Flower Among Stones 

Do the do!

We are embarking upon a new year. As usual, some of us will make "resolutions." There isn't anything wrong with setting goals for the year. It's actually a good idea. It may help focus the energy we bring to life.

A karateka may be excused if he or she makes only one resolution for the coming year: More training! This is an appropriate and acheiveable goal. Besides, it's the only way to go.

Recently an article in the Los Angeles Times reported on the upsurge of interest in and legal sanctions for Mixed Martial Arts (MMA) in California. People interviewed in the article were full of enthusiasm for the sport. It had been outlawed for a time in California but due to the bright commercial performance of MMA in other states, such as Nevada, and because of some changes made in the rules to restrict the more brutal aspects of the fighting, California has decided to permit MMA events within the state. Words such as "awesome," "adrenaline rush" and "real deal" were used by those interviewed for the article.

There's no denying that MMA is quite a spectacle. On the positive side, the sport has brought innovative talent to the "fight game." Extremely skillful fighters match themselves against each other within the "octagon." There is nothing extraneous about the fights. Having viewed many of these bouts on DVD or cable, I can attest to the high level of skill and conditioning exhibited by the athletes. On the negative side, however, MMA suggests that the only purpose of practicing a martial art is to learn how to fight.

The seeming antagonism between those who practice martial arts for spiritual or personal development and those who practice for the purpose of self-protection or fighting skill has existed for centuries. In Japan prior to the 16th century, bujutsu, or martial arts, were used almost exclusively for the purposes of military battle. Professional soldiers, samurai, trained for the event of war. And war abounded within Japan at that time. With the rise of the Tokugawa shogunate, however, civil war within Japan abated. The Tokugawa clan cleverly solidified its position as supreme ruler over the various lords, or daimyo, throughout feudal Japan and over the following two centuries military conflict within Japan abated.

With the cessation of conflict, samurai were left with little to do. The Tokugawa clan, aware of the dangers presented by an idle but well-trained class of soldiers, issued a series of pronouncements that served to change the emphasis among the samurai from combative to literary and aesthetic pursuits. Miyamoto Musashi, the famed swordsman, reflected this change of emphasis in his own development. A fierce assasin in his youth, Musashi became much more subtle in his maturity and eschewed the ethic of murder. The sword, the soul of the samurai, became a vehicle for spiritual insight and bujutsu, martial arts, was transformed to budo, martial ways.

The objective of budo is self-perfection, not self-protection. Like all spiritual practices, its "project" is to obliterate the boundary between ego and spirit. By harmonizing the small self with the ryhthms of the natural world, the individual gains access to a new understanding of life. This new understanding is not an intellectual, abstract one but arises out of experience. The method for obtaining experience is training. The sword is used not for delivering death but, rather, for defeating self-delusion and the dissatisfaction with life that arises from those delusions.

The process of a do form, as opposed to a jutsu form, calls for internal growth. It isn't enough to progress in terms of technique, though improving one's technique is certainly part of the process. In a do form, however, more emphasis is placed on the development of one's intuition. The arc of development follows through three distinct phases.

The first phase is gyo. This is the "blood, sweat and tears" phase of growth, to quote Donn Draeger in his excellent book, Classical Budo, Volume II. The gyo phase introduces the trainee to the dojo, the training area. The dojo is an austere, humble place of natural and quiet dignity. Always cleanliness and order predominate. Spirituality pervades the atmosphere of the dojo and is physically centered on the shinzen. The trainee intuitively develops the right state of mind during training through the subtle inflence of the shinzen. The trainee must be humble. He or she must exhibit nyuman-shin, or "soft-heartedness," a certain flexibility of spirit that attests to a readiness to accept things as they are presented to him or her. Training is a painful process of trial and error, of plodding with little explanation in a complex mire of technical difficulties. The trainee's questions are met by the teacher's laconic reply, "Don't ask, train!"

If the trainee embraces soft-heartedness and silence sufficiently, he or she then passes to the next phase, known as shugyo. Shugyo is a process of "seeking a way out of the dilemma." Before the trainee can make a good escape he or she must first drift around on a technical sea and may even suffer "technical shipwreck." The intensity of the trainee's search must now be strengthened by the force of his or her spirit, kokoro. Without spiritual energy focused in this manner, no do can be pursued. In overcoming the technical adversities the trainee begins to recognize "truth in action," chi gyo ichi nyo, and to understand it. In shugyo, as in gyo, repetition is the core training method. Exemplified in kata, these exercises serve to reinforce the lesson that motor skills are not to be learned by words but through action.

With their spiritual resolve connected unbreakably to practice, the trainee is ready for the third phase of growth, known as jutsu. Here the trainee feels an "unfinishedness" in their technique and is acutely aware of the need for pursuing technical perfection. The trainee at the jutsu level becomes more concerned with the possible combative significance in the techniques than with the idea that they are to be used for noncombative purposes with a finished artistic form. The great danger here is that of vanity. A trainee may feel they have accomplished a technical perfection that, if not challenged, will prevent progress toward the ultimate goal of self-mastery. Ego will dominate action and the state of "artless art" arising from intuition will forever be denied.

By "practice" and "mastery" the Japanese warrior understood certain very specific things. True practice only begins at the jutsu stage, where outward form has been mastered. It is at this stage that the real work begins - that of molding and finalizing the self. In classical budo training the aim of practice is not the visible, physical results but the inner development gained through experience and insight. The trainee must be made to realize that the goal cannot be aimed at technically. The warrior saying, "Katte, kabuto o o-shime yo!" - "After victory tighten your helmet cords!" - shows anticipation of harder tasks yet to come, and it is well that the trainee makes this his motto.

While the octagon of MMA presents a realistic version of sport fighting, it continues to give short shrift to the more lasting transformative process that comes from practicing a do form. Fighting in the octagon may indeed be an adrenaline rush, but life is lived in peaks and valleys and a reduction of life to mere motor skills will fail us in the more subtle arenas where most of life is lived. Without this more mature appreciation of life, bujutsu and the octagon are bereft of lasting value. The alternative to bujutsu is budo. Do the do!

Commit, believe, train! See you in the dojo. Osu.

Mt. San Jacinto, Palm Springs, CA 

Mitakuye Oyasin

This expression, mitakuye oyasin, comes from the language of the Lakota Sioux, a tribe among the Native Americans. It means "We are all related." It's uttered upon crossing the threshold into the Sweat Lodge, the small, low structure used by the Sioux for their sacred purification ritual, the Sweat. In Seido Karate we have a saying we utter upon entering the dojo and upon greeting others: Osu! Osu is an abbreviation of the expression Oshi shinobu osu, which means "maintain patience."

In life we are often impatient with others, annoyed by our differences. By saying osu we remind ourselves of our connectedness to each other and of the need to patiently nurture our sacred human bond.

On this day, Thanksgiving Day in North America, we pause from our busy lives and give thanks for all our blessings, not least of which is our family of Seido brothers and sisters here at the West Los Angeles dojo. We are all connected, not only to each other but to all living things!

It would be vain indeed if we were to forget this bond tomorrow or the next day. Every day is a day to give thanks, to appreciate the challenges and the support we receive to meet those challenges present in our lives. Each time we come to the dojo throughout the year we can bring to that visit an appreciation of our blessings. By saying Osu with mindful awareness, we can restore a wholeness to our lives that is sometimes clouded by our superficial differences. Remember this opportunity the next time you come to the dojo. This is the true heart of our practice of Seido. Gassho and osu! And Happy Thanksgiving!

Senpai Tony and Caren 

Your House Is On Fire

How do we really come to the decisions that we make? Is it just flip a coin and hope for the best or is there some underlying procedure that we go through, consciously or unconsciously, that guides our course of action?

Gary Klein is the author of "Sources of Power: Real Life Decision Making." The book is somewhat technical, but the author uses examples from first responders like fire departments and medical emergency units to investigate how people make decisions, sometimes under enormously stressful circumstances. After countless interviews and case studies in the field, Mr. Klein concluded that there are two reliable pillars available to support any decision we make:

(1) pattern-matching (intuition) and
(2) mental simulation (visualization).

Coming in a close third in the toolbox of decision making was the ability to tell stories which consolidate our experiences in order to make those experiences available to ourselves (and others) in the future.

An example of how intuition comes to our aid comes from a fireman who tells the story of how, upon entering a house on fire, he had this strange feeling that something was wrong. He couldn't figure it out but something in him advised that he withdraw his team from the house immediately. Of course, seconds after his team had evacuated the structure the floor he'd been standing on exploded into flame and collapsed. It was only in retrospect that the fireman was able to understand what had happened. Fires, he said, are generally very noisy creatures. He hadn't been able to identify it at the time, but the house he and his team had entered had been uncharacteristically quiet. The fire raging unseen in the basement of the house had been muffled by the floorboards. Hence, the silence and the threat.

Its hard to consciously pick up on something that's not there. Unconsciously though, the fireman's mind had noticed a flaw in the pattern that fires generally create and threw up a caution signal. Through his years of experience the fireman had come to trust these mysterious signals arising from his unconscious awareness, and it was the combination of experience and trust in his own awareness that saved his and his team's life that day.

The larger point of the story of the fireman is that the sources of power needed for making sound decisions are usually not analytical at all. Experience creates a set of reasonable expectations, but analysis is often absent from the moment-to-moment decision-making process. Instead we rely on intuition and visualization.

Mental simulation (visualization) draws upon our experience and allows us to imagine how a course of action might be carried out in situations that are completely new to us. Think of the Apollo 13 spacecraft and its crew. They had trained for almost every conceivable event during their flight to the moon, but they never specifically trained for the catastrophic failure that befell them on their mission. What saved them, among many things, was the ability to make accurate models of the steps they needed to take in order to survive. They were able to visualize something they’d never actually done before.

In Seido we do something similar to the firemen and the astronauts (besides wearing odd clothing on the job). What’s the similarity? We all train. We repeat and repeat and repeat simple, basic movements. We simulate conditions for common, predictable attacks and we learn simple but effective action sequences to evade or squash those attacks.

This is all well and good, but it’s not enough for the reality of life. Life is unpredictable. Who knows what the future holds? The point of training is not to insure robotic response-ability. Rather, it’s to prepare us to act with confidence and competence in the event of something completely unexpected.

How, you might ask, does the mind-numbing and muscle-busting repetition of certain simple movements prepare us for the unexpected? The simple answer is that the high level of repetitions we perform in class act on our brain as well as our body. Scientific studies have shown that repetitive motion induces a state of awareness that gives us access to the contents of our consciousness that the rational mind usually filters out. This may account for the high number of insights and discoveries made by people when they’re washing their car, taking their dog for a walk or engaging in otherwise uncomplicated, routine actions.

A similar insight was arrived at by non-scientific means thousands of years ago and provides the rational basis for meditation. Through meditation, the moving meditation of karate, we’re able to plug into a wider awareness of life, one not limited by our self-imposed constraints. So when you come to class and embark for the hundredth time on kihon waza (basic practice) allow for the possibility that you’re also training your capacity to discern something you can’t see, to sense the silent fire burning within you.

Flower in Brazil 

It's How You Play The Game

"Life is difficult." That's how Scott Peck's best-selling book, "The Road Less Travelled", begins. That life is difficult is not news. Over two-thousand years ago the Buddha said it too: Life is suffering. The sanskrit word the Buddha used for suffering is dukkha. Dukkha doesn't refer to physical pain, necessarily. It refers to something more akin to our English word 'dissatisfaction'. Adages abound in our language which attest to the universality of dissatisfaction in our daily lives. "The grass is always greener on the other side of the fence" puts it very clearly. "Don't it always seem to go that you don't know what you've got till its gone" is another variation on the theme.

The presence of dissatisfaction drives us to find its "cure." We seek remedies for dissatisfaction in our relentless pursuit of entertainment, for example. Television, radio, books, the internet, concerts and sporting events all serve, on one level, to distract us from the gnawing sense that life is somehow not quite enough as it is. To be sure, these media also provide information that serves us in our passage through life. But too often we use the media as a compass for rather than a footnote to our experiences.

What draws many people to the practice of budo is a desire to connect with our deepest selves. Budo, which rightly encompasses the "life-giving" along with the "life-taking" poles of behavior, offers us the means to fully embrace life, if even for a moment, without the nagging sense of ambivalance or dissatisfaction the Buddha spoke of. With this ambivalence neutralized, we can connect with our integrity, our whole-hearted embrace of life as it is. The mechanism budo uses to acheive such neutrality (non-attachment) is the mindful practice of waza, or technique.

The challenge of waza practice is profound. Like everything else, the practice can become "objectified." We start to critique and compare and find fault with what we do. By doing so, we become dissatisfied once again. There is a way, however, to short-circuit our dissatisfaction with waza. Whole-hearted commitment to our practice in the dojo eliminates ambivalence. True, there is always room for improvement and dissatisfaction will dog our practice over the months and years. But during class, for that brief time we devote to training, we can fully commit to doing our best, leaving our misgivings and ambivalence at the door of the dojo. By practicing this way, we train not only the muscles of our body, but the "muscles" of our spirit as well. We inbue ourselves with the feeling of commitment. We can then transfer that feeling to other areas of our lives. We can bring to life the truth in the saying "Its not whether you win or lose, but how you play the game."

Train! Commit! Believe! Gambatte kudasai! See you in the dojo. Osu!

Yosemite National Park 

The Da Vinci Kata

"Simplicity is the ultimate sophistication." -Leonardo da Vinci

Learning a kata requires that you go through several stages. First you have to learn the basic pattern and the techniques. Then you have to perfect what you've learned. Then you have to deconstruct what you've learned and perfected in order to truly understand what the kata is teaching you vis a vis close quarter engagement.

Mastering Stage 1 and Stage 2 kata is challenging enough on its own without adding the ingredient of introspection that comes with Stage 3 kata. Many people prefer to remain in Stages 1 and 2 because, for one reason or another, the introspection of Stage 3 doesn't appeal to them. There's nothing wrong with staying in Stage 1 or 2. As they say in Italian, Chi sta bene, non si muove. "If you're happy where you are, don't move."

For those of you who're interested in entering Stage 3 of your kata practice, it's best to keep in mind the quote from Leonardo at the start of this article. Faced with a multitude of techniques in any kata, and baffling limb placements, it might seem an impossible task to understand what is actually being taught by the kata. When confronted with this reality, try to keep things simple.

1. Most techniques in kata were originally intended to occur at very close range. As karate evolved into a club and sport activity, techniques were exaggerated to make them more pleasing to the eye of the spectator/judge. The importance of this for your understanding of the kata is that elbows and knees are often the weapons of choice as opposed to hands and feet. Hands are generally used to check or trap your opponent¹s strikes while you position yourself to deliver the "money shot."

2. The pattern, or embusen, of a kata may give the impression that techniques flow in a specific direction, one after the other, like traffic. This isn't necessarily so. Although the pattern may be telling you that the next technique is delivered after you turn 180 degrees toward your opponent, challenge this notion instead. Think of what makes sense if your goal is to deliver force accurately and quickly to a target. While choreography looks good in the movies, simplicity is the preferred option in close quarter engagements.

3. Each kata has several themes within it, like a piece of music. Search for these little "melodic signatures". They are very brief, so expect them to arise and recede quickly.

4. When seeking a bunkai or explanation, choose the one that involves making the fewest assumptions about your opponent's behavior. William of Occam, a scientist/philosopher who lived in 13th Century England, actually made this a rule of good science. "Eliminate all that is unnecessary in order for the hypothesis to remain predictive" is a statement known within Science today as Occam's Razor. Use the razor.

Assume as little as possible and keep your bunkai simple and brief. Doing so, you honor the spirit of the kata's originator while abiding by the well-known Japanese spirit of simple sophistication, wabi-sabi, and the artistry of Leonardo. See you in the dojo!

Gambatte kudasai. Osu!

Kagami Biraki, West LA 2005 

Shibumi

In the dojo, what ISN’T said is often as important as what IS said. To most of us who’ve been raised in the USA, the reticence we encounter in the dojo can be off-putting. American society is very “content” oriented. Our legal contracts, for instance, run for pages and pages. Everything needs to be spelled out. In “context-oriented” societies there is far less reliance on such a literal approach. Much more importance is placed on the relationship between the two parties entering into an agreement, for example, than is placed on the contents of that agreement itself. Essentially, the relationship creates a context. Everything flows from the relationship. It would be considered rude in such societies to ask for confirmation or proof of each other’s bona fides before agreeing to a meeting. The decision to meet in the first place conveys all that needs to be known.

The Japanese word shibumi is applied when describing something that is “just so.” By that I mean something that has neither too much nor too little of precisely what is called for in a situation, whatever the situation may be. In the discipline of mathematics, a proof that is simple but explains much is called “elegant.” In physics too, incisive theories of cause and effect are referred to as elegant. Elegance is a suitable English equivalent for shibumi. The word conveys something that is timeless, refined, potent and somewhat reserved.

Our Seido practice can cultivate our perception of shibumi. Much of this is done through context. Saying less rather than more is part of the context of the dojo. A trusting relationship, in this case trusting silence, precedes any change in perception. Much of your training can be explained in a didactic manner, but such an approach loses a valuable element of the practice; introspection. There is a time for words and a time for silence. The traditions of karate-do and Zen suggest that, in terms of personal growth and understanding, trusting silence is the more valuable approach of the two. In terms of its ability to ignite your curiosity and propel your practice, a non-answer is often exactly the right response to a question.

Gambatte kudasai! See you in the dojo. Osu!

Idyllwild, 2005 

Hone o oru

This Japanese expression has two basic meanings. The literal meaning is to break one’s bone(s), as when falling from a height. The figurative meaning is “to try harder.” That is, to try so hard that one’s bones break.

Undertaking bonebreaking work is a core value in a classical Japanese dojo. Passage through such an ordeal presents the karateka with new insights into his or her kokoro, or heart-mind-spirit. These insights often serve to diminish the strangle-hold the ego had held on the mind prior to the ordeal. Contrary to popular belief, diminishment of the ego does not render a person ineffectual in the world. In fact, the smaller the purchase your ego has on your life, the more able you are to access highly functional energies and insights that a too-strong ego would deny. A person with a strong bond to kokoro places confidence in something beyond the small self of the personality. This bond provides the strength to prevail when other’s, more rooted in their own egos, fall by the wayside.

Kaicho has often spoke of this aspect of Seido training, the aspect of managing the ego. It is Kaicho’s belief that this encounter with one’s own ego (defenses, projections, delusions) is the fundamental “fight” that the true karateka wages, and that hard training is the path to ultimate victory. Thus, we in Seido don’t “train for” some tournament of upcoming event, as much as we “train through” the continual, “bone rattling” battles we have with the ego.

Gambatte kudasai! See you in the dojo. Osu!

Grand Canyon National Park 

The Five "S" Process

When I trained at Honbu I used to keep one of the towels reserved for cleaning the floor at the end of class close by me so that I could sop up the sweat that gathered in puddles on the floor beneath me during waza practice. During one such class, I took advantage of a momentary break in the training to clean my space with the towel. When I was finished I lightly tossed it toward a support pillar on the main floor of the dojo for later use. “Don’t throw!” Kaicho yelled. “Place down on floor.” He seemed very annoyed with me for my oversight. Needless to say, I never forgot the lesson: tossing or idly placing anything in the dojo was not acceptable behavior for a Seido karateka.

In large organizations around the world, managers are confronted with two important considerations: efficiency and effectiveness (quality control). How, they ask, can their employees be encouraged to become more efficient and effective? There have been many approaches to answering this question. One of the most effective originates from Japan and is called “The 5 ‘S’ Process.”

The 5 ‘S’s are: Seiri, Seiton, Seiso, Seiketsu and, finally, Shitsuke. Loosely translated, these stand for organization (tidiness), orderliness, cleanliness, standardization of methods and, finally, discipline. Regarding the first S, Seiri, this relates to taking out the trash and other things that no longer serve a purpose in the workplace. Seiton, or orderliness, is slightly different than Seiri. It refers to putting the things that ARE used in the workplace back in their proper place when they’re not being used. Seiso means that everyone cleans up, not just those whose job it is to do that. Everyone is a janitor. Seiketsu refers to the creation of rules for how to clean up and a routine to make sure it gets done. Shitsuke, or discipline, is the commitment everyone makes to practicing the first 4 S’s all the time.

Of the 5, Shitsuke is the most important. Without everyone’s commitment to always abide by the first 4 practices, bad feelings can arise. People start to notice if they alone are the only ones keeping the shop clean. Resentment of those who don’t chip in starts to creep into the workplace and to interfere with the work itself.

Shitsuke, discipline, is a core value in the Japanese culture. It is conveyed to every child from the first moment of their schooling experience to their last. The closest equivalent we have to it in American culture is “team spirit,” or perhaps the sense expressed by the famous motto of the Three Musketeers: “All for one and one for all!” Still, these only approximate the intensity of feeling the value of shitsuke holds for the Japanese.

In Seido we practice the 5 S’s every time we enter the dojo. We all work to keep the dojo clean and we all have (or should have) an idea of how things are to be done. Everyone participates in the process, and we are all committed to doing the best we can. This practice not only helps to keep the dojo clean and student morale even-keeled, it establishes a way of life that we can take into our jobs. Though it may seem like it doesn’t make a difference in the “dog eat dog” atmosphere American culture, practicing shitsuke slowly and surely distinguishes you from your competitors. People notice the difference. Shitsuke, the commitment to best practices, separates you from the ordinary precisely because of your close attention to the ordinary. Gambatte kudasai! See you in the dojo. Osu!

Kyoshi T. Pastrick 

Seido and The Shadow

Not long ago in Rome during a Master’s Tennis Tournament something remarkable happened. In a tightly contested game, American Andy Roddick challenged a linesman’s call on a ball hit by his opponent. The remarkable thing about this incident was that Roddick argued against his own interest. He insisted that the opponent’s ball had landed inside the line and that he, Roddick, should NOT be awarded the point. Spectators applauded as if they’d witnessed a miracle. Imagine! Sportsmanship in a professional sporting event.

Such adherence to the principle of “fair play” is especially remarkable in this day and age, when the broad culture places a higher value on winning at any cost than it does on playing by the rules and planning for the long term. According to geneticists and anthropologists, however, it was always this way, and will always be thus. In Dark Nature, naturalist Lyall Watson states that the study of DNA and the genes it codes for shows that there are 3 rules that all living things abide by. Rule 1 is, be nice to insiders. Rule 2 is, be nasty to outsiders. Rule 3 is, cheat a lot. By adhering to these 3 “commandments”, the genes of an organism have a greater chance of making it into the next generation. That trip alone is the objective of every living thing. The articulation of these 3 rules makes a powerful case for doing whatever it takes to succeed.

The problem with living by those 3 rules, though, is that such a life is completely directed by unconscious programs and allows no room for choice. In such a world, Andy Roddick could never have the ability to question the “rightness” of the linesman’s call. He would have no choice but to follow the dictate of Rule 3: cheat a lot. The fact that he chose to override Rule 3 and advocate for a new order suggests that another world is possible beyond that of mere survival.

Throughout history, humans have perceived the possibility of something beyond “the selfish gene“, as Richard Dawkins called it, and have struggled to bring that vision into existence. We have fought for new “games” or societies, with new rules. In these societies insiders are scrutinized and outsiders are made to feel welcome. Cheaters are shunned. Because of the power of our genetic programming however, the creators of these new rules are usually reviled in their own lifetime as traitors to the status quo and the old ways continue undeterred.

We cannot deny our selfish “nature.” But neither do we have to embrace it unquestioningly. Wisdom traditions around the world acknowledge the interplay between the fight for survival and the fight for choice. The Chinese culture even created a logo, if you will, for this interplay between the old and the new. The yin/yang symbol illustrates the sage acceptance of two powerful forces interacting with each other, the shadow and the light. Carl Jung, the Swiss psychiatrist, asked, “How can I be substantial if I fail to cast a shadow?” Both facets of existence, light and shadow, are necessary to maintain balance and order at the new, conscious level of life. Acknowledging the shadow can prevent it from taking over while we are busy pursuing the light. As the old adage says, “The road to hell is paved with good intentions.“

As I’ve written in previous articles, the budo tradition in Japan came into full flower with the emergence of the “sword that heals” as a counterweight to the “sword that kills.” By envisioning a new order that acknowledged both tendencies, the budoka entered into greater harmony with life. An admitted assassin in his youth, Musashi matured in his later years and adopted this new approach, one that did not require murder for success. His substance was only enhanced by his awareness of the shadow.

Kaicho has spoken and written often about the values of the karateka. By emphasizing these values, there is a tacit admission of the power of the shadow, the blind rush to prevail over others at any cost. As karateka, we take upon ourselves the difficult task of balancing the two forces within ourselves. For instance, we practice skills that are meant for conflict, yet we subscribe to the ideals of peace and harmony.

The genetic program to be nice to insiders, nasty to outsiders and to cheat a lot is powerful. The quest for a life of conscious choice is just as powerful. Achieving a greater harmony that encompasses these two forces is never easy. It never will be. Gambatte kudasai! See you in the dojo. Osu!

Santa Monica Beach Training, 2005 

Waza and The Green Room

“On this day he had lived with that feeling, with death breathing right in his face like the hot wind from a grenade across the street, for moment after moment after moment, for three hours or more. The only thing he could compare it to was the feeling he found sometimes when he surfed, when he was inside the tube of a big wave and everything around him was energy and motion and he was being carried along by some terrific force and all he could do was focus intently on holding his balance, riding it out. Surfers called it The Green Room.” - Black Hawk Down, Mark Bowden

Let’s be clear; our sparring in the dojo in NO way, shape or form compares with the reality of combat. There was a time in Japan centuries ago when the opposite was true, when sparring in the dojo was intimately related to the reality of death. Live swords were used and the possibility of dying by the sword hung over each adept. As you can imagine, the use of live swords prompted intense zanshin, much like that described by the soldier in the above passage.

Absent the use of live swords or fights to the death, how do we train zanshin in our pedestrian, workaday 21st century world? Should we all become surfers and through that gain entrance into The Green Room? I don’t believe that’s the only way, though the thought of “catching a tube“ does seem pretty cool. Should we all become soldiers in battle? Obviously not. Instead, I believe the best way for a karateka to enter The Green Room is through waza.

Waza is a very old term in the Japanese language. It’s supposed to designate technique in the realm of the arts. All arts. Fully defined, waza means “a gesture or act that has a profound meaning or is done with a significant intention; the act of doing something knowingly.”

The sense of this word may not be fully conveyed by its definition. In the context of traditional Japanese culture, waza is a means or method of achieving unity, harmony, and the full integration of thought and action with spirit. It’s the fusion of the self (ego-based) with the universal principle, The Green Room. In previous articles I’ve written about shugyo, as with the swordsman drawing his sword 10,000 times within a 24 hour period. Such practice leads to a short-circuiting of boundary awareness and allows for the possibility of an entirely new understanding of self to emerge. This is an example of integrating thought and action with spirit. Such a practice presumes that one has in oneself the potential to enter into resonance with the principle that rules the universe.

Shugyo is not something we can undertake every day. But waza is! Every time we come to the dojo we can set our intention to the sincere practice of basic technique. By training the non-abiding mind, mushin, through waza we can wear down the habit of incessant ego-boundary awareness and enter into resonance, zanshin, with the principle that rules the universe. Call it The Green Room or chi, or The Force or Super-String Physics, the intuition of a power beyond our rational mind has been part of the human experience for as long as humans have been on earth. The desire to resonate with that force has played a large role in our journey as humans, and perhaps in our journey as karateka.

Returning to the definition of waza given above, a crucial point needs to be made. It is this: while waza is an act undertaken with significant intention it is NOT a means of achieving a pre-conceived end. In other words, waza is not yet another form of manipulation by ego. Waza is a journey without a self-determined destination. It is a game in which we are not making the rules. This “unpredictability” releases us, even if momentarily, from our addiction to the fiction of having control over Life. When we release that addiction, we’re in The Green Room. Gambatte kudasai!

See you in the dojo, dudes!

Osu!

West LA Seido Dojo 

Monkey see, monkey do

Chi gyo ichi nyo is a familiar expression in the dojo. The word chi means knowledge. Gyo means doing, or action. Ichi nyo means inseparable. Action and knowledge are one! Acting without adequate knowledge or understanding is a constant source of frustration and problems. In our lives we are often busy and active, without really understanding the basis of our actions and their full impact. Some people study karate without knowing why they are really studying. In class they do the techniques without understanding their purpose, and so they lose much of the benefit.”

Mindless, conditioned behavior occurs on all levels of life. A single person or an organization of people can act mindlessly. Patrick McCarthy, hanshi, and author of many books about the origins of karate, offers a useful parable describing the process of mindlessness and the dangers of leaving conditioned behaviors unexamined.

“Start with a cage containing five monkeys. Inside the cage hang a banana on a string from the ceiling and place a set of stairs under it. Before long, a monkey will go to the stairs and start to climb towards the banana. As soon as he touches the stairs, spray all the monkeys with ice-cold water. After a while, another monkey makes an attempt with the same result - all the monkeys are sprayed with ice-cold water. Pretty soon, when yet another monkey can’t resist trying to climb the stairs, all the other monkeys aggressively try to prevent it.

Now, turn off the cold water, remove one monkey from the cage and replace it with a new one. The new monkey sees the banana and immediately wants to climb the stairs. To his surprise and horror, all of the other monkeys attack him. He tries again and is attacked again. He realizes that if he tries to climb the stairs, he will be assaulted.

Next, remove another of the original five monkeys and replace it with a new one. The newcomer goes to the stairs and is attacked. The previous newcomer too, takes part in the punishment with enthusiasm. Replace a third monkey. The process will be repeated. Two of the four monkeys attacking the new member have no idea why they’re not allowed up the stairs, or why they are participating in the beating of the newest monkey. Why not?

Because as far as they know, that’s the way it’s always been around here!”

Chi gyo ichi nyo. Develop both the will to examine your assumptions and the courage to discard erroneous beliefs. Karate-do encourages the student to examine their assumptions about life. Moreover, true karate-do IS the experience of a mindful life. Where karate and zen come together, mind and action are one and the same thing. Ken zen ichi nyo. Sword and mind are one! So say the masters. This is not something to believe. Its something to experience. Practice is essential. Gambatte kudasai. See you in the dojo. Osu!

Lake Tahoe 

Gassho and Kokoro

At the beginning of every class, or almost every class, we do a series of exercises. The Japanese word for this sort of calisthenic exercise is undo. These exercises derive from the Goju style of karate created by Miyagi Sensei in Okinawa in the early part of the 20th Century. In devising these exercises Miyagi no doubt borrowed liberally from the Chinese, whose influence on the southernmost island of the Japanese archipelago was immense.

More than a thousand years before, many Chinese had themselves borrowed from their southern neighbor, India, and adopted Buddhism as a philosophy of living on par with the naturalism of Lao Tsu and the social conservatism of Confucious. The story of Buddism's migration from India to China is an interesting one. In India, Buddhism competed with Hinduism for market share, so to speak. It did very well, as we can see by its continued existence today, two thousand years after the Buddha's death. However, after awhile some of the "old school" Buddhists grew disenchanted with the politics of the large organization that had arisen around the practice of Buddism and sought a return to simpler ways. One of the disenchanted monks, Bodhidharma (known in Japan as Daruma), left India for its northern neighbor, China. There, Bodidharma is said to have sat for nine years in meditation, seeking enlightenment. To maintain his health, legend has it that he devised exercises borrowed from the characteristics of the wild animals he observed in the mountains where he meditated. The Shaolin Temple arose from Bodidharma's spiritual/physical exertions. The Shaolin monks became more than adept at Bodhidharma's exercises, primarily for the purpose of defending themselves against roving gangs of thieves who plundered the Chinese countryside. The Temple thrived but yet again internecine politics arose around the basic practice.

When Buddhism was adopted by the Japanese from their Chinese neighbors nearly a thousand years ago it underwent a another decisive transformation. The motivations behind this change were not unlike those of the Protestant movement of Martin Luther in Christian Europe and the earlier revision of Buddhism by Bodhidharma. With Buddhism Japan, characteristically, sought a more direct apprehension of The Mystery, one stripped of unnecessary adornment and intercession. Thus, the Japanese removed everything from the practice of Buddhism except the basic act of sitting. Just sitting, or shikantaza, forms the essence of Cha'n, or Zen, Buddhism. It is this practice that we attempt in the dojo, sitting either in seiza or on the seiza benches.

Looking around the West LA Seido dojo, you can see echoes of Buddhism's story in the Daruma dolls sitting on the counter of the front desk and by the shinzen. You can also "see" it in gassho, the exercise that often concludes the undo at the beginning of class. Gassho signifies the dissolution of our existential duality. By bringing the two hands together, two become one and the illusion of separateness is dissolved. Gassho signifies that the boundary of our ego is mometarily erased and the unity of life is experienced as it is.

The distant echo of Indian Buddhism is also found in the three movements associated with gassho, the bringing of the hands from above, in front, and below to the mid-chest area. These three actions point to, respectively, the Buddha, the Sangha and the Dharma, the three jewels in the crown of Indian Buddhism. The Buddha represents the ideal of non-attachment acheived through meditation, the Sangha represents the community of meditators, and the Dharma represents the path of Action undertaken by the meditator in his or her everyday life.

At the core of this crown is The Mystery, the immediate apprehension of the source of all Life that lies beyond words, beyond thought. It is not by accident that all three roads, the Buddha, the Sangha, and the Dharma, lead to the heart.

Seido karate-do is a "whole-hearted" practice. The word for heart in Japanese is kokoro. While kokoro refers to "heart" as it is commonly understood in the West, the Japanese word also designates the function of the mind, which is both emotional and intellectual. We can readily grasp the intellectual aspect of mind, but what is meant by the mind's "emotional" aspect?

Simply put, the mind's emotional aspect is understood as our "intention." When we act with intention we access our beliefs, those principles which give meaning and motive to our lives. Seido karate-do offers us an opportunity to examine our actions as expressions of our motives. Our highest purpose is to align what we do with our principles. Anything less produces a "half-hearted" effort.

Seido is a "whole-hearted" practice. Seido means "the sincere way", the way of whole-heartedness. As with Buddhism, there are few prescriptions for action in Seido. Instead, there are suggestions which you are asked to investigate for yourself to see if they're helpful in your life. Or not. The choice is your own, as is the process of examination.

By beginning each class with gassho, we remind ourselves of our fundamental creativity as human beings. Kokoro and the three tools, or jewels, are available to each of us in our creative process. What we do with the profound creative power of intention is also up to each of us. Success often depends upon commiting yourself to the goal with your whole heart. Gambatte kudasai (please do your best)!

See you in the dojo. Osu!

On Mt. Baldy, California 

Dented, but Undaunted

Nana korobi ya oki is the core belief of Seido Karate. It assumes that life is challenging and that we sometimes fall, unable to meet the challenge. Still we get up, undaunted, embracing our own spirit, our own capacity to prevail. The alternative, to stagnate or dwindle in spirit and action, is simply unacceptable.

Where do we fall, generally speaking? There are certain patterns to life and these patterns, like the embusen of the kata we practice, have pivotal points. We tend to fall on the pivot because we are changing direction, going off the well-trodden path.

We each embark on certain, predictable missions in our lives. We go out into the world to secure basic necessities, relationships with others, a reputation for ourselves, a power base, a true vision and a capacity to see life's blood flowing through everything equally. Each of these separate missions require that we re-orient ourselves, both inwardly and out in the world. Each mission indicates that the previous mission, necessary and good though it may have been, has in some way failed us. We discover the need to grow past what we once saw as a goal on the horizon. What once was the future is now behind us.

It is important to recognize when our spirit has grown. It may feel like a failure or a death of sorts, but without these moments of change, these pivotal moments when we recognize that we must once again put on our battle gear and fight for a new life, life would lose its flavor, and our heroic journey would truly end.

Seido practice is many things to many people. But what it offers to everyone equally is the opportunity to experience challenge in a deep, mindful way, the better to appreciate the lives we live. Just as importantly, it restores our ability to appreciate the lives of others. Feeling this deep connection with others, our heroic journey is not in vain. Train hard. Gambatte kudasai.

See you in the dojo. Osu!

Pine Needles, Yosemite National Park 

Millenium Challenge

In 2000, the U.S. Joint Command Forces, a sort of think tank within the military, began planning a war game named Millennium Challenge. The scenario of the game was as follows: a rogue military commander had broken away from his government somewhere in the Persian Gulf and was threatening to engulf the entire region in war. He had a considerable power base from strong religious and ethnic loyalties, and he was harboring and sponsoring four different terrorist organizations. He was virulently anti-American. There were two teams in the game; the Red Team, which played the rogue forces position, and the Blue Team, which played the American military position.

The Red Team was small in number compared to the Blue Team, which had every war technology in existence at its disposal for the game. The Red Team had technology, too, but it was miniscule compared to its opponent’s. Prior to the game’s start no one expected the Red Team to win.

The Red Team’s leader, a former American Colonel by the name of Paul Van Riper, had some radical (for the military) ideas of how to deal with the scenario he was given. He had his team analyze their options BEFORE the actual engagement. They figured that Blue Team would go after certain of their assets, like communication and power systems, first. So they devised plans for acting without these resources. Then they trained their basic skills, like troop movement and low-tech communications (using couriers on motorcycle rather than satellite phones) over and over and over again until their forces felt confident of these skills.

As important as these preparatory actions were, what truly distinguished the Red (rogue) Team from the Blue Team was its management system once actual fighting began. The Red Team allowed its leaders in the field make decisions without having to check back with central command before acting. Van Riper and his leadership group described their role as being “in command but out of control.” While errors were made by the Red Team, their “messy” organizational system had one overwhelming advantage: allowing people to operate without having to explain themselves constantly turns out to enable something called “rapid cognition.” Rapid cognition is like the flash of insight we sometimes get that produces the solution to a nagging problem. The Blue Team, on the other hand, held endless meetings with charts and computer screens and the whole Power Point misery we’ve all experienced. In the midst of battle, the Blue Team was overwhelmed by its own attachment to massive but useless information processing. It was a classic case of “paralysis by analysis.”

The Red Team won the Millennium Challenge in 2 days.

The world we live in is afloat in information. We’re barraged by “news” and entertainment options, and purchasing choices, and lifestyle decisions 24/7. A cell phone comes with a 200-page User Manual. A trip to Starbucks provides us with dozens of options FOR COFFEE. Its crazy-making and worse, this surfeit of information in minor matters can cloud our judgment when something really important confronts us. Malcolm Gladwell's new book, Blink, details how this has come to pass and what strategies exist for dealing with it. Its an interesting read, but yet another bit of information that floods our minds.

Karate-do offers us a way to practice being “in command but out of control” in our own lives without referring to a book. Our practice reduces the “noise” of the 21st century that threatens to engulf us and allows us to hear and respond to our intuition. Call it Rapid Cognition or A Funny Feeling, our intuition is a valuable resource, perhaps the most important resource, when faced with having to make a decision.

At a certain point, we have to acknowledge that more information won’t help us. Karate-do, or “moving zen” as Kaicho sometimes refers to it, can be viewed as a practice of paring away the things that no longer serve us in order to better appreciate and cultivate those parts of life that do. By simplifying, but not over-simplifying, we allow ourselves to be more available to the moment before us. Being available, we meet what is here, now. Our lives, and the lives of the people around us, are enriched by our simple presence. Gambatte kudasai!

See you in the dojo!