Taijiquan Applications

 

A Life in BaijiQuan

 

Aikido and Competition

With the exception of Tomiki Aikido, competition is largely absent from the practice of Aikido. what is that? 

At Aikido Sangenkai, there is a fascinating article about this and this history of aikido. An excerpt is below. The full post may be read here.

Kenji Tomiki, Morihei Ueshiba’s first 8th Dan in Aikido, often referred to the famous famous rising dragon story when discussing competitive practice:

Randori practice, sparring practice, is something that is done to give life to, and demonstrate the real power of, those techniques that were first learned by the student through kata. That is to say, randori provides the means to complete a painted dragon by filling in the eyes.

The reference here, if you’re unfamiliar with the story, is to the story of the famous Chinese artist Zhang Sengyou, who painted four dragons on the walls of Anle Temple in what is now Nanjing around the year 500.

He painted the dragons completely except for the eyes, believing that the paintings were so realistic that if he drew the eyes, they would come alive and fly away.

Responding to people’s disbelief at this assertion, Zhang then painted the eyes of two of the dragons, and they immediately flew away to heaven riding on clouds and thunder. This became the famous proverb, “to paint a dragon and dot in the eyes” – 画竜点睛 (“Garyou Tensei”, in Japanese).

Of course, this represents one of Kenji Tomiki’s motivations in creating a competitive form in Aikido – to bring life to techniques trained in the classical Kata format (which he did not abandon) by applying them in under live resistance.

The second of Kenji Tomiki’s motivations was that he believed that competition could be a unifying force in the Aikido community, providing a standardized technical framework under which all Aikido students could meet and train, even if they normally employed different training methodologies at home, a commonly agreed upon neutral ground upon which Aikido students from many different traditions would be able to meet and train together.

He was not alone in conceiving of a useful place for some form of competition in the training pedagogy.

Minoru Mochizuki, for example, whom Morihei Ueshiba asked twice, one before and once after the war, to take over his art, instituted sparring and competition in Yoseikan Aikido.

In another example, Koichi Tohei, Morihei Ueshiba’s only 10th Dan to be promoted through official Aikikai channels, created a form of competition more like “figure skating” with annual Taigi Competitions.

It’s worth noting that this type of competition is also frowned upon by the Aikikai, and has been the cause of some controversy in the past:

The IAF holds a general congress every four years and the official reason for holding it in Japan is to allow the instructors residing overseas to visit Japan and recharge their cultural batteries, so to speak. An exception was made in 1992, however, when the Congress was held in Taipei. I was IAF General Secretary and it was my responsibility to organize this vast meeting with Paul C N Lee, who was President of the Republic of China Aikido Association (ROCAA). At IAF Congresses it is customary to have aikido training seminars and to hold a demonstration in which representatives from all the member nations participate. The arrangements for the aikido seminars and the demonstration were the responsibility of the host country, in this case the ROCAA. During one meeting at the Hombu, attended by Mr Lee, Fujita Sensei and myself, Kisshomaru Doshu had appeared and urged us all to exercise great caution, but to me his warning was about as obscure as Dumbledore’s warnings to Harry Potter. Fujita Sensei was a close friend of Mr Lee and fully understood the very difficult conditions under which the ROCAA was operating, but I had no idea of these conditions and was unprepared for the explosion that was about to occur.

After the arrangements for the Congress had been publicized, certain Japanese overseas instructors sent fax messages to the Aikikai requesting the dismissal of two officials, on the grounds that they were responsible for organizing competitions in aikido, at a congress that was about to take place. One official was Fujita Sensei, who was the Hombu Dojo Secretary; the other was myself, the IAF Secretary. These fax messages were received by Fujita Sensei in the Hombu office, who promptly sent copies on to me.

The Congress took place and the atmosphere can best be described as taut. The wa, so important at international aikido meetings was certainly there, but underlying this was a tension that sometimes appeared at meetings as straight conflict. I was in a very difficult position, however, for I had discovered independently that the condition imposed by the local Olympic committee in Taiwan for the operation of aikido by the ROCAA was that they had to hold aikido demonstrations that could be seen to outsiders as competitions, with judges holding up scorecards after each demonstration. The Aikikai had known about this condition for several years, but had remained silent and it was only now, with an impending demonstration that would be attended by officials of the local Olympic committee, that it had become an issue. I happened to have lunch with Doshu one day and warned him that I had no intention of resigning and that I would have to explain to the entire Congress that the Aikikai had known all along about ‘competition’ aikido in Taiwan and had done nothing about it. This lack of action would certainly be construed as approval and would cause a conflict that might have the same consequiences as Tohei Sensei’s departure from the Aikikai. Doshu pursed his lips and answered that he did not want any explosion at the Congress (the problem of wa arising again), but he added that ‘Fujita does not understand international matters.’

Both Fujita Sensei and the present Doshu, who was Hombu Dojo-cho at the time, gave up their positions in the Hombu to ‘take responsibility.’ I had also been pressed to do this by the instructors who desired my dismissal, but I refused: I was not a Japanese and did not intend to be treated like one in this instance.

“It Had To Be Felt #50: Masatake Fujita: When is a Hombu Deshi Not a Deshi? When He’s the Secretary“, by Peter Goldsbury

Be that as it may, Kisshomaru Ueshiba made the choice after the war to strictly prohibit any form of competitive practice within the Aikikai (eventually, but that will become clear later on).

Note that I say Kisshomaru Ueshiba, and not Morihei Ueshiba.

It is quite common to hear assertions that any form of competition was prohibited as a kind of “heresy” by the Founder himself, Morihei Ueshiba, and that the “heretic” (namely, Kenji Tomiki) was cast into the outer darkness, but that’s not really the entire story.

Ueshiba did not, apparently, see himself as betraying Deguchi by striking out on his own path (nor did Deguchi, from all statements we have), nor was Ueshiba, apparently, overly concerned with his students who went theirs. Shioda Gozo described visiting Ueshiba four days before his death. Ueshiba awoke and said, “It’s you, thanks for coming. I’m riding on a winged horse around the heavens. I can see the earth. Shioda, what is [Kenji] Tomiki doing now? I’m watching.” Of all the people to ask for on his deathbed! Many, including Ueshiba Kisshomaru, considered Tomiki to be the ultimate apostate— aikidō’s first 8th dan, a modern, practical, and educated man, who tried to meld aikidō and jūdō, and even ‘worse,’ established a competitive form of aikidō. In many people’s fantasy, Tomiki would be the last person that Ueshiba would want to see. But as far as Ueshiba was concerned, Tomiki, as much as anyone he taught, lived out his mission in this world—and that is all he was required to do. Tomiki’s students, too, despite their separation from Kisshomaru’s organization, were still practicing aikidō, still contributing their energy to Ueshiba. All, therefore, was well.

“Hidden in Plain Sight: Esoteric Power Training Within Japanese Martial Traditions; Tracing the Roots of Ueshiba Morihei’s Power“, by Ellis Amdur

Just as discussed above by Ellis Amdur, Morihei Ueshiba was rarely concerned with the direction that his students chose to go in their training, leaving them free to make their own choices.

In fact, he specifically refrained from establishing the kind of authoritative structure that would have supported that type of regulation over his students, stating that “there is no Soke in Budo”.

Morihei Ueshiba himself established no clear succession for his passing, once again leaving things to his students to figure out on their own.

After Morihei Ueshiba’s passing Kisshomaru’s authority and title were the result of negotiations among the remaining parties, which would lead to some difficulties – such as Koichi Tohei’s “declaration of independence” in Hawai’i recounted by Ralph Glanstein.

It was only after his father’s passing that Kisshomaru Ueshiba began to implement a kind of “iemoto” (家元) system within the Aikikai – an organization based around a family authority.

It is, however, quite common to see people appeal to authority in order to justify their own assertions.

I started presenting my koshinage in the All Japan aikido taikai. Arikawa-sensei told me to stop. He said it wasn’t aikido. I told him that until Osensei told me to stop, I’d keep doing it.

In Memory of Kuroiwa Yoshio – 黒岩洋志郎 — 1932- 2010

Morihei Ueshiba never told Yoshio Kuroiwa to stop.

He never told Kenji Tomiki to stop, either.

Morihei Ueshiba himself retired in 1942 , stating in his own words that he “left it all to Kisshomaru”, and remaining essentially a figure head where organizational matters were concerned. Actions and negotiations between Kenji Tomiki and the Aikikai were conducted and managed by Kisshomaru Ueshiba, not Morihei, as we will see below.

Additionally, the first competitions in Kenji Tomiki’s Aikido didn’t actually occur until the 1st All Japan University Student Aikido Competition on November 11th 1970 – more than a year after Morihei Ueshiba’s passing.

Morihei Ueshiba himself was opposed to competition, in general, but this was quite normal in his time.

His contemporary, Jigoro Kano, expressed reservations about competition in Judo.

Another contemporary, Gichin Funakoshi, opposed all competition in Karate.

Today those are both Olympic sports.

Competition in Kendo was still a relatively new idea, gaining popularity with Sakakibara Kenkichi – recently enough that he was said to be one of Sokaku Takeda’s own instructors.

Morihei Ueshiba himself practiced an art that already had no competition – Daito-ryu Aiki-jujutsu, and that art is still without competition to this day.

More importantly, Morihei Ueshiba himself rarely discussed competition at all, it wasn’t really on his radar, wasn’t an issue of major concern. On the rare occasions when he did discuss it, his objections were largely technical, the same types of issues discussed by Jigoro Kano and Gichin Funakoshi, rather than the ethical or moral issues often cited today by Aikido students.

Morihei Ueshiba spent much, much more time discussing other matters, at great length, most of which are largely ignored today.

This is important because the official statements by the Aikikai often cite phrases such as “immutable principles of the Founder”, leading us to ask what those principles would actually consist of, and if they’re “immutable” then how some (such as competition) can be cherry picked while others are ignored.

For example, Morihei Ueshiba’s statement in 1960 of the first (and presumably most important) principle defining Aikido – a right wing ultra-nationalistic form of Emperor worship, is not (we would hope)very popular today.

What actually happened, however, was less a matter of principles, immutable or otherwise, than it was a matter of the branding and marketing of Aikido in the post-war Aikikai by Kisshomaru Ueshiba.

The branding of Aikikai Aikido was initially spurred on by pressure from the rise of the Yoshinkan.

Cheng Man Ching 37 Taijiquan Form Circa 1946 Photos

 

A good find. 

This is an AI enhanced video of photos used by Cheng Man Ching promoting his "simplified" 37 form in a newspaper. 

 

The Aikido of Rinjiro Shirata

Rinjiro Shirata was a contemporary of Gozo Shioda and a giant in the Aikido world.

Islands in the Stream

At Budo Journeyman there was an interesting post about how karate might have evolved from China to Okinawa to Japan. The full post may be read here. An excerpt is below.

In this piece:

· The original ‘Three Islands experiment’.

· The results.

· My view on where it might take you.

· How that can apply to karate in Japan, and particularly Wado.

· Did master Otsuka get it right?

I like this idea. I came across it on a UK karate podcast (‘The Karate Kitchen’, previously ‘Opinionated Bastards’). I contacted Robert Davis and Andi Kidd to gain their permission to present the theories – full credits at the end of this piece. I hope I get it right. But, anyway, here is my spin on it.

Introduction.

I have seen and read so many theories, assumptions and guesswork, centring around the transmission of Okinawan karate through the vehicle of solo kata.

Some of them are just wishful thinking, others are designed to bolster the pet projects of enthusiastic (and entrepreneurial) karateka who operate on the fringes, but are driven to prove that they are right and everyone else is wrong.1 But, nobody wants to admit that they just don’t know.

I do find myself pleased that there are some serious researchers on the ground in Japan and Okinawa, who are trying desperately to unearth the true historical facts, but, boy, what an enormous challenge. My fear is that the horse has long departed the stable, and all you are left with is the traces of what the horse left in in the stall, good luck in picking through that.

(Anecdotes from westerners who have been over to Okinawa suggest to me that the remaining indigenous ‘masters’ are busy backfilling the vacuum).

Anyhow; here is the ‘Three Islands’ project. What a great idea!

This came out of a seminar, an experimental project to set up a real and theoretical ‘Stanford Prison’ style project, relating to kata transmission.

Island number one.

This is the very beginning, where the team, the controllers, design a new short karate kata, something not seen before, concocted in secret.

This first ‘island’ is the origin location of this theoretical kata and the home of a kind of ‘master creator’. This originator supposedly comes with a huge conceptual framework in the fighting arts. The kata is used as a mnemic, or a kind of crib sheet for his students to learn the full comprehensive system from. The kata is, in part, a distillation of the system’s principles and a set of crunched-down pre-packaged lessons. The students are taught the kata inclusive of the Henka, Ohyo etc.

I don’t know how they organised this bit, but in the later developmental time-line the students become fractured and have to work on their own, and drift into their personal preferences, playing to their strengths, resulting in bits getting lost or (if they were not fully understood in the first place) overwritten. With no access to the original master/creator it’s an imperfect transmission.

Island number two.

On this island, a student turns up who learned the original kata, but not the applications or the logic of the master/creator. The form/kata develops some traction and is widely taught, but a crucial point is that the inhabitants of this island haven’t been living in a vacuum, they have their own take on fighting logic, perhaps gleaned from their own historical circumstances, so they are not ‘babes in the woods’. All the same, this imported form/kata holds enough attention for them to develop it and refine its practice. Basically, mould it into any utilitarian purpose they want (e.g. aesthetic or athletic).

What they did with the kata, and what it turned into, created a high degree of formalism within an exercise format. They also leaned into an urge towards standardisation, where it would be easy to say that someone was not doing it ‘differently’, they were doing it ‘wrong’, no space for flexion or interpretation.

Island number three.

As we island hop, this is where it really starts to happen. The kata is exported to yet another island location and is again greeted with enthusiasts wanting to explore this ‘fighting form’. But, they feel compelled to give the individual sections of the kata some meaning and so, from scratch, they start to reverse engineer; to work out how the movements might be interpreted as fighting sequences which are effective techniques against potential aggressors. They are making it up. However, like with the previous islanders, they have some ideas they can inject into the mix based upon their indigenous defence arts.

In the final rounding off…

In this theoretical island world, the original kata, complete with the entire cultural context, with the full encyclopaedic knowledge, is presented side-by-side with what the final island came up with. The comparison between the two couldn’t be more extreme. My guess is that all the subtleties are bleached out, and that final islander’s ideas are simple clip-together answers that are reluctant to move beyond the literal form. Also, consider the group who only knew the form!

Kendo Testing Criteria

Previously, I had posted about the kendo 8th dan exam, which is perhaps the most difficult rank examination in the world. Below is an excerpt from a post that appeared at the Kenshi Journal, regarding the testing criteria for the dan ranks. There is certainly more to kendo than bopping someone on the head! 

The full post may be read here.

In the Yoshinkan Aikido organization within which I previously trained, the last physical test was for 6th dan. On successfully attaining 6th dan the aikidoka was regarded as a shihan, or "master teacher" and was fully authorized to teach all of the approximately 3000 named techniques.

A close examination of the official Standard Guideline for Dan/Kyu Examination reveals that rank progression in Kendo and Iaido is far more than a simple test of physical speed or athletic agility. The grading criteria outline an intentional, decades-long evolution, moving from foundational mechanical execution to strategic match control, theoretical rationale, personal dignity, and ultimately complete mind-body integration. I will first start with Iaido and then move on to Kendo.

The Iaido Promotion Criteria is:

Shodan to 3rd Dan: (1) Correct appearance and etiquette. (2) Precise Nukitsuke and Kiritsuke. (3) Precise Chiburi and [blade]angle. (4) Precise Noto 

4th Dan and 5th Dan, same criteria as Shodan to 3rd Dan with addition of the following criteria: (1) Mental composure (2) Metsuke (gaze) (3) Kihaku (vigour) (4) The unison of Ki(spirit), Ken(sword), and Tai(Body).

6-Dan, 7-Dan, and 8-Dan: The Jitsugi examination for 6th Dan to 8th Dan will take into consideration all the assessment points relevant to Shodan through to 5th Dan with the addition of the following two elements and an expected higher overall level of technical proficiency.  (1) Riai (Understanding of the rationale behind the techniques) & (2) Fukaku, Hinkaku (Grace and dignity, therefore, demonstrating one’s own style which is dignified and elegant.) 

Most promotion examinations (Shinsa) are conducted via ZNKR Iaido to evaluate a practitioner’s technical precision, spiritual focus, and adherence to etiquette across the standardized Seitei Iai kata. Examiners judge candidates using standardized checkpoints that accumulate in expectation as a student advances.

From the brief test criteria explained above it can be understood that the evaluation spans three primary categories:

1. Etiquette & Manners (Sahō / Reihō). Candidates are evaluated from the moment they enter the court to ensure respect, safety, and proper handling of the sword:

• Entry & Posture: Entering with correct footwork, uniform adjustment, and holding the sword at a 45-degree angle with the thumb securing the guard (tsuba).
  
• Bowing Protocols: Demonstrating respectful bows to the altar/shomen (~30 degrees) and to the sword with proper hand placement and posture.
  
• Wearing the Sword: Smoothly inserting the scabbard into the belt (obi) and tying the sageo cord without awkward readjustments.

2. Technical Execution (Jutsu-gi). Examiners look for exact alignment and fluidity across the twelve kata.

• Nukitsuke (Draw & Strike): Ample scabbard pull-back (saya biki), drawing from the body’s center (hara / tanden), and precise blade orientation before release (saya banare).
  
• Furikaburi (Overhead Swing): Bringing the sword overhead in a backward thrusting motion past the left ear while keeping the tip (kissaki) at or above horizontal.
  
• Kirioroshi (Downward Cut): Executing a continuous, decisive cut without hesitation, stopping the left fist in front of the navel with the kissaki slightly lowered.
  
• Chiburi & Nōtō: Correct form during chiburi and smooth, attentive resheathing (nōtō) without breaking focus or looking down.
  

3. Spiritual & Physical Principles

• Ki-Ken-Tai no Ichi (Unity of Spirit, Sword, and Body): Full martial spirit (kihaku), correct posture, and striking simultaneously with correct footwork.
  
• Zanshin (Sustained Awareness): Maintaining physical posture, alertness, and mental readiness after executing cuts.
  
• Metsuke (Gaze): Directing eye focus (Metsuke) outward toward opponents rather than staring down at the sword.
  

The primary distinction between beginner and intermediate levels lies in the transition from basic mechanical execution to complete technical precision and classical school integration:

• Beginner Standards (3rd Dan & Below):
  • Technical Accommodations: Examiners allow minor accommodations for beginners (e.g., slight footwork adjustments or pausing in uke nagaeshi positions). Beginners are permitted specific physical leniencies while building core stability (hara) and basic mechanics. For example, beginners are allowed to draw the sword directly toward the cutting target rather than drawing toward the center of the face first, pause briefly in intermediate positions like uke nagashi in Sanbon-me or waki gamae in Jippon-me, rotate the scabbard downward before drawing in Gohon-me, or adjust the scabbard tip (kojiri) when placing the sword during zarei.
    
  • Evaluation Focus: Grading at these early levels focuses on foundational etiquette (reiho), learning proper trajectory, avoiding shoulder tension, and establishing core balance.
    
• Intermediate Standards (4th & 5th Dan):
  • Strict Standardized Execution: Candidates must demonstrate seamless technical proficiency alongside classical school (koryū) training. Intermediate candidates must eliminate all beginner accommodations and execute every Seitei Iai kata with uncompromising technical correctness.
    
  • Mandatory Koryū Integration: The sources explicitly state that for 4th and 5th Dan practitioners and above, Koryū (classical school) training becomes indispensable. ZNKR Iai and koryū are designated as “the two wheels of one cart” (kuruma no ryōrin), intermediate practitioners cannot rely on standardized federation forms alone and must actively study ancient lineages to master the art’s deeper technical and spiritual foundation.

While the sources do not detail administrative pass rates for 6th–7th Dan examination panels, they define the overarching technical and spiritual metrics required for advance higher-level promotion as:

• Shin-Ki-Ryoku Ichi (Unity of Mind, Spirit, and Power): High-rank candidates are judged on achieving full unity between mental focus, martial spirit (kihaku), and physical power generated from the principles of the sword rather than muscular force.
  
• Shinken Shōbu Mindset: Demonstrations must convey the gravity of an actual duel with a real sword (shinken), demonstrating unwavering presence, sharpness (sae), and seamless, sustained awareness (zanshin) throughout.
  
• Concealed Internal Control (Kokyū): Advanced practitioners must demonstrate refined breath control (kokyū). The waza should ideally be completed in a single breath, or controlled so that breathing is completely imperceptible to an opponent.
• Refined Posture & Awareness: High-level performance requires complete mastery of enzan no metsuke (a broad gaze like looking at a distant mountain), precise blade-handling, and fluid movement that reflects decades of koryū refinement.
  

The official requirements to be eligible for the 8-Dan examination are:

• Age Minimum: The candidate must be at least 46 years old.
• Practice Period: The candidate must undergo a mandatory practice period of 10 years or more after earning 7-Dan before applying.

8-Dan: “Someone who reached the innermost secrets of Iaido and has attained total mastery of technique

The Best Teacher.

Pain.

At Budo Journeyman, there was an article discussing pain and it's place in martial arts training. An excerpt is below. The full post may be read here.

 

No matter how much I gritted my teeth and tried to dig into my resolve, I could not take another mawashigeri into my thigh. On about the fifth one, I started to fold. The deadening, deep muscle pulsing was just not going away. It was a throbbing pain that seemed to radiate well beyond the contact area, I could even feel it in my groin.

And this was a DRILL…

The backstory.

 Richard Barrett was the instructor of the UK branch of the Jundokan. He had trained under the late Miyazato Eiichi in Okinawa and his approach to Goju Ryu karate was very traditional, including lots of conditioning. For a while I made the fairly regular trip to his Dojo in Essex and really gained from the perspective he presented (this was around 1989).

No matter how much I gritted my teeth and tried to dig into my resolve, I could not take another mawashigeri into my thigh. On about the fifth one, I started to fold. The deadening, deep muscle pulsing was just not going away. It was a throbbing pain that seemed to radiate well beyond the contact area, I could even feel it in my groin.

And this was a DRILL…

The backstory.

 Richard Barrett was the instructor of the UK branch of the Jundokan. He had trained under the late Miyazato Eiichi in Okinawa and his approach to Goju Ryu karate was very traditional, including lots of conditioning. For a while I made the fairly regular trip to his Dojo in Essex and really gained from the perspective he presented (this was around 1989).

 

Add to that the issue of pain tolerance. Take for example the beekeeper. Research says that in response to bee stings, they feel exactly the same level of pain as everyone else, but their immune response mounts a much more powerful and precise counteraction. It is the familiarity of the pain of the initial sting that helps them to minimise their shock and reaction.

Shock.

 Old time UK karate guy, Bob Rhodes, was recently interviewed and at one point was asked his opinions about toleration and response to pain. His view was that in fighting people often have trouble separating pain from shock. 2 I think he is right, and I am convinced that shock comes in many flavours.

In response to a hard punch to the face, the brain and body go through so many micro-calculations all at high speed; some of them are autonomic (you have zero control over them) but others overlap each other in a nano-second.3

If this happens in a contest situation where (clearly) things have got overheated, evidenced by the uncontrolled strike, at the back of your mind you are aware that there are parameters and guard rails. However, if it is a real-life situation, an attack by a stranger in the street and taking a punch to the face, the shock level doubles considerably. (In my pre-karate days, as a teenager, this happened to me).

If those kinds of attacks are part of your life and you are brought up surrounded by physical violence, levels of endurance and certain kinds of toleration might well develop. In my early life, fights were commonplace, from schooldays onwards. Mostly you learned how to read the situation and avoid them, but sometimes you couldn’t.

I would imagine, if you took a poll to find out how many younger contemporary martial artists had ever experienced a violent attack, those who had would be in a tiny minority, particularly in this modern age4. Ironically, that would also include instructors who are teaching people self-defence! But. Of course they are not going to confess to this fact; their students just ‘assume’.

 

The Daito Ry Aikijujutsu of Nubuhito Yamamoto

 

First Female Disciple of Yang Cheng Fu

 

Boring Practice

Over at Thoughts on Tai Chi, there is a nice article on what it may mean to be bored with one's practice. An excerpt is below. The full post may be read here.

It is my opinion that if you're bored in your practice, then you're not doing it right.

I’ve actually never really understood why people ask about if Tai Chi is boring. You know – doing the form, practicing the same exercises over and over again. No, I’ve never found it boring. There’s just too much going on to be bored. Just keeping to adjust your own alignment and keeping relaxed as you you move, and as the balance keep changing, is not as simple as it could seem. Perfecting something seemingly simple is not something you do just by repeating movements. You need to be aware, practice with awareness, or as the Chinese say: “use heart“.

Well, you really need to put your heart in what you do. If not, well, frankly said – it would become boring. But if you do put your heart into the practice, I don’t think form practice could become boring. I find the opposite to be truth – not that I am excited every time I practice, but opposite to time moving slowly, I find the time moving fast. If I practice a whole Yang form, slowly and focused, the time just flies away and after the session I wonder where the time went.

But here is the thing with time: it is something psychological. If you don’t like what you do, or if you do something you don’t want to do and just wait for the time to pass, then the time will pass slowly. And that goes for everything you do.

You need to fill the time with meaning. Which means that you have to like what you do, because only if you like something you do it doesn’t become boring. So to answer if Tai Chi is boring, I would first ask if you like the practice or not, and if you find it rewarding.

And here is something I want to be honest about – I don’t believe that Tai Chi is for everyone. In the long-term specifically, I think you need to be of a certain personality, or rather – have a sort of mind-set to stay a Tai Chi practitioner. It demands a certain kind of view on reality and yourself. I say this because I have seen practitioners suddenly stop and give up their Tai Chi after even 30 or 40 years of practice. Some people just made a full stop, while others drifted towards other internal arts as bagua, harder styles as White Crane, and yet others towards arts as Yoga or similar.

The Cultural Pecking Order of Japanese Martial Arts

There was an interesting post at The Budo Journeyman about how the Japanese themselves view their own native martial arts. An excerpt is below. The full post may be read here.

In his book about training in Shotokan karate in Japan, Richard Amos subverted the usual understanding of the ‘3 K’s’ of karate (Kihon, Kata and Kumite) and said that the Japanese public generally saw karate as a different ‘3 K’s’:

· Kitsui (きつい): Hard / Demanding / Exhausting.

· Kiken (危険): Dangerous.

· Kitanai (汚い): Dirty.

It looks like karate has an image problem.

Social understanding.

This just reinforced something I had heard earlier.

I was first introduced to this idea by my good friend Mike Cundy, a long-standing Kyudo (archery) practitioner, who had lived in Japan in the 1970’s (see my two-part interview with Mike. The Bow and the Brush. Part 1. - by Tim Shaw ).

He explained that there was a distinct social hierarchy in the image of martial arts in Japan. Put simply; you had Iaido and Kyudo at the top, and at the very bottom, the potentially thuggish karate guys. (I will dig into this a little later).

Why does the arts of sword drawing and archery sit at the top of the tree?

It’s simple. These two disciplines have the opposite of an image problem. Here’s a few of their positive points:

· Historical high-status association with an aristocratic Samurai past.

· High aesthetic value.

· Deep spiritual and intellectual credentials.

· Relatively high profile, despite its throwback historical connections.

· Likely to be engaged in by people in the higher socio-economic category.

· (Linked to the above) can include expensive kit.

Add to that, both disciplines involve zero contact. Unless you are incredibly clumsy, it is extremely unlikely you will have the embarrassing problem of having to appear before a high-level board meeting with a black eye.

These people give off the aura of having a cultured refinement, and, in a way, their arts are very performative and make a clear social statement.

The two arts are entirely devoid of any practical modern age fighting function. However, they have allowed a competitive factor to creep in, but judged on pure precision, control and form (notice, no creative interpretation, this is not Ice Dance). It is purely for the specialists. Casual viewers would just wonder what the heck was going on?

Koryu Budo

Over at Peter Boylan's excellent The Budo Bum substack, there was recently an article on his thoughts on training in Koryu Budo, old Budo; before the advent of Judo, Karatedo, Aikido, etc. An excerpt is below. The full post may be read here.

I practice Shinto Muso Ryu Jodo and Shinto Hatakage Ryu Iai Heiho. I also practice Kodokan Judo. Kodokan Judo was founded as Japan made the leap from a rural, agrarian, preindustrial society to an urban, mechanized, industrial powerhouse. The differences between practicing the old arts and the new(er) ones are remarkable.

Kodokan Judo was founded during an era of incredible transformation in Japan. The Tokugawa Shogunate had just been overthrown after some 266 years of peaceful rule and replaced with a constitutional monarchy. The founder of Kodokan Judo, Kano Jigoro Shihan, replaced the classical menkyo teaching licensing system with a series of dan (steps). Adapting European teaching pedagogies, he designed a system of teaching that could be used in public schools for mass education. Under his Kodokan Judo, you could go anywhere in the country and train without having to learn a local set of techniques and customs. Your rank was recognized all over the country.

Koryu budo, on the other hand, are not taught as competitive sports, or even as cultural practices for the general public. They are taught in the same way that traditional crafts are taught in Japan: slowly, carefully, from one teacher to one student. I can train judo under one teacher, and still freely go to train in many different dojos. That’s not the case in koryu. Even if there are many other dojos doing the same koryu in your area (highly unlikely), you are learning your teacher’s art; not a generalized, public set of skills, but a highly individualized art. If you go around to other dojo, you’re going to get lots of input that is different from your teacher’s, which could slow down, not speed up, the process of internalizing the lessons your teacher is giving you.

Koryu budo, like traditional crafts in Japan, are learned through imitation of the teacher, including rigorous thought by the student about why the teacher does particular things in a particular way. A good teacher will give students time to figure things out, and will emphasize particular lessons through their actions rather than their words. The teacher will lay things out where the student can see them. It’s up to the student to develop the observational skills to pick up the lessons when the teacher makes them visible.

Those observational skills aren’t easy if you don’t come from a culture where they are expected from birth. My learning growing up initially revolved around the teacher laying things out and showing us how to ask questions about the things we didn’t understand. Learning to ask questions was a big part of the education process. Observational skills were not a noticeable part of the process.

Koryu budo, on the other hand, are not taught as competitive sports, or even as cultural practices for the general public. They are taught in the same way that traditional crafts are taught in Japan: slowly, carefully, from one teacher to one student. I can train judo under one teacher, and still freely go to train in many different dojos. That’s not the case in koryu. Even if there are many other dojos doing the same koryu in your area (highly unlikely), you are learning your teacher’s art; not a generalized, public set of skills, but a highly individualized art. If you go around to other dojo, you’re going to get lots of input that is different from your teacher’s, which could slow down, not speed up, the process of internalizing the lessons your teacher is giving you.

Koryu budo, like traditional crafts in Japan, are learned through imitation of the teacher, including rigorous thought by the student about why the teacher does particular things in a particular way. A good teacher will give students time to figure things out, and will emphasize particular lessons through their actions rather than their words. The teacher will lay things out where the student can see them. It’s up to the student to develop the observational skills to pick up the lessons when the teacher makes them visible.

Those observational skills aren’t easy if you don’t come from a culture where they are expected from birth. My learning growing up initially revolved around the teacher laying things out and showing us how to ask questions about the things we didn’t understand. Learning to ask questions was a big part of the education process. Observational skills were not a noticeable part of the process.

Famous Students of Miyagi Chojun Sensei Video

 

Interesting video:

Classical Martial Arts and Police Work During the Shogunate

At Ellis Amdur's excellent Kogen Budo blog, there was a guest post describing how classical martial arts was employed during the Shogunate by the constabulary. Fascinating stuff. An excerpt is below. The full post may be read here.

“If a person is cut down with a sword in front of the compound, chase the assailant down. If he will not hand over his sword you may kill him. Should he surrender his sword, however, hand him over to the magistrates office.”

-1620s Shogunal notice to Tosa domain on duties during incidents in front of their Edo compound.1

The classical martial traditions of Japan, or koryū bugei (古流武藝) – “military arts flowing from the past” – have undergone something of a minor renaissance in the West in recent decades. Seen as distinct from modern martial arts, the koryū bugei are said to preserve the battlefield skills of the Japanese warrior class down to the present day. Specialist scholarship has long demonstrated this is largely an “invented tradition,” and that the reality is more nuanced.2 Certainly warriors of the Sengoku Jidai, or “Era of the Country at War,” practiced fighting techniques, and in the first few decades after the turn of the 17th century, at beginning of the Tokugawa era (1603 – 1868), a culture of musha shugyo (“warrior pilgrimage”) flourished, that entailed engaging in challenge matches, including fatal duels. This largely ended by the mid 17th century when authorities put an end to it. From then on, bushi of status pursued bugei primarily as a means of cultivating warrior identity and character development. There was “increasingly an emphasis on formal gymnastics and disciplined choreography,” where combative etiolation was perhaps inevitable, and roundly criticized in the explosion of commercial print on all manner of subjects at the time. (Dore 1965 p. 151 et al) 3   The persistent discourse on the martial arts as “arts of war” in the parlance of practitioners, and on their well-documented peacetime deterioration on the part of professors, may have obscured a pragmatic approach that still existed: law enforcement.

Formal law codes had, for centuries, addressed various kinds of offenses, both civil and criminal: the Joei Code (1232), among various administrative regulations for matters regarding shrines, temples, lands and civil lawsuits also included processes for handling “crimes of killing, maiming, and wounding . . . serious crimes, such as treason, murder, banditry (sanzoku), piracy (kaizoku), night attacks, robbery, and the like” as well as more conventional beatings, forgery, and “abusive language,” that had a tendency to cause quarrels. (Conlan 2022: 47) This calls to mind what we might today call “disorderly conduct” or “provoking assault.”

The Joei Code and its principles were used as common law in the domains of regional lords (daimyo), or included in their house precepts.4  In 1459, the Ouchi domain published law on the walls surrounding the lord’s mansion, where they could be read by all. They prohibited, among other offenses, “wandering along major roads at night” “sumo wrestling at crossroads,” “taking women on the roadside,” (a reference to prostitution/sex trafficking rather than rape or kidnapping), and “wearing strange clothes, claiming that it is the style of the capital.” (Conlan 2022: 194) These were updated over time and in 1487 expanded, prohibiting carrying “[L]ong weapons (nagagusoku – ‘ referring to glaives (naginata), longswords (odachi), or pikes (yari)’  ), bows, and quivers,” although certain individuals were exempt. Apparently one could not walk with “flutes, shakuhachi, or other instruments” unless close to one’s residence, and there was a problem with “loitering” involving “people leering into the Ouchi mansions.”  “Night watchmen” were expected to know the law and enjoined to enforce it, for example, for the crime of killing soft-shelled turtles to use as hawk-bait, “the common rabble (honge no tomogara) if they are seen, or rumored to be, killing turtles, they shall be arrested or cut down at the place where it happened, according to the situation.” (Ibid: 194 -197)

In 1506, in the then-capital (Kyoto), law forbade theft, arson, armed assault, “quarrels,” sumo wrestling (again!), and the troublesome dancing (in the streets). (Berry 1994: 245 ) The Jinkaishu, a 1536 legal code of the Date house of Mutsu Province in northern Japan, codified practices for handling offenses including “violent contests;” or “when crazed drunkards kill people [and] claim inebriation as an excuse;” “cases where people impulsively quarreled, or were crazed at a banquet, and unpremeditatedly killed someone.” And, perhaps particularly interesting, instances where people “claimed that through skill they killed ambushers when in fact they ambushed their rival in a surprise attack.” Behavioral expectations are laid out for lords and retainers involved in violent altercations, assassinations, and other killings, including not abetting or harboring killers, tracking them down, searching locations for them, and capturing or killing them. There were punishments for when offenders were killed inadvertently, when captured suspects did not confess, or when personally performing arrests or cutting people down when there was not proper evidence demonstrating guilt. (Ibid: 206-215 ) 5  After the early years of the 17th century, Tokugawa shoguns began promulgating the Buke Shohatto, Laws for Warrior Houses, codes of conduct, laws, and expectations for the warrior class intended to establish the absolute authority of the shogun’s government – called the Bakufu –  over other domains. This was institutionalized in 1635, and from then daimyo were required to follow Bakufu law in enforcement and sentencing procedures, and were periodically checked on to ensure compliance. (Botsman: 15)

Maintaining order was an overriding concern, for “below the peace that was taking place at the national level with no wars there was still a fair amount of violence in Tokugawa society.” (Vaporis 2022: 235)  We learn from the Omurochuki (Diary of a Parrot in a Cage), the journal of the low-ranking samurai Asahi Shigeaki (1674 -1718), that some young, unemployed samurai killed for sport and material gain, in what was known as “‘street murders’ (tsuji kiri), passersby were killed with swords and robbed.” (Vaporis 2022: 234-235, 351)  6  At the same time. there was a conscious effort by the warrior government to ameliorate the general image of warriors as fiendish butchers carried over from the Warring States period, and to turn warrior-lords away from ideas of military conquest toward keeping civil order. “‘[T]he way of the warrior’ (budō) should be understood as an ‘instrument for killing evil.” The government “was to use it to ‘purify the realm.’” Warriors were now to be seen as benevolent, serving and protecting the public, as “the Tokugawa judicial system came to place considerable emphasis on what would today be called “victim’s rights.” It was realized that too harsh a system of punishment would interfere with the shogun being seen as a benevolent ruler. “[W]arrior officials in the Tokugawa period combined relatively lax enforcement and a tendency to turn a blind eye to minor infractions with the use of “flamboyant” displays of their own power – to pardon as well as punish. This made it possible to bolster warrior authority with the threat of terrifying punishment on the one hand, while also cultivating the goodwill of the general population on the other, with evidence of official flexibility, restraint, and mercy.” (Botsman: 41-42. 49) 7

As we see in newsfeeds today, turning a blind eye toward petty crimes was not without its downstream effects or its critics. By the 1720s, Ogyu Sorai complained that “houses are broken into everywhere; criminals murder, steal and commit arson; and in the middle of the night they lie in waiting in deserted places to rob people,” and remembered “the days when officials routinely cut criminals down on the spot” while lamenting a “dramatic decline in the warrior’s martial spirit.”  (Botsman: 86-87) No social strata was above reproach. In 1747, a mentally unstable Shogun’s hatamoto  murdered a man in the toilet at Edo castle. 8 Even daimyo were suspected of terrible crimes, including the lord of Mito domain Tokugawa Mitsukuni, when he was young man. “The Tosa samurai Mori Masana, while traveling to Edo in 1829 reported stories that the retired lord of Wakayama would go out at night with four or five attendants, enter people’s homes, and kill them. He is reputed to have killed hundreds of people this way.” (Vaporis 2022: 351)

Enforcing laws and bringing violators to justice fell to local lords following Bakufu law. In rural areas, village headmen and low-status warriors acted as constabulary; maintaining order, capturing or killing violators, and rounding up vagrants and beggars – a persistent problem that only grew worse over time – and putting down public disturbances and uprisings throughout the Edo period. (Botsman) This included duties during sankin-kōtai, the system of “alternate attendance” at the capital city, Edo, in which lords were required to alternate between a year spent residing in their domains with one in the capital. (Nishiyama 1997) Retainers of individual daimyo were required to staff guard-houses in the samurai neighborhoods of Edo and perform basic policing functions in their jurisdiction. Written guides were produced for warriors staffing neighborhood guard stations (tsuji-bansho ) in “how to handle unusual situations.”  These situations included corpses (murders or suicides), violent behavior, altercations and fights in front of samurai mansions, violence and injuries within the samurai residences, and attacks using swords. The expectations and other job duties for the guards were strikingly similar to the kinds of things seen in law and policy for law enforcement today: deserted children (a child under three is “deserted” but an older child is “lost”), fugitives, drunks and vagrants, illegal disposals and dumping, lost objects, unruly or dead horses, rescuing people who had fallen into moats, suspicious characters, accidents on the streets, and jurisdictional matters (for instance if a body is found on the border between two tsuji-bansho, the location of the feet — for men it was the left foot, and for women, the right — determined which jurisdiction bore responsibility). 9

Lower-status warriors were required to train in the necessary skills to fill these roles. Passin noted that upper-class samurai learned swordsmanship, horse riding, and archery “as a form of spiritual training,” while lower-class warriors “were taught jūjutsu, lancemanship, group tactics, and rifle.” (1965 p. 21) Michael Wert, in his study of rural swordsmen also pointed out that “martial arts and swordsmanship were practiced differently by different samurai status groups, with an inverse relationship between cultural capital value and combat efficacy.” High ranking samurai were not compensated for their training and their official schools focussed on swordsmanship to strengthen their warrior identity. In the Kaga Han, low-status warriors were “ordered by the domain to learn staff fighting and grappling (jūjutsu).” These samurai foot soldiers (ashigaru), “who used the arts directly in their duties” received compensation for training and “studied arresting techniques or staff fighting (bōjutsu), skills used in their policing roles.”  (Wert, unpublished manuscript: 6-7)

The class expectations relative to “peace officer” duties, and how they changed, were illustrated by Confucian scholar, writer, and politician Arai Hakuseki (1657-1725) noting in his autobiography:  “when I was seventeen or eighteen, I accidentally dropped in my father’s presence, a torinawa, a finely wound green cord with a hook at the end used for tying people up, which I was carrying in my bosom.” His father noticed the item and said “Long ago, when I was in office, I used to keep this by me in my flint bag.  I thought that if I ordered men to seize  and bind some disorderly fellow, they might not have it in readiness. When I retired, I had no further use for it, and I kept it for tying up the cat. It is proper that a warrior should know every part of his duties. However, there are things which a man should or should not do, according to his station. This cord is not something you should keep about your person, and you are old enough to know better.” (Hakuseki, p. 48-49)

 

 

Martial Discipline

At the Okinawan Fighting Art, "Ti" blog, there was a recent post on martial arts training and discipline. And excerpt is below. The full post may be read here.

The Secret in Martial Discipline

Turning Intention into Prepared Self-Defense

Mind sees the pathway
Hands repeat what thought has shaped
Calm arrives through skill

Wish is not armor
Practice gives intention form
Awareness stands guard

A conversational essay on intention, visualization, confidence, disciplined practice, and reality-based self-defense

Introduction

Rhonda Byrne’s The Secret presents a simple and attractive proposition: what we consistently focus on, believe in, feel, and expect can influence what we experience. Its best-known formula is “Ask, Believe, Receive,” supported by practices such as visualization, gratitude, intention, affirmations, and deliberate management of thoughts and feelings. Taken literally, The Secret goes further and describes these practices as working through a universal “law of attraction.” That metaphysical claim is controversial and is not established by mainstream scientific evidence. Yet several of the practical habits wrapped inside the philosophy can be translated into useful methods for teaching and practicing martial disciplines for civilian self-defense.

The key is translation. 

In a dojo concerned with self-defense, “attraction” should never mean believing that a desired outcome will simply appear. It can instead be treated as a discipline of attention: decide what kind of martial artist you intend to become, mentally rehearse appropriate behavior, build confidence through competent practice, notice opportunities to improve, and repeatedly act in ways consistent with the desired result.

In that form, The Secret becomes less a promise that thoughts control external reality and more a reminder that thoughts can influence attention, motivation, emotional regulation, practice quality, and behavior. Those factors genuinely matter when a student is learning to protect himself or herself.

1. Ask: Define the Desired Outcome

The “Ask” principle begins with clarity. In self-defense training, a poorly defined goal often produces poorly organized practice. “I want to be good at fighting” is vague. A more useful intention is: “I want to recognize danger early, avoid unnecessary conflict, remain composed under pressure, protect myself or another person when necessary, and disengage safely.”

That distinction is important because civilian self-defense is not primarily about defeating an opponent. It is about managing danger. The desired outcome should therefore include awareness, avoidance, verbal boundary setting, positioning, escape, proportional physical response, and post-incident judgment—not merely striking or grappling ability.

An instructor can apply the Ask principle by having students identify specific capabilities. 

• One student may need to improve balance and movement. 
• Another may freeze when confronted verbally. 
• Another may possess strong technique but make poor tactical decisions. 

Clear intentions allow practice to become purposeful rather than mechanical.

In traditional martial language, this resembles giving direction to shugyō—disciplined training. The student is not merely accumulating techniques. He or she is deliberately shaping character, perception, judgment, and physical capability toward a defined end.