Tuesday, February 22, 2011

A Beautiful Mind

(Continuation from the previous blog entry, "In Medias Res")


Having a beautiful mind is a difficult thing to define or describe, because by itself it is just an organ stuck in our heads. I tried listing words that describe a "beautiful" or "ugly" mind, but they are all subject to circumstance and can fall on either side of judgement just as easily. After all the reading I've done of Buddhism, martial arts, and concepts of "no-mind", I'm finally realizing that it's not the mind itself that has inherent qualities, but that it is its use that we can define or judge. A hammer can be no more than a stick in isolation, but once you put it to use, it's the reason why we can make a beautiful palace. Decorating a hammer makes it no more useful than putting on make-up to take a written Japanese proficiency test. (Though it could certainly be argued that it could help by empowering the user with feelings of enthusiasm and belief to affect the action of building a house or taking a test for the better, depending on what is "better". Man, this is really tricky business defining a beautiful mind.)

So how can we make the act of using our brain beautiful? Now as I try to describe the beautiful action of a brain in my head (pun intended), I fall into the same subjective trap that I did before when trying to define a brain itself in isolation. How can something so influential and important be so indefinable? If we take a look at other similar indefinable terms such as ki or tao, we will find them cluttered with loads of limited and unsuccessful definitions. Perhpas it is like ki in aikido movements in that, if you only practice trying to produce ki, you will generate very little skill in aikido compared to the person who focuses on technique and has ki manifest naturally. So if we use this analogy, it does us little good to focus on the power of our brains as opposed to focusing on its actual specific use.

But this conclusion doesn't appease me.

I think it's because I've separated physical definable phenomenon from phenomenon that is indefinable by our five senses. And so I think another division is necessary. I don't think "mind" and terms analogous to "the Tao" are the same thing (any more than a pen cap is the Tao.) The Tao is the manifestation of life that exists due to interacting forces which constantly change in the arena of the infinite void of emptiness. The Tao reaches to the top and bottom of infinite time and space, and this is not the mind I seek to define. We use the mind to experience the Tao, but it is not the Tao (anymore than a piece of lint is the Tao.) The mind is a tool with a use and inherent limitations, but its range of use and limitations are far wider than anything else in the phenomenonal world, and in fact, it is responsible and controls most all phenomenon in our bodies and experience. So with this limited yet undefinable and all-powerful organ of the mind, we really do have a bridge to the Tao, and complete control of our lives don't we?

Complete control of our lives.

Is that possible?

Do you believe your answer?

Do you understand and take responsibility for the gravity of your answer?

I'm going to settle with this conclusion for now, but I don't like it:

A beautiful mind is one that acts naturally.

Monday, February 21, 2011

In Medias Res


I am in the middle of things, and it's not my favorite place to be. It's been a while since I've started, and the end is still far away. Without the excitement of beginning, or the accomplishment of finishing, I am subject to any given mood caused by any seemingly unnecessary and unpleasant happenings. Did I really choose this path? Is it really worth so much trouble? So much time and effort? The abstract maxims and analogies have become sterile and empty. I no longer believe these motivational tricks like I used to, and I need something real if I'm going to maintain this project. But what? From where? What would something real look like? Smell like? Taste like?

I think it's beauty. As I strive to make quality as much a part of my life as possible, I am drawn to and maintained by beauty. Beautiful pictures, beautiful cleanliness, beautiful music, beautiful body, beautiful friends, beautiful things. But these are merely the subjective outward manifestations of something deeper, more substantial, and ubiquitous; something real. From my place in the middle of this something, the end is very vague. But the next step is very clear, and it's toward the mind:

What is a beautiful mind?

How can I cultivate a beautiful mind? This thing that is always in my head. This thing that is always watching, judging. This thing that somehow decides how my fickle mood will color my existence. I am tired of this uncontrollable tendency that renders me powerless before the finite and limited. Perhaps my body would survive more revolutions in this arbitrary cycle, but my genius would die. I would rather sacrifice my body for the sake of my genius, genuine happiness, and honest expression if it was required of me. I seek to have company with the real, where I can sit straight and look upon it with kind eyes, unaffected by fatigue. I believe the bridge to this state is greatly concerned with the cultivation of a beautiful mind.

Monday, February 14, 2011

On Genius

I believe that we all have an inherent genius. But what is genius? My intepretation is that genius is actually the Great Potential within that manifests without. It is only with great difficulty, confusion, and limitation that we can judge or measure one's genius by its physical manifestations. We can measure with scientific means and apparatus, but that will reveal one small detail and neglect infinitely more factors of the particular accordance addressed. We can give our own opinions on a matter, but there is no constant in this method, and so it is equally worthless as it is useful. So, I think we must do the best we can in each situation in life, conduct ourselves with genuine humility, and eneavor to cultivate our own personal studies by following our interests. By putting these concepts to physical action, our genius may emerge in the physical world perceived by the five senses, and thusly all realms of life.

Perhaps the result of genius is Quality.

...

This particular thought is something I wrote down this morning after finishing "the Life Giving Sword" written by Yagyu Menenori in the early 17th century. Like Musashi's "Book of Five Rings", this was another classic I had read a few years ago but decided to reread. It's a perfect work to read along with "The Book of Five Rings" for their similarities and great differences, and because they were both written about the same time. While Musashi intentionally omits referencing Buddhism in his work, Munenori openly uses it along with his discussions on swordsmanship. Musashi was a masterless swordsman who spent his life wandering and dueling alone, while Munenori served the family of the Shogun within the government for his entire life. Studying the history of these two men greatly enhances one's ability to derive meaning from their works. To me, it seems Musashi writes of his experience and specific details of technique to lead up to his philosophy, while Munenori discusses the philosophy behind his technique first.

If I had to rank my favorite martial arts books, "the Life Giving Sword" would most definitely be in my top ten, if not my top five.

I think both Munenori and Musashi had profound understandings of genius, and sought its manifestation through the quality of their lives.

Saturday, February 12, 2011

An Interesting Day for Nabe

Yesterday I got to try eating three new strange Japanese animals in different kinds of nabe (Japanese stew). There was a festival in Kamiichi, one of the towns that's really at the base of the mountains, and they were serving bear (kuma) and wild boar (inoshishi)! I expected the bear to be really tough and not so good and the boar to be really delicious, but it was the complete opposite. I thought the bear was amazing, and was really soft (it's probably best in this kind of stew instead of a bear steak) and if anything, reminded me of venison. Then the wild boar was OK, but just tasted like tough pork.


Then for dinner, I went out with my of my sensei from school and we had fugu, blowfish. First we had a little sashimi (slices of raw fugu) which was OK, not so flavorful and a little chewy. But then we had it in some nabe and it was amazing.

As for trying exotic Japanese foods, this was a phenomenal day. I knew I built up good karma after trying to so much urchin, fish eggs, and crab guts. *gag*

Wednesday, February 9, 2011

Aikido As A Puzzle


Aikido is a puzzle.

Where the pieces are your body, your mind, your intention, your partner's body, their mind, their intention, the environment, the goal, your level of ability, ad infinitum.

Aikido is a puzzle whose final product is the smooth flow of ki.

I rarely experience the smooth feel of pieces meeting together, and rather more often feel like I'm smashing two awkward pieces together that aren't right for each other.

Right now, this ill-fitted attempt at the puzzle of harmonious movement is felt in nikkyo. Specifically, during the irimi (movement to the outside) while I grab the partner's wrist with one hand, and their elbow with the other, swinging them around moving behind them in an ura (behind) technique.

Actually, it's not just nikkyo, but any technique that uses this ura motion like ikkyo, nikkyo, sankyo, and yonkyo. I just notice it most when I do nikkyo.

The only way I can make the pieces fit in this puzzle when I do this movement is by smashing the pieces together with my physical strength, and any good puzzle person knows that's cheating.

When I was doing this last night, sensei verbally notified me of what I already felt to be horrible technique. He said I have to get my hand in the elbow crease, but for some reason ... I couldn't do it! I kept putting my hand so that it went on to the forearm instead. In the position I was in, putting my hand in the elbow crease was just impossible. But there's the key I think. I think everything else is wrong, not just that small focus of the elbow. So I think I need to pay more attention on the hand on their wrist in bringing it down and more toward myself making the arm bent closer to a 90 degree angle, forcing me to move behind them more, forcing them to follow a downward spiral, and thusly get my hand correctly in the elbow.

Maybe ...

I can't wait to test my hypothesis next practice.

As martial artists we are athletes, artists, philosophers, and today I feel like a mathematician. Whatever it takes to solve the puzzle is what the martial artist employs.

Saturday, February 5, 2011

Conversations With Sensei

Every Monday and Thursday we have aikido practice in the town where I live, Kurobe, but on Wednesdays and Saturdays, it's in the neighboring town, Uozu, and I usually get a ride part way with Sensei. This leaves about fifteen minutes each way alone with him, and some pretty interesting conversations have come from these oppurtunities to talk one-on-one. Maybe by leaving a few anecdotes here, we can all get to know his character a little bit better.

He knows a few English words that he loves to use, and he actually knows quite a few words related to movements in aikido which has been really helpful at times. But for the most part, we are far from perfect communication. When speaking with someone in a foreign language that you're learning, you'll find some people that speak in a manner that is really easy to understand and communcate with, and others where it doesn't even sound like the language you've been trying to learn. My sensei leans to the latter. After the first week practicing aikido, I stared at him in complete and utter concentration and confusion trying to pick up what he was saying. I thought if I could ever understand anything he says, I would have overcome and incredible feat in Japanese. Moreover, there's also people that I can speak Japanese to very well, but there are also people that make it really hard. I'll say a phrase in correctJapanese, but they'll just look at me and say "huh?" (Actually it's more like "hah?" in Japanese). After this happens, I get more nervous speaking Japanese, which just makes me sound even more stupid. So a lot of our conversations run like: I ask him a strange question. He goes, "hah?" I repeat with even worse Japanese, and then he tries to grasp the idea, and then speaks for about 5 minutes in incomprehensible Japanese. Then I say "oh oh oh" like I might understand. Over the past year and a half though, I have made a lot of progress understanding him, and we can communicate much better now, but I still miss a lot of what he says, and a lot is left up to my own interpretation.

Anyway, I find him to be a very interesting person and an incredible aikido teacher. He is about the same height as me, 5'7" - 5'8", and probably weighs about 170 lbs, but when I train with him he feels more like 6', 190 lbs. Somehow he seems so much bigger in the middle of movement, and absolutley impossible to move. For the most part, he's a pretty quiet guy, but get him talking abour martial arts, or a ridiculous story, and he won't be able to stop talking. He executes techniques with an absolutley thorough strength with the utmost seriousness, but will burst into smile at any moment and loves making sound effects for movements during practice.

He is also a Buddhist priest. I was surprised when I learned this because he didn't fit the extreme image I had of a Japanese Buddhist priest. I thought: shaved head, always in kimono, strict lifestyle, and constant prayer. But this is far from my sensei. He belongs to the Jodo Shinshu sect of Buddhism, which is the most widely practiced sect of Buddhism in Japan. Certainly it is a very serious and spiritual occupation, but also very much a job with it's own seemingly mundane practical matters. From my view, it seems a lot is concerned with maintaining a temple and dealing with funerals, but I really don't know much about it to be honest. I've asked him many things about Japanese religion, but a lot of them don't relate. I've asked him about yamabushi, mountain ascetics famous for possessing supernatural powers, and he says they're all crazy. I've asked him about shugyou, (strict religious practices) like suigyou, (water austerities/sitting under a waterfall during the middle of winter chanting sutras) and he says that's crazy. I've asked him about Zen, but his practice is very different. I've asked him if he practices zazen, seated silent meditation, but he said never. What he does do is practice the nembutsu. It is a mantra that goes: "Namu amida butsu" (I take refuge in the Buddha). This is the center and sole practice of Jodo Shinshu Buddhism. Though there are a wide varieties of ways to practice Buddhism, people in Jodo Shinshu believe that chanting the Nembutsu is all you need. According to this belief, we live in the "degenerate age", where it is very difficult to practice Buddhism and live rightly, and we are very stupid, so we should practice a very simple and sure-fire way to progress spiritually. By chanting the Nembutsu, you are tapping into tariki, or "other" power, namely that of the Buddha. By chanting the Nembutusu, you are putting yourself aside, and gaining strength from the more powerful nature of the Buddha. I've asked my sensei how he practices, and he says he just "does it." I was looking for a more elaborate explanation, but he wasn't indulging very much.

What he did do though was relate this concept to martial arts, which I can understand better anyway. We were talking about aikido compared to other martial arts in the context of strength and competition. He mentioned that martial arts like karate, judo, and kendo are more popular because they utilize physical strength that many people already have, and legitimize it through competition. So if someone who is already physically strong begins one of these martial arts, they will progress very quickly and dominate competitions easier than their peers. For someone who is already strong, becoming "stronger" through these means really isn't getting that much stronger. For those that are weak, earning rank and finding success in competition will notify them of change (which is great! Don't get me wrong). But in aikido, using muscle strength will most often impede growth. In aikido, techniques can only be used effectively when bodily alignment, timing, and sensitivity are used. No matter who you are, nobody walks into aikido and just naturally does the movements perfect, especially those with great physical strength. As for rank, it is far from the point of training, but unfortunately always seems to pop up as some monster that gets in the way of true progress even in aikido where rank and competition is not emphasized. In my Sensei's opinion, aikido is much slower and more difficult than other martial arts, but builds significant strength. This is a strength that anybody can use against anybody, and forces substantial growth within the individual. My sensei says that because he is weak, he practices aikido and recites the Nembutsu.

In fact, many of our conversations move towards the use, or rather non-use, of strength. The other night in the car, he was quieter than usual, and I couldn't think of anything to say, so I asked him the most basic and complicated question you could ask about aikido:

"Do you think about ki often in practicing aikido?"

"Hah?"

"Do you think about ki often in practicing aikido?"

"Uhhhhh, of course. If you have kokyuu, you have ki."

These are two terms used very often in aikido, but are extremely difficult to define in English. Ki can be defined as breath, but also energy, or spirit, or all-encompassing physical manifestation of life present in everything. Sometimes it can be used to described the seemingly "supernatural" abilities acquired in aikido, or just what happens when aikido is used effectively. Kokyuu, can also be translated as breath, but is a little different. I asked sensei what the difference was between ki and kokyuu and he repeated, if you have kokyuu, you have ki. For example, you find kokyuu in your waza (technique) when you execute the right timing, balance, and posture. If you do these things right, then you will be able to utilize ki. He said you must not use your muscles in a way that gets in the way of letting ki arise. So I asked him about his practice in Kenpo when he uses strikes. Don't you have to use a lot of muscle tension to deliver strikes like punches and kicks that may get in the way of ki? He said he uses ki in his movements by making strong fluid relaxed motions with his whole body for each strike. He certainly has good retraction in his strikes, and they are snappy, but I would not describe them as snappy. They are fast, but the emphasis doesn't seem to be on speed. It's difficult to describe this because I haven't phsycially practiced these with him, but we've had conversations and I've been able to watch him practice. Certainly in watching him, I see a big difference between his movements and others, and it could be attributed to his manifestation of ki. This notion reminds me of a training method one of my older teachers and training partners taught me: punching candles. He said he would practice striking by punching out candles. The funny thing about it, it is really hard! When I started, I would relax like he told me to, but after a few minutes of failing to punch out the candles, I started punching harder and faster becoming more and more frustrated, but that only made things worse. He would tell me it had nothing to do with speed or strength, and go up very slowly and effortlessly extinguish the candle in one slow sure movement. In my understanding now, it seems to be the use of ki in punching that one can extinguish a candle with a punch. (Though that teacher never mentioned the term "ki".)

On another night, I asked him another very simple question which must have been a bit frustrating for him at first.

"Sensei."

"I have a question about aikido."

"OK."

"Isn't it hard to understand aikido in practical fighting?"

"Hah?"

"Isn't it hard to understand aikido in practical fighting?"

"Uhhh ... no. Why?"

"Well, for example, in karate, if someone comes up to attack you, you just punch them, and it's over. But we don't do that in aikido. We do lots of other strange things instead."

My intent was to encourage him to talk about aikido, but I think this statement irritated him because he takes aikido very seriously and practices it precisely because he thinks it is most practical. He first mentioned that he'll use strikes along with aikido movements if he wants to end an altercation immediately. He specifically likes an irimi movement with a cross. He says he'll use these only if he has to in a "pinch" situation, but would rather not use them because they can be very damaging to him and the opponent. (Think broken hand and suing receiver) He practices aikido so he doesn't have to use such inherently violent strikes. But this is the nature of physical confrontation, and is the most practical. Furthermore, any aikido movement can be executed in a manner to severely physically damage an opponent with large throws, destructive wrist locks, and the oppurtunity to insert a physical strike at almost any time. I asked him why we don't train this aspect of aikido specifically, and he said that nobody would want to train with you. Also, it is impossible to practice this in a practical way without fully doing the techniques which would devastate your partner in one attempt. He said this is the nature of jujitsu, which is the more violent origin for most aikido techniques. Simply, jujitsu is the version of aikido where you focus on the aspects that would immediately and violently end a situation. But in jujitsu, you always have to stop just before you finish the technique (technically, this is the same in aikido when doing arm bars for finishes) and the uke (person receiving the technique) does little to practice. In aikido however, techniques are performed so that the end result isn't necessarily a destroyed opponent, and the uke can practice consciously avoiding injury through the movements and surviving the attack. This perhaps is the "sophistication" of aikido in that it is conscious of the immediate and violent answers to physical confrontation, but seeks to practice a way to effectively avoid such an end, further refining physical sensitivity, conflict resolution, and mental activity.

I wanted to specifically ask him why we practice wrist grabs with the uke holding on to the wrist far longer than anyone would ever do in a live situation with an uncooperative partner, which to me seems to be the most impractical side of aikido, but we had run out of time in this conversation as we pulled up to the dojo.

My sensei seems to be deeply concerned with aikido, spending a great amount of time practicing and thinking about nature of physical motion, and yet he does not desire to be a "professional." At first I thought that this was his aim: to build an aikido program that can one day replace his job and anything else in his life, but this if far from the truth. I've asked him about uchideshi, where students live with the sensei and practices aikido everyday in multiple training sessions, and he said he has, but not very much. He's always had to work and has had a family, so this kind of experience is difficult to maintain. However, he said when he was practicing with Kobayashi Sensei (the originator of this style of aikido, Kobayashi Aikido) he said they would have an uchideshi experience about four times a year for a week at a time. He said this experience helped him greatly in aikido, but he wouldn't want to do it all the time. In fact, he said he would never want to do aikido all the time. If he did, it would be boring. This is the same for Buddhism. If he was only a priest and practiced Buddhism all the time, it would be boring. So, he practices a little Buddhism, practices a little aikido, drinks a little sake, and enjoys his life.

Sensei is originally from Kyoto, and loves it there, but has somehow lived in Toyama for the past long chapter of his life. He hates cold, rainy, snowy weather, which Toyama is most famous for, and for some reason it makes me laugh when I see him complain about it. However, he hopes to move back to Tokyo in five or ten years to study Buddhism in graduate school and teach more aikido.

The other night I told him he should visit me in my home in Washington State someday, and he asked me the most Japanese of questions: "What food is good there?" I told him it's remarkably similar to Toyama, and especially Hokkaido (where he was a fisherman for a while) and the seafood is really good in Washington, like salmon, crab, and oysters. He then explained to me the difference between the taste of ocean and river salmon: ocean salmon are generally younger and so they taste better than river salmon which tend to be older. "Onna mitai desu ne?" "Just like women right?" I laughed and agreed, and the conversation went on. The talk went on to other seafood and we started talking about kaki, oysters. So I said, "toku ni kaki wa onna mitai desu neeeee???"

He looked at me with a disgusted look and called me a skebe, pervert.

Thursday, February 3, 2011

Final Review

Here I will make my final reveiw of "Musashi Miyamoto: His Life and Writings" by Kenji Tokitsu.

This book starts with a lengthy introduction by Tokitsu, which I found to be incredibly informative on the difficult nature of writing about the martial arts; a subject matter only understood fully through one's personal feelings and experiences rather than purely objective analysis. It also describes the difficulties in translating texts from different languages and eras in modern English. This section alone I believe is worthy of a read.

Tokitsu then moves on to a biography of Musashi. I was impressed by the amount of information he was able to find from such a wide spectrum of sources concerning the life of a man that is too often mystified in legend rather than objective facts. Tokitsu gives an analysis of each bit of information he presents, and when there are conflicting stories, which there are a lot of, he presents his opinion on which may be most likely. Though it's not the most captivating of sections, I think the work deserves a lot of credit for the effort made to present Musashi as a real human being instead of a myth.

Next, is a new translation to Musashi's most famous writing, "the Book of Five Rings." It could be considered one of the most widely read pieces of martial arts literature, and I think Tokitsu provides a great translation to supplement those already in print. This is especially true because of the amount of notes Tokitsu makes on the work. He gives reasoning for the English translation he uses, as well as many historical facts that provide further understanding of the famous work.

Afterwards, he provides some other writings of Musashi that are not included in "the Book of Five Rings", which may have been the most exciting section for me. I know of no other source that contains these writings, so I believe this to be a very important resource for those who have benefited from Musashi and "the Book of Five Rings" and seek further understanding on related topics.

Then Tokitsu provides some fairly interesting sections on the history of swordsmanship in Japan, revealing the evolution of the Japanese sword, and comparing Musashi's styles with others in Japan. He also provides interviews with masters who claim to practice a style derived from Musashi where I found a lot of interesting perspectives.

However, I feel the last chapters of the book lose their effect as Tokitsu attempts to analyze the whole of Japanese budo and its meaning. Perhaps it was my mood, or my own personal connection with Japanese culture, but like many other writings on this subject, I found it to have a lot of faults.

Specifically in this work, I don't like how Tokitsu falls into generalizing about "the Orient" or "the East", while at the same time trying to communicate the specific differences between the countries therein, the styles of martial arts practiced, and the individuals participating. But as a matter of fact, I do that all the time in this blog! Perhaps this is one of the pitfalls of writing about martial arts. The subject is so broad, and so complex, and so dependent on personal experience, that to try to write about it in a general fashion of mass comparisons in subjects not personally experienced, is just a bit too much. Reading this made me sour about my own writings on the martial arts, and about a lot of the content on my own blog. I think it boils down to what you are trying to communicate. When you write about martial arts, what is the purpose? I think one must write assuming the most skilled and experienced practitioners will be reading, and they should be able to gain something from doing so. We all have precious valuable experience that can be a benefit to anyone. Tokitsu's generalizations of Eastern Martial Arts as a whole did little for me, and I would rather spend my time reading something with more substance. Perhaps this is a little harsh, but it's how I felt while reading.

Also, Tokitsu then arrives at the conclusion that modern Kendo is the sole remaining example of true budo. While comparing the whole of modern Japanese martial arts, he dismisses aikido in one sentence by saying that it focuses on "the mystical." There is nothing "mystical" about the aikido I practice, and I know it's the same for a lot of other people practicing aikido around the world. Amazing things can be accomplished in aikido, and one can get pretty abstract in the philosophy of the art, but "mystical"? I think not. Tokitsu then dismisses jujitsu as too harsh and violent, and so not true budo. Then he says karate and judo are only practiced as sports, and so aren't true budo either. What?! How does Kendo not fall into this category? Tokitsu says that the highest ideal is controlling someone without attacking or hurting, or even touching your opponent, which I agree with to an extent, but that can be experienced in karate, judo, jujitsu and aikido. Furthermore, Tokitsu explains this ability through the use of "ki", but not its expression through body mechanics, but as an unexplainable manifestation reserved for only the highest levels of practioners.

He presents a wonderfully objective account of the sections of his book while accounting for subjective experience, but then submits to judging all other arts in Japan without any reference to a counter argument. He dismisses aikido in one sentence because it's "mystical", and then gives the most "mystical" explanation of why Kendo is the true budo!

!!!

But what do I know anyway? Kenji Tokitsu has an amount of experience eons beyond me in graduate studies of history and culture, hours training in Japanese martial arts, and can translate beautifully and effectively ancient Japanese texts. He is a published and highly acclaimed authority in the martial arts who can sell a book like this for almost $40. I'm a 25 year old white belt in aikido who has only a couple years in other random arts and has a blog full of generalizations about martial arts and "the East" as a whole.

But are these details so important?

I respect all on the path, and sincerely devote myself to my practice, but ...

I will also not buy into narrow views that will limit my ability to experience life at it's greatest and utmost potential in this very moment I exist. I think I was given the power in "the Book of Five Rings" to neutralize the judgemental attacks of Tokitsu's conclusion which was all contained under the same book cover.

I will do my best to put something of substance on this blog. None of us have time to waste.