The Art of Practice

I was listening to some speakers on TEDx who were talking about motivation, confidence and being results-driven in all areas of life.  What struck me is the importance of not only practice, but the Art of Practice.  So, in this blog I will present my thoughts on the subject and I hope you find some useful application.

First of all, for the sake of this post, I want to make some distinctions between "Training" and "Practice":

1.  Training - Activities centered around a topic or subject, in a class environment or tutiledge under an instructor or coach.  New ideas, strategies and techniques are explored and learned.

2.  Practice - The mindful development of a specific skill or set of skills through repetition and refinement.

I know these definitions are broad and both Training and Practice can be the same thing.  But, I want to define them in this way in order to take a look at each seperately and how they are connected, like two sides of the same coin.

When you attend class with your teacher, you are in a room with other students, the teacher is introducing new ideas, techniques and strategies and every gets to work on them in the manner laid out by the teacher.  Through the training, you learn new skills, new concepts and such, which add to your understanding.  However, without actual practice of those things, through repetitive action, you won't build any sort of ability.  The things you picked up in training won't stay with you and become ability without the practice that it takes to integrate them into you.


But, I want to back this up even further.  We can attend all the classes, but without gaining the ability to practice, we fail in the development that comes from quality practice.

In other words, before we can practice, we have to first learn how to practice.  Before practice can build ability, we need to build our ability to practice.  Make sense?

Having the ability to practice well involves some very key components:

1.  Discipline - This is the ability to be able to focus on very specific things and repeat them over and over without derailing by wandering thoughts and external distractions.  Discomfort is the biggest enemy when it comes to maintaining the discipline to stay focused.  Things like pain, even boredom, can creep into the mind and destroy discipline.  External things like your cell phone, computers, television shows, even other people, animals and things can pull your mind away from it's centered focus.

2.  Commitment - This is part of discipline, but it is the part that means you back up your thought with action.  You tell yourself you're going to practice and you actually do it.  It's your follow through.  Rocking out one good practice session means little when you stop there, or wait until you "feel like it".  Know what you want and what you need to do, then do it until you get what you want.  That is commitment.

3.  Plan - Have a goal, a plan.  This means defining a result, asking questions and gaining knowledge of how to get it.  Set a time table to achieve that result.  Write it all down and have it in your face.  Don't leave it to memory, otherwise it will be crowded out of your mind by the rest of life's clutter.

4.  Research - Really learn how to do things correctly.  This is key.  Be a good student, ask questions, write things down, do your due diligence in making sure what you are going to practice is being done well.  Perfect practice is practicing perfectly.  Strive for correctness.  Form before resistance.  You get the idea. Practice means to repeat a specific skill or lesson, not just do whatever you want.  That's not practice, that's just playing (which is also fun and rewarding, but on a different level).

5.  Timing - Know when it's time for practice and time for training.  Don't miss out on bigger lessons because you want to just practice some small detail or skill.  At the same token, don't get caught up in exploration in training when you really should spend time practicing some critical piece to get it right first.  In other words, don't try to run when you still need to practice walking and don't waste time walking when you need to start running to get somewhere important.

Those are just a few and certainly you might come up with others, or describe these a bit differently.  But the point is that there is a relationship between training and practice.  Separately, each one is key and has it's place.  But, without the balance of them both together, there will be no real results.  That's not hard to understand.  What is hard, however, is in the application, especially when one doesn't really have developed their ability to practice with any real quality.  What usually happens is that people tend to show up to class for training and then leave without ever actually practicing what they've learned.  In their mind, they think they were practicing, but they really weren't.  At least not enough.  So, they come to the next class and begin training again, often on entirely new or different skills than what they practiced last time. 

At best, they become a Jack of All Trades, Master of None.

Gaining the ability to practice is a skill.  So, how do you learn it?  The answer is both simple and incredibly difficult.  You have to pick one thing, just one thing, so simplistic that you can know exactly how to do it, down to detail, and be able to repeat it over and over again.  Keep it basic, like a Tsuki or thrust.  Basic doesn't mean simple, but a Tsuki is just one thing.  Learn how to do it correctly on a basic level, the alignment of the body, direction and angle of movement, use of the knees, targeting and staying on track through the thrust, etc.  Your goal is to do it correctly for a thousand repetitions and you have set a time frame of one month to complete it.  Doing the math (and I *hate* math!), you commit to practicing 50 repetitions (25 right, 25 left sides) on Monday, Wednesday, Friday, Saturday and Sunday, for the four weeks in the month.  At the end of the month, you will have done 1,000 repetitions of a Tsuki.

The following month, you decide to do a Tsuki with a Bokken from Seigan no Kamae and use the same math.  The next month, you do it with a Hanbo.  The next month, you do it with Rokushakubo.

That is now four months of practicing a Tsuki, for a total of four thousand repetitions.  If you train correctly, you know that a Tsuki is done the same way, whether with fist or weapon.  So, even though you've done 1,000 Tsuki reps with different weapons, you've actually done 4,000 Tsuki reps with the same taijutsu.

Assuming you practice mindfully, slowly and with focused discipline to keep fixing any errors, how good do you think your taijutsu will improve?  Would it have been worth the time and effort?

Now compare that to going to a class once, twice or even three times per week, always training on different things, only getting in maybe a handful of repetitious practice of a singular skill set.

To go even further, think about the mental focus and discipline it would take to practice fifty repetitions in one session, or to do repeat that session M-W-F-S-S.  Imagine the mental focus and discipline it would take to keep going to complete that one thousand reps at the end of the month, then to start again with the next.  Your practice shapes and builds so much more than just technical skill.  It also builds your strength of character, resolve, mind and spirit.  That impacts every aspect of your life.

Creating a Practice Plan as a supplement to your training is vital in building reliable, quality skill.  Yet, so many stop short of this by only going to class.  Many want to practice what they've learned, but because they don't set up a plan and commit to it, the usual tendency is to abandon it.  When they do take the time to practice, often it many be some technique, done so few times to only make it a mental reminder than a skill building forging of the body and mind.  Unless there is a teacher or partner to help push the person, they lose focus quickly, become bored or jump around in topics so much that nothing is actually practiced to any degree of improvement.  This is a clear example of someone not having much ability at the art of practicing.

But, the good news is that, as with any ability, the quality of practice can be developed and improved!  It takes the same things as any other ability.  Practicing how to practice will boost the quality of practice for anything you want to develop strong ability with.  It starts with the mind, then with a plan, and lastly with committed, correct action.

Then, go to your regular classes and weekend seminars to train, learn and pick up new things to practice!

The best part is that the more you practice well, the better your training will be!  Take the Tsuki, for instance. Most of the formal attacks in the dojo are in the form of a Tsuki.  The better the Tsuki, the more the defender is challenged to receive and counter correctly.  Everybody benefits.  At the same time, executing a good Tsuki as the attacker affords you another opportunity to practice your Tsuki.  It's a win-win all around!

But, you won't have a strong Tsuki if you don't practice it well.  So, it all starts with practice.  Not just any practice, but one that is built upon a strong ability at practicing.

So, what would you like to practice?  What result or goal do you want to achieve and what is your plan to get there?  Are you ready to commit to it?  Great, then when will you start?

Hajime!

Happy 2016! Looking Back and Going Forward

Happy New Year!  First let me say I wish you all a very blessed new year and hope 2016 brings much happiness and success.

This last year was a mixed bag for me.  I don't want to write about my personal life, as this is my budo journal, but since my budo path is integrated with the rest of my life, it is difficult to separate the two.  I have written quite a lot over the years about struggle and how this has defined my Shugyo (and every other aspect to my life).  No more has this been true than the crazy ups and downs of 2015.  The one consistent thing about training in martial arts, particularly Bujinkan arts, is that there is no consistency!  Honestly, for me, I have been so caught up in trying earnestly to do what is "right" in how I train and how I teach that I fell for the basic trap of over thinking and taking it all too seriously.

I stopped laughing.  I stopped having fun.  I stopped enjoying my Shugyo.  I became more frustrated than satisfied.

And, as a result, I actually considered leaving martial arts, all martial arts, because I lost my "why".  It just wasn't worth it.

This happened for a variety of reasons, many of which have been building over the course of several years.  A big part of it was the craziness of being taught something, then told by others that was wrong, or being taught by others something entirely different.  I was constantly questioning my understanding so much that I lost confidence in my own self, not in my combative ability, but in my direction of training and whether I was actually teaching the right things to my students.  It's silly, I know, but also very real.  Normally, this wouldn't have mattered, as I have always just followed the admonition to "keep going" (Gambatte).  But, this last year it all finally bubbled to the surface and consumed me.

I love my budo friends (buyu).  I love training with different people, even those who may have an understanding or approach to this art that is different from my own.  I try to learn something from everybody.  But, as I get older and look back at the decades I've been training in this art, I see so much wasted time and effort, so much misdirection and confusion, and my own understanding and performance has suffered for it.  What has all these years gotten me?  I have no idea.  So, why have I continued?  Why do I still continue?

Isn't there something else that I could put my time, resources and effort into that would bring far more clarity, direction and results than the twisted, vague and frustrating path this Bujinkan training has become?

I am sure there is, but when I consider taking up something new, I feel something sink inside me.  The thought of starting over, with all it's demands, just doesn't resonate with me.  Yet, most of this year has been a sort of "starting over" for me - and I have found that it has helped me somewhat to get my footing again, but it's not enough.

Christmas in 2014 was when me and my family bought and moved into our new house.  Right away I began to convert our garage into a private dojo and within a few weeks our classes resumed there.  I invested in a durable, padded flooring, hung up photos of Hatsumi Soke and his teacher, Takamatsu Soke, along with my Shodo painting of "ryuuko hikan" that Soke made for me and my rank and Shidoshi menkyo certificates.  I purchased training weapons and striking or target pads.  Although cramped, it was a nice dojo.  Our classes were packed, but we trained hard.

Now that it has been a year, many students have dropped out for a variety of reasons.  Relationships, job changes, etc, forced some people to stop training.  Without a public dojo and advertising, new students were not coming in.  As a result, now my class is down to only a very small few.  Although I do enjoy a small group of hard training students, I am concerned that this trend may continue at the cost of having enough students to make it productive.  At the same time, even though I am the teacher, I am also still a student and my classes give me opportunity to work on my own training, so that is obviously a concern for me, too.

Recently, a good friend organized a seminar here with Dr. Kacem Zoughari, a phenomenal man with a deep understanding of the ryuha, or martial traditions, that make up the Bujinkan.  His level of knowledge is vast, with a doctorate degree in Japanese Studies which includes martial arts.  As a part of that, he is fluent in Japanese language, including the ancient language used during the times the old densho were written.  Thus, he can read and interpret much of the original densho scrolls and books in our ryuha, gaining him the ability to understand them at a level few others can.

I was given the great privilege to host him at my personal dojo for a night of private training with just a small handful of friends, just before his main seminar down in the Bay Area.  It was amazing and gave me a sense of something "right", a nudge so to speak.  The follow up was a full day of training at his main seminar and that helped me to really see just how deep and vast this art really is!  I've always known that, of course, but actually having someone teach directly from the photocopied densho (not someone's interpretation of the densho) was incredible!  Kanji by kanji reading and explaining of so many small details (like what a particular word meant back then, compared to today) made a huge impact on me.  It opened up something new, a shift in my perspective, and introduced me to this art in an entirely new light.

But, as the weeks went by, I still felt unsettled.  I still felt lost in my own direction.  The root of the problem really is that, although I enjoyed my new perspective, there is no teacher anywhere within reasonable distance who teaches at that level on a weekly basis.  There are teachers, of course, but they are on their own path of understanding different from what I experienced.  Without that consistent, regular, direct instruction, growth isn't sustainable.  So, I am left with a smattering of something, a snapshot of sorts, to continue to work with.  That is fine, really, for my own training.  I could just practice the basics of what I was taught over and over again.  But, I still feel it is so limited and I certainly couldn't operate a dojo on the little bit I learned.

It did, however, influence what I do know, all the material I do train and teach in my class, and that is where I have been continuing from.  I need to take refuge in that and let myself feel confident that my Shugyo, of being a student and a teacher, is still valuable and "right", even with my constant questioning and doubt.  It is, after all, part of the Great Struggle that seems to always be there.

Okay, so here we are, 2016.  It is the Year of the Red Fire Monkey.  What does that mean?  Those who know me know that I am not a big believer in astrology, but it does make for fun consideration.  When I think of a monkey, I think of crazy antics, lots of character and charm, a trickster at times and incredible agility and strength.  But, I also see community, love and ingenuity.  Depending on your views, you may see monkeys as our evolutionary ancestors.  Irregardless, you have to admit they are the closest animal to a human being that's out there, so their relationship to us is always special.  We see ourselves in them and we see them in us.

Now, with fire, I think of warmth, capable of being both healing and destroying.  A fire can be a soothing, romantic flame.  It can be a source of heat for cooking and survival, as well as a source for light and even protection.  It can destroy everything quickly, but in agriculture you burn your fields to set the stage for the next harvest.  In controlling wild fires, you can set a controlled burn to reduce the fuel it needs and cause it to burn out or change directions away from civilization.  Fire is amoral, has no inherent purpose beyond it's own properties.  Yet, symbolically, it most often is associated with power, aggression, passion, even anger.  The intensity is what most people relate with.

So, what does it mean to be a Fire Monkey?  I am not an expert and you can research that on your own.  But, relating it to my Shugyo is interesting.  I see that what has been happening for me over the course of several years has been a slow burning out of my own budo fire, down to a smoldering glow.  However, even a smoldering ember can be a catalyst for a roaring fire if the right fuel and enough oxygen is introduced to it.  The fuel, for me, is material.  It is knowledge and teaching.  The oxygen is the Bufu, or Warrior Wind.  I believe both are what my Shugyo needs.  The fuel, I believe, has been there.  I have a vast library of notes and materials, along with my own understanding.  But, I also know I need more, much more.  No fire keeps burning on the same log forever.  At the same time, nobody can give me oxygen.  Oxygen is either there or it isn't.  I have to be in the right place where the air is best, not stagnant air that is weak.  I need to find where the Bufu is strongest.

Then, I need to breathe it in!

But, Monkey has a part in this, too.  I need to laugh, I need to love and I need to play.  I need to stop taking this all so serious and return to the "why".  Monkeys don't try to "be" monkeys.  They just are monkeys.  Does that make sense?  They live in the moment, embracing it and accepting every part of it as monkeys do.  They adapt and survive, while still being who they are in all it's fullest.

I wonder if monkeys ever think about what it means to be a monkey?

There are a lot of things we all can learn from this.  Certainly, for me, finding that monkey and building that fire inside myself is something that is important to me going into this new year.  What it may or may not mean to you is for you to consider.  But, if you are feeling like your own Shugyo (and life in general) has been somehow dulled, the fire smothering or dying out, feeling heavy and losing the "why" to take another step, or even if you have stopped walking that path simply because you don't see your path anymore, let's let the monkey loose in our lives, find where we can let in that fresh, oxygen rich Bufu and, once that fire is rekindled again, grab that big oak log of knowledge and throw it on there!

We all can then dance, laugh and play around the roaring bonfire together in our reawakened Shugyo!

Gambatte!

The Death of an Art

I had some interesting discussions last week with someone I highly respect who is the head of an old Japanese martial art.  We talked about how so many martial arts students simply lack passion and commitment in their training, how they just aren't excited (or at least expressing excitement) and when opportunities come to get around some of the top people in martial arts, their interest level is almost utterly non-existent.  It is sad to see, as each year we lose some of the most notable and amazing figures from the martial arts world - and every year it seems less and less of these greats are there to take their place.  He felt the same way I did, that each generation is weaker when it comes to producing martial arts masters on the same level or greater than previous masters.

In essence, the arts are dying.



Last week, I also had a great conversation with someone who is one of my highest ranking students.  But, he is also a black belt in Aikido.  He mentioned how their classes are so small, there are nights he texts his training buddy to see if he is going.  He also said that the head instructor of this school also has stopped training with his teachers.  He simply lost his passion as a student and just goes through the motions of presenting the art as he understands it.

Our conversation paralleled the exact conversation I had previously with the other gentleman - the arts are dying.

Why is this?

We deduced that our current society is so dependent on technology, instant results, and this notion that everybody is a winner.  There is little or no struggle to get what you want when you can simply point and click.  Video games have replaced sports.  My own son no longer wants to play in sports, because his online gaming community is where all his friends are at anyway.  Even in schools, failure rates are skyrocketing as a broken education system continues to lower the bar on what is expected to pass, because too many failures means the teachers and schools lose money and are blamed for "not providing quality education".  So, society learns that failure is always somebody else's fault and holding someone to a high standard is somehow a negative.

In martial arts, we also see this trend.  There are "fast track" promotions.  You can buy a black belt program that guarantees receiving a black belt in a given amount of time or classes (instead of actually earning it, no matter how long it takes).  There are so many marketing gimmicks designed to sell snake oil to generations of people willing to pay for convenience and instant gratification.  One of the main reasons is simply commercial, or profit making, but also because schools who don't will not attract as many students and if they can't pay their bills, then the school closes.

This leads me to my point and something brought up during these discussions.  Gone are the days where prospective students had to prove themselves acceptable as students.  Gone are the days when a student would practice the most simple thing, like a punch or a cut with a sword, over and over for hours.  Gone are the days when a student would toughen their body through repetitions of striking a hardened surface to condition the hands, fingers, elbows, knees and such.  Gone are the days when a student would travel hours just to learn a single lesson from their teacher and focus on just that until their teacher feels they are ready for another.  Gone are the days when promoting in a school meant years of commitment, hard training and sacrifice.  Gone are the days when the teaching of an old system was just as much a pursuit of history, archeology, language and culture, as it was training the body.

Gone are the days when a student's belt actually went from white to black from all the grime, sweat, blood and dirt gained from enough training.

And, gone are the days when students had passion so strong they would take advantage of every opportunity to train, instead of only when convenience and interest allow for it.

If I opened a school, new people came to sign up, and for the first week all I had them do was practice a low, extended punch over and over until their legs gave out, would they come back?  What if I didn't use mats, just hardwood flooring, and had them practice rolls and break falls repetitively for the entire first week.  Would they come back?

What if I told them they wouldn't reach their first belt rank unless they not only know a list of techniques, but also maintain regular attendance, show consistency in the quality of their training and follow up their class training with drills to practice at home?  Would they do it?  Would they do it beyond their first rank?

After several months of training went by, what if I held a ranking exam and some students didn't pass.  Would the bitterness of failure discourage them from continuing, or would it inspire them to push harder for excellence?

A friend of mine in Japan mentioned to me how the younger generations of Japanese are losing interest in the old martial arts.  They are more interested in sports.  It's no different here.  Many of the traditional martial arts classes in Japan are usually populated by more non-Japanese than Japanese.  With the popularity of sport martial arts like MMA, young men and women are flocking to gyms instead of dojos.  They have coaches instead of sensei.  They want the excitement that comes from competitive sports - and there are entire industries built around it which are more and more common and available.

Hatsumi Soke wrote about how budo (and martial arts) are about humanity.  This is because martial arts were started by humans interacting with each other in conflict.  Back then, conflict was real, brutal and often deadly.  Today, with the exception of violent assaults that happen from time to time, what society views as conflict is a Monkey Dance - a chest puffing slugfest by two drunk guys (or more).  They also see sports like MMA on the same level as violence.  Yet, they are not - at least from where the traditional martial arts came from.  As a result, those old arts lose context and, thus, people lose a reason to actually learn it.  They'd rather learn MMA, ground fighting systems, Combatives and any number of other modern methods.  They don't care about history, culture and masters.

Thus, the arts are dying.

What people often fail to understand is quite simply this:  The struggles that it took for a student to just be accepted as a student, the struggles it took for that student to progress and the struggles it took for that student to succeed, all forged a person into mastery of not just the art, but of himself.  The quality of the spirit was revealed in what it took to just be a student and, those who eventually mastered the art, were amazing individuals who inspired the next generation and taught through their life examples.  When you think about the old masters, they seemed larger than life!  Although they were known for their art, what they had to share wasn't about any particular technique - it was their spirit, their intensity towards life and the wisdom that was gained from their pursuit of mastery.  The kind of person that reached that level truly was a master, not by what they said, but by what they did.  They walked the walk, not just talked the talk.  They didn't have to prove themselves.  You just knew it.

The arts were alive because the masters and their students were alive through those arts.  The life force of the arts were the collective life force of all the masters and students in them.  What about today?  Are the old arts living vibrantly and powerfully, or are they getting weaker and weaker.  Even if there are many students in the dojo, do you feel the collective life force is still weaker than it should be?  Who bears responsibility for it?  You?  The teacher?

The arts are dying.  That is a sad fact.  But, they are only dying because people are letting them.  Yet, the answer lies in the individual, as it only takes one individual to breathe life back into an art.  So, are you that individual?  Or, is your art dying within you, too.

Peeling the Onion - Thoughts on Forms

In the Bujinkan, there are many very confusing things which are taught and spread throughout.  One of these things pertains to the Kata, or Form/Technique, and its importance in training.  We are taught to learn the form, break the form, and finally transcend the form.  This is known as the Shu-Ha-Ri model, which is about as old as martial arts.  But, when you start digging into the applications and interpretations of this in our regular martial arts training, you find there really are many different, even conflicting, ideas and applications of this.

Over the decades I have been training, I have found myself being led in various directions regarding the importance of “by the book” forms and techniques.  I have trained with teachers who are purist, sticking exactly to how things were originally written, and those who have almost virtually discarded the original forms and practice methods they believe are transcending the original design.  Most of the Bujinkan, I believe, is a mix of these two ideologies.  For a very long time I had bounced around somewhere in the middle, too, often leading to contradictory conclusions and even leading my own students down this rabbit hole.

Recently I have come back to more of a purist mentality, to dig into the original forms, be more “by the book” in how I study, train and teach.  I always believe this art is about timing and nowhere has that been more evident in the timing of my decision to do this.  I am now seeing things I never saw before, realizations about the ever deepening levels of understanding that are coming from simply slowing down and peeling back the layers, asking questions and filling in the blanks.  In meditation, I was awakened to realize that this progression is existent in our training, right there in front of our faces, and it is an amazing process if one takes the time, has the drive and the patient persistence to dig for it.

I will try to give an example of this:

Student is taught Technique A.  Against his opponent’s punch, he learns how to move out of the way, how to align his body correctly and put up his arms to provide protection.  Then, he strikes the opponent’s arm with his arm and steps forward with an open hand strike to the side of the opponent’s neck.  He practices this over and over again until he is able to do this off memory and less and less correction.  He is learning about the importance of structure, balance and movement.

Next, he learns that moving off at the right angle and right distance protects him from a fast second punch, so he drills this until it becomes precise every time.  He learns that his upward block hits the opponent’s arm at just the right angle and timing to cause their body to turn.  He practices this over and over again until he gets that result every time.  He begins to learn about anatomy and auto-response mechanisms, or how to create change and opportunity (cause and effect), as well as using the timing of reaction as cover for the next movement.

He realizes that if he does this block just right, the side of the opponent’s neck is more open and he steps forward and strikes it with greater accuracy at the right point on the neck to cause the opponent to stumble back.  Again, he learns more about anatomy, structure, balance, creating opportunity and controlling the opponent.

After many, many successfully performed versions of this, he begins to realize he is moving at the right angle, the right distance, hits the opponent’s arm correctly, causes the right reaction and strikes the neck at just the right point, every time with less and less variance.  Now he is learning to embody the efficiency of the elements of the form into natural motion.

When the teacher sees the student is ready, he teaches him that with more flow and timing, instead of striking the opponent’s arm, he can draw out the arm and, in so doing, cause the opponent’s body to turn in time with the strike, opening up the vital point on the neck for the student to step forward and strike.  Instead of separate actions of block and step/strike, this begins to move as one motion.  This is practices over and over until it is done with precision in timing, movement and targeting.

Once the teacher sees the student has this down adequately, he encourages the student to consider other options instead of striking the neck.  Maybe he steps in and throws.  Maybe he steps in and strikes other vital targets.  Maybe he steps in and steals a weapon off the opponent.  Maybe he doesn’t step in and launches a kick instead.

And, since we are a weapons based art, the student also sees the connection to doing the same technique with a sword, long staff, short stick, knife, rope and everything else.

Seeing this progression, it becomes crystal clear that the student will never truly learn how to perform the more advanced versions, never really “see” the next levels, without focusing on the very basic mechanics and drill them over and over again, without change or variance, until they become locked in enough that the teacher feels the student is ready.  That is what I have come to understand as a true way to learn martial arts.  Anything outside of that is so dangerous, because it sets up false confidence with weak skill sets.  Under pressure, they will break down and fail.

I know this might be controversial and I probably will take some heat from my opinions on this, but I have arrived at this through my own trials, errors and discoveries.  I have also been around long enough to see the results of how different people train and teach.  But, I’m also a realist and know that even in my own current thinking, training and teaching, I am forever still just a Work In Progress.

Mad Libs Budo

Ever play that word game called Mad Libs, where you’re given a short story and scattered throughout are blanks for you to fill in?  You pick a noun, verb, adverb, adjective, etc, and when it’s finished, you’re left with a funny story.  Here’s an example:

“Charlie was a (noun) who loved to eat (noun).  He particularly enjoyed the (color) ones.  One day, Charlie was (verb) and some friends came by to visit.  He offered them a (noun), but didn’t have enough.  But, one of the friends brought a (noun) and they all had a great time (verb).  After they were finished, they all decided to (verb).  Charlie accidentally (verb) really (adverb).  He was so (emotion) over it.”

If you fill in the parenthesis with the requested kind of word (noun, verb, etc), then read it back, you will have a story that might be a bit crazy, maybe funny, or even one that just makes sense.  But, hand it to someone else, and you generally will get a completely different story.

I use this analogy to describe what learning budo is like.  In the beginning, we have a blank page.  We receive words to start building the story, but there are blanks.  It is human nature to want to fill in the blanks in a way that makes sense of what we’re learning.  However, as you can see, what we choose to fill in those blanks can lead to very different outcomes, sometimes silly and nonsensical, but sometimes quite logical – although still different from the actual story.

To take up the path of a budo deshi (budo student) is to seek to fill in the blanks, not with our own imagination, but with those things which were originally there.  We are trying to uncover the story, not create our own.  Although, it is easy for us to do and we’re actually hardwired to do it, even on very subtle levels.  We hate incompleteness.  We hate to not have the whole story.  So, we find ourselves thinking ahead, making assumptions, relying on our own logic and reasoning, instead of patiently working towards filling in the blanks with what is supposed to be there.

So, what is the danger of using one’s own logic and understanding to come to completely rational conclusions, to fill in the blanks, and arrive at a story that makes sense?

Because it’s not about just making sense out of something.  It’s about learning what we’re supposed to learn, when we’re supposed to learn it.  In a training context, we aren’t training to beat up our Uke (partner or receiver of the technique).  It’s not even about the “win”.  It’s about unlocking the lessons, sharpening the skills, of those pieces within the kata /waza or form.  Everything is a gateway to something else.  Everything has layers to uncover that lead to new layers.  But, when we’re too busy making our own story, we are off on our own path instead of the path that opens the gateways and reveals the next layer in our understanding.  We are not following in the footsteps of the masters who have walked the very same path before us.  In so doing, we evolve along our own, uncharted lines.

In many things, exploring uncharted paths, taking risks and getting outside the box is a good thing.  But, you have to consider the purpose of budo – it is about war and survival.  The stakes are high, higher than anything else in life.  If you were a soldier in Feudal Japan, your life expectancy on the battlefield was high.  So, anytime you could learn from someone who had a technique that proved itself in battle, you would learn it as completely and accurately as you could.  You would practice it over and over, exactly as you were taught, until it became a part of you.  Then, when you were deployed into battle, you were ready to use it and hopefully it would give you a percentage chance of living another day.  You wouldn’t risk your success on your own imagination, or someone who hasn’t proven their technique in battle.  The risk would be far too high.

When I was in the Army, I got to know a new 2^nd Lieutenant.  We called them “Butter Bars” for the single, rectangular brass bar they wore for their rank.  He told me that the single most important lesson he was told came from his CO (Commanding Officer).  The first day he arrived, the CO called him in and gave him an introduction.  Of all the things said, what stuck the most was when the CO looked him in the eye and told him, “If you want to get crap done right, if you want to go into war and come back in one piece, find the NCO with the most hash marks on his sleeve, buy him a drink and listen to what he says.”

The reason this was such important advice simply had to do with experience.  The NCO already had completed one or more enlistment terms.  He may have already done one or more tours in a combat zone.  He probably had enough medals to fill up a trunk.  Even though the 2^nd Lieutenant out ranked him, even though the NCO had to salute and follow the orders of even the newest Butter Bar, the NCO had the knowledge, experience and training that was proven to work.  So, it would benefit the new Lieutenant to follow closely his advice and direction.

The best officers listen to and take the advice of their NCO’s.  They may out rank, they may give direction on the larger purpose or outcome, but the actual nuts and bolts of how things work the best, the method to make things happen, all falls to the experience, training and knowledge of the NCO’s.

Is there any difference between that and martial arts which have survived through all the wars in Japanese Feudal history?  How many martial artists act more like the bright eyed, young Lieutenant just out of college and try to dictate what they think would work in actual war, instead of relying on the wisdom of those who have actually survived it?

We do not have the benefit of spending time with those Japanese warriors who lived and fought during the Warring Periods.  But, what we do have are the densho, the words and drawings which have been codified into scrolls.  More importantly, we have the kuden, or verbal teachings, that have been passed from person to person throughout the generations.  The wisdom is still there, if we can let go of our own ego enough to listen.  When we do that, we uncover the secrets, the nuggets of learning, and are able to cross the gateways to deeper understanding of the art we claim to be students of.

If we’re off on our own imagination, filling in the blanks ourselves and creating our own stories, we fail to connect to that foundation that existed long before we took our first breath.  We fail to connect to those who have more hash marks on their sleeves than we probably ever will.

And, as a result, when life and death matter, we may be following our created path right into our own death.

My advice, from an old, crusty budo deshi who has learned from more mistakes than I care to remember?  Be a humble student, not your own expert, and stay on the path already forged.  You'll uncover a richness of the budo arts that you would never find on your own.