What is fang song?

A reader’s request: A complete post about “fang song” would be in order.

That’s a tough one, which is why I have been putting this post off for several months. I still don’t have a good answer, nothing more than I could have said some months back. Fang song (放松) is a Chinese word simply translated as “relax”. But it refers to a deep, whole-body state of relaxation.

Far from having the tensed muscles so prevalent in external martial arts, the goal of fang song is to have a completely relaxed body / mind which will result, paradoxically, in smooth and strong actions with great power and speed.

You can practice (achieve?) fang song by progressively relaxing the muscles in your body, usually working from the trunk / center out to the extremities. But however much I relax, it seems I can go back through another cycle and relax even more.

Not much of an answer, I fear – thus I will call upon readers to give their own answers to the question, “what is fang song?” Please reply via the "comments" section.

be prepared

There is a weekly tai ji jian sword class which I like very much, though work sometimes interferes. Sometimes I can only stop in just long enough for a talk with the teacher – in tonight’s case, my plan for a group xing yi quan demo at an upcoming local tournament.

Until now, about two of us have done solo xing yi quan demos at the tournament but now that the class has been going for 5-6 years, I suggested that we have a group demo featuring several aspects of xing yi quan. So everyone might demo the 三体式 standing posture and the five basic fists 五形拳. Then we could break into small groups and each group could perform one of the twelve animal forms 十二形 of their choice (probably dragon, chicken, and monkey, since those were the focus of Liu Jing Ru Laoshi’s most recent visit.

Then, splitting into halves, we could do the 连环拳 and 八势 routines. Finally, I hope to run through the spear work we have covered so far, 形意枪. The teacher is very supportive but other class members are a bit reluctant. Anyway, I think we should be ready to demo and have tried to create a 10-minute performance that will showcase what we have been working on while allowing each person to choose only some parts to focus on. Alas, I will have to do 杂式捶 another time.

So my intention had been to simply attend the sword class (late), watch carefully, and discuss my proposal. As I should have expected, the teacher came right over with his sword and insisted I join the group for one last run through the 32 jian form. I duly protested. He duly insisted.

We have been through this ritual before and I should have known it was coming – and should have drunk less beer with dinner. I have not been practicing this 32 form much at all, as I have been quite focused on the Sha family tai ji jian forms for some time. And sure enough, at one of the places where the 32 form overlaps with the first Sha (24) form, I went into the Sha style, going off 45 right instead of forward after an overhead chop (劈剑), downward block along the side, downward flicking cut (点剑) sequence.

I quickly hopped in place to adjust my angle by 45 degrees, and couldn’t help but notice the smirk on the teacher’s face. Apart from that little glitch I gave a good show, but that one flaw stood out to those two who knew and betrayed my lack of preparation, the readiness to do any form at any time.

It’s a good thing I finally have a morning off work tomorrow. You’ll know where to find me.

karate memories (1)

Had a nice long solo practice at home tonight, spent most of it on kobudo. Somewhere in the blur of motion my mind began wandering. I took a break and let it go where it would.

(I) There was one visit, a friendly visit to another karate practice. Was it in the Dallas area, on a visit to relatives there? A very small group with a male teacher, a female top student, myself, and some beginners. We three continued after the beginners had finished their paces.

They were also Shotokan karate, though of a different line. Everything was the same but slightly different. He had the lead student and I start running through each of the Shotokan kata, side by side. Both brown belts, we were in the best of condition and the hungriest of spirit.

The three taikyoku kata. The five heian (pinan) kata. And so on, one by one. The three tekki (naihanchi) kata. Not a word said, just the name of the next kata after a short rest between each. Both bassai kata. Ji’in, jion.

It was the best kind of competition, both of us showing our stuff while respecting the other. We just wanted to show good kata, not to be better than the other person. Jion, nijushi. I began to wonder how far we would go, when he would say something. I hadn’t yet learned either of the gojushiho kata. If memory serves, I knew a couple more kata than she did. I hesitated, looked at him, got no signal of any kind, which I took as a go-ahead. He called a couple more kata, but I think it was getting clear that my breadth had exceeded my depth and there was no purpose in going further.

He never did say much more and I was uneasy, unsure what his purpose had been , what he had been looking for. Yet there was nothing negative, either. We finished off with some basics, bowed and exchanged thanks and goodbyes.

(II) All of this comes on the heels of an excellent practice last week (already blogged) in which we spent over two hours on a single weapon, the nunchaku, rather than the usual run through several weapons. Depth to balance out the breadth, and much appreciated.

(III) Sometimes I get little blasts from the past, very specific memories of places where I practiced. One late night outdoors in Texas, in the space between my parents’ house and the neighbors, as the air conditioner whirred into the night. I can still feel that night’s breeze cooling me between kata. I had taken my bo staff with me on that trip, and ran again and again through the selection of bo kata I knew. No one was watching, but it felt like anyone could be watching, and I knew that my kata were good.

Another visit, this one to a dojo inside a sweltering Quonset hut in summer in Bemidji, Minnesota. A karate / kobudo class with one teacher, two students, and me. And about twice that many onlookers outside, occasionally jeering but not venturing inside. I was a bit wary upon leaving, but found no one looking to jump me.

And another visit, to a long-running dojo which had only recently opened its doors to men. A friend of a friend was a long-term member and arranged for my visit. I was very impressed with the practice and have always wanted to return for another visit. It was an unplanned visit and I was treated exceptionally well, loaned a karate-gi, the works.

Other practices surface: striving in vain to hold kiba-dachi horse stance in the late night waves on a North Carolina beach, striving in pain to hold kiba-dachi in calf-deep snow in a backyard in Nebraska. The surface of the snow had iced over and I found blood running down both legs upon going inside – but had felt nothing outside, numbed by the cold.

The blood that had slowly accumulated on a makiwara punching post in the basement. And the giant, swollen tick I found on the carpet backing / punching pad I found one night under the single light bulb which illuminated the whole basement.

My first karate summer, was it 20 years ago? I had been through the university class, which captured me from the start, 4 ½ months in the spring and a bright new yellow belt. I knew from the first day it was for me and jumped in all the way.

I was the epitome of the bookish nerd, had been for 20 years. And now my body was moving and growing strong like it never had before.

Remember the kid who had perfect grades and shunned all the sports and athletes? That was me. The kid whose only athletic accomplishment (apart from a long and relatively undisturbed stint in right field in elementary school softball) was joining the cross-country track team and coming in dead last at every day’s practice except that one glorious day when the Always Second-to-Last kid had a cold and I swept past him in glorious victory (blogged about way back when)….that was me.

Maybe all those years of no physical activity, all the piles of science fiction novels, all the games of chess, had been building up to something. Because once it started, it couldn’t be stopped. I practiced like I had done nothing before in my life, as if fully awake for the first time. It consumed and shaped my life.

Too much so. My social life was arranged around an endless practice schedule. Staying the night at one place on a bitter cold winter night. I arrived after karate, of course, and hung my stinking dogi up to dry in her kitchen. The sweetest cup of hot chocolate in the history of the world – but that aroma had to dance and waft around the stench of a karate gi / uniform. If I only knew then….That was long before I knew that Practice sometimes has to take a back seat to more important things.

After that first semseter’s class, I continued in the sparsely-attended summer classes and spent afternoons pouring sweat in our sauna-like attic: multi-colored shag carpet and a wavy, broken line of foot-wide mirrors bought at various thrift stores. I ground those taikyoku and heian kata into my body. Our Sensei had written a text for the university classes and it was my guide day after day as I spent the afternoons preparing for the nights.

After more than the usual four or five years, I graduated university with three majors (I’ve never been one for focusing too narrowly….) and High Distinction. But the real story was not written on my diploma. My real passion and endeavor through it all was karate. What I really learned at that time was Japanese budo. It was played out there in the dojo and was written on and in my body over seven years, all leading to my coming to Japan.

Strangely, it was never quite right after coming to Japan. Long stories there for another time and place. Many things I might have, should have done differently. Many opportunities missed.

Fast-forward past all that. Now in Japan twice as long as I practiced karate and other budo in the US. I now find myself immersed in the Chinese martial arts, having found that one teacher and training environment which are right for me at this time. The Chinese martial arts world tends toward breadth (with depth) in just the way that the Japanese martial arts world tends toward depth over breadth. Maybe I have found my place after all.

(IV) What is my first, strongest karate memory? Maybe one from the end of that first semester. It was the last class before our paper test. Of course we had a practical test with kihon basics, kata forms, and kumite sparring. But there was also a written test which covered a wide range of material. On the last day, one of the teachers was drilling us. She asked a question about the meaning of the name of our branch of karate, Kenkojuku Shotokan.

No one else raised their hand. So I, in all my introverted glory, cast my eyes about and shyly raised my hand. I think she knew that I knew that answer, as she looked around for someone else to call upon. No other hands went up. She nodded, I answered, almost too completely.

I could feel way too many eyes staring at me. Was it the last question? Maybe so. We rose, bowed and said a final “osu!”, and left the training hall. I knew at that time that I had found something which would shape and guide my life.

(V) 2009. It has been too long since I have gone back. An ocean away and farther, as I move ever deeper into a different world. But on nights like this, I can pull out those taikyoku and heian kata and take myself straight back to the attic where I first burned them in.

Osu.

resistance

I have been thinking about resistance in terms of my 6-year-old daughter lately – she seems to have entered a new / higher stage of resistance to parents. Most days are pretty good but once in a while trouble unfolds.

They are little things, mostly – stomping up the stairs when told to put her toys in her room, ignoring parents when they call her, steadfastly refusing to comply with innocuous requests….surely I wasn’t such a stubborn child! I tell myself it is all a necessary part of her growth and development, but it is scant consolation after a long day at work and unnecessary poopiness at night.

Anyhow, last night I suddenly had to look at some of my own resistance. I practice martial arts because, well, I like learning and practicing martial arts. My goal is to absorb what the teacher has, bring it into my body and my motions. So I usually try to do what the teacher says. Pretty simple stuff.

The starting point is having chosen a teacher whom I respect and that I feel has mastery over the motions and concepts they are teaching. So, like most students, I go along with what the teacher says and strive to understand it and make it part of me.

But sometimes it doesn’t feel right at all.

We were working on Maezato (Mezato) no Nunchaku and Akamine no Nunchaku last night. It was great, an (almost) all-nunchaku night, over two hours of detailed reps. One of the core moves in both kata is a combination block which sets up the attack to follow.

You block across horizontally (the front stick is held vertical and the rear one at about a 30 degree angle, with the rear fist reinforcing the inner forearm of the lead arm. From there you add in another hip rotation and take the lead hand up inside the other arm to block overhead. The other hand moves across the body slightly, toward the opposite side of the torso.

The lead arm finishes with the stick held horizontal overhead, parallel to the floor (the teacher was stressing last night) and the other stick is held vertically, out near the shoulder. He was also urging us to keep the horizontal stick much lower, about eyebrow level.

My long-time habit is to block higher overhead, so I must assume this is more of a ready position. That is also because as the lead stick is going upward, the other stick pushes across to the side a second time– this functions as a strike to drive the opponent’s weapon (a six-foot wooden staff or bo) off to the side, following up the block just before.

My habit is also to block overhead with an angled stick – the idea being to let the blocked weapon slide downward off my weapon, absorbing some of the shock and helping get the opponent’s weapon out of my way.

So I was trying my best NOT to block, but merely to assume a ready position for the next motion, a downward strike from this cocked position (add a slide forward with yori-ashi). Trying to keep the overhead stick (a) parallel to the floor and (b) much lower.

I couldn’t let go of the blocking concept. I managed to get the motion down, but I was blocking it out in a way – not accepting it as correct. Even as my body did the motion, my mind was not accepting it.

My own little rebellion stage, I suppose, or just another issue to work through. Thinking about this, I have gained a bit more patience for my daughter as well.

Between worlds

Have been jumping back and forth between different worlds the past several weeks, too busy to ponder the craziness of it all. This goes way back into last month – several days of extra work, then flash, 10 days with Liu Jing Ru Laoshi here in Tokyo.

I had really wanted to get over to Beijing again before his Tokyo visit but it was impossible. Then here he was in Tokyo. Suddenly work was on a very distant back burner.

He returned to Beijing and I to work – for a few days. All day every day, and extra work each night. Then one morning I went directly from work to gasshuku, a couple days off in the semi-countryside with nothing to do but practice and drink. Gee, what a fate. Rode the last train back one night, took an early train to work the next morning, 3 hours with another group, another company.

12:00 noon, finish work. 12:08, on the subway on the way to the airport to pick up a visiting parental unit. And taking care of her every day until the day after tomorrow.

Except I did cast aside my filial duties for a special class last night. And an all-day Chen taiji thing today, building well on recent Chen work…Filial duties resumed as soon as Chen ended, now a few moments to myself at night.

And so on, back and forth between vastly different worlds. A return to the normal routine lies somewhere on the horizon a few days later.

aging in Japan

1. Yesterday I went to the park with my daughter. We were walking all over and spied an older man practicing karate by himself, just off the beaten path. There was no flash, no bang, just good solid technique. Throwing punch after punch, then thrusting again and again with his fingers, all while rooted in a strong stance. There was no muscle power, but you could tell each one of those strikes would really hurt. People were jogging and exercising all around him. They paid him no mind and he had his back to them. How many decades has he practiced those strikes, and there he is, late Sunday afternoon, going after it in the park.

2. My neighbor is nearing 80 and was extremely active until a bicycle accident last year. He has maintained a large and somewhat overpopulated garden, something quite hard to do in this city where every square inch of land commands a premium price. He has advised my amateur gardening efforts in the meter of land running around my house which pass as a garden for the 8 or 9 years we have lived in this home.

He still gets out and putters in the garden / jungle every day, but has slowed noticeably since the accident. So these days I go over and impose some small measure of order on the chaos growing outside his home. It is the large space I have always wanted here in Tokyo and now I can have it vicariously for a few hours each week. He apologizes profusely for no longer be able to help me. I insist that I am glad for his tips and recommendations.

These days he has me taking out an entire tree here and there. Each time I feel a pang of regret / loss, but he moves on, convinced it is time to clear things out. I wish I were able to do so with some of the forms languishing on my back burners. And some of the unread books on the hard-to-reach corners of my shelves. Cut the ties that bind and move on. I piddle about, trimming the odd branch here and there, pulling a few weeds. He is resolute, forging ahead with determination and no hesitation whatsoever. Maybe he senses a limit on his remaining years and wants to get things in order. Me, half his age and trying to do too much, I just wish I had more hours in each day. And even half his determination / resolution.

3. My grandmother-in-law is 104 and counting, and more healthy than her daughter (my mother-in-law). Until 101 or 102, she got down on the floor and welcomed me with a full bow each time I visited. At 104, I don’t mind at all if she gives me a little nod (and a hand-wave in recent years) from her bed. I still get down on the floor and bow to her.

What strength has kept her moving so long? Four generations live in that house in the countryside. She still jokes about her own impending death every day – but won’t give in just quite yet. She may sleep as many hours a day as a baby. Yet when I pass by her room and pause to sneak a peek, she sits right up and shoots me a question. She is not finished yet.

mantis

OK people, this is too strange.

I started six harmonies praying mantis fist (liu he tang lang quan 六合螳螂拳) today with Liu Laoshi. I have had my eye on it at each year’s seminar (2006, 2007, 2008) but have kept a respectful distance. As you may have surmised, I have a few martial arts to work on and struggle with the breadth vs. depth question everyday. So I have focused entirely on bagua zhang and xingyi quan on all of Liu Laoshi’s visits to Tokyo (and on my visits to him in Beijing).

An email with a close gong fu and budo friend from Tokyo changed everything. He may visit some of Liu Laoshi’s seminar dates for the first time, and I couldn’t pass up the chance to work on something like this with a good friend. Turns out he might only be able to come for a day or two, but I have jumped in and committed myself all the way.

Actually I am getting some good xingyi quan review in along the way, in addition to as much ba gua zhang as I can swipe from the sidelines (I will catch it all later in the review classes, but it is nice to get a taste now).

Each year only a few people opt for mantis fist, so we get a lot of attention when he makes it over our way between the other two groups. And we are off to a good start, working at a fast pace through 藏花, the Hidden Flower form. I like it quite a bit and am looking very much forward to the next class.

After the day’s seminar, I took a long walk through one of my favorite areas of Tokyo, the Shin-Okubo / Okubo area, full of Chinese and Korean people and a few Japanese holdovers. I have always loved the area since moving to Tokyo and love to explore whenever I get the chance, even though it means walking the long way around.

I moved on to my favorite Chinese restaurant, a Chang’an place out west near my home. I ate and drank to excess and left in the finest of moods. A street cat outside, perched on a bicycle seat, caught my eye and suffered my attentions, lifting my spirits even higher as I snapped some photos and offered my hand and nose.

Then, at my home station, I got out of the station and was walking along in a wonderful mood when I spied a large praying mantis on the door of a bank. Captivated instantly, I got out my camera and got to work. But this was no place for a stray mantis, with cars and bicycles and twirpy kids who love to grab insects as overnight pets all around.

I set about trying to capture the mantis and had a hard time of it. His earlier motions, swaying back and forth in a nonchalant manner, betrayed a speed I had not imagined. About that time, a passerby stopped and offered support.

It was unusual in the best of ways. I have something of a complex about my spoken Japanese and get quickly and exceedingly grumpy when some Japanese people act as if I do not exist. No eye contact, speaking to any Japanese person next to me but never directly to me, staring blankly in response to my (gasp! Foreigner’s) Japanese (go read Laowiseass’ blog for his version of the same in China (Taiwan lately).

Anyway, this was really uplifting. A total stranger, she spoke to me like a normal human being, no hesitation whatsoever about my FOREIGNER status. It was the first time either of us had seen a mantis in years and we were both concerned for its safety.

I grabbed it one more time and was promptly bitten / scratched / somethinged and blood was drawn. Shit, that bugger could cause some pain. The woman grabbed him, showed me how to hold him without being bitten or somethinged, then handed him back.

I said I would take him to the nearby public area where I often practice. She did something very uncharacteristically Japanese and, under the circumstances, very natural and normal. She took out a package of bread items, took them out and put them into her purse (without a bag! Gasp! Utterly shocking concept in this over-clean and over-wrapped country) and gave me the bag to put the mantis in while carrying him to the park.

A totally natural gesture in most countries, but a complete and very welcome surprise in this country. Mantis in bag, I thanked her and headed off to the park. A few minutes later, I heard footsteps approaching from behind. She had returned to offer a band-aid for my thumb, still smarting from the mantis’ greeting.

The mantis crawled about and explored the bag as we made our way to the park. I let it go among some flowers and wished it well, then moved on, still gripped with wonder.

I have almost never seen mantises in Japan (maybe never in the US). Only once stands out to me – my family had joined the DaZaE crew (our budo/yoga/beer/everything friends from the neighboring station) for a day of frolicking in the park and a tiny brown mantis had jumped onto my arm. It wouldn’t go near anyone else. But I couldn’t get if off my arm. We looked at each other and rocked our bodies side to side and it was good.

Tonight’s mantis was much bigger, an adult, and vibrant green but for a pair of black eyes protruding slightly. Its green will help it hide in the park, I hope.

What timing brought us together, this day that I began my mantis fist career? That long walk through Okubo, just the right time spent over food and drink at the Chinese place, a chance glance at a brightly-lit door on a bank.

Good luck, my mantis friend.