"Toh-mah-toh" & "Toh-may-toh" versus Apples & Oranges

Over the span of almost 28 years, I have trained with a wide variety of Bujinkan teachers.  From some I've learned quite a lot, from some I've picked up some new perspective or technique and from others I've learned nothing at all.  Yet, for all of them I am deeply thankful for their time and knowledge, as it all helped me in some way.

In the Bujinkan, there are very few standards when it comes to quality.  We are not held back from exploring and venturing off on our own.  For the most part, I believe we all veer off in some way to follow our own interests and ambitions.  For many, it's a brief interlude and we return to our path having gained something, whether the experience was a mistake in judgment, an added skill set or that it provided a new way to look at what we have been doing already.  For some, this also translates into what is taught in the dojo.  Some instructors bring their outside experience and knowledge into their teachings, whether they find it fills a hole or deficiency, adds a new element to the training, or that it is pure ego-driven ambition to be a maverick or corner the market in some new, enlightened way.

And it's amazing how much bickering and finger pointing goes on in regards to what is "right" or "wrong", who is training and teaching the "real" Bujinkan, and so on.

Aside from the ones which are downright wrong or completely different, there are many reasons for such variance in the teaching methods and styles which exist.  Just because someone teaches and trains differently than someone else doesn't necessarily mean it's bad or wrong.  There are factors to consider when looking at such things.

The funny title to my article highlights what I mean.  We may both agree that there is a tomato sitting in front of us.  However, I may pronounce it "toh-may-toh" and you say "toh-mah-toh".  I may call it a fruit.  You may call it a vegetable.  I may like a raw tomato, but hate it cooked.  You may hate a raw tomato, but love it cooked.  At the end of the day, what we're debating over is still a tomato, no matter how we pronounce the name, how we categorize it or choose to eat it.  It's always still the same.

Now, if I put an orange on the table and told you it was an apple, we would have a genuine argument based on merit.  An orange and an apple are different on all levels except one, that they both are fruit.  Outside of that, they are different in color, texture, chemical makeup, DNA, cell structure, glucose level, and on and on.  So, we could both agree that we are enjoying a fruit, but we definitely are not enjoying the same kind of fruit.

And if I'm going to make orange juice, I'd be a fool to think I can do it with an apple!  (And visa versa)

There are literally thousands of those in the Bujinkan who are teachers, whether they have formal dojo schools or small shibu training groups.  You can visit one after another and most likely each one will be different than the next.  Some differences might be drastic while some are minor.  But, they are all different because the teacher has his/her own unique way and the training they provide is influenced by that.

The trick is in knowing if what you are doing, the teacher you are training with, is trying to convince you an orange is an apple.  Just because they might be training in martial arts does not guarantee that it is accurately Bujinkan martial arts, any more than eating a piece of fruit does not guarantee that you are eating an apple or an orange.  But, if what you are being taught has the same components, same DNA, same cell structure, same parts on every level - but just looks different or trained differently, you can rest assured you are still likely training in the same art.  It's just pronounced differently.

Something that is important to understand when training with a teacher or mentor is that their taijutsu evolved along their own natural abilities and capacity.  For instance, a large, muscular man will have no problems using their size and strength to influence the effectiveness of their technique.  Same with elusive, smaller teachers and mentors who seemingly can disappear within a technique and hit you where you can't see (not to imply larger teachers haven't developed the ability to do this, either, but it takes more training).  They all use their natural, God-given abilities that have evolved parallel to their growth in the martial art they study.

This natural evolution will greatly affect their teaching, too, as most people teach what they learned and how they move.  You can see this in each teacher's class.  Some are natural grapplers and prefer going in close.  Some are natural strikers and prefer to keep distance to use their limbs.  Some are weapon oriented and train at those ranges.  Some are elusive.  Some are solid as a rock.  Some are natural acrobatics.  All of them will emphasize their talents in what they bring to teach.  Those students who share a commonality with the teacher will evolve naturally in that direction.  Those who are different will struggle to evolve, to the degree they are different.  But, it is still good to experience a difference, to learn skills that are not naturally ingrained or part of our hardwired tendencies.  I'm more referring to long term training and who we will subconsciously migrate towards.

Yet, even with differences in how each teacher is in their own natural state and what differences this brings to what and how they teach, they (and we, for those of us who do teach) should still all be teaching the same art.  It all should still be a tomato, no matter how we choose to pronounce it or think of it as a fruit or vegetable.  It doesn't matter.

But, if we're training and teaching in something so different that it's no longer the same, it's foolish to try and think (and convince others) that you are offering an apple when, in fact, you are offering an orange.

I hope my analogies are not too ridiculous, but I hope you can understand the meaning behind my words.

Gambatte Kudasai!

Meditations at The Watering Hole

I have reached another watering hole in my budo path.  The term “watering hole” references a kind of fresh water well or pond.  These places were valuable to early travelers.  The body can go weeks without food, but only a short few days without water.  Water always was, and still is, the primary element for life (except for oxygen, of course!).

Watering holes also were a normal place for people to meet and talk.  It was the place where information was exchanged, new ideas presented and relationships happened.

It was also the place where weary travelers chose to rest, to rejuvenate their bodies, minds and spirits and cross check their maps and directions before continuing on their way.

I have reached such a place and am taking the time to rest, rejuvenate and check my maps.  It is at these points where decisions have been made in regards to my life, where introspection and meditation help me to evaluate myself, where I’m at, where I want to go, what needs tending to, and what I may need to leave behind.  It’s a time to look for needs and problems, to take the time to make repairs and, if necessary, heal.

At this point in my budo path, I have been shown a great many things.  Some are contradictory, some are valuable, and some not quite so valuable.  Yet, I have tried to soak it all in with equal consideration and, frankly, I have discovered the results to be less than favorable for where I want myself to be in my travel.

One of the challenges in trying to walk a budo path is that, unlike a real traveler going to a specific destination, there never is an end or a destination.  The only thing you can try to achieve is a set of goals, an obscure vision or feeling of what progress *should* be, as modeled by those you consider to be your teachers and mentors.  They represent your destination – but that destination is also moving, also changing, and sometimes in conflict with each other.

The latter point, the conflict, is where I am at in my budo path.  As the Bujinkan has grown over the decades, I have been around long enough to see a large portion of the changes it also has gone through.  Things which are taught today are vastly different than twenty, even ten, years ago.  Yet, there are some parts which are still the same.  The number of Shidoshi teachers worldwide ranked above judan number in the hundreds.  The number of Shidoshi teachers worldwide number in the thousands.  The number of Jugodan, the highest belted rank one can attain in the Bujinkan, is growing by leaps and bounds. 

Yet, it would also seem that the variety of methods in what is considered as “right”  or “correct”, as far as what and how training should be, seems to be growing just as fast.  To add further, the number of people visiting Japan and training with the Japanese Shihan and Soke also continues to grow more and more.

With so many people going to the source (i.e. Soke and the Japanese Shihan) for training, why do we have so many different ways to train?  How can you have one way, the way Soke or the Japanese Shihan, teach and it filters out into the world into a myriad of methods, techniques and ideas?

I also have been to Japan, trained with Japanese Shihan and experienced Soke’s amazing taijutsu.  I have discovered there is a kind of commonality to all the Japanese Shihan, even in their different nuances that are unique to each of them.  Is this commonality something that has been lost in the interpretation?  Is the commonality something that people take for granted, choosing to consider the unique differences inherent in each Japanese Shihan’s taijutsu a kind of permission to allow themselves to train however they choose – even to the point of dropping those things which are common?

And, when it comes to the various ideologies about what is “right” for training, each side clings to their perspective, sometimes almost fanatically.  Those who are more fanatic will be the first ones to point fingers and tell others that they are “wrong”, too.

Then, there are those like me, confused and wandering between various perspectives, ideologies and methods, trying to uncover some kernel of wisdom or unlock some new level of discovery and growth.  I most often can see the point each side tries to make.  I can see the value in what that senior teacher is bringing to the training.  Sometimes, I can also see the holes, the flaws, and the incompleteness in it, too.

Throughout the decades of training, I have learned many great things from different teachers.  Sometimes, the lessons I learned from one teacher helped to point me to a new level of understanding in another teacher’s lessons.  They also, at times, helped me fill a deficiency.  But, lately, I have come to discover that much of what I have been doing is wandering, lost and confused, bouncing from one influence to another.

Recently I attended a seminar taught by a jugodan senior teacher, someone who was a long time resident of Japan, who trained weekly with Soke and the Japanese Shihan for many, many years.  His taijutsu was crisp, dynamic, had power and structure, and flowed with superb timing and control.  In trying to replicate his movement, I found myself struggling in many foundational areas.  I was mad at myself, frustrated in how I have become in my taijutsu.  The techniques really weren’t that sophisticated, other than the precision of distance and angling.  It was a simple matter of putting my feet where they needed to be.  Yet, I was stumbling around and inconsistent.  Why?  Hasn’t all my training up to this point supposed to enable me to have the control to actually step where my mind tells it?  With all the literally hundreds, probably thousands, of techniques I have trained on over the span of 25+ years, you would think that I would have the control to move any way my mind dictates, to have the control to follow an innate sense of distance, timing and angling consistently every time so that I would always be at the right place at the right time for any kind of slow to moderate attack from my Uke.

Yet, I fumbled terribly.

I can only reach the conclusion that I need to stop.  Not stop training, per se, or give up training.  But, I need to stop and take the time to evaluate what I am doing, where I am going and rejuvenate myself before continuing.

One thing that clearly stuck out for me was how much I have ventured away from core foundational training.  I preach it regularly; even drill it in my classes.  Yet, somehow it isn’t enough.  I realized that I have been ‘underfeeding’ my kihon, like underfeeding the horses which carry me on my journey, and they have become weak as a result.  So, I know I must make those my primary focus.

Alas, but here’s the problem:  What one teacher considers “kihon” differs from another teacher.  In conversation, we can all agree what kihon are in principle – it’s the foundation, the core body mechanics, that exist in all taijutsu and make it strong, resilient, powerful, balanced, etc.  It’s found in kamae, tsuki, keri, uke, ukemi taihenjutsu, etc.  They are not kata, but more about the pieces that make a kata work.  Then, there’s the concept of Shizentai, or natural body.  Movement that follows natural function…

That’s all well and good and a common language we all can agree.  But, when you start refining that down to exactly WHAT those are, how to do a tsuki, how to do an uke, how to do a keri, how to do all the ukemi taihenjutsu – that’s where there’s vastly different ideas, along with explanations and rationalizations that can even include teachings or examples demonstrated by Soke and/or the Japanese Shihan!

Many talk about how a student should find one teacher to follow, to not bounce around, because it only causes confusion.  But, how do you choose that teacher, especially when you are around several who are all different and each one has something positive to bring to your training?

How do you know if your teacher really is teaching you something that is wrong or dangerous?  How do you know if your teacher is teaching you in a way that is actually a stumbling block to evolving in line with the martial art you are pursuing?  What if what your teacher is teaching you goes against your own natural evolution?  How do you know the difference?

For me, right now, I can only see that somehow I have left my base.  I have moved in a direction that seems to conflict with my foundation.  I don’t blame anybody, any teacher.  I blame only myself for that.  Maybe it was my own ignorance.  Maybe it was my own selfish ego or pride.  Maybe my natural evolution was taking me one direction, but my mind was trying to take me elsewhere.  I don’t know.  All I know is that what was once not lacking is now lacking, even though there are many things I have gotten better at, too.  So, my resolution is that it makes no sense to continue to build upon the new when my foundation has become weak.

So, if I agree with myself that I need to refocus attention on my own kihon, to just stick to the core, the foundation, and drill them until they are solid in my taijutsu, the same old dilemma exists:  WHAT kihon am I focusing on?  What exactly are they supposed to look like?  What methodology do I use to train them?

A significant point was mentioned to me recently by a top Bujinkan Shihan:  “We are all on our own Shugyo”.  The definition of “shugyo” is often referred to as a kind of transcendence.  It involves movement, of stepping out.  Depending on the definition attributed, this also is used to describe when one received his training and has gone out into the world to put it into application as a necessary phase of further growth and enlightenment.

For me, “shugyo” has been about the journey of discovery that we are all on.  Through our journey, we learn the secrets.  So, as with any journey, there are also times when one has to stop, refresh and reflect on those secrets.

I feel I am just now at a point where there are some very significant secrets being revealed to me, of hidden truths, not only about my budo path, but also of myself.  I realize my need to get back to my foundation, my base, not only in training, but also in my life.  I need to focus on simplicity, not layering of more and more.  I need to let go of some things and embrace much of what I already have, of lessons already learned, and train harder on those things that are more primal to my own self and evolution.  As far as my training is concerned, I need to look beneath the surface of those seniors I trust and value, to find the common core of their taijutsu, and resist the temptation to be lured into what is different between them, for those differences really are just unique outward expressions of a common base.  As I train on those common fundamentals, I need to recognize they may express according to my own natural state, that it’s ok if they look a little different, as long as I don’t lose that common base where all our taijutsu should emanate from.

For me, I want more training in my kamae, my posture, balance, and structure.  I want to train to develop strong foundation in my legs, hips and spine, as these are at the center of taijutsu.  I want to train on power generation and delivery, the tsuki, as projected from my legs, hips and spine.  I want to develop my uke (receiving) to be powerful and effective, not just a limb floating in space with no purpose.  I want my movement to be free and controlled, so that every part of me is exactly where it needs to be, every time, consistently, in proportionally correct relationship to the situation.

All of that is going to require a mental focus in training that leaves no room for distraction, no room to follow a whim, no room for being bored. 

Soke wrote in one of his books (“Unarmed Techniques of the Samurai”) that training in the Kihon Happo was training the mind.  I have learned just how incredibly true this is!  True kihon training is tough on the body, but ultimately the mind is what needs to be trained, too.  Our bodies become weak with age and we may experience injury.  But, it’s our mind that has to continue to grow, to be sharp and clear, to gain wisdom and knowledge and be able to see through the many illusions that life and people throw before us (and that we put around ourselves).  As I look around among my own martial community, I can see how people have become mentally weak in their training and, as such, their taijutsu has also become weak.  But, I am human just like they are and have been shocked to discover that I, too, have allowed myself the same.

So my shugyo is now clear before me, where I am and where I need to go.  Additionally, I also have gained a clearer picture of what I need to do to get there.  But, I also recognize my need to spend time at this Watering Hole, to get the refreshment I need, the rest I need, spend the time with those I need to spend time with, to develop those relationships I need to develop, so that I am well equipped to carry on in a newness of purpose towards a destinations that is, at least, a little bit clearer for me.

And I have a rejuvenated vigor to get out there and train harder than I have ever trained before!

Ikimashou!