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.

So, you want to be a black belt, huh?

So you want to be a black belt?

There are many things about martial arts which are silly, confusing and even misleading.  We may think we know what we’re talking about, but to a layman it must sound like gibberish.  However, if we really stop to listen to ourselves, to really think about what’s commonly said or written, we may find that we really don’t understand.  Our Soke is a master at this, where we read or hear something and think we understand – only to gain a totally different interpretation and understanding later on.

One big stigma that falls into this is the subject of belt ranks.  It seems that, particularly in the Bujinkan organization I belong to, there are so many mixed messages regarding the importance of rank.  You’ll hear people say rank doesn’t matter.  You’ll hear people say rank is a personal thing between teacher and student.  You’ll also hear people talk about the yearning to be a black belt.  That latter part is what I want to write about here.

What does it mean when someone says they want to BE a black belt, anyway?  Are they really saying they want to be a strip of black cloth that’s tied around the waist of someone?   I doubt it, although nothing surprises me.

I believe most people have some sense of what kind of person is a black belt wearer.  For a new person, that usually means some kind of measurable skill level beyond just a basic grasp of techniques.  Some may even think it denotes a kind of mastership.  But, if we consider this from different perspectives, we begin to see that a black belt really isn’t a very concrete thing.

In a curriculum based school, a black belt is an achievement based upon learning and adequately performing the material required for the black belt.  It’s a narrowly defined purpose and result.  Other schools may be more holistic, focusing on gaining some level of understanding of principles, demonstrated in a broader range of physical expressions.  Some may go so far as to not have any requirements, basing ranking purely on the subject opinion of the teacher or recommendations from a panel.  In our Bujinkan organization, we have all the above, making the image of a Bujinkan black belt something that isn’t so clearly defined.

When a new student expresses a desire to “be a black belt”, I feel some questions need to be asked.  What do they think being a black belt means?  Why is that so important to them?

If one wanted to EARN a black belt, then they are saying a very specific thing.  But, to BE a black belt is relating more to an ambiguous quality they wish to embody in themselves, an archetype of what they believe a black belt student should be, which could encapsulate a wide variety of images.  To BE a black belt is to conform themselves to their own fantasy image or expectation.  To EARN a black belt means they conform to what the school or teacher demands in order to receive a black belt.  Although a student may often pursue both aspects while achieving the goal of obtaining a black belt, the difference is important.

In my opinion, a student receiving a black belt needs to be satisfied with both BEING and EARNING the belt.  Anybody can put on a black belt, but in so doing fraudulently, they are not BEING a black belt and they certainly haven’t EARNED it.  But, one can earn a black belt and fail at being one.  Many work hard to earn their black belt, but because they have made the mistake of placing too much importance on receiving the belt and not being the kind of person who has one, they end up stopping there and never progressing.  Some even experience depression and frustration, due in large part to the black belt not meeting their self-created expectations of what it is.

What, then, does it really mean to BE a black belt?  That means not only earning it, but maintaining the same passion, drive, focus and hard work it took to get there.  This is what takes you into the various grades of black belt.  It takes being a diligent student in order to EARN a black belt, but it also takes being a diligent student to BE a black belt.

So, contrary to the current popular opinions, rank does matter.  But, it’s HOW it matters that the importance is placed.  Rank should be something earned, but not as a one-time trophy or status or some kind of possession.  It should be a measurement of your knowledge, skill and experience.  At the same time, it should be something that fits what a person of that rank should be.  Who sets that expectation?  It is a combination of what you place on yourself and the expectations of your teacher.

Earning ranking isn’t something you do every few months or whenever testing is conducted, like passing an exam for a class.  You are tested on it every day, every time you step onto the mat.  You are challenged not only with learning the skills it takes to reach that belt rank, but also in maintaining those skills.  From there, you have a platform to build upon, to grow into the next higher rank.  But, if you sit back on your ranking, putting in just enough to maintain without continuing to refine, stop learning new things and not growing in knowledge, skill and experience, you have failed at being a student.

And being a student is at the core of being a black belt.  Being a student is to have passion for learning, the commitment to train honestly and with determination, and having the patience to keep going without settling or letting the rank become a resting point.

The process from white belt to black belt is deeply personal and contains many challenges.  It is the fire of challenge and trials that creates growth.  When a new student begins, they will have an understanding of what earning and being a black belt means.  However, as they progress, their own image of what it means to be a black belt will change.  This is important, as it should serve to guide them, like a beacon on a hill or an example to model themselves after.  At the same time, they learn new skills and build confidence when they see themselves executing them with greater efficiency and ability.  But, as they progress, they discover there are always levels beyond what they thought they knew and, in that, they begin to see that there is a balance between quantity and quality.  That hunger to evolve the techniques they know, to reach those deeper levels, becomes weighted against learning more and more techniques.

In those pursuits, the meaning of ranking may change and carry less importance.  For some, they are still clinging to ranking over the substance of their training, showing it’s more important for them to receive ranking than to grow as a student.  Instead of looking to sempai (seniors) and sensei (teachers) as examples to try and emulate, they look to curriculum and textbooks for technical data in order to do just what they need to earn the next ranking. 

They are chasing the belt instead of the art.  They may earn their black belts, but they will likely fall short of being black belts.

So, you want to be a black belt?  Start by being a student and never stop being that student.  Understand what it takes to earn a black belt from the teacher you choose to learn from.  Then, train as hard as you can and let it come to you through your actions.  The day they put a black belt around your waist and give you your Shodan menkyo (certificate), you’ll experience a new struggle.  Everybody goes through it, some more than others.  You will have three things going on at the same time, some stronger than others:

• You’ll wear your black belt as a symbol of your status, with an expectation that you are now proficient and an example for others.  Instead of looking ahead to what’s next, you’ll want to show off what you have now.

• You’ll feel like you haven’t truly earned what you believe a black belt to represent.  You’ll even feel somewhat embarrassed or ashamed to wear that black belt for the first time in class or have others refer to you as a black belt.  You’ll train hard, trying to embody what you think you should be like in order to feel good about wearing that belt.

• You’ll just put it on and keep going, giving it little thought.  You just see it as recognition from your teacher, nothing more, and you just keep showing up and training hard like you have all along.

The problem with the first two is that they both place the belt rank in too high of importance.  Whereas, the first attitude will eventually cause a student to fade away from training, the second could lead to quitting out of frustration.  It could also lead to a serious lack of confidence, real confidence that one needs to have to be a strong budoka.  Humility isn’t the opposite of confidence, so don’t confuse the two.  The third one is the rarest, but likely more indicative of what a successful, lifelong student embodies.  However, few, if not most, never can really have that as their main perspective.   

We all have a mix of the three.  I can attest to times when the first two were dominant.  For me, often the higher rankings I’ve received have left me feeling inadequate.  I felt I hadn’t quite earned it yet, so I would keep training.  That’s a good outlook, but if I never felt adequate for my rank, then I risk feeling like I’ve wasted my years of training.  At some point, I need to accept the recognition from my teacher and keep training.

What I never want to do is to settle or rest myself on my rank.  Of all the three, that one is the most devastating to a martial artist.  Yet, we do have moments where we enjoy our new rank, where the ego prods us to believe we are better than a Kohai (junior student).  It happens to everybody, including me, and I have to just get with my Sempai and Sensei to realize I have so much more to learn and grow that I can’t afford to sit back and coast.  In that regard, rank doesn't really matter, then, does it?

So, I just accept what I am given and keep going, because I know that regardless how high of ranking I may receive, there will always be an endless path lying before me, drawing me deeper and deeper ahead in pursuit of knowledge, skills and experience.  There is no belt, no rank, no certificate, which can replace the fire of that passion and the personal rewards of that endeavor.  That's the secret to belt ranks and something that may be intellectually understood, but has to be experienced to be fully embodied in the heart.

Wake Up and Live!

“To be “awoken” in martial arts means to be attentive, on guard, to be alert in any situation, whether it be a physical or emotional conflict.” – Dr. Kacem Zoughari

You can say this is a sort of Zanshin, or heightened awareness of everything around you and within you.  I’ve felt this at various states many times in my life.  For seemingly unknown reasons, suddenly I became acutely aware of everybody and everything in the room.  Through all the mixed laughter and conversations, I could pick out key phrases and words.  There was a spike in the energy of the room and I felt it.

I’ve felt this many times.  Most of the time, it goes away without any sort of idea why it happened.  But, in other situations it precluded some sort of danger.  I can remember being in a noisy bar and having my attention instantly expanded into the room, hearing words that carried the tone and language of aggression.  Two men were squared off and ready to fight each other.  Fortunately, in this situation at least, cooler heads prevailed and the situation didn’t turn violent.  But, not all have ended that way.

I remember another situation from my days catching crooks where I had a young male suspect detained.  He was cooperative and not resistant, but somehow my senses were pinging.  I was uneasy and felt I needed to search him closer.  As I conducted a more thorough pat down search, I felt a lump in his sock, just under his pant leg.  It was a knife!  I had missed it in my initial search, because I was only doing a cursory pat down of his waist.  Was I reading his intent?  Would he have tried to deploy it against me?  I don’t know.  Nothing else gave me any indication of the threat, except for a feeling.

There are many such examples, but as I stated, most I have no idea the reason for a spike in awareness.  However, I don’t take it lightly when it does happen.  I also don’t become paranoid, either.  I just accept the feeling and embrace the increased awareness without making any assumptions.  I think that last part is the most important.

In training, many times I can see the awareness heighten – and deaden.  I’ve seen people glaze over, or be focused elsewhere, instead of on the lessons being presented.  Our Soke has mentioned numerous times how he doesn’t teach, about how we have to “steal techniques”, that we’re learning how to “see”, and so on.  When you train in Soke’s class, things move very, very fast and seldom are repeated or explained on a technical, how-to level.  You either catch the moment or you don’t.  That requires a high state of awareness, to have one’s mind awake and receptive, to not only see what’s happening, but also remember it.  This is probably one of the single most important lessons a student can receive.  But, many times people can be overwhelmed, or they get tired and drift.  It is in those moments that secrets can be missed, maybe even a pivotal point that could mean the difference between understanding and confusion.  That moment of dullness in one’s perception and awareness is a Suki, or weak point.  Now imagine if that happened while a criminal approached you with a knife concealed in his hand.

However, to be paranoid is just as dangerous.  It makes you assume, overreact and narrow your awareness and attention to singular things.  There’s a balance to be made here.  Being “awake” has more to do with a state of being than an act.  Thus, it should require conscious mental energy to be that way.  It just is.  But, we also use our mental energy to keep our awareness up, to not allow ourselves to slip into an under-attentive or overly-attentive state.  Our mind is the rudder, keeping our consciousness on the natural course and making small adjustments to maintain our heading.  The best pilots use little energy, making subtle and very small adjustments.  This requires lots of focused training and valuable experience.

So, how does one “awaken” in their budo path?  First and foremost – pay attention!  Practice self-awareness of the shifting acuity of your perception.  In other words, don’t let yourself drift off in thoughts during class or when out and about in your day to day activities.  Be mindful of everywhere and everything without being paranoid.  Be mindful of when you are starting to fade and nudge yourself back to awareness.  Again, you aren’t making any assumptions or reading into anything.  You are just being aware and allowing those perceptions to run inside you without attaching anything to them.  If those perceptions urge you to act, then you act.  The difference is you aren’t using your mind to “tell” yourself to act.  You just act.  You are trying to build a connected relationship between your awareness, your perceptions, and your actions that isn’t dependent on the conscious mind to direct it.

If you want an experiment to see where you are in this ability to stay “awake”, take a basic solo kata or technique and practice it over and over again.  Do it a hundred, two hundred, three hundred times or more.  Grab your wooden training sword (bokken) and just practice downward cuts over and over for a thousand repetitions.  While you are doing these, you are focused on your technique, your breathing, your balance and so on.  At what point do you find yourself drifting off, becoming bored or thinking of other things?  That’s your Suki, the weak point in your mind.  That’s where you are falling asleep – and when you will miss a pivotal point.

Once you capture and maintain this “awakened” state, live from it.  Carry it with you throughout your day and let it stay a natural part of yourself.  Eventually, you will always have this going, even while laughing, playing and relaxing.

Being in Zanshin, fully awake inside as well as outside, does not mean you are shifty eyed, tense and ready to fight at a moment’s notice.  It’s quite the opposite.  You are relaxed, free and unattached to fully exist in every moment, at the very point in which that moment materializes.

And if that moment involves danger, you adapt and keep going without any attachment to take you away from fully being in the next moment.