Friday, July 5, 2013
Summer Wind
Hot red winds, it's time for loose clothing and cool refreshments.
We just barely hold on to form so that we can be free to create.
Form is just empty bones, all the muscle and tissue is haze on a midsummer day's horizon.
We borrow the utility of form and flow as we like, according to terrain.
It's too hot to care. So I sit, eyes half open dripping, waiting my turn.
Up there in the summer wind I'll redefine the movement.
That tiny sliver of form brought to life by fire and blood.
When it's time to rest, I'll take a cold drink and forget.
Welcome to summer.
(picture: "Summer Collection: Fields of Gold" created by Rosebud Warrior found at http://rosebud-warrior.deviantart.com/art/Summer-Collection-Fields-of-Gold-289561957)
Thursday, June 27, 2013
Illusions
Not a warrior.
Not a scholar.
Not a poet.
Just a boy in the woods.
Growing, decaying, looking for something to climb.
Tuesday, June 25, 2013
What is Budo?: The Budo Charter
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Friday, June 21, 2013
What is Budo? Part I: Definitions
What is budo? I use this term more than any other in my blog and have never taken the time to explain it. One day I just threw it out there and expected everyone to immediately realize what a perfect fit it was. Funny thing is, I practiced martial arts for over five years before I really knew what it was. I don't mean that I "knew" what the meaning was and just didn't "understand" it. I literally mean that if someone said, "Hey, Zac. What do you think about budo?" I'd say, "Eh? What's that?" A few years later, this word defines much of my life and I could spend hours, pages, blogs, years, talking about the subject, perhaps because of it's ambiguity.
You see, budo isn't so easy to define. If it was a concept with one clear definition, we could just say what it is, all agree, and move on to the next puzzle. For example, I think "martial arts" is pretty easy to define:
Practices related to potentially violent circumstances that could be described as art.
Ha! What do you think of that? I'm guessing the martial artists who just read that are not perfectly content with that definition. Obviously it is my own, made on the spot, in about 30 seconds. I hesitated at a couple parts, but I'm not going to get fussy about it because it's not all that important. The term "martial arts" covers such a vast array of activities, thoughts, and beliefs, I don't think it can be defined much better than I just wrote. Like "not enough butter spread over too-much toast" (thank you Bilbo Baggins), the topic is just too broad for a single happy definition, so to me, such an endeavor feels like a waste of time.
Instead, I think we can have a more interesting conversation with the term, budo. It's just specific enough we can start laying concrete blocks without smashing too many flowers, and yet nebulous enough to never really be able to find a finishing point. In a way, it is a sub-genre of martial arts, but deep and wide enough to blow the term, martial arts, out of existence.
So we're probably not going to mention "martial arts" again in this discussion. There is another term however, which acts as a great foil and base for comparison with budo: bujutsu.
I'm here to embellish in interesting feelings and stories about budo, not give definitions, so for all of you who have been reading this waiting for some substantial facts, or at least clearer explanations than I am used to delivering, I'm going to cite the main beef of Wikipedia's entry for budo, which also explains this newly introduced term of bujutsu:
"Budō is a compound of the root bu (武:ぶ), meaning war or martial; and dō (道:どう), meaning path or way. Specifically, dō is derived from the Buddhist Sanskrit mārga (meaning "path").[4] The term refers to the idea of formulating propositions, subjecting them to philosophical critique and then following a 'path' to realize them.[5] Dō signifies a "way of life". Dō in the Japanese context, is an experiential term, experiential in the sense that practice (the way of life) is the norm to verify the validity of the discipline cultivated through a given art form. The modern budō has no external enemy, only the internal enemy, one's ego that must be fought[6] (state of Muga-mushin). Similarly to budō, bujutsu is a compound of the roots bu (武), and jutsu (術:じゅつ), meaning technique[7] Thus, budō is translated as "martial way",[8][9][10] or "the way of war"[citation needed] while bujutsu is translated as "science of war" or "martial craft." However, both budō and bujutsu are used interchangeably in English with the term "martial arts".[citation needed] Budo and bujutsu have quite a delicate difference; whereas bujutsu only gives attention to the physical part of fighting (how to best defeat an enemy), budo also gives attention to the mind and how one should develop oneself. Modern budo uses aspects of the lifestyle of the samurai of feudal Japan and translates them to self-development in modern life."
(http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bud%C5%8D)
OK?
I think that's a pretty good starting point.
-Budo has it's roots in warfare.
-Budo is different from bujutsu.
-Do = way. Jutsu = technique
What necessary givens were forgotten in the entry?
-Budo comes from the Japanese language (duh)
-Budo is understood five billion times better in the context of Japan
I wanted to say something about Japanese culture, but when I say that, my mind is flushed with images of temples, tea, monks, and swords and stuff ... and that's not what I mean.
Modern day budo is understood best in modern day life ... in Japan.
Well ... mmmmm ...
Modern day budo should be understood in the context of it's root in traditional Japanese culture, and one doesn't have to be in Japan to understand it ... BUT ... in my expereience I'll say again,
Modern day budo is understood best in modern day life ... in Japan.
So I guess that will be my tint on the discussion. This is a conversation to visit here and there in pieces, not to be just stripped down all in one go, so I'll leave it at that. Please check again later, for the continuation of "What is Budo?".
You see, budo isn't so easy to define. If it was a concept with one clear definition, we could just say what it is, all agree, and move on to the next puzzle. For example, I think "martial arts" is pretty easy to define:
Practices related to potentially violent circumstances that could be described as art.
Ha! What do you think of that? I'm guessing the martial artists who just read that are not perfectly content with that definition. Obviously it is my own, made on the spot, in about 30 seconds. I hesitated at a couple parts, but I'm not going to get fussy about it because it's not all that important. The term "martial arts" covers such a vast array of activities, thoughts, and beliefs, I don't think it can be defined much better than I just wrote. Like "not enough butter spread over too-much toast" (thank you Bilbo Baggins), the topic is just too broad for a single happy definition, so to me, such an endeavor feels like a waste of time.
Instead, I think we can have a more interesting conversation with the term, budo. It's just specific enough we can start laying concrete blocks without smashing too many flowers, and yet nebulous enough to never really be able to find a finishing point. In a way, it is a sub-genre of martial arts, but deep and wide enough to blow the term, martial arts, out of existence.
So we're probably not going to mention "martial arts" again in this discussion. There is another term however, which acts as a great foil and base for comparison with budo: bujutsu.
I'm here to embellish in interesting feelings and stories about budo, not give definitions, so for all of you who have been reading this waiting for some substantial facts, or at least clearer explanations than I am used to delivering, I'm going to cite the main beef of Wikipedia's entry for budo, which also explains this newly introduced term of bujutsu:
"Budō is a compound of the root bu (武:ぶ), meaning war or martial; and dō (道:どう), meaning path or way. Specifically, dō is derived from the Buddhist Sanskrit mārga (meaning "path").[4] The term refers to the idea of formulating propositions, subjecting them to philosophical critique and then following a 'path' to realize them.[5] Dō signifies a "way of life". Dō in the Japanese context, is an experiential term, experiential in the sense that practice (the way of life) is the norm to verify the validity of the discipline cultivated through a given art form. The modern budō has no external enemy, only the internal enemy, one's ego that must be fought[6] (state of Muga-mushin). Similarly to budō, bujutsu is a compound of the roots bu (武), and jutsu (術:じゅつ), meaning technique[7] Thus, budō is translated as "martial way",[8][9][10] or "the way of war"[citation needed] while bujutsu is translated as "science of war" or "martial craft." However, both budō and bujutsu are used interchangeably in English with the term "martial arts".[citation needed] Budo and bujutsu have quite a delicate difference; whereas bujutsu only gives attention to the physical part of fighting (how to best defeat an enemy), budo also gives attention to the mind and how one should develop oneself. Modern budo uses aspects of the lifestyle of the samurai of feudal Japan and translates them to self-development in modern life."
(http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bud%C5%8D)
OK?
I think that's a pretty good starting point.
-Budo has it's roots in warfare.
-Budo is different from bujutsu.
-Do = way. Jutsu = technique
What necessary givens were forgotten in the entry?
-Budo comes from the Japanese language (duh)
-Budo is understood five billion times better in the context of Japan
I wanted to say something about Japanese culture, but when I say that, my mind is flushed with images of temples, tea, monks, and swords and stuff ... and that's not what I mean.
Modern day budo is understood best in modern day life ... in Japan.
Well ... mmmmm ...
Modern day budo should be understood in the context of it's root in traditional Japanese culture, and one doesn't have to be in Japan to understand it ... BUT ... in my expereience I'll say again,
Modern day budo is understood best in modern day life ... in Japan.
So I guess that will be my tint on the discussion. This is a conversation to visit here and there in pieces, not to be just stripped down all in one go, so I'll leave it at that. Please check again later, for the continuation of "What is Budo?".
Tuesday, June 18, 2013
Sensei Won't Let Me Die
The other day I participated in a kyudo tournament at my dojo with all of the members from Takaoka City.
If I hit two out of the eight arrows, then I could participate in a big Prefectural tournament.
I hit zero arrows.
Sensei said I can go to the tournament anyway.
...
That morning was a new low in kyudo. I went into the tournament after a couple weeks of frustrating but kind of good kyudo practice. It was frustrating because of two reasons: the thumb on my left hand which holds the bow hurt, and I wasn't hitting the target much. All of that compounded on the morning of the kyudo tournament: my thumb really hurt and I hit zero arrows.
I talk a lot about humility on this blog. I talk about how it's not so important to win and that it's OK to realize that we are really just a small piece of the world. But, I really ... hate ... failure.
I've had a few experiences in kyudo of not hitting the target while standing in front of people to the point of embarrassment. I feel like I've done that already and really need to do that anymore. But that's not how kyudo works. I guess that's not how the world works. Kyudo is simple cause and effect: If you do this, that will happen. Just because you don't want it to work like that, doesn't mean it will change for you.
The only issue with cause and effect in kyudo, is that I don't understand what they are. Why does this happen? Why does that happen? Sometimes these questions are easily answered with technical corrections in your form. Nobody has perfect form, so this is an issue that concerns everyone. But you certainly don't need perfect form to hit the target, most definitely not. I've gone through periods where I feel like I can't miss the target at all. That was in the past, when my form wasn't as good as it is now.
How do you explain that?
Isn't that cause in effect? I put this much time into practicing form which enhances my ability to put the arrow where I want, and yet I'm hitting it less.
Do I not want to hit the target?
I remember in practice I asked sensei if he saw anything strange in a shot I made seconds earlier.
"Sensei, did you see anything strange in that shot?"
"Not really, I'm suprised you didn't hit the target."
"Well, why didn't I?"
"I don't know. I can't see what's going on inside of your heart."
Why don't I hit the target, especially after I've practiced so hard, want it so badly, and really need to? My initial response to this has been to just go harder.
I've learned I'm really good at putting a lot of effort into something. I can focus all of my physical and emotional will into something, even at the expense of damaging other things like health and peace of mind. But now that I see that, it's really not all that special. Putting that kind of effort into something is like pushing a button: it's a "yes" or "no" question. It's clear, and doesn't require much thought. I guess that's the answer I wanted. I wanted an answer that didn't require thinking or problem solving, just a pure, "Yes, Zac ... just try harder."
Kyudo cause and effect doesn't work like that. Maybe it does, just not how I want.
More effort = less hitting the target.
But that's too simple as well.
Kyudo requires a great balancing of things. Generally, there needs to be a balance between physical and mental ability, an ability of the kind which is not just strength. Achieving this kind ability will not come about by blind effort.
After the tournament I started talking to one of the other sensei in the changing room. He's another sensei who trains in the morning at the same time as me. He's not the main one that works with me, but he is a great man who's company I enjoy and someone who has given me a lot of advice to fill in the cracks. My main sensei teaches me by correcting technique. He's also strict. I go to practice, sensei watches me, tells me something I should fix with my technique, and will focus on it until the problem is fixed. It's a very practical approach, and I like it. This other teacher I was talking with in the changing room though, has a much more philosophical approach.
"Sensei, did you see anything strange in my technique today?"
"Not really. Your technique is generally fine. Maybe something with your hanare (release)"
"Really? Like I should do it like this?"
"No, it's not really just what you're physically doing. If you were my student, I would give you less advice and say JUST DO IT!"
"..."
"You are your own greatest teacher. We other teachers will come in and give you little pointers here and there, but your body is what teaches you the most. Learn by doing, have fun, and don't care so much."
Personally, I listen to my main sensei give me advice about my technique, and then focus all of my energy into fixing it. However, these problems cannot be fixed in a single surge of effort, and instead require a long period of constant small effort. Furthermore, focusing on one particular thing takes your mind off other things that need your attention. One's focus of effort is important, but that alone will not save your kyudo soul. Actually, such blind effort will make you a demon.
I looked around at all of the other people in the tournament. Why did he hit the target so many times? What makes her so special? Chaos reigns in hell where cause and effect cannot be seen.
On the day of that tournament, I understood I didn't need to care so much and just have fun, but my desire to "win" was stronger ... so I was unconfident and shaky. I was relaxed, but my hands still fumbled with everything they touched throughout the morning, my kyudo gear, my train ticket, my coffee. My will powered through the pain in my hand, and my technique was adhering to all I learned, but something kept me from hitting the target. It was impossible, and I understood this before I even finished. I lost before I even finished. Maybe I wanted to fail. Maybe I wanted to die. Maybe I didn't want the satisfaction of earning my way to this next tournament.
When I finished shooting and still had a lot of time before the tournament was over, I moved with my thoughts and confirmed, "Yes, I wanted this to be over. I have died, and will be resurrected to shoot again, but this is over and will be forgotten." At the end of it all before everyone went home, my main sensei gave an announcement to everyone who will participate in the next tournament and said something about me. I was nervous and didn't understand what he said, and just nodded in agreement like I usually do when I don't understand what's going on in Japanese and immediate recognition doesn't seem to be important. Everyone laughed and we all dispersed. Afterwards, one of my training partners came up and said that it's great I get to join in the next tournament.
"What!? I'm going to the tournament even though I didn't pass?"
"Yeah, sensei says you can, so it's all good."
I went up to sensei and asked him about it, talked for a bit, and thanked him.
I am happy, but it somehow made me sick, like I didn't deserve it.
"Sensei, just let me die!" I thought to myself.
I want things to change. But that will alone will not be enough ... no ... it's not about being "enough". Just do what you do. When you hold your kyudo equipment, you don't grip it with all of your strength, you hold it softly, and thorough enough to complete the job.
What's my job?
Enjoy my life. Enjoy my practice.
Strength and success is not about winning. It's about not being able to win, it's about failing, and still being OK. This may be the ultimate secret of budo:
No matter what happens, you're OK.
This is invincibility, and it isn't about strength. It's also not just about intelligence, or effort, or luck. It's invincibility even though you are going to lose, freak out, make mistakes, do incredibly stupid things. It's invincibility even though you are going to die.
Who are we to choose when we fail or succeed?
Who are we to choose when or how we die?
I'm going to take the week off to rest my hand. Then I will go back to kyudo.
When I walk to the door of the dojo, I will not swing it open shouting "I am going to win!"
I will just open it and say, "Onegaishimasu."
If I hit two out of the eight arrows, then I could participate in a big Prefectural tournament.
I hit zero arrows.
Sensei said I can go to the tournament anyway.
...
That morning was a new low in kyudo. I went into the tournament after a couple weeks of frustrating but kind of good kyudo practice. It was frustrating because of two reasons: the thumb on my left hand which holds the bow hurt, and I wasn't hitting the target much. All of that compounded on the morning of the kyudo tournament: my thumb really hurt and I hit zero arrows.
I talk a lot about humility on this blog. I talk about how it's not so important to win and that it's OK to realize that we are really just a small piece of the world. But, I really ... hate ... failure.
I've had a few experiences in kyudo of not hitting the target while standing in front of people to the point of embarrassment. I feel like I've done that already and really need to do that anymore. But that's not how kyudo works. I guess that's not how the world works. Kyudo is simple cause and effect: If you do this, that will happen. Just because you don't want it to work like that, doesn't mean it will change for you.
The only issue with cause and effect in kyudo, is that I don't understand what they are. Why does this happen? Why does that happen? Sometimes these questions are easily answered with technical corrections in your form. Nobody has perfect form, so this is an issue that concerns everyone. But you certainly don't need perfect form to hit the target, most definitely not. I've gone through periods where I feel like I can't miss the target at all. That was in the past, when my form wasn't as good as it is now.
How do you explain that?
Isn't that cause in effect? I put this much time into practicing form which enhances my ability to put the arrow where I want, and yet I'm hitting it less.
Do I not want to hit the target?
I remember in practice I asked sensei if he saw anything strange in a shot I made seconds earlier.
"Sensei, did you see anything strange in that shot?"
"Not really, I'm suprised you didn't hit the target."
"Well, why didn't I?"
"I don't know. I can't see what's going on inside of your heart."
Why don't I hit the target, especially after I've practiced so hard, want it so badly, and really need to? My initial response to this has been to just go harder.
I've learned I'm really good at putting a lot of effort into something. I can focus all of my physical and emotional will into something, even at the expense of damaging other things like health and peace of mind. But now that I see that, it's really not all that special. Putting that kind of effort into something is like pushing a button: it's a "yes" or "no" question. It's clear, and doesn't require much thought. I guess that's the answer I wanted. I wanted an answer that didn't require thinking or problem solving, just a pure, "Yes, Zac ... just try harder."
Kyudo cause and effect doesn't work like that. Maybe it does, just not how I want.
More effort = less hitting the target.
But that's too simple as well.
Kyudo requires a great balancing of things. Generally, there needs to be a balance between physical and mental ability, an ability of the kind which is not just strength. Achieving this kind ability will not come about by blind effort.
After the tournament I started talking to one of the other sensei in the changing room. He's another sensei who trains in the morning at the same time as me. He's not the main one that works with me, but he is a great man who's company I enjoy and someone who has given me a lot of advice to fill in the cracks. My main sensei teaches me by correcting technique. He's also strict. I go to practice, sensei watches me, tells me something I should fix with my technique, and will focus on it until the problem is fixed. It's a very practical approach, and I like it. This other teacher I was talking with in the changing room though, has a much more philosophical approach.
"Sensei, did you see anything strange in my technique today?"
"Not really. Your technique is generally fine. Maybe something with your hanare (release)"
"Really? Like I should do it like this?"
"No, it's not really just what you're physically doing. If you were my student, I would give you less advice and say JUST DO IT!"
"..."
"You are your own greatest teacher. We other teachers will come in and give you little pointers here and there, but your body is what teaches you the most. Learn by doing, have fun, and don't care so much."
Personally, I listen to my main sensei give me advice about my technique, and then focus all of my energy into fixing it. However, these problems cannot be fixed in a single surge of effort, and instead require a long period of constant small effort. Furthermore, focusing on one particular thing takes your mind off other things that need your attention. One's focus of effort is important, but that alone will not save your kyudo soul. Actually, such blind effort will make you a demon.
I looked around at all of the other people in the tournament. Why did he hit the target so many times? What makes her so special? Chaos reigns in hell where cause and effect cannot be seen.
On the day of that tournament, I understood I didn't need to care so much and just have fun, but my desire to "win" was stronger ... so I was unconfident and shaky. I was relaxed, but my hands still fumbled with everything they touched throughout the morning, my kyudo gear, my train ticket, my coffee. My will powered through the pain in my hand, and my technique was adhering to all I learned, but something kept me from hitting the target. It was impossible, and I understood this before I even finished. I lost before I even finished. Maybe I wanted to fail. Maybe I wanted to die. Maybe I didn't want the satisfaction of earning my way to this next tournament.
When I finished shooting and still had a lot of time before the tournament was over, I moved with my thoughts and confirmed, "Yes, I wanted this to be over. I have died, and will be resurrected to shoot again, but this is over and will be forgotten." At the end of it all before everyone went home, my main sensei gave an announcement to everyone who will participate in the next tournament and said something about me. I was nervous and didn't understand what he said, and just nodded in agreement like I usually do when I don't understand what's going on in Japanese and immediate recognition doesn't seem to be important. Everyone laughed and we all dispersed. Afterwards, one of my training partners came up and said that it's great I get to join in the next tournament.
"What!? I'm going to the tournament even though I didn't pass?"
"Yeah, sensei says you can, so it's all good."
I went up to sensei and asked him about it, talked for a bit, and thanked him.
I am happy, but it somehow made me sick, like I didn't deserve it.
"Sensei, just let me die!" I thought to myself.
I want things to change. But that will alone will not be enough ... no ... it's not about being "enough". Just do what you do. When you hold your kyudo equipment, you don't grip it with all of your strength, you hold it softly, and thorough enough to complete the job.
What's my job?
Enjoy my life. Enjoy my practice.
Strength and success is not about winning. It's about not being able to win, it's about failing, and still being OK. This may be the ultimate secret of budo:
No matter what happens, you're OK.
This is invincibility, and it isn't about strength. It's also not just about intelligence, or effort, or luck. It's invincibility even though you are going to lose, freak out, make mistakes, do incredibly stupid things. It's invincibility even though you are going to die.
Who are we to choose when we fail or succeed?
Who are we to choose when or how we die?
I'm going to take the week off to rest my hand. Then I will go back to kyudo.
When I walk to the door of the dojo, I will not swing it open shouting "I am going to win!"
I will just open it and say, "Onegaishimasu."
Friday, June 14, 2013
Liquid Tai Chi Chuan & Kyudo Injuries
A clear body of water moving through another clear body of water. Floating, gliding, being the flow of nebulous movement. Stasis does not exist, but is washed away, spiraled into the next infinite swirl. No stopping, no flexing, no trying, no fighting. Just movement, and that movement is nice. It smells like natural perfume and soft bright colors shifting into each other. It's just water, always has, always will, nothing needs to be here. It isn't strong, it's invincible. Or rather, immortal. Not not-mortal, but simply is.
This is my tai chi today, and it's what I want. It is a practice only for me. Nobody sees my tai chi but the inside walls of my apartment and classrooms. Nobody feels my tai chi. Because of it's lonliness, I often neglect to visit, and so it hides in these spaces. Why would I forget it such? Tai chi isn't what it simply is, but whatever I want it to be. I can use that most powerful weapon of the mind, and mold tai chi to be exactly what I want it to be. But no, I don't always see that.
I've been away to war in kyudo, and aikido as well I suppose. I don't know how it starts, but all of a sudden I'm smashing my fists against the wall demanding the power I desire. They are bloody now, and useless: weak. I had to have it, but I couldn't, so I cried and scream and fought. I still don't have it, and so I'm disappointed in myself, the world. My failure reveals my weakness, thank kami I didn't actually get what I wanted, those false declarations of success.
That need is not strength, and niether is a stance. The movement, seeing, flowing, understanding, not-understanding, contentment: these are signs of strength.
Quite literally, I have hit kyudo hard enough lately to injure my left hand that holds the bow. When you hold the bow with your left hand, the bow turns slightly in your hand, and you focus all of your energy into a single point in your hand near the base of your thumb. I've been doing kyudo lately to the point where I've got pain when I push with that point against the bow. If it hurts, you shrink away from the pain crumbling your kyudo form to uselessness. No longer is that single point in your hand winning against the bow, but the bow beats you, and that point becomes some smudge of broad contact, putting pressure in your shoulder, your right hand holding the string, caving in your chest, and imploding upon release instead of expanding.
I suppose this happened due to an upcoming tournament. In order to hit the target as much as possible, I have been training harder and harder, putting more pressure into my kyudo practice. It's fun at first, but when the pain begins, it all falls apart, and my mind is always one step behind when I put on the blinders like that.
If the choice was to die or shoot an arrow, I could pull that bow, but I don't think that's the purpose of what I'm doing.
Training to the point of injury:
Weak.
Time to rest and remember the flow. Maybe when I go to that tournament I will hit the target everytime. The truth is I don't know. In that darkness, anything can appear.
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