exhibitionism

It is demo / exhibition season in Tokyo again, keeping us busy through the winter. Things get started with the local Mitaka tournament, which is just that – very local, and rather small. A good place to get ready for bigger things to come.

The second was, in fact, just yesterday, on the Emperor’s birthday – an exhibition / exchange involving hundreds of people who are part of the Tokyo Chinese martial arts group headed by my teacher. It was also my daughter’s first performance in front of a large group, and she did quite well if I may say (two basic gong fu routines, カンフー体操 1 and 2).

January brings a pair back to back – Saturday is another (larger?) all-Tokyo demo, and Sunday is another local gathering, this time the (richer) side of Mitaka which is on the other side of the train tracks.

There is another in February, also fairly large, and that is it for awhile (oh, gee, there is the Setagaya Ward demo, and then the all-Japans in the summer) (and a trip or two to China in the meanwhile..).

Since I am training regularly in several different classes with my teacher, I will make multiple appearances in each of these demos. There is the ubiquitous tai ji 24 form and the 32 taiji jian or sword form. And our Sha style group is getting pretty regular with Sha style tai ji jian demos.

Then there are the individual demos at some of the above. I use these as motivation, usually picking a weapon or form that has been neglected in prior months, just so I can get back on top of it.

Indeed my yuan yang yue form, learned from Liu Jing Ru Laoshi in his beloved Tao Ran Ting park, had been sorely neglected. So I started off the season in Mitaka (I was first in order in the individual demos, not an enviable position) with 鸳鸯钺 and must admit I was pleased with the result – but I also felt MUCH more polishing is needed. Read more about this pair of strange curvy weapons elsewhere in the blog…

This Mitaka demo was also significant because we finally did a group xing yi quan demo with the five basic fists, lian han quan, ba shi, even the tiger form and a short bit of xing yi spear at the end. And we’ll be doing it again later in the season, all the better.

More on the above events as they unfold. Photos above from before (yue) and during (spear).

small victories

I have written a few posts about my daughter’s interest – or lack of – in the martial arts. We continue going to a gong fu class together on Friday nights. These days I have been very pleased to see her interest growing and her motions and concentration improving.

We started quite young, about age four, mostly just playing rather than truly practicing. My goals were to expose her to the training environment and to do something together regularly.

Her initial excitement wore off after a few sessions, but her attachment to the teacher and some gentle nudging from us parents have kept her going for a couple years now. And it seems it is finally paying off.

During the week, I can actually get her to practice several days, if only a couple runs through the shortest of gong fu routines. But she would never practice at home before, so this is a big step for her and a great source of pride for me.

She seldom wants to practice during the week. But on Friday nights, she is (almost) always eager to go, and is always happy once inside the gymnasium. And these days, she does the entire workout (arriving early, staying until the end with all the Big Kids and assorted adults) without her customary breaks for drawing and reading.

Part of this may be because, while still the youngest in the group by a couple years, a new woman has joined and looks to my daughter for help and instruction. Fun to watch, and a boost for my daughter’s confidence.

Another part of it may be because our teacher co-hosted a couple free introductory demos with about 30 kids each and my daughter got to be a model a few times. And we have our first parent-child demo coming up later this month as part of a larger exhibition in Tokyo.

But despite my happiness with all these changes, there has been one small disappointment. My daughter informed me and the teacher that she does not want to do the demo together with me as planned, but wants to appear separately.

Fair enough. A small price to pay in the face of so many other small victories recently. My daughter may never share my passion for practicing martial arts, and her dream is to become an Olympic swimmer, but each practice we share together is a great victory for me.

When to quit

About seven years back, I was in my naginata prime.

Work was a very distant second to training and my daughter was in the making. I was training three times a week regular practice on top of regular weekend seminars. It was the right way to train. I passed 3rd dan in one go, and 3rd dan is a major dividing point in the naginata world, which only runs the dan ranks up to 5th dan. (After that, it is only the titles: renshi, kyoshi, hanshi).

At that time, I also passed the test to become a nationally-recognized naginata shinpan (referee), joining a very small number of non-Japanese to have done so. Alas, since that time, my naginata career has not continued to soar, but that is another story for another time and place. For now, we are focused on accomplishments, not decline. And on quitting…

Some time after passing 3rd dan, a person may be ready for consideration for shinpan training. The final stages involve a pair of intensive trainings which culminate in the testing. The naginata world may be even more conservative than those of other Japanese martial arts, and the pass rate is not excessively high.

I managed to pass. Along the way, I had an encounter which will always stay with me. For the second intensive, we were joined by the nationally famous K Sensei. Atarashii “sport” naginata or not, no one could watch her motions and not be impressed. By the way, she has long been active in one of the more combative naginata koryu ryuha.

Somewhere along the way, I heard that she had a huge “blank” in her training, about 15 years. I couldn’t believe it, could not fathom it. She was nationally recognized for her skill, then stopped, completely, for fifteen years. Absolutely no practice.

This just could not penetrate my brain. No matter the reason – she decided to devote herself entirely to being a mother upon becoming pregnant. At that time in my life, it was alien to me. As for me, there would only have been one option: to reduce naginata practice yet continue, while devoting myself to parenting.

Not an option in Japan. This is a country where people – especially martial arts people – are very focused. You devote yourself to one thing and, with time, come to do it very, very well.

Anyway, sometime around her child’s high school years, this teacher returned to the naginata world and remains a strong and respectable presence to this day.

Slight change of topic, but related.

Some months back, I caught a ride to the train station with my ryuukyuu kobudo friend after practice. He is an interesting and supportive fellow, and we have begun to climb up the ranks together. That particular night, I was listening to the music he played in the car and liked it despite its mainstream feel.

Upon asking, I was told it was Yamaguchi Momoe. After some youtubing and wikipedia-ing and a look through The Encyclopedia of Japanese Pop Culture (Schilling), I learned quite a bit about her.

Now anyone who knew me Way Back in the Day may be surprised to know of my interest in a pop idol totally within the mainstream. True, I have been a Wang Faye fan for a decade since living in China, but I don’t divulge that information often, either.

Anyhow, something in her music caught me and drew me in. She was a very young pop idol, starting about age 13 in 1972 and quickly taking Japan by storm. That despite being a “love child” outside of marriage (a major taboo in Japan just a couple decades back).

After a string of hits she suddenly called it quits in 1980. Just like that. One final concert and tearful apologies for selfishly abandoning her fans. And it was over.

Many others in the fickle Japanese entertainment world have called it quits, only to revive their careers (or look ridiculous trying). But Yamaguchi Momoe remained true to her word – once she quit, she has never come back for a single appearance. She has opted for a quiet, domestic life on the outskirts of Tokyo.

What started this entire post was her words upon quitting the entertainment world at the height of her popularity: “I want to give my love with both hands”. Innuendo aside, this simple statement really captures something at the heart of Japanese culture. She was declaring her intent to devote herself solely to her husband and her domestic role. There was no possibility of her being a wife and a member of the entertainment world. Schilling’s Encyclopedia mentions that feminists were aghast at Yamaguchi’s decision to give up a singing career for her husband, but that millions of fans were touched by her devotion and resolution.

Whatever your take on this decision, she has stayed true to her word despite the clamoring of fans and has never once reappeared in the entertainment world. She quit one pursuit and devoted herself entirely to another. And, my wife informs me, she continues to live a few stations down the train line from us, still married and still domestic.

Back to the naginata world…there was another story I heard during that pivotal intensive when I gained my referees’ license. It involved a practitioner of Ten Do Ryu naginata, a centuries-old ryuha in which I was active at the time and maintain some commitment even now.

She was devoted to Ten Do Ryu and practiced endlessly at the home dojo outside Kyoto, which still serves as a home for the ryuha and as a gathering point for large numbers of practitioners several times a year. She got married and continued her practice. She had a baby and continued her practice. The story I heard had her back in the dojo less than a month after giving birth, the baby strapped on her back, running through the naginata techniques.

All of this comes back to me and my penchant for practicing more than one or two arts. For years (decades almost) my guiding principle was to never quit. Once I started a martial art, I could not quit. So I added one, then another. And here I am today, struggling to balance several martial arts. In recent years I have (regrettably) quit an art or two, and significantly reduced my commitment to others. But in choosing this way, I have strayed from the Japanese way of practice. Or have I?

There are those like K Sensei, one of my kendo teachers, 80-some years old and still going strong. Started young and never practiced any other martial art. And he has reached a height, a pinnacle, unseen by millions of others practicing kendo. I can go full bore against him and not touch him – and I am not holding back at all due to his age. But more importantly, there is a row of 7th dans in the dojo who face off against him weekly– and seem not to take many points at all.

There are also those who practice several martial arts. Of course they must specialize in one, but they have familiarity with others.

The question for me, though, comes down to when to quit an art. We can’t keep starting new arts without quitting some. I met one man who was devoted to a particular style of karate. A national champion in one country, he came to Japan for many years to continue his training and has since returned to his home country.

I had one hours-long talk with him after a few (??) drinks at the infamous annual budo seminar in Katsuura, Japan. We have had almost no contact since then, but his ideas left a strong impact upon me.

He was a karateka to the core and there were no questions about what his specialty was. Yet at the same time, he investigated a number of other martial arts in order to supplement his understanding of karate. He would study a number of years, then stop, just like that, once he felt that he had learned enough to add to his karate.

Like the naginata story above, I respected his idea yet it simply could not penetrate my head. I could not grasp spending a few years on an art, then setting it aside permanently. Why not keep karate as his main art, while continuing to explore martial art X or Y, to which he had already devoted a number of years??

It is one of the fundamental questions in martial arts – whether to devote yourself solely to a single art, or to pursue several of them, once a strong foundation is achieved. You know where I fit in this picture. This question has haunted me for years, mostly because of the criticism of those who are devoted to a single art. There seem to be two views, and they further seem to be irreconcilable.

My only answer is that it comes down to one’s personality. Some of us are just “built” psychologically to focus on one art and pursue it exclusively. Great, go do it. Some of us are just “built” psychologically to pursue a number of arts. Great, go do it. I just hope that we can respect each other while going and doing it.

Those of us in the latter group, in addition to the daily struggle of how to nurture more than one art, are sometimes faced with the question of when to quit an art. I have no answer for this, but I find much food for thought in the examples above.

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.