The hemlock trees are dying

It was wet in the woods the other day. Actually, I think this was two or three weeks ago now--it's been quite busy lately and I lose track of the time. Spring had arrived and everything was alive. Even the spiders were out. I could hear the stream that runs down the hill to the reservoir. In places where the evergreens were thickest, the forest didn't look all that different in the spring as it did in the midst of winter. But the maples and the oaks and the birches and hickories were starting to leaf out and it was easier to see which trees had died over the winter, opening up patches in the canopy. On the ground beneath them, you could see seedlings ready to take over. On the part of the trail where it's widest and there seems to be the most sunlight, small hemlock saplings, no more than a foot or two high, had sprung up along each side of the path. Further up the trail, the giant hemlocks stood, many of them over a hundred feet tall by the look of them, and stately--they seemed to have no need for spreading branches to establish their places like the spruce trees or the balsam pines.

In the first technique of Seiunchin,
both arms are initially brought up
to the outside of the attacker's arm.

But the older hemlock trees are dying. I could count dozens of them along the trail and more off in the woods, the bark stripped off in places, left like red mulch around the base of the tree. They've been hit by the wooly adelgid. It's an invasive species for which the hemlock has no natural resistance. The wooly adelgid brings the borer beetle, which feeds on it, and then, after the borer beetles have burrowed beneath the bark of the tree, the woodpeckers attack, stripping the bark to get at the beetles. Fungus begins to grow around the roots of the diseased tree, and before long, the tree falls. The cold New England temperatures kept the pest at bay for years, but now they're heading north as the winters warm, and the hemlock may go the way of the American chestnut. It shows, I think, it's all tied together; a chain of events that seems to connect things in a way that's difficult to see at the start--one thing leading to another or, if not so singularly predictable, a step in one direction changing the expected outcome while opening up any number of different possibilities, like a small alteration in the environment opening an existential niche that may not have been there before. 

The initial counter from the first
sequence of Kururunfa.

For some reason, all of this made me think of how we string the various techniques of a kata together. But I wasn’t thinking about the sequences of techniques in the standard way in which it is shown in kata—beginning with the receiving (uke) technique, then progressing with the controlling or bridging technique, and finishing with a throw or an attack to the neck or head--as much as I was thinking about how an understanding of the structure and themes of a kata allows one to move between the techniques of different kata within the system. Because the Goju-ryu classical kata are composed of sequences—with entry techniques and bridging techniques and finishing techniques—it’s fairly easy to begin with a technique from one kata and then, depending on how the attacker is moving or responding to your initial receiving technique, move into a bridging technique from another kata and, again, tack on a finishing technique from yet another kata. Understanding the themes or principles of the various classical subjects also helps facilitate this sort of flexibility, especially when each kata seems to be exploring a different theme or response to a different sort of attack--that is, the receiving techniques seem to show the most variation. How one bridges the distance in order to control the opponent may also show a certain amount of variation but the idea here is basically to maintain contact after the initial receiving technique and, without putting oneself in further danger, moving to the opponent’s head or neck to finish the encounter. 

Continuing with the first technique
from Seipai (on the non-kata side).

For example, in the opening move of Seiunchin kata—and in fact in many of the other techniques of this kata—both arms are brought to the outside of the opponent’s attacking arm, whether we see this attack as a wrist grab or a punch or a grab of one’s clothing. If one were to continue the sequence, the defender’s left hand would rotate in order to grab the attacker’s left wrist as the right forearm was brought down on the attacker’s elbow. This is the position in kata that looks like two down blocks in shiko dachi (horse stance) done at a 45 degree angle.

However, if one is thinking about variations, it is easy to see how the defender might move from this initial position in Seiunchin kata to the first attack in Kururunfa kata. The defender need only maintain contact with his right arm on the attacker’s left arm, releasing the left grab, and bring the left forearm up into the neck of the attacker. This is then followed by a left knee kick. 

Continuing with this technique from
Seisan kata by dropping the left arm
and stepping in behind the opponent.

But if these counter attacks are somehow thwarted, the defender can then tack on the first technique in Seipai kata (though it would be from the non-kata side), with the left forearm brought up alongside the neck, since the initial straight arm technique begins from this position with the elbow or forearm attacking the opponent’s face or neck. 

Or, by dropping the left forearm down along the back of the opponent’s left arm and moving to the back, the defender could continue with the bridging and finishing techniques from the first sequence of Seisan kata. 

Continuing with the pull down
technique from Saifa kata.

[Me with Bill Diggle from photos
we did for the book, The Kata and
Bunkai of Goju-Ryu.]

Or, once to the back of the opponent, the defender could grab both shoulders, as we see in Saifa kata, and pull the attacker down onto the knee and attack with the hammer fist strike. 

I think it is important to see the connections, but we can only really be comfortable with these kinds of connections when we understand the sequences of a kata and see the themes or principles contained within them. Once we are able to do that, the attack becomes relentless, sort of like the attack of the wooly adelgid on these stately Hemlock trees, I think. 

Hemlock tree after it has
been attacked by the
wooly adelgid, borer
beetles, and woodpeckers.

It's a system, like the trees in the forest

The forest was wet today. Droplets of water collected in the leaves here and there, and the moss looked a bit brighter green after the rain we had overnight. But the temperature is dropping gradually, the days are getting shorter, and most of the trees are bare. It's hard to tell which trees are dead this time of year. The only thing that seems to be thriving is the lichen and small colonies of mushrooms clinging to the old tree trunks that lay rotting by the side of the trail. 

Saifa kata

Seipai kata

When I'm out in the woods these days, I don't usually think of the forest as an eco-system, though I know it is. I know that when the larger trees fall, after a strong rain or a heavy storm with high winds, they leave a hole in the canopy overhead and the wild grasses, the ground cover, and the acorns lying buried beneath the leaves, some waiting patiently for years, will start to grow in the spring, reaching for the sunlight that's finally been able to make its way through the leaves of the taller trees. 

Suparinpei kata

Seiunchin kata

No, when I'm out walking in the woods these days, I'm just looking for the seemingly random beauty you can find when you go out "forest bathing." Nothing seems so systematic. Everything seems chaotic and haphazard. But, of course, it is a system, just like any martial art, despite what some may imply when they suggest that a style like Goju ryu, for example, is a random collection of kata that come from different sources andwere created by different people at different periods in the past.

Kururunfa kata

Seipai kata

While this may be true (and probably is given that the structure of the Goju classical subjects varies considerably), it does not change the fact that it's a system. The different kata show variations as if they were jazz compositions, as if different composers were given the same melody and told to improvise. One need only compare techniques from different kata to see the variations, to appreciate how different techniques explore similar themes. Certainly there are differences--any given self-defense scenario may vary depending on one's position in relationship to the attacker or, for that matter, what the initial attack is--but the apparent similarity of some techniques and the fact that they are used in a very similar manner (the application or bunkai) underscores the notion that they are all part of the same system, regardless of whether or not the different classical subjects may have had different origins.

Sanseiru kata

Shisochin kata

The key here, of course, is to understand (or "see") the applications. You can't rely solely on the appearance of the techniques. This is admittedly a challenge. We have to first let go of our expectations, which may include not only what the technique appears to be, but also
what we may have been told--in other words, the conventional interpretation of the techniques in question. The problem may be compounded by texts and pictures that seem to record "end" positions; that is, it's difficult to convey in pictures or words what happens in-between the pictures one generally sees in karate manuals or texts which discuss kata, and it's often in the space between one move and the next that we see how a given technique is applied.

Saifa kata

Seipai kata

And you need the whole system. You need all eight classical kata in order to address different scenarios on the one hand and, on the other, to be able to see how to move from one technique in one kata to a similar technique in another kata if the dynamics of the situation change--and they are likely to change. That is, you need to see the similarities and variations in order to alter your counterattack. You may begin with the opening or receiving technique from Saifa (as pictured above), but you have to be able to change to the controlling or bridging technique from Seipai, for example (the bridging technique from Seipai being the technique which follows the Seipai opening technique pictured above). In other words, once you "see" the similarities and variations, you should be able to move back and forth between the techniques of each sequence of moves. This is the way a system works. Of course, you have to also be aware of the sequences. And if you can see the sequences, then you realize that the techniques within a sequence function in specific ways--that is, they can't just mean whatever you want them to mean.

Some have suggested that any single kata is a complete system of self-defense in itself. This is a rather silly notion, as is the idea that any given technique has multiple interpretations or applications. Either one of these notions gets in the way of "seeing" the whole system and being able to comfortably work within the system. Both of these views are short-sighted. Metaphorically, they're like being lost in the woods, failing to see the forest for the trees.

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.

Well, that's about the size of it.

"Well, that's about the size of it," he said. I realized I hadn't been paying attention. I knew he was summing something up, but I didn't remember what he had been talking about. I was thinking about the conservation area where we found ourselves. I had stopped on the trail to watch a pileated woodpecker and he had been coming up from the other direction when he paused to see what had caught my attention.

The conservation area isn't very big--about 625 acres with over a hundred different bird species and five miles of trails--but it's enough to get away from the sounds of traffic and the general insanity of the world for an hour or two. But as we separated, I found myself thinking about the size of things. After all, the Fitzgerald Lake area is only a fraction of the size of the new Katahdin Woods and Waters National Monument that President Obama designated last year, all 87,500 acres, and that's supposedly only 1% of Maine's woodlands. I can't really even picture things that size. All you can say is, it's H-U-G-E.

But that got me to thinking about martial arts stuff and different systems of self defense. I once knew a guy who said he had studied Kempo (that's the only designation he gave it) for five years or so, and in that time he had learned 300,000 forms. Now, I'm thinking, there's no way in hell this is true, so I asked him to elaborate. His first "form" consisted of a head block and punch. His second "form" consisted of a chest block and punch. And so on and so on. Still, 300,000?!

One of the finishing techniques of
Shisochin kata.

I visited a Shito Ryu dojo once where they told me that their curriculum included over 50 kata. The funny thing was that when one of the black belts was asked to demonstrate a particular kata (Seipai), he demurred, saying he hadn't practiced it for quite a while and worried that he couldn't remember it.

And on the other end of the spectrum, we have Uechi with its three classical kata--Sanchin, Sanseiru, and Seisan.

So how big is Goju Ryu? There are eight classical kata--kata of ancient origin that show bunkai and embody the principles of the system--and, of course, Sanchin and Tensho (and a number of other modern training kata developed by various teachers in the 20th century). Each of the classical "bunkai" kata, for lack of a better term, explores a theme or themes of self defense and illustrates

Double-arm receiving technique
of Sanseiru kata.

them with anywhere from three to five scenarios, each sequence beginning with an uke or receiving technique and progressing to a finishing technique. Some of the themes are more obvious than others--like the double-arm receiving technique of Sanseiru paired with a couple of different controlling or bridging techniques and two or three different finishing techniques. Or the five techniques against cross-hand grabs and pushes we see in Seiunchin, though one might also look at the downward forearm strike as one of the themes of the kata since it is used in a number of the sequences.

So how big is Goju Ryu? It's hard to say. Seipai is fairly straightforward with five bunkai sequences, while Saifa has four, though one of the four is a close variation. Kururunfa also has four sequences. And Suparinpei, though it shows three complete bunkai sequences, is largely made up of the repetition of fundamental techniques, various entry and controlling techniques. How do you count fundamental or basic techniques?

One of the grab release techniques
of Seiunchin kata.

And then there's the question of structure. The sort of fragmented (or complex?) structure of some kata, like Shisochin or Sanseiru, makes them difficult to size up. Shisochin seems to show  four release techniques against a clinch or two-handed grab, with one bridging technique and two different finishes, one short and one significantly longer. But each of these sequences can be taken apart and put together in various ways. The structure itself seems to suggest variations. And really it's all about variations. Seisan kata has only three bunkai sequences but each is a variation of the same fundamental techniques--the same entry, bridging, and finishing techniques.

The really interesting aspect of this idea of themes and variations, however, is that once you see them you can not only change from one sequence to another within a given kata but also from one technique to another between different kata, moving from a receiving technique in one kata to a completely different controlling or finishing technique from another kata. So in that sense, Goju Ryu is fairly small, composed of only eight bunkai kata with a combined total of around 30 or so bunkai sequences, but almost infinitely large if you consider how the different sequences can be broken down and recombined, dependent on the dynamics of a changing situation and the exigencies of a given self defense scenario.

Too big? The fact that it is all based on themes and variations--as opposed to its being an encyclopedic collection of individual techniques--makes it manageable. Provided, that is, you can see the forest for the trees.

Kamae!

More typical fighting
posture readiness.

   The thought occurred to me the other day--I suppose I've been wrestling with this a long time--but I found myself thinking about training in the old days, when I used to wear a gi and everything was rather formal. We'd line up according to seniority and then kneel and sit in seiza. "Mokuso!" Of course, it was all very precise, sort of like the Japanese tea ceremony without the tea cups.
   "Mokuso yamae!"
   "Sensei ni, rei!" the senior student would bark out. And, after all the formal bows, the teacher would take over.
   "Kiyotsuke. Rei. Yoi," the teacher would say, pausing between commands as the students responded. And then...
   Then we began practicing kata. But here's where it gets interesting.
   "Kata Saifa. Yoi. Hajime (begin)." Next was Seiunchin. "Yoi. Hajime." And then Shisochin. "Yoi. Kamae. Hajime." You see, there's that extra word--kamae. We used kamae not in the general sense of "posture" or even as a command--"kamae-te"--but in the connotative sense of "ready to fight." We generally understood it as a ready position, but no one every asked why the other kata (Saifa, Seiunchin, Seipai, and Kururunfa) didn't begin with a kamae or ready position. Why don't they?

Kamae posture found
in a number of kata.

   In Goju-ryu, putting aside Sanchin and Tensho for obvious reasons, there are four kata that begin with this double-arm kamae posture and four kata that don't. Each of these four double-arm kamae postures begins with three basic techniques that are repeated. Each of the other four kata begins immediately with a bunkai sequence (sometimes in threes and sometimes not). Why the difference? If all of the kata are part of the same system (supposing for the moment that they are from the same system), wouldn't we expect that they would conform to the same structure or pattern? Well...unless there is a message in the pattern or structure.
   Saifa begins with a  self-defense scenario (bunkai) against a same-side wrist grab (opponent's left to defender's right). Seiunchin begins with a self-defense scenario (bunkai) against a cross-hand wrist grab (opponent's right to defender's left). Seipai begins with the opponent grabbing one's shoulder or lapel. Each of these kata shows defensive scenarios (bunkai sequences) against grabs or pushes, while Kururunfa, it seems to me, shows responses to an opponent's punch. The other four kata, however, show defenses and responses to an altogether different situation--one that begins from a wrestling clinch or, if you will, the posture one sees at the beginning of a Judo match. Just compare the postures.

One of Judo's beginning
postures. 

   It's almost as if there is a flag or label tacked onto the beginning of the kata, stating "the techniques of this kata begin from a grappling position," and we are meant to apply the entry techniques at least with this in mind.
   So, does this change the way one sees the bunkai of these kata? Does it open up new possibilities? Do we need to re-think the opening "punches" (if that's even what they are!?) in Seisan and Sanseiru or question the "nukite" or "shotei-tsuki" techniques at the beginning of Shisochin? At the very least, we should question why so much of the bunkai people find in the Goju-ryu classical kata looks the same--most of it beginning with two people squared off, facing each other, until the attacker lunges in with a punch--when clearly, just from the way they begin, there is an implied difference.
   It also makes me wonder about the three kata--sometimes said to be older or perhaps more related to each other (Sanseiru, Seisan, and Suparinpei)--having the same beginning "kamae" posture, as if they were based on a more grappling-oriented martial art, something like Okinawan sumo, for instance, though that's just a wild conjecture.
   So anyway, before you start shouting, "No, Goju is about blocking and punching and kicking...after all, it's karate, not judo"....just wrestle with the idea for a bit. I think this is where it starts to get interesting.

It's not what you thnik

I was reading To Kill a Mockingbird today with my students and we got up to the trial of Tom Robinson. There's this big outburst from the incredibly bigoted Bob Ewell. (I wonder whether Harper Lee used that name because so much of prejudice is based in the irrational and sheep-like following of others--hence the "ewe" part of the name--or whether she was thinking that, at least when she was writing, "y'all," meaning "you all," are prejudiced just like this guy.) Anyway, after the outburst, the judge raps his gavel and says, " People generally see what they look for and hear what they listen for..." And I thought, ain't that the truth?!

Pulling the attacker down onto
the front knee in Saifa kata.

People have all sorts of expectations when it comes to karate, and when those expectations are not met, or something comes along to challenge those expectations, they quickly drop into a defense mode--it's fight or flight. We cover our eyes and pretend it doesn't exist. We deny it. We dismiss it. Or we attack it.

But sometimes, it's just not what you think. Goju-ryu is a system of 10 "classical" kata--and I am using the term classical loosely enough to include Sanchin and Tensho. So if this is the case, I would suggest, it's not what people often think or at least not the way you often see it practiced.

Attacking to the back of the
opponent's neck in Seiunchin.

For example: There is no upper target punch in Goju-ryu. And even though you can walk into almost any dojo in the world and find students practicing a jodan tsuki, you won't find it in the classical katas. We don't punch up to the head--we bring the head down to punch it. All you have to do is look at the classical subjects and this disconnect is apparent. In most dojos, we practice "basics" that include an upper target punch. Why not practice "basics" that are actually taken from the classical subjects, not some generic techniques that only conform to someone's expectations of karate? Why not practice techniques that actually prepare students for the movements in the classical subjects?

Blocking and kicking in
Kururunfa kata.

If this sounds as though I'm nitpicking, consider that neither is there a down block (gedan uke), at least not the way you'll find it practiced in most dojos. It's a strike--a body-dropping forearm strike to the back of the neck in most of the classical katas. Who would bother going into shiko-dachi to block a kick like that anyway? Let's be logical.

In fact, the forearm is probably used to strike more often than the standard punch or the back fist. And yet in most Goju-ryu dojos you can find people spending hour after hour punching the makiwara, until their knuckles are hard and calloused. Perhaps we should appropriate the "wooden man" from the Chinese martial arts and start pounding it with our forearms.

And while we're on the subject of confounding expectations...There are probably more knee kicks (hiza-geri) used in the bunkai of Goju-ryu kata than actual kicks with the foot. And the kicks with the foot are more targeted to the opponent's knees than higher--higher targets are easier to block--though when you watch students practice the front kick in most Goju-ryu dojos you will see front kicks waist high...and few knee kicks.

How about that ubiquitous technique: the mawashi-uke? The mawashi-uke seems to me--though this may seem blasphemous--deceptively not so much a "receiving" technique (though we refer to it as an "uke") as it is a finishing technique. In the classical katas, it occurs most often at the end of combinations, and it's usually used to twist the head--i.e. break the neck.

There's no half-fist strike or clam shell fist in Saifa, even though you will find it described that way in any number of books on Goju-ryu. (See Morio Higaonna's Traditional Karate-Do: Okinawa Goju Ryu, Vol. 1: The Fundamental Techniques.) And you will see it used to attack the throat or the opponent's ribs. But it's a grab. It's a half-fist to simulate the look of the hand as it grabs the opponent's collar bone or trapezius

Painting by Magritte

muscles.

And there's no cat stance (neko ashi dachi). That is, it doesn't seem to be used for anything; it merely signifies where you kick, whether with a knee kick or a front kick. If you think that statement is "out in left field," just try kicking every time you stand in cat stance in the classical katas. See what it opens up for you with bunkai.

And there's no spear hand or nukite strike in Shisochin...or elbow attacks for that matter.

Something to think about when you don't get bogged down with too many expectations.

A Mawashi-uke to you too!

Starting position of
mawashi technique
at the end of Seipai.

I’ve read a lot of discussion on the Internet recently about mawashi-uke and neko-ashi dachi. Some of this has been couched in questions about the possible origins of Goju kata—a subject that opens up endless bandying about of theory based on little more than observation, interpretation, or personal bias. Some of this, of course, is prompted by individuals promoting their own lineage or traditions, but there’s little actual evidence to go on other than the perceived similarity of appearances.

And this is what has always interested me in discussions of this sort—they are all based on appearances, and appearances, as we all know, can be deceiving. For example: Some would suggest that Saifa kata and Seisan kata must have similar origins because they both end in neko-ashi (cat stance) with a kind of mawashi-uke. Others, however, would suggest that Saifa was a kata that came not from Higashionna sensei but from Miyagi sensei, because Kyoda sensei didn’t teach Saifa. Some suggest that the Okinawan katas came originally from China because we can find similar postures—cat stance with what looks like the ending hand positions of mawashi-uke--in various Chinese systems, or vice-versa. What really needs to be compared, however, are the applications—the bunkai, if you will—of the various postures.

Final mawashi position
at the end of Saifa.

Starting position of
mawashi technique
at the end of Saifa.

The mawashi-uke is actually not as ubiquitous as it would seem, outside Goju-ryu training kata, like Geki-sai dai ichi, Geki-sai dai ni, Gekiha, or some of the other training subjects practiced in various Goju-ryu schools. A kind of mawashi-uke occurs at the end of Saifa, but it’s not the same as the one we find at the end of Seisan kata. There is no mawashi-uke in Seiunchin or Shisochin or Sanseiru, though there are open hand techniques and we see circular movements. Is the mawashi-uke in the middle of Kururunfa the same as the end technique of Saifa or is it more like the end technique of Seipai?

My point is that it’s difficult, if not misleading, to only compare appearances, when any perceived similarity in appearance is clearly secondary to how a technique is meant to be applied. (This, of course, raises a whole other question--that is, the question of how a technique is meant to be applied, based on its occurrence within the structure and sequence of a particular kata, and how it could be applied, based on one's own creative imaginings.) It’s a martial art, after all, not a dance performance. A number of years ago, there was an article published—and it received widespread notice and still does to this day—that attempted to classify the Goju-ryu classical kata according to their appearances. Did they end in cat stance or horse stance? Were they symmetrical or asymmetrical? But if we are going to study the relationships between the different kata of Goju-ryu, we should be studying the bunkai of the techniques in kata, not their outward appearances. The mawashi at the end of Saifa is meant to capture and twist the head of the opponent—to break the neck (colloquially) or traumatize the spinal cord, if you will. The ending mawashi-like technique of Seipai is intended to do the same thing. So is the mawashi in the middle of Kururunfa.  And the one at the end of Seisan. They are all used for the same purpose, but they are situation specific, so they look a little different. My suggestion: Put kata in its place. It’s a useful method to remember the form of technique and perhaps to study the thematic nature of certain movements or techniques. But put the emphasis back on bunkai, on the study of application. Comparing techniques based solely on appearance is a bit problematic to say the least.

Although this position in Seiunchin
kata and the position above from
Saifa kata may look similar, the
bunkai is very different.

Questions one should be asking or another turn at playing devil's advocate

Why do we use different stances? Are some stances just transitional? Do we use shiko-dachi (horse stance) for different reasons than we would use zenkutsu-dachi (front stances)? Shouldn't stances inform how we interpret techniques? If someone is showing bunkai, shouldn't the stances, the steps, and the turns be incorporated into the application of the techniques, not just the arms and hands?

Is the mawashi-uke technique at the end of Saifa the same as the one at the end of Kururunfa? Does the fact that Sanseiru, Seisan, and Suparinpei show some similarity in their final techniques mean anything? (And if you don't see the similarity, should you be asking yourself what you're not seeing?) What about the end mawashi in Seisan is similar? Are the nukite strikes at the beginning of Shisochin really nukite strikes or sho-tei or open hand forearm strikes or merely emphasizing the idea that hands work in opposition in Shisochin, reflecting a basic thematic element seen in the rest of the kata?

Why is there a repetition, for example, of the (quote) "elbow" techniques in Seiunchin, showing them being done four times? Is there really a need for redundancy of this sort in kata? Is it possible that the first two "elbow" techniques are connected and the second two "elbow" techniques are connected? Is it possible that they are not really elbow strikes? And if redundancy is not really necessary in kata, what about the doubling of the "forearm strikes," or what are sometimes referred to as arm-bars, in Shisochin kata that also occur four times? Or are they different because they initiate from a different position--that is, in the first instance the hands are down because of the previous technique, and in the second instance the hands are up because of the previous technique?

What do the kata differences mean when you compare the different schools of Okinawan Goju-ryu? Do the differences indicate a different bunkai or a misunderstanding of what the original bunkai was? And while on the subject of different schools of Goju-ryu, why did Yagi Meitoku sensei feel a need to create additional kata?

Why are some techniques in kata executed slowly while others are fast? Is this an indicator of the kind of attack that the kata creators envisioned; that is, a slower response on the part of the person doing kata to indicate something like the attacker pushing or grabbing--a different kind of energy on the part of the defender--while a faster response may indicate the block and countering of a punch?

In reality, how high are the kicking techniques in Goju kata? Isn't a kick to an opponent's knee much harder for the attacker to block than a kick to the mid-section--the height at which most front kicks are practiced, whether in kata or in kihon training?

Is there really such a thing as a neko-ashi-dachi (cat stance) in Goju-ryu kata, or is it merely an indicator, a teaching aid if you will, to show where there is a kick? Why do we show kicks in Shisochin kata or Saifa kata or Seipai kata and hide other ones--if that's what the cat stance indicates--in the same katas? How is it used in Kururunfa? Is it really just a stance to move backwards, as some suggest?

What does it mean when a technique in kata is repeated twice? What does it mean when it is repeated three times? What about four times? If the purpose of kata is to remember technique, is there really a need to repeat techniques in kata? If the purpose in repeating technique twice is to practice a technique on both the left and right side, then why aren't all techniques in kata done this way?

Why is Sanchin seen as the fundamental kata of Goju-ryu? Is it only the stance, breathing, and posture that are fundamental? Why is Sanchin fundamental when Goju does not seem to be predominately based on straight punches?

Why are many Goju blocking motions (uke) circular? Why do many of the kata show a "block" stepping forward? Is gedan-uke really a block in any of the Goju kata?

What does the pattern of kata mean? If the turns and angles of stepping are not important in kata--since they are so often ignored when people interpret bunkai--then why aren't all kata done in a straight line? Why did Miyagi Chojun sensei use a straight-line pattern for Tensho?

Do all of the katas conform to the same martial principles? Can you begin to understand these principles by looking at the techniques themselves, to see commonalities? Is it enough data to formulate a hypothesis (bunkai)? To confirm a hypothesis?

What would Socrates say? So many questions, so many answers. But if you don't ask the questions....

You call that a cat stance?!

I've got two cats. One of them is a frisky orange cat that looks as though she has a bit of Maine coon cat in her. She's a pretty good mouser and she's always curious and getting into things. Sometimes this gets her into quite a bit of trouble. The other is an old tiger cat. He used to jump up on my shoulder if I happened to walk by and was in reach. Now I think he'd just prefer to sleep all day.  And the funny thing is that I've never seen either one of them assume a "cat stance."

Now I know that these are just figurative descriptions, but when I come across people getting downright poetic about describing techniques I wonder whether this tendency to describe movements and techniques confuses more than it elucidates. I came across one guy on the Internet saying that just "as the name suggest [sic], the animal form is the cat and the practitioner should keep in mind the nature of the cat when using this stance." What is the "nature of the cat"?

Another person on the Internet says that the cat stance is "designed for pivoting, night walking, returning to the rear, blocking and weapons fighting." Why would you assume a cat stance before pivoting? Just pivot. Try walking at night or in the dark and see if you use a cat stance. Certainly when you are stepping back you shift the weight, but is it a cat stance? And a stance for blocking? Or weapons fighting?

Cat stance at end of Seiunchin.

I think there are two things going on here. In one sense, when you give a name to techniques--the more picturesque the better--the techniques are easier to remember, but it also provides a short cut for training; that is, you can just refer to the name of the technique you want people to practice. It's a lot easier to say, "Go practice 'single whip'," than it is to tell someone to practice the ninth technique in the form.  But does calling a technique "embrace tiger and return to the mountain" really shed light on the technique? Do you really "repulse a monkey" that way? And what would it mean to tell someone to keep in mind the nature of the mountain? Needlessly cryptic, it seems to me, and no more useful than telling someone they should keep in mind the nature of the cat.

The temptation to translate cryptic or figurative language literally is understandable. We are looking for meaning where meaning is not clear. And so when we see pivoting from a cat stance in Seipai kata, we say cat stance is "designed for pivoting." When we see a step back into cat stance in Seiunchin kata, for example, we say that the cat stance is for "returning to the rear." When we see a cat stance accompanied by a block in Kururunfa kata, we say that the cat stance is "designed for...blocking."

Cat stance in Kururunfa kata.

But what's missing is a more complete understanding of kata and bunkai (the analysis of kata). As someone perhaps with a little more experience or understanding on the Internet wrote: "...stances are actually more about shifting position and body weight. In other words they are not static positions that we assume...." When we name and codify techniques--and this is certainly true of stances as well--we make it easier to teach but we may also be leaving things open to all manner of misinterpretations. Stepping back into "cat stance" at the end of Seiunchin is not so much an assuming of a particular stance as it is shifting the weight onto the rear leg and off of the front leg in order to attack the head (which the defender--using yama uke or mountain block--has in both hands) by raising the knee sharply into the opponent's face. Blocking in cat stance at the beginning of Kururunfa kata is not so much an assuming of a particular stance as it is stepping off line and shifting the weight in order to kick. We block the opponent's punch and kick to the opponent's knee. The diagonal sequences near the beginning of Kururunfa show good examples of high-low attacks. And we don't assume the cat stance and then kick--this is too slow. As soon as we can shift the weight, we kick. The whole point of shifting the weight is to kick--whether with the knee or the foot--not to assume a cat stance.

I can remember hearing criticism about different schools. People would say, "Oh, their cat stances are too low." Or, "Their cat stances are too high." Or, "In that style they turn their knees in a little in cat stance in order to protect the groin." But all of this makes sense only if you sit in the cat stance as if it were a kamae posture waiting for an attack. But it's not. Most stances in Goju-ryu are transitional and used in attacking the opponent in various ways. Of course, if you want to merely assume a stance there's always basic stance.

Fifth principle...in no particular order

"In Goju-ryu katas, entry techniques and controlling techniques are followed by finishing techniques, but the finishing technique may sometimes only be tacked on to the second combination or sequence."

The bridging technique in the
opening sequence in Seipai.

Goju kata analysis can be confusing--that is, analysis that considers the structure of kata. Individual techniques can occur in kata without repetition, as in the opening of Seipai kata. These are fairly clear, but one must still recognize the sequence or combination--that is, the opening with the "uke," the controlling or bridging technique, and the finishing technique. The opening in Seipai is the initial move stepping back into horse stance with the sweeping, circular arm movement--the left hand blocks, while the right hand attacks. The controlling or bridging technique is the step with the hands together. And the finishing technique is the drop into horse stance again with the hands brought into the chest and the right elbow out.

The opening technique of the
 second hammer-fist in Saifa.
 

But techniques can also occur in pairs, and these sequences may be a little harder to see. These are techniques that are repeated on the right side and the left side, or against a right attack and again against a left attack. This is shown in the sweep and overhead or standing hammer-fist attack in Saifa. It is first shown against a right attack and then against a left attack. The opening is a block and hammer-fist attack by the defender, followed by a grab and upper-cut. The controlling and finishing techniques are only tacked on to the second (left) hammer-fist and upper-cut sequence.

The finishing technique of the
opening threesome of
Seiunchin kata.

To make it more confusing, techniques also occur as threes--that is, they are done first on one side, then on the other, and then repeated once again as they were done initially. These threesomes, however, occur, for the most part, at the beginning of katas, showing a kind of basic technique that may be explored in the rest of the kata (though there is a threesome in Kururunfa and Suparinpei). This is done in most of the Goju-ryu katas. However, to further confuse any analysis of kata structure, this sort of threesome repetition also shows some variation (a curious note that may argue for a variety of sources or kata creators over a long period of time). Saifa kata and Seiunchin kata both show threesome repetitions at the beginning, but Saifa's repetitions seem to be complete in themselves, whereas the opening techniques of Seiunchin have a single finishing technique tacked on only after the third repetition of the opening sequence.

And we see repetitions of four of the same techniques in Shisochin and Suparinpei, which leads to the question of why one needs any repetition at all. If kata is a means of preserving and remembering technique--which I believe it is--then why does one need any repetition at all, whether it's two times, three times, or four times? Obviously one can take a technique out of kata and practice it on either side. Kata should not be viewed as a means of practicing or perfecting a technique. If that were the case, every time we did kata there would be some techniques we would only be doing once!

In any case, kata does have structure, and once one sees this structure the analysis of individual techniques and an understanding of bunkai becomes a lot clearer.