Posture

The other day I got to thinking about posture. I've never been particularly good at it. I slouch and stretch and gesture and shrug. In fact, I don't think my back's ever been particularly straight, and when I sit down in a chair I'm sure I've done a pretty good job making it worse over the years. And when I'm thinking over a problem, I generally look down, as if the solution is somewhere right under my feet. Of course, sometimes it is, which probably doesn't help. And then, if you study someone like Kanei Uechi, with his dropped shoulders and slight rounding of the back, that sort of compression and curvature seems almost natural for martial arts. Whereas the militaristic posture one often sees in a performance of Sanchin kata--shoulders back, butt tucked under, chin in--seems quite unnatural.

Kobudo seminar at the Univ. of
Massachusetts 1995.

But that wasn't the sort of posture that I was thinking about actually. I was thinking about the sort of "posturing" that many people in the martial arts put on with as much ease and comfort as they put on their belts and a gi. It's as if they practice this sort of posturing as much as they practice anything else. I'm ranting--I know it and I should stop--but what place does posturing have in the martial arts? And I don't mean just the sort of posturing that comes along with the flamboyant uniforms and belts and the desire that some people have "to be the teacher." Not just the sort of posturing that some teachers exhibit with their titles--renshi, kyoshi, soke--and whatever need it is they have for students to address them as "sensei." I've seen plenty of these. There are plenty of these "teachers" who just like to teach but do very little actual training. How can you teach if you don't train? Why does anyone need a title? Why do we even use the term "sensei" in any culture outside of Japan, since the cultural connotation of the term will necessarily be different? I teach for a living--not martial arts, but English. If someone were to refer to me as "teacher," it would convey nothing particularly unusual or important. But to be a "sensei" carries with it so much more cache, a mystique that's even hard to express, but only in non-Japanese countries.

But there's all sorts of posturing. There are, of course, those charlatans who only attend seminars and then profess to have trained under this or that master. I was at a kobudo seminar once with Matayoshi sensei, where we had invited a number of people from different schools, some from fairly far away. At dinner after the seminar, one teacher presented Matayoshi sensei with a plaque and then asked him to sign this rather large, framed certificate that he had made up before coming. It was a fairly elaborate certificate, suitable for framing, stating that this teacher had trained with Matayoshi sensei or something to that effect. Sensei couldn't read it and was ready to oblige with his signature until someone there actually translated it for him.

But there are also those who adopt a somewhat less aggressive posture. In fact, the posture they adopt is a defensive bulwark against the good and the bad...and, I suppose, the ugly. They imagine themselves as the defenders of the faith. They practice traditional karate. None of this new-fangled bunkai stuff for them! I actually read a piece that suggested this very thing recently--that the study of bunkai is really something quite new and that everybody seems to be jumping on this bandwagon. The writer seemed to take pride in the fact that he didn't; that rather than succumb to this new fad, he would continue to practice "traditional karate."
I grant you there is an awful lot of truly awful bunkai out there. In fact, I've almost given up looking for good bunkai on YouTube. And don't get me started on that guy from England that puts up ten or twelve ridiculous bunkai a week on YouTube. So I understand the annoyance one may have with every Tom, Dick, and Harry putting up their bunkai on the Internet. But to imagine one is somehow above these other people because one doesn't practice bunkai is bordering on the absurd. Traditional karate without bunkai? What does that leave you? Grunting through a hundred basics? Doing push ups and sit ups? Carrying nigiri-game around the dojo floor? Hitting the makiwara a thousand times? Karate is bunkai.

The problem with kata

So...what's the problem? Certainly it's not with kata itself. After all, even in the midst of change--I'm thinking of the 1936 "Meeting of Karate Masters," sponsored by the Ryukyu Shinpo newspaper--Miyagi Chojun sensei was adamant that "the old kata should be preserved without any modification" (translation by Sanzinsoo) No, it's the over-stylization of kata that's the problem. Let me give you an example. You want your kid to draw, so you give him a coloring book instead of a blank piece of paper. What's wrong with that? It provides a little bit of guidance. You can even purchase books that might appeal to different kids--a Spiderman coloring book for one and a Little Mermaid coloring book for another. You can already see where this is going, but the not-so-hidden stereotyping is only part of the problem. I think, at least philosophically, we realize that coloring books restrict creativity. Pablo Picasso once said that it took him "four years to paint like Raphael, but a lifetime to paint like a child," and I don't think he meant anything like using coloring books.

Stepping up into the first position
in Saifa kata (mirror image).

Kata is terribly restricting--in the way that we introduce it to beginners (and we were all beginners once)--and when you add the study of bunkai, it's sort of like putting the cart before the horse. deriving bunkai from this kind of overly-stylized, restrictive movement is an exercise in frustration, at the very least. Let me borrow a definition from the art world. To say that something is stylized, as kata is, is to say that it is bound by convention and presented in a non-naturalistic form. I should say here that what I'm referring to is not the moves themselves so much as the performance of the moves in kata.

For example: We teach a student the first step in Saifa kata is to advance along an imagined northeast diagonal line with a right step into a long zenkutsu-dachi (front stance). Then the left foot is brought up to the right into a stance that the Japanese call musubi-dachi (heels touching with the feet splayed at 90 degrees), as the hands pull back across the chest. Yet this is a sort of stilted, overly-stylized movement--completely unnatural--that would never be done in such a punctuated manner if one were actually "using" the technique against an opponent. And the problem is that this kind of stylized movement, learned at an early stage in our training, generally informs most people's bunkai as well.

Kicking posture in Saifa.

Another example is the next sequence (after the three opening moves) in Saifa kata. We generally teach students to step out along a northwest angle into neko-ashi-dachi (cat-foot stance), with the left arm up and the right arm down. This position is often held, especially when teaching large groups in the dojo and counting out each movement so that (for whatever logic there is in this) everyone moves together. (Again, uniformity rears its ugly head!) But the unnaturalness and over-stylization should be apparent here. If you were actually employing this technique, you would not pause in cat stance. You would move from the previous position, whatever it happened to be (in this case, shiko dachi or horse stance) and simply kick. In other words, we have overly-stylized the weight transition and turned it into a cat stance. The whole "point," if you will, is to shift the weight onto the left leg so that you can kick with the right. How fast would you do this in reality? Do it fast enough and the cat stance disappears.

Final position in Saifa
before the right hand
is brought over and
down, palm forward.

What about the last technique in Saifa kata, the mawashi uke? When most people perform this move in kata, it looks as though they are pulling back a vine, plucking a grape, and offering it to a friend, all while standing on one leg. How aesthetically charming...and utterly impractical!

Examples just like these can be found throughout the system of classical Goju katas. What are the benefits? Obviously, it is easier to teach the seemingly arcane movements of classical kata when they are broken down--almost like still photographs--and presented in punctuated and highly stylized form, with as little individual variation as possible. But once the movements are learned, all of this stiff, robotic, and metronomic movement should be abandoned. Yet watch any demonstration or YouTube performance of kata! Imagine what kata performances would look like if we taught bunkai before we taught kata. How radical! Let a student practice the technique against a partner for a year before they were taught the solo form. I wonder what it would look like? I wonder if the movements would look more natural? I wonder if the gaps and pauses would disappear? Kata performance might allow for more variation and individuality. The only criteria for judging someone's kata would be whether they understood what they were doing and whether they could apply the techniques effectively. It may take a lifetime to learn to move as naturally as a child, but this should really be the goal.  Bunkai should follow kata, but kata should be done like bunkai. And when's the last time you saw that?

Self-defense

Speaking of self-defense.... Well, not exactly. But then again maybe there is some sort of tangential relationship here. There was a funny political cartoon in the paper the other day. It was a four-panel cartoon. In one panel it showed a guy holding a ruler along the ground--"proof" that the earth was flat. I can't remember the other two, but the last panel showed a dumb looking guy pointing to a snow flake as "proof" that global warming was just a myth concocted by some idiot scientists. It reminded me of the energy we expend trying to protect our turf, trying to safe-guard what we think we know.

In one sense, the only truly neutral
defensive posture in Goju kata. Akin
to the Wu Wei posture of T'ai Chi,
 it is merely a ready position,
showing neither attacking nor
blocking techniques. 

A few years ago now, after I had written about Seipai kata and how one might look at it based on pretty clearly delineated principles, the article became the subject of a forum discussion for a brief period of time (after all, everything is brief nowadays). One person wrote the following: "I am not convinced it is the answer to the kata, if there is one, but it does create a way to hang all the kata together and decipher them with some fairly simple tools." Not convinced? There aren't any answers? What more do you want?

Another said, "It is a good foundation, but I prefer my own methods, although his [me] are quite interesting....I do think we will see a lot more of this because so few have a better solution. I think many will copy it. It will become something some 'old man' taught me, or 'something I found' type of thing for many teachers." Yes, perhaps that's the problem; we each prefer our own methods, even if those methods seem to defy logic. Even if there may be a better solution offered.

Another seemed quite receptive until his sensei weighed in on the matter. He said, "When my sensei saw the article what he questioned the most was, how did the opponent get into the position he was in to begin the technique....What Sensei questioned in this article was not the technique, but rather, how did he (Giles sensei) get the opponent to enter like that, and what are the chances of being able to reproduce it." I found this comment the most perplexing. For simplicity's sake, we showed all of the attacks as right or left straight punches. In actuality they could be punches, grabs, or pushes--it doesn't really matter. In addition, all of it is based on the well-founded Okinawan karate principle that the defender should move in such a way as to allow the attacker only the one initial attack. I even proposed that the kata shows you how to move this way. The techniques all start with the 'uke' or receiving technique (the "block" if you will, though many of the blocks are accompanied by a simultaneous entry technique). What was this "teacher" looking at? The attacker got into that position by attacking!?!

Another critic had a problem with the analysis because, he said, "many of them can't be reasonably practiced safely." That's true, but what does that have to do with whether an analysis is correct or not? The kata is what it is. You don't change bunkai because it's too deadly.

Another person questioned this analysis because "karate practice should be balanced in many ways." He believed that kata not only taught one how to attack but also how to block. (Didn't I show blocks and moving out of the way?) The same person went on to say that "many techniques work in two directions, meaning my attacker could be behind, or may be in front of me." What? I don't follow that. Did he mean that the first technique of Seipai shows a response against a front attack and a rear attack at the same time? What about the second sequence? How is the front kick an attack to the rear?

Perhaps the most novel defense against the article came from someone who suggested that I was imposing an "a priori" analysis. He said, "In the beginning, there was only movement. The evil was introduced in this world when the creator wanted to explain them...." Heavy stuff that. Not really sure what it means though. In the beginning, I suppose, there was just the random movement of the stars and the planets until someone came up with the idea of gravity. I think he was supposing that I was forcing a theory on the material and then attempting to come up with bunkai to justify the theory. Quite the contrary, I think we only formulated the theory or principles after experimenting with bunkai, after finding the techniques that were the most effective and made the most sense. It is only then, after working things out on the dojo floor, that one begins to see the principles behind the techniques, and then the principles begin to offer a sort of confirmation for how one is looking at kata. Isn't this something like the scientific theory that we all learned in school? That is, we first accumulate data (kata) and then begin to analyze it (bunkai). Only after much trail and error (and we are continually revising and refining our bunkai) do we even begin to formulate theories.

For the life of me, I can't figure out criticism like this except as a rather transparent effort to retain one's status in the dojo. When we feel threatened in any way, the ego runs to our defense. Whatever happened to open and honest discussion? I was once called an "iconoclast" as if it were a terrible thing to be. (My attacker, rather smugly, I think, saw himself as a defender of the faith, if a somewhat blind defender in my opinion.)

Now I remember the other two panels in that cartoon. One showed this guy from the 17th century pointing at a bird in flight, saying, "If gravity is real, explain that." And the other panel was a guy from the 19th century holding a bible, saying, "If evolution is real, explain this." It was a pretty funny cartoon. It was by Adam Zyglis. It reminds me so much of kindergarten when someone challenges you and you just hunker down behind your little Maginot line and hurl taunts at the other side: "Yeah, well you're stupid." I'm not sure it's the best defense though. I think real self-defense is something else.

Hojo undo

Hojo undo, or supplementary exercises, in Okinawan karate are

Using the forearm to attack in
Saifa and Seiunchin katas.

usually done with a variety of old-style implements one often sees in a traditional dojo. You can make them yourself or employ various modern substitutes to effect the same results. To me, however, the one caveat is that the implements and the training one employs should be used to develop or strengthen the techniques one sees in the classical katas. In fact, one could argue that everything one does with respect to hojo undo training should be practiced with that in mind; how the exercise benefits one's technique, one's ability to perform the techniques we see in kata and bunkai. So, as blasphemous as it may sound, training on the makiwara (punching post), for example, as ubiquitous as this tool is in traditional karate dojos, seems to me to be rather low on the list of hojo undo practices. There are many other techniques in the classical kata of Goju-ryu that actually seem more common or at least as deserving of supplemental training as the straight punch (tsuki). (Though, of course, the straight punch is not the only technique one can train on the makiwara.) What about training implements to develop one's forearm strikes? Or something to work on strengthening knee kicks? Or twisting motions to develop the mawashi techniques?

Using the knee to attack the head
in Seiunchin kata.

I suppose one could rely solely on kote-kotai (arm pounding) to develop one's forearm strikes. But there are implements one can also use. I have a couple of saw horses in my dojo. When Sifu Liu, the noted Feeding Crane master, saw them, he suggested I round the edges on the top 2 X 4s a bit and use them for arm pounding. He thought the height was just about right for that.

The iron geta can be used to develop leg strength for knee kicks, but some sort of horizontal kicking post would also be good. I've sometimes also used a medicine ball held in two hands for working on knee kicks--gruesome thought, but a fairly good approximation of the opponent's head in many of the techniques/bunkai we see in Goju classical subjects.

Using the grip to pull the opponent
down in Saifa kata.

The gripping jars (nigiri-game) are good to work on grip strength, of course, which occurs everywhere in Goju classical subjects, but there's also stick bundles. You get a handful of those three-foot skinny bamboo tomato stakes and put them in a cloth bag. You can twist them and work on splitting them with your fingers while gripping them. My teacher used to have us work in pairs twisting belts (obi) for the same effect.

The kongoken is another useful hojo undo tool. Legend has it that Miyagi Chojun sensei saw it being used by wrestlers on a visit to Haiwaii and decided that it would be a good addition to the arsenal of Okinawan training equipment. It's a large, metal, elongated oval. It's heavy and perhaps a bit ungainly looking, but it would be a good way to train the use of the arms and hands in applying mawashi techniques--most of the mawashi techniques that we see in the classical katas are not for blocking, but rather twisting the head and neck of the opponent.

Using the grip and twisting strength
of the arms against an opponent's
head/neck in Seipai kata.

Another tool one could use in a similar way is the sashi-ishi--a large, round stone or concrete ball with a wooden handle through it. Since there is also significant weight here and the grip can be alternated, it can provide excellent resistance training for the mawashi movements so important in Goju-ryu finishing techniques.

Hojo undo training is important, but one should remember to keep it functional. Despite the appearance of techniques in kata--and one should always remember that the appearance of techniques in kata may be quite different from their actual applications--Goju-ryu is largely comprised of forearm blocks, grabbing, grappling, forearm attacks, knee kicks, and head/neck twisting techniques. This is what we want to develop with hojo undo training--that is, it's not simply to develop strength per se. In fact, a reliance on physical strength often makes one's Goju-ryu too "Go"--often appearing too hard and rigid--and gets in the way of truly understanding what is meant by "hard and soft."

Say what...?

Shuzan held out his short staff and said: "If you call this a short staff, you oppose its reality. If you do not call it a short staff, you ignore the fact. Now what do you wish to call this?" Mumon's comment: ...It cannot be expressed with words and it cannot be expressed without words. Now say quickly what it is. (from The Gateless Gate, by Ekai, called Mumon, in Zen Flesh, Zen Bones, compiled by Paul Reps, p. 127.)

This is not uraken uchi from Saifa.

I thought of this story when I recently came across a discussion of a posture in Sanseiru kata. In this particular posture, the kata practitioner is in front stance (zenkutsu-dachi) with the right arm up, elbow jutting forward, and the open left hand in front of the chest. Wait...I think they called it something like chudan-uke/ mae-geri/ hiji-ate. I guess you have to call it something, but the problem is that once you call it something you begin to think of it only in those terms. When you name something, you tend to put things in cubby-holes. Once you name something, you limit the "experiential" identity of the thing. This is particularly true of kata techniques. What I mean is, when you refer to a technique in kata as a hiji-ate (elbow strike), then that's the way you think of it in application or bunkai. What if the name, hiji-ate, is meant merely as a descriptor? In other words, the teacher is using a short hand method of saying, "Do the technique that looks like an elbow attack."

This is not a kaiko-ken zuki from
Saifa kata.

When the T'ai Chi teacher says, "Do the technique that looks like parting the wild horse's mane," he doesn't mean the application is to part a wild horse's mane! Nor does he mean that you use that odd bending over technique to search for a needle at the bottom of the sea. Calling a posture a cat stance (neko-ashi-dachi) doesn't have anything to do with its application. Words are sometimes more confusing than if we didn't have the words in the first place. 

But how would you teach if you didn't have the words to describe what you were doing? That's really a rhetorical question, isn't it? Sometimes I think people in the old days used words to intentionally hide what they were doing or at least the meanings of moves in kata. Give a technique a descriptive name--a poetic name would be even better--and someone not in the know, an outsider, might pick up the kata movements but never guess their meanings, the applications. 

This is not gedan barai from
Seiunchin kata.

You don't really need any words to teach karate, I think. You only need to demonstrate--first kata and then bunkai. Words can be misleading. Is there a sokoto-geri in Sanseiru kata or is it a hiki-ashi? Or maybe a hiza-geri? Is there a kaiko-ken zuki (crab shell fist as Higaonna sensei calls it in his first book) in Saifa kata or does it just look like that and you are really grabbing the opponent at the shoulders and pulling them down? Is the name describing the application or simply what the technique looks like? How can you think of it as a pulling technique if you call it a strike? If you call it a uraken-uchi (back fist strike) in Seiunchin, does that become the explanation of the application? Will you be able to see it as a forearm strike if you call it uraken? Is it really a block just because you call it a gedan barai? What we call things

This is not a hiji-ate (elbow strike)
in Shisochin kata.

influences how we look at them; we are tied to language. But we must remember that they are just "words, words, words," as Hamlet says to Polonius. Sometimes I think that words are the biggest obstacle to people understanding bunkai--that and tradition!

The geese are flying south

The geese are flying south--either that or they're lost. After all, it's well into March, and it's still colder than Flick's tongue musta felt on the schoolyard flagpole. I'd say that's a funny kind of thing that only happens in movies except that I read a story in the local paper the other week about how the Easthampton fire department had to be called when a kid got his tongue stuck to a pole (2/12/2014, www.gazettenet.com). Anyway, we had stuffed the car about as full as we could get it with duffle bags and food and boots and extra clothes, and bungeed the skis to the roof rack and headed up I-91 to the White Mountains when I started to think about ducks and geese and all. I wasn't wondering what happens to the ducks in Central Park in the winter or anything quite as literary as that, but it did occur to me--watching those geese or ducks or whatever they were...could've been crows, I suppose--it struck me that we're often headed off in all different directions.

At some point, we debate
the arc of the strike, the
sweep of the foot, the
position of the open hand.
But if you don't know the
bunkai, what does it matter?

I mean, everyone's headed off in different directions; we're not all in the same place at the same time. One student may be working on perfecting his kata. Maybe sanchin dachi is new to him, and he's trying to make sure there's only a hand span's distance between his feet while keeping his front heel in line with the toes of his rear foot. For another student, these stances feel more natural--perhaps she's been training for a few years already and she's more concerned with natural movement than precise movement. She may be working on koshi and proper body mechanics. Other students, off to the side perhaps, are working on bunkai. They have practiced kata for years and they're now at a stage where the most important aspect of kata is for it to have meaning.  They experiment with different applications. In fact, they collect bunkai. It becomes a sort of obsession. The kata they thought they had mastered now becomes an encyclopedia of possible applications. Each movement of the kata has an almost infinite number of possible applications. Viewing videos on the Internet only confirms this view of kata. It's really amazing--who created this stuff, they wonder!? There are a lot of students in this place, at this point in their training. It's the bread and butter of a lot of traditional dojos. The students, or the teacher, are always coming up with new applications to practice, new bunkai to master. Sometimes they will even create levels of bunkai--different applications for the same kata moves but reserved for different "levels of mastery" all in a not-so-subtly designed effort to retain students, I suppose. They even attend seminars with teachers from different dojos or different styles to learn new bunkai. And this is where some students and teachers get stuck.

Students will argue about the angle
of the lower hand or the height of the
horse stance or whether to step in on
a 45 degree angle or a 30 degree angle.
But if you don't know the bunkai,
What does it matter?

But off in the corner, there's someone who's wondering how all of this stuff fits together. No one creates something that can mean ANYTHING. What are the principles behind the kata, behind the bunkai? Katas must have themes that tie the different movements together. In order to be able to really USE a system of self-defense there can't be an infinite number of applications. Perhaps he begins to notice that all the moves in kata don't seem to be the same kinds of movements--some seem to be blocking moves, some seem to be controlling or grappling moves. She begins to question some of the bunkai she sees others do. This bunkai is not realistic. That bunkai only works on a willing partner. Another bunkai doesn't follow the kata. Still another one doesn't follow good martial principles. Another one leaves the defender in an exposed position. Another one is too complicated. Another takes too much strength. And on and on. The questions are good, but they're only the beginning.

The geese are flying south and I'm driving north, into the mountains. We're all headed somewhere...just not at the same time. "Are we there yet," my son asks? You can tell where people are by the questions they ask. Sometimes you can tell by the answers they give. In martial arts, you can usually tell by watching someone's kata. But their bunkai is a dead giveaway.

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.

Training in the cold

We're in the midst of a nor'easter as I write this. The snow is still coming down hard. It started around 7:00am this morning and will continue, they say, until tomorrow morning. It's been a tough winter so far: Cold and snowy. I've been trying to train for a May marathon--looking forward to running with both my daughters this time--but the weather hasn't exactly been cooperating. It's hard running on snow-slick roads and unshoveled sidewalks. But if you're going to get the training in, you still go. A warm tech shirt, gloves, hat, wool socks, winter running pants. Someone once said there's no such thing as bad weather, only the wrong kind of clothes. Or, the weather's not bad, you just didn't dress for it! Heck, if the weather's going to keep you from running, I can't imagine what sort of self-defeating thoughts will be going through your head when you hit mile 15 or 20.

Barn training in the winter.

I think about this because I train in an unheated barn--essentially, we train outdoors year round. Last week and the week before the thermometer was at 18 degrees F. (-7 C.) inside the barn. And there have been a couple of 15 degree F. (-9 C.) days. Some people have suggested I put in a propane heater, but the barn is so open all of the heat would go straight up and out. But that's not the real reason I haven't considered it seriously all these years. The real reason is that there's something that just feels right to train in harmony with nature (though that may sound a bit "crunchier" than I mean it to). If it's cold out..well, that's what it feels like to train in the cold. If it's hot and humid...well, that's what it feels like to train when it's hot and humid.

I can't stand running indoors either. I tried a treadmill once and didn't like it one bit. In fact, I got so distracted by the stupid TV they had on that I shot right off the back end of it. I like to be outdoors when I run. I like to notice the clouds and pay attention to the bumps in the road or the roots on the trail. I like to listen to what's going on around me and smell things. To me, it's almost the same with the martial arts--that is, it's being attuned to what's going on around you.

Years ago, I used to visit a friend's class. He rented space a couple of times a week in a health club. The room was beautiful, but it was a glass-walled room with an air conditioner that couldn't be shut off. Everything felt odd, somehow off kilter. And the feeling you had doing kata was all off. On the other hand, after a half hour of basic exercises and Sanchin kata in the barn in the winter, 18 or 20 degrees F. doesn't feel all that cold. I can remember stopping for a quick water break and seeing steam rise from people's heads. Sometimes I think I actually prefer the winter; if your hands get cold in the winter you just have to do a little kote-kitai (arm pounding) or bunkai.

What is the ideal environment to exercise and train in? Is there such a thing? I think it's the strangest thing when I run by the local gym and look through the front windows to see people running on treadmills. And it doesn't matter whether it's the middle of winter or a nice spring afternoon or a glorious, breezy summer day. In fact, why should one's practice of martial arts be confined to this ideal dojo space, with it's pristine wooden floor and showers and changing rooms? Why should we only practice in a gi and bare feet? If we are practicing a martial art, a system of self defense, shouldn't it be as natural as possible? After all, if you ever have to use your martial arts training, it probably won't be some place under ideal conditions.Shouldn't it be a natural part of our lives--practiced in the space we live our lives, in the clothes we wear and the climate we live in? Everything else, it seems to me, is just dressing up the duck...but it's still a duck.

Movement and meaning

I saw a newspaper notice the other day about a class in Authentic Movement. Initially, of course, my natural skepticism crept in, wondering what the heck "authentic" movement was and whether or not some movement was not authentic. So I looked it up.  Practitioners, or enthusiasts, suggest that "movement becomes 'authentic' when the individual is able to allow their intuitive impulses to freely express themselves without intellectual directive" (Wikipedia). I think the last time I really saw something like this was at a rock festival in the 60s. There were groups of people that appeared to have taken something and seemed to move without conscious thought up front by the side of the stage. It looked to me at the time as though it was some sort of physical equivalent of speaking in tongues at a large, outdoor Pentecostal gathering. Now I'm not judging either the Authentic Movement folks or the Pentecostals, but it did get me thinking about people's attraction to movement without meaning.

The last move in Sanseiru always
seems to mystify, but only because
it's so often disconnected from
what precedes it. 

I've seen many karate schools, kung fu schools, and even T'ai Chi classes that practice katas or forms without spending any time trying to figure out how to apply these movements or even questioning whether there were any applications for the movements they spent so much time on. One famous Tae Kwon Do teacher I remember once reprimanded a senior student for trying to use a technique from one of the forms in a pre-arranged sparring drill. He was told that forms were for working on balance, speed, power, and coordination--they were not for fighting. I've seen the same things in kung fu and karate schools. And in most T'ai Chi classes I've seen, the students are quite content to do some warm up exercises (maybe some esoteric looking Chi Gung) and spend the rest of the time going slowly through the solo form. (As a side note: I find it immensely entertaining when a teacher makes very slight, even apparently minuscule, adjustments to a student's kata or form when they don't study or apply the techniques, when they don't do bunkai. Are the "corrections" merely aesthetic?)

For some people, the similarity of
this posture to statues of Shakyamuni
showing the vitarka mudra with one
hand and the varada mudra with
the other hand is meaning enough.

Perhaps we need to move as human beings, as living creatures. God knows, a lot of people are fairly sedentary. Perhaps we need to move in such a way that we can imagine our movements have meaning, an authenticity that we can only imagine. Who knows, there might be something to this "authentic movement" movement. When we don't know what the movement means--trusting only in our imaginations--it somehow imparts a higher meaning to our movements, perhaps even to our lives. If we gave it meaning, if we somehow explained what the movements were used for, we would somehow be trivializing the experience, making it banal and pedestrian. If we don't explain it, we retain the more mystical, the more spiritual experience. The
movement takes on a sensual or inner quality instead of an intellectual one. Maybe it's something like the whirling dervishes in Sufism, only we might be dancing for Guan Yu, the martial diety of ancient China.

Of course, I'm just guessing, but perhaps that's why there are not only so many martial arts schools that only practice forms and kata as movement without meaning, but also maybe why there is such disagreement within styles about the interpretation and analysis of the katas themselves; that is, if we say that kata can be interpreted and applied any way one desires, that there is an intentional ambiguity in kata movement, it's almost the same as saying it has no inherent meaning. And that's pretty much the same as "authentic movement"--movement that allows "intuitive impulses to freely express themselves without intellectual directive." Though I'm not sure how much more mindless movement we need in the world today. Seems to me there's probably way too much of that going on as it is.

Bunkai...Oyo...Henka...or what?

If bunkai is the analysis of kata, what the heck is oyo? Someone I read said it was going beyond the basic interpretation of the moves in kata. How can you go beyond them? Someone else suggested that oyo was more interpretive, open to more imaginative analysis. That means making it up, doesn't it? Another person I was reading--someone who I believe would certainly buy into all these different terms--proffered the notion that bunkai itself has different levels, a beginner's level, an intermediate level, and an advanced level, and that oyo and henka were somewhere beyond these "basic" levels. I suppose henka is somewhere in the stratosphere.

Seisan kata:
If this is a "punch"
with the shoulder instead
of a fist punch, does that
make it bunkai or oyo?

The problem for me...well, there are a number of problems here. First: The people who use these terms define bunkai as the interpretation of a kata move the way it has always been interpreted or applied--that is, how your teacher and your teacher's teacher taught the application. But here's the question: What if they were wrong? Or more pointedly, what if they were never taught a bunkai for a particular technique? What if they had to figure it out for themselves? I had a friend in Okinawa--a third dan who had been training for 15 years--who had never been taught or ever studied bunkai for the classical katas. Then again, if you find an application for a move that exactly follows the kata move is it still bunkai if you find it? Most of the "bunkai" I see on the Internet doesn't apply the technique exactly the way it is seen in kata. Does that make it all oyo and none of it bunkai? When Morio Higaonna sensei steps back when he demonstrates the "bunkai" to the first technique in Seiunchin instead of stepping forward along an angle the way the kata shows, is that bunkai or oyo? And what about when he throws a front kick in? 

Secondly: At least some of the people I've read who use these terms define oyo as the practical application of a kata technique. What the heck does that mean? The implication is that they do the technique sorta the way it's done in kata, but if they need to take an extra step or anything to "make it work," then that's oyo and not bunkai. This strikes me as ridiculous. The kata shows you exactly how to apply the technique, steps and all. If the application requires you to do anything else in "practical application" then you haven't got your interpretation of the technique right in the first place. To suggest that kata preserves a technique but only shows it in a way that would be impractical in real situations is totally illogical. To persist in your interpretation that requires you to do something extra, but justify it by calling it oyo, is the height of arrogance. 

Seiunchin kata;
Is this a down block or a
down strike with the forearm?
Which is bunkai and which
is oyo? 

Thirdly: The people who use these terms define henka as a variation of bunkai, so I suppose it's a variation of oyo too. Does that mean it's a variation of a variation? Now I'm really confused. By variation, I think, they mean that you can get as far from kata technique as you want in applying your henka waza. This is where it gets wonderfully creative and, I must say, wildly entertaining. I recently saw a short "One Minute Bunkai" by some folks where the elbow technique became a block and fist punch to the opponent's elbow/arm. To be fair, this was called bunkai, not henka, because, I suppose, one of the guiding principles of this ryu is "attacking the 'branches' before attacking 'the trunk,'" as it says on one of their web sites. Hmmmm?! I go back to my original question: What if the bunkai that you've been taught is wrong? 

I think we should get rid of all these terms. I'm not sure whether any of them are historically accurate anyway. In Okinawa, whenever we asked the teacher how a technique was applied or what it was for, we just asked, "Sensei, imi-wa?" And I don't think it was just our rudimentary Japanese--my teacher still uses the term (imi-wa). I'm not against the creative interpretation of movement, but let's not call it Goju. The essence of Goju-ryu is contained in the eight classical katas (plus Sanchin and Tensho, I suppose), and if you diverge from the movement of kata or its intent, is it still Goju or is it something else of your own design?

Why train martial arts?

Celebrating the New Year with
Matayoshi sensei and family.

I often find myself wondering why people train the martial arts, and the New Year is a good time, I suppose, to reflect on why we all train. We don't live in a particularly threatening environment, at least most of us. At least it's not like feudal times anyway. And most of the people I know who train karate aren't the type who go around looking for a fight. Most don't even frequent places where fights break out. So why train something that, by all appearances, seems so anachronistic?

I thought about this recently because I came across a discussion of the place of Gekisai kata in one's training (or Fukyu kata or the Pinan kata for that matter). The primary aim of these training subjects, as the evidence suggests, was to popularize karate and provide a healthy program of study for school-age children. While some of the techniques in these training subjects can be found in the classical katas of Goju-ryu--the double punch can be found both in Sanseiru and Suparinpei and the mawashi occurs repeatedly in Goju kata--techniques such as the jodan uke and the oi-tsuki or punch off the forward foot (with the possible exception of Sanchin) don't occur in the classical Goju katas. And in any case, even the front kick-elbow-punch sequence is not practiced quite the same in terms of bunkai as what occurs in Sanseiru. And yet, many dojos spend an inordinate amount of time training these subjects, even among senior students. And if not the training subjects themselves, then basics derived from these subjects. Throw in the two-person continuous bunkai for Gekisai Ichi, Gekisai Ni, Gekiha, and Kakuha developed by Toguchi sensei and most of your training time can be taken up with subjects that bear little resemblance either to the structure or the principles of the classical katas of Goju-ryu.

Matayoshi sensei at my dojo.

Which takes me back to my original question: Why do people train the martial arts? Is it for exercise or is it merely that they like the social aspect, working and moving together? Perhaps it's the spiritual nature of martial arts that comes with anything foreign or things Eastern. Perhaps for some it's the attraction of the strange rituals, the clothes, the language. Or perhaps it's just a form of exercise, though personally I think I'd rather go for a run around the block or a bike ride or buy a single scull and crew up and down the river.

Some, I'm sure, see martial arts training as a way to develop self confidence and even self defense. They may even believe that they have attained, along with a black belt, some level of menacing lethality or ability to defend themselves. They may even imagine a certain degree of invincibility, if not in terms of self defense, since most of us are less and less likely to face actual physical encounters outside the dojo, perhaps in terms of being able to face all of the difficulties that life throws at us. The problem is that those who spend so much time training Fukyu or Gekisai katas, and their attendant basic techniques, are not practicing a very lethal system of self defense. School-boy kata and bunkai were never meant to be lethal. And yet this is what most schools, at least the ones I have seen, tend to put their emphasis and time on. It's ironic that the more time you spend on martial arts, the less lethal you become as a martial artist--at least if what you're training is the Gekisai/Pinan kind of karate. Perhaps that's overstating the case...but I don't think so.

Yet the other side of the coin is just as curious. Why do we spend years practicing traditional/classical kata and bunkai--how to break someone's neck--in an age where this sort of confrontation, for most of us, is less and less likely? I'm reminded of a caption under a picture of Miyagi Chojun sensei that a friend of mine translated for me in Okinawa. It said something to the effect of "don't hit anyone, and don't get hit." Perhaps that should be the focus of our martial training. But why we train something that by all appearances seems so out-of-date is still a mystery to me...we just do it, I guess.

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.

Kata without bunkai is like...I don't know what

People often hold this first position
in Saifa for much longer than they
would if they were applying it.

When I watch kata performed on YouTube, I wonder why there isn't more reality to it. In other words, why isn't kata performed with the same timing, the same force, the same rhythm as bunkai? I see so many kata performed with stilted, punctuated technique. Kicks are performed with little balance or speed. Oh sure, the kick is fast and powerful (sometimes anyway) after it is thrust out from its cocked or chambered position, but a kick has to be fast from a standing position--that is, before the opponent knows you're going to kick. And punches are held in place with little thought to how impractical it would be to leave one's outstretched arm out, inviting the opponent to break it.

Most people hold or chamber their
kicks when they perform Saifa kata--
something that would be too slow
in reality.

Sometimes even the bunkai demonstrations that accompany these performances of kata are just as ridiculously unreal, just as oblivious of the reality that they are ignoring. Grabs and arm-bars are employed against the arms of opponents that obligingly hold them in an outstretched position long enough for the one demonstrating bunkai to step in and execute the technique--what my teacher used to call a "dream technique."

I am not advocating that kata be done at a hyper-accelerated speed. (I'm not sure why Hokama sensei does super fast kata. I'm sure he has a reason.) There are techniques in kata that don't need to be fast. There are grappling techniques and techniques that manipulate and move the opponent's body that would necessarily require less speed. But one doesn't stand poised on one leg before the execution of a kick. And if a grab follows a block, then it must be done quickly or realistically the opponent would withdraw his arm.

The opening move in Seipai
is often done in an overly
dramatic fashion.

I think the same sort of unreality often comes into play with people who profess to attack vital targets with a single knuckle punch or finger strike. A confrontation is fast, dynamic, and constantly changing. To imagine that you're going to be able to hit a small pressure point on an aggressive and moving target may be a bit unrealistic. I always liked Sifu Liu's response to a student who asked about pressure points. Liu Sifu (of Feeding Crane) said he just hits the area with the whole hand, and that ought to cover it.

If kata is meant to preserve technique and allow the practitioner to practice technique when he or she is alone--when there isn't a partner to train with--as a method to perfect technique that we will eventually learn to apply against an opponent, then why don't we practice it the way it is meant to be applied? Why not practice kata with the same speed and sense of reality that we would use in doing bunkai? Instead, we seem to do kata as if it were some separate dance performance. Watch the overly stylized and dramatic performances of kata at tournaments. Even credible and supposedly knowledgeable practitioners of Okinawan karate succumb to the histrionics of this performance paradigm. Where did it begin? Why has it continued? It seems to me that it's one more shroud pulled over the eyes of the unwary--one more thing that makes bunkai so difficult to "see" within kata. Change the rhythm and the speed of techniques and who knows what you may come up with...or not.