The Sword of Doom

Over at the excellent Ichijoji blog, Chris Hellman had a post about a classic samurai movie, the Sword of Doom. The post includes one of the most iconic sword duels in filmdom, which I will NOT include here. Visit the blog instead.

An excerpt is below. The full post may be read here.

The snow yesterday (not so common these days, and comparatively light compared to much of the rest of the country) reminded me of this classic scene from the film, The Sword of Doom, one of the several versions of the multi-volume novel by Nakazato Kaizan, Daibosatsu Toge – Great Buddha Pass, but arguably the best. (The others do have their good points, though). 

The sword master, Shimada Toranosuke, played here by Toshiro Mifune, (I have written his name the English way, but all the other names here are written surname first) is attacked mistakenly on his way back from a friend’s house. The attackers realise they have the wrong man, but make the mistake of pressing on with the attack regardless. This may be one of Mifune’s best appearances as a swordmaster (admittedly, the role is quite minor) but he plays it to perfection.

Carrying the Past into the Future

There was a good post at Thoughts on Tai Chi about the history of our martial arts practices and carrying those into the future, which is a much different time. An excerpt is below. The full post may be read here.

 

A common attitude in both Chinese arts and society as a whole, is that each generation must surpass the previous one. Without such progress, there can be no development. In the arts, this philosophy shapes the traditional teacher-student relationship, where teachers feel it is their duty to ensure that their students exceed them in skill and mastery.

My late teacher, Mr. He, embodied this philosophy. He often referred to an expression consisting of two characters: xiu yan (修研). Xiu (修) means “to cultivate,” “improve,” or “nurture,” while yan (研) means “to study,” “refine,” or “research deeply.”

Curious about the phrase, I asked a native Chinese speaker. While she recognized the individual meanings of 修 and 研, she suggested that their combination might reflect an older or less commonly used expression. My own research has yet to uncover specific references to a specific idiom containing xiu yan, but I found several similar expressions and well-known idioms that convey a comparable idea, such as:

• 继往开来 (jì wǎng kāi lái): meaning “Inheriting the past and opening the future,” and is a widely known and well reqognized “chengyu” (traditional four-letter idiom) which frequently appears in speeches or writings to emphasize continuity and innovation.
• 承前启后 (chéng qián qǐ hòu): meaning “To carry forward the past and inspire the future,” which is an old and traditional idiom frequently used in literature, historical texts, and is used to describe major transitions in leadership or culture.
• 百折不挠，继志成业 (bǎi zhé bù náo, jì zhì chéng yè): meaning “With persistence, continue the aspirations of the past to achieve success.” This is a longer, newer and less formal construction. However, it is based on, 百折不挠, which is an older and very well-known four-letter idiom, or chengyu, meaning “unyielding despite setbacks”.

These idioms, both traditional and modern, reflect common Chinese attitudes toward learning, teaching, and achieving success in life. They emphasize building future accomplishments on the foundation of past efforts.

My late Chinese Tai Chi teacher often stressed the importance of xiu yan – to “cultivate” and “refine” – as a core principle for traditional Chinese teachers. He took this responsibility very seriously. I remember him telling us that he never became as skilled as his own teacher, a fact he regarded as a personal failure. When he shared this, he appeared visibly upset and annoyed, which left a lasting impression on me.

Personally, I don’t believe he needed to be so hard on himself. Yet, this mindset is distinctly Chinese, as I’ve observed from my friends and acquaintances. Many are rarely satisfied with themselves, no matter what they achieve or receive. This dissatisfaction drives them to continuously improve and strive for greater heights, fearing stagnation or arrogance. In fact, this fear of complacency often outweighs the joy of celebrating their accomplishments.

However, I question whether it’s truly beneficial or productive to compare oneself and one’s achievements in the way my teacher did – especially when it comes to an art like Tai Chi. That’s why I felt it wasn’t necessary for him to be so self-critical.

Why? Because personal growth in the arts is deeply individual. We each develop unique skills and approaches, shaped by how we learn, what we value, and where our interests lie. In Tai Chi, for instance, one practitioner might focus on refining physical techniques, while another prioritizes the philosophical or meditative aspects. Our differences in focus and passion are what make the arts so diverse and enriching. Comparing ourselves to others, especially to our teachers, risks overlooking these individual paths of development.

 

The Martial Arts Teacher

Below is an excerpt from the Martial Views blog, on the topic of fighters as teachers. The full post may be read here.

Have you ever noticed that in baseball the team manager wears a baseball uniform? Now, he never partakes in the game; not to pinch hit or relieve the losing pitcher towards the end of the game. Aside from his senior appearance or the fact that he's maybe put on a few pounds over the years, the baseball manager is decked out like an actual playing member of the club. How interesting. In his heyday, the manager was a player with a major league team who typically had a decent record as a pro. After retiring as a player, he became a manager. It's a well paying job of course, but now it behooves him to give back to a sport that has been very generous to him. A good baseball manager possesses leadership, technical savvy, and when appropriate, wisdom, in order to guide his players to become a winning team.  

In boxing, the coach is typically a trainer who has had at least some boxing experience, but not necessarily as a decorated amateur, let alone a prizefighter. Cus D'Amato, one of the greatest professional boxing coaches of all time, was never himself a professional boxer. I won't mention names, but some former world champions who have tried their hand at coaching had less than stellar results with their protégés. Teaching is not the same thing as doing. Perhaps mediocrity goes a long way when the disciple becomes the master.

Ah, yes—the master! This is the word I'm ginning up. Teachers in different categories mean different things. But in the realm of martial arts, mastery is something unique. In sports, the coach is a retired player, a player that may or may not have been an elite exponent of baseball, boxing or whatever.

The martial arts master, however, is not only held as a master instructor, but a master practitioner. Now this is conjecture, thanks to legends, rumors, kung-fu flicks, and starry-eyed students delivering sermons on how their karate teacher or whoever can level ten people at a clip. Manager Tommy LaSorda, though he could deal with unruly players, umpires, and the not-so-rare bench-clearing brawl, would be hard pressed to hit one out of the park. Could trainer Cus D'Amato knock out an opponent in the main event? Of course not, nor would anyone expect him to. But the sensei or sifu is held to a different standard.

The romantic definition of the martial arts master is their mastery of multiple domains. This can be fraught with problems: Your sensei is not your shrink or financial consultant or life coach or buddy. (And while we're on the subject, I've seen the title of sensei thrown around like it was an "Employee of the Month" award. Being a black belt—in any style— does not automatically confer one to being called sensei.)

Boxing coach/fighter relationships, however, are replete with stories similar to genuine mentorships. By their account, some boxers have regarded their trainers as father figures who guided them away from what likely would have been a life of crime, drugs, and gang activity culminating in prison. And these relationships are certainly reciprocal, I'm sure. In a touching scene from Rocky V (1990), a wizened and wise Mickey Goldmill offers this heartwarming guidance to his disciple:

 

You know kid, I know how you feel about this fight that's comin' up. 'Cause I was young once, too. And I'll tell you somethin'. Well, if you wasn't here I probably wouldn't be alive today. The fact that you're here and doin' as well as you're doin' gives me—what do you call it—motivization? Huh? To stay alive, 'cause I think that people die sometimes when they don't wanna live no more. 

And nature is smarter than people think. Little by little we lose our friends, we lose everything. We keep losin' and losin' till we say you know, 'Oh what the hell am I livin' around here for? I got not reason to go on.' But with you kid, boy, I got a reason to go on. And I'm gonna stay alive and I will watch you make good...

...and I'll never leave you until that happens. 'Cause when I leave you you'll not only know how to fight, you'll be able to take care of yourself outside the ring too, is that okay?

 

Taking your lessons "outside" is a central precept in traditional martial arts.  When we come to the dojo we leave our hangups and worldly problems at the door. But we take the good lessons we've gleaned during dedicated training with us when we leave for the day. In this manner, karate-do becomes karate as a "way of life."

 

Guo YunShen Documentary

A short documentary on the Xingyiquan legend, Guo YunShen.

 

Zatoichi's Nasiest Fight

Who doesn't like Zatoichi?

 

Taikiken Documentary

Taikiken is a Japanese offshoot of Yiquan. There are many similarities ... and some differences. 

There was a friendship between the founder of Taikiken and of Kyokushin Karate that blossomed into much cross training between the best fighters of both groups, which had an additional effect.

The documentary is below. Enjoy.

Taijiquan Postures and Applications

Below is an excerpt from Thoughts on Tai Chi, where the topic of finding the applications int he Taijiquan form in discussed. The full post may be read here.

Sometimes, I’m surprised that some long-time Tai Chi practitioners still struggle to understand how to decipher Tai Chi postures for practical applications. They often wonder how a specific movement in the form can be used in actual combat. Some postures appear more frequently in books and videos for application demonstrations, perhaps because they seem more straightforward or are considered iconic signatures of Tai Chi. Regardless of the exact posture, the applications shown in most books and videos tend to be quite rudimentary and superficial.

I believe most martial arts-oriented Tai Chi practitioners focus on push hands as their primary combat practice over the years. Many teachers don’t emphasize specific application practice in their curriculums. They might demonstrate an application here and there, especially if asked about a particular posture, but even teachers who are skilled in using Tai Chi for real combat often don’t incorporate application practice into their regular classes.

However, I don’t point out this as a criticism. In fact, I do have respect for many teachers who don’t believe in regular applications practice. Usually, and how you commonly see applications practiced and demonstrated, both practice and demonstration misses the mark of how Tai Chi really works. Even in classical Tai Chi books by famous masters, applications mostly only show a brief idea of how a posture could be used, and does not really reflect how the same master would actually use Tai Chi in a real situation.

So there might be reasons, but I am still puzzled about how the practical knowledge of applications even amongst senior long-time practitioners sometimes seems quite limited. Because, in my own opinion and experience, if you understand how Tai Chi is actually used in fighting and self-defense situations, you should be able to easily interpret any Tai Chi movement or posture into a vast amount of applications.

Decoding the Tai Chi form

Tai Chi forms are highly compact. Performed as a continuous, flowing movement where different postures seamlessly blend into one another, it can be difficult to discern where one posture begins or ends – and even harder to grasp where one “application” starts or stops. Beginners, in particular, often struggle to interpret the movements. They might be accustomed to watching other martial arts styles or traditional forms (kata), which feature more distinct, segmented movements. As a result, they may find it hard to understand why and how Tai Chi has been designed in such a fluid way.

While Tai Chi is compact, its very compactness and flow introduce a level of simplification. I’m not referring to ‘simplified Tai Chi’ variations, but rather to the form itself, which conceals and distills certain movements. Why is this the case? This philosophy of simplification is rooted in the tradition of Chinese aesthetics and arts. While I won’t go into too many examples, Chinese calligraphy provides the most obvious parallel. In calligraphy, there are various writing and painting styles, not only for different occasions but also to represent the skill level of the artist, from beginner to master.

Combat Aikido

Some interesting perspectives on applying aikido in a serious martial arts encounter.

Musashi vs Kusarigama

Below is a clip from a movie about Musashi, where he duels with ShiShido Baiken, who was skilled with the kusaigama.It's very entertaining.