Where have you been, my blue-eyed son...

There's crap along the trail. Someone left a half-eaten sandwich--still in its sandwich baggie which I'm sure will frustrate the squirrels--tucked in behind a log. It was a beautiful warm weekend so I suppose it's to be expected, but I still don't understand it. Why dump garbage in a place that's so beautiful? What happened to those old admonitions: Cart it in, carry it out. Or, leave no trace. I suppose it could have just fallen out of someone's backpack. Or some ten-year-old didn't like it and tried to hide the evidence. There was an empty soda can a little further up the trail, along with a couple of cigarette butts and a gum wrapper. Highly suspicious and much less likely to suggest an innocent explanation.

Of course, some would say, it's not nearly as bad as walking around the city. Add to the litter, everything from buildings to bridges to mail boxes and trucks get tagged with cryptic symbols in spray paint, as ubiquitous as a dog marking its territory. But it sort of pisses me off more in the woods. And for some reason, it made me think of something Matayoshi sensei commented on one day in the dojo after I had done a kata. I had stepped back to execute a block, but I was trying to be particularly forceful and demonstrate strong technique--I was young--so I stomped the floor loudly. And I did it again on the other side of the kata, so there could be no mistaking my intention, though in retrospect I'm not at all sure what my intention was. After I finished, Matayoshi sensei told me that one should never be "loud" when executing a block. He said being loud was okay for an attack, but not for a block or when you were retreating. Your opponent would know where you were, he said. Hum...

Returning to the double-arm kamae
after the "punch" in Seisan kata.

I suppose when you think about it, it certainly has wider implications in the martial arts. The more force I put into my receiving technique or "block," the more my opponent can read my intentions. Better to be light. Better that my opponent can't tell where I am or how much force I'm using or what my next move is going to be...until I attack. To me this is one of the ways we can understand " Go and Ju," hard and soft. The receiving techniques (the "blocks" for lack of a better term) are generally soft and relaxed, generally accompanied by off-line or angular movement that doesn't, after all, necessitate a lot of strength. Of course, the attacks are relaxed as well, if you understand the whole idea of using your koshi. But immediately after the attack, again the idea is to disappear, to relax in order to be able to move in response to whatever the opponent does next, sort of like the fast "punches" at the beginning of Seisan kata--they immediately return to a relaxed, double-arm Sanchin posture.

Beginning of the fourth sequence in
Seipai kata.

Or like the beginning of the fourth sequence in Seipai kata, where you are advancing to the southeast corner of the kata with a left block and a right open-hand attack in renoji dachi. The circular forearm block (executed in a clockwise direction) intercepts the attacker's right punch (or grab) and merely moves around it until it ends in a down position. That's why so many see it as a block of a kick, because it ends in the down position. I recently came across a video of a teacher I have the utmost respect for demonstrating this technique against a front kick--blocking and hooking the kick and then grabbing the opponent, sweeping his supporting leg, and dropping him on the ground.

It's funny that most schools see this technique as the block and grab of an opponent's kick. The

Receiving the opponent's attack
 in the fourth sequence of Seipai.

kick would have to be at least at the level of the waist. There's an old saying in Okinawan karate that we never kick above the waist. In fact, the knees are a much better target and are harder to defend. Then there's the principle--seemingly borne out in kata--that we don't kick without having three feet on the ground--one of ours and two of the opponent's, meaning we are holding onto the opponent rather than initiating with a kick. And yet the interpretation of this technique as a block and hooking grab of a kick would seem to require the opponent to initiate an attack with a fairly high kick. Doesn't make a whole lot of sense, not to mention that it's really hard to grab someone's kick in a realistic situation.

But if you're intercepting the opponent's punch on the outside and moving to the inside with the circular motion of the "blocking" arm, it's sort of effortless. Then, without pausing, you step in with the right foot along the outside of the opponent's right leg (in the first of these Seipai techniques), carrying the head with the right hand, and do a sort of judo-like hip throw. And, done this way, it all requires very little physical strength, very little for your opponent to "read." So many of the receiving techniques of Goju-ryu are like this; they don't leave a trace for the opponent to sense where you've been or where you might be going...unlike some of the trails through the woods these days.

Hey, hold on, Buster!

Against a grab in Seiunchin.

When I was young, I used to wonder why we trained against grabs. I mean, who gets grabbed by the wrist? And how likely is that anyway? I'm thinking, how oblivious to the situation do I have to be to be standing there and let some guy reach over and grab hold of my wrist?! Imagine the scenario: We would train against a cross-hand wrist grab (right to right), the same side wrist grab (left to right or right to left), the lapel grab, the shoulder grab (either hand), the double wrist grab, the double lapel grab, the choke hold, etc., etc. I used to think, what do I care if someone grabs me. I'll just punch him in the face or use both hands and whack his ears. After all, I thought, they're at a disadvantage; they've committed themselves to an attack, and they're already using one hand, or better yet maybe they're already using both hands. I was really into punching and kicking. But that's all I was familiar with, that's all we really used in doing ippon kumite and the Shorei-kan kind of two-person bunkai to Gekisai kata, Gekiha kata, and Kakuha kata. We trained to be stronger and punch faster. And maybe there's nothing wrong with that. Of course, the techniques we used against all of these different grabs had nothing to do with the classical Goju katas. The techniques we practiced were a kind of generic jiu-jitsu.


At the time, I didn't think that the classical kata of Goju-ryu actually had a lot of defenses against pushes and grabs. We didn't really practice bunkai to classical kata very much. Like most dojos, I suppose, we did a lot of basic drills, and much of it was centered on the Gekisai kata because beginners and seniors trained together. One of the problems in many dojos: everyone trains to the lowest common denominator. Then they tell you it's not what you train that separates a junior from a senior, it's how you train. Yeah, okay.

Against a grab in Saifa.

In Okinawa I met students that had been training in traditional dojos for ten or fifteen years, who said they didn't know any bunkai to classical subjects. Of course, that wasn't strictly true; we used clearly recognizable classical techniques (a few anyway) in one, two, or three-step drills. But looking back, I'm not sure I would have called them bunkai either; rather than a focus on an analysis of the movement in the kata, they were more of an adaptation of kata movements to different scenarios. And sometimes the techniques bore no resemblance to any kata moves.

Of course, at some point most people begin looking at classical kata, trying to find bunkai. The problem is that you generally find what you're looking for. We had been trained in block, punch, kick karate, and so what we found in exploring the applications for the classical subjects were block, kick, and punch applications. When this sort of training begins to seem elementary, as it certainly did, we latched onto that oft repeated dojo rejoinder: A punch is not always a punch, a block is not always a block. This road led us to that enticing morass of martial arts mumbo jumbo where anything could mean anything. I started finding grab releases everywhere. At this point, almost anything could be used as a grab release--especially if you're working with a compliant compatriot. Only much later did I realize that Goju-ryu classcial katas actually hit more with the forearms than they do with the fist, kick more with the knee than they do with the foot, and there are a lot of responses to grabs. I mean, designed specifically for grabs. Why?

Against a grab in Seipai.

I don't think people initiate attacks with a wrist grab, but they do block and then grab, and this is the way we train the grab responses in the Goju-ryu katas. That is, when we train against grabs--like the first technique in Seiunchin, for instance--the attacker punches, the other person blocks and grabs, and then the attacker executes the appropriate kata technique against the grab. This is the reason, I believe, there are so many applications against grabs in the Goju katas; Goju is a close-in fighting system, and as soon as you "cross hands" with an opponent, you need to respond to the opponent's "touch," whether that's an actual grab or the opponent is merely "obstructing" your arm. You have to respond to the block or grab before you can move into controlling the opponent and then counter-attacking. In this sense, the "touch" of the opponent on my arm or my shoulder or my chest is the same as a grab. Someone may not initiate an attack with a grab--because, after all, what was I doing while they took the opportunity to grab me?!--but pushing and grabbing are certainly as likely to happen in any confrontation as blocking and punching.

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.

Weeding the garden

The rains finally let up this week, at least for a day. The mosquitoes are still horrendous but with the sun out they keep mostly in the shade. Of course I had slathered on quite a bit of deet, so that may have been the reason. But what struck me, as I was pulling out Creeping Charlie and blades of grass and all manner of unidentifiable weeds from around the oregano and rosemary and catnip, is that it always seems as though the weeds take over. Why is it that the garbage stuff seems to proliferate and choke out the good stuff? Is that just the natural order of things? I read some place that when humans are gone from the earth it will be the cockroaches that take over. Of course, in the martial arts it may be different....

So I was watching a kung fu class training in the park the other day. Just a few people doing "animal forms." The teacher had said that they should just practice moving like the animal that they were envisioning. I didn't see anyone trying to be a cockroach though. A few people were prowling around being tigers or leopards or some sort of cats. And, of course, there were the obligatory cranes, though in this case I think they were black cranes, at least they were dressed in black. There were snakes, but they were walking upright too. I guess they were snakes before the Fall. It was sort of entertaining for about five minutes, before it started to get silly and irritating. I mean, these were all adults.

But I started to wonder about Goju-ryu kata. I've had a lot of conversations with people--some not so friendly--who steadfastly and adamantly argue that kata can mean whatever you want it to mean; that is, any bunkai/interpretation of kata movement that works is good, supposedly because the katas were created with this sort of intentional ambiguity. Look on the Internet some time and you will find all sorts of different explanations for the same moves in kata. Is everyone right? Or are most of them wrong?

I started to picture a couple of people fooling around in a park. Maybe one of them is a particularly good mimic. He starts to prowl around like a cat. Pretty soon he really gets into it, especially as he notices a number of people watching him. His friend thinks it's also pretty cool. Pretty soon they've developed a set routine and they call it the cat...or the snake...or the crane. They teach others. One thing leads to another, and slowly, over time, these random, meaningless movements take on a life of their own.

Of course, that's a ridiculous scenario. Kata did not come first, though there are plenty of people out there who think that this is a point as open to debate as the chicken and the egg. Isn't it far more likely--perhaps one should substitute logical for likely--that bunkai/application came first, and then in order to remember particularly good and effective applications they were put into solo routines so that they could be remembered and practiced in the absence of a partner or teacher? It's hard for me to believe that this is not universally acknowledged, but the larger question is, if we accept this: How do we know which applications are the ones originally intended by the kata? Are yours as good as mine? Are mine as good as some renowned teacher who has books and dvds and seminars?

Some would say you can't, since that would be trying to figure out what the original creators of the katas had in mind. But does that close off all of history to us? We unearth artifacts to learn about past civilizations. We apply the scientific method to problems in the universe. We analyze evidence to solve crimes. Why can't we apply logic and a knowledge of martial principles to the analysis of kata? Without it, it seems to me, we are doing a disservice to the garden, letting the weeds proliferate. Without it, the cockroaches will soon take over, and where will we be then?

Sanchin and stuff again

I recently came across this analysis of Sanchin kata.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0qrGwPGku68

I'm not sure the link actually takes you to the right place, but it was a YouTube video called "Sanchin Basic Analysis."

Yang Chengfu standing
in the Wu Wei posture

Now I must admit that any analysis of Sanchin--that is, the attempt to find bunkai in Sanchin--baffles me. A number of principles certainly, but I don't believe Sanchin in Goju-ryu was ever meant to be seen as a bunkai kata in the same sense as the other Goju subjects. I've written about this before. It's my belief that it's a futile endeavor--it's a basic kata to study  posture, breathing, and a number of other basic things--or, at best, the techniques are so elementary that it begs the question of why one would spend time trying to "find" applications for Sanchin when the other classical subjects are so much richer with intentional bunkai. I suppose this sort of thinking comes from what seems to me to be a misunderstanding of the oft-repeated statement that Sanchin is the fundamental kata of both Goju-ryu and Uechi-ryu. What do we mean by fundamental? Surely that doesn't mean, as I have sometimes heard, that the root of all Goju/Uechi techniques can be found in Sanchin. If that's true, it's certainly putting too fine a point on it for me. That's like saying that all T'ai Chi postures can be found in the Wu Wei beginning posture. I suppose in one sense that's true, as Wu Wei is emptiness or non-action, and all things begin from non-action, but it doesn't really get you very far.

First technique in Saifa kata

But what did interest me about this analysis of Sanchin was that the person demonstrating the techniques was doing the same technique against a right attack or a left attack, moving to the inside of the attacker or the outside. I have heard the same thing from some kung fu practitioners (and other karate people)--that you should be able to execute any technique regardless of which hand the attacker is attacking with. The "logic" behind this, as expressed to me, was that you don't have sufficient time to figure out which hand someone is attacking with and respond with the appropriate hand. I think this is ridiculous for two reasons: one, all techniques do not work from either side; and two, while I may not have sufficient time to contemplate which technique might be an appropriate response in a split second, I certainly have time to move and raise a hand to either the inside or the outside of the attack. That is, though I may not have time to contemplate which "bridging" or "finishing" technique may be appropriate, I certainly have time to respond with a "receiving" (uke) technique. (If I don't, I get hit--which means responding to the inside or outside with the same technique makes no difference anyway.)
What I do from there is dictated by my initial movement or uke (receiving of the attack)--and Goju actually shows a limited number of ways to receive that initial attack--the attacker's movements, and which controlling and finishing techniques fit with my initial response. One thing leads to the other rather

Part of second technique
in Seiunchin

fluidly and without a lot of thought. For example, the opening or first technique of Saifa (a technique that is shown three times to show the other side) is against an opponent grabbing my right hand with his left hand. It doesn't work if the opponent grabs my right hand with his right hand. If that were the case, I would respond with the second sequence of Seiunchin kata. Sometimes techniques are shown multiple times in kata because the kata shows attacks from one side or the other; the message is not, on the contrary, that the same technique (done with the same hand that is) should be able to be applied against any attack. Most of the time in Goju-ryu, this response is fairly easy to see based on the principle that the safest place to be or the safest response is to move to the outside of the attack. Training and logic both provide us with this answer. The problem, I think, is that the training is often not real enough or logic has flown right out the window.