Grab some tea or coffee and sit back. This is a long one. I struggled with so many thoughts and what to write that I finally just decided to throw it all out there. So, here it goes...
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Wow, another year has gone by. I am still trying to wrap my head around it. As I get older, time seems to be on an ever increasing pace. Or maybe my fuzzy brain misses more and more of it! Regardless, 2012 for me was a year filled to the brim with life events, both good and, well, maybe not quite so good. I imagine it was for you, too. Change was always an ever present condition, both on a personal level and with my budo path. As with all change, there is always struggle. The ryuuko hikan relationship between Dragon and Tiger was very significant, as I wrestled with the balance between vision and application. In doing so, I learned a great deal about myself, martial arts and of life itself. In fact, of all the greatest lessons that revealed itself to me, the value of simplicity became the finality of it all.
I don't mean simplicity as in stripping away everything, although that certainly played a major role in application. By simplicity, I mean getting back to the basics, to what is really important, the root of it all, the source of everything, and the foundation. The 2011 Bujinkan theme was Kihon Happo, which is the base or foundation for our budo taijutsu. The theme for 2012 was kaname, or the pivoting point (or key point), that point where everything hinges, where you can choose freely to go any direction (among other meanings). When I take these two themes and put them together, I find that by returning to the foundation, stripping away the complexities and "stuff", we arrive at a point where we can be free. But, that doesn't mean to just give up those things in life. You can't be a hermit, to isolate yourself from life, and expect to have a healthy life, mentally, emotionally and physically. You have to interact with life at some point, to go to work, spend time with family and friends, and live (as an action). At the same time, you can't be a busy-body, working all the time, running around from place to place, trying to do everything on your "honey-do list", and so on, or you run the risk of stress related health problems. There is a pace to life, a balance that fulfills the *needs* of living productively, while fulfilling the *needs* of living healthy.
In our budo taijutsu, we have a vast array of techniques. We have nine schools (ryuha) to play with, although not a lot has been taught by Soke that comes from several of these. Regardless, between the majority of ryuha that are more commonly taught in the Bujinkan, the library of techniques number in the hundreds and their subject matters cover just about everything. For some, the pursuit of these waza, or forms, is the inspiration. For others, it isn't. The argument is continuous and sometimes highly charged - whether you *need* to master these techniques in order to move the way Soke moves, or the pursuit of the underlying principles of movement that tie all these techniques together, letting go of the *need* to master them.
I will be open and honest and admit to falling on one side and the other of the debate. I see the value of both sides. The struggle between the two perspectives has produced frustration in my own understanding. I am an advocate of hard, physical training and believe you *need* to build strong mechanics that will keep you alive in real danger. But, I also believe that you can become trapped in the world of techniques so much that you don't move freely. Your mind is always trying to find and command the body to do specific techniques, which limit free and adaptive responses. Then, there's the pluses and minuses of what others call pressure testing, or aliveness, or even sparring.
When I watch our Soke move, I see a dance. I see a performance. I see very little in the way of teaching, as in direct, step by step communication. What I do see is possibilities, as in what possibilities can exist in the moment when technique isn't the focus, but movement is. Soke is always cheating the distances, angles and timing. I see it happen even before the uke (attacker) launches his strike. Soke is already changing, so that the uke is trying to adjust, not in the middle of the attack, but right at the very beginning. Most often, Soke doesn't take a strong kamae (posture or position) as in any of our typical body 'stances'. He appears quite vulnerable. I find this interesting on many levels. In what we see as 'classical' kata, like Ichimonji no Kata, for instance, both uke and tori are standing in a strong posture. I don't know about you, but having an opponent face me in a strong posture is not something that invites an attack from me. I would want to try and create an opportunity, either through combination moves (the setup, then the main attack) or to draw them into attacking so that I can exploit the opening their attack creates (there is always an opening during an attack, whether theirs - or yours). Either way, it would be tactically stupid to launch an attack against an opponent's strong position, unless you were convinced you could overwhelm their position. But, that is a risky and potentially costly tactic (just think of the hundreds of thousands of soldiers in the Somme during WW1, who continued to charge back and forth at each others entrenched lines, only to be mowed down by machine guns).
So, why do so many train this way?
On the flip side, I see many who try to replicate moving the way Soke moves. I see them stand there in front of the uke. Uke takes an attack posture and the tori still stands there, sometimes even back on their heels. What is even more interesting is how uke takes an attack posture. Most people step back and raise their hands (i.e. Ichimonji no Kamae, for instance). Then, they step forward in a whole body lunge punch to a tori who is still just standing there. But, why not just stand there? There has been no threat or *need* to move. The 'attacker' stepped back and now has to move his body a country mile to propel his fist across the distance to get to the tori. The tori could take a nap in that time! The danger is only psychological, not physical, until that attack gets within a certain space. The more experience the tori has, that space can be smaller and smaller. For instance, a new student may already be moving back and away or responding in some way even before the attack reaches the midway point. That's fear-based instinctual response, a natural reaction that is hardwired into our minds that perceives danger differently than the actual danger.
I believe that is why we first learn waza from such a long distance and why the first level of striking is done moving the entire body as one unit. This false perception of danger needs to be dealt with first. By having greater distance, we have time to control this perception, to 'see' the actual danger and resist the temptation to move ahead of time (the uke can adjust and still get you). Also, it is common for a fear-response to narrow perception and alter our judgement of distance and timing. By having the uke move their entire body forward in time with the strike, our mind can comprehend or perceive the action more clearly.
So, for early training, especially those with little to no experience at martial arts, this kind of training has value. But, the value is really to get the student to relax, to let go of their fear of danger (or at least the control it has on them) and to start to differentiate the perceived danger from the actual danger. This is why I consider the first three kyu ranks to be all about Ukemi, or how to receive the training. It isn't necessarily about breakfalls and rolling, but about perception.
However, at some point, the student has to progress past this level and get to something more real. They can't simply keep repeating the same level of training over and over. There has to be an evolution, a progression, where ranges become shorter, timings become faster, and attacks become more effective or real. In all my years of occupations that dealt with real violence, I never saw anybody attack with a step through, whole body, lunge style punch. Never. If they were so effective, boxers would have been doing that for hundreds of years. At some point, if you want to test your technique, you *need* to have someone attack you in a manner that is more likely to happen - a cross punch, jab and cross, or grab and cross punch, or maybe an uppercut, body blow, or shift and punch, or maybe a wide roundhouse, backfist, etc. These are all great ways to play with your technique. But, that brings up two very important points:
1. No matter your rank, if you are attacking in a manner you haven't been adequately trained in, likely you are not attacking correctly or at a level even close to your rank. If you have never spent time with a boxing coach, hit the bags and gone round after round in the ring with someone, you have no expertise in how a boxer will attack. Just because you are throwing a hook punch doesn't mean you are attacking like a boxer. A boxer will use space, timing, angling and combinations to set up the KO, or they may just jab at you to weaken you enough for the KO. Either way, they aren't going to just come at you with one big haymaker punch. Same with MMA fighters, too. They aren't going to just throw themselves at you without some tactical consideration. If they've trained for any real length of time, they aren't idiots. Even hardened criminals have fight experience and learned a thing or two about tactics. Otherwise, they would be dead criminals. So, if you want to 'test' your training against cross arts or skill sets, it would be far better to draw upon the experience of those who actually have that training - or go seek that training yourself first before pretending to know what you are presenting.
2. If you spend too much time trying to 'test' or play with your technique against things outside your art, you may run into the problem of missing what lessons that technique holds. Kata were designed for a reason. Many techniques were simply solutions to a problem (the "what if" questions). However, it's important to understand that in digging deep into a kata, you can learn much about the body. You also learn much about the ryuha or school. It is said that the first kata of a school contains the foundational points of that school. It is also said that often the most difficult kata are the very first kata. Why do you think that is? Because they are foundational to understanding the roots or the key principles that make up the rest of the kata. Many old ryuha have what is called "kihon", a set of skills that are learned first before the Shoden Kata, or first level of techniques. This may include striking, blocking, breakfalls, and other base skill sets that are key in getting the person ready for the training. Then, when the student has gained a sufficient level in these skill sets, the teacher would allow the student to begin learning the first forms of the school. Many people today do not spend enough time or have enough time in their kihon to truly 'get' the kata they are trying to learn. They perceive incorrectly because they are not able to see the kihon in the kata. They only see the raw outer form, the big movements, and try to replicate. But, their attempt to make it work is only as good as their level of kihon. This creates an illusion and false confidence. A cooperative uke and tori's natural strength and speed can compensate for a lack of strong kihon and hide the holes or ineffectiveness of the tori's ability to perform the kata as it was meant to be performed. Then, when they become satisfied that they can do the kata, even if it is only a facade or illusion of proficiency, they want to jump into that dangerous world of henka, or variations. That's when cross training comes in. They stop digging deeper into the kata, to find and work on the kihon contained in it, and spend their time outside the kata. They aren't learning anything, just reinforcing inefficient, bad mechanics.
I write these things not as a judge of others, although I admit that there is a level of finger pointing on my part. But, I also am honest enough to admit that I fall into these mistakes myself. Over the 2+ decades of training, I have bounced in and out of this training fallacy more times than I can count - and likely I will fall into it again at some point down the road. It's wasted time, as it takes a much longer span of time to undo bad muscle memory, to unlearn bad training, than it does to do it right the first time. But, enthusiasm is a dangerous thing sometimes and it is normal for all of us to go through periods of doubt about our own abilities. Sometimes, just trusting your teacher isn't enough. Sometimes, you have to take the long road to prove to yourself that what you are doing is right, that your teacher was right all along. In budo, this is dangerous on a more basic level. Budo is about survival. Mistakes made in that can cost lives.
The end of this year has marked significant changes in the Bujinkan. Of most significance is the announcement by Soke that he is no longer doing the Daikomyosai annual events. His reasons included the concern about safety, having so many Bujinkan people gathering in Noda every year and the increased dangers of disasters and terrorism. We saw Japan go through it's worst major disaster since the bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki in WW2. The earthquakes, tsunami and subsequent radioactive contamination was a serious blow to the Japanese island. The global war on terror, increased tensions with North Korea, China and Russia, and other geopolitical challenges all add to the dangers. Our Soke seems to be looking at the Bujinkan as a responsible leader would any organization. But, he also made a very important point as well, stating that people need to just come to Japan to learn at various times of the year, not just the one time of year for Daikomyosai. In essence, he was saying "the door is always open". This is something people need to hear. For me, I have never been attracted by Daikomyosai. With so many people coming from around the world, it has become more of a social event. Sadly, for some, it is more about getting their face time with Soke, to get promoted, trophy photos taken with Soke and the Japanese Shihan, and to promote their own selfish agenda. It isn't about the learning, about being a budoka. It's more about being a performer, a groupie or attention seeker.
By encouraging people to come any time of the year, this breaks up the party. During the off season, for instance, you can go to a class taught by a Japanese Shihan, one of the inner circle of teachers who are closest to Soke, and only have a handful of students in the room. No fanfare, no big photo ops (although most will gladly pose with you for a photo if you ask), and no wide public recognition. It is much more like a real dojo setting, where you get specific teaching and coaching. Often, you may get to be uke, which is a whole new level of learning you won't get from just watching and doing.
Another significant evolution in the Bujinkan is the move away from ryuha-based teaching. There are still those who focus entirely on the ryuha kata and they play an important role. But, there is a growing number of people who are approaching training from a different perspective. They are looking at training from a principle-based focus. Instead of doing sets of kata, they are spending their time on looking at the timing, positioning and such of all those kata. They are seeking the common ground, so to speak (write), and using a variety of training methods to develop skills outside the step-by-step learning of kata. The rift has caused quite a lot of in-fighting. One area of contention is in the subject of 'ground fighting'. Many people have seen a major weakness in the Bujinkan in this area. I tend to agree with this, as well. Being taken to the ground is becoming more and more common in assaults, mostly due to the popularity of UFC and similar sporting events. Most often, this involves a "ground and pound" mentality, but now you have people who find it pleasing to their ego to take someone down and choke them out in a RNC (Rear Naked Choke). Both attacks are actually extremely dangerous outside the MMA sport. Having your head bounce off the pavement from someone slamming fists and elbows into you (even if you are covering your face with your arms) can kill or cause brain damage. Equally, having your neck cranked in an RNC can cause death or brain damage from trauma to the spinal cord, damaged or crushed trachea, or loss of blood flow. Even heart attacks can happen from being choked out. So, someone taking you to the ground, even if they don't have the intent to kill you - can very easily kill or disable you just from the effects of a couple of simple, easy to perform techniques. Having some sense of familiarity of being on the ground and pounded or choked will keep you from panicking (deer in headlights syndrome) and allow you to have some options to escape. Notice I wrote ESCAPE - not wrestle them into submission. So, this is why I have spent time training with people who have ground fighting experience, to give me that familiarity and build some options to escape. It is also something I share in my own teaching, because I see the value it brings in helping to keep my students alive.
But, what I also find interesting is how this kind of thing is starting to come out in Bujinkan training. There are ground fighting (or as I call it, "Ground Survival") techniques in the Bujinkan. The key is in finding the right teachers who actually know them, have been taught them, and who are willing to share what they know. Again, I fall back on my section above where I make the point about people teaching things they really don't have experience in.
Even with this new shift in training, there are still those who sit on opposite sides of the fence between studying raw technique versus principle-based training. People will look at going to what is commonly referred to in sport ground fighting as the Guard, for instance, and immediately think their crotch is vulnerable to strikes, so they immediately discount it. But, if they studied the technique, they will see that in lifting the hips up, the groin is relatively protected. At the same time, there is the technique of Shrimping, of sliding the hips out and jamming your knee into the space to block the attacker. Simple techniques that can make all the difference in those situations. But, if you don't train on them over and over until they are instinctual, it will be too late for your brain to communicate to your body and your body to respond with action. So, you have to get your butt on the mat and train it over and over. That's technique training. But, don't fall into the danger of missing the tactical consideration of how you are taken to the ground (you don't go willingly) and what preventative actions you take to keep someone from getting on top of you, like kicking and creating blocks with your legs (after that, the Guard is far safer than having someone sitting on you as in a Full Mount).
However, add weapons into the mix and your perspective very quickly moves away from sports and into pure survival, which does affect the tactical appropriateness of common sport ground fighting techniques - and is the *concept* behind Soke's budo. See the challenge here?
This new year is the Year of the Black Water Snake. I'm not a believer in Asian Astrology, nor am I an expert in it, but I do find it helps shed light sometimes on my own understanding of life and budo. In my study of the symbolism of the Black Water Snake, I found some interesting points.
The Snake is an intelligent creature, using logic and patience, moving slowly, gracefully and well paced. It is an avid hunter, tasting the air with it's tongue to find it's prey and predator (to avoid being prey!). Because it moves slowly, it isn't a chase predator, like a tiger). It relies on stealth, terrain (low ground), and camouflage. It is patient, taking as long as it needs to get within striking range. Some snakes use venom. Others entangle and crush. But, in the end it seeks to dominate and consume the prey.
Water is a common element in martial arts. It's symbolism is rooted in nagare, or flow, and it is at the root of adaptation. Water can change from solid, liquid and gas, but still retain it's base property. No matter what form it's in, it is still water. Water can give life and destroy life. When it is challenged, it can find the tiniest of crevices and, if unstopped, will wear away the hardest mountains into canyons. If stopped, water will stagnate. But, even stagnate water evaporates eventually. So, no matter how fast or slow, it is constantly changing.
Black is the color of void, denoting no limit. Black water gives the feeling of a bottomless lake, dark and foreboding, mysterious and dangerous. In many circles of belief, water represents emotion and dreams. I remember as a child having a great fear of swimming in dark waters, where I couldn't see the bottom. My imagination always teased my fear with scary creatures living in the darkness below, poised to snatch my dangling feet and pull me to the cold depths of the unknown.
When I think of these things, I am reminded of how it feels to train in Soke's budo. The feeling of Soke's budo, and of training with the Japanese Shihan, is very much a combination of these three attributes. There's gracefulness, a flow or timing that captivates the mind, of using lower positioning and spaces, patiently entering to points where they are strong and uke is weak, where the uke is either crushed or weakened into paralysis. There is plenty of mystery and fear, as they adapt and keep moving through the tiniest of openings in both space and time, so that even the strongest structures of the uke are worn down to emptiness.
To be a student of this budo is like trying to follow Soke into the dark waters of fear, mystery and the unknown. There is always so much that is hidden, unseen, and not understood. Always there is doubt in my own understanding. It can be easy to get lost, to drown trying to find my own way, to keep reaching down to find solid ground. But, if I just relax, to keep following the right teachers, it is like relaxing and allowing the natural buoyancy of my body to keep me afloat. If I fight it, if I keep trying to resist, then I will sink and drown.
This leads me to my focus for 2013.
I have wrestled with techniques so long that another technique means very little to me. What I have come to find foundational is the need for movement. Techniques are unreliable. The way most of us have trained and continue to train is to put movement second, over getting a technique 'right'. This involves stopping the action, letting balance settle, the uke naturally adjusting their balance and structure, while the tori fumbles with their position, hand grip or placement, where to put a foot, grip on a weapon, etc. This, I have come to understand, is death. Death of taijutsu. Taijutsu needs to be free-flowing, like water. It needs to keep from becoming stagnate, or it will evaporate and disappear, leaving us vulnerable. If a technique fails, our movement will keep us safer (not SAFE, but SAFER than we were before).
Let me use an example of modern combatives. You are in a restaurant enjoying a meal with family. You have a handgun holstered on your waist (drop the concealed weapon argument for a moment). Suddenly, a masked man enters through a back door and starts shooting. Under this immediate stress, the fight or flight adrenaline response takes over. Your typical response would be to seek cover, to hit the ground. However, now you are armed, so you grab for your sidearm. In choosing the weapon over the evasion, you are shot. Had you chosen the evasion first, you would still be alive. But, suppose you drop under the table. Your family are still in harm's way. You draw your weapon and they get shot. Maybe instead of dropping to the floor (evasion), then going for your weapon, you needed to protect your family first. How about pulling them to the floor, flipping up the table as cover or similar actions to protect them, THEN pulling your weapon?
I don't want to argue the tactical mechanics as much as I am trying to present a concept. In my example above, every time the weapon became the focus, someone was shot. Only when tactical movement was put first did the danger decrease for you and your family. Of course, the example is a horrible situation where many possibilities exist. But, my point is still the same.
Then, if this is such a logical conclusion on a modern combatives situation, why do so many people train the opposite in traditional martial arts? Generations of budoka stand in one spot, firing strike after strike, or any technique, over and over, using only a very limited set of positional movement. There's no tactical consideration outside of the specific skill set they are performing. This builds narrow skill set muscle memory that, when under an immediate, real life threat, will take over and act - even when the greater tactical logic is in opposition.
Another example is a real case from the early 70's, where bank robbers held up a bank and the first responders were plain clothed FBI agents. The robbers got into a shootout with the agents and, sadly, the agents where shot. Investigators on the scene afterward found empty shell casings in the pockets of the agents. The reason for this odd finding had to do with the training of the agents. During their firearms training, when they needed to reload their revolvers, they would release the spent casings from the weapon into their hand, place the casings in their pocket, and reload new shells into the firearm. They were not allowed to just expel the spent casings onto the ground. So, when faced with assailants shooting at them, the adrenaline induced response was to follow their programmed muscle memory. Thus, the time they spent collecting and depositing the empty shell casings into their pockets was time they needed to reload their weapons to return fire. Looking at this situation, there wasn't a man or woman who probably thought it was tactically smart to worry about shell casings. Yet, they all trained that way and likely would have responded similarly.
Again, this is where technique-focused training can produce bad, tactically dangerous habits.
So, having spent just about all of 2012 focusing training on technique, specifically the Tenchijin Ryaku no Maki, I am going to switch perspectives and make this year about movement. I want to put continuous, constant movement over technical skill sets. That doesn't mean we won't train on techniques. But, in learning them, we first will learn when, where, and how to move. The 'when' is the timing, the kind of timing that exists in a real attack (even if slow for training purposes). The 'where' is the positioning, the tactically superior place, not when the attack happens or after, but even before. The 'how' is the method. More than just technique, this is the focus on ergonomics, naturalness, and flow. But, this isn't just three things, as in a set, but in a continuous loop of continuity. We are not going to do things the old way of step here, wait, step there, wait, etc. We are going to push ourselves, both as uke and tori, to keep the action rolling. Individual skill sets, like wrist twisting, arm locks, striking, etc, are all actions performed during the course of moving, not what you do at stopping points (a huge pet peave of mine!). Balance taken is balance kept. Uke is not going to be allowed to recover. Structure broken is unrecoverable. And, at higher levels, the uke is encouraged to try and recover. Many wonderful techniques Soke and the Shihan perform often happens during the attempted recovery by the uke. We need to discover that in our own training, too.
This will be frustrating for some. You will need to let go of an expected result. Attaching your mind to how you 'think' or 'expect' a technique or reaction should be is dangerous. If you grab a hand and turn, for instance, and you 'expect' the uke to react a certain way, is not taking you closer to being that zero state that Soke talks about. If this means losing a technique or ending up completely lost and not sure what to do, that's ok. But, you have to keep moving, even if it is to gain distance and escape. When all else fails should you engage, right? So why not train that way? If there's no immediate danger anymore, then get out of there. That's what modern combatives teaches. Martial arts are just historical versions of combatives. There should be no difference. We're the ones who have made them different.
So, let's refocus our training the basics of basics - movement and tactics. As Soke has said over and over and what has become a commonly tossed admonition in the Bujinkan: "Gambatte", meaning "keep going". Well, that's what I want us to do. Keep going. Don't stop. Don't let anything stop us, even a technique.
Have a wonderful New Year and let's Gambatte together!
Darren
