It was a gray day

Just a short two weeks ago, as I was out walking the trails at Fitzgerald Lake, there was a cold north wind that gusted its way through the tops of the hemlock trees. It didn't feel as though spring was quite in the air yet, though by the calendar it certainly should have been. You could make out small red buds on some of the trees but there was nothing else to really suggest that winter was over except that when the wind wasn't blowing, where the trail widened and there were fewer trees and very little undergrowth, the sun was warm. It might have been fall--the trees were still mostly bare.


I stopped by the edge of the swamp off Boggy Meadow trail to watch a lone mallard drift lazily around the fallen trees. There's usually a lot of activity here. Sometimes you can see turtles hanging out on floating logs and trunks of trees that beavers have felled and abandoned, probably because the trees were too big to maneuver through the maze of stumps and dead trees and branches that have broken off in storms or simply rotted and dropped in the water. The mallard, its iridescent green head catching the sunlight, seemed oblivious to me, but it was in its element and it knew, I'm sure, that I was just a spectator. I'm not sure whether it was the sun breaking through the clouds or the mallard--the only bit of bright color in an otherwise dull gray landscape--that brought my attention to the  grayness of everything around me. There are winterberry bushes with their red fruit and a few flowering weeds here and there, depending on the season, but all of the trees in the swamp, for as far as you can see, are dead, with dead, gray bark--no greens or browns or rust colors here. It all reminded me that most things in life are gray in a metaphorical sense; nothing ever seems simple or black and white, especially, I suppose, when it comes to the applications of kata.

The first technique on the turn from
Seisan, blocking with the right and
attacking with the left palm strike
...or is it another block?

We were fooling around with a different bunkai for the first sequence of Seisan kata the other day, the sequence that begins with the first turn. I had noticed there was something about this sequence that reminded me of the first complete bunkai sequence in Suparinpei, the steps and open-hand "blocks" that follow the last angle technique in shiko dachi to the northeast. I have always assumed that in Suparinpei, the defender is stepping in on an attacker standing in front of him; the first step, with the left foot and left hand coming to the outside of the attacker's right arm and pushing down, and the second step, with the right foot and right hand, coming up inside the attacker's left arm, pushing out. This is followed with another step, bringing the defender's left hand past the attacker's head, kicking with the right, and then bringing the attacker's head into the defender's right elbow attack. Then the right arm comes out and, with the left hand on the chin and the right grabbing the hair or back of the head, the opponent's head is twisted forcefully, breaking the neck.

The beginning of the first complete
bunkai sequence in Suparinpei,
after the last of the four angle
techniques in shiko dachi.

In Seisan, on the other hand, I have always assumed, because it fits with the principles we find in many of the other classical kata of Goju-ryu, that in turning around we are stepping off line, avoiding and blocking the left punch of an attacker stepping in from the west--blocking his left punch with the semi-circular motion of the right arm while attacking the head with a left palm strike. However, if the principle of stepping off line is not one of the things being illustrated by the structure of Seisan kata--if it is more akin to Suparinpei since there are many other similarities between these two kata--perhaps the bunkai or how to apply these techniques in Seisan is also similar to the above section of Suparinpei. If one is simply turning to face an attacker, and the attacker is either grappling with both hands or punching with first the left and then the right, we have something similar to Suparinpei, though initially on the opposite side. If this is the case, the defender would first

The beginning of the head twisting
finishing technique in Seisan.

block with the right from the outside of the attacker's left arm, pushing it down, and then block with the left on the inside of the attacker's right arm. Then, stepping forward with the right foot, the left hand, still in contact with the attacker's arm, pushes or pulls the attacker's right arm down, while the defender's right arm is brought up to attack the opponent's neck with a right, palm up shuto. Then, grabbing the hair (in ancient times, the topknot), the defender would step forward again, pulling the head down, while bringing the left palm up to grab the opponent's chin. The sequence from here pivots to the right (or west), twisting the head, and finally employing the ubiquitous knee kick to finish.

The beginning of the head twisting
finishing technique in Suparinpei.

I'm not sure which is the right answer, at least so far as what may have been the original intent of kata, and in some ways this bunkai and the one I have always practiced (and illustrated in my book, The Kata and Bunkai of Goju-ryu)--that is, stepping off line--are very similar. An awful lot may depend on the kind of attack the moves in kata are a response to, and that's the side that we can't see; all we have is the kata side, the defender's movements. And then there's the question of how this view might alter one's understanding of the other two bunkai sequences in Seisan kata. In other words, rather than showing three variations of the same bunkai or applications, the other two sequences would, if begun the same way, be substantially different. Would that, in turn, change how we thematically looked at the techniques of Seisan kata?

Of course, even so, some ideas may be better than others. Or, it may be simply a matter of personal preference. I don't know. Sometimes there is a lot of gray area in the landscape.

When a tree falls in the forest...and other thoughts on bunkai.

A single leaf at the end of
a new shoot.

If a tree falls in the forest and there’s no one there to hear it….does it really matter? It will lead to all sorts of unexpected outcomes. The tree will fall. There will be an opening in the canopy overhead. Sunlight will reach the forest floor where it hadn’t, where it had been shady for years. A small seedling will begin to sprout or an acorn lying dormant under a blanket of leaves will feel the sun. The next thing you know, there will be little twig-sized slips of oak or maple or aspen, two over-sized leaves on a slender stick the size of a toothpick. Of course, the grass takes over first, it seems, followed by the weeds and the ground creepers, but the trees are there--a balsam fir or a white pine or a spruce. They each send up these little, central shoots with a more or less symmetrical arrangement of branches. It begins with a cluster of buds at the tip of the shoot. The central bud becomes the trunk of the new tree and the buds that surround it grow laterally into branches. And each year's growth follows the same pattern, unless the deer come and nibble off the buds or the central bud gets damaged somehow. If it does, the tree is programmed in such a way that one of the lateral buds that had been destined to become a branch takes over the role of the central bud and becomes the trunk. 

First entry or receiving technique
from Kururunfa kata.

I've been reading a lot of Bernd Heinrich lately. He writes about birds and trees and running, among other things. I hope I'm not over-simplifying what he says about trees too much, but it's this changing aspect of the new tree that got me thinking about its relationship to the martial arts as I was out in the woods the other day. We approach the study of kata as if it's something sacrosanct, a ritualized performance piece. And yet we look at bunkai as if the movements are so fluid and dynamic that they supposedly have countless ways of interpreting or applying them. This point of view is, in fact, so widespread that it almost seems as though it has fostered the growth of a whole new industry based on seminars and the discovery of new and ever-more-outlandish applications. 

Initial technique from Seipai kata.

So I would suggest that it may be time to simplify things a bit. We could start with a simple statement about the structure of a kata. Kata are composed of different kinds of techniques--entry or receiving techniques, bridging or controlling techniques, and finishing techniques. Each entry technique is part of a sequence, but because of the exigencies of any given situation—how the attacker responds to the initial block or receiving technique, one's balance, the strength of the opponent—you may need to change things up at some point, sort of like the new shoot when a deer comes along and nibbles off the central bud.

Sliding down the back of the arm
and grabbing the head.

For example, if you respond to an attack with the opening receiving technique from Kururunfa, something unforeseen could happen that causes you to change the sequence and instead continue with the initial technique from Seipai kata. That is, from the forearm attack to the neck in the initial technique of Kururunfa, you might straighten out the right arm, pushing the attacker's head down. Then, you might continue with the first sequence of Seipai by stepping through with the left palm-attack to the chin, going on to twist the head. Or, alternatively, from the initial Kururunfa technique, you might drop the right arm down along the back of the opponent's right arm to move behind him, as we do in Seisan.  Once you’re to the back of the opponent, you could continue with this sequence from Seisan, grabbing the back of the head with the left hand and stepping in to grab the chin with the right hand. Or, you could simply grab the opponent’s trapezius muscles from the back and pull him down onto the front knee, as we do in Saifa kata.

Pulling down by grabbing the
trapezius muscles in Saifa.

Kata itself is a repository of technique, and each technique functions differently. But once we understand this, we can take them apart and put them together in different ways, all depending on what happens in any given situation. In that sense, the system of self defense we know as Goju-Ryu becomes both smaller and larger at the same time. It is smaller because it becomes more manageable--there are, for instance, a finite number of receiving techniques and the same might be said of the bridging and finishing techniques as well. In other words, one doesn't need to become a master of what at one time must have seemed like an encyclopedic number of techniques. But it is also larger because if we truly understand the system and its kata then we can see an almost infinite number of ways that the individual techniques can be taken apart and put back together. That is, the entry technique from one kata might be combined with the bridging technique of another kata and the finishing technique of yet another kata. 

So what if a tree falls in the forest. Stuff happens. Another tree will come along and take its place.

Hey, Buddy, can you spare some change?

Between a rock and
a hard place...

“Nothing endures but change.” 

― Heraclitus

I was thinking about this the other day, walking in the woods, looking at the changes of a late Spring--well, that and the techniques of kata and bunkai of course, as I usually do. It's been cloudy and windy and rainy for the past week. I think it was warmer in January or February than this past couple of weeks. I think I had been out on the scooter more in the winter than the last month and a half. But after all the rain, the forest is finally leafing out, and things are changing once again. Though, of course things are always changing, really.

And I realized, tramping through the few leftover muddy pools on the trails after the recent rains, that Goju-ryu itself is all about change. I wonder that the same thought may have occurred to Miyagi Chojun sensei, walking about the countryside or along the shore near Naha. When I look at the Goju-ryu Happo, it seems to me to be all about change: Mi wa toki ni shitagai hen ni ozu. (Act in accordance with time and change.) Even when it talks about the breath, it's really about change: Ho wa goju wo tondo su. (The way of breathing is hard and soft.) Or when it makes these wonderfully inclusive analogies between each person and the universe: Ketsumyaku wa nichigetsu ni nitari. (The blood and veins are like the sun and the moon.) Jin shin wa ten chi ni onaji. (Hearts and minds are like the universe....and the universe is constantly changing.)

First of four open-hand
techniques from
Shisochin.

Goju-ryu, after all, is the "hard/soft" style. It's soft when it yields, and it yields when the opponent is attacking. When my opponent moves in, I move back or to the side. Or, as the Happo says, Shin tai wa hakarite riho su. (The feet advance and retreat, separate and meet.) Look at the "blocks" or receiving techniques (uke) and you will see that they are generally circular, allowing the defender to redirect the attacker's force or energy rather than to meet it head on. You see this in all of the Goju blocking techniques. I always liked the way my teacher would explain the fourth law--Mi wa toki ni shitagai hen ni ozu. "Meet any situation without difficulty," he would say--a good thing to remember whether you're practicing bunkai or merely practicing life. It's all about change.

One of the basic techniques of Shisochin is a good example of this. In this technique--the open hand technique that occurs four times in Shisochin and, according to Hokama sensei, the technique from which the kata name is derived--yields by stepping to the side, instead of meeting the attacker head on or, if you are looking simply at the pattern, instead of turning around to face the attacker. (This is the rule that I have often tried to mention: The stepping pattern of a kata shows how to step off the line of attack.) The kata shows this yielding because the stepping pattern shows a 180 degree turn, from the original north to the south. This is the first of these four techniques.

...even a stone yields.

The attacker is coming in from the west with a left punch. The defender (kata side) steps to the side (the turn-around) and at the same time "blocks" the punch with his right arm, carrying it in a circle across and down. This also has the effect, for the defender, of blocking on the outside gate and moving to the inside gate. At the same time, the left arm is brought up in an arc to attack and catch the attacker under the chin or alongside the neck. Then pivoting again, the attacker's head is brought down. And it's all sort of effortless...because of yielding and sticking and following the attack. I mean when you face someone in Goju, it shouldn't look like two bulls facing off in a field, snorting and pawing the ground, or like two trains headed down the same track from opposite directions. And yet that's often what we see in a lot of bunkai or two-person sets when one person attempts to over-power another person with brute force rather than technique based on correct principles. We should really try to change all that.

“Everything changes, nothing remains without change.” — Buddha

What's wrong with that guy's kata?

Along Fitzgerald Lake in the fall.

[I was going to stop at 108...but maybe I'll just post one or two more. After all, what significance do numbers have anyway?]

Winter's coming. I can tell because the last hard rain took most of the leaves off the sycamore tree in the back yard. It's been a wonderful fall. The leaves have been beautiful, especially walking the trails out around Fitzgerald Lake. Since I retired, I feel as though I've finally got the time to really look at things. Like leaves. Millions of leaves out in this little hundred acre wood--well actually it's a little bigger than that. But it's easy to approach these paths with the wonder of a child on beautiful fall days. And I find myself stopping to pick up and examine leaves the way my children did when they were two or three or four years old.

This position, coming before
the techniques under
consideration, is the
same in each school.

No two leaves are exactly the same, at least in the fall when they change colors and the slow and inevitable process of decay begins. Of course, there's an analogy lost in there somewhere, covered over with piles of autumn leaves. It reminds me of something my daughter said the other day, watching her brother finish a bowl of ice cream that he had said he wasn't going to eat. Something about Newton's first law of motion or was it Galileo's concept of inertia? Anyway, it got me to thinking about kata.

The final position is
also the same.

For years, I've wondered why there were differences, some subtle and perhaps insignificant and some quite glaring, between how the different schools of Okinawan Goju did kata. If Higa Seiko sensei and Miyagi Chojun sensei both studied under Higashionna sensei, and Yagi (Meibukan), Toguchi (Shoreikan), and Miyazato (Jundokan) all studied under Miyagi and/or Higa, then why were there differences in how some of the Goju classical kata were preformed? The only explanation I could imagine (if we rule out faulty transmission) is that different teachers' understandings--or perhaps execution--of the bunkai informed (or changed) the way they did kata. Or, put another way, they each had different ideas how best to accomplish the same thing. Over time, these subtle differences became more pronounced, until certain moves in kata took on what became, by appearances at least, obvious differences. That is, perhaps they all knew the same bunkai (one specific  bunkai, I would suggest), but each did it a little differently, depending on body type, movement, etc.

(4) Shodokan version.

A case in point is Sanseiru kata. Of the classical Goju kata, Sanseiru seems to exhibit the most striking differences between the four major schools of Okinawan Goju: Shodokan, Meibukan, Shoreikan, and Jundokan. One of the more glaring examples of these differences might be this double open hand move found in the middle of the kata (4). It is done first to the left (west) side (shown) and then to the right (east) side. In the first of these, as it is done in Shodokan schools (Higa), we see a left, palm up chest block with a right, hooking upper-level palm strike, in basic stance. In the other three schools of Goju, the kata shifts into a right foot forward shiko dachi, with the right arm, hand open, in an upper-level block, and the left hand, palm up, striking with a nukite (5). (See illustrations.) They look very different, both the feet and the hands. But suppose neither one is actually wrong, except in what they imagine is going on. Suppose they are actually executing the same bunkai!?

(5) Other schools.

As I suggested in a previous blog ("The Structure of Kata: putting two and two together...or not"), this is not the initial sequence or uke (receiving) technique but the controlling or bridging technique. And instead of the left hand blocking and the right hand attacking (Shodokan), or vice-versa (the other schools), both hands are grabbing the opponent's head; the lower hand grabbing the chin, while the upper hand grabs the head. Utilizing the position of either of these accomplishes the same thing. (Note: It's important to mention here that we're seeing both techniques without the corresponding entry technique.)

So, if one looks at it this way, it suggests that the teachers that originally learned from Higashionna sensei or Miyagi sensei, and went on to establish their own schools, knew and practiced the same bunkai, even though the katas look quite different. And it also fits the general tenor of techniques in the Goju classical subjects.

The problem then, if this is the case, is not with the differences found in the different schools but in later followers who never learned the original bunkai and had to fend for themselves in attempting to interpret movement that was perhaps idiosyncratic and certainly a bit cryptic without the original teacher there to explain it. In other words, the differences in kata do not necessarily point to differences in bunkai. Which, I suppose, in the best of liberal traditions, suggests that it may be more fruitful to find commonality in things that differ to some degree than to dwell on differences in things that seem by and large so similar. To be clear, I am not suggesting that all bunkai are correct, just that that guy's kata, as different as it may look, may be just as "correct" or at least fundamentally the same. What was it Robert Frost said? Two roads diverged in a yellow wood...and in the end, they led to the same place?

When it comes to leaves, however, I can't help noticing--and appreciating--their wonderful variety and stunning beauty. I may turn into a rabid leaf peeper yet. And isn't it ironic that
we take notice of their incredible beauty in the fall, just as they're on the verge of dying?

[Well, that's my two cents anyway. Hope I didn't give too much away. Then again...]

The Structure of Kata: putting two and two together...or not

Final technique of the opening
sequence of Seiunchin kata.

I was thinking about structure the other day--how we put things together. I suppose in some sense structure is how we make sense of our lives, how we connect things. Writers think about structure a lot, I imagine. You have to when you tell a story. You can begin at the beginning, slowly and painstakingly making your way to the end in the order that things occur, or you can meander this way and that way, filling in details, providing explanations, making sure there are no loose ends, but by all appearances a seemingly chaotic or at least random order. Very few stories, in fact, seem to stick to a linear model. Writers are always experimenting with narrative structure. They have to, I suppose,because they already know the end of the story.

There's a sort of narrative structure to Goju-ryu kata as well. The problem is that the structures differ; not all of the katas conform to the same structure, which, of course, is a strong argument to bolster any research that would suggest that the classical subjects of Goju-ryu, though part of a system, were created by different people at different times. If Goju classical kata were created by a single individual at one period in history--as the Pinan kata are said to have been the creation of Itosu--then they would probably conform to similar patterns, like the Pinan katas. But they don't.

Thematic double open
hand technique from
Shisochin kata.

That being said, there seem to be certain rules that each of the Goju kata do conform to. For example, techniques which are shown twice in a kata are shown on both the left and right sides, but the finishing technique of the sequence is only shown once, at the end of the second repetition. Techniques that are shown three times are usually base techniques (as we see at the beginning of Sanseiru) or thematic (as they seem to be in Shisochin) or indicative of the number of bunkai sequences seen in the kata (as in the case of Seisan and Sanseiru). And techniques that are shown four times (as in the elbow/forearm techniques of Seiunchin) should be treated as two pairs of techniques (though Suparinpei seems to be a whole other kettle of fish).

The other element of structure that seems to be followed in all of the Goju classical subjects is that the turns and changes of direction in kata are not arbitrary but instead indicate the direction of attack and how one should step off the line of attack. And certainly there are others.

Yet even when these "rules" are applied, we still see differences in kata structure within the Goju system as a whole. Saifa and Seiunchin begin with actual bunkai sequences--though two of the opening sequences of Seiunchin are incomplete, the finishing technique being shown only after the third sequence, which in itself is a structural difference from Saifa. Shisochin and Sanseiru begin with basic techniques (three open hand techniques in one and three closed hand techniques in the other), not bunkai sequences per se, that share a thematic connection with the rest of their respective katas. Seisan begins with three sets of three basic openings, while Kururunfa sticks its three basic techniques after the openings that are shown on both the right and left sides. And Seipai begins with a complete bunkai sequence, sort of like Saifa, but only shown once.

Furthermore, Saifa has only four complete bunkai sequences, while Seiunchin has five. Shisochin has

Controlling or bridging
technique from
Sanseiru kata.

three--though there is some variation and repetition even then--just as Sanseiru and Seisan, whereas Seipai has five and Kururunfa, four.

The problem is that you need to understand the structure of a kata in order to understand its bunkai and not fall into the kind of piecemeal analysis that so often characterizes what we see on the Internet and frequently leads to questionable interpretations of kata technique. For example, the last technique of Saifa kata--the step, turn, and mawashi--is probably the finishing technique of the previous sequence, which is itself shown on both sides, beginning with the block, sweep, and hammerfist strike, rather than an independent technique or additional bunkai sequence of its own. Why? Because that's the way the "mawashi uke" technique appears to be used in all of the other classical subjects of Goju-ryu. Not proof, of course, that there isn't an exception, but a strong argument perhaps.

But structure can also "hide" bunkai, and often does in Goju kata, particularly when the initial or opening technique (uke) is separated from what should follow it, the controlling/bridging technique and finishing techniques. This is what we see in Sanseiru kata. Or, when the opening techniques themselves get split up--something we see in the four-direction double arm movements of Shisochin

One of the four double
arm opening moves
of Shisochin kata.

kata--effectively "hiding" how the opening techniques and directional changes are employed.

The question, of course, is why the creators of these kata put them together this way. There's no question that it has led to a great deal of confusion. Did they do it to intentionally hide techniques? Or is it just the most efficient and fluid way to execute the techniques? I've tried to reconstruct kata, stringing complete bunkai sequences together, and it often gets awkward or doesn't finish facing the original front direction. Perhaps it was to emphasize that sequences and combinations could be taken apart and put back together in different ways. Or perhaps they were interested in showing an escalating level of violence--that is, the second of a paired sequence shows a much more violent response. For example, in the final sequence of Saifa kata, the first side shows a block, sweep, hammerfist strike, and undercut, but the second side adds a punch, head-twisting neck break (mawashi), and knee kick. So was the intention to hide technique, or was this common structure the most efficacious and time-saving method of preserving technique? These are, of course, questions that are impossible to answer, but the importance of understanding the structure of kata is obvious.

It is what it is...

Opening attack from Seiunchin kata.

I was having an imaginary conversation with my daughter the other day. She isn't actually a little kid anymore, but it was the kind of conversation we used to have fifteen or twenty years ago. You know, the kind of conversations you're never really ready for because you never really imagined yourself as a parent. And who can prepare for that anyway? Or maybe you have the same questions 'cause you never got any better answers than "because it just IS!!"

Or maybe they were just dumb questions, like how come people have eyebrows? Or, why don't animals talk? Or, why does it rain? I was actually wondering about all this because I had just watched a video of Hokama Tetsuhiro sensei demonstrating bunkai from Seiunchin kata. It was on a Facebook page titled: Goju Ryu Karate. It's a short video, about 4 minutes long.

Stepping forward and executing an
arm-bar to bring the attacker's
 head down.

Now I have a lot of respect for Hokama sensei. Back in 1987, I think it was, we were visiting and training in Matayoshi sensei's dojo--going to Okinawa for the first time with my teacher, Kimo Wall sensei, for two months--when Matayoshi sensei invited Hokama sensei, who had studied kobudo with him, to come by the dojo and talk to us. He brought copies of his first book, signed them, and gave them to all of us visiting Americans. Of course, this first edition was in Japanese, but the pictures were wonderful. But, back to the present. In this bunkai video I watched, Hokama sensei was showing what looked like very Aikido-esque techniques. I've seen many teachers concentrate on this sort of bunkai--Kuba Yoshio sensei is another one (here's a video showing other Aikido-like bunkai for Seiunchin: http://youtu.be/KyBXOiucFpk). Kuba sensei does this a lot, but it seems to me a bit of a stretch.

Right hand grabs the head (or top-knot)
and the left comes in to attack and
grab the chin.

And so I wondered why people seemed to be attracted to all of these joint manipulations just to throw the opponent. Is that really Okinawan karate? Doesn't the opponent just get back up and attack again? Is it to find less brutish-looking techniques, less violent alternatives? Is it seen as somehow more exotic and esoteric? Perhaps it appears to be more magical--a slight touch here, a little twist and the opponent is down. If you watch the videos carefully (and a bit critically), you see that the demonstrataed two-person techniques (bunkai?) only partially resemble the moves in kata. Why is that? Why not just come out and say, "Here are some cool moves I found while I was watching stuff from another type of martial art. Hey, if you squint your eyes up, they sort of look like Goju."

Conclusion of the opening sequence
of Seiunchin kata--an elbow attack
to the back of the head, neck, or
spine.

The problem for me is that it's not Goju. Why not? Because these teachers have taken individual techniques out of the kata and theorized about their application without seeing them in the larger context of the sequence of moves that forms a single bunkai combination. They have also not stuck to a strict analysis and repetition of the kata technique--in other words, they are not doing the bunkai for this particular kata. So why call it Seiunchin bunkai? I know some people will call this oyo bunkai or something along those lines; that is, when you start with a technique from kata and then you get "creative" or "personal" with it, as one discussion forum put it. Or how about this? And I quote: "Bunkai is the analysis of kata, and oyo is the application." I'm sorry, but when you analyze moves in kata isn't that the same as figuring out how you apply them? Let's face it, oyo is when you haven't got a clue and you're just making it up. Or it's when you find something really cool but it's not really part of your own system, and yet you'd hate to drop it from your repertoire.

Goju is a close-in fighting system with a lot of grabs and such, but Goju quickly bridges the distance and attacks the head or neck. Neck breaks and head twisting are standard fare in Goju. Why? I don't know why; I didn't make this stuff up. But why? Because it just IS!!!!

Very like a cloud...

Clouds rolling in over the tarn
on the fell. (Helvellyn)

So I was thinking about Hamlet the other day. It was in Act III, scene ii, or thereabouts. The conversation between Polonius and Hamlet. The Melancholy Dane says, quite apropos of nothing: "Do you see yonder cloud that's almost in shape like a camel?" The old man responds, "By the mass, and 'tis like a camel, indeed." To which Hamlet says, "Methinks it is like a weasel." Agreeably, Polonius responds, "It is backed like a weasel." Hamlet then playfully suggests, "Or like a whale," and Polonius knowingly, and famously, says, "Very like a whale." Of course, Hamlet realizes that the cloud in question cannot have all of these qualities--that Polonius is merely agreeing with the poor boy they all think is mad. They humor him for their own ends.

Beginning of Seipai
"jump" sequence.

I thought, isn't that the wonderful thing about clouds, these amorphous, evanescent conglomerations of water droplets; they can be all of these things, because in reality they are none of these things. And we know that. It's a game. We're not hallucinating. We are letting our imaginations play with the world around us. And it's perfectly okay--they're clouds.

But sometimes I think it's a lot like kata and bunkai; people begin to see whatever they want to see in it. Their imaginations run wild with interpretation. And I wonder, when did this begin? Different schools and teachers do things a bit differently in kata. Sometimes these differences are very slight and perhaps insignificant. At other times, however, the differences are pronounced and lead people to vastly different interpretations of application.

The "jump" in Seipai.

One I recently encountered was a discussion of the "jump" in Seipai kata. Some schools teach this as an actual jump--the farther, the better. But it's not a jump. The defender is merely stepping to the outside of the attacker, grabbing (that's the control technique), and unwinding or twisting in a counter-clockwise direction to throw the attacker to the east (assuming the front is north). Why is it not a jump? Because it's connected to the previous technique. Though they look similar--the previous cat stance double punch (and I say that only as a description of what it looks like, not what it actually is) and the cross-footed double punch--the kata is not showing opposite sides of the same technique. Why is it connected to the previous technique? Because the first technique is not lethal by itself, and the second technique (the "jump") doesn't show an entry technique. Combinations and sequences, that's just the way Goju kata were designed. It's a principle of understanding Goju bunkai, if you will.

Foreaarm attack to the
neck in Seiunchin, after
bringing the head down.

And there aren't any uraken (backfist) attacks either, at least not the way they are usually practiced in most dojos--not with the back of the fist or even the knuckles. Whether it's in Saifa kata or Seiunchin kata or Seipai kata or any other of the classical Goju kata, what looks like a uraken attack is really a strike with the forearm. That's why the Okinawan practice of kote-kitai (arm pounding) is so significant, because there are so many places in the Goju classical subjects where the forearm is used to attack.

Knee or thigh kick from
Seisan kata.

And while I'm on the subject of what isn't there: there aren't any back kicks in the Goju classical katas. That doesn't mean it isn't a good technique or even that one shouldn't practice it, only that it isn't a technique we find in Goju kata. Some schools and teachers will show a back kick in Seiunchin because their interpretation of these movements suggests an attack both from the rear (presumably with a bear hug) and the front. The problem is that none of these possibe attacks to the rear are lethal, not to mention the fact that they're not very realistic. Try it. Other schools show a back kick in the beginning of Seisan kata. But again, this is not correct. It is instead a knee or thigh kick to the groin done three times, as both hands are brought up (palm up) and then down as one advances. This is a close-quarters technique.

So there you have it: no jump in Seipai, no urakens in Saifa and Seiunchin, and no back kicks in Seiunchin or Seisan. But, you say, why do different schools see these things differently? I can only think that when we look up on a wonderfully balmy summer's day we see clouds, and from there it's anybody's guess.

I can't believe he said that.

   "So, let's start with an acceptable premise for both of us, since we come from very different

Pointing the way, from Seipai kata.
But the attack is coming from your
left, not the front, and the left hand
is the primary "blocking" hand.

traditions," I suggested.
   "Okay, what would you suggest?" he asked.
   "Well, how about the idea that the techniques we see in bunkai came before the creation of kata--that the ancients, whoever they might have been, found techniques that worked in either combat or self-defense and then only later put them into kata in order to have some way to remember them or some sort of solo practice method."
   "Yes, but the katas have all been changed, or at least we should probably assume that the katas have all changed since that's human nature, and anyway different schools do katas differently, so that alone suggests katas have been changed, and it would be a fruitless endeavor to attempt to discover the original intent of the katas," my friend countered.
   "That may be true," I replied. "But the reason I'm suggesting this is that, if true, it would imply that each technique originally had only one interpretation or suggested application. If there are differences in how katas are performed it suggests two things to me: one, that some people altered kata to conform to their own erroneous ideas about bunkai; or two, some of the changes are actually insignificant and merely show slight variations of how one might apply the same bunkai--that is, as long as they conform to the same martial principles, perhaps both ways of doing the kata are correct. In any event, the way to unlock the keys to the bunkai is to find the principles that they all conform to."
   "That's exactly what I'm saying," my friend immediately countered. "If multiple bunkai could be correct, then a better principle might be to say anything that works is a correct bunkai." Wait, is that what I said?
   "Anything?" I asked, incredulously. He nodded and smiled. "But it has to follow the kata, doesn't it?" I asked.
   "Why?" he replied. "Just because the kata shows a forward step, does that mean you can't step back? I once asked my teacher, the venerable Poobah, the same question. Do you know what he said to me? He said, 'do you have a problem with stepping back?' I said, 'no, Sensei.' "
   "But it's not just that," I said. "Your bunkai for that particular move in kata"...we had been sharing our interpretations of various kata techniques..."well, in kata your right hand is on top, and when you do your bunkai your left hand is on top."
   "So. You should be able to do it either way."
   "That may be, but the way you're showing it isn't the way it's shown in kata, and besides, you're stance is wrong as well."
   "Well, my teacher explained to me that for bunkai the body can be divided into quarters: above the waist, below the waist, the right side, and the left side. You can use the techniques independently or together, and they don't have to necessarily conform to exact kata movement."
   "But bunkai means to analyze kata, so it would seem to me that if you're not sticking to kata movement--and that would include not just the hands and feet but also the stepping that's shown in kata--then you're not really doing bunkai," I said, as gently as I could.
   "Well," my friend suggested. "In all my travels and research, I've come across two schools of thought on that. One is that you stick to kata movement as closely as possible, and the other is that it's okay to deviate from kata because what you're really doing is studying the principles of movement. Two schools, two different opinions."
   "Yes," I said. "But one of them is wrong." I couldn't stop myself. "At least that's what I would say. But I'm not sure I really understand what you mean. Isn't the kata teaching principles of movement? If you deviate from kata movement, then you're not really getting the message, not really learning the principles the kata is trying to teach." At this point I didn't really expect much of an answer.
   To this he responded by demonstrating a technique from kata against one of the other students. It conformed to the way he did kata, but it didn't conform to sound martial principles. "Why didn't he hit you with his other hand when you did that?" I asked. "One of the principles of bunkai that I always look for is whether or not the opponent is in a position to initiate another attack after your initial "uke." In this case, the technique is applied against the opponent's left arm, but the opponent is still in a position to reach you with his right." So I asked, "Why doesn't he hit you with his right?"
   My friend was quick to reply, "Well, hopefully, he doesn't know the bunkai."
   Did he really just say that?

Disclaimer: My apologies to anyone if this sounds familiar. Any similarity to conversations with anyone, living or dead, is purely coincidental. In any case, this imagined conversation is only meant to illustrate the difficulties one often encounters in trying to find the original intent behind the kata of Goju-ryu...the bunkai.

Enlightenment and the martial arts

I have a close friend whom I don't see all that often, but we go way back. I mean we've known each other for thirty years or so, and we train together whenever we do manage to get together. We've been to Japan together and Okinawa, and we've gone on weekends to the Zen Mountain Monastery. Our interest in Zen Buddhism did not naturally come about because of a shared interest in the martial arts, I don't think, but rather from a similar spiritual interest. We would often have long discussions about books on Zen or how one might reach enlightenment through the practice of the martial arts. These discussions have not been as frequent in recent years, but then, what with family obligations and all, our visits have not been all that frequent either.

Yet every time I see him he always asks me the same question: "So, are you enlightened yet?" We always joke and laugh and leave it at that. Perhaps it's just a conversation starter, much like asking about the weather. Perhaps it's nothing more than a harmless attempt at re-establishing that erstwhile spiritual connection, sort of a reminder that we haven't seen each other for a long time. But the next time he asks me that question--"Are you enlightened yet?"--I'm going to say, "Yes. How about you?"

I'm not exactly sure what this will lead to, what sort of reply one can have to that. Some questions certainly are never meant to be answered. I suppose one needs to laugh heartily and say, "Oh, come on," as if to imply, "Hey, who are you kidding." Or, "Get out of town." But this all comes down to a real philosophical problem for me, and one that I see quite often in the martial arts. Simply put: If you ask me whether I have reached enlightenment or not, and I say that I have, who are you to say that I haven't? That is, don't you have to know what enlightenment is yourself to know whether or not someone else has or hasn't reached it? Well, I suppose, unless enlightenment is something like pornography. Then, I guess, to paraphrase Justice Potter Stewart, I'd have to say, "I may not know how to define it, but I know it when I see it."

This all comes up for me when people tell me that bunkai can't just be one thing or have one right answer. My response is usually, "Why not? Why can't it?" They suggest that each movement in kata has multiple interpretations or applications. I agree--since I always try to be accommodating--but, if I might be so bold, only one of them is correct. What I'm really waiting for is for them to start their response with "You can't be right because...." And what follows "because" would be an argument based on the supposition that I have violated logic or clear martial principles, not "because" my teacher said so or "because" it's not the bunkai we use at our school or "because" it's not what I saw on the Internet or "because" how could you know, you don't even speak Japanese. When I say that the bunkai of the Okinawan classical kata is all about going for the head, I just want someone to prove I'm wrong. It shouldn't be terribly difficult to point out where a particular bunkai errs. I see it all the time. One of the most egregious errors is when techniques purport to be bunkai and then don't follow kata movement. Another is when the attacker seems to be frozen in time, holding his punch out there in mid-air, allowing the instructor to apply some fancy technique, while out of deference not hitting him in the face with the other hand (the hand that he dutifully holds in chamber). Yet another I often see is when the supposed bunkai does not finish the opponent; it looks more as though it would annoy the attacker, rather than make sure that you weren't attacked again by the same person. (I would give specific examples, but it generates too much hate mail, and that's not my point.) Watch bunkai on YouTube sometime and see if it satisfies these simple tests. And then tell me how logical it is for the creators of kata, whoever they might have been, to have created kata where the techniques could have multiple interpretations and bunkai can be whatever a fertile imagination can come up with.

In the meantime, if you ask me if I know the real bunkai to the Goju-Ryu classical kata, I'll tell you, "Yes, I'm fairly certain about most of the classical kata," but I'm still training and learning. If you ask me how I know, I'll tell you that it conforms to good martial principles, follows the kata exactly, and is realistic. It's also self-referential as any good system might be. If you ask me whether I've reached enlightenment yet, I'll tell you, "No, not today. Tomorrow, maybe."

Chest punches in traditional martial arts?

We were sittin' around the campfire one night, after the horses had been fed and hobbled, and Pokey the cook had heated up some beans, when I turned to Clem and said, "It's awful quiet out there." Clem nodded his head sorta serious like and said, "Yeah, too quiet."

Attacking the head in
Saifa kata.

So I was reading posts on the Internet again.... I ask myself, why do I do that?? I'm reminded of something I once read. I think it was a criticism of the telegraph by Henry David Thoreau. My goodness, what a wonderful invention it must have seemed. It connected the whole country. People in Maine could suddenly talk to folks in Texas. The only problem, it seems, is that they had nothing to say. Radios, telephones, the Internet. I recently got a smart phone. Whenever I text someone I find that the phone is so smart that it knows what I want to say before I say it! It's truly amazing. Or maybe it's because we don't really have that much to say...or that much that needs saying.

So I was reading this blog post and it was discussing chest punches in the traditional martial arts. The suggestion was that traditional martial arts show so many chest punches--and when you look at the classical kata of Goju-ryu you will find only chest punches--because, and I'm paraphrasing here, it's safer and teaches one to train "at the correct range" (the poster suggested) and in so doing we are sort of forced into "making [our] training more realistic and practical" and thereby "doing it with reasonable safety from injury."

So let me get this straight. The original creators of kata put in only chest punches because they were safer, right? But if that's true, why didn't they make all of the other quite deadly techniques safer to

Attacking the head in
Seiunchin kata.

practice against an opponent? Actually, I'd rather turn that around a bit. Why preserve something in kata that's not the actual technique? Are the chest punches supposed to be "hidden" head punches--that is, you practice chest-level punches in kata but you're really supposed to raise them to head-level in reality, but that's too dangerous in the dojo so we practice chest-level??? And our dojo partners, what are they practicing? Are they practicing blocking a chest-level punch that in reality would be to head-level and so all of their practice of chest-level blocks is sort of pointless? Boy, this gets confusing. Does all of that make sense? Are you making something "more realistic" and "safer" at the same time? What about it is "realistic"? Is it that we allow ourselves to throw "realistic" punches with full power and speed at someone's chest but not at their face? But aren't we supposed to be practicing control in the dojo as well?

The same blog post prefaced this rather lengthy discussion with this: "I believe the answer is rather more simple.  It's all about training at the correct range...." Well, it is simple, but it's not about "correct range." My goodness, as we get more skilled, we should be able to punch to the face at close range and not paste each other!!!

If you want simple, consider that the closed-fist punches are all chest-level punches because they are to the head!!! It's just that the head has been brought down to that level. In Goju-ryu classical kata, we practice blocking/receiving techniques against the upper-level punches of an opponent. But receiving techniques (uke) are predominately circular, so this may be hard to see at times. And then each receiving technique is generally followed by a controlling or bridging technique. These
techniques generally go for the opponent's head or neck, and, sometimes alone or coupled with a kick, they are most often used to bring the opponent's head down. Once the head is brought down, this is where you will see the application of the straight, closed-fist punch. In order to really see any of this, you have to see that the Goju-ryu classical kata are composed of combinations of techniques--all of the combinations start with a "block" or receiving technique and end with a finishing technique. If you see a straight punch to the chest in kata--as you do at the end of Saifa kata, for instance--you should assume that it's a punch to the head and ask yourself how you got the head into that position. Then back up the sequence until you find the initial block or receiving technique. Simple, right? Well, yes, at least he was right about that.

And with that, I spread out my bedroll, said goodnight to Clem and Pokey the cook, and caught some shut eye, thinking maybe tomorrow we'd come across somethin' a wee bit more interestin'. 

To kaisai no genri or not to kaisai no genri

How many Japanese karate terms can you say in one minute? I find this annoying--the seemingly off-handed, pompous over use of obscure foreign terms--especially when it comes up in discussion forums. What's the point? Just kidding...everyone knows the point to using jargon. The point is to intimidate or at the very least to establish one's expertise in a subtle way. There are really a number of problems here. Certainly agreed upon terminology can facilitate discussion.  When I say that a poem is a sonnet, I am hoping that the use of agreed upon terms [sonnet] bypasses a lengthy explanation of form and structure. When I ask for a monkey wrench, it's a lot quicker than trying to describe what I need. But karate terminology is not standardized. What you call a te-kube-uke, I may call a kake-uke. And one can't forget that what may be appropriate in Japan may be an affectation in the West. Remember, in Okinawa they're just counting to ten--ichi, ni, san, shi.... The other problem is that what you call a nukite, I may call a shotei. When we call a technique something--anything--we begin, however unintentionally, to assign it a meaning, an explanation, and in this case a bunkai. The solution, I suppose, is simply to describe or explain what's going on. Wait. Would that make things too clear? I mean, would it take all the mysticism out of it?

1st move in Saifa--a dropping elbow.

Just picture, for a minute, the typical dojo. The smell of incense. The quiet. Suddenly a guttural growl: "Mokuso yame." The sempai calls out. "Kiritsu." Then, "Sensei ni, rei." Everyone bows to the teacher. "Shomen ni, rei." Everyone bows to the shrine. "Mon-te ni, rei." Everyone turns and bows to each other. "Mae." Pause while everyone turns to face the front. "Kiotsuke." Everyone stands at attention. Where did all this militaristic formality come from? Was it always a part of Okinawan karate or did it come from the mainland during the years leading up to World War II? But there's little time to dwell on such things, the senior student is barking out commands again. "Sanseiru kata. Yoi." Everyone comes to ready position. Again, that guttural growl that sounds like an angry ronin from an old samurai movie. "Kamae." Everyone steps forward with the right foot and brings both arms up, sort of like Sanchin. Wait, is that a ready position or is it a technique? How do you know whether it's a ready position or a technique? It must be a ready position because the sempai said, "Kamae." No, it's just always been called that...or it's called that because who the hell knows what it is!? Is that really the way someone would ready themselves for a fight, both arms up, sort of like John L. Sullivan or some boxer conforming to the Queensbury Rules??? Couldn't be. Maybe it's a technique. Maybe it actually has a function. But of course that would imply that everything in a kata had a function and you aren't just adopting a pose or performing for an audience. Whoa, that's a pretty radical thought. No, it's not. What's really radical is thinking that everything in kata has multiple functions. That's radical. Call it what you will, but don't call it a whole lot of different things.

Grabbing the head and dropping
the forearm onto the neck
of the opponent.

Actually, that's part of the problem, that we give techniques names. The first technique of Saifa kata is described as an elbow technique. So creative karate-ka (there's those terms again) use the elbow to attack the opponent's ribs or the opponent's own elbow after he has thrown a punch. But if you attack the elbow from the side, it only takes the slightest bend of the elbow by the opponent to frustrate the attack and protect the elbow. If you bring the elbow up and over the opponent's arm, on the other hand, and drop the forearm on his arm, you can easily bring the opponent's head down. The next move is to grab the head, drop back into horse stance (shiko dachi) and attack the neck with the forearm. This, of course, raises all sorts of issues, because in most dojos teachers call this technique a uraken-uchi. The kata looks the same or very nearly when it's done, but the bunkai isuraken or, as I've seen in some cases, a rap to the chest with a backfist, which is just plain annoying.
very different. Which one is right? Well, one should ask which interpretation best conforms to martial principles, which is more realistic, and which is more lethal? The first principle here is to move in such a way that doesn't allow your opponent a second opportunity to attack. It is more realistic because you are using the response of the opponent to your first counter. It's more lethal because you are attacking the opponent's neck rather than giving him a bloody nose with a

And don't call it a mawashi-uke, because most of the time in kata it's not "receiving" anything--it's the finishing technique. Of course, that would take a pretty radical shift of perspective...but it would sure help your kaisai no genri!

Imagine that...

Well, we've probably all heard the stories. It's part of legend. I heard it from my teacher, and I'm sure he heard it from his. Japanese samurai swords, katana, were "tested on the bodies of convicted criminals as part of the practice of tameshigiri, or test cutting. One Japanese sword made in 1662 is inscribed 'Two persons completely cut into two pieces (one stroke),' a scholarly article informs us, and reportedly blades bearing five-body ratings can be found in Japanese museums" (http://www.straightdope.com/).

After all, how would you know you had a good blade unless you actually tested it...unless you actually asked it to do what it was expected to do under the duress of battle, what it was made to do? Was it balanced? How did it feel to actually wield? Would it withstand a cut against muscle and bone and sinew without breaking or chipping? Disturbing to consider perhaps, but these are real questions.

Head twists in Seipai
are often too dangerous
to practice safely.

The same questions arise when we consider the unarmed martial arts, though I'm not remotely suggesting that karate-ka hang out at the local bar and wait for a fight to break out. Or go sauntering through notoriously rough parts of the city in the late-night hours in order to test their martial skills, though I have heard some people say they have done just that. But it's also no secret that there are a lot of idiots out there.

No, what I'm suggesting is that it is very difficult to analyze kata (bunkai) without imagining what is going on. This is the problem I have with the continuous bunkai of training subjects created by Toguchi sensei (Gekisai, Gekiha, and Kakuha) that one sees in Shorei-kan dojos. It's also the problem I have with the continuous sequences (is it bunkai?) of Taira Masaji sensei of Jundokan. In both cases, there is no opportunity to see what the reaction of the other person is. Every technique is blocked or parried or countered in such a way as to frustrate the application of the "finishing" techniques that are shown in the  classical katas. Consequently, one applying this sort of "analysis" to the kata cannot really see what are finishing techniques. And one can't separate entry (uke) techniques from controlling or finishing techniques. All of the techniques of kata, in this scenario, seem pretty much the same. It's fun to look at, and it may even be fun to train, but it doesn't seem to me to do a very good job of explaining kata and bunkai. 

This head twist from Seiunchin seems
safer to practice if it's done slowly.

So what's missing? As strange as it sounds, I would suggest that what's needed is an imagined reality. Perhaps that's what T. T. Liang had in mind when he titled his book on T'ai Chi Imagination Becomes Reality, though I think he was really talking more about chi and the mind. Nevertheless it's a wonderful phrase. I've encountered the same problem. Unless I can get my training partner to react to my technique, even though I can't actually hit him--that is, if you see the connection, I can't actually test the technique on "convicted criminals"--then I may miss how a particular technique in kata is meant to be applied. At the very least, I won't understand the speed or the rhythm of the kata techniques and how in application those may differ from how they are taught in kata where they need to be done slower, with more articulation or punctuation, in order to learn them. After all, we have to teach kata step-by-step, almost in slow motion, if you will. Bunkai should exactly follow kata, but the speed and the rhythm may differ greatly. You have to imagine the effect of the entry technique--not to mention the bridging or controlling techniques--on your opponent to understand the techniques that follow it. Where does the entry technique put the opponent? Has the opponent's position changed relative to the defender? For example, what effect does a shuto to the neck have on the opponent? What effect does a kick to the side of the opponent's knee have? If the knee kick is effective, how has it turned the opponent? How does this turn facilitate the next move of the bunkai? If we can't imagine these things, or if our training partner cannot react in a realistic manner, then we may have a hard time discovering bunkai and, in the long run, understanding kata. 

It's difficult to imagine a reaction without actually testing things out. And the problem with testing the reality of techniques should be obvious; some of the techniques are too lethal. How do you train a neck break? I wanted to see how a particular bunkai worked--how it actually felt and whether or not it seemed realistic--that is, whether it "worked," in layman's terms--and had Bill, my training partner, try it on me.

Shisochin kata

This was a head-twisting technique and throw from Shisochin kata. At first, Bill did it relatively slow and easy. But that didn't seem to me enough to give me a sense of how "real" the technique was or how effective it was. So I asked him to "take it easy" but go a little faster and with just a bit more forcefulness. My job as attacker was to see if I could frustrate the technique or make it any more difficult to apply. Needless to say, we discovered that the technique worked just fine...and I was in physical therapy for three months with a neck that I couldn't turn enough to even peripherally see behind me. The funny thing was that I didn't remember we had been training this rather lethal neck twist and throw for most of the three months I visited the physical therapist. Probably because she never asked! Still, lacking any "convicted convicts" I think using the imagination is probably a better way to go, especially when we're talking not about kicks and punches, but about attacking the head and neck--real Goju.