interview published in Fighting Arts International magazine, he said, “I can remember showing him (Ueshiba) some of the Pinan kata, and he didn’t like them at all. In fact, he advised me to give them up. I asked him to give me a year to come up with something different. After a great deal of thought, I devised kata which I thought had better movement. After give or [take] six months, I showed them to him and he approved”.

In the Dave Lowry article on Konishi in Blackbelt magazine, he says that Ueshiba “encouraged him to create a karate kata that emphasized a formal system of footwork”.

An article on the Fighting Arts website by Omi Akihiro, has this to say about the kata, “The footwork, the body movement, and the applications ("bunkai") in these kata are based on both Karate and Aikido principles”.

Konishi named these kata, ‘Taisabaki’.

Tai Sabaki Shodan, is described by one of the current senior instructors of Shindo Jinen Ryu (Ryobukai), as, consisting of “a chain of actions, with no pause after each action”. Which seems to be one of its defining characteristics. To just describe it as such, you might conclude that it flows like a kind of speeded up Tai Chi; but no. Looking at it through my Wado lenses, the pauses seem quite similar in length to the way Wado kata are performed today.

Other sources suggest that the footwork is inspired by Aikido methods. Certainly, if viewed closely, the changes of angle show some interesting possibilities in terms of transition.

As for the name ‘Tai Sabaki’, I can predict that some Wado people can get hung up on this (you can see it in the comments underneath the YouTube video). But they have to be gently reminded that Wado doesn’t OWN the concept of Tai Sabaki; Wado has its particular take on methods of Tai Sabaki as ‘body management’ that are quite sophisticated and well developed. Tai Sabaki can be read at different levels of movement, from basic to advanced, it’s all over the wider spectrum of Japanese martial arts.

 

 

Saturday, November 30, 2024

The Right Timing


Below is an excerpt of a post that appeared at The Thoughtful Sensei blog. The full post may be read here.

When I was a little tyke cameras were fairly primitive compared to the ones available today. It was simply a black box with a non-adjustable lens and a button on the side. It did have a view port for all the use that was so you could at least aim it. And it took "ok" pictures. If you wanted "good" pictures then that Box Brownie was not what you wanted as the final product could have a wide variety of results which is why in many family photos everyone is guessing whether that's Uncle John or Aunt Lucy. If you wanted the really good photos then you went for a pricey camera and a photographer who wasn't someone with just a box, but instead someone with high end equipment.

 

Years ago my Sensei wrote a book and in his book he wanted photographs that weren't just guys standing around looking good holding bokken and styling in their gi, or posing with their hands stuck in the side splits of their hakama. He wanted "Action" shots (stress on "action") with uke elevated at head level with their feet in the air as they slammed into the mat. Real action shots, the kind only a professional sports photographer could do.

 

Back in those days it was all mirror and mechanical shutter oriented. There was no such thing as digital SLR so the ability to run a camera through 200 frames as the throw occurred and then picking the single best frame out of the 200 simply did not exist. So he went out, did extensive research and found the best sports photographer in the area who was well known for his action shots of pro-football, pro-baseball, and pro-basketball moves.

 

Sensei' rationale was that since you only got a split-second to hit the shutter button he needed someone with the experience and the eye to pick "that" precise moment so that only one to two shots were needed, as opposed to lining up the ukes and pounding them until he had that one shot he was looking for and then having to call the chiropractor for the ukes since plowing into the mat is a bit different from catching a ball. Having that "eye" for the action and intuitively knowing that single precise moment in the midst of high speed action to hit the shutter button was due to years of experience and knowing the moment.

 

Such is true martial arts training. The experience gained from the experience of when and how to "push the button" is what determines the guy with the Box Brownie from the guy with the digital Hasselblad. Repetition, repetition, repetition is the secret whether it's sports photography or high level martial arts.