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.

 

 

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.