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.

 

 

Budo Book Review

At The Budo Bum Blog, Patrick Boylan wrote a book review for Unravelling The Cords: The Instructions of a Master in the Tradition of Taisha-ryu. This appears to be an important book about Budo thought. An excerpt is below. The full review may be read here.

Unraveling The Cords: The Instructions of a Master in the Tradition of Taisha-ryu 
Georgi Krastev & Alex Allera (authors), Yamamoto Takahiro (contributor)

476 pages

Hardcover and softbound

2023

Available through Amazon and the Purple Cloud Institute

I have finished reading the most insightful book I have ever encountered on budo thought and philosophy. “Unravelling the Cords: The Instructions of a Master in theTradition of Taisha-ryū” by Georgi Krastev & Alex Allera, with significant assistance from Yamamoto Takahiro (Contributor). Krastev and Allera are longtime students of Taisha Ryu, and Yamamoto is a shihan of Taisha Ryu. They know the ryuha, and at least as important in this case, they know the literary and cultural background of the author they are translating.

What they are translating is Nakano Shumei’s 17th century treatise, “Taisha Ryu Kaichu.” Taisha Ryu is a sister art to the more well-known Yagyu Shinkage Ryu. Like Yagyu Shinkage Ryu, Taisha Ryu was founded by a menkyo kaiden student of Shinkage Ryu founder Kamiizumi Ise-no Kami Nobutsuna, in this case, Marume Kurando. Nakano Shumei was a late 17th century master of Taisha Ryu, and he wrote the Kaichu to help later generations better understand and practice the art.

The translation of Taisha Kaichu and other writings by Nakano Shumei is excellent, and makes up about a quarter of the Unraveling the Chords. A history of Taisha Ryu and Nakano Shumei, along with the discussion of the Buddhist, Daoist, and Confucian thought that flows through Nakano’s writing takes up about half of the book, and reference materials, including the original Japanese for all of Nakano’s writings, makes up the last quarter of the book.

Until this volume was published in 2023, Taisha Ryu Kaichu was unknown outside of a few scholars of Taisha Ryu. Like the Heiho Kadensho by Yagyu Munenori of Yagyu Shinkage Ryu, it is a treasure of information and budo wisdom. The authors of Unraveling the Chords have done a masterful job of not only translating Taisha Ru Kaichu, but also locating it in the history of Chinese and Japanese philosophical thought. Through extensive footnoting, the authors have made clear just how much an education in these philosophical concepts is needed to truly understand their subject. They point out where seemingly mundane phrases are references to important philosophical concepts that transform the meaning of what is being read.

Knowing neither ‘Enemy’ no ‘I’

Serene is made the twilight sky

By wind rustling the pines.

                                        Page 178

This is the last of fifty teaching poems by Nakano Shumei contained in the Kaichu. It seems straightforward, yet the authors of Unraveling the Chords took half a page just to list all of the references contained in this brief poem. Without the copious footnotes, the meaning of the Kaichu and all of the other things translated would be completely missed by readers.

In addition to the translation, the authors provide more than 200 pages of history, as well as explanations of the Buddhist, Daoist, and Confucian ideas and concepts that are necessary to understand Nakano Shumei’s writings. Alone, this necessary background should be a requirement for anyone who is serious about understanding the mental and philosophical aspects of the Japanese martial arts. As a companion to the widely known and generally misunderstood Book of Five Rings by Miyamoto Musashi, Heiho Kadensho by Yagyu Munenori, or any of the writings of the zen master Takuan Soho, this book is an invaluable resource.

 

 

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.

 

Two Faces of Japanese Budo

At the excellent Budo Bum blog, there was an article that described the differences between Seitai and Koryu approaches to martial arts instruction. Below is an excerpt. The full post may be read here.

A friend asked me to contrast seitei systems and koryu systems in Japanese budo, and their relative benefits and drawbacks. “Seitei” are standardized systems, generally practiced by large organizations that intend to create a common standard for rank testing and competitions. “Koryu” are classical systems, generally defined as having been founded prior to the end of the Tokugawa Shogunate in 1868. Seitei are used by organizations that can be global in reach, such as the International Judo Federation, the International Kendo Federation and the International Naginata Federation. Koryu are generally small groups ranging from fewer than 10 people, to a few hundred or a thousand.

The advantages of standardized training systems are straightforward. Everyone knows what is expected. The syllabus and the path to promotion are clearly defined. Since it is standardized, you know that anywhere you go in the organization, people will be doing the same thing in the same way, and that your experience and rank will be respected. Because the decisions about rank are made by the organization, you should be able to clearly see and define differences between ranks. If you run into a personality issue in one dojo, it is not difficult to move to another dojo training the same curriculum. The biggest benefit is that there are many people pushing against each other to improve, so there is a great deal of experimentation in how to teach things, and successful techniques are shared widely, making the teaching ever more effective. A similar benefit for the art is that people are naturally competitive, comparing themselves to others in the organization and finding more ways that they can improve. Actual competition deserves its own essay.

Koryu is the antithesis of a standardized practice. There have been thousands of koryu throughout history, and there may be a couple of hundred that remain today. They each have their own prescribed kata, and the variety is amazing. Not just unarmed combat, sword arts and naginata (similar to a glaive), but somewhere in the syllabus of one of these koryu you’re likely to find methods for fighting with nearly anything that was recorded as being a weapon in Japanese history. Koryu are personal rather than organizational. Koryu’s strength is actually this lack of standardization. The kata are there, but they are not carved in stone, or even really printed on paper. Koryu grow and evolve as their practitioners explore new ideas and pathways. Different groups doing koryu of the same origin are free to go in different directions. This flexibility and adaptability mean that healthy koryu never stop evolving. It is much easier for a koryu to modify or add to its syllabus than it is for a large organization where everything is codified and overseen by committees that have to come to agreement about how things will be done. Koryu can adapt quickly to changes in the world around them.

Large, standardized, organizations are large, standardized, organizations. This means that they come with all the baggage of any large bureaucracy. There are internal politics and petty fights to satisfy petty egos. They tend to be rigid and have difficulty with change, even when the path they’re on is clearly heading off a cliff. All that standardization that makes it possible for people to freely train with each other also tends to drive things down narrower and narrower roads. The effort to match the ideal of the standardized kata often means that anything that strays from that limited model is deemed “wrong”. This makes cross-training difficult because you will be criticized for anything that bleeds through from other systems, styles, or schools into the standardized set. I find this a particular issue because I sincerely believe that martial arts whose practitioners don’t cross-train are doomed to fade and die in weakness and irrelevancy. Cross training in martial arts isn’t optional. It’s necessary.

 

The Passing of Wing Chun Master Kernspecht

Master Kernspecht was a leading figure in Wing Chun in Europe. He had a large organization and a vast number of students.

Frequent contributor Jonathan Bluestein as a close friend of Master Kernspecht and gave a eulogy at his funeral, which is below.

A guest post by Mr Bluestein on the Wing Chun of Master Kernspecht may be found here.

 

 

Tenshin Shoden Katori Shinto Ryu

Below is a documentary about Sugino Yukihiro, the current head teacher of the Tenshin Shoden Katori Shinto Ryu.

 

Classical Jujutsu in Modern Japan

 

A short documentary of Yagyu Shingan Ryu jujutsu as practiced in Japan today.

 

Why do we Wear Keikogi?

Over at Budo Journeyman, there was an interesting post about the development and spread of the keikogi, or "gi" for use in training in many Japanese martial arts. An excerpt is below. The full post may be read here.

... The design of Japanese garments was not primitive or ‘quaint’, and so it is with the keikogi; which ironically was a compromise between western fashion and Japanese practicality.

The man responsible – Judo’s Kano Jigoro.

Some time between 1882 and 1889 Kano made a design decision to standardise a practical training uniform for judoka. This was based on three main reasons:

1 Universality, regardless of cost.

Kendo already had training gear; students and schoolkids, who wanted to train, were having to access the armour, hakama, shinai etc, and lug it around, it all came at a price. The Keikogi for judo was deliberately light enough (as was feasible) to just bundle up and launder as needed.

However, there was a wider influence that came from the western ideas of fashion and clothing that were entering Japan at the time.

The predominant white colour was not symbolic, it was just the natural colour of the cotton (and perhaps a useful motivator to keep it clean?)

The uniform made everyone the same; it was supposed to eliminate any hint of status. Over time, master Kano himself wore the same keikogi as even his lowest students.

2 Reputation and forging a brand identity.

This was all part of modernisation. Kano was a progressive and a universalist, he understood how the rest of the world was operating in the fields of sports and physical culture. In the west, teams had identifying kit, standard in colour and design; it made a statement about who they are and what they meant. It still goes on today.

Walk into any sports centre and you can usually see how people are dressed tells you what they are there for. (All those white uniforms; must be some form of karate?)

3 Safety and technical convenience.

There were all manner of design considerations that meant the judo keikogi was going to support the intentions of the practice of the art/sport and make life easier for the practitioner. To explain this in detail it’s worth taking some parts of the uniform to pieces and look at their component parts.

The jacket.

Historically, this was based upon a long-existing outer garment worn as part of standard dress for anyone from farmers to Japanese firefighters; this was the Hanten/Uwagi.

Kendo guys had already developed a robust cotton version, one held together tidily with ties. These ties would just not work in judo, as the rough and tumble would just tear them off; but karate people kept them, and just changed the position to the side vents (and still they get ripped off).

In judo, the collar and lapel were designed as one continuous piece. This part of the jacket became crucial and enhanced performance and intention (grips on collar and lapel). These lapels were deliberately thick and multi-stitched.

There are surviving examples of jackets belonging to Kano (kept in a museum) and one of his top students, Saigo Shiro, these have amazingly robust lapels, almost like a rope. ...

...

Why did karate go in the same direction?

It’s obviously really; judo as being at the vanguard of progressive cultural thinking was the model for others to follow. If karate wanted to be accepted in the Japanese constellation of institutional Budo it needed to adopt the image of modernisation to be able to present itself to the outside world; and it worked.

Early pictures of Okinawan karate showed them basically training in their pants; rather like Chinese Gung Fu stylists from the earlier era were just in their street clothes (monks were different). The underwear-clad Okinawans needed to get with the picture and modernise if they were to be taken seriously.

The karate keikogi was allowed to be of lighter cotton, not needing to suffer the push, pull and tug of judo. And then came the sash, the obi, the belt.

 

 

Chinese Astrology

Our frequent guest poster, Jonathan Bluestein has made a free ebook on Chinese astrology available. below is an excerpt. The book may be accessed (for I don't know how long) here.

My name is Jonathan Bluestein. I am an Israeli Jew, and an interdisciplinary scholar. My main areas of expertise are in the fields of Traditional Martial Arts, Traditional Chinese Medicine and Chinese Philosophy. I am also versed in various other areas of study, such as Middle Eastern and World History, Jungian Personality Psychology and Law. The exciting and fascinating subject of Chinese Astrology, interfaces quite well with my other areas of study. Thus, in the year 2024, I embarked on a mission to learn more about it, via meticulous research. As I have often done with my prior learning ventures, I have found that writing about a thing makes for a splendid way to become intimately familiar with it. This book before you here, presents with the fruits of those efforts. The tome which is in your possession, is a work-in-progress. I have intentionally and happily made it available for anyone to copy, share and distribute freely, as long as changes are not made. Newer versions of this work, shall be released periodically. Over time, I hope to include in it, dedicated chapters for a total of 60 years of astrological analysis and interpretation. Why 60 years, you might ask? That question shall be answered clearly and succinctly, in the next chapter. This book is neither an experiment in fortune-telling, nor an instrument for gaining material or spiritual advantages. It is a deep and captivating exploration of how Chinese Astrology can be used as a practical medium for the betterment of people’s everyday lives.Iwould like to thank fellow scholar and Chinese Astrology expert, Gregory David Done, for his fine work in this field. I have often been inspired by his writings and insights, and this is reflected in the text before you here.

Vintage Taijiquan Video from 1969

From 1969, recorded in the US.

 

Classical Japanese Martial Arts and the Concept of the Peaceful Warrior

Over at Ellis Amdur's excellent blog, Kogen Budo, there is an excellent guest post. It is an essay by Dave Lowry on the concept of the "peaceful warrior" and classical Japanese martial arts. 

Anything written by either of these authors is worth reading.

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

The short treatise, translated into English, was on the nature of budō. It was written by a very senior exponent of classical koryu. I knew him. He was among the most erudite—and physically talented—budōka I’ve ever encountered. I have paid attention to every word he’s said and written. He made the point in the essay, one that was an overview of some of his opinions and beliefs, that in the end the ultimate goal of all traditional budō was to “establish peace.”

The notion is hardly unique, of course. We read it, we hear in the dōjō similar sentiments all the time. Curious about it though, I found the same essay online in the original Japanese. The same line in Japanese used the word junjo (順序) for what was translated as “peace.” Which is not at all the same thing. Junjo means “to put things in order.” And that, to paraphrase Robert Frost, makes all the difference.

The concept of peace is perhaps one of the more ubiquitous we encounter in discussing traditional Japanese arts. The etymologically inclined have broken down the kanji for “bu” (武) into two radicals that demonstrate how it actually means “to stop a spear,” implying that peace is indeed the righteous, lofty, and true goal of these cultural enterprises. Budō, the “Way of Martial Art,” we are reliably informed by dozens of writers on the subject, is really the Way of Peace. Martial arts writing and advertising is loaded, of course, with all manner of references to the ideal “peaceful warrior.” We are reminded again and again that the “true warrior” never has to draw his sword and that the greatest actualization of budō is in generating a kind of halcyon social order where conflict never arises or is addressed in a deeply humanitarian way.

Nor is budō alone among Japan’s pre-modern arts in this emphasis. The 45^th headmaster of the Ikenobo school of flower arranging, Sen’ei Ikenobo, made a presentation a few years ago at the United Nations, a demonstration entitled “Peace Through Floral Expression.”

The previous headmaster of the Urasenke school of tea adopted the expression “peacefulness in a bowl of tea” as both a kind of personal motto and a statement of commission for his students worldwide. Of the four cardinal virtues of chadō, the first in fact, is wa, which is sometimes translated as “harmony,” but also as “peace.”

It is worthwhile in contemplating this phenomenon to consider a study done some years ago, an in-depth look at the motivations of chajin—practitioners of the tea ceremony. Both Western and Japanese students were interviewed. Both groups enthusiastically emphasized the idea of peacefulness and harmony as a primary reason they were involved and absorbed in the art.

Later, the researcher returned and dug a bit deeper. Exactly what, he wanted to know, do you mean by “peace?” Here, there was a marked contrast. Western students overwhelming described the peacefulness of the tea ceremony as the mental state they achieved within themselves. They felt more centred and calm, more able to deal with life’s stresses from a balanced connexion within, more apt to live with a placid sense of self. The process of chadō was, in part at least, a ritual of meditation for them, deeply personal and self-actualized. The Japanese students, however, explained that by “peace” they were referring to establishing and maintaining a sense of order within the group. They did not perceive it as a self-centred idea but rather as the foundation of a mutually beneficial matrix of others.

Same word, two largely different meanings. There should be a clue here for the serious practitioner of any traditional Japanese art. The reality is that “peace” does not readily translate as a concept nor are the implications of the word universal. This is particularly true in the case of Japanese culture.

 

 

Less Discipline

As martial artists, we arrange our lives around discipline. 

The Art of Manliness blog as some thoughts on this. An excerpt is below. The full post may be read here.

When it comes to keeping your New Year’s resolutions, you probably think you know the secret to success.

Whether you’ve resolved to lose weight, eat better, use your time more effectively, or even to amor fati, you’ve simply got to get more disciplined.

Right?

Certainly, discipline plays a crucial role in making any mindset or behavioral change. We’ve said as much ourselves.

But the exact nature of this need for discipline is frequently misunderstood.

When most of us think of changing our lives, we think we need to become a more disciplined person. To increase our level of discipline permanently, indefinitely.

The problems with this idea, however, are two-fold, and partly account for why so few people are able to keep their resolutions longer than a few weeks.

First, it’s incredibly difficult to permanently increase your level of discipline, which is a disposition that seems to be semi-fixed and innate. Just as our weight has a default “set point” that it wants to return to despite effort to put on or take off pounds, our discipline seems to have a set point which it wants to snap back to as well. That doesn’t mean discipline can’t be developed and enhanced in strength, it’s just an extremely arduous task in which change is measured incrementally rather than by large leaps and bounds.

Second, living a more disciplined life, forever, is an incredibly daunting prospect — both practically and psychologically.

Trying to permanently live at a higher level of discipline is like running a long-distance race of indeterminate length. When your legs ache and you feel like you can’t go on, you call out to those on the sidelines, “How much further to the finish?” To which they reply, “We don’t know. A long ways though. Just keep going.” The idea of continuing on at the same pace seems impossible, and with no end in sight, all your motivation drains away and you throw in the towel.

Morihiro Saito Demonstrating Irimi Nage

Morihiro Saito was a senior Aikido teacher who ran the Iwama branch of Aikido.

Below, he is demonstrating Irimi Nage. Enjoy.

The Aikido of Gaku Homma

Gaku Homma, 9th Dan, is the last of Aikido's founder, Morihei Ueshiba's uchi deshi. He resides and teaches in Denver Colorado.

Why Didn't Samurai Use Shields?

 

Steven Seagal Fight Scenes

Say what you want about Steven Seagal. His aikido is authentic and he is as smooth as glass. Below is a compilation of some 20 fight scenes from his movies. Enjoy.

 

Cutting Incorrectly

I stumbled onto the Shugyo blog, where the author is tracking his progress in iaido and jodo. I happened to read an old post that I found quite interesting, about cutting incorrectly. There are several short videos that you'll have to follow the link to watch. The full post may be read here.

So I am now approaching the one-year boundary to taking my 7th dan grading in Iaido and achieving Level 10 Paladin status (with a +8 vorpal blade to boot). Naturally this means I now have to focus on the important things in life to prepare:

• Watching more Youtube
• Starting to write more blogs
• Procrastinating about finishing them
• Doing the washing up

 So in this theme of avoiding doing any training at all costs, I thought I would spend some time in the dojo filming my students and commenting about how they are "still doing it wrong, you never listen, why am I even here if you don't listen, I told you this last week etc, etc, etc" so I ensure that they feel that they are properly valued.
I decided to turn my focus on Kesagiri, a form that somehow gets little attention compared to other Seiteigata so by my reckoning probably means that we (I mean me) are missing out some essential bits.
Let's start at the beginning with the translation of the ZNKR instruction on the most important part in this path to spiritual perfection - hacking your opponent in two...

1. While facing the front, begin walking with the right foot; when the left foot is in front quickly place both hands on the sword. Rotate the saya left and down while drawing the sword; at the same time that the right foot moves forwards, with a right-handed grip cut the enemy in front from their right wakibara in a reverse kesa cut. Note - when the sword has cut up, the sword should be rotated when the right fist is above the right shoulder.
2. With the feet in the same position, with the left hand bring the saya back to it's original position, release the koiguchi and grip the tsuka; without stopping the sword from the rising cut, cut the enemy from the shoulder joint down through the kesa. Note - at the end of the cut, the alignment of the left fist and the kissaki should be the same as Kata No. 3 Note on Point 2.*

* This refers to the kissaki being slightly below horizontal and slightly to the left with the left hand in front of the navel

I'm going to stop there because I don't want to get into how to make hasso kamae etc.

In the chakuganten (critical points for examination and judging) the significant one of the two is asking whether the rotation of the sword is made above the shoulder or not.

So these are the bits which are "decided"; we also receive various bits of advice and instruction from our Japanese patron teachers over many years including:

• The two cuts should be joined into one
• The initial draw should make a pressure to the enemy's face
• The distance to the enemy for both cuts is the same

I think these are generally inarguable as they have been instructed by a very wide range of teachers, both from official delegations to private invitations.

Imperfect Practice

It is said that practice makes perfect. That has been updated to perfect practice makes perfect. 

But we are imperfect people. There was an article on Thoughts on Tai Chi regarding how we imperfect people can progress through our imperfect practice. An excerpt is below. The full post may be read here.

So, what about Tai Chi? What is the value of imperfection, and how can you apply these ideas? First of all, some traditional Tai Chi teachers argue that striving for perfection while practicing Tai Chi creates more obstacles than it does improvements. I agree with this, especially when it comes to trying to perfect every detail.

Focusing too much on the “perfection” of the final posture in each movement, trying to replicate your teacher’s exact appearance, or obsessing over how things should look points to a shallow mindset and indicates that the person is focusing on the wrong things.

Instead, your focus should be internal. You should aim to feel and become aware of your movements and internal state. Your mind-body connection is what truly matters for developing internal awareness. You will be able to sense where your movements have “gaps” and “weaknesses,” but what you feel won’t always directly impact the visual appearance of the form. Developing smoothness and balance in the movements certainly will, but again, these real qualities are brought forward by focusing on the internal state and maintaining awareness in each moment – not by external corrections of the form.

Another aspect of focusing too much on imperfection is that it can make your Tai Chi feel “double weighted” or “double heavy.” In Tai Chi Chuan, it is crucial to separate Yin and Yang. But what does this mean in practical terms? It means that one side of the body leads, while the other follows. One side is “weak” or empty, while the other is “strong” or full.

This separation should also influence your focus and awareness of movement and posture. If you try to balance everything equally or maintain the same focus on both sides, you will block yourself. Your movements will become forced, and you will prevent yourself from moving smoothly and freely.

In fact, we could say that a certain imperfection in the balance between the two sides of the body creates smoothness and freedom in movement. Because of this aspect of practice, it becomes easier to let your body make decisions by itself and move more naturally, as it wants. This is also what the masters refer to when they speak of developing “natural movements”—something impossible if you try to force yourself and your movements.

The Five Striking Energies of Taijiquan

Over at Thoughts on Tai Chi, there as an interesting article about the five different striking energies used in Taijiquan.An excerpt is below. The full post may be read here.

This article explores five distinct types of Jin (trained force) used in Tai Chi Chuan’s striking methods. While Tai Chi Chuan includes the concept of the “five fists,” referring to the five punching techniques in the traditional Yang-style long form, the actual repertoire of striking methods within the art is far more extensive. Here, however, we will not focus on these “five fists” but rather on five unique qualities or flavors of Jin, which operate independently of specific striking techniques.

Toward the end of the article, I will delve deeper into the nature of Jin, its underlying principles, and share insights into my personal approach to developing and applying it.

An introduction to Jin in striking

In Tai Chi, the term jin is commonly used and often translated as “energy.” However, in my opinion, “refined strength” is a more accurate and appropriate translation. When discussing attacking power, the term fajin is frequently used. This is a general term encompassing various types of power based on the principle of storing and releasing energy. Most often, fajin refers either to a quick, explosive release of power or a whole-body shaking movement, which can produce a notably powerful and impactful expression.

In general, when discussing striking in Tai Chi, the focus is more on differentiating various types of “refined strength” (jin) rather than specific punching or striking techniques. These different qualities of jin can be applied across a wide range of striking methods, using different hand shapes, fist forms, or even the elbow or shoulder. This versatility allows practitioners to adapt the same refined strength to diverse techniques and applications.

However, the terminology for different types of striking jin – “energy” or refined strength – in Tai Chi Chuan varies greatly across styles, lineages, and individual teachers. There is no universal standard. Some teachers emphasize only the general term fajin, while others use a wide range of terms to describe distinct qualities of power. These qualities reflect differences in mechanics, body structure, and movement organization, highlighting the depth and variety within Tai Chi’s approach to striking.

Through my study, reading, and practical experience, I have concluded that there are five basic types of jin used for striking power in Tai Chi Chuan. To clarify, although the different names of each jin is explained by various teachers and authors, the concept of “five jins” is not something I have encountered in any specific text or tradition, nor do I know if others use the same categorization. This is simply my own way of summarizing the most common terms that various teachers from different styles use to describe their striking methods.

The five types of jin for striking

After studying a wide range of texts, both historical and contemporary, I have identified the five most commonly mentioned types of jin as described by various masters and teachers. These five terms encapsulate the most essential types of power developed in Taijiquan. The five types of jin are:

• Toujin, 透劲 – Penetrating Jin: refers to a force that is focused and directed inward, passing through the opponent’s external defenses, and transmitted deeply into the opponent’s body, to target the core or internal structure of the opponent.
• Danjin, 弹劲 – Elastic Jin / Spring Jin: refers to a jin generated by compressing and releasing energy in a controlled manner. It is a springy, rebound-like energy that resembles a stretched rubber band snapping back into place. Or maybe rather pressing a spring together and releasing it.
• Doujin, 抖劲 – Shaking Jin: refers to a sudden, whip-like force generated through a whole-body wave or vibration. The force starts from the ground (rooted in the feet), travels up through the legs and waist, and is amplified by the spine, eventually reaching the point of contact.
• Zhenjin, 震劲 – Vibrating Jin: involves delivering a rapid, oscillating energy that shakes or vibrates, sending shockwaves into the opponent’s structure.
• Hanjin 寒劲 – Cold jin/Freezing Jin: refers to a sharp, sudden, and unexpected force that feels chilling, both physically and psychologically, to the opponent. Although a physical attack, it can also disrupt the internal balance or psyche.