White

This weekend I'll have the opportunity to don something that spends a lot of time tucked away in a drawer. (No, not my superhero cape.)

My white belt.

I wish I looked as cool as this kid.

A friend invited me to an Aikido training day his dojo is putting on, and I thought it would be a good opportunity to learn something different. I've taken 2 or 3 Aikido classes before, but nothing in depth. I'm definitely looking forward to learning more about it.

To be honest, I'm almost more excited about the opportunity to put my white belt back on. Training in one art for a while, it's easy to forget what it was like when I first started. How confusing everything was, how my focus was on imitating the folks who knew what they were doing (or at least more than I did), and learning all the new terminology. It will help me keep that mindset fresh both so I can relate to newcomers more readily and so I can remember it for myself in class.

I read a blog post once about how our training backgrounds give us an "accent," so to speak (no pun intended). When you learn a second language, you usually speak it with the accent of whatever your first language is. I saw a lot of this in my Spanish classes; Southerners have such a hard time getting around their accent to properly pronounce foreign words.

It's similar with martial arts. Whatever the first art you learned is, you tend to carry that style of movement with you into whatever else you learn. (At least until you've been immersed long enough in the new art, then the cycle just starts again.) But it's easier to start from scratch than to fix old habits, everyone knows that.

White blank pages, blank canvases, white walls, white belts. They all start at zero and become whatever they're exposed to. So, my goal for this event is to 1) have fun and 2) go back to zero for Aikido.


BONUS ROUND!
In the comment section below, share your experience from when you first started the art you're in now or used to be in.

I don't remember much about my first jujitsu class, but I remember being pretty out of sorts when I went to my first Bujinkan class. I didn't really know the location, I didn't know anyone, I had barely any idea how to do the rolls I was being shown, and everything seemed complex. I didn't know how to act, how to "bow in," what the rules were if any, and so on. I clung to anything I could carry over from my jujitsu training, which unfortunately (fortunately?) wasn't much. Being so new to everything might have been overwhelming if the guys there hadn't been so friendly and patient with me.

Give Up?

A couple weekends ago, I attended the 3rd Southeast Bujinkan Taikai. The instructors all did a great job, and there were plenty of things to take away for further training. The title and subject of this post is what one of the instructors, Jeff Walker, taught on. (Incidentally, it was the same idea he taught on at the Midwest Taikai, which I attended back in August. So glad I got to see it twice!)

What he had us doing was giving up. No, really, that was his section. The punch/sword/whatever is coming, and you just give up.

Not truly giving up, of course. I mean, you are, but you're not. They have to believe you're giving up, that you're not in the fight anymore, and for them to believe something like that, you have to believe it yourself. That's what's so intriguing (and difficult) about kyojitsu. It's a true lie - it's true for as long as you need it to be, and then it turns out to be a lie.

So, with this giving up concept, the point was to believe - and make the opponent believe - that you've given up on the fight. You are resigned to your death. Just that part proved to be incredibly difficult to wrap my head around. I can't speak for others, but I know I'm always in the active mindset of countering, parrying, attacking, torquing, etc. Giving up is inactive, and requires me to turn off what my mind and body really want to do. It only lasts for a few seconds, but flipping that switch off for even that long is like fighting myself. (Obviously there's a lot of practice needed here.)

Once that switch is turned off and the attack is coming in, you flip it back on and get out of the way. It's not turned on full blast, though. Keeping with the light switch analogy, it's like turning on a dimmer at minimum luminosity: you have the intent and will to live back on, but you're still keeping a low profile. For the person attacking, it's like falling into a black hole. Someone is there, and then simply not, with no hint that they shouldn't still be there.

Playing with intent and kyojitsu has always been challenging and fun, and this "giving up" definitely raises the bar. Believing one of your own deceptions is hard enough when it simply redirects intent. Turning it off? That's tough. And definitely something I'll be toying with for a long while.

Multiple Perspectives on Kaname

The teacher I'm training with right now had an interesting assignment for us a couple weeks ago in class. The theme for the year is kaname, and he wanted us to think of techniques or movements that embody what we think the kaname of this art is. Usually I hear things like kamae and kihon happo as examples of the kaname for a movement. But turning that around and looking for a movement that demonstrates the overall kaname? Definitely a nice little workout for my brain.

The yudansha (myself included) demonstrated techniques that each felt illustrated the key point of the Bujinkan. Almost all of us had our uke use the same attack to make our point (3 standard punches, tori moving backward for the first 2 and countering on the 3rd), and all the things we had to say tied into each other.

I asked the others for a description of what they think kaname is and how they demonstrated it. Below are their replies (modified for this post), as well as what I demonstrated.

1. Don't get hit; the goal is to survive, not to "win." Make sure you're getting out of the way of their attacks while making it harder for them to attack again (angling). Then disrupt their balance both physically (strike) and mentally (kyojutsu). This was demonstrated with the 3-punch attack, getting off line of the first two punches, and when the last one comes in, bend your knees to drop down while striking into the ribs. Then, because the goal is survival, check your surroundings and run if all is clear (including your attacker; if he wasn't fazed, then something else needs to be done to get you out of there).
2. Meeting aggressive "hardness" with "softness." Letting all that energy they bring you slide off, meeting them at zero, and doing something from there. My demonstration was avoiding a punch (moving only as much as needed), then doing whatever. What we did that night was an arm bar, but anything that works, works.
3. Looking at the kaname as survival. I demonstrated with the 3-punch evasion, looking specifically at the point at which you decide you can no longer retreat and have to decide to advance/move in.
4. Misdirection of intention, demonstrated from kumiuchi. Start applying omote gyaku with strong intention, then shift to some other kihon - we did mushadori in class. Only shift to the other if they focus on the first, though. If they don't react when you go for omote, go ahead and take it.

What would you say is the kaname of this art? And how would you demonstrate that?

Sanctuary

"A dojo (道場 dōjō) is a Japanese term which literally means "place of the way".[sic]" (Wikipedia)

As many martial arts practitioners have discovered, the dojo is a place of sanctuary. It is a place where we can escape the world and its troubles for a couple hours, and just train. As far as I know, all my fellow students (including the teachers), would say without hesitation that there have been nights when the dojo was a true place of sanctuary from whatever hardships they were going through at the time.

The other night, I thought about the term "dojo" and recalled its meaning. "Place of the way." The origins for that are Buddhist, but my upbringing connects it to the Way. Before the term "Christian" came about, Christ-followers were called followers of the Way. Thinking of it in that sense led me to associate "dojo" with the sanctuary of a church, where the doctrines of the Way are taught.

Once my train of thought arrived there, I discovered there are actually a lot of similarities between the two.

Both serve as dedicated spaces for deepening our understanding of the respective "ways" (which are connected on a deep level I won't get into now). Both are led by teachers who are still students. Both emphasize that this is a place of training/learning, and the practice comes outside, on your own. A sense of family grows in both "congregations." Ritual and mindfulness/prayerfulness permeate both settings. Those are just the obvious points - I'm not even getting into the specific correlations between the budo philosophy and Christian faith.

One more similarity: Both these sanctuaries are very important to me. They are places where I can connect to something bigger than myself. Places where I can be challenged, and grow better for it. Places where, for a time, the focus is not on me or my stressors. The details are different, yes, but the outline is the same.

Thank you, Lord, for sanctuary.

Yame

One night early on in my training, after I'd gotten used to the bow-in/bow-out, my teacher tossed us a little puzzle to work on. I don't remember the exact words, but he implied that there was a purpose and meaning behind the 2 claps, then 1. Some things are just too confusing to bother with, so that one's been on a back burner somewhere waaaaaay in the back. However, the thought that there's something more to the bow-in has been in my mind almost every time we sit in that line, clap, and bow.

I'm still nowhere near figuring out what those claps mean, but I think maybe possibly I'm getting somewhere with part of it. (Potentially.)

I've noticed that when we raise our pressed-together hands and open our eyes from mokuso, my eyes usually focus one of two ways: On the hands or on the world past them. The focus slides from one to the other, and where I look alters my intention (whether it's inward or projected outward). There seems to be some significance there, more so because I wasn't looking for significance when I first noticed it.

Thinking on it right now, it's a lot like something I learned working at Kanakuk Kamp last summer. One of the themes was this phrase: I'm Third. The fuller version is, "God first, others second, I'm third." About half the time I'm doing mokuso, I'm praying or in a spirit of prayer - God first. Then my eyes open, and I naturally have a distant focal point, seeing the area beyond where we'll be training - others second. And finally, my focal point will shift to where my two hands meet - I'm third.

Maybe that's something, maybe it's not. Regardless, thinking that way attaches a good mindset to something we do all the time. I've also thought of it as coming in from the world (distant focal point drawing inward) or as going outward to help better the world (close focal point going outward). Both are good things to keep in mind, I think, and they don't seem too far-fetched to me.

Anyone else have any thoughts they'd like to share about anything in the bow-in/bow-out?

Well...

It seems I'm still out of steam. I got a lot of good feedback from folks for ideas - most of which require time and research - and I've had a few half-baked thoughts, but nothing has solidified. I'll keep working on possible posts in the background, but for now, I guess I'm taking a hiatus. Thank you to those of you who checked the blog yesterday anyway, and I apologize again for not having anything up for you. Hopefully the blog will be back up and running in just a couple weeks; if you're subscribed to my posts, you can set it to send you an email when something goes up.

Until next time.

(Another Delay)

Apologies for not having something up today. I hope to have something up in the next few days to make up for it, but I just don't have the time right now. (Maybe I'll talk about timing in the next post! Who knows?? I sure don't.)

Thanks for your patience!

Suggestions?

Unfortunately, I don't have anything for y'all this week. Instead, I'd like to open the floor for any suggestions you might have. What do you want to read about? What's been on your mind, and you'd like to see what someone else thinks? Anything you think I should look into? Or maybe a question or comment about something I've written in the past? Anything at all, my friends.

I should be back with more next week, especially if some suggestions come in! I want to hear from you!

Ego and Banpen Fugyo

This marks the 3rd week I've had to sit out from training because of a foot injury. When I realized I would have to take it easy and forego the physical side of training, I knew it would be a test of my patience. It wasn't too bad at first, but I've found myself progressively more annoyed with the situation. So, naturally, I thought about why I was losing my patience. I hope that my musings on the matter will help others who are facing unexpected changes to see things from another angle.

Sitting out with an injury is the most irritating roadblock I've encountered so far in training. The injury somewhat hinders my daily activities, but it makes training just about impossible if I want to recover ASAP. Still, I go to training anyway and take notes on what I observe. It's not as exciting, but I do learn. From my vantage point, I'm better able to spot common errors, which I can then watch for in myself and others I'm helping. The perspective also allows me to see facets I'd forgotten or missed, which in turn yield questions I can study later (or ask my friends to go through the scenario while I observe).

Yet even though I'm still training mentally and still learning, it's difficult to muster up the patience to continue coming to a class I can't participate in the way I want.

When I tried to pinpoint why I was so annoyed with the situation, and I came to a familiar conclusion: ego. People are annoying when they disrupt some aspect of my personal world. Situations are annoying when they interrupt my world pattern. So, from what I can see, annoyance comes from believing that the situation should be other than what it is to suit my desires. If my world structure wasn't built on my desires, then I wouldn't be so flustered when things don't go the way I want or how I think they should.

Not being tied down to what I think my world should be, I'd be better able to flow with what comes. I've been trying to apply that feeling of adaptability to my role as a student right now, but the application possibilities don't end there. It applies to everything, when you think about it (and I do encourage you to think about it).

For now, my training is both mental and spiritual. Mental because of the attention and discipline required to observe and take notes, spiritual because I'm being pushed to let go of my ego and accept what is. If I had my druthers, I would be fully healed and back to physical training and other physical activity. But since life didn't ask for my opinion, I would only be holding myself back by allowing myself to be annoyed by what is not. Fixating on what I wish was the case does not help me open my eyes to the other ways I can be useful to my fellow students, aside from the uke/tori partnership.

To me, the phrase "banpen fugyo" communicates that there are more changes than you can keep up with or prepare for, so just accept what comes. In the words of the philosopher Parmenides, "What is is. What is not is not." This injury is pushing me to let go of my ego, accept what is, and to act according to that instead of what I wish was so. I hope that perspective helps someone who reads this, or at least provides something to think about.

Onegaishimasu.

Rank and the Heart

Visibility is a key factor in how others see us and how we see ourselves. The visible signs of rank are as much so others can show proper respect as they are tests of the individual's heart.

The belt system's simplicity makes it much harder to judge someone by the belt color they wear, which I love. Only by training with someone can you determine how skilled he is. Still, there are certain expectations that come with wearing any of the belt colors, both from others and from ourselves.

The patches are more visible markers of general rank within the dan levels. Because they're such visible signs for those who choose to wear them, they can be more intense tests of one's heart. If you're wearing the Shihan patch, it might be tempting to see yourself as above or better than others wearing the Dan patch or even the Shidoshi patch. But that's not always the case; there are plenty of proud Shihan whose skills are nothing to marvel at, and they simply have enough money to keep going to Japan for promotions. Their focus is on themselves and feeding their ego, not keeping the heart and humility of a student.

On the other hand, the patches are harmless to the person who is honest with himself about his skill. I'm willing to bet that people with that honest mindset would stand out more for their attitude than for their rank. People want to learn from people who admit they're still learning.

Also, thinking on what the original purpose of the patches might have been, they help others see who to address with which honorific. A Shihan wearing his patch may not care if you call him Steve or Shihan Steve, but practicing proper etiquette and showing respect is important at every level. It's like calling someone "Dr. Smith" and "sir" until they say you can just call them John. They worked long and hard for that "Dr." before their name; they deserve the respect and recognition of the title.

Ultimately, it's the responsibility of the individual to have a good attitude and a sincere heart. We each have to strike that balance between humility and self-worth, not undermining our accomplishments or boasting about them. Rank and visible indicators of your level test your heart. The proud heart will be tempted to boast about the promotion and make much of himself. Similarly, the self-degrading heart will make much of not deserving the promotion, boasting in his unworthiness. The honest heart, however, recognizes that he has much to learn; the promotion is a goad to push him to keep refining his base and to keep learning. He does not fight the promotion, nor does he fully embrace it. It is what it is and he keeps training hard and with sincerity.

Not long ago, I heard a Shihan talking about Soke's movement, and how you need to be at a certain skill level just to see how good he is at what he does. Not even the Shitenno fully understand what Soke does, and Soke himself is still learning. If the men at the head of the Bujinkan still call themselves students and still pursue a deeper understanding, how much more should we press forward with humility and determination?

Gambatte, my friends.

Schedule Change

There is a post in progress, but it won't go up until tomorrow. For the past couple weeks I've been thinking that Thursdays would be a better fit for my schedule, so I'm going to try that instead of Wednesdays.

Thanks for your patience!

--Kaitlin

Variety

I recently read a blog post from Shihan Doug Wilson that, overall, was pretty confusing to me, but brought up a point I'd like to expound upon. I encourage you to go read it if you haven't already, but here's the segment that stuck out to me:

[T]he Bujinkan should not be considered the ultimate martial art, as it is the mindset wherein the value exists. Over the course of history, all cultures and countries posses their own fighting styles.  The fighting style is not the point of strength, but the mindset in how one fights or controls is where the true strength lies.  ...[T]he Bujinkan style should not be considered superior, but the mindset combined with the freedom of correct movement is superior.

It's tempting to get caught up in all the incredible things this art does and teaches, and develop a superiority complex. "Look at [insert other art here], they're so inefficient," or "None of those guys would last in a real fight." Maybe they wouldn't last in a real fight - there's no guarantee you would, either - but that doesn't detract from the value of the art they're learning. Everything has something to offer, something you can learn from.

There's a popular animated series Nickelodeon put out a few years ago called Avatar: The Last Airbender. It's an incredible show, both entertaining and thought-provoking; if you haven't seen it, all 3 seasons are streaming on Netflix. Anyway, there are 4 main types of element bending/manipulation in the series: water, earth, fire, and air. Each style of bending is unique, and each has its strengths and weaknesses (reflecting the balance of the 4 elements). Being able to learn from each bending style helps to round out your own skills and broadens your understanding of how everything works together. (One example from the show is a firebender using principles from water bending to accomplish something fire bending can't do on its own.)

I'm not sure what mindset Shihan Wilson is referring to that is superior when "combined with the freedom of correct movement." I do know that there are many different ways to approach the same goal: defense of self and others. As long as that is the goal set in your mind, and it is born out of respect and love, any method of movement can help you achieve it. Some arts help more than others, in my biased opinion, but with the right heart you can learn something important from any art, even if it's as simple as "don't do it that way." The same goes for individual instructors within this art. Some are very clearly better than others, but you can learn something from everyone who gets up to teach.

With an open mind, a sincere heart, and set goals, you broaden your learning base and benefit from the wisdom (and folly) of countless teachers and traditions.

Unity in Plurality

Before I begin the actual post, I'd like to apologize for not posting anything last week. It was a hectic day and I had nothing of significant value to say, so I just let it slide. I should have communicated that to my readers and failed to do so. That being said, even though there are plenty of things to talk about inside this art, sometimes I just won't have anything to say. During those times, I'd rather stay silent than waste your time with B.S. (which I can conjure up all too easily). In the future, I'll make sure to let you know when there'll be silence instead of a real post.

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"There's no one right way to do it..." You know how to finish that. There's no one right way to do a technique, but lots of wrong ways. This can be liberating and frustrating at the same time. On the one hand, you're free to play with the movement and not be pinned down to one particular manifestation. On the other hand, it's hard to tell whether you're executing the movement properly, without it becoming confused with some other movement.

This is one of the "Big Questions" philosophy addresses: the One and the Many. We crave unity and absolutes, but we are instead presented with a vast multiplicity of things that are lumped under one label (e.g., hundreds of species of trees all called "tree"). The two extremes on the continuum of answers to this question are Absolutism and Relativism. And, as with most things, truth resides somewhere in the middle. Which means there's no one omote gyaku, but it's not whatever you want, either.

The liberating aspect to plurality is that I don't have to always do ganseki nage like the traditional form. It's adjustable for size, position, etc. It's not always on the same scale - it can be big or small - and it's not always attacking the same point. It's pretty awesome really, that just one technique can have so many different facets.

At the same time, all those facets can be a little confusing. If this over here, which looks a lot like that over there, is actually ganseki nage, then why do they look so similar? Why can't THIS be ganseki nage and THAT be [insert technique here]? It's easy to get confused, or to think you're on the right track when actually you're missing a key point. It would be easier if there was one clear way to do it - none of the hidden stuff.

But, if it were straightforward, that would be way too boring, and this would no longer be an art form.

Maybe the mental image of facets is a good one for what I'm trying to get at. A multifaceted diamond can have an incredible amount of sides to it, each of them casting different reflections depending on the light. But even for all the variability, the thing itself is still a diamond. The trick is to not let yourself be blinded by the light reflecting off the facets. There is one thing that reflects the light in many ways - if you study how the light is reflected, you'll be able to discern what's a reflection and what might be the diamond itself.

There's a million different directions that analogy could go. (Can you ever see the diamond itself without the distracting reflections? Can you only see it as a composite of all the facets? Can you ever know how many facets there are, turn it around in enough light settings to truly know the reflections? etc.) But, since this topic has clearly - in my mind - come back around to kaname, I guess the argument would be that the diamond/technique itself is knowable. At this point, I'd say it's knowable only after you have a thorough understanding of the facets. That way you can find the commonalities leftover from the differences.

It's a fun little thought experiment, though, using the diamond as an analogy; you may see it pop up again in future posts. For now, I think I've made my convoluted point as convolutedly clear as I can. Until next time.

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General Note: Everything anyone says should be taken with a grain of salt, especially me; I'm still learning, and I could be completely wrong in my interpretation of something. If you think that's the case, please say something. And if you think something's just bull, you can call me out on that, too.

Priorities & Distractions, addendum

When I was writing last week's post, I couldn't quite put my finger on why it sounded so dogmatic and narrow-minded, despite my efforts to ease off a bit. Thanks to Mike's comment and some reflection, I think I figured it out. It sounded off to my ears because I completely left out the "why." (Ironic, considering I spent most of the last 4 years writing papers based on the question "Why?".)

Guess I wasn't too far off base when I said that I might be projecting my own experience onto the matter. I was, but not the whole experience. See, I'm the type of person who gives a lot of thought to things I consider serious (i.e., buying a car, future career, faith/spiritual matters, etc.), and once I decide something, I tend to forget all the work I put into getting there. I simply move on with that decision and don't look back, hence the mindset in my previous post. It may or may not be the best way to go through the decision-making process, but it's my default. Anyway, the important thing about it is that there is a period of time - sometimes long, sometimes short - when I analyze everything, weigh my options and the what-ifs, and try to pinpoint why the matter is important and why I should or should not decide this or that.

The Why is very important. If you know why you're doing something, then you can remind yourself of it when things get tough - it gives you determination and strengthens resolve. If you understand why you're doing something, that usually makes it more meaningful than acting blindly, too.

Why do you eat? Why do you exercise? Why do you do the job you do? Why do you train?


Think about it. If you've already thought about it in the past, take a minute to remind yourself of the conclusions you came to.

Priorities and Distractions

There are always things that will vie for your time. The question is, what will you decide to make a priority?

I've recently taken up the phrase, "Do what you need to do." I'd like people to do certain things or go certain places, but they have other things vying for their time, and I just tell them to do what they need to do.

What does that have to do with training? Well, my opinion is that once you sign that waiver and buy your uniform - basically, when you decide you want to do this - showing up to training should be your priority. There will, without fail, be something else you could be doing, something else that's also demanding your time. You have to make a choice: Will you be distracted by those other tasks or will you commit to coming to training?

I understand that some people get into this art and realize that maybe it isn't for them after all. Or life circumstances prevent them from pursuing this for the time being. I don't judge them for that or think ill of them.

The same goes for budoka who've made the commitment to train, but things come up and maybe they have to miss a few classes. Maybe a lot of classes. I hope that they do at least some sort of practice on their own while they're away, but that's their choice. What I'm really watching for with people who have to miss training for an extended period of time is where their focus is. When the thing demanding their time and attention passes, do they return to training?

Reading that for myself, it sounds like I view the things that take us away from training as distractions, regardless of their necessity. Well, that's not entirely wrong. A distraction is defined as "a thing that prevents someone from giving full attention to something else." I definitely advocate being fully present in whatever you're doing - what's the point, otherwise? - but the thing itself is, by definition, a distraction from training.

I don't think training is the end all be all of life. That would be an unhealthy way to live. But I do think that once you make the commitment to train, it becomes woven into your life, which means it's not as optional as, say, whether or not you wear socks today.

I might just be making all this up, projecting my own experience onto what I think others ought to think/act. Or maybe the only way to continue training is not so much make a choice every time, but to make one choice and act is if there isn't another one to be made: train Bujinkan or do not. That's pretty stark, but I do allow for exceptions; there is a life outside the dojo that demands attention, after all. It's just keeping those things in their place and maintaining focus that I wish I saw more people doing.

A penny for your thoughts. Do you agree? Disagree? Any additional comments? Maybe some sudden insights into the meaning of the universe?

To Serve and Protect

As a Christian, there are two commandments I try to live by: Love the Lord my God with all my heart and with all my soul and with all my strength, and Love my neighbor as myself. Personally, I think both commands are ingrained in various forms in all valid religions, so this isn't really a Christianity-specific doctrine. Either way, I try to make sure I'm obeying those commands with everything I do in life.

So, what I'm pondering is this: How can we use our training to 1) love/serve God and 2) love/serve others? The first is slightly more subjective, so I'll leave that one to your own considerations. The second, however, I can do something about.

How does training in Bujinkan Budo Taijutsu help me help others?

Probably the most obvious answer is that it equips me to protect myself (preserving my life so that I can continue to serve) and to protect others (no greater love has man than this, that he would lay down his life for his friends). Protecting others is generally seen as a more noble cause, but both are worthy of respect. The same thing that causes us to want to preserve the lives of others is in us, meaning we are equally worthy of preservation. Learning effective ways to do either enables us to be of service to others in a life and death way.

The training itself teaches values that can help form you into a better person, someone more thoroughly equipped to go out and be a positive force in the world. Some of these values are humility, perseverance, cooperation, and confidence. Hopefully everyone is at least being exposed to these values wherever they are and whatever discipline they've absorbed into their lives. For me personally, the dojo has been a place to put into practice what I learn from Jesus and the church on how to live with others.

So, what I've got so far is protection of self and others and strong values. Both disciplines are present in Bujinkan and are shaping me into a person that will be of benefit to the world.

(Commence slight tangent.)
If I put the two aspects together, my first thought is "warrior." Not just a soldier and not just a virtuous person, but an active combination of the two. Perhaps the Bujinkan is teaching me how to be a warrior.

When I told my friend what I was writing about (being a warrior) she had some excellent insight into what it means. She said that being a warrior is in the mind, heart, and soul. You have to have the thoughts, the feelings, and the reasons to act. A warrior is not necessarily someone who does certain things or acts a certain way; it's who you are at your core.

What are your thoughts on how Bujinkan helps us serve one another? Or on what a warrior is?

USA TaiKai & Kunoichi Kai 2012

This past weekend was the annual USA TaiKai and Kunoichi Kai in Atlanta, GA. A lot of great instructors came out, and there were plenty of friendly, skilled people to meet and train with. The theme for the seminar was "Cutting Through the Illusions," playing off the two-fold theme for the year: sword and kaname. The idea was that we would be trying to cut away the extraneous and unnecessary to get to the kaname.

There were several points made that I'll be chewing on for the next few weeks at least, but the one that kept getting repeated by almost all the shihan was kamae. (Some other things they harped on were position, waiting, "short, sharp, and violent" attacks, and knowing the body you've got.)

Kamae is important. Everybody says so, and in this case "everybody" is right. Kamae is at the base of just about everything, and it is present in every efficient movement. I have heard on a number of occasions that Hatsumi Sensei can move the way he does because he's practiced fundamentals like kamae for so long. He understands how they work, and so they don't often look like the formal kamae we're used to. His "soke magic" stems from decades of practicing kamae.

Because so many of the instructors placed emphasis on kamae, I was able to see just how lacking mine are. There was one technique we were working on that seemed very simple: all you had to do was drop back into hira no kamae and let your fist collide with the other person's jaw. Aside from an unfamiliar wrist movement to make the collision more effective, the concept could not have been more straightforward. And I had a ridiculous amount of trouble with it. I almost never practice hira no kamae, and executing it required a great deal of focus.

For something to become intuitive and [relatively] easy, you have to practice it about a jillion times. A story I recently read says 50,000 times. Would you be willing to practice the same movement over and over? It's a daunting number, but if the movement is essential...

Mr. Miyagi had Daniel-san doing all kinds of repetitive movements to ingrain them into his muscles, so that Daniel would be able to bypass the mind when he needed to actually use those movements. You don't have to go sand the wood floors or wax all your cars and your neighbor's cars (though I'm sure your neighbor would love that), but I do think it's important to be able to execute movements like jodan uke, the various kaiten, and kamae without thought. The less you have to think about these fundamentals, the more attention your brain can give to the rest of the situation.

I have high aspirations for my future skill level, and getting there means first having a firm foundation in the fundamentals, particularly kamae. Establishing that means I'll have to get off my rear and start practicing and drilling. I sometimes joke that it would be better if the technology in The Matrix were real and we could download skills and information directly into our brains, but I'm not sure I would actually take that option. Nothing worth having comes easily, and hard work builds the character necessary to go with heightened power and ability. Practice doesn't make perfect, but practice does lead to perfection. What higher aspiration is there than that?

Kaname

The theme for this year is kaname. It means "essence." Ever since Duncan Stewart's blog post about it, I've been kind of mulling over the concept. What's it mean to know the essence of something? How is it even possible to know the essence of something? And what are we supposed to do with that knowledge?

Immanuel Kant, famous German philosopher from the Enlightenment, described things as having two realities. One was the phenomena, that which we can experience with the senses. The other is the noumena, the unknowable essence, "das Ding an sich" (the thing in itself), that we can never truly know. When I touch a tree, I feel the bark, I see as much of it as my eyes can take in, and I might even smell the scent of pine. But I do not sense the Tree itself, the essence of the tree - that is an experience of totality that is beyond comprehension or human ability.

If that's correct, then maybe this isn't the essence kaname indicates. Lucky for me, there are lots of intelligent folks who have thought about the essence of things over the centuries, so not everything hinges on Kant. (Never cared for him much anyway.) One of Aristotle's big ideas was the teleology of all things. "Telos" is Greek for "end," "purpose," or "goal." Aristotle claimed that everything had a goal that it was working toward, a purpose. For example, an acorn's telos is to become an oak tree and a human's telos is to reach eudemonia by living a virtuous life (see the Nicomachen Ethics). Duncan Shihan's post said, "...from there we are able to always move accordingly, to safely protect ourselves, and control our opponent - The Kaname." To me this emphasizes the overall purpose of an interaction, violent or nonviolent, as its kaname.

However, Duncan Shihan said some other things that make it clear kaname is not just about the overall purpose of something. Not in a restricted sense, at least. He said, "[Kaname] is in general noted as being the most ' important point '.[sic] ... We need to pin point the essential point for our lives and change with it constantly. ... We are searching the way to live life where we always move in the right direction and to the right position." So, it seems to me that this - as with so many things in Bujinkan - has a deeper application for the rest of our lives. I agree that everyone is searching for "the" way to live and "the" right direction to go in, whether they're conscious of it or not. Is kaname that abstract, individualized absolute, then? Maybe. If it is, then the emphasis on its constant change is even more important - people tend to become dogmatic and stagnate when they believe there is only one way to do things, one way to go.


As far as its application to training, the only way (that I'm aware of) it has worked its way into mine has been to look for what makes something what it is and not something else (e.g., what makes hicho no kata what it is and not ichimonji no kata). With more time and thought, I hope more of this mysterious "kaname" will be integrated into my training, both in the dojo and out.


This post is relatively short, but not for lack of confusion on my part, only a lack of coherent thoughts to express. To sum up, I possibly ruled out kaname as the noumena of something, confirmed that something's overall purpose (its telos) is involved, and there's an essential point to everything that constantly changes. The whole concept is still over my head, but I'm trying to jump up and reach it.


I hope something in this post helped you or at least got you thinking. If you have any thoughts or insights on the subject, I would be very grateful for the opportunity to read them in the comment section below. Thank you.


Onegaishimasu.



More quotes from Duncan Stewart's blog post:
     "The kaname is also forever changing. In training, our partner will move. We aim to move naturally to the essential point or, the point that determines the outcome. This point is also the point where one is covered and free of openings. But, to get there, we must move using the principals of taijutsu and in kamae."

     "Without searching and coming to understand the Kaname, the rest of the technique is based on nothing. In saying this, we see people doing wonderful looking demonstrations in classes but, do they know or are even away of the the 'essence' of the movement is? Or, are they just going through the motions and making it look like they know?"

Solid as a Rock

“Therefore everyone who hears these words of mine and puts them into practice is like a wise man who built his house on the rock. The rain came down, the streams rose, and the winds blew and beat against that house; yet it did not fall, because it had its foundation on the rock. But everyone who hears these words of mine and does not put them into practice is like a foolish man who built his house on sand. The rain came down, the streams rose, and the winds blew and beat against that house, and it fell with a great crash.”

~Jesus (Matthew 7:24-27)

That passage is typically labeled "The Wise and Foolish Builders" in the Bible. I'm not going to go into the religious significance of Jesus' words here, but I do think the parable has other information that is relevant to what I'm about to say. If you're going to build something, it's got to be on a firm foundation, or else it will collapse in the chaos of a storm.

Everything requires you to have a functional understanding of some fundamental set of skills or ideas before you can advance. In math, we learn how to count, then how to add, subtract, multiply, and divide. That's the foundation of mathematics. In photography, you start out with black and white film - not even worrying about colors yet - and learn how to adjust the aperture and shutter speed. You end up with a lot of mediocre pictures at first, but learn from them and figure out how to make your photos better.

Taijutsu is no different. There are fundamental movements that must be drilled over and over until they become instinctive, allowing you to focus on more difficult things like deceptive movement or using a weapon. If you want to build a sturdy house that can stand up to the storms, you have to build it on a rock.

What are the fundamentals? Ukemi, kamae, sanshin, and kihon happo to name a few. Without good ukemi, you'll hurt yourself more than necessary because you don't know how to receive the energy given to you, whether in the form of a throw, a lock, or a strike. Without proper kamae, your structure will be weak and you're more likely to become off-balanced. Sanshin helps teach you how your body moves, as well as strengthens your supports: your legs. Kihon happo contains more lessons than I can think of - and even more that I've yet to discover - but one of them is teaching you how to affect another person's structure while preserving your own.

It's easy to think to yourself after a couple years of practicing these fundamentals that you've got them down pretty well. Your rolls are relatively smooth, you know how to stand in kamae, you know what to do in sanshin, and kihon happo goes well without too many problems. If you're not careful, you will be tempted to accept that decent level of skill and not look for your weaknesses. And believe me, you have them. Even 15th dans have things they need to work on, old habits that need to be broken.

If the fundamentals have become relatively easy for you, try amping up the energy a little bit. You do alright with a partner who cooperates, now ask them to resist a little more (but no statues!!) and to put some aggressive intent into their attack. Move fluidly through the movements you've been practicing and see what stops working. Keep practicing at that level until it becomes easy, then move up again.

A few months ago, I was practicing koku with another student for my shodan test. I wouldn't say I was having an easy time of it, but it wasn't too difficult, either. It was acceptable, probably. Then my sensei came over and started working with me on the same technique, increasing the speed and intensity gradually. The technique started falling apart with just the first increase, and we stayed at that level until I pulled it together again. He increased it again, it started faltering again, and we stayed there until I pulled it together. The stress of having someone punch and kick like they were actually going to hit me forced me to use good timing, angles, and structure (fundamentals) just to keep myself safe.

Stress and chaos will overwhelm you if you do not have a firm foundation in the fundamentals. If you've done any randori before, you know this is true. Once you've got that foundation, though, you can start slowly building a house that won't be easily toppled. How solid is your foundation?

The Uke

One of the primary role sets in the dojo is tori/uke. In practice, this is typically understood as "guy who wins/defends" and "idiot who attacks." That may be the way things usually pan out, but the relationship is so much more than just winning and losing. The tori and uke are partners, working together to better their taijutsu and, in the process, themselves. In this post, I'll be looking at the uke's side of that partnership.

The action of uke is called "taking ukemi," literally "receiving body"; the uke is the receiver. "[Ukemi]... is the art of knowing how to respond correctly to an attack and often incorporates skills to allow one to do so safely." (Shamelessly taken from this Wiki article.) The uke receives whatever force or manipulation the tori gives, and reacts in such a way to keep himself/herself safe. I've heard it said before that the goal of an uke is to survive.

But surviving is not his only job. Remember, this is a partnership, not a strict "my turn, your turn" thing. The uke learns to protect himself as much as possible when he gets thrown or twisted or joint-locked, but the tori needs to learn how to do those things on someone who's actually there. By that I mean, you need to be there mentally; when push comes to shove and the pressure is on, people do what they've practiced. And if your tori has spent all his time practicing on an overly cooperative uke, he'll be at a disadvantage when his attacks and blocks don't work like they did in the dojo. On the other hand, a completely uncooperative uke will slow him down from learning the point of each movement he's studying, because you aren't moving!

Omote gyaku on this guy? Not gonna happen.

Being limp or being a statue is not what the role requires. The role requires you to help your partner train for reality, which means you must try your best to act and react as realistically as possible. Why are you grabbing here and not there? For a push, a pull, a throw, maybe preparing for a punch? Keep that intention in mind and move as slowly as your partner needs, but don't forget what your purpose for the attack is. Even when they start applying the technique, don't forget what your role is. Say he starts going for an omote - would you just let him do that? It's pretty obvious he's trying to do something. I wouldn't just let someone torque my wrist; I would try to stop it, probably by tensing those muscles. The uke needs to think of these things during training. Going slowly does make that more difficult, because it's not as natural as a faster speed. Just try to remember that fast is only slow sped up, and act accordingly.

The uke needs to be able to judge what level of cooperation to give his tori for the sake of learning a new technique (while not being a ragdoll or a statue). One partner might need more time going through each step slowly with little resistance, and another partner might grasp the mechanics more quickly, allowing the uke to make things more [realistically] difficult.

Both of you are learning, though on slightly different planes. The tori is learning on the physical level: the uke assists him by allowing himself to basically be a guinea pig and by playing as realistic a role as he can while preserving the safety of both. The uke is learning somewhat on the physical level - experiencing what different movements do and how things feel is very educational, if you pay attention - but mostly on whatever level the self resides on (spiritual? mental? emotional? I'm not sure). It takes humility to continuously project the appropriate intent and end up in pain or on the ground (or both) every time and maintain a grateful, helpful attitude. If your ego is in the way, it becomes less of a partnership and more of a contest. Maybe that's why we say "onegaishimasu" ("please instruct me") and bow when we pair off - that simple action helps remind us that we are learning together and helping one another.

If you have any questions, comments, or stories, I encourage you to leave them below.

Structure and Freedom

It's hard to choose where to begin. There are so many possible topics to discuss, ranging from minutiae to broad concepts, and I admit that I am paralyzed by the sheer volume of options. This art has so much to teach us; one blog post seems to be a pathetic attempt at capturing even a little of it.

But, I said I would submit a blog post today. And even though there's only about an hour left of "today," I will keep my word.

Since options are what occupy my thoughts, let's talk about that.

In taijutsu, there are an incredible number of options that constantly change depending on how you or your partner move. A little turn of the foot, a shift of the shoulders, where weight is placed - all these things can come into play and influence what you are able to do.

How do you choose what to do? The quick answer would be 'just keep moving.' That's valid, but where do you want to move to? There needs to be an overall strategy to help guide your choices.

If you're just trying to get your drunk buddy under control before he (or she) hurts someone, then maybe bone-breaking locks and throws aren't what you want to go for. You would want to work toward diminishing either their ability or desire to move (both, hopefully), and then release them once they've calmed down. But, if the threat is more, well, threatening (i.e., a mugger, rapist, etc.), inflicting some real damage might not be a bad idea. If you have a weapon available, knowing when and how to use it could substantially increase your odds of survival.

Freedom to move within an overarching strategy is something we see in other areas of life, as well. I remember my freshman year of high school, my English teacher told us that the method of essay-writing she was teaching us was like binding us with ropes so we could barely move. We had to follow a strict formula, with no room for deviation or creative license. But, she also told us that those ropes would gradually loosen as we progressed through the grades, and she was right. As I moved up through high school, the rules for essay writing got gradually less strict until I was finally able to move away from the 5-paragraph essay. Now I'm simply given a topic - sometimes not even that much - and the only things I have to have are an introduction, a thesis, a body, and a conclusion.* Basic structure in which I can say whatever I want for whatever my purpose is.

Same thing in art forms. For music, you first learn the notes on the scale, then progressions, chords, minors and majors, rhythms, harmony, and so on. But you start with the basic structure of notes on a scale and how long each of them lasts, and you're able to make music with just that knowledge. In visual arts, you learn different lines, shapes, and lighting effects. Those three basic things combine to create the vast array of art we see in museums and elsewhere. (Everywhere, really, but that's probably for another discussion.)

So, I've gone from too many choices, to needing an overarching strategy to move in, to having a fundamental base to work from. Somewhere between having a plan and having a base/core is where "just move" seems to fit. Both, especially having a base/core, are vital to the success of whatever you're attempting. Some basic advice I can give for developing both skill sets are:

1. Wherever you are, ask yourself what you would do if someone were to attack you, your friend, or a stranger right then. Are they armed? How does that change your tactic? How big or small are they compared to you?
2. Practice the fundamentals. In Bujinkan, this includes kihon happo, sanshin no kata, kamae, and ukemi. Complete mastery cannot be achieved, but you can get a heck of a lot closer to it if you practice often and practice well!

That's all I've got for tonight. Please leave your thoughts and comments/questions below!

Ganbatte.

--Kaitlin

*My formal papers for school are a lot better organized and have a clearer point than this post did. But, like my papers, I did wait until the last minute to write this!!

A Return to Testing

--originally posted Friday, December 23, 2011--

     It was bothering me that I couldn't remember how many times I ran the second variation of my randori test, so I sent a Facebook message to the two guys who were the "bad guys" (see this post). They said I only ran that second scenario once after Tucker spoke up. I'm glad I didn't forget one complete run-through, haha. I forgot little details, like how I got to a certain point, but I would've been a little concerned if I completely blanked out for about a minute. So that mystery's solved.

     The other girl at the UAH dojo is testing for shodan soon. I don't know what rank she is right now, and I'll have to wait to actually see the test, but I have a feeling she's already ranked herself. She's improved quite a bit, though. I'm proud of her. :) I hope everyone there does well on testing, which should be in about 2 weeks or so.

Cutting Workshop

--originally posted Sunday, January 22, 2012--

     I cut things with a LIVE SWORD on Saturday! Oh yeah!! So much fun. It's both more difficult than you'd think and easier. If you were to give a sword to an amateur on the street, they could do some damage. But they'd probably end up dinging the blade (and dulling it), and probably bending it because their cuts would be sloppy. Maybe even break the sword. So we learned how to hold the sword properly, keeping the bone structure aligned with the cut. Then lots and lots of drills so you can cut efficiently and in straight lines. The cut is so easy once you get the form right - barely takes any power at all if the blade is sharp - but it takes so much practice and focus to get the form right.
     Everyone got to cut two rolled and soaked tatami mats. My first one, I borrowed someone's sword and we later found out that it wasn't sharp enough. That first round didn't go very well because of that. But my second round, I borrowed someone else's sword and it was very sharp. I had also taken advantage of the copious amount of time between my two turns to drill the lever action you're supposed to have with your arms right at the point of the cut - I didn't do it at all my first time. When I was doing a couple dry runs before the first cut this time, Tucker-sensei guided my arms through the cut so I could feel what they were supposed to do. Apparently that's what it took for everything to click, because my first cut was amazingly easy and successful. I was openly shocked at how easy it was to cut through the roll.
     This is definitely something I want to practice again. It's fun, challenging, and I think it has some invaluable applications I want to explore.

A man practicing kiriage on tatami.

Shihan Asuncion seminar 2012

--originally posted Monday, February 6, 2012--


     Apparently there was some thing called the "Super Bowl" going on this past weekend. I wouldn't know much about that; I was too busy unpacking from the weekend and climbing into bed!     For those of you who don't know what a seminar means for those of us in the Bujinkan, it's a one- or two-day event over a weekend that features one or more high-level teachers. In my experience, there's always been a theme for the seminar, something we'll be working on the entire time. The format goes like this: bow in, maybe do a warmup, teacher shows something, attendees practice, repeat previous 2 steps all day, bow out. Sprinkle in some water/note-taking breaks and a break for lunch, and that's the seminar. (A workshop is like a seminar, but it's typically only one day, it's less expensive, and the teacher isn't as highly ranked. From what I've experienced, anyway.)     Asuncion-shihan is the teacher of both my teachers, and he's been coming to Huntsville every year for the past few years. Both my teachers strongly encourage their students to attend the seminar, to the point of practically requiring it, and with good reason; Asuncion has excellent taijutsu, and it would be hard to go wrong imitating him.     The theme this year was eda koppo, which is the name for a weapon that's basically a stick.

Little stick OF DEATH.

MY little stick of death, a stainless steel Sharpie. (It doubles as an actual Sharpie.)

     It's pretty easy to see that this kind of weapon would be extremely versatile. You can use pretty much anything as an eda koppo. Interestingly, we didn't use it very much during the seminar, which makes me think maybe it wasn't the weapon itself that was the point of the seminar.

     Anyway, it was an awesome way to spend the weekend. And the socializing Saturday night was a blast; always is.

Tangent on Rokkon Shojo

--originally posted Sunday, November 21, 2010--

It means "purifying the 6 senses" (the 6th being perception), and it's the theme for Bujinkan this year. There are lots of different ways to purify the senses: don't listen to your music too loudly, maintain a healthy diet, wear clothes that make your skin more sensitive to textural differences, no perfumes, take care of your eyes, etc. It's purifying perception that gets interesting.

One thing that really clicked with me is emptying the self in service of others (and in general). I think that clicked more than some of the other ways to purify perception that we talked about, because it matches what Christianity teaches (and I am indeed a Christian). I noticed that I had become very self-centered and self-serving; since that revelation, I've been trying to maintain a spirit of serving others, but it's difficult. Washing dishes and taking out the trash for our suite is a start, but I know I can serve in more ways than just that.

And here is where I run into a persistent obstacle: How much is too much when you're giving of yourself? Time, money, relationships. How much do I keep for myself? If I felt the Holy Spirit leading me to give away all my possessions, I probably would. Short of that, though, how much charity is too much? When does giving cross the line from something good into something foolish?

It's possible that jumping ahead to look at the potential for excessive giving is some unconscious roadblock to giving more than I feel like, but I still think it's a possibility worth thought and discussion. Please share your thoughts in the comment section below. Thank you.

shodan testing, pt. 3

--originally posted Friday, December 9, 2011--


     The one other shodan candidate who hadn't been able to come Monday showed up on Thursday. He had intended to review testing material over the weekend - not a good practice, to wait until the weekend before - but some things came up that demanded his attention. So he hadn't had time to study and he hadn't done much movement in the past week. Tucker-sensei summarized Duncan's test very well: what he knew, he did great, and what he didn't know... not so great. The rest of us had gray areas, but Duncan was very black and white. It was very frustrating, watching him not remember some very simple techniques, because I know he knows them. We train a lot together, since he's about my size and shares my flexibility. And we've been fairly matched in rank since the beginning (though he was green when I started as a white), so he's also a comrade.
     It's so hard to watch someone struggle when you want them to succeed. The worst was when I could see that his body knew what to do, but his brain was getting in the way. Tucker-sensei told him a few times to just let his body move, but he didn't quite get there. I'm not sure, but I think Sensei almost didn't let him go on to the randori section, and he would remain a 1st kyu - we deliberated over it after he had finished all the techniques in the requirements. He absolutely needs to learn those techniques, but in the end we decided that he had the spirit and he could certainly learn the techniques and do them well, but he hadn't prepared enough. He was ready in every other way, in my opinion, and those ways are what matter more (also in my opinion). He did pretty well in the randori section, which I was pleased to see.

     You learn so much from watching someone else test. You can see how stress affects other people, see how their body knows things their brains do not, and how they can quickly forget things (especially noted in some of the uke who worked with him; they didn't always remember the attack they were supposed to do, even though they tested it this week). It also showed me some things about myself, particularly that I'm too attached to my desire for others to progress. The ones I'm not attached to, I ranked lower than Tucker-sensei did. The ones I am attached to, I either ranked higher or had more hope for. Looking back, I agree with Sensei's decision on the first 2 placements. And looking at our newest shodan, I still believe that he was ready, but he better learn those techniques. Just because we don't have to test officially anymore doesn't mean he doesn't need to know them. One, because they're pretty basic, and we all ought to know them. Two, because it will show that he really does want to meet the qualifications of a shodan, in spirit and skill. And three, because we'll have to teach these things at some point, and it's pretty difficult to teach something you don't know or have a good grasp of.

     Anyway, so that was that. Some of us went out to On Tap afterward, and just chatted and laughed and hung out until about one in the morning. A great end to the day. :)

shodan testing, pt. 2 - Banpen Fugyo

--originally posted Wednesday, December 7, 2011--


     So you know that whole thing where I thought my shodan test would be spaced out over a couple days? Yeah, that didn't happen, haha. We got through the material a lot quicker than expected on Monday, and we had enough time to justify staying late to just finish the test. So 4 of the 5 of us up for shodan tested the whole dang thing last night. The other one will probably test later this week - he wasn't able to come on Monday. Anyway, the test went well. Turns out everyone was right: I was ready for shodan, haha. I think I did well, once I got my head in the game, but maybe that's because I was so uncertain and doubtful, and the actual results were so much better than I thought they would be. *shrug*
     It's pretty tiring to go through the entire test. We have 4 tiers of ranks before shodan: shoshinsha (white belt), shoden (9-7th kyu, green belt), chuden (6-4th kyu, green belt), and okuden (3rd-1st kyu, green belt). Then there's the shodan section, which is for your black belt. The test is cumulative, so you have to do everything up to and including the tier you're testing for. Definitely a test of your stamina, your ability to control your breathing, and your ability to stay calm while still moving with intention and spirit. Thankfully, Tucker-sensei was giving us short breaks in between each tier so we could breathe a little, get some water, and he could jot down some notes and confer with the other black belt judging. It would've been even more difficult otherwise.

     In my opinion, the most important part of the test requirements for shodan (including all the other levels before that) is randori. It's at the very end of everything, and it's kind of like sparring, only realistic. I've seen it done differently, but the way Tucker-sensei had us do randori was he created a scenario that we had to survive or protect someone else and then survive. Two guys had the scenario of protecting their wife/girlfriend (role played by yours truly), one guy had to survive getting mugged on the street at gunpoint, and I had to not get kidnapped. Randori is always chaotic, just like anything you do in real life; it's not nice and neat like what we train in the dojo. Sensei had us moving slowly - but smoothly and with spirit - for that very reason; if we had gone full speed, no doubt someone would've been injured.
     I had the benefit of watching two others go before me, but I didn't know who Sensei would call on next. Each time, he would point to someone on the sideline and tell them to go grab one of the weapons (just a knife and a gun, overall). And each time, I didn't know if he was going to be calling me up or someone else, so my mind immediately started creating scenarios to picture what I would do if someone had a knife or a gun. The fear is always there when you hear someone will have a weapon, particularly a gun in my case.

     I played the role of the first man's wife for his randori. As I watched him go through the scenario, I realized that all my visualization of times when I might need to protect my sister or my friends had paid off: I already had the mindset of calling out for them to run, which is what the first man forgot to do. The man with the knife was able to get past my "husband" and stab me. Every other time, the man testing remembered to yell for me to get away, so I wasn't stabbed again.
     The second scenario was a man being robbed at gunpoint, an event more likely to happen to him where he lives and works. The gun scenario, as I said, frightened me. Which means I need to work on those kinds of techniques and try to inoculate myself to that fear so I don't freeze or do something stupid if that ever comes up.
     In the third scenario, the last guy was protecting his "girlfriend" (me). It ran about the same as the first guy's, except he had the benefit of already knowing to call out. (Or maybe he also already had that trained in his mind, like I did from frequent thought scenarios. The world may never know.)
     I can't remember the last guy's test as well as the others (including my own), but I think all of us had issues getting out of the dojo, these-are-my-friends mindset.

     My randori test had 2 variations, the overall goal being to kidnap me. The first time, Sensei told me to walk to the other end of the mat and face away from him. Then  he called up one of the other guys and whispered to him what to do. Once he did that, he said aloud to me that the scenario was a kidnapping. I'm still facing the opposite direction (as part of the scenario). I could hear my attacker walking up the mat toward me, and I could feel that weird vibrating/prickly/tense feeling in my shoulders (the kind you get when you feel someone staring at you) when he got closer. In retrospect, if that had happened in real life, I would've turned around to see what was going on or who was coming. Instead I let him grab me, one hand over my mouth, one arm around my middle. Looking back, I shouldn't have let him do that (twice), but the end result was effective enough. He never did manage to pick me up and carry me (though he probably should've tried that). ((EDIT: He actually did pick me up the second time; I don't remember it at all, but apparently I got my feet back on the ground.)) I got away both times.
     Funny story, actually. The second time (maybe?), I got free and started running like I was going to exit through one of the doors on the other end of the dojo, where my sensei had been sitting. He was standing during my randori, but I didn't know why. Turns out he was the van, and if I'd let myself get to that point I would've "lost." So I was basically running toward the real danger, haha. But he just kind of smiled and said it was fine since I didn't know he was the van. I didn't run that way again.
     The second variation, I was facing my attackers. Sensei added another character to the scenario, and both of them were going to try and grab my wrists and drag me to the van (which was still indicated by Sensei). Not thinking that these are real enemies and not my friends, I let them grab my wrists. My mind was on doing some kind of technique instead of just getting away from them. I think I did that 3 times before Tucker-sensei stepped in and reminded me of the roles, asking me if I'd let two men just come up and grab my wrists. I smiled, because I'd just told myself while I was sitting and waiting (before it was my turn for randori) to stay in the role. Oh, how soon we forget. But it went much better once I got the right idea in my head. I can't remember if we ran that scenario one or 2 more times. Might've been 2. Anyway, the only one I remember after Sensei's correction was the last one. The two came in, and I didn't just stand there this time. I walked a little off to one side at an angle so that they were more lined up, and less able to both grab me at once. The one I was now closer to is more my size, and I'm more familiar with how his body moves. Somehow, I'm not sure how, I evaded a grab and turned the momentum to keep him between me and the original guy. Doing so brought me close to one of the big garage doors we have in our training space. It just so happened that the doors were pulled up about a foot to let in some cooler air, since the night was warm enough to need it. When I had been playing the roles of wife and girlfriend, that door was consistently my escape route, so I already had it in mind when it came my turn to escape.
     ((EDIT: Apparently I also had some look in my eyes after Tucker reminded me of the roles we were playing. A couple people have said that it looked like I was gonna kill someone. I find that interesting on a psychological level.))
     So I'm there, keeping one man away by keeping the other man in front of me, and the door's right there. I know I can fit underneath - I had actually done just that on Saturday during a break at a training workshop, just for kicks to see if I could fit under the crack when it was smaller (maybe 4"?) - and I glance down, then go for it. I disengaged and scurried underneath onto the loading dock outside. I can't remember if someone (or multiple people) cheered or clapped ((EDIT: They clapped)), but I remember hearing a positive response (and being pretty pleased with myself, too). That was the end of my randori. As with the others, Tucker-sensei had me come to the center and face away from him while he and the other black belt (our only other one at the time) quietly conferred about whether to promote me. I had no doubt that I would be promoted, and sure enough, when he told me to turn around he gave me a shiny new black belt and said "congratulations."

     It's a huge confidence booster to make it through everything and have your sensei decide you're ready for shodan. I was on an adrenaline/happy high for the rest of the night, haha. Mass texted a bunch of my Bujinkan friends and some of my other friends who I don't see often but would be excited with me. Tweeted about it. Took pictures on my phone of my old belt and patch, then my new belt and patch. And just generally celebrated, haha. Of course, once the excitement wears off and putting on the new belt feels normal, my mind will once again be back to a place of examining and learning. Now I have to start applying myself to studying and asking myself why we do something, breaking down the techniques to see what's really going on. In a couple months, Tucker-sensei will be gone and we new black belts will be leading class.
     It's not just that I'll have to help teach that will push me to up the ante on my learning approach: "shodan" literally means "first level." Now that I've shown a certain level of mastery of basic techniques and a certain level of spirit and determination, I'm considered a real student. NOW I can start truly studying, and that's very exciting to me. I've seen the 15th dans move and teach, and it's incredible. I've seen people closer to my rank move and teach, and I always learn something. I have so many people to look up to and learn from, and it's such a blessing. And so long as some of my friends stay above me, I'll witness firsthand the combination of a humble spirit, good taijutsu (body movement), and a student's attitude.
     I've got a lot to learn, and I know it. Now I need to polish everything, and learn not just the techniques, but the "why" behind every aspect of them. It's gonna be a lot of work, but so much fun. I love that you can spend an incredible amount of time on one basic thing in this art and still not have it perfectly. There's always room to improve and learn! Even our grandmaster, amazing and magical as he is, is still learning.

     "Banpen fugyo" is something I've heard on occasion in the Bujinkan circle. It means "one thousand changes, no surprises." There's suddenly been a shift in my training, as though I really did cross a threshold, and things are changing. The trick will be to stay true to myself and my purpose and just flow with what comes. I entitled this post "banpen fugyo" partially for that and also because I hadn't expected to test everything on Monday night; things changed from my predictions and I had to go with it.
     I'd like to add another Bujinkan saying that gets passed around like candy, but remains very meaningful: "ganbatte." It means something like "keep going," "do your best," or "good luck," but the emphasis is on the effort you put into it (not cosmic luck). I mostly use it for "keep going," and it's been my primary thought since testing. I'm a shodan now, and all that means is that my sensei now considers me a serious student, and others can see by my belt that I'm a committed student. All that's left for me is to keep training; I'm telling myself "ganbatte."

shodan testing, pt. 1

--originally posted Monday, December 5, 2011--

Tonight is the first section of my test for shodan. I'm not concerned about the techniques at all, really, though I might need to brush up on a couple of them. I'm hoping my test will be spaced out over 3 classes instead of 2 (no way it can fit in just one 2-hour class). That gives me time to breathe and refocus and prepare for the next bit. Bah, I can feel my nerves all the way to my fingertips just thinking about it! Haha. I have no doubt that I'll make shodan (if anyone has any doubts about my chances, they've made no such comments or indications to me), but I'm still nervous. Just because I don't know what to expect. One of my friends at the Huntsville dojo gave me some great advice: just zone out and let your body do what it needs to do to keep you safe. Exactly what I needed to hear, because I always default toward overthinking rather than simply doing. And I know that when I stop thinking and stop trying to make something happen, things fall into place much more easily. I just have to get out of my own way, haha. :)

Hajime

I decided it was time to start organizing my blog posts into relevant blogs. One for useless rambling, one for literary stuff, and this one. This blog will be a place for me to voice thoughts and musings about what I learn in the course of training, both in the dojo and out. Some old posts from a past blog will be included, since they're relevant and I don't want to lose them.

The blog is titled "onegaishimasu" because I want this to be a relationship that's good for both parties. Ideally, that would be you, my readers, and me. I highly encourage anyone reading to comment with their thoughts and insights. I learn a lot from writing things out, but I learn even more from hearing other people chime in. If no one is reading, then the relationship is between me and the blog, or me and the internet, I guess. I'll tend to the blog, and the blog will help me.

My other reason for the name is that I wanted to express my overall desire to learn. We say "onegaishimasu" every time we bow in and (in theory) when we choose a partner to train with. We are preparing to work with one another for our mutual benefit. There's a strong sense of humility in that cooperation. These are some of my efforts to synthesize the information I've gotten from others and my own thoughts and observations. Again, I encourage you to comment whenever you have something to say.

Well, I suppose that's sufficient for the introductory post. Onegaishimasu!!