The Development of Nakada Shin Ryu Jujutsu in Europe

Over at Ellis Amdur's excellent Kogen Budo blog, there is a guest post that looks at Nakada Shin Ryu Jujutsu. An excerpt is below. The full post may be read here.

 

Pre-War Jiujitsu in Europe

Before the second world war, jiujitsu was taught as an independent system throughout Europe. [1] There was no influence from arts like karate or aikidō; furthermore, jiujitsu was different and separate from jūdō. This jiujitsu may have been a bit stiff, and probably relied more on strength than we are led to believe when we read the books and newspaper articles from that period, but its practice still developed formidable fighters, who fought matches against boxers, wrestlers and sometimes just plain street fighters. Some of these matches were organized, while others were unruly affairs, the result of an impromptu challenge during what was intended to be a demonstration of the art. Jiujitsu had to prove its mettle and the record shows that it did.

Post-War Jiujitsu in Europe

After the second world war, jiujitsu waned in popularity. It had to compete with others arts like jūdō, karate, aikidō, taekwondo, kung-fu, to name just a few. And frankly, jiujitsu did not do so well against these more sophisticated, complete martial art forms, both in terms of popularity and effectiveness. This was not only the situation in my country, the Netherlands, but the same could be seen in countries throughout Europe. Jiujitsu became marginalized.

The old-timers mostly kept to themselves, training in small clubs, teaching the techniques that were now deemed old-fashioned and outdated. Others, who wanted to modernize jiujitsu, created systems with extensive curricula, and standardized methods of teaching and examination. It was not unusual for some teachers to train a bit in karate or aikidō, and add some elements of these arts to their jiujitsu. Their focus was on creating a system that could be taught over a several years period with a uniform curriculum, and a grading system equal to jūdō. What emerged was a form of European jiujitsu that had a lot of one-technique pattern drills. On the plus side, thanks to the efforts of those modern minded teachers, jiujitsu became more popular again and the numbers of practitioners increased. On the other hand, these changes often diminished the self-protection value of jiujitsu in a serious way, and thus altering the essence of the art.

My Own Path

I started training jiujitsu at the age of fourteen, in 1975. My first instructor of both jiujitsu and jūdō was Johan van der Bruggen, who had trained under Nakada Taiji, in Surabaya, Indonesia. Based on what he taught, our best guess is that Nakada was a student of Tenjin Shinyō-ryū (天神真楊流); he is not listed as a yudansha at the Kodokan. There were actually a surprising number of  Tenjin Shinyō-ryū practitioners who settled in a number of areas throughout the world in the late 19th century and early 20th century, founding independent schools that shared much the same curricula: something very similar to early jūdō, along with various kata practices as well.  Van der Bruggen also studied with Koizumi Gunji and Kawaishi Mikinosuke, well-known pioneers of European jūdō. Van der Bruggen used Kawaishi’s system of teaching jūdō.

In 1987, I began training in Kano-ryū jiujitsu with Tony Hughes, a student of James Hipkiss. Hipkiss was a student of Koizumi Gunji (and to a lesser degree, Abbe Kenshiro). He was dissatisfied with the increasingly sportive direction of postwar jūdō, and attempted to preserve the jiujitsu and jūdō he had learned from Koizumi as one art.

After a few years, I began training in Shinkage-ryū jūjutsu (真蔭流), from Archibald Johnson. Shinkage-ryū is one of the most widely used appellations among Japanese martial arts. This particular ryūha, created in the Meiji period, was founded by Imaizumi Hachiro (今泉八郎). Imaizumi studied Sekiguchi Shinshin-ryū jūjutsu (関口新心流) and Kusunoki-ryū kenpō (楠流拳法) from Imaizumi Ryūsetsusai Tomoaki, later taking his teacher’s family name. He later studied Tenjin Shinyō-ryū under Iso Mataemon and Araki-ryū bōjutsu & torite from Taiboku Kuranosuke (大木蔵之進), a vassal from Iyo-Matsuyama province. In 1883, Imaizumi became a police instructor in Shitaya, Tokyo. He founded the Enbukan dōjō. He died in 1906. The Shinkage-ryū that Johnson taught was a typical Meiji era jūjutsu, mostly stand-up arms-length grappling, with take-downs rather than jūdō type throws, and locks and pins.

After establishing my own dōjō, I continued to seize the opportunity to train in other systems. Most notably, I attended many seminars with Henry Schubert, from Germany, who had lived in Japan for a considerable time, and fortuitously, lived right down the street from the Inoue family, the headmasters of Fusen-ryū jūjutsu. He studied extensively with them and after returning to Germany, adhered to what Inoue sensei told him, enthusiastically spreading what he had learned.

Not for everyone

After these many decades of training, my own jiujitsu developed into something different, almost by its own will. It is not a style I “created;” rather, it “came into being.” It is a combination of all the older forms I’d learned, most notably the Shinkage-ryū and Fusen-ryū, as well as Kano-ryū.

One more encounter had a very significant effect on the development of my current practice. Some years ago, Ellis Amdur came to Holland to teach a very intense week of Araki-ryū torite-kogusoku. One thing he said really stayed with me: “Araki-ryū is one kata.” Although I never became his formal student, these words inspired me to rework everything I had learned. During his visit, Amdur sensei rather informally taught one set of five brutally simple kata from the Araki-ryū torite curriculum, entitled Gohō no Dan. He later gave me permission to use this set as I saw fit. Thus, a small portion of Araki-ryū, filtered through our own perspective, is part of our curriculum. We distilled all of this down into five kata for jiujitsu, each of them rich in content and information, informed also by my experience as a jūdōka.

After training for some thirty years, it became apparent to me that what we did had become different from other schools of jiujitsu. I decided to name the style after my first teacher’s school and since he had already passed, asked his son (his legal heir) for permission to do so. He graciously granted me permission. I wished to pay full respect to my first teachers, who gave me the physical grounding upon which everything since was built. Therefore, I named my current school, Nakada Shin-ryū.

The ultimate question, though, is this: Does it work against a resisting opponent? I’ve taught this compact system to Security Liaison Officers, and others who need effective techniques at close range, and they report that it has been very useful to them in the course of their work. We have only a few people training, all of them long-time practitioners of budō. We are not to be found on the internet nor do we advertise. Our training is not for everyone. It is not because the training is overly tough nor is the system is very difficult to learn. It is not for everyone because it is boring. When one trains in the essence of an art, stripping away everything that is not necessary, you are left with very little material to work with. That is difficult for a lot of people: for most, I dare say. On the other hand, it makes a few of us very happy. Besides that, since we train for the real world, we have to be practical, and thus we get by with only a few kata.

Five kata for jiujitsu may not seem like much, but with all the variations possible on several levels, there is still quite a lot to train. Besides jiujitsu, we have a few iai kata as well as kata for tantō (single edged dagger). The kata provide structure and context, and they each contain rudimentary techniques. Having said that, the kata contain a lot more than is obvious at first sight.

 

 

Budo and Optimal Movement

A good article at The Budo Bum regarding optimal movement and Budo practice. An excerpt is below. The full post may be read here.  

I saw someone on reddit saying that the footwork in Kendo feels unnatural. My immediate reaction was “Of course it feels unnatural, it’s budo.” Budo isn’t natural. Budo is about doing everything in the optimal way. Budo is about letting go of the things we’ve learned naturally and refining ourselves.

“Natural” gets used a lot in 21st century marketing. So many things are marketed as “All Natural” that you’d be forgiven for thinking that “natural = good health.” Natural just means that humans haven’t manipulated something. Natural doesn’t have any positive or negative connotations. All-natural honey tastes wonderful. All-natural rattlesnake venom will kill you quite naturally. Mother Nature isn’t a gentle lady, and you shouldn’t assume that “natural = good.” Until the 20th century, the majority of children didn’t make it past childhood, and more than 1 woman in 100 died in childbirth. Look at the animal kingdom, pick any species, and you’ll see that the vast majority of offspring die before they can mature. This is “natural.”

We learn to breathe, stand, walk, and run, naturally. If the natural way of doing these things was the best way, musicians and athletes wouldn’t spend years learning to breathe properly. If the way we naturally stand was good for us, Feldenkrais and Alexander Technique teachers wouldn’t have jobs. If the way we walk and run was naturally optimal, there wouldn’t be any track coaches.

There is nothing natural about using a sword well, about throwing opponents smoothly and effortlessly, about hitting someone’s face with your fist in a way that damages them but doesn’t break the delicate bones in your hand, about taking a little jutte and handling a guy with a sword. These are not natural acts. Budo seeks to optimize what nature has given us in both mind and body. We train in budo not to be natural, but to make the optimal seem natural.

 The first lessons in budo, I suspect in any ryuha, are techniques but are also about learning to use your body properly. I teach new students how to walk and how to breathe. They think they are learning to hold a sword or staff, learning how to throw someone, or learning the footwork to a kata. They aren’t really learning any of these things at this point. They are learning to use their bodies properly. Students usually take a year or more to overcome enough of the bad habits they picked up naturally to be able to start learning to hold a weapon properly, or even walk without throwing themselves off-balance with every step.

They’ve learned to use their bodies naturally, and what they’ve learned is all wrong for budo. They grip things with their thumb and index finger, because it feels natural. They sway side-to-side and bounce up-and-down when they walk. These are natural habits. Only once they stop reflexively gripping with their index fingers and throwing their bodies off-balance with each step they take will they truly start to learn to hold a weapon or move through a kata.

Optimal budo comes from the optimal use of the body. To get there you have to start with the fundamentals. What’s more fundamental than breathing? Optimal breathing is a learned skill. Just ask a trained vocalist or flute player. Developing great breathing skills takes time and effort. Classical budo ryuha all have pretty firm ideas about how to develop a great martial artist in their tradition. There are specific techniques and kata that are studied in specific order so that the student develops that unnaturally optimized body and mind that make their budo powerful and adaptable.

The flip side of learning to do things well, is learning to not do things that don’t need to be done. One of the key things in optimizing the budo body and mind is getting rid of everything that is unnecessary. Unnecessary movement, tension, and mental noise all have to go. Unnecessary movements create openings and opportunities that a good opponent will make use of. Unnecessary tension slows you down and makes it harder to move and respond to what is happening. Unnecessary mental noise stops you from realizing what your opponent is doing until it is much too late to do anything about it. There are many reasons the great martial artists throughout Japanese history spent time repeatedly talking about mushin 無心 or “no mind”.

Water and Martial Arts

Below is an excerpt from a post at The Okinawan Empty Hand blog on water as a metaphor in martial arts (and beyond). The full post may be read here.

Mizu no tetsugaku [水の哲学] by CEJames & Alfonz Ingram

Here are some quotes related to the concept of water:

1. Bruce Lee on Adaptability:

“Empty your mind, be formless, shapeless—like water. You put water into a cup, it becomes the cup. You put water into a bottle, it becomes the bottle. You put it into a teapot, it becomes the teapot. Now, water can flow or it can crash. Be water, my friend.”

2. Laozi on Softness and Strength (Dao De Jing, Chapter 78):

“Nothing in the world is as soft and yielding as water. Yet for dissolving the hard and inflexible, nothing can surpass it.”

3. Miyamoto Musashi on Strategy and Fluidity:

“With water as the basis, the spirit becomes like water. Water adopts the shape of its receptacle; it is sometimes a trickle and sometimes a wild sea.” (The Book of Five Rings)

4. Okinawan Karate and Muchimi:

“Like water, muchimi allows fluid yet weighted movement. Heavy, yet light; firm, yet soft. One moment yielding, the next crashing with force.”

5. The Zen Mind and Flow:

“When the mind is still, it reflects like a calm pond. When disturbed, it is like a rushing river—thoughts tumbling endlessly. Mastery is finding peace in both.”

6. Wu De and Water’s Ethics:

“A virtuous fighter flows like water—seeking the low ground, never contesting strength with strength, yet always finding a path.”

7. Seijaku and the Depths of Water:

“Stillness is not the absence of movement but the depth of water before the wave rises.”

8. Shibui and Water’s Aesthetic:

“Like the quiet stream that carves mountains, true refinement in karate is deep, unpretentious, and effortlessly effective.”

Each of these quotes ties into your exploration of martial arts, philosophy, and self-defense, using water as a metaphor for adaptability, softness, power, and depth.

Here are more quotes reflecting the philosophy of water in relation to martial arts, self-defense, and life:

9. Chuang Tzu on Water and the Mind:

“The perfect man employs his mind as a mirror. It grasps nothing; it refuses nothing. It receives but does not keep. Thus, he can overcome all things without harm.”

10. Issai Chozanshi on Martial Arts and Flow:

“Water, though weak, is never broken. It does not resist; it moves around obstacles and yet wears down mountains over time.”

11. Bodhidharma on Stillness and Flow:

“A disturbed mind is like turbulent water—unclear and chaotic. Let it settle, and clarity returns.”

12. On Ma (Interval) and Water’s Flow:

“Water does not force its way; it moves at its own rhythm. The space between attacks is not empty but flowing like the current of a river.”

13. Fudōshin (Immovable Mind) and the Ocean:

“The ocean is unshaken by the wind; its depths remain still though the surface rages. In battle, be as the ocean—calm in the storm.”

14. Chinkuchi and the Compression of Water:

“Like a crashing wave, the true strike comes not from mere motion but from compression, release, and flow.”

15. Gamaku and the Swell of the Tide:

“Power rises from the waist like the swell of the tide—subtle, fluid, and overwhelming when unleashed.”

16. Shugyō and Water’s Persistence:

“A single drop of water seems weak, but given time, it will carve stone. So too does relentless training shape the martial artist.”

17. The Dragon as Water Incarnate:

“The dragon moves like water—twisting, coiling, flowing without resistance. Its power is hidden, yet immeasurable.”

18. Mushin and the Nature of Water:

“Water does not think; it simply moves. Do not be bound by form, nor by thought—just act, as water does.”

19. Zandaka and Water Retained:

“A cup filled to the brim spills with the slightest touch; true balance is found in leaving space, like a reservoir that never overflows.”

20. Improvisation in Self-Defense and Water’s Nature:

“Water never hesitates—it finds a path instantly, whether trickling through cracks or flooding over obstacles. Adapt like water, and you will never be trapped.”

Each of these speaks to a different aspect of martial philosophy—fluidity, adaptability, stillness, power, and persistence—making water one of the most profound metaphors in martial arts and life.

 

 

Knowing vs Understanding in Taijiquan

In the theory of Taijiquan, there are discussed a number of different "energies" or "jins." At Thoughts on Tai Chi there was recently an article discussing specifically two of them: Zhi Jin (Knowing) vs Don Jin (Understanding). 

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

I’m sure you’ve heard of Dong Jin, but you may not be as familiar with the concept of Zhi Jin. Let’s start from the beginning and explore the underlying principles that shape both.

In the world of Tai Chi Chuan, the levels from being an intermediate practitioner towards mastery are represented by the progression, and achievement of, different skills and types of “jin” (勁). Some of the most commonly discussed fundamental skills in Tai Chi are “ting”, “zhan”, “sui” and “nian”:

• Ting Jin (聽勁) – Listening energy, the ability to use sensitivity to understand and use an opponent’s force and intent.
• Zhan Jin (粘勁) – Sticking energy, maintaining contact with the opponent to control them.
• Sui Jin (隨勁) – Following energy, adapting smoothly to the opponent’s changes.
• Nian Jin (黏勁) – Adhering energy, following and sticking with the opponent’s movements.

Through “listening” or “ting” you learn to “stick” or nian, and then you use “nian” to “ting”. It’s a sort of a loop really, where Ting enhances Nian, and Nian deepens Ting.

The difference between Sui – following, and Nian – adhering, is that “Sui” is about following the opponent’s intent and movement, whether through physical contact or at a distance, and is more about adaptation and timing than touch. But “Nian”, on the other hand, requires physical touch, as it involves sticking to the opponent’s force, maintaining continuous contact, and subtly controlling their movements.

The understanding of all of these four skills together leads to, or can be summed up by, what is described by the term “hua” or to “transform”.

• Hua Jin (化勁) – Neutralizing or transforming energy, redirecting an opponent’s force without resistance.

Hua Jin is the ability to neutralize and redirect force effortlessly. It is not just about avoiding or dissipating incoming power but about seamlessly guiding it into a position of disadvantage for the opponent. Without Ting, one cannot perceive the opponent’s intent; without Sui, one cannot harmonize with their movement; without Lian, continuity is lost; and without Nian, the connection is broken. Only when these four are fully integrated does true transformation occur – where resistance disappears, and control becomes effortless.

However, Hua requires the ability to perceive and interpret an opponent’s structure, movement, and energy patterns – an understanding that is not merely the sum of Ting, Lian, Nian, and Sui, but also a distinct skill or cultivated quality in itself. In Tai Chi Chuan, this is known as Dong Jin (懂勁), or “Understanding Energy/Skill.”

• Dong Jin (懂勁) – Understanding energy, the ability to perceive and interpret an opponent’s structure, movement, and energy patterns.

Just like the previous terms, Dong Jin is also a common concept, one of those fundamental terms most Tai Chi people recognize and at least somewhat grasp the meaning of. In terms of in martial arts development in Tai Chi, Dong Jin is a critical stage, as it allows the practitioner to consciously recognize force dynamics and formulate appropriate responses.

However, there is a less common concept in Tai Chi Chuan and not very much written about, that actually represent one higher level of mastery than “Dong” and “Hua” – this is Zhi Jin (知勁) or Knowing Energy/Skill.

Both of these concepts, Dong and Zhi define the ability to perceive, interpret, and manipulate an opponent’s force, but they differ in depth, instinctiveness, and application, representing a different level of skill and refinement.

Defining Zhi Jin (知勁, Knowing Energy/Skill)

While Dong Jin is a critical stage in martial arts development, as it allows the practitioner to consciously recognize force dynamics and formulate appropriate responses, Zhi Jin, or “Knowing Energy”, represents an instinctive, deeply internalized awareness of force interactions.

It is not merely a recognition of force but a subconscious mastery of how force flows and can be manipulated in combat. A practitioner who has attained Zhi Jin does not need to consciously analyze an opponent’s movement— they simply know what is happening and how to respond.

Comparing Dong Jin and Zhi Jin

A person with strong Dong Jin can recognize when an opponent is about to attack, the direction of force, and how best to neutralize it. However, their reactions are still somewhat deliberate rather than purely instinctive.

A person who possesses Zhi Jin can manipulate an opponent’s structure and energy as if they were moving a part of their own body. It is the ultimate expression of “Yi leads, Qi follows, and Jin manifests.”

In essence, Dong Jin is about conscious understanding, while Zhi Jin is about unconscious mastery.

 

 

The Shosochin Kata of Okinawan Goju-Ryu

The late Teruo Chinen Sensei teaches and demonstrates the "Shisochin Kata," from Okinawa Goju-Ryu Karate. 

 

BaGuaZhang History and Development

A short video on the development of BaGuaZhang, and the formation of it's main branches.

 

The Yiquan of Yu Yong Nian

Yu Yong Nian was an Yiquan master who put a gret emphasis on Zhang Zhuang, the standing stake practice.

 

Mototbu-Ryu Karate

Below is a short documentary on Motobu-Ryu Karate.

 

Three Principles of Kendo Training

Below is an excerpt from a post that appeared at Kenshi 24/7. It is a translation of a treatise by a senior kendo teacher on the priciples of kendo training, which may be of interest to all martial artists at large. 

The full post may be read here.

This small piece was taken from the book “Heisei kendo reader” by Sakuma Saburo, published in 1997. Hanshi hachidan, he passed away at the age of 84 four months before the publication of the book.

The Three Principles of Kendo Training

1. Pressure the omote (of the shinai) and strike the ura (of the shinai).
2. Pressure the ura and strike the omote.
3. Strike at the moment the opponent moves (debana waza).

In kendo, the “front” (表 omote) and “back” (裏 ura) are defined based on the opponent’s right kote. The side with the right kote is considered the uraside. It is important to have balance between these three principles. 

Until about the third dan, many practitioners are simply excited about jumping in and landing strikes or winning matches. However, around the fourth or fifth dan, they begin to reflect more deeply and ask, “Sensei, what is seme?” This is a difficult question to answer. I explain it as follows:

“For example, to pressure (seme) men means to express a feeling of attacking it with strong spirit and determination.”

When you aim your kensaki at the opponent’s left eye and pressure their men, they may instinctively raise their hands slightly in defense. In that instant, you can step to the left with your left foot and strike their kote. This is an example of pressuring the omote and striking the ura.

Another example: If you move your kensaki under the opponent’s shinai and pressure the right kote as if attacking it, they will likely shift their shinai to guard their kote. At that moment, you can (returning your shinai back to the omote side) quickly leap forward and strike their men. This demonstrates pressuring the ura and striking the omote.

The third principle, debana,  refers to attacking at the exact moment your opponent begins to move. In The Book of Five Rings (Gorin no Sho), Miyamoto Musashi explains this concept:

• When you see the opponent’s movement with your physical eyes, it is called “ken no me” ( 見の目 seeing).
• When you sense their intention to move before they actually move, it is called “kan no me” (観の目 perceiving).

Anyone can use ken no me, but kan no me is much harder to develop. Only through long years of training does the mind’s eye become sharp enough to anticipate the opponent’s actions. True mastery is achieved when you can strike at the precise moment using kan no me.

Kendo is not something that can be learned through last-minute cramming like a school exam. Some people return to the dojo for the first time in months, just before their grading exam, expecting to pass. This is a serious misunderstanding. 

Kendo requires continuous dedication, both in spirit and technique. The key to mastery lies in persistent training while thinking deeply and with the aim of constant self–improvement in mind.