Short Swords

At Chris Hellman's Ichijoji Blog, there was an interesting article in the use of the short sword (tanto) in Japanese martial arts. An excerpt is below. The full post may be read here.

The katana is, perhaps, the sword most closely associated with the samurai, but it is worth remembering that the short sword was a consistent part of the equipment of the bushi class throughout their history, and the exclusive right to bear two swords became a defining privilege of that class during the Tokugawa period. It was worn in many situations where the longsword would typically not be worn for reasons of practicality or security, yet it typically formed a lesser part of a warrior’s training.

Swords seemed to have been central to training in many schools of bujutsu, although it is generally acknowledged that other weapons were more widely used on the battlefield. Swords had a deep cultural resonance going beyond mere practicality, also having religious and ceremonial uses, and perhaps this was why they were used as a vehicle for technical and theoretical development of basic principles and skills of combat that could be applied to a number of weapons.

 Nevertheless, specific skills for using the short sword were taught, often in conjunction with jujutsu or similar techniques of body control. The short sword was especially effective in situations where space was limited (such as indoors) or where surprise was a key element. Control of distance and line of attack were especially important, and the ease with which a short sword may be wielded with one hand leaves the other free for controlling the opponent.

 

The inherent disadvantage of the short sword when facing longer weapons could also be used to refine certain skills. Toda Seigen, reputedly the teacher of Sasaki Kojiro, Miyamoto Musashi’s famous opponent, was famous for his use of the short sword. Kojiro developed his skills with the extra-long sword from being a junior training partner for Toda as he further refined his short sword skills. (If you're interested, I wrote some more about that here).

Similarly, some two hundred years later, the eccentric swordsman Hirayama Kozo had his own students train in the short sword while facing an opponent with an extra-long sword to develop their spirit.

 

Hirayama wrote:

 

My swordsmanship is for slaying the enemy brutally. You must use this feeling of ferocity to penetrate directly into the enemy’s heart and mind. (Kensetsu – Sword theory)

 

 

Imperfection, Impermanance and the Transient Nature of Existence

At The Budo JourneyMan blog, there was a nice article about a category of  Japanese aesthetics, Wabi Sabi. An excerpt is below. The full post may be read here.

 

Westerners who have an interest in art and the aesthetic seem to have really picked up on this in the last twenty years. Even if that’s not your zone, it’s worth looking at from a cross-cultural perspective.

Definition: ‘Wabi Sabi’, “Japanese philosophy that embraces beauty in imperfection, impermanence, and the transient nature of existence”.

Broken down; ‘Wabi’ is a kind of subdued, austere beauty. While ‘Sabi’ equals the appreciation of ‘rustic patina’.

Put these two together and you have a meditation on objects and phenomena that contain a type of understated, much loved and even over-used utility. A cracked teacup, no material value in itself, but perhaps it is an adored family heirloom and has some sentimentality, even charm. This can include the simplest of objects, clothing or utensils. It might be something used and worn by being passed through many hands. These are objects that have a rough simplicity to them, asymmetrical perhaps, but they are honest and intimate.

Human interaction.

Here is a quote from English writer (and bespoke furniture designer) Andrew Juniper:

"If an object or expression can bring about, within us, a sense of serene melancholy and a spiritual longing, then that object could be said to be wabi-sabi."

Andrew Juniper wrote the definitive book on Wabi-Sabi in English in 2003, ‘Wabi-Sabi: The Japanese Art of Impermanence’.

(Incidentally; I met Andrew Juniper briefly, but sadly we had no time to talk about Wabi-Sabi as he was too busy giving me a short masterclass in how to make the perfect cup of coffee).

Taking time to ponder deeply about the nature of objects, buildings, utensils, we find ourselves perhaps coming to terms with a mixture of wonder and sadness, a resigned reflection on our own transience and vulnerability.

This is a meditation, an interaction with an inanimate object, given purpose and meaning by us.

Why imperfection has value.

To me, imperfection is the antidote to the mechanism of the production line. I think that instinctively we have a mistrust of perfection; we treat the whitewashed wall with suspicion.

Deliberate artful symmetry can be dramatic, but can also lead to blandness and eventually boredom.

If the imperfections and the asymmetry are given space to occur, or the freedom to happen, then the honesty and the rawness comes through.

In a way, the perfection of the factory product had to happen, so that we appreciate the qualities found in its opposite.

 

 

Wu Family Style Taijiquan 2 Man Sparring Form

This is something you don't see often. The Wu Family Sparring Form.

 

 

Keeping it in the Family

At Budo Journeyman, there was an interesting piece about how the family "fortune" (in this context, martial arts expertise, ie founding a martial art) generally tends to degrade over the generations, within th the family. It's interesting to think about, although there are some counter examples: Aikido is headed by the 3rd generation headmaster as is Shorinji Kempo. 

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

A comparison of examples of ‘martial arts’ that were handed down through the generations, and how they survived, or didn’t.

In this part:

· Domenico Angelo – European fencing tradition.

· In part 2: Yang family Tai Chi.

The three-generation rule, as applied to family fortunes.

There is a theory that, in general, wealth in families only lasts for three generations.

The basic model is that the first generation is the entrepreneur, an individual who makes bold and ambitious moves to establish a reputation, connections, unafraid to go out on a limb, and thus accumulates wealth and status. Quite often, uprooting to another part of the world.

The generations that follow could be threatened by several factors:

· Inheritance passed through too many offspring, which dilutes the assets.

· The inability to weather life’s calamities.

· Internal strife, divorce, fallings out, etc.

· Bad business decisions.

· Poor management; inability to bring people onside, or handle external threats.

· Being blindsided and unable to judge the trends and change with the times.

But you can also include a more poisonous factor; changes in values, mixed in with complacency by just taking things for granted. If you like; a feeling of entitlement, that your pedigree means that the world owes you a living.1

If martial arts skills are family assets (alongside other assets) I think it would be interesting match the above criteria to dynasties of martial artists through a small selection of examples.

Case 1: The Angelo School of Fencing – England 18^th and 19^th centuries.

Domenico Angelo (1716 – 1802) was an Italian-born master of fencing who, through some clever and opportune patronage ended up in London in 1750, initially after an affair with a well-known English actress. But he caught the eye of the very highest in London society, including The Duke of Pembroke and the dowager Princess of Wales. Here was the progenitor, the entrepreneurial start of the line.

Just what was it that defined Maestro Angelo’s unique qualities?

· Amazing courage; in first setting up a business in the heart of a new city (in Soho Square), but also the guts to be able to take on challengers in duels, building up a solid reputation.

· Connections; not necessarily through his own countrymen, (his merchant father actually cut him off when he found out that his son was earning his living through the sword) leading to patronage, and therefore financial backing.

· An excellent pedigree as a skilled swordsman. Firstly, through the Italian method of fencing, but then in Paris, studying under the famous Bertrand Teillagory.

There was an urgency among the English aristocracy for the training of their youth in the art of the sword. This was based upon the perceived risks of all these young bucks running around Europe, getting drunk and doing ‘The Grand Tour’, fresh meat to any ambitious thief, highwayman or footpad. In a nutshell; the skills were in demand.

His significant contribution was the publication an elite folio/book published through the backing of over 300 well-connected aristos. This was to become the Angelo family bible for the next generations; which, as we shall see was not necessarily a good thing.

 

Practicing Taijiquan

At Thoughts on Tai Chi, there was a very nice post on how one should approach practicing the taijiquan form. An excerpt is below. The full post may be read here.

I don’t teach much nowadays for various reasons, but years ago, when I was teaching a group, I was always a bit reluctant to correct students’ postures. Sometimes I did, if a student was lazy or unfocused, but I didn’t really try to show them the exact alignment as “this is how the posture should be.”

Many teachers walk around correcting their students as they do their form, or they let them stop in a posture and walk around them. However, none of my teachers had that habit. I do know a few who do it though. Poor students, I would say — because those teachers aren’t the best practitioners themselves.

The thing is, you need to feel from within—through your own body and experience. Tai Chi, as I’ve stated elsewhere on this blog, is about self-awareness and body-awareness. If you try to adjust your postures according to someone else’s standard, or to how you assume the postures should look, you’re already making a fundamental mistake: you’re approaching your art from the outside in.

But then—how do you learn to feel what is correct? This is the crux of the matter. The problem is, it’s easy to fool yourself—to think you’re balanced, sunk, and relaxed. But is it real sinking? Are you truly relaxed enough?

This is where push hands and other partner exercises come in. They help you feel the real standards of relaxation and balance—because a training partner will challenge your alignment, your structure, and your ability to stay relaxed under pressure. You need to be challenged in many ways and receive input from different directions to truly feel what’s right, and why.

And this is where function can help guide your progress. Even when it comes to Tai Chi forms, there are general standards of alignment—such as the angles at which each posture is strongest. But again, you need to learn how to feel these things—through context and through function.

One of my teachers—the one I respected most—summed it up beautifully. He compared Tai Chi practice and practitioners to sculptures and teapots. A sculpture has shape and form that allow it to stand upright without falling—that’s the only function its balance serves. A teapot, on the other hand, must be usable. You should be able to hold it when it’s hot, lift it when full, and pour from it without spilling. Its shape and balance must serve a purpose.

In the same way, your posture in Tai Chi must be functional. It’s not about looking right—it’s about working right.

Enter the Dojo

At BudoJ ourneyMan, there was an interesting post about the difference between a gym and a dojo. An excerpt is below. The full article may be read here.

I don’t write this post lightly; this has been churning around in my head for some time now, a kind of gadfly burrowing into my brain, so please bear with me as I lay out my argument.

How it works with youngsters.

The best place to start is to consider how we attempt to introduce our kids to activities that may enrich their lives and open whole new worlds to them.

Opportunities for youngsters are presented like a buffet laid out before them by well-intentioned parents. The thinking tends to be; throw all these ‘opportunities’ at the wall and see which one sticks. A messy spaghetti smorgasbord of gym classes, hockey clubs, tennis, gymnastics, dance classes, football, etc, etc. Surely little Jenny or Johnny will find the one activity that floats their boat and allows their talents to rise?

It’s what all responsible parents do; the first steps towards the potential for human fulfilment.

For adults?

I don’t think that stops at childhood. Autonomous adults who no longer have their parent’s well-intended regime imposed upon them reach working age often find themselves searching around for that special ‘something’ that ticks all the boxes, frequently without any real idea of what those boxes are.

As an adult, if you decide to ‘take a class’ in martial arts, is it just that? Identical to taking an aerobics or yoga class?

You turn up, you pay your money, the instructor, with customer service at the back of his/her mind, greets you with a smile. Then, you might be flushed with initial excitement at the novelty (for it may well be novelty you are seeking?) and then just fade away and move on to something else.

The sad thing is that consumer culture has certain inevitable sets of rules and expectations; it’s all designed for you to dip in and dip out. Why should martial arts be any different?

Maybe there is more going on – things that don’t align with the consumer mindset?

If you decide to become involved with a traditional Japanese martial art, the system that you might have ‘dipped your toe into’ could easily be a different beast altogether. In this scenario it is possible that other priorities come to the fore that don’t fit easily with the buyer’s market of the aerobics or yoga classes.

To my mind, this begs the questions which are at the crux of where I am coming from; are you a consumer or a devotee? Are you a customer or a custodian? There is a difference.

For consumers, the aerobics/yoga classes are transactional arrangements. The instructor standing in front of you offers a service that you might want to avail yourself of, at least for a while, a bit like taste testing different cheeses at a newly-discovered deli. You are the buyer sampling the wares; the shopkeeper is hoping that you are going to become a dedicated customer.

However, underpinning the traditional martial arts there is the consideration of a timeline that not only reaches back into the past but also towards a theoretical future. Is it perhaps too extreme to describe this as the elephant in the room?

This is where Memes come in… to explain.

Martial arts as ‘Memes’, the Richard Dawkins version (not the coopted word that the Internet seems to have stolen).

Just to explain. In 1976 Richard Dawkins in his book, ‘The Selfish Gene’ coined the word ‘meme’ to mean how a concept, idea or system is spread (gene-like) generationally by imitation or tradition. This can include religion, philosophy, or even skills-based knowledge, of which I would include the older schools of the martial arts.

To get into the details and the structures of the martial arts, the ones that are passed down generationally; you could say that these traditions/memes can be gifted with blessings, or blighted by curses. To explain what those are is at the root of my argument here.

The blessings.

The accumulated practical knowledge acquired across the generations creates a storehouse of wisdom and experience that is hard-won. If these positive attributes originate from the ‘down and dirty’ skills of hardened battlefield veterans then their wisdom is immeasurably valuable to future generations.

Add to that, if they are passed through the hands of truly enlightened and experienced torch-bearers, who can systemise and supercharge these experiences in a way that can be handed down to a dedicated and eager body of students, then what you have is a stream/tradition/ryuha that has genuine value.

It would be remiss of me not to acknowledge that some of these older traditions cannot really be used as ‘the art of war’, particularly the ones involving antiquated weaponry; but, there is a greater depth involved, one that adds immeasurable value beyond mere mechanical practicality. Within the discipline lays a whole catalogue of principles, ethics, philosophies and the vehicle for human fulfilment.

 This is the upside – this is what happens when things are going well.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Great Wave

Over at The Budo Journeyman, there was an article about one of the greatest Japanese artists, Hokusai Katsushika. Below is an excerpt. The full post, with some of Hokusai's greatest works, may be read here.

19^th century European painters have more than their fair share of Bohemians, wild boys (and girls), eccentrics and geniuses; but you don’t tend to think about that with the Japanese. Let me tell you, they are definitely there.

Hokusai was, in his generation, the best of the best. In fact, his sparkling and dramatic artworks have continued to ripple through time; very much like his iconic ‘Great Wave off Kanagawa’ (1831).

Hokusai Katsushika (1760 – 1849) lived a full, if not eccentric, life. The development of his artwork and continued influence moved diverse western artists like; Van Gogh and Monet. But his inspiration and very modern ways of working didn’t happen in a vacuum. It is said that very early on when he was beginning to cut his teeth as an artist he was exposed to French and Dutch copperplate engravings. I am certain that his experimentation with distance and perspective came out of the European tradition.

This is why the ‘Great Wave’ is so famous. Observe the way that mount Fuji viewed through the eye of the wave is diminished and shrunken under the massive movement of the water that appears to engulf it; the panicking boatmen there as a device for further scale references. The subtext is about the comparison of these various entities in size and distance. The earthbound Fuji is humbled by the might of a dramatic moving body of water; the ocean gets its revenge; Nature shakes her skirts.

 Note in ‘Great Wave’ the repeated major and minor spirals; the smaller ones as kinds of ‘claws’ in the water.

 

 

 

The Most Basic of Basics

Over at the Budo Bum blog, there is an excellent post on the most basic of basics, upon which all of our practices are founded. An excerpt is below. The full post may be read here.

Practice started without doing any kata. We didn’t even do kihon waza (basic techniques). I’ve long joked that the only things I really teach are how to breathe and how to walk. We haven’t been doing too much with this in practice lately because right now all of my students have been with me for at least a couple of years, and they’ve been through the breathing and walking stuff a few times. Lately though, I’ve been working on some new ideas.

I had a conversation with a Shinto Muso Ryu teacher last year that is rolling through my head like a snowball down a mountainside in a Bugs Bunny cartoon. We were talking about getting your arms aligned properly. He had some exercises he’d discovered in an interesting little book about improving your health and budo by swinging your arms properly. What he described and showed me aligned nicely with some things I was beginning to understand in my iaido practice about aligning the hands and shoulders. I’ve been playing with this since then.

I started out by trying to put my arms in good alignment. This was difficult, and as soon as I stopped thinking about it, my arms would roll back to where they normally sat. The point of this is not really about the arms though. The arms are just signalers for how well aligned the body’s central structure is. I started making progress when I stopped trying to get my arms to align with my centerline and swing straight, and instead dug back along the muscle chain. The real progress occurred when I started playing with the position of my shoulder blades. As soon as I moved those back and down, my arms and hands fell into alignment.

I’ve spent a lot of time as a jodo and iaido teacher trying to fix my students hand and arm positions. It’s been frustrating because I haven’t had much success in fixing things this way. I’d show people where their hands and arms should be, and they’d mimic the position for a while, but the next practice I’d be correcting the same thing. Then I started looking at the basics of movements.

When we move our hands, the movement isn’t based in our hands. We usually think of the arms moving the hands around. What I have realized (and forgive me taking so long to figure this out) is that all movement has a base, a foundation, and if that foundation is off, all movements originating there will be off. The base from which the arms move is the upper back; the spine, the scapulas, and the muscles connecting them. When I looked at my students, I realized that even when they put their arms in the right place, they weren’t getting them in place the right way. They were moving their arms around below their shoulders without changing the base that supports their arms. Those bases were all over the place, which explained why students couldn’t keep their arms in the right places without conscious effort.

I stopped trying to correct students' hand positions, and started working on changing the way they hold their upper backs. As soon as they focused on the position of their shoulder blades relative to their spine, their hands and arms magically corrected themselves. I noticed that if their backs were correct, they couldn’t hold their arms wrong. Once they fixed the movement's base, incorrect movement became difficult, and the correct movement became easy.

Whenyou follow the muscle chains far enough, you end up in the ball of the foot. I’ve understood that proper stance is important, but I’m just beginning to understand that it is almost everything. All the muscle chains, all the body’s structures, originate with the feet. Nothing can be correct if the feet aren’t right. So now I’m working on kihon for how to stand, and I’m thinking I haven’t done nearly enough work with my students on just standing, much less walking. I’m rebuilding my own structure from the ball of my foot up, and all sorts of interesting things are happening.

The kihon for jodo and iai are seemingly simple: swinging the sword, swinging the jo, blocking, receiving attacks, redirecting the opponent’s weapon. These are taught in the kihon waza. There are even more basic elements though, such as: How do you hold the sword? How do you hold the jo? How do you raise your arms? How do you breathe? How do you stand? These are just assumed in practice.

On this day we didn’t assume them. Practicing kihon cuts and strikes assumes that you are standing correctly, breathing correctly, and walking correctly. I’ve discovered it helps to break out these most fundamental of fundamentals and work on them without all the confusing and distracting activity that’s going on when doing kihon waza. Just standing in a proper, efficient, powerful structure takes a lot of mental focus and effort at first. We have all sorts of bad habits when it comes to posture, structure, and breathing. All of these have to be fixed before we can advance to the subtle and challenging art of holding the sword and the jo properly.

 

 

Regarding Aikido

 

You may find this video interesting.