Tales of a Budo Bum

Why I Don't Like University Clubs

2011-12-28T00:48:00.000-08:00

Please take most of this post with a grain of salt. It's largely the rantings of a grumpy old man. You've been warned!

Let me begin by saying that I started martial arts at a university club in Canada. But I want to talk now about Japanese university martial arts clubs. I don't think these clubs are a good thing, based on my experience with them.

First, a bit of background. Japanese students go through a long and grueling process to get into university. Most of their time in high school is spent learning very specific knowledge that will prepare them for passing the university entrance examinations. (This is a large part of why most Japanese people can't speak English; they spend all their time memorizing word lists and grammar rules, and almost no time using the language to communicate.) The entrance exams are tough, but once you're in a university, you're in, and it's almost unheard of to flunk out, no matter how little effort you put into your classes. So, most students devote the majority of their time and attention to their club activities. Their club defines who they are, and establishes their social circle. It also prepares them for Japanese corporate life, because in a club (like in any Japanese hierarchy) the new people are scum and do all the work, and the older people (who have put in their time being scum) get to push around the juniors. As my friend put it, Japanese clubs are a "shit totem-pole".

I happen to think that Budo should be something that enriches and gives purpose to your life. What it entails, exactly, is up to the individual, of course, and so Budo might mean many different things to different people. But Budo as it is practiced in Japanese University clubs is, as far as I can tell, just a nasty excuse to get together and for juniors to show their "humility" by kow-towing to the seniors, and for seniors to lord it over the juniors. The best Sensei I have known have been people who, despite their skill, rank, and position, were remarkably humble, courteous, and gracious. This is not what I see being taught in Japanese University clubs.

At the iai dojo I (used to?) attend, about half the students are members of the iaido club from a prestigious Tokyo university. It's not the Harvard or the Yale of Japan ... but it's probably #3. The students there barely acknowledge the presence of anyone who is not in their club ... although of course they are smart enough to bow to the Sensei. It is quite a different story when a 3rd- or 4th-dan "Old Boy" shows up. Then they fall over themselves (sometimes literally) to get down into seiza and put their faces to the floor. They raise a cacophony of meaningless "Osu"-s while the 24- or 25-year-old subject of their affection smiles and waves like a rockstar. I said that they know enough to bow to Sensei, but even a hachidan hanshi does not warrant this degree of adulation from them. (Unless said hachidan hanshi also happened to be an Old Boy - a possibility which, frankly horrifies me...)

When I first started at the Dojo a couple years ago, Sensei introduced me and pointed at all the university students. "They're all studying English, so do them a favour and speak to them in English, would you?" It ended up being a moot point, because I barely ever exchanged words with any of them. My greetings were returned with a blank look or an unenthused, canned response. Certainly none of them was ever anything approaching "friendly".

When a group of Canadian iaidoka came to the dojo for a visit, the university students asked for a photo of them posing with this group of foreigners (whom they hadn't spoken a word to previously) to post on their club website so they could advertise how "international" and cosmopolitan they were. This is what typically passed for "cultural exchange" in Japan, sadly.

My Jodo dojo (Jo-do-jo?) has also recently seen an increase in the number of students who are attending from an associated university club, which is overseen by some of the senior members of our dojo. These students tend to sit in a big circle in the dojo before practice, chatting and giggling with each other. This is in distinct contrast to what I've always been told: the dojo is not a place for idle chit-chat, and time before practice is to be spent warming-up. I've often felt that someone needs to tell them how to behave in the dojo, but I feel it is not my place, and the language barrier holds me back. Plus, there is a nagging feeling that I'm just being a killjoy.

Like the students in my iai dojo, they basically ignore everyone around them (except Sensei, of course). Lest you think I am ticked off because I feel they should be kissing my ass, it is not on my behalf that I am irritated. Our dojo has a number of 7-dan jodoka who have being practicing for 30, 40, or more years. They deserve to be shown respect, and yet they are ignored by these kids who know they should bow to the guy at the front of the room, but otherwise have never bothered to find out who anyone else is.

When practice starts, they are generally made to keep to themselves, which is fine, I suppose, except that I keep seeing someone who has done Jodo for about a year, "teaching" someone who has been doing jodo for about a month. Remember what I said about the shit totem-pole? Well, picture someone who has next to no idea what he is doing, acting like an arrogant know-it-all, teaching incorrect techniques to someone who has absolutely no idea what he is doing, while the junior bows and scrapes to this so-called "senior" the whole time. It takes all my concentration not to intervene. Someone who has done Jodo or Iaido for 1 year should not be teaching anyone anything, much less should they be viewed as something approaching a Sensei, and yet this is what regularly happens in university clubs.

On a few occasions, I have seen someone do something slightly dangerous, that might get them or someone else hurt, and I have intervened and told them what they were doing wrong. This always gets me a confused look (as if to say "Why are you talking to me? You're not in my club!") and a hesitant, somewhat dubious "Oh ... I see ... right ... thankyouverymuch" followed by a quick retreat.

Once, in the iai dojo, a fairly tall student was practicing overhead cuts quite close to a basketball hoop. His "senior" was standing there supervising. I felt as though I should say something as he got closer and closer to hitting the hoop, but kept thinking "It's not my place..." Eventually, of course, the inevitable happened and he hit his sword with force on the metal hoop. Luckily, it didn't snap the tip off his sword or injure anyone. I was left thinking how stupid it was that I didn't say anything, just because of this ridiculous separation between the university students and the non-university members.

Another anecdote. I'm not sure how it fits in really, or what it means, but maybe you can tell me what you think.

It was September and we were just starting second semester at the university where I teach. I ran into one of my first-semester students, named Mariko. I asked her how her summer vacation had been. "Oh, so-so" she told me. Really? I asked. Why only so-so?
"I spent every day, only doing club."
"What club do you belong to?"
"Kyudo club."
"Oh really?" I said. I told her that I had done a very little bit of Kyudo in the past, and that I found it to be a beautiful and interesting art.
She looked a bit skeptical. I asked her "How many days a week did you practice Kyudo?"
"Every day. Seven days a week." Wow, so she was being literal!
"Oh, well, how long did you practice Kyudo every day?"
She counted on her fingers for a second. "Mm... six or seven hours. Verrrrry tired!" she said with a grimace.
"Really? You practiced six or seven hours!?"
"Well, not practice all time. Sometimes practice, and cleaning dojo, and talking with seniors..."
I was reminded of something Haruna Sensei always used to say. I repeated it to her:
"It is better to do something once, while thinking about it, than to do something one hundred times without thinking." And then I added my own, overly-blunt thoughts: "You can't concentrate on anything for 6 or 7 hours. You should do 2 hours a day and then go home, or go study, get a job, enjoy your life. 6 or 7 hours is way too long to spend doing Kyudo every day!"
She smiled in that way Japanese people do when they feel uncomfortable. "Mmm. Very deep idea. Maybe."

The thing is that Mariko probably didn't have a choice how much time she practiced. With Japanese clubs, you are fully in, or you're out. If you don't do what your seniors tell you to do, you're criticized and eventually ostracized until you quit. And that's your social circle and group identity, gone.

There's something sick at work in the university clubs here. Budo here might be partly about overcoming obstacles, building self-discipline and self-development, but I get the feeling that it's largely about torture, too. Another friend told me about a kendo summer gasshuku where juniors were forced to run around in a circle while seniors beat their ankles with shinai. What in god's name does that have to do with kendo? What does sitting around in 40-degree heat for 7 hours a day, cleaning the dojo or mowing the archery range grass or collecting arrows or fetching drinks for your seniors have to do with Kyudo?

The most important things for seniors and sensei to learn are compassion, generosity, encouragement, understanding, and courtesy. You learn this as a junior, from your seniors, who should be good role-models. I don't see much of that in university clubs, unfortunately.

Damnit...

2011-11-21T03:17:00.000-08:00

Just a quick post for now. 2 weeks ago, I had a week off work so I took a few days and went down to Kyushu. I was able to re-connect with some of my old Sensei from down there, and I took almost 700 photos. Some of those will end up on here at some stage. Being down there was great, but kind of bittersweet, because it made me remember how much nicer Kyushu people are than Tokyo people. (This is just a generalization, of course!)

Last week, it finally started getting quite cool and the dojo was actually a nice temperature for Jodo practice. For the first time since early spring, my feet weren't sweating and I could actually move around properly. It was awesome!

The unexpected outcome, though, was that I woke up with terrible pain in my ankle and on the top of my foot. I could barely walk, but managed to hobble slowly to the train. I tried to stay seated as much as possible while teaching, but by the end of the day, my foot was quite swollen.

I couldn't figure out what had happened to me! Obviously, my feet finally having a bit of traction meant that I was able to put a much greater load through my ankle. I didn't feel anything at the time, but I must have strained the tendons in my foot and ankle. I thought it might be tendonitis - why else would I not have felt anything until the next morning? - but there was quite a bit of bruising on the top of my foot, suggesting something was torn somewhere.

Japanese medicine, I've found, leaves a lot to be desired. The doctor looked at my foot and said, "It's quite swollen. Looks really painful." Yes, I asked, but what actually happened? [Doctor cocks head to one side:] "I know, right? What happened, indeed..." Her advice was to try and stay off of it for a while, to ice it, elevate it, and if it still hurts on Monday, to go get x-rays just in case. Oh, and the advice I always get from doctors: try to lose some weight.

Today is Monday and it feels a lot better, so I don't think I need an x-ray. But I'm still wondering what it could have been. No pain the night of practice; agonizing pain the next morning, which got worse after walking and standing on it all day (duh); considerable swelling; some bruising on the upper surface of the foot and around the toes. Any amateur (or professional!) diagnoses? Advice? Similar experiences?

The main point I'm taking away from all of this is: don't neglect cross-training. I've gotten so out of shape these past few months because one or two nights of Jodo a week is just about the only thing I do. It's not good to do nothing all the time, and then suddenly move around vigorously ... (double duh).

Jodo Grading

2011-10-24T05:22:00.000-07:00

I passed my Jodo 5th dan on Saturday. The gradings are held at the Tokyo Budokan, which is a wonderful place to do Budo because of its excellent, unvarnished, sprung hardwood flooring. Even with my sweaty feet, the moisture is absorbed almost immediately by the unfinished wood, creating a surface that is neither sticky (when your feet are only a little moist) nor slippery (which happens when your feet are really wet). As my sweaty feet are caused partially by nerves, and exacerbated by slipping and sliding (see if you don't get nervous doing iaido or jodo on a floor that has just been wet-mopped!) this calmed me down a lot and in turn, led to less sweating, I think. In any case, the footing was excellent.

The grading was originally scheduled for mid-March, but was cancelled due to the Tohoku earthquake and tsunami. It has been weird weather lately in Tokyo. It has been noticeably much cooler, like 21 - 24 degrees, but the humidity has stayed quite high so that it feels cool, but if you move around, you immediately start to sweat. Your body doesn't quite know what's going on. I wore a jacket but by the time I got to the Budokan, I was drenched with sweat and feeling very uncomfortable.

I was running a bit late because I had washed my keikogi in anticipation of the grading, but with all the humidity, it hadn't dried in 2 days! So I had had to take it to a coin laundry and give it a quick spin in the dryer. This put me behind schedule and meant I had to rush to get there on time, and I think my partner, John, was getting a bit nervous. He seemed relieved when I finally arrived. I quickly changed into my keikogi, and we had time to go through the techniques once before the organizers called us to line up.

There were 25 candidates for 4th dan, and 24 candidates for 5th. We all had to sit on the floor in rows and wait for our turn to grade, which was done 4 people at a time (2 groups of 2). In a jodo grading, you perform one side, then do shi-uchi kotai, and perform the other side. You are graded on both your jo techniques and your tachi, so the judges are quite busy watching both sides, which is why about 4 people is the practical limit. It does make for a slow grading, though. In the end, we had to wait for about an hour before it was our turn to go on - an hour of getting increasingly nervous, and getting sore and stiff sitting on the floor.

I was exceedingly nervous waiting for my turn, but when I got out on the floor, everything seemed to go very quiet and I felt really calm. For 5th dan, you must do techniques 8-12. By the time I got through the jo side and did Ran-Ai, my adrenaline was coursing and I was trembling. We did shi-uchi kotai and I forced myself to calm down. As we got into the techniques, I re-entered a zone of mental focus. But by the time we got to Ran-Ai, I was hyperventilating again. Quite a rollercoaster ride.

We were almost the last group to test, which meant we didn't have to wait very long to see the results posted. Our numbers were written on the wall - we had passed! (The practical component, at least!) The judges were evidently quite strict because the pass rate was less than 50%. Now it was time for the written exam.

We had to answer 3 questions about Jodo and write our answers in Japanese. This was done in advance, and then submitted on the test day. I had written mine first in English, and then taken it to about 4 Japanese friends, all of whom gave me slightly different corrections! Settling on an averaged version, I wrote out my answer, which only took me about an hour (including 2 false starts where I made a mistake and had to start over!) Again, you sit on the floor in front of the judges' table as they go through the papers one by one. If there was any question about the contents, candidates were called up in front of the judge reading their paper. It wasn't long before my name was called.

I ran up to the table. "Did you write this yourself?" asked the judge. "Yes," I said. "Hmph. You wrote here that in the seated bow, it is left hand, right hand. That's the way we used to do it. Now it is both hands at the same time. Please remember that." "Yes Sensei, I will." Shiiya Sensei looked at me from the next seat over and laughed. "What's the matter with you? Who the heck taught YOU?" I just bowed and tried to look chastened. I returned to my spot and even from where I was sitting, I saw the judge writing on my paper: stroke, stroke, stroke, small square, all enclosed by a big circle - the kanji for "Pass"! Yay!

Despite a few mistakes here and there (which were all clarified in quick conferences with the judges) everyone who passed the practical exam also passed the written exam. We stood up and Shiiya Sensei gave us a quick speech. "Congratulations on passing, and you have all worked very hard. But the real work starts now. You are going to be asked to teach more and more from now on. You need to make sure your techniques are correct and that you know what you are supposed to do. For example, with the etiquette in the Zen Ken Ren. [Looking at me] If you're teaching, you'd better get it right. But anyway, congratulations to you all!"

After that, there was a lot of bowing, thanking, handshaking, and so on. We celebrated with a few quick beers, and I felt absolutely GREAT. At the same time, I knew that if I had failed, I would have been crushed. It's not good to get so emotionally invested in gradings. You have to keep an even keel and just keep heading forward, regardless of whether things go well or go badly. I knew I probably shouldn't feel so good, but I couldn't help it.

As I've probably mentioned, I haven't been doing much iai lately. I have been able to kind of "blame" that on having to focus on Jodo in advance of my grading, but I don't have that excuse any more. At dinner, I was seated next to Tsubaki Sensei, who does both Iaido and Jodo. He asked me about Iai, and we had a good talk where he basically told me to get my ass back to Iaido and just do standing techniques. So I'm going to try and channel some of this positive momentum from Jodo into Iaido ... keep moving forward, keep moving forward ... Kind of like a shark. Stop moving, and you die.

Thoughts on Viewing Martial Arts

2011-09-27T05:50:00.000-07:00

I've been to a few events with a large number of very, very talented martial artists demonstrating. For example, I've been to the All-Japan Iaido tournament a few times, the All-Japan Kendo championships half a dozen times maybe, as well as the All-Japan Jodo tournament twice. I've been to a few kobudo demonstrations with hundreds of representatives of various koryu bujutsu groups performing over the course of a full day.

These events are definitely not the best place to view martial arts. The performers are unquestionably top-notch. The problem is that you get numb to what you're seeing. I've never been to the Louvre Museum, or the Prado, or the Rijksmueum, but I've heard that the sheer number of masterpieces on display eventually makes you breeze past paintings in a second or two that, were they displayed on their own, you might otherwise spend hours trying to take in.

I was having these kinds of thoughts last year, after going to the All-Japan Iaido tournament followed by an extensive koryu bujutsu demonstration in the same month. A few weeks later, I went to a public exhibition of a large national calligraphy contest.

Viewed singly, the works of art were breathtaking. A single, powerful word written by a shodo master could be analogous to a single iaido kata performed by a hachidan hanshi.

A series of kanji, part of a single, unified work of art and written by one hand, might be analogous to a demonstration of a set of kata from the same school, performed by a master of that school. The characteristic flavour of the school, as well as the individual performing it, comes across clearly and leaves a strong impression on the viewer.

Seeing a number of works of art at the same time, it is evident that they are slightly different, but it begins to become difficult to appreciate how they are different, or which is better, and why.

After viewing more and more demonstrations, you begin to feel a bit overwhelmed by it all. One performer ... or one work ... is starting to blur into the next.

You might even start to lose interest - even if you are deeply fascinated by your own study of martial arts (or calligraphy, or painting, or photography...)

And so it got me thinking about focusing on one work ... or focusing on an expert performance of a single kata. You begin to evaluate things on a more technical level. How did he or she make this movement? How did this sense of pressure or power occur at this instant? Why is the sword stopping here, and not there?

As you look closer, details begin to emerge.

Looking even closer, more details emerge. The almost "fractal" nature of the kata - the sense that there is no end to the level to which you can analyze the parts - becomes almost overwhelming.

Looking too closely, you lose your perspective and the work starts to lose the overall meaning it had before.

Step back and look from a position where you can see the whole, as well as the details, and you may be struck again by the beauty of this one-time event - captured on paper, on video, or in your memory.

Jodo Slip'n'Slide

2011-09-16T19:40:00.000-07:00

It was very hot at practice last night and, because I am not only a natural sweater (in general) but have particularly sweaty hands and feet, it was tough. Just moving around on the floor without slipping was hard. If I tried to move powerfully forward, my back foot would slip out on me, so I was forced to take tiny little steps. Sensei kept telling me, "Bigger! Step in powerfully!" and I kept mumbling about having sweaty feet. I could tell that he wasn't getting it. If you have dry to normal feet, then it is hard to understand, I suppose.

The other thing that was happening is that I could barely hold onto my jo. Obviously, this makes a lot of things really difficult. For example, dō-barai (a defensive movement where you swing the jo sideways to block a disemboweling stroke) is hard to do quickly. Because I knew I was going to be slow with it, I was beginning the movement too soon. Sensei kept telling me, "You're blocking before the strike has even started! That makes no sense! You've got to wait..." so I'd wait, and then I wouldn't be able to get the jo over to block in time. "You're too slow! You're letting him cut you! Faster!" I just couldn't win.

Having a wet jo and sweaty hands did have one unexpected benefit, though. Sensei is always talking about how you can only really put power in the jo when you slide your hands. The ability to slide your hands is the jo side's "secret weapon". Well, my hands were certainly very, very slippy-slidy last night. It was almost all I could do NOT to bash the tachi out of my partner's hands when I did hikiotoshi. As long as my angle was good, the jo went through the tachi as if it wasn't even there and my partner's tachi went into the floor, or into his foot, or behind him, wherever I wanted it to go. It was kind of fun ... except that I almost lost my grip on my jo every time.

What does this mean for all of you with normal sweat levels? You might want to try a few hikiotoshi strikes using a single glove or mitten. Choose one made of cotton, wool, or fleece that will enable your hand to slide easily on a dry jo. Then carefully (!) do some hikiotoshi strikes and see if the increased slide helps you put power into your strike. I would say don't deliberately try to put a lot of power into your strike, but just see what happens when your hand slides easily down the jo. Be careful because if your glove is very slippery, you may not have enough friction to easily apply the "brakes" at the end of the strike. Then take off the glove and see if you are able to relax your grip enough to allow a good slide. If anybody tries this, I'd like to hear how it worked out.

Winning in Jodo

2011-09-14T06:45:00.000-07:00

I have written about this before - the idea of "winning" in Jodo. Of course the jo side always "wins", but it is possible for either the jo side or the bokuto side to really win without changing the outcome of the kata. On the bokuto side, for example, if you have to slow your strike down because the jo side wasn't ready yet, then you actually won. Or if you know that the jo side did an ineffectual hikiotoshi, or an ineffectual block that you could have brushed aside easily, then you have won. Or whenever you overpower your opponent mentally ... your kiai throws him off balance so that his finishing strike is wobbly and unimpressive ... then you won.

There is a guy in the dojo whom I'll call Mr. K. He's very intense when he practices, but it's okay because he is also very precise. He can stop and go on a dime, and so it's very unlikely that he's going to hurt anybody, even though he's practicing full tilt. I get the feeling that a lot of people don't like practicing with him. He's intimidating, and I understand that. But at the same time, I think there are too many people waltzing through jodo practices. At the end of the day, jodo is a martial art, and your goal is to overpower or neutralize your opponent and then symbolically "kill" him -- or at least put the jo between his eyes and let him know: "I can keep this up all day, but you're going to lose. So quit while you're ahead."

The problem is that, while you're learning, you get in the mindset where you think, "Okay, this foot ahead of that foot, now strike, now step back..." and you keep thinking of yourself as a "learner". Learners have no right challenging their teachers, right? (This might be a bigger problem in Japan than overseas...) And so I often see people who have carried this mindset well into their "mid-level" practice. They are 3rd or 4th dan, and they can perform the movements with accuracy, but they have no intensity.

In the west, I get the feeling that intensity is perhaps over-rated. People are really into doing things with a lot of power ... smashing, bashing ... but they are maybe doing some things with bad form and unfortunately that intensity just solidifies their bad habits all the more quickly. I think that was my problem sometimes, at least.

So what's better: to practice with intensity, or keep it light? When I practice with people who are really, really good, I am always amazed that they can turn it on and off at will. They are continually switching between hard and soft. Push them, and it's like pushing smoke. But then the jo is right back between your eyes before you know what's happening. They block you ever so lightly - the jo doesn't even touch your fingers, somehow - but then you're slammed down hard into a kuritsuke. As soon as that happens, the pressure lets up and you're free to back away, only to feel yourself cringing because you feel a crippling suigetsu thrust coming on ... here it comes like a freight train, but it miraculously stops with a light tap on your solar plexus. Next it's an immense overhead strike and there's no way it's going to stop anywhere less than three inches deep in your forebrain ... but it does, and it's gone, leaving you wondering why you are almost falling over backwards.

That's what I'm striving for! I might never get there, but it's just cool to know that some people have that.

Famous Japanese Swords: "Meibutsu Token"

2011-09-13T04:02:00.001-07:00

Thanks to Unka Kim and his Bloggie Thingie, I found out about a major sword show happening now (until September 25th) at the Nezu Art Museum in Omotesando, Tokyo. I had nothing better to do today, so I dropped by the exhibition. Since a lot of you budo bums are also sword-o-philes, I thought I might share.

Omotesando is one of my least favorite places in Tokyo, because it is one of the homes of the high fashion retailers like Gucci, Armani, Louis Vuitton ... and the people who patronize these places. And also the people who wish they could patronize these places. Everyone seems to be strutting around in oversized sunglasses, trying to pretend like they are famous people who are trying not to be recognized. The place always seems to be full of pallid, scowling, impossibly tall and thin European girls, too. Models or just wannabes? Who knows.

The museum itself is kind of nice, and you walk past a nice little garden and down a striking exterior pathway, lined by bamboo (living on one side, dry on the other).

No photography was allowed inside the gallery. 50 swords were on exhibit, a number which includes 3 National Treasures, 22 Important Cultural Properties, and 3 Important Art Objects. 12 of the blades were made by that most well-known sword smith, Masamune.

The sword which impressed me most and struck me as awesomely, fiercely beautiful was a monster by Bishu Osafune Kanemitsu, made in 1358, in the Nambokucho period. Swords of this period were often very large and this sword is no exception. Everything about it - the curvature, the kissaki, the hamon - speak of barely contained power. It really is something that would strike awe into the heart of anyone who saw it, I think - especially in the hands of an enemy. It does not surprise me to read that Kanemitsu, possibly a student of Masamune, was considered to have created some of the sharpest blades ever made.

Another fantastic blade was by Mitsutada, founder of the Osafune school. It was said to have been treasured by Oda Nobunaga, who was notoriously fond of swords.

I spent the afternoon drooling over swords, squinting at kanji, bobbing my head around trying to catch the reflection from nie and nioi ... just generally in awe of these venerable (but still somehow new-looking) objects of death and destruction. But is that fair to say? Most of these swords, if not all, were treasured status symbols and closely-guarded possessions of wealthy daimyo, custom ordered and presented as gifts from one to the other.

With that idea floating around in my head, I stopped for a quick photograph of the Prada building in Omotesando. Hard to deny that it is a beautiful building; the very essence of luxury. So the samurai had their silks and swords; today's movers and shakers have their suits and sportscars. Nothing ever changes, I suppose... we all like shiny, sparkly things!

A Quick Note With No Content

2011-09-11T22:46:00.000-07:00

Hi! I am back in Tokyo after a few weeks in Canada. One of things I did while I was home was to talk to my friends and teachers from my old iaido/jodo club. This always gets me excited to practice more, which will in turn, I hope, generate more posts on here. I am looking forward to getting back into updating this Blog more often. Thanks for your patience.

Okay Following the Earthquake & Tsunami

2011-03-16T04:02:00.000-07:00

Just a quick note to say that I am okay following the earthquake and tsunami which have devastated much of the coastal regions of Tohoku. We are not out of the woods yet: the situation at Fukushima #1 Nuclear Plan is worrisome, aftershocks are continuing every day, much of Tokyo is undergoing rotating blackouts to conserve electricity, and food supplies are running low (though nothing like the critical shortages that are being reported in the hardest-hit areas).

Right now I am wondering: should I get the hell out of Tokyo? All the evidence is contradictory. People around Tokyo are just going about their daily business. Everyone seems very calm. More people are wearing masks than usual, but is that because of radiation fears, or because hay fever season has begun? Trains are running, people are shopping. Meanwhile, some countries are advising their citizens to leave the capital region. The official news is that the situation at the nuclear power plant has stabilized, but foreign media is always reporting something alarming. Who's right? Is the foreign media trying to whip up a frenzy? Or is the domestic media trying to keep a lid on panic? I have no idea anymore.

Before this all happened, I had been planning to go to Kyushu during my vacation; now seems like a good time to go. I'm not working right now and my Jodo 5th-dan grading has been postponed ... which effectively means that I have nothing to stick around Tokyo for, at the moment! So in the next couple days, I might go on a road trip for a week or so. I hope the situation here will have stabilized by then.

Meanwhile, if you can afford to donate some money to help the survivors and the effort to rebuild, I hope you will inquire at an aid agency in your country and give what you can. Japan thanks you!

34th Nihon Kobudo Embu Taikai

2011-02-15T00:07:00.001-08:00

I wrote a short article and took some pictures of this event, which took place at the Nippon Budokan on February 6th. The article is up now at Kendo World. Check it out, and get a subscription to the print version of the magazine, to get lots of extra content!

I'll be putting up some other, unused pictures a little bit later, so check back in a week or two.

Things to try in Jodo

2011-02-02T02:46:00.000-08:00

A few weeks back was the central seminar for the Tokyo area. By doing a very rough count of how many people were sitting in each row (when Sensei were demonstrating various fine points) and how many rows there were, I would guess that there were over 300 people there. Which makes for very close quarters when doing kihon, for example!

It was quite cold in the gym (it being the middle of January) and I was a bit annoyed, I must admit, to see maybe 10% of the people there wearing tabi. (I have been told in the past that I can't wear tabi when doing Iaido.) Now I can imagine some objections:
-this was Jodo, not Iaido
-this was only a seminar, not an official event like a grading or a competition
-most of the people wearing tabi were older men and women, who have to take care of their health

To which I would offer the following rebuttals:
-both Jodo and Iaido are done under the Kendo Federation (which allows people to demonstrate in white tabi in formal events, and allows kendoka to compete in partial tabi, and allows 8th-dans to just do whatever they want)
-there shouldn't be a different standard of uniform depending on what kind of event it is; I would favour more relaxed rules across the board rather than more strict rules
-if it's okay to wear tabi for health reasons, then how about safety reasons? (i.e., I am waving around a huge sword and would prefer not to slip and fall and stab myself or someone else, thank you very much!)

Anyway, I'll get off my soapbox (for the time being). The practice itself was interesting, although there was an awful lot of talking and demonstrating by Sensei, and not a lot of trying it out ourselves. I guess they have a lot of information to get across and a limited amount of time to do it. But from the standpoint of an educator, it is always better to show, and then have people do it themselves, not merely to tell people how it should be done. Oh well.

There seem to have been further changes to the way that upper-level gradings will be carried out. Last year (or was it 2 years ago?) they introduced the new way that 7th- and 8th-dans will grade, including all the tiny fiddly details like where you will put your sword, and how you will kneel to put your weapon down, and enter the court, and bow, and so on. It was all very complicated and it seems to have gotten worse, if you ask me.

As for the practice itself, ironically, I didn't do very much jodo! And that was fine. Kurogo Sensei from Hiroshima took our group. He is an 8th-dan kyoshi in Jodo, but he joked that his Iai is better than his Jo (so perhaps he is 8th-dan hanshi in Iaido?). He wanted to tell us about the importance of doing the tachi side properly, so he took us through it, starting right with the basics of how to hold the sword. He stressed that, if you don't constantly examine how you hold the sword, your tenouchi will never become correct, and tenouchi is one of the most important concepts in swordsmanship.

Likewise, he stressed the importance of correct kamae. He said that sometimes he would stand in front of a mirror for an hour, checking his kamae. We actually did this, but for only about 5 minutes at a time. It is exhausting! He led us up to a "perfect" chudan-no-kamae, and then we held kamae for about 5 minutes, all the while he was taking us through a kind of "stream of consciousness" self-checklist. "Is there tension in my back heel? Is my back foot straight forward? Is my left leg taut but slightly bent at the knee? Is my left hip engaged? Are my buttocks tensed but not squeezing? Is my lower back arched in? Is my stomach tight? Is my left hand a fist away from my abdomen?" and so on. Then he had us go into hidari-jodan, and we repeated the procedure.

After moving through all the kamae, he had us switch rapidly between kamae, and check at every stage that we were doing it properly. I can't tell you how valuable this was! The tachi side is the side that controls the kata, to a large extent, so if tachi is not performed properly, the jo side can't perform properly. I am sure we have all had the experience of doing jo against a tachi side who really knows what he/she is doing; in these cases, everything just works. And then you have the times when you go up against somebody who thinks he knows what he's doing on tachi, but in fact, everything is a little bit wrong: his targets are wrong, or his distance is wrong, or he's cutting with the wrong part of the sword, or coming in at an impossible angle. And then try as you might, you feel like it's your fault - the jo's fault - that the kata isn't working.

Another interesting and exhausting practice that we did was metsuke practice. We did this in pairs as we went through the partner kihon. The idea is simple: don't take your eyes off your opponent's eyes for even an instant, even when performing several repetitions. There is no "relaxation time" between runs where it is acceptable to look at the floor or down at your hands or at the clock. Sensei had us staring intently into each other's eyes for minutes at a time, and it is mentally exhausting! But I can see how it would develop a high degree of concentration and quite possibly, an intimidating metsuke (I have heard that this is a real factor in kendo; not only do high-ranking sensei have an intense pressure coming from their eyes, but they never take their eyes off of yours, and take in all of your various eye-flickers. Yes, you looked at his kote a second before you tried to strike it, but he knew what you were going to do before you even did it, as if he had telepathy!)

Both of these practices (taking kamae and holding it, in front of a mirror if possible, and then fixing every small detail; and practicing not taking your eyes off of your opponent's eyes, even for an instant) are things that everyone can do, so I recommend trying them at home or at your next practice with a partner.

What to Expect if you Train in Japan

2011-01-20T19:23:00.000-08:00

That last post made me think about some of the weird stuff that has happened to me here, that never used to happen to me in Canada. And so I present a guide to training in Japan, and what you can expect. Take this all with a shaker of salt.

You'll meet some really nice people who will astonish you with their generosity and kindness.
Not that there aren't nice people in other parts of the world ... just that, somehow, Japanese people have a way of surprising you with how nice they can be to someone they hardly know.

You'll meet people who have weird ideas about the world.
Sometimes they are really good at saying crazy stuff with a smile on their face, too. For example:
Crazy Guy: Where are you from?
Me: I'm from Canada.
Crazy Guy: Oh, I thought you were from America! Because you're fat. I went to America and everyone was fat.
Me: Uh...
Crazy Guy: Where is Canada?

You'll meet people who have an amazingly narrow view of their own martial art.
Some Japanese people don't ask any questions or seem to have any awareness of other (even closely related) arts, or any knowledge of their own art. Like the guy I met who had been practicing Muso Shinden Ryu iaido for 5 or 6 years, but told me that I tied my sageo wrong and that my noto was all wrong. When I told him, "I do Muso Jikiden Eishin Ryu" he looked at me like I was crazy, and immediately ran to Sensei and said, "What's this guy talking about?"

You'll meet people who know nothing about fighting but confidently lecture you about what is necessary in a real fight.
I think it's safe to say that Japan (with the possible exception of Singapore) is the place on earth where you are physically safest, see the fewest fights, and are least likely to have somebody suckerpunch you or break a bottle over your head. That's one reason why I like it here! So what I'm saying is that 99.9% of people here have never been in a fight, and yet they love telling you how what you're doing is wrong because in a REAL fight... (Wow, just like the internet forums!)

You'll meet people who think you know absolutely nothing, because you're a foreigner.
How could you possibly know anything? They don't do iaido or jodo in other countries! What? They do? Well, they don't do it right, obviously, because look at this guy!
I've been to seminars where we've started off with kihon, for example, doing honte uchi in jodo. And Sensei wearily explains to that 50-year-old 6th dan in the front row, "Yamada-san! You're still dropping your front hand!" and then wearily explains to that 40-year-old 5th dan in the back, "Watanabe-san, your back hand needs to be turned completely around!" and then reacts with shock and horror when the foreigner's back foot is too wide. "What rank are you? Unbelievable! What country are you from? Canada? Well, that explains it..."
Another time, I was asked to do Mae in iaido, and Sensei evidently didn't like how I put my hands on the tsuka, because he launched into a 30-minute explanation of how to hold the sword. And not one of those "The deepest secret of iaido is te-no-uchi" talks, but a "This is a sword. This is the sharp part. This is how we hold it! Left hand back, right hand forward" kind of talks. Ugh.

You'll meet other foreigners who act as if you're ruining their private fantasy by being in the same room.
You'll go to some seminar, walk into the gym, spot some foreign guy (who sticks out like a sore thumb, just like you do) smiling and laughing with his Japanese dojo-mates, and then he'll see you out of the corner of his eye, do a double take, the smile vanishes and is replaced by a scowl... Needless to say, he won't come over and say Hello. And why would he? Just because you're the only two foreigners there (you might even be countrymen) and you share the same rare and unusual hobby. Who needs new friends, anyway?

You'll meet a lot of cool foreigners, who can teach you a ton of interesting and useful stuff, including how to deal with all the aforementioned crazies.

And ... I'm Back

2011-01-20T18:40:00.001-08:00

I got a few e-mails from people who, among other things, told me that I needed to post more often or that they were disappointed that I hadn't written much recently. Thanks for the kind words and motivation.

In mid-November, I guess it was, a couple guys from the Toronto area came to visit and train in Jodo. They contacted me to see if I wouldn't mind introducing them to some of the teachers and doing a bit of translating. At the time, I was a bit hesitant about getting back into practice as my knee was still quite sore, but I figured at the very least I'd help them and show my face in the dojo, as it had been a couple months.

Kevin and David turned out to be really nice guys, and very serious about training. They were doing 4-6 hours of training a day, sometimes going to a morning Aikido practice, then an afternoon practice, maybe a bit of sightseeing, and then coming to Jodo in the evening. How they had the energy to do that, I don't know. When they turned up for Jodo, I decided to practice too and see how it would go. Sure, my knee was fairly tender, and the next day it was nice and swollen (even after icing it) but I had a good return to practice, basically thanks to these guys showing up and making me get off my butt.

Everyone at the dojo was impressed by their hard work and easy-going, friendly attitude. They were also pretty amazed that someone would come to Japan just to train. (How about coming to live in Japan for 10 years just to train??) On their last night of Jodo training, we all went out for drinks at our local watering hole. That was a lot of fun. Thanks, guys!

But if there's anything I've learned, it's that Ups are usually followed by Downs. A couple weeks later, maybe the first week of December, I went to practice only to find that nobody was there and the lights were off. I asked at the reception desk, and the guy told me that they were all out drinking. It was the End-of-the-Year drinking party, and nobody had even mentioned it to me!

I tried phoning anybody whose number I had, but everyone was unreachable (turns out they were in a basement bar). I hung around the area for 30 minutes or so, feeling increasingly miserable.

Looking back, I know that it was just an oversight. I hadn't been out to practice much that fall, and even though I had just started coming back, maybe the party organizers didn't realize I wanted to come. Probably there was a perfectly legible notice up somewhere in the change room that I hadn't read. But at the time ... I was absolutely disheartened.

And why? I had to keep telling myself: "These people aren't your friends. They're just people you train with. Don't take it so hard. It doesn't matter." But I couldn't help but contrast my situation in Japan (show up, exchange a greeting with Sensei, warm up by myself, train, go home) with my situation in Canada (show up, talk to everyone, have a few laughs, train, have a few laughs during training, go for a beer or two, lots more discussion and laughs...) And so it became a kind of "us against them, foreigners against Japanese" situation, as so often happens in our minds whenever we foreigners have problems in this country.

One of the things I realize about myself is that I want my training to have a social dimension. No "lone samurai" ascetic training for me; you won't catch me waking up at dawn and lugging my bokuto out to the woods, where I pound on a tree for a couple hours and then meditate under a waterfall. The few times I've shown up early and found an empty dojo, I've half-heartedly done a bit of stretching to kill time until someone else shows up. If I washed up on a desert island with a trunk full of budo equipment, it would stay in the box until I was rescued or someone else washed ashore.

So not being invited to the party, and feeling rejected by these people at my club, was pretty damn disappointing. I kept thinking, "Why do I bother?" or thought, "Is there some other club, somewhere, where they would welcome me and I wouldn't be the elephant in the room?"

The thing that made it worse, I think, was the reception that the visitors, David and Kevin, had received only a couple weeks before. When they were here, everyone was friendly, and curious about Canada, and why they were here. After I had done my (very humble) best translating, they said, "Good thing you're here, Jeff! We really needed your help!" It was a big love-in. Then, once they left, I was back to zero again.

I once heard the same sentiment from an American Jodo instructor who had lived in Japan and was amazed how nobody wanted to teach him -the longterm resident - anything, but whenever a visitor showed up at the dojo for a few days of instruction, everyone was falling over themselves to teach him. At the time, I thought he was just being bitter or was exaggerating. Now, for better or worse, I find myself thinking the same things. Was he right? Partly. Am I getting bitter? Definitely.

So, what do I do? Focus on the positives; the cool people I've met, the good training I've received, the fact that training with 5 hachidan Sensei is almost routine. The times when I have gone out drinking after a practice and had a great time. And when I have a crap experience, run home and put it on my blog for everyone to see and commiserate!

And remember that Downs are usually followed by Ups. A week later, I went back to practice, determined not to mention anything about that stupid party. Everyone was very apologetic, and after practice we went out for the REAL party; the one I had missed had been the expensive, formal, not-very-much-fun party where you sit around and listen to speeches and get berated by Sensei about how you haven't practiced hard enough this year so buckle down next year. This party was just the regulars, at the local watering hole (again), with lots of good food and beer and sake flowing freely. And as much as I wanted to stay angry about the week before, I had a great time and felt ... kind of ... like one of the gang.

2010 Kobudo Demonstration at Meiji Shrine

2010-11-08T04:28:00.000-08:00

November 3rd - Culture Day in Japan - has come and gone, and I was at Meiji Shrine in the morning for a few hours of Kobudo Watching. I enjoyed it, but there are a few things I didn't enjoy, particularly the rude behaviour of some of the audience.
I could understand if the rudeness was just from random people wandering by the event and coming to see what was going on. But most of it was coming either from the demonstrators themselves, or their students, or their friends. I expect better manners from martial artists, I guess.
I had gotten there early (for once!) to secure a good spot. I then sat down on the grass and waited. While I was shooting, any number of people bumped into me without apologizing. Other people let cell phones ring and ring for minutes without answering them or putting them on silent mode. Other people just chatted loudly. After a couple hours, I couldn't sit any longer (my knee was killing me) so I got up. A very tall Scandinavian guy practically bowled me over in his haste to take my spot. He then proceeded to film from a kneeling position. Now when I say this guy was tall, I mean it, and even kneeling he was taller than many of the standing people he was kneeling in front of. Another Japanese guy in the front row was standing the entire time while shooting video on a tripod, making it impossible for people behind him (i.e., ME!) to get any good shots.
There is a rule that should be obvious to anyone with any common sense, and that is: if you are in the front row, you sit. If you are in the next row, you kneel or sit on a folding chair. If you are behind them, you stand. Everybody can see, and everybody is happy.
Another thing that made me bite my tongue was the appearance on the scene of a 60-something British man with his wife in tow. During the demonstration of Ono-Ha Itto Ryu kenjutsu, he loudly explained to his wife, "Oh yes, that is kendo. Yes. Only they're not really doing it right..." During the bo kata of one of the jujutsu ryuha: "Yes, that's jodo. I've done that before. Only the jo is a little bit long ..." During the Yagyu Shingan Ryu demonstration, where one of the partners is armed with a kama (sickle): "Oh, that chap has a kusari-gama, only it is supposed to have a chain, you see? It's probably too dangerous so they left it at home." And then, during the Araki-ryu demonstration of (finally!) kusari-gama, "Oh yes ... Yes! ... You see? ... Yes, that's exactly what you should do with a kusari gama ..."
I only mention this so you will know what kind of hell I have to go through to get these pictures.

Araki ryu kogusoku. Leaping to avoid a ball-and-chain to the lower leg.

Head and arm lock in Ishiguro Ryu jujutsu.

Jikishinkage Ryu naginata (here, using an aikuchi).

Tenshin Shoden Katori Shinto Ryu (Sugino dojo)

Got your sword! Muso Shinden Ryu partner waza.

Ono-ha Itto Ryu kenjutsu.

Sekiguchi Ryu iai.

The technique that defeated Musashi's cross-block! Shinto Muso Ryu jojutsu.

Nothing like a stick in the eye to make you reconsider. SMR Jojutsu.

Tamiya Ryu iaijutsu.

Tendo Ryu naginata.

Tenjin Shinyo Ryu jujutsu

Yagyu Shingan Ryu

Yagyu Shinkage ryu

Oh, yes, I did get a new camera. As you can see, I haven't quite figured out how to use it yet, nor can I be bothered fixing the exposure in PhotoShop. Sorry!

After the Kobudo, it was off to the Budokan for an afternoon of ... All-Japan Kendo Championships!

For coverage of the Kendo Championships, a few more Kobudo photos, and VIDEO (!) go to Kendo World magazine online at www.kendo-world.com.

Loss

2010-10-18T19:43:00.001-07:00

I haven't written a blog post in a while. I haven't really felt up to it. A little over a month ago, my father died unexpectedly. Being in Japan made things more complicated, and I had to decide whether or not to go home to Canada. For a number of reasons, I decided not to go back, and tried to carry on with normal life here.
A few days after learning of my dad's death, I went to the Western Tokyo Iaido Tournament. I had been asked to attend as a judge in the lower-dan divisions, and also as a competitor. Judging was fairly nerve-wracking because of the pressure not to mess up any time aspect of the etiquette, as every single thing you do is dictated by some rule or other. In addition, it is very tiring being a judge. You can't allow your attention to relax or your mind to wander for even a few seconds. And even watching very closely, there were still a number of instances where I just couldn't decide. Many of the competitors were university students who had probably started iaido only a few months or perhaps a year ago, and to be perfectly honest, the majority of them were making a lot of mistakes. It often came right down to the final etiquette and I thought, "Well, which one do I choose? They are totally neck-and-neck. Okay, I'll choose whoever has the nicest closing etiquette..." And then, after you raise your flag, you see the look of dejection on the face of the loser, and want to tell them, "Honestly, I didn't want to have to judge against you. Don't take it so hard, kid..."
After a full morning of judging on and off it was lunch time. Quite a few of the students I had officiated for walked by as I was eating my bento lunch, and bowed or said hello. Pretty soon, it was time for us to compete. As one of the youngest 5-dans, I was stuck out there in the first round of the elimination tournament. I felt very self-conscious for a couple reasons. First, I couldn't sit in seiza because my knees were hurting too much. Secondly, I had gotten permission to wear tabi during competition, mainly because it was not a very large or important tournament. Both of these facts made people sit up and think, "Oh, what's this now?" when I went out.
Well, it was pretty awful - certainly one of the worst showings I've made in a long time. My first technique, Mae, was absolutely dull and shaky and weak. My mind was blank with nerves and I don't remember the other techniques we were told to do, but I do remember that we ended with #9, Soete-zuki. As I stepped back to do chiburi, my left foot slipped a bit and I staggered. Even the rank beginners I had been judging had managed to keep their balance, but I was about to fall over. I lost 3 flags to zero.
After the event, I felt (imagined?) that the students had lost what small amount of respect they had for me. I could almost feel them shaking their heads and thinking, "THIS guy was judging US?" It felt really awful.
Most of us continue with something because we feel we're good at it, or because we feel we're making progress, or because it makes us feel good. I didn't feel any of that. I felt like quitting iaido completely.
A few days later, I regrouped and realized that I was being a big baby. I resolved to just practice harder, starting with pushing myself a little bit and trying to get back into seiza. At the next practice, I was doing techniques from kind of a "half seiza" where I would leave my toes supporting my weight. This kept me from putting quite as much pressure through my knee joint.
About 10 techniques in, I did koryu Uke Nagashi. Just as I stepped out with the left foot and put my weight on that leg (sword overhead to block) I heard a loud snap from inside my knee (others in the dojo turned and looked) and was immediately in agony. I could barely walk out of the dojo. I managed to change clothes and took a taxi to Keio University Hospital. They took some x-rays and told me I had sprained my knee. (Thanks.) The next day, I went to an orthopedic clinic about 500 meters from my house. It took all of my effort to walk there and back. The doctor told me I had injured my medial collateral ligament, and it would be about a month's recovery time.
It has been a month and a half, and I am still not better. My knee is still obviously swollen, and a friend in the rehabilitation business tells me that it may also be a ruptured meniscus. Between this injury and my arthritis (the doctors showed me some of the floating bone chips in my knee and the ever-growing bone spurs) I am imagining a future without seiza or tate-hiza.
Frankly, I think that suwari-waza are the heart and soul of iaido. There are some people who do iai from standing, and more power to them, but for me, it is somehow not the same, and I can't get very excited about the future.

Loss of a parent.
Loss of a tournament.
Loss of respect.
Loss of physical freedom.
Loss of motivation.

It all sounds very melancholy, and self-pitying, and I know that. I'm blowing things out of perspective, and I know that too. Just look at the above list, and some of the things are laughably trivial. But at the moment, it all comes across as part of one big downhill slide.
In a way, though, writing this Blog is therapy. I have waited a while to write again, and I'm already starting to feel better about things. If anything, continuing to write this Blog is my way of reassuring myself that I'm going to continue with the martial arts.

Noshudo

2010-09-13T05:16:00.000-07:00

On Saturday, I took a very quick trip down to Gifu, met a friend, and the two of us went to Seki city (which is very close to Gifu city) to go buy some swords at Noshudo. (I know it's normally romanized as Nosyudo, but that just leads people to mis-pronounce the name.)
We were given a tour around the small on-site factory, and learned some details about how mogito (replica swords) are made.
Now, here's the part where I have to explain that, when I was in Canada, I stupidly and carelessly left my camera slung over the back of a chair at a coffee shop in Toronto. Or, maybe I left it on the floor of a shoe store, I'm not sure. Either way, I am now short one camera. If you have been reading my previous posts, you will know that I have been complaining about my camera and wishing I could get a new one. Please believe me that, as far as I know my own brain, me leaving my camera was plain forgetfulness and not some subconscious ploy to create a need for a new and better camera. As far as I know.
So, anyway, the rest of this post will proceed minus the descriptive photographs that I wish I could have taken during my visit. They start with blades that are cast in sand molds out of a sturdy zinc-aluminum alloy. These rough blades are taken and polished on increasingly fine grinding wheels until they are shiny. (At this stage, I was under the impression that the blades are then plated in a layer of chrome coating, but I didn't see any evidence of that, and they didn't mention it, and I didn't ask, so I'm not sure.) They showed us the various templates that they use to add the hamon to the blade, depending on what the customer requests.
Next, the fittings are added. This is a streamlined version of what a "real sword" gets, but it is basically the same. There were quite a few craftsmen busily working away at the various parts of the swords, mainly grinding and filing pieces to ensure a snug fit. I have seen a lot of Noshudo swords, and they always have a very tight fit between the parts. I have a Noshudo blade myself (a custom 2.7 shaku mogito) and all the fittings were tight for the first 6 years I had it, until I voided the warranty by removing the mekugi and taking off the tsuba (which was VERY tight and hard to get off!). It was never quite that tight again, despite my shimming things up with very thin brass foil. In other words - Don't take your sword apart for no reason!
I ended up buying a number of swords, and the staff were extremely helpful and obliging, because I wanted to check each sword to make sure of the balance. I have seen some pretty terrible swords from other makers in the past - strange weights and weird balance points - but every Noshudo blade I examined was well-balanced considering its size and weight. Apparently the proprietor, Mr. Igarashi, checks every sword personally before it is cleared for sale.
So, it was a very enjoyable trip to a store that is like a miniature Heaven for iaidoka. I wish I could have had a camera on hand to document all the cool stuff I saw. This photo of my friend Paul, on the right, Mr. Miwa of Noshudo in the middle, and some random fat guy on the left, will have to suffice.

A Few Photos

2010-07-31T01:45:00.001-07:00

I was looking through my phone at some of the more-or-less random things I've taken pictures of, probably thinking at the time, "Oh, I must put this up on my Blog" but never got around to posting. Here are a few of those pictures:

As I think I mentioned before, there is a bit of an ongoing "Sengoku Jidai" boom in Japan at the moment. There is a bar in Shinjuku which is decorated with kamon everywhere and suits of armour in the lobby. Sadly, the service was pretty poor, the food was unimpressive, and the decor was cheesy. That's what you get for going to a gimmick restaurant. (Although, apparently there is a restaurant called "Ninja" where the staff dress up like ninja [?] and they supposedly have very good - and very pricey - food.)

I was in the National Museum a while back, and did a no-no by stealing a shot of this calligraphy, which I was really fond of. It says "Dragon" and "Tiger" and was apparently written by Emperor So-and-So ... yes, my memory is like a steel trap!

I also like to take pictures of Daruma paintings when I can. You often see him in restaurants; I honestly wonder if Japanese people know who he is. Here are a few I saw recently:

This last one, on a curtain outside a little bar somewhere, is probably my favourite of the few I've taken, although I am still partial to Musashi's Daruma:

I was at an exhibition of treasures of the Hosokawa family, and they were selling reproductions of this scroll ... they were a bit pricey, so I didn't buy anything (which I kind of regret now)...

Spoiled by Choice

2010-07-29T02:18:00.000-07:00

Too much choice is not always a good thing.

Living in Tokyo, I have a lot of choices of martial arts to practice. If you live in a small town somewhere, and wish you could find even one good dojo near enough to your home to commute to regularly, I feel your pain. I grew up in a small town too. And having too MUCH choice is definitely preferable to having too LITTLE. But it brings its own problems.

When I lived in Oita, I dabbled in Sekiguchi ryu iai. Then I moved to Tokyo (through no choice of my own, unfortunately) and thought, "I ought to continue practicing Sekiguchi ryu - even if it's with another group." I located another group, somewhat far from my place, students of another teacher. In the end though, I realized that this would only end up being bad news. Separate koryu groups, I've found, like to lecture you not only on how everything you're doing is technically wrong, but also on how your teacher is a bad person, and how you were wrong for ever learning from him in the first place. Not a good scene.

Shortly after I moved to my current apartment, I saw a YouTube video (I linked to it in a previous post) on kendo, part of a series called "Samurai Spirit". In the video, the host pays a visit to a revered Kendo 8-dan hanshi. It turns out that this dojo is not far from where I live. I thought to myself, "Wow, what a great opportunity! I should definitely take up kendo again and practice with this great teacher!"

Well, I never did quite get around to it, but with that thought rolling around in my head, I did a search for kendo dojo in my area. It turns out there is a good dojo right up the street from me. "Wow, what a great opportunity! So close to my apartment, and everything!"

The only problem was that I already have an iai practice that conflicts with a jodo practice, and if I went to every scheduled practice for just iaido and jodo, I'd be practicing about 5 days a week. I usually make it to about 3 practices a week. Do I really need to add kendo to the mix? To go to kendo, I would need to skip an iai or jodo practice. I would probably end up going to each art once a week - is it possible to make progress at that rate?

A bit later, I was at a Tokyo iaido event, when I saw a Sensei doing Muso Jikiden Eishin Ryu (my style of iai) and wearing a nametag that said "Toshima ward". I checked on the internet, and his dojo is in Ikebukuro, close to where I live, and right where I work. "Wow, what a great opportunity!" But do I really need 3 iai dojo? This would just create more conflict. Going to 2 different dojo is bad enough; iai teachers don't like sharing students.

I was actually heading to iai practice a few weeks ago when I spotted a man and woman walking with sword bags over their shoulders, the same as I was carrying. "Are you doing iai?" I asked them. The man was very cagey and clearly didn't want to tell me anything. He answered with unhelpful, one-word answers as much as he could. Eventually, the woman informed me that they were doing Shinkage Ryu at the local community center. "Wow, what a great opportunity!" I thought. Another koryu to practice, within 10 minutes' walk from my place! But do I really need another koryu, especially one that clearly has some people who don't want me there?

I was looking in a book on koryu recently, and discovered that the Soke of one of the branches of Araki ryu lives near where I work every Saturday. I had seen his demonstration at the Budokan, and been very impressed. "Wow, what a great opportunity! I should call him and see if I can practice!" As if I need another koryu, particularly one that deals with a number of different weapons.

Next, I was at an iaido event and met a guy from the US who has been in Japan for quite some time. He mentioned that he also did kenjutsu; I asked what ryuha. He said that he does Niten Ichi Ryu with a Sensei up in Saitama, not far from where I work. "I have done Niten Ichi Ryu too! Wow, what a great opportunity!" Well, you get the picture.

I think we are just programmed to think, "The more martial arts, the better!" There is a saying in Japan about chasing 2 rabbits at the same time. The punchline is that you'll end up catching neither of them. While I think it's possible to practice 2 martial arts, I think 3 is really pushing it. 3 is possible for some people who are especially dedicated or for "professional" martial artists, i.e., teachers who basically do nothing but practice budo all day, every day. For most of us, 2 is more than enough.

And yet there's always the attraction of the unknown; something new. Surely that new and exotic martial art contains all the secrets that my current martial art doesn't have; surely that new teacher will tell me everything my current teacher isn't giving me. If I could just learn one more martial art, that would fill in all the gaps and make me the ultimate martial artist! Ooh, if I could just learn that really rare koryu, then I could go back home and be really, really special.

It's all an illusion. I need to focus on the practices I've already got scheduled, and just GO to them instead of coming up with reasons why I should be looking for something else.

Focus

2010-07-23T22:15:00.001-07:00

At Jodo keiko the other day, I was practicing with one of the senior students. He is an extremely kind and considerate guy, but when it comes to practice, he is pretty intense.
Some jodo groups are quite "friendly" (meaning they seem to take into account the fact that different people have different goals when it comes to martial arts) whereas other groups are more traditional - if you don't bring 100% intensity to practice, then maybe jodo isn't for you. I think our dojo is mid-range, although a bit towards the "friendly" end. This senior student used to practice at a dojo that was further towards the "traditional" end, and he brings a severity to practice that is good, I think.
I hadn't seen him at practice for a few weeks. I guess he had been busy with work, and it seemed like he was trying to make up for lost time. His movements were very sharp, fast, and strong. We were practicing Ran-Ai at the time, and I was on the tachi side. I had just been kuritsuke-ed when one of the Sensei, who was watching from the sidelines, called out, "Jeff, your hands are wrong!" I looked over at the Sensei, to try and get more information about what I was doing wrong. But my partner didn't slow down. Instead, he attacked me with more vigor.
"Don't take your eyes off your partner!" he growled. I barely blocked his strike, and stumbled backwards, off-balance. "Ignore what's going on in the dojo!" He attacked again, pulling his strike at the last possible instant in a way that let me know that he could have brained me but chose not to. "That's how people end up getting HURT!" Attack, block, counter-attack, avoid. He was getting more intense as we went along. I had recovered a bit of balance and realized with full clarity that he was totally right, and that by momentarily taking my attention off of him, I was doing him a terrible disservice as my practice partner.
The kata continued to the end. The jo side threatens the tachi side with a large strike. I barely avoided this by tucking my arm under my chin, and jumped back as the tip of the jo whipped past my face. He waited with his jo low, inviting a head-strike. I cut down, and he bashed the bokuto to the side so firmly that I almost lost my hold on it. Then, he finished the kata by hitting me in the suigetsu, harder, I think, than I have ever been hit before.
I had been thoroughly beaten up, but he was totally right. When we practice with our betters, not only are we at their mercy, but we are asking them to teach us. We owe it to them to give them our full attention and respect.
We returned to our starting positions. "Again!" We went through the kata again. It is a long kata (for jodo) and by the end I was panting. "Again!" We ended up doing the kata about 5 times, and I was only saved when the top Sensei said, "Alright everybody, let's take a break. Or else Jeff is going to die, I think."
I bowed deeply to my partner. He was panting and sweating profusely, too. He smiled and said, "Good practice. Remember, don't ever let your attention wander when you're practicing. This is Budo." I think I learned my lesson.

Tokyo Judging Seminar

2010-07-20T02:17:00.000-07:00

I was told by Sensei, in no uncertain terms, that I had better attend a particular iaido seminar. The purpose of the seminar was for 4th- and 5th-dans to get experience acting as judges, and to get acquainted with all the intricacies of sitting, standing, holding flags, passing said flags, furling and unfurling the flags, bowing, and so forth. It sounded like a riot, so I said I would be happy to go. Especially as she had just told me that I had to.

She was so keen on the idea of me going that she asked somebody in the dojo (I still have no idea who, exactly) to write an e-mail to me in English (someone in the dojo speaks English??) explaining all the details. I was flabbergasted. And touched.

For once, everything was crystal clear. I took the necessary day off work. I got to the venue with plenty of time, with all the necessary stuff. When I went up to the reception desk to register, there was my name and everything. This was probably a first for me!

The seminar itself was, uh, well, how can I put this? Awful. Abysmal. Agony. (And that's just the A's...) First off, it was about 33 degrees inside the gym, and extremely humid. Second of all, we had to take turns demonstrating, while our peers acted as judges. With my slippery, sweaty feet, it was humiliating - like doing iai on a Slip'n'Slide.

Like this, but with swords.

Third, judging wasn't much better. I had been paying keen attention to what the instructors were telling us, but to not much avail. Ever seen this Far Side cartoon before?

Well, what I heard from the judges was: "blah blah blah FLAGS blah blah blah IMPORTANT blah blah blah DON'T blah blah blah YOU MUST blah blah FLAGS blah blah blah ..." This was accompanied by some not-very-illustrative flicks of a flag here and there.

Anyway, I did my best and stumbled through it, although I was hampered by this handicap I have called "Common Sense". For example, while acting as part of a 3-person judging team, we all stood behind our chairs for a moment behind the table, looking very impressive. The head judge gave a quiet signal that we should sit (it should all be in unison, obviously). There wasn't enough room between my chair and the other judge's chair, so I used COMMON SENSE and went the other way, and sat down. I was quickly (like, in about 0.3 milliseconds, almost as if someone had been waiting for me to make a mistake) corrected that I must sit down in my chair from the left side, i.e., in counterclockwise fashion. Oh, right. Silly me. Had this been a real grading or tournament, the whole thing would've been ruined!

The one thing I did take away was that flags can be dangerous. I was so intent on raising my flag with the correct judge-ly deportment and decisiveness, that when the head judge stood and yelled "Hantei" my left arm shot up and ... pretty much stabbed her in the face with my flag. Oops! Be careful to deploy the flag slightly to the REAR of the adjacent judge, not directly sideways, as that can be painful.

In the afternoon, we went through ZNKR iai, focusing on some of the fine details that we need to look for when judging others. I wanted to explain that I was awesome at judging others; it was just my own techniques that suck. And suck they did. Hard. I'm sure everyone else was shaking their head thinking, "This guy is 5th dan? Wow, they really make it easy for foreigners..."

Again, these fine details we were learning were pretty ... um, fine. Apparently the ZNKR handbook uses three slightly different verb tenses for the word meaning "to put your hands on the tsuka": kake, kakete, and kakeru. If I could tell you the difference between these tenses, I wouldn't have been inwardly screaming "What is going on here???" at the top of my mental lungs. Sensei spent about 20 minutes explaining, in depth, the differences between kake, kakete, and kakeru as it relates to different techniques. Eventually, he took a break. After the break, he came back and announced, "Okay, we figured it out. This is kake, this is kakete, and this is kakeru" while showing us the hand position for each. Imagine that - showing is sometimes more effective than telling! (Sorry, I know that not everybody is a teacher by profession...)

Kake

Kakete

Kakeru

Feet and Knees

2010-07-20T01:31:00.000-07:00

I haven't written in a long time. My apologies. I've been busy with work; I haven't actually been practicing all that much; I've been kind of depressed.

I've always had a couple of problems when it came to iaido (and to a lesser extent, jodo). The first problem is with my knees. I'm a big guy, and I don't have particularly strong legs, and that usually translates to bad knees. I have gone through bad periods before, but they always cleared up with a bit of rest. For the last couple of months, I have been in a cycle that looks like this:

-do a normal evening iai practice; feel more-or-less fine during, and immediately after
-start feeling pain in my knee as I'm getting home or going to bed
-wake up in the morning unable to bend my knee more than about 90 degrees with excruciating pain
-take half a week or so off iai (i.e., skip a practice or two)
-go back to practice and do only standing techniques; do this for maybe 2 practices
-by the 3rd practice back, my knee is feeling okay, so try doing techniques from seiza ...
(return to start)

Only recently, the "unable to bend my knee" period is getting longer and longer.

The other problem that I have is sweaty feet. I've gone on about this before, but I want to explain the extent of this problem. The other day I was at a seminar (I will perhaps write about this in another post) and I was demonstrating in front of a number of people. First of all, it was hot as blazes, so I was sweating to begin with. But the foot- and hand-perspiration is also closely linked to nervousness, so since I was demonstrating, as well as worried about my slippery, sweaty feet, the sweat was coming even faster. I was standing (still can't sit in seiza right now) and I was preparing to start Kata #6. This kata starts by stepping forward with the right foot. I couldn't even do that - as I shifted my weight forward, my left foot "squirted" backwards and I stayed in the same place. I couldn't even walk, let alone do iai! Suffice it to say that I managed to baby-step my way through the technique, although my turns were ... I don't know how to describe them. Imagine how you would do #6 if you were standing on a mixture of snow and ice. Some places have traction, other places are a bit slippery, and other places are completely devoid of useful friction. It was miserable.

As much as this picture disgusts you, it disgusts me more.

I have asked in the past if I can wear leather-soled tabi. Sometimes people are easygoing and say, "Sure, do whatever you want" and other times, people have a stick up their butt about it. "It's not part of the official uniform" they say. "Well, can you make an exception?" "Why should we make an exception for you?" "Well, I have really sweaty feet..." "Yeah, lots of people have sweaty feet. You just have to learn to deal with it, like they do." At one of the dojo I go to, I was told by the Sensei that I couldn't wear them because, if I wore them, it would just become a crutch for me, and I wouldn't be able to practice without them. Well, bad news: it's already a crutch for me.

This picture must be Photoshop or something.

There is an operation you can undergo to stop excessive sweating, where they snip a nerve where it branches off from your spinal cord. It's called a thorascopic sympathectomy, and possible side-effects include damage to the lungs, as well as the chance of a lazy eyelid and impaired vision. Oh yeah, not to mention the small risk of death that accompanies every surgery performed under general anaesthetic. And something vaguely referred to as "devastating side effects." Yippee! Sounds awesome.

That's right - I would look EXACTLY like this.

All of this could be avoided if I were just allowed, for the sake of my own safety and those around me, to wear tabi. Oh, did I mention that lots and lots of 8-dans wear tabi all the time? Why? Oh, you know, because they are a bit chilly. Dojo floors are really cold, haven't you noticed?

Tokyo Iaido Taikai

2010-05-02T05:10:00.000-07:00

The beginning of April was cherry blossom season. Everywhere I went, it seemed there were beautiful trees in full bloom. This is a view down the main street near my apartment.

Even a drab cityscape looks really nice for this 2-week period.

April 17th was the 48th Tokyo Iaido Tournament. At my new job, I have to work Saturday mornings, but I was informed that the morning was the team tournament, and the afternoon the individual tournament. I thought I might be able to make the afternoon, so I signed up.

Long story short: I rushed to get there, and didn't make it. Damn. It seems like these stupid misadventures are always happening to me. At least I was able to take a few pictures before going home in disgust.

This is the rather imposing view that competitors get to see as they draw.

Here are some 7th- and 8th-Dan Sensei from the final demonstrations.

Jodoka should all know Kaminoda Sensei, who is also an 8th-dan in iaido. The last time I posted a picture of him, somebody wrote a comment saying, "That's not Kaminoda Sensei." Well, sorry, it is - he's just stopped dying his hair.

Should you ever give up on someone?

2010-04-03T00:01:00.001-07:00

There is an older gentlemen at one of the dojos I attend. He is maybe 65 years old (although it is sometimes hard to tell with Japanese people!) and I don't think he has ever studied any other martial arts very seriously. He may have done some kendo when he was younger.
He's a very kind, friendly, and genial man. He attends classes quite regularly, and seems to be trying his best. But the problem is, he just doesn't "get it".
Now, I don't expect everyone to be a martial arts genius. God knows that I am on the low end of the "athletic aptitude" scale - I can't dance, can't really swim, am hopeless at ball sports - and I'm not even very good at martial arts when I consider how long I've been doing them.
But this older fellow, I'm sorry to say, has real problems with co-ordination. Sensei, or a senior student, will show him a simple movement, such as stepping forward and cutting, but he will transform it into something quite different. It is very common for Sensei to lose his patience with him. "Your right foot! RIGHT foot forward! That's your left foot! I said your right foot!" "Ahh," the old fellow will chuckle with some embarrassment, and blink a few times, and then change his footing. This makes Sensei even angrier. "Don't say 'Ahh' all the time, just remember it and do it properly!"
I haven't practiced with him very often since he joined the dojo last year. The other day, though, we were doing a partner rotation. I got to the end of the line, and rotated down to the beginner end of the dojo where he was waiting. I was on the jo side, he was on tachi. He came in, but none of his attacks were even close to reaching me, so I just stood there, hoping that he would pick up the hint that he needed to get closer. He didn't, he was just confused because he couldn't think of what he should be doing next. I explained, and we tried it again. Numerous other problems surfaced. For one thing, I found myself getting annoyed because he wasn't even walking back to his original position at the end of the kata, but rather going back on a diagonal and ending up shifted 2 or 3 meters to the side. I started to wonder whether he has some serious spatial perception issues, or issues with balance, or some other problems. It really came to a head when we did a kata that involves the swordsman coming in for a cut, and the jo side moving into close range and blocking/jamming up the swordsman so he can't cut. We did the technique, but instead of moving back to take the second cut as he is supposed to do, he just leaned around to the side and slowly twisted his arms, kind of bopping me in the shoulder. It didn't hurt, but I wanted to ask him, "What the hell are you doing?"
I say again that he is a really nice guy, who seems sincere in his desire to learn. I was getting annoyed in spite of myself, because I was really trying to be patient. But he does seem to be the "perfect storm" of bad characteristics for a martial artist - a poor memory for techniques, an inability to perceive what Sensei is trying to teach, a low awareness of space, and a very poor awareness of what his own body is doing.
So, what do you think? Should some people just be encouraged to take up bird watching? Weapons kata are not usually very dangerous, but I'm not crazy about the idea of training with somebody who often does the totally unexpected, or without any control of his motions.
I imagine that, somewhere down the line, he will quit. Sensei will stop teaching him, if he doesn't manage to internalize any of the corrections he's been given. Or, he will try a grading and fail, and then fail again. Or (and I hope this never happens) he will hurt somebody, and be so embarrassed that he will stop coming to practice.

Samurai Spirit - Iaido & Kendo

2010-03-15T22:18:00.000-07:00

In case you haven't seen these, YouTube has a number of episodes of "Samurai Spirit" talking about iaido and kendo. Although there are some obvious criticisms that could be made about the show, I think it's overall a great series. They actually find and speak with people who hold high ranks in real organizations (unlike some other documentaries I've seen where they interview somebody no-one's ever heard of, who's getting arrows fired at him in an abandoned factory, expecting us to believe that this is how normal training is conducted in Japan).

The iaido series contains an all-too-brief interview with Trevor Jones Sensei (7dan). Mainly though, it focuses on Kishimoto Chihiro Sensei (8dan hanshi) who is the chairman or head of the Iaido division of the All-Japan Kendo Federation. In other words, they went straight to the horse's mouth, so to speak, which is refreshing. Here's the first of 5 parts on YouTube.

The kendo episode is also very good, if a bit silly at times. (Why was he surprised that he didn't know what to do when facing an experienced, highly skilled kendo player, while doing kendo for the first time in his life? I suppose it is to drive home the point that kendo is much, much more difficult than it looks, even for someone experienced in other martial arts.) This episode features a very good interview with Alex Bennett (6dan) who is the editor-in-chief and publisher of Kendo World magazine. (Go on, get a subscription...!) The main Sensei they interview is Niibori Sensei (8dan hanshi) who is also one of the most respected kendo teachers in Japan. It is worth pointing out that, every year at the 8th-dan kendo gradings, fewer than 1% of all the hopefuls make it through to hachidan, and not all of these will ever be awarded the title of hanshi.

22nd International Seminar of Budo Culture

2010-03-11T22:56:00.000-08:00

This annual event was held once again at the Nippon Budokan's Training Center in Katsuura, Chiba from March 5 - 8th. Over 100 people, from something like 33 countries, came to hear lectures on budo, to socialize and discuss martial arts, and to train in Judo, Kendo, Karate, Aikdo, Naginata, Shorinji-Kempo, Sumo, and Jukendo.
The seminar began on Friday afternoon with an excellent lecture on the commonalities between Zen and Budo, given by Thomas Kirchner, a monk at Tenryu-ji in Kyoto, and an associate researcher at the International Research Institute for Zen Buddhism at Kyoto's Hanazono University. One of his main points is that Zen and Budo could be complementary arts, because some of the points learned in Zen are more easily or more quickly learned in Budo, and vice versa. He believes that there could be a benefit in studying both, and cited a few famous "Zen Budoka" like Yamaoka Tesshu. He also mentioned his experience with Kyudo, and the impression he received from his Kyudo teacher.

Saturday and Sunday both began with lectures in the morning. One very interesting talk was about "Women in Budo". Despite some objections to the contrary, I think this is a topic that everybody should be interested in, but particularly anybody who's part of a minority group, including "Foreigners Doing Budo in Japan".

We heard a good talk from the Soke of Togun Ryu kenjutsu, who is also a historian and writer. He talked about "Yamato-gokoro" (the Japanese Heart) and how this is a good alternative to "Bushido", which was basically a fabricated and idealized code that never actually existed.

In the afternoon we had sessions allowing us to "Experience a New Budo". This is a chance to get an introduction to a martial art you don't usually practice, and in some cases is very "accelerated". For example, if you join a Kyudo club, you don't even get to handle a bow in the beginning, but progress from working on your stance with an imaginary bow, moving on to using a rubber strap, and then firing an arrow into a target only a few feet away. Finally, after an extended time (in the old days, it sometimes took years) you graduated to firing an arrow at the full distance. We, however, were able to try a few shots within 15 minutes, with one-to-one instruction. Similarly, in kendo one usually trains basics for a number of months before putting on the armour, but we got into the armour almost immediately, and had a bash. I also tried jukendo (bayonet) which is very interesting, but is waning in popularity and now practiced almost exclusively by military personnel.
After the "Experience a New Budo" sessions, there were practical training sessions where you get the opportunity to practice with top-notch Sensei in your own martial art. Unfortunately, neither iaido or jodo are represented, so I got to go sit in a hot bath and relax! Poor me.
Dinners were provided by the Training Center, and after dinner, almost everyone stayed around to chat and drink until the wee hours of the morning. This seems to be a part of Budo culture: it doesn't matter how much you drink the night before, the real test comes the next morning. If you can still get up and train, (assuming of course that you're not still inebriated) then you didn't drink too much. Doing budo with a splitting headache and upset stomach is a form of endurance training, right?

Monday was the final day, and every year the headmaster of a Koryu group is invited to give a lecture about his or her style. This year, Nemoto Soke of Katsushin-ryu Jujutsu came along with some of his top students. They demonstrated a number of kata, and then allowed us to try 5 or 6 of the techniques, with hands-on instruction. It was fascinating stuff. I had seen Katsushin-ryu demonstrated at the Kobudo Taikai this year, so it was really cool to be able to see (even superficially) how it works. Watching a demo, it struck me as a bit slow and perhaps ineffective, but I quickly changed my mind when I found myself on the receiving end.
The best part of the seminar, as usual, is that you get to meet and talk with martial artists from different arts, from different countries, with different experiences in Japan, but you always find some common ground. Drinking and laughing together, you really do get the feeling that budo is not a way to fight, but a way to bring people together.

Size has its drawbacks

2010-03-11T22:36:00.000-08:00

As I've mentioned before, I'm a big guy, but in the arts I do, this is a drawback. In iai, being big just means that your movements are not going to be as sharp, or as quick, as a smaller person's. There also seems to be "more room for error". If I'm leaning forward 5 degrees when I should be standing straight, it's a little bit more noticeable on me than on somebody who is much smaller. That can make the difference between winning and losing in a Taikai.
The other thing is that being large means it's much more tiring. My muscles and joints receive a lot more wear and tear. I can't practice as long before I get tired, and in the long-term, I'm damaging my knees.
In jo, being large means that I can muscle people around, and get away with having techniques that only utilize, say, 60% of my available power. The other day, I had one of those wonderful/terrible practices where somebody noticed I was doing something strange, and decided to try and help me fix it. This time, it was hikiotoshi-uchi. I've learned a few different ways to do this strike. (Well, saying "learned" sounds like I actually mastered them - let's say I've been told a few different ways to do it.) My strike is okay, and usually knocks my partner's sword out of the way reasonably well, but it's got a lot of problems, too. If I had actually mastered any of these ways, I think nobody would have an issue with my technique, but the problem is that I am reaching in 3 or 4 different ways at once, and that doesn't really work.
One of the upper-level students was working with me, and had me do the strike repeatedly. "Don't bend forward." 8 or 9 repetitions. "Keep your left hand over here." 10 or 12 repetitions. "Twist your foot." 7 or 8 repetitions. "Your timing's off." "Tip of the jo should be over here." "More vertical." "Strike deeper."
By this time, my technique had been dismantled and was falling apart. Sensei walked by and asked "What the hell are you DOING?" (I'm paraphrasing.) I actually had no idea. Sensei gave me a few more pointers (contradicting some of the things the senior student had told me - this is Budo, after all!) and although I did get a few really nice, smooth, powerful strikes in there, I was left feeling like, "I have no idea what I'm doing anymore - I'd better practice harder!"
And that's a great thing. Not every class, but once in a while, we need to have somebody come and really shake us up.

Kobudo Taikai Part 2

2010-02-24T18:48:00.000-08:00

Kanshin Ryu Iaijutsu

Toda-ha Buko Ryu Naginatajutsu

Tennen Rishin Ryu Kenjutsu, aka "Why are there no women in MY dojo?"

Shindo Muso Ryu Jojutsu (Fukuoka)

Shindo Muso Ryu Jojutsu (Tokyo)

Araki Ryu Genyo Kogusoku

Shojitsu Kenri Kataichi Ryu Kenjutsu

Kashima Shinden Jikishinkage Ryu Kenjutsu - no, that's not the sword they use!

My favourite demo of the whole day was of Unkou Ryu (demonstrated by the Soke and his son).

Hokushin Itto Ryu Kenjutsu

Kuroda Han Hojutsu Yo Ryu Dakae Ozutsu ("Hand-held Cannon")

33rd Kobudo Taikai Article at Kendo World

2010-02-22T04:31:00.000-08:00

Hey everybody. A couple weeks ago, I was invited by Kendo World magazine and Kendo World Online to go and write a report about the 33rd Nihon Kobudo Taikai. Please check out my article there, and while you're at it, why not get a subscription? It's one of the few print magazines covering kendo, iaido, jodo, and koryu bujutsu in English, and it deserves your support! So quit sponging up all the free content available on the internet, and help them out by getting a subscription to the magazine. At 100+ pages, virtually ad-free, each issue is more like a book than a magazine.

There wasn't enough space in the article to run all of my photos, so here are some freebies, made possible by Kendo World! A picture is worth a thousand words, they say, so in most cases, I'll let the pictures do the talking.

Everybody lined up ... stitched together from 3 photos.

Ogasawara Ryu Kyubajutsu

Kashima Shinto Ryu Kenjutsu

Iwami Soke of Hyoho Niten Ichi Ryu Kenjutsu, about to bring the smack down.

Yagyu Shingan Ryu Taijutsu

Tendo Ryu Naginatajutsu. Here, the practitioner on the left is using 2 short swords.

Action shot! Araki Ryu Kempo (Bojutsu, Chigiriki, Kusarigama)

Shindo Munen Ryu Kenjutsu

Mizoguchi-ha Itto Ryu Kenjutsu

New Year's

2010-01-07T02:10:00.001-08:00

We had our iaido end of the year party in mid-December. It was an all-you-can-drink affair, so everyone had a good time. At Japanese parties, you are supposed to get up at some point and make the rounds, visiting each person in turn, pouring them a drink, having a chat, and then moving on to the next person. It lets you show respect to people, by pouring their drinks for them, and it's a way to mix the party up, and let you talk to everyone. I usually don't do it, because I'm usually so wedged into my seat that I can't get up easily and move around. I figure I'm also exempt from this Japanese cultural thing because I'm a foreigner (Yes, sometimes I use those cultural prejudices to my advantage!)
Anyway, it was a fun time, but before we got to any eating or drinking, we had to listen to a long speech from Sensei. He gave the speech that all Sensei everywhere have to give at least once in a while: you're all lazy, none of you practices hard enough, you're not training as hard as you should be. I was especially shamed because he specifically said, "Training once a week is nothing more than just playing around." Given that I train once a week in TWO arts, it was doubly shaming. I resolved to start training more often ... a nice, vague resolution that I'm sure I will stick to.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

I was talking about the topic of tradition with a few people; kind of re-hashing the things I was talking about in previous posts. On one hand, I think people essentially have the right to change whatever they want, but sometimes I think the decisions people make are wrong. When I admitted that a few of the comments to my posts had really pushed my buttons, one friend told me, that was "because you're a part owner of the art. All who practice an art for more than a couple of years become owners. Who else owns it?" I had to admit that he's completely right; we own these arts jointly, so when someone changes something, if it's a change you don't personally endorse, it is hard to accept.

When it comes to koryu arts, you either do it Soke's way, or you are a rogue. Or, you create your own school and set yourself up as the Soke. People do it all the time, with differing degrees of justification, and all the internet-arguing in the world won't make a difference.

The other option is to have a committee that decides what is right and what is wrong. This is much clearer, but you will still have some pretty wild differences between people's interpretations of what they just saw demonstrated and heard explained by the committee. And, you have to deal with annual changes from the committee itself.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

I was talking to another friend who's a kendoka. I was saying that it's nice that kendo is practiced in just ONE way, but as soon as I said that, I remembered that there are some groups who are trying to change kendo in one way or another. Some groups want to change kendo enough that it could become an Olympic sport. Other groups are trying to make kendo closer to kenjutsu, by allowing other kamae, or by opening up other targets. My friend said that he hated all that stuff; that he didn't want to come across as dogmatic, but as far as he was concerned, kendo is a complete system - there is absolutely no need to change it or modify it, because all the benefits that kendo has are already present, and that making changes to it will serve no purpose. Opening up new targets (the legs, for example) would turn it into chambara. If you've ever seen a good kendo match, there is an amazing conversation happening between the two kendoka, expressed via seme (pressure) and the control of the centerline. The interplay is subtle, but it is definitely there, and one tiny, almost imperceptible cue is enough to make both players explode into an attack. On the other hand, chambara is usally (to quote my friend) "a shit-show" with both sides making wild, opportunistic grab shots. The fastest player wins, and it's basically that simple. If kendo is an argument between skilled debaters, chambara is a shouting match on the Jerry Springer show. "Changing" kendo is not going to improve it; it's fine as it is, so let's leave well enough alone.

The Last Why: Tradition

2009-12-09T18:01:00.000-08:00

Way back when, I made a list of reasons why someone might choose to practice a sword art. The last reason was that we might want to be part of, and help perpetuate, a rich cultural and historical tradition.

Tradition is very important to some people, to the extent that it seems as though they chose to do the martial arts they do, completely on the basis of how old it is, or how "pure" its lineage is. Perhaps they started with a popular "modern" martial art like kendo or iaido, but were drawn to the ryuha that formed the basis for these arts.

On the other hand, some people don't care about tradition at all. If, for example, iaido was something that was invented in 1982 in a basement, it wouldn't make a difference to them, because it is their practice of iaido in the here and now that is important to them.

The problem, I think, is when people try to have their cake and eat it too. There are some people out there who have invented their own style, or heavily modified an existing style to suit their own way of thinking, and yet claim that it is "traditional samurai swordsmanship" or something. This just seems dishonest to me, as well as egotistical. They are saying, in effect, "I know more about how swordsmanship should be done than the people I learned it from. But I don't expect you to take my word for it. Let's pretend this was all invented by sword masters hundreds of years ago, and passed down to me through secret channels."

This is not to deny that, in the process of learning an art, everyone adapts some things to make the art their own. But I think it is right that we should emulate our teachers as well as we can.

To give you a personal example: I'm a big guy, about 195 cm, (6'5") 110 kg. My teacher, Kim Taylor, is also a big guy. One of our very influential Sensei was Haruna Matsuo Sensei. He was perhaps 5'4" and rather slight. While neither Kim nor I could ever move in exactly the same way that Haruna Sensei did, Kim (being a lot stronger) comes much closer to copying him. With my flabby physique, I just sort of flop around in a pale imitation of them both. Physical reality means that my iai is not the same as my teachers' iai ... but I try, and trying is key.

Deliberately introducing changes to techniques, however - particularly where those changes concern the speed and feeling of how a technique is done, or fundamental things like where the enemy is, what he is doing, and how you respond - twists the original tradition.

I went to an art exhibition in Tokyo a few months ago. The featured artist, Ai Wei Wei from China, is a very conceptual artist who deals in ideas. One of his artworks featured three photographs, taken in quick succession, of him holding a Tang dynasty (618 - 907 CE) vase, him releasing the vase, and the vase shattering on the ground.

Another one of his works was to take another ancient vase, and then paint the Coca Cola emblem on the side of it.

I don't claim to fully understand the meaning of this artwork, but obviously he is commenting on our role as curators to the past. On one hand, a 1300-year-old vase is something to be treasured and preserved simply because it is old, rare, and connects us with a past which we can never revisit. But on the other hand, he makes a valid point, I think - these objects exist in the here and now, and who has the right to say that an intact vase is more beautiful than a collection of shards, or that writing Coca Cola on the side of a vase doesn't make it more relevant to our modern era?

Mr Ai's work is controversial, and there must be many people who see it as nothing short of vandalism. I can understand this point of view, certainly.

When it comes to the martial arts, I don't have anything against people creating new styles, because doing that does not effect extant styles. My problem arises, I think, when these new styles - by virtue of being flashier or more slickly promoted - draw people away from older arts to the point where the older arts die out. Or, another danger is when people lie about the art's origins, and teach hundreds or even thousands of students a false version of history.

You might not like Mr Ai's art; you might think shattering a priceless vase is mindless and meaningless destruction. But at least he documented it, and took credit for what he did. The same cannot be said for some modern martial artists.

More Recent Events

2009-12-07T04:37:00.000-08:00

Culture Day came and went; this means the Kobudo Demonstration at the Meiji Shrine, and also the All-Japan Kendo Championships at the Nippon Budokan. I followed my usual routine: fail to get up as early as I would like, show up mid-morning at the Shrine, take a few pictures, and then head over to catch the exciting matches at the Budokan (and also get my face on NHK - very important!)
As I arrived at the Meiji Shrine at almost exactly the same time this year as I did last year, I'm a bit sad to say that the same koryu groups were demonstrating as were last year. I was hoping that they might mix the schedule up somewhat from year to year, but it seems they are very rigid, and that basically the same koryu demonstrate in basically the same order. So my pictures will inspire a feeling of deja-vu for anybody who read this Blog last fall...

Toyama Ryu came and did a lot of nice tameshigiri. I think it is interesting that they are considered a koryu when they are not very old.

Kyoso Sensei did the iaijutsu component of the Katori Shinto Ryu demonstration...

I love to pick on these guys because their techniques are just so ... inscrutable. Shin Muso Hayashizaki Ryu.

Iaido, right? No, smart guy, it's jujutsu! That's what they said, anyway: Shibukawa Ichi ryu. I guess that the school has a batto component. I wonder if this gentleman did the iai because he had nobody to demonstrate the jujutsu with. Some of these schools are literally down to one or two people.

There were a lot of other good opportunities for photos, but my impeccably bad sense of timing meant that I missed 99% of the good shots. But my favourite shot of the day is this next one. Sing along everybody ... "Today's the day the samurai have their piiiiiic-nic!"

Oh, yabusame too. I couldn't stay to watch them shoot, unfortunately, but the pageantry is really wonderful.

And it was off to kendo. This shot looks quite similar to the one from last year, strangely enough...

Mr. Harada after a hard match ...

And Mr. Teramoto, who has been having a fantastic year, but couldn't quite scrape together an All-Japan championship (although he came close).

As usual, this event had nothing to do with me directly - I don't practice kendo, and I don't do any of the arts demonstrated at the Meiji Shrine (or at least, not while I was there to see them) - but I still felt a great "recharging" of my budo batteries. If only I could get recharged a bit more often. Once a month or so would be nice...

More Jodo

2009-11-25T23:46:00.000-08:00

Last night, we had a very small group at Jodo class, for whatever reason. It was a really, really good practice, because Sensei had a lot of time to wander around giving us individual attention.
I spoke last time about "quick fixes" and about how they're pretty rare. Well, I was working on using the right hand properly when doing hikiotoshi and, sure enough, Sensei came by and said my movements were too small and I wasn't using the left hand enough! I should have known better; focus on one thing hard enough, and everything else falls apart.
Something really struck me last night - something that I know rationally, but hit me full force anyway. I always knew that Jodo is all about technique, and "strength" has nothing to do with "power". But seeing and feeling Sensei blast my sword out of the way, over and over and over as he was explaining a point to someone else - "Not like this, like this. Not like this, like this..." - and there was no strain in his voice, no sweat on his brow; in fact, he wasn't even really paying attention to me, he was mostly looking at the other guy he was talking to. He was hitting my sword with all the apparent strain that I would use to flip the pages of a magazine, but almost wrenching the sword out of my hands every time.

The other kind of funny thing was that everybody was commenting (again) about how tall I am. Masui Sensei had been watching me practice, and I guess he got to thinking how short and silly the jo looks when I am holding it. He said that, in reality, I should be using a jo that's 20 cm longer than the standard one. Of course the jo length is standardized so that we can trade weapons when we shi-uchi kotai, and also so that we know how far to step back to avoid strikes. But he said that, by rights, I should use a longer, thicker jo; one that comes up to about halfway between nipple-height and collarbone height. I should also use a longer sword. Since I use a 2.7 shaku iaito, a 2.7 shaku bokuto seems reasonable. I'd like to try it someday.
Talk of big people and heavy weapons led to a discussion of how Muso Gonnosuke was large, and so was Miyamoto Musashi. This led to some other interesting speculation between everyone, which I'm recreating here, in this group conversation:
"They say Musashi carved that long bokuto out of what ... an oar, right?"
"But the thing is, a seasoned fighter like Musashi would never have tried out a weapon for the first time in a duel to the death. Maybe he was actually carving an oar on his way over to the island, to relax his mind, but he must have prepared a long bokuto in advance and practiced with it."
"Yeah, that makes sense, he wouldn't leave anything to chance..."
"Because a long sword is heavy, but a long bokuto, being made out of wood, would be a bit lighter, and so you could swing it faster."
"Well, I don't know if you could say that for all kinds of wood. Good, hard wood is pretty heavy."
"Hmm, maybe he carved the bokuto to be thin, and fast."
"No way! If you carve it too thin, it's going to break!"
And so on. Sensei mentioned that Gonnosuke's jo was more like a bo, as it was almost 6-shaku (6 feet) long. I'm not sure where that information comes from, but most Japanese wouldn't be able to wield a 6-foot stick in the way they do a jo, so it makes me wonder ...

Quick fix for Hikiotoshi in Jodo

2009-11-24T17:22:00.001-08:00

There are few "quick fixes" in budo, or at least few that I have found, stumbled onto, or been taught. But occasionally, you do get something that instantly fixes a problem you've been having. Sensei had us do an exercise the other night that really helped me, and I thought I'd share it.
When we do hikiotoshi, most of us start out too stiff and rigid, and don't use our arms to full advantage. To fix that, most of the teachers I've met have emphasized using the forward hand. Let's say you're standing in "right hikotoshi", so you're looking at teki over your left shoulder, your left hand is over your chest, and your right hand is down by your right thigh. Most of the time, Sensei will tell you to use more left hand, squeezing as you strike. This is good, but it leads to another problem: neglecting the right hand! Of course you need to use both hands to their fullest to get a powerful hikiotoshi.
So, the other day, Sensei had us go into hikiotoshi no kamae, then just let go with the left hand, and do the strike using the right hand only. It's okay to "cheat" a little bit here and choke up on the jo by 10 cm or so. The feeling is almost like you are doing a one-handed sword strike to teki's sword. Suddenly, without the support of the left hand, you are using the right hand properly, thinking about things like "hasuji" and getting your hand and wrist in the proper position. You are also more-or-less unable to stop the jo, so you naturally do a beautiful follow-through after the strike. One-handed, I was doing better hikiotoshi strikes than I usually do with two hands. Remembering this feeling, I returned to the two-handed grip, and did some of the smoothest, quietest, most effective hikiotoshi strikes that I've done in a long time.
Try it and see if it helps you!

Kendo World magazine

2009-11-15T19:28:00.000-08:00

If you read this Blog, and you haven't subscribed to Kendo World magazine, then there's something wrong! Kendo World is the leading - no, the only - print magazine devoted to kendo, with sections on iaido, jodo, and koryu bujutsu. It is a real labour of love, and if you want it to stay around, then please show your support and subscribe. Reading the worn-out, dog-eared copy that gets passed around your kendo club is cheating!
I think Kendo World had some problems with subscriptions in the past, so they are having a special now: get 4 issues for US$49.95 - This is 30% of the individual price - in other words, if you subscribe, you get a free issue. Subscribing is also the best way to make sure you don't miss an issue. This special offer is only going to last until December 25th.
www.kendo-world.com

Recent events

2009-11-14T19:07:00.000-08:00

I've been falling behind with my posts lately. There are two main reasons for this: one is that I could be going through a period of listlessness and can't be bothered to write anything. The other is that I'm busy with something and just don't have much time to write. Fortunately this time, it's the second reason.
I have quite a few things I wanted to mention. One is that I think I've fixed the problem with my cut. (Readership: "Hurray! We were all losing sleep over that!") Sensei had been watching me with a sense of annoyance. I thought it was just annoyance at me for being unable to fix my swing, but now I'm guessing that he was a bit annoyed with himself for being unable to get to the root of my problem. A couple weeks ago, he got me to change the timing of my footwork with the cut. Before, I was doing a kind of 1 .. 2-3 timing, which means the front foot steps, I cut, and the back foot comes up at almost the same time. He tried to get me to do everything at the same time - not possible, in fact, but that's the feeling. I couldn't get it at all, until I started imagining I was doing kendo. Then I got it.
One thing I've learned since I've come to Japan is that there isn't one way to do things. You could be forgiven for thinking so in the west, at least for a while. You have a seminar, and a bigwig comes over and tells you, "This is THE way it is done." You silently think to yourself, "But X. Sensei told us to do it THIS way last year ... but I guess it's changed. Okay." The fact is, though, that not only does Seitei iai change from year to year, but it changes depending on whom you are learning from. This is a good thing, to some extent: everybody has their own way of doing iaido. Why should there be ONE way to do everything? If you analyze the way the top dozen golf pros hold their clubs, I'm sure you'll find a couple who do it differently than the others. But if they can all hit the ball roughly the same distance, with the same accuracy, who's to say who's right? Same for tennis, same for baseball, same for iaido.
The bummer part is that most teachers think they're right, and so whenever I have changed teachers, I have gotten some criticism that runs directly counter to what somebody else has just told me. Oh well; it keeps me from getting complacent, and that is a good thing, despite all my whining. All of this is just my long-winded way of saying that I've fixed my cut, for now, but when I change dojos again in the future, I'll very quickly be working to fix it again.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

I was thinking the other day at jodo practice about "winning" and "losing". Even though it's already decided that the Jo side always defeats the Tachi, there is a dynamic within the kata that means that there is a "real winner", I think. I don't want to overstate this, nor do I want to make anybody think that the point of Jodo is to be the winner. But sometimes it's hard to ignore. You know you've "won" the kata when:
-you're the tachi side, but your kiai overwhelms that of your partner; his kiai is weak and unconvincing
-you make your partner blink a few times with a look of, "What just happened?" on his face
-you have to slow your movements down because your partner wasn't ready to block the strike you were preparing
-when you're on the Jo side and you drive your partner back almost into the wall; then he goes to step back and bumps into the wall because he forgot the wall was there, he was so focused on getting away from you
-when your partner can't look you in the eyes
-when you're on the Jo side and you almost knock the bokuto out of your partner's hands, and he is clearly thrown off-balance, mentally, by this
-conversely, when you're on the Tachi side, and your partner does a strike which doesn't work, or has little effect

Basically, I'm not saying that your goal is to beat your partner up - although there seem to be many people in the Jodo world who think so! But if you can maintain an unperturbable mental state, while throwing your opponent off-balance mentally, then you've won.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

The "Dai To-Ken Ichi" or "Big Sword Market" was held in Tokyo a couple weeks ago. I went to this event a few years before, and it was like Shangri-La; more swords in one place than I could ever imagine. And not only swords, but spears, naginata, matchlock guns, suits of armour - it was absolutely incredible.
Well, as often happens with me, I forgot when it happens, exactly, and so it had been a few years since I checked it out. About a month ago, I was at the Japanese Sword Museum. I met a gentleman from Australia who asked me if I was going to the sword market, and I confessed that I had no idea when it was happening. As it turned out, it was the following weekend, so I made plans to go. I think I offended him, though, because when he asked me, "So, do you study swords?" I told him that, while I thought swords were beautiful in their own right, I could never imagine spending hours and hours studying who was the student of whom, and learning what combinations of nioi and nie and jigane and hamon were representative of what school. When he heard that, he said, "Well," and turned on his heel and walked away.
But at least I learned when the event was. Here are a few pictures:

I'm guessing that there were 30 dealers or more, so imagine this scene multiplied by 30. Enough swords to make your head spin, and each sword worthy of hours of study and examination. Of course, barbarian that I am, I just wanted to pick them up and swing them.
I was looking for swords in my "length range", i.e., swords that I could use for iaido. I use a 2.7, so I was looking for swords over 2.5, basically. It's kind of a funny thing that swords look a lot longer when they are out of their furniture. I kept thinking, "Oh, that one looks pretty long!" but when I checked the fine print, it was only a 2.4 or something. Nosyudo had a fantastic 2.64 sword by Kanefusa, stunning hamon, only $8,000 or so. I had to give it back because I was salivating all over it.

A few suits of armour, too. Strangely, the armour was quite a bargain compared to the swords. I suppose it is just the fact that armour is large and difficult to store, and so not in demand? I think the above suits were going for about $20,000 each. That seems like a lot, until you realize the sheer number of swords which were going for $30,000 and up. I think the same principle is in effect when you consider that small, compact objects like netsuke and inro have been commanding high prices for much longer than swords. In fact, tsuba used to be the valuable parts of swords, until collectors in the west learned more about the blades. I think this is because tsuba are small and easy to store, and the workmanship is easier to appreciate. I dunno.
So anyway, my dream sword can be mine for just $8,000. Guess I'd better start saving my pennies.

Moving Zen

2009-11-12T20:45:00.000-08:00

My iaido teacher, when asked, sometimes tells the story of how he got into the martial arts. He was originally drawn to Zen, but was unable to find a Zendo in the area, so he figured he'd start martial arts, thinking that they were kind of the same thing. Turns out he was right.

My sixth reason for "Why Somebody Might Study a Sword Art" was that it could be a type of moving Zen practice. I've been putting off writing this piece because I'm simply not qualified to say much about it. (I know being unqualified has never stopped me before...)

Of course, like everybody else out there, I've read some books on the topic, but I've also read opinions that the links between martial arts and Zen are overstated; that there really is no deep connection. People sometimes state that martial arts are much more closely connected to Shinto, Confucianism, or Shingon Buddhism. I can't comment intelligently on any of that, so instead, here are some random thoughts. (Hey, it's my blog, and I'll ramble if I want to...)

I think Zen has had such a deep and wide-ranging effect on Japanese culture as a whole that it is impossible to deny the influence of Zen on any Japanese art. To my mind, it would be almost like denying the influence of Christianity on Western culture. Historians of the future might argue, "Oh, so-and-so was an atheist, so his works were not influenced by Christianity." But that would show that they failed to recognize the extent to which the culture as a whole has been shaped by Christian beliefs, so even someone who was not specifically a believer, or who never went to church, would still have been educated and brought up surrounded by Christian values.

Moreover, I sometimes get the feeling that people who deny a historical connection between martial arts and Zen are just trying to be contrary, or stirring up controversy. But at the end of the day, I'm not a historian, so I just don't know.

What is clear is that in the modern era, martial arts have been imbued with a connection to Zen that may or may not have been there historically. Kendo and Iaido practices usually begin and end with a period of mokuso, or meditation. While it is often brief, it is a time to clear the mind and focus on the present.

When we are practicing, we are encouraged to remain in the present moment; not to intellectualize. Although questions during iai practice are fairly common in the West (in my experience) they aren't asked much in Japan. It's just "do it ... now do it again". You're not supposed to think about it too much, but let it seep into your bones through repetition.

Zen tells us that everything is one; there is no difference between "this" and "that". When we practice iai, there is no difference between our state of mind when we are sitting quietly and when we are slicing our imaginary opponent in half, nor when we are looking out over his bleeding corpse. When we practice kendo, we have to "become one" with our opponent - the ideal is not that we move in reaction to his movements - cause and effect, attack and defense - but rather that we move at the same time, or even slightly before he knows he is about to move.

Increasingly in the modern world, we are able to spend hours and hours in a purely intellectual world. We stare at computer screens, thinking about abstractions, writing to people who aren't present, while our legs fall asleep. Practicing the martial arts, we remember to breathe; we feel the pain in our knees and ankles, the floor beneath our feet, the sweat trickling into our eyes. We look into our partner's face, and when everything works right, we reach the end of a kata and realize, "Hold on ... What just happened? I must have done it correctly because he didn't split my head open, but ... I honestly don't remember the last 5 seconds at all!" It is as though we ceased to exist for an interval, before our brains slammed on the brakes and brought us screeching back to the present.

In "Opening the Hand of Thought", Uchiyama Roshi talks about how Zazen practice is not really the act of sitting there with an empty mind, but rather the act of stringing together short little intervals of "empty-mindedness", interrupted by random thoughts that bubble up from our brains like gas from a swamp. Zazen is exhausting because you have to constantly struggle to let go of those random thoughts, to obtain brief windows of silence - of nothingness. I believe I have experienced nothingness in the middle of kata practice.

Notes from a cluttered mind

2009-10-29T23:46:00.000-07:00

I was reading over my own Blog entries from last year (what kind of sicko does that, anyway?) when I noticed my entry about the All-Japan Iaido Tournament, and also the A-J Jodo Tournament. I started thinking, "Yeah, those should be coming up any time now ..." and checked the All-Japan Kendo Federation webpage. They had both come and gone!

The Iaido tournament took place in Nagasaki this year. As I lived in Nagasaki-ken from 2000 - 2002, I really wanted to go and see the tournament. All the Sensei I had met around Kyushu were sure to be there. Plus, the Oita team this year was headed up by 7th-dan Ishii Toyozumi, instead of the man who has become kind of the "regular" Oita delegate, Kosaka Sensei. Ishii Sensei is a wonderful guy who taught me many times, and I was really interested to see how his dynamic, sharp style would do in competition. (He also does Niten Ichi Ryu and Sekiguchi Ryu iai.) Not very well, it turns out! The Oita team did quite poorly, although it may be that they just ran into tough competition early on, as frequently happens in elimination tournaments like this.

Results of the tournament from the ZNKR website:

5th dan
Winner: Hirose (Nagasaki)
2nd: Imai (Niigata)
3rd: Harada (Kanagawa) and somebody whose name I can't read (>_<) from Chiba.

6th dan
Winner: Yamazaki (Shizuoka - wonder if he is related to 8th dan Yamazaki Sensei?)
2nd: Takagi (Nagasaki)
3rd: Kamei (Kochi) and Nakagawa (Yamagata)

7th dan
Winner: Morishima (Kanagawa)
2nd: Tsukimi (Nagasaki)
3rd: Akiba (Chiba) and Shimamura (Tochigi)

This was, I think, the first time that Morishima has won the 7th dan division, but it was only a matter of time, as he has been coming in 2nd or 3rd place for years now. Given that he's only - what? - 39 or something, he has a lot of good years left in him, too. Definitely a man to watch.

With 2 second place finishes and a first, Nagasaki easily won in the team competition. This is not surprising as they were the host prefecture. Perennially strong Kanagawa and Chiba both did well. What was a bit surprising was that Niigata came in 3rd, I believe. They have not been particularly strong in the past but they may have some strong leadership there; I need to find out more, I guess. Good for them, in any case.

Meanwhile, the Jodo tournament had taken place in Kanagawa over a week before. To my knowledge, nobody in my dojo mentioned it to me, which made me feel a bit neglected. (Being a foreigner in Japan is sometimes a lose-lose situation, especially when you've got an attitude problem like me. When people treat you with extra consideration, you get your back up and say, "I'm not a child! Don't treat me like I'm so helpless!" On the other hand, if people don't help you, you do dumb things like missing events that are common knowledge to everybody else, and then go around saying, "Thanks for not telling me, you jerks!")

So basically, I hate that I am disorganized, but I guess I don't hate it enough to become organized. I wish I spoke better Japanese, but I don't seem to want it enough to put in the hours of study required. I wish I was better at iaido and jodo but ... oh, ouch.

Excuses, and Inflicting Pain

2009-10-25T20:43:00.000-07:00

Just a quick post, as a kind of addendum to the last post.

Kim Taylor has a martial arts Blog, and he usually says things better, or at least gets to the point quicker, than I do. In his Oct. 20, 2009 edition, he says:

...some folks just can't be taught physically. The student who tells you why
they can't do some movement or other, the one who fixes it while you're looking
at them and then drops right back into the same old habits, the one who looks at
you blankly, as if to say "I'm doing it that way, what's wrong with you?" and
the one who tries, really, really tries but never gets it.

I have been all of the above at one point or another. In fact, I am one or two of them right now.

I have a problem with my cut. I'm trying to make my cuts as large as I can, but in doing so, I have developed a bad habit of moving through "dead hand" when I am making contact with kasso-teki's forehead. In other words, my wrists are over-extended at the point of impact, which is weak. Then, I pull my hands into my belly at the end of the cut, resulting in a kind of wobble. The sword should stop firmly at the end, but mine doesn't. It does a little one-two bounce.

My teacher has tried to get me to fix this problem. When he first mentioned it, I was "the one who looks at you blankly, as if to say 'I'm doing it that way, what's wrong with you?'" I didn't think I was doing anything wrong. When it became obvious that I was, in fact, doing it that way, my next reaction was to think, "But I've seen lots of people do it this way! Iaido champions do it this way!" (Which is true, actually; if you slow down video of many of the frequent iaido taikai winners, they cut the way I do, which is neither here nor there; I had been told to fix something, and I shouldn't be denying the problem, or evading it.)

The next week, I came back and was cutting the same way. I had become "the one who fixes it while you're looking at them and then drops right back into the same old habits". Well, I hadn't really fixed it to begin with, actually. The best I could manage was to do 2 or 3 good cuts out of 10, while my teacher stood there saying, "No ... no ... okay ... no ... nope ... Yes! ... no ... no ..." Eventually he got tired and wandered away, to our mutual relief.

Last week, I went to practice and was still cutting the same way. Sensei was exasperated and said, "Even though I tell you what you're doing wrong, you just keep doing the same thing." My defences rose up and I tried to explain why I couldn't cut properly. I tried to blame the weight of my sword (it's a 2.7, but not all that heavy, really) and the unusually thin tsuka it came with, which is hard to grip firmly with the left hand. I had become "the student who tells you why they can't do some movement or other".

A few days later I was at jodo practice. During a break, I took a bokuto and began doing some swings in front of a mirror. I was doing the same thing with the bokuto! I couldn't blame my strange cutting on the weight of my iaito, or its thin tsuka. (Damn!) I was finally able to fix my cut when swinging the bokuto, but it remains to be seen whether it will translate over into my iai.

_________________________________

Regarding my last post on self-improvement, my friend Paul had this to say:

One thing that you didn't really talk about in the "Self-Development" training
reason was about partner training, especially when you have to inflict pain
and get it inflicted on you in turn (Aikido is a good example, but there are
many painful techniques, and errors for that matter, in Jodo and Kenjutsu
kata). You talked about the pain of pushing yourself, which is a very
important factor, but I think that partner work teaches a lot about empathy and
compassion and appreciation, things that are very beneficial in life both inside
and outside of the dojo.

And in a later mail:

I have always found that the kids in the Judo clubs at the high schools I've
been at were a lot nicer than the kids in the Kendo Clubs. Not a very
scientific comparison, but there might be something to it. While Kendo
does hurt, it's more because you let yourself get hit, [i.e., failed to prevent
yourself from getting hit, by dodging, blocking, etc.] than you allowed your
partner to inflict pain in order to better understand a technique.

Great points, Paul, and thanks for letting me post them.

Martial Arts and Self-Improvement - A Self-Fulfilling Goal?

2009-10-05T19:56:00.000-07:00

I'm writing this a bit reluctantly. It's the next item on the "Why practice sword arts" list, but it's probably the hardest one to tackle. "Self-improvement" is difficult to define. We have to define a "good person" before we can decide what it means to be a "better person", and the first one has eluded philosophers for centuries. We can't really measure self-improvement either, except subjectively, and there is certainly no way to prove if it has happened.
Of course, we all have anecdotal evidence. "Before I started martial arts, I was spineless, cowardly, weak, selfish, and morally bankrupt. Now, 20 years later, I am somewhat less so." Not exactly scientific, is it? How much did martial arts have to do with it, and how much of it was merely "growing up" a bit? We each have to answer that one for ourselves.
I want to take a look at Kendo. Kendo is an art that is practiced mostly for the purpose of self-improvement. Nobody is out there taking kendo for self-defence. And as I said before, it's good exercise, but it's a lot easier to do 40 minutes on a stairmaster while watching TV, than to go to the dojo and get whupped for 2 hours twice a week. Which leaves the idea of doing it because it makes you a better person. According to the All-Japan Kendo Federation;

The concept of Kendo is: To discipline the human character through the
application of the principles of the katana.
The purpose of practicing Kendo is:
To mold the mind and body,
To cultivate a vigorous spirit,
To hold in esteem human courtesy and honor,
To associate with others with sincerity,
To forever pursue the cultivation of one's self,
And through correct and rigid training, to strive for improvement in the
art of Kendo.

Therefore from kendo we hope to
learn:
Proper ways to interact with others.
Continuous concentration as
we aspire and reach towards goals.
Total commitment to what is right.
How to become contributing members of society.

Kendo is hard. I can definitely agree that it molds your body while providing you with mental toughness and powers of concentration. By adhering to strict etiquette, it teaches courtesy. At higher levels, you must become aware of your opponent/partner's intentions, which makes you sensitive to others. But what about the other points? "Total commitment to what is right?" How does that happen?

I think this is kind of a chicken-and-egg thing. People come to kendo because they are already interested in self-improvement - "becoming a better person" - which means that they are already thinking about what it means to be a "good person". Kendo attracts and keeps ethical people who are receptive to these ideas. It's kind of like church, particularly in this day and age when fewer and fewer people are raised with religion. The people who drift back to church are the people who are interested in questions of morality, right and wrong, good and evil. Even if they don't agree with every tenet of religious teaching, they find themselves part of a group of like-minded people.

Next, telling people "By doing kendo, you can make yourself into a better person" is something of a self-fulfilling prophecy. Kendo provides people with a specific type of social interaction, with juniors and seniors, and rights, and responsibilities, over a backdrop of physical challenges and pain. The way you cope with the pain, while still maintaining your responsibilities, teaches you something which, because you've been made aware of the possibility, you then extend to your life outside the dojo.

If you practiced another activity - let's say bowling - with the same kind of attitude as kendo or kyudo or iaido, I think the results would be the same. "Clear your mind before you bowl. Extend your ki towards the pins. Bow to the pins slightly, acknowledging that they are one with you. Begin your approach and release the ball in one fluid motion ..." I think the self-consciousness is the important part: finishing a practice, feeling exhausted, and asking yourself, "Why did I put myself through that? Is it making me a better person?" We look for changes in ourselves, signs of improvement, and it is that process that changes us.

Is there anything inherently beneficial about martial arts? I don't think so, any more than there is something inherently beneficial about waking up on Sunday morning and singing hymns with a bunch of other folks in a building somewhere. But if we are self-conscious that we are doing it for a reason, and that reason is that we want to become a better person, then the potential for improvement is there.

Why do a sword art, anyway?

2009-09-29T22:06:00.000-07:00

Let's begin at the beginning. Why would anybody practice a sword art in the first place? These are the conceivable reasons I could think of.

1. To learn how to kill someone with a sword.

2. Because it stimulates their sense of fantasy and lets them imagine being someone else.

3. For exercise.

4. For fun; either sheer physical enjoyment, or social interaction.

5. Because it is a form of self-improvement.

6. Because it is a type of "moving Zen". (This may be closely connected with #5.)

7. Because they want to become part of, and to perpetuate, a historical / cultural tradition.

The commenter a few posts back told me to: "... stop making the error of viewing the rest of the world through the window of one overly defined, poorly practiced, narrow example of what a sword art can be." I've tried to do that, and the above list represents every conceivable reason why I could imagine someone might practice a sword art. I've left out other reasons such as "I enjoy cutting myself" or "I look forward to having bad knees when I get older."

Reason #1 seems a bit odd when it is put bluntly. If you want to kill, there are more effective ways of doing it. You could join the army; they will train you, pay you, give you the tools, fly you around the world, and maybe even provide you with opportunities to kill people.

A very small number of historians might be interested in "historical" killing methods. I have heard about historians who look at battle injuries on skeletal remains to determine how those people died, and presumably, what kinds of techniques were used. It seems a very limited area of study, with very limited rewards, in my opinion. And unless you're writing a PhD thesis on the topic, it doesn't apply to you.

Few people would admit to doing a sword art for reason #2, but I suspect that most of us are, at least partly. That was absolutely the reason why I started. I played a lot of Dungeons & Dragons when I was an awkward teenager (I've stopped since I've become an awkward adult). I also thought the greatest comics ever were Frank Miller's "Ronin" and the Japanese manga, "Lone Wolf & Cub." I dreamt of enduring the hardships necessary to become a master swordsman. I imagined myself becoming like the stoic, tortured Itto Ogami, a lone assassin on the road to hell. How cool is that?

When I discovered a "Japanese Swordsmanship" club at my university, I was expecting people in karate-gi using wooden swords. Imagine my ecstasy when I showed up and ... Oh my God ... they were dressed up like samurai! And the best part ... they were using real swords! I almost passed out in my haste to sign up for the class.

Not everyone is as immature as I am/was. Either way, the "dress up" factor soon wears off, and people who may have started Japanese sword for that reason soon gravitate to something else, like Live-Action roleplaying, or Society for Creative Anachronism.

But still, there is something about doing sword arts that allows people to play a role. No matter what they are really doing or what they are really getting out of it, it lets them tell themself, "I am a wise martial artist on the path to enlightenment" or "I am part of an ancient tradition" or "I am becoming a killing machine." In other words, this is a sort of "meta-reason" ... the perception of why you're doing a sword art, regardless of the real reason or real result.

Reason #3 was exercise. Kendo is great exercise; iaido much less so. But for couch-potatoes like me, something is better than nothing. When I started iaido, I had been a sedentary teenager for years. Even the relatively easy movements in practice were strenuous. 18 years later, I am not much better, really (knees are far worse) but I am far more active than I used to be, and recognize the need for cross-training. I respect trained athletes. And I'm trying to get into better shape. If it weren't for iaido, who knows what I might be doing now?

But as far as a reason to practice sword arts? For iaido, exercise hardly rates.

#4. All of us, I'm sure, find sword arts "fun" on some level. We enjoy it, or we wouldn't do it. Young samurai may have been forced to practice martial arts - many Japanese school kids are, as well - but nobody is forcing us. We have friends in our dojo, or we take satisfaction in seeing some small improvement in our technique. Doing well at tournaments may give us an adrenaline rush, and a sense of self-esteem. But again, as with exercise, martial arts are not really "fun" when compared to other leisure activities. There are plenty of ways to meet like-minded people that don't involve physical pain, occasional humiliation, and getting up early on weekends to attend camps and seminars.

So, I don't think "It's fun" is a good enough reason.

I'll look at reasons 5, 6, and 7 next.

Why is it so hard to write about this stuff?

2009-09-29T20:44:00.000-07:00

There was an interesting comment on my last post. If you haven't read it yet, check it out below.

Immediately after I read the comment, I wrote a response. It got longer and longer, and as I read it over, I felt like I wasn't really being clear. The more I wrote, the more confused my message became.

I saved the message, telling myself I'd work on it later and post the finished version. Well, the more I thought about it, the more rabbit holes I started to find myself down. The more I wrote, the more cans of worms I had to open.

Which in turn, made me think: why is it so hard to write about - or at least reach any conclusions about - martial arts?

I'm going to try and devote the next few posts to hashing out a few things. I'm not expecting to uncover any actual "answers" but at the very least, I might be able to illuminate my thought processes a bit.

Update Oct. 6: I wrote a big comment which probably should have been a post of its own.

Traditions

2009-09-27T22:06:00.000-07:00

I stumbled across this video recently.

Because I am essentially a petty, cynical person, (hey, I'm trying to change...) my first reaction was a kind of jaded "So what?" People who do a lot of tameshigiri (test-cutting) like to laugh at those of us who do iai when we fail to cut something when we try it for the first time. It seems to justify in their minds that iai without tameshigiri is pointless or delusional even, reinforcing their conception that they are training properly and we're not. And while it is certainly common for people who have never done tameshigiri to fail at it the first few times, the fact remains: it's really not that difficult to cut a straw bundle. A bit of practice and you're off to the races. It's not enough to hold most people's interest, and the trouble of rolling up and soaking straw mats means most people just can't be bothered.

But as the video went on, Mr. Machii started cutting more and more unusual items. I must admit that I was impressed that he cut the cucumber so perfectly! Seeing it in super-slow motion revealed that his cut was right on target, splitting the cuke in half with a flawlessly horizontal cut. That took a great deal of control. My inner cynic piped up with: "Well, how many takes did they do before he cut it really nicely?" but the more things he cut, the more I thought, Wow, he really is talented.

Next, he cut a rubber ball, fired at him at 120 km/h. This too, was impressive, and would have required great skills. I don't know how much more difficult it is to cut a ball with a sword, than (for example) to return a pro's tennis serve - I've never tried either - but the fact that he cut from the scabbard impressed this iaidoka.

There are lots of other examples of him cutting objects online: metal pipes, metal sheets, 6mm plastic BBs ... the list goes on and on.

So I was feeling a lot of respect for Mr. Machii, when I watched this video of him demonstrating "Shushin Ryu" iaijutsu. I wasn't even bothered by the fact that he is listed as the soke. You never know; some people inherit these arts at a young age because there isn't anyone else to take over.

It seems as though he takes Eishin Ryu techniques, kind of mashes them up a bit, then does them so fast that he can't really control his sword. And he gives it all a new name, declaring himself the Soke. Great. Just when I let down my cynical guard for ONE second ...!

Ontario Open Iaido Tournament

2009-09-08T05:06:00.001-07:00

I was back in Canada ever-so-briefly (well it seems that way, looking back) in August. I was happy to have the chance to stop in to the Ontario Open Iaido Tournament, held at the beautiful Japanese Canadian Cultural Center (or JCCC) in Toronto. This is a very well-organized annual event. This year, the tournament was held on Sunday, following an all-day seminar on Saturday, which I sadly wasn't able to attend.

The whole thing seemed to run very smoothly. I was asked by one of the organizers how it compared to tournaments in Japan. I would say that it compared very favourably, both in terms of organization and quality of competitors. I did feel that the atmosphere was a tad too quiet -- despite being held in a huge room, but you could hear a pin drop! In Japan, the audience is a little bit larger, and correspondingly noisier.

I couldn't stay long enough to find out who won. (I showed up, disrupted things, and then left, which is kind of becoming "my style".) So ... anybody care to leave a comment with the results? Onegaishimasu.

Carole Galligan

Ed Chart

Showing fine form in front of the JCCC logo

Kanagawa Prefectural Tournament

2009-09-08T04:51:00.000-07:00

Way back in June, I stopped by the Kanagawa Prefectural Iaido Tournament, just to say I went. It was also a chance to show my girlfriend, "This is iaido" as she had never seen it before.
Kanagawa is a very strong prefecture when it comes to iaido, so the level was very, very high. It was humbling (gut churning?) to see 2-dans, shodans, even mudansha, who have better technique than me.

I didn't stick around for long. Interestingly, the Budokan was within walking distance of my (then) apartment, so I walked home from the tournament. Prior to that, I had no idea where it was or that it was so close!

Now that I have moved to Yamato city, goodness knows what (or who) might be right around the corner. No matter what it is, though, I guarantee you I will discover it about a week before I am scheduled to move next.

On to the pictures...

Ozaki Sensei

Part of the 8-dan Kyoshi demonstrations

Ishido Sensei

Yet another "blurry-but-kind-of-interesting" photo from my poor little camera.

Jodo Gasshuku in Gunma

2009-06-04T05:03:00.000-07:00

Every year, Furukawa Sensei and a lot of the dojo members go on a Gasshuku to a prefecture on the outskirts of Kanto - Ibaraki, Tochigi, Gunma, Yamanashi, Nagano - and this year, it was Gunma. We got on a train in the morning, and by 2 o'clock we were ready for action up in the misty mountains above the town of Akagi.
There were over 25 participants from Tokyo, Chiba, and Kanagawa, as well as the aforementioned "outlying" prefectures. It was a really good sized gym, so we were able to spread out and not worry about space. I was extremely lucky to be "bumped up" into the 5-dan and above group, which meant I got to practice with mostly 7-dans, heh heh!

We practiced all Saturday afternoon, then went back to our hotel, had an incredibly welcome soak in the hot spring, and then reconvened for a lovely Japanese feast, with lots of freely-flowing beer and sake.

They were the lucky ones...

Despite going to bed early, the next morning, I was pretty wrecked. I forced myself to eat a big breakfast, and then we practiced all morning.

We went back for another therapeutic dip in the onsen - I think all of us were pretty sore - then had a barbecue feast (again with all-you-can-drink) in the afternoon. After the previous night, I don't think anybody was able to really take advantage of the alcohol, though.
We had to head back to Tokyo mid-afternoon, but (those of us who managed to stay awake) were once again treated to wonderful views of the mountains, lakes, rivers, and gorges all around us.
On the train ride home, I had a nap and then took the time to write down the many tips I received from all of my practice partners. It was an extremely fruitful seminar! Let's hope I can keep all those good pointers in my head long enough to incorporate them into my everyday practice. Otherwise, they have a tendency to get lost forever...

Ego is alive and well...

2009-05-28T21:57:00.000-07:00

Last week Sensei was away for a seminar in Canada, so the "2nd-in-charge" and "3rd-in-charge" were leading practice. Normally, when Sensei is there, they don't offer too many pointers, as this is considering stepping on Sensei's toes a bit, I guess. But last week they had their chance to give me lots of criticism!
I should be glad for this kind of thing. It's a fresh perspective; they'll point out problems and mistakes I'm making - ones that Sensei has either stopped noticing, or has given up on me ever fixing.
But I must confess that it was a blow to my ego, and I felt kind of annoyed. When I make a mistake, and someone calls me on it, my ego springs to life and I have one of a few varieties of inner reactions:
"What? You want to quibble about such a minor point? Okay, it doesn't really matter to me, so I'll do it your way."
"Really? I've been told to do it a different way, but for the sake of placating you, I'll do it your way."
"Huh? I've been making that mistake all this time and nobody's ever told me? Well, now it's ingrained and I probably won't be able to change it..."

I always manage to turn it around so it's not important, or it's the other party who's wrong, or it's somebody else's fault. At least (and I really mean that; this is about the only good thing I can say at this point) ... at least I'm aware of that tendency in myself.
At last week's practice, we were working on koryu. I originally learned a different style of koryu; then didn't touch it for a couple years; then learned a different style; then didn't touch that for years ... all this is just a bunch of excuses to "explain" why I don't know what the hell I'm doing when it comes to koryu.
The whole experience was pretty embarrassing - everything I did was wrong; I'd put my left foot forward, get corrected, and my first reaction was "I could swear I was told to put the other foot forward... so somebody is definitely wrong here..." because I was trying to blame somebody else.
What can I learn from this whole thing? I honestly don't know. That my practice is being hindered by my ego? I already knew that! It's a constant struggle... if I ever succeed in erasing my ego, I'll deserve to be very proud of myself.

Sei Do Kai visits Japan

2009-05-26T04:06:00.000-07:00

Wow, been a while, hasn't it? The only interesting thing that happened in the last few months was a good one, though: a visit to Japan by Kim Taylor, (who once swore, I do believe, that he'd never come to Japan!) and the other members of the Sei Do Kai.
The Sei Do Kai is in Guelph, but various members have graduated and gone on to other cities where they teach and operate dojo. Dave Green, Ed Chart, and Miki Takashima are up in Ottawa, and Eric Tribe is in Thunder Bay. Doug Martin also came down from Thunder Bay, and Chris Jarvie joined from the Ottawa dojo. Rounding out the gang was Pamela Morgan, from the Guelph Sei Do Kai.
I haven't seen a lot of these folks in quite a while, so I was wondering what the first meeting would be like after such a long absence. I should have guessed: they were exhausted from their flight, a bit overwhelmed by Tokyo (I'm guessing), but overall, happy to have arrived and (again, I'm guessing) happy to see me.
A jodo practice had already been scheduled at the Shimbun Dojo, and the week before, one of the Japanese members had asked me, "So, Jeff-san, are all the other visitors as big as you?" (I'm about 6'4" or 193 cm). I thought about it and said, "Yeah, pretty much!" They're not a small group, that's for sure. When I showed up at the station, sure enough, the first thought that crossed my mind was "What's with all the absurdly large foreigners?" and a split second later I thought, "Oh, those are my friends!"
After a quick trip to the hotel followed by an absurdly-long check-in process that had everyone asking "Is everything in Japan this difficult and slow?" we were off to grab a bite to eat. My memory is already foggy, but I think we went to a conveyor-belt sushi place - very Japanese, very cheap, and everyone can find something they like. Most importantly, they have cheap beer!
I had to work while everyone was visiting (including, unbelievably, the Sunday and Monday smack dab in the middle of Golden Week) but I did manage to attend some practices together with everyone. I was embarrassed by my lack of progress in both jodo and iaido, but particularly in iai. I have resolved to work harder!
Meanwhile, it was great to have Dave Green and Kim Taylor giving me plenty of instruction (in English, for once) about how to fix my cut. I find that Japanese teachers give you a point, or maybe two, and then leave you to work on it. That's fair enough, and it's certainly not a criticism, but I was so grateful to have Kim and Dave look at my cut, and offer suggestion after suggestion. "Try it like this; okay, what you're doing is this. Keep this in mind..." If one thing wasn't working (because I wasn't getting it) they gave me another perspective. My Japanese teachers would have already given up by that point.
[Lengthy aside:]
Which brings me to an observation: in the West, we tend to be more analytical about iaido. I don't know if this is a product of the iaido culture in Japan (how our Japanese teachers were themselves taught, e.g., "Don't ask too many questions, just do it like I do it") versus the iaido culture abroad, or whether this is the by-product of some deeper cultural differences, such as a tendency towards holistic thinking in Japan, versus a tendency towards analytical thinking in the West. I dunno. I've read snippets out of books comparing the "Asian mind" and the "Western mind" and while they were quite interesting, I'm really not convinced, on a gut level, that there is a difference. Perhaps more importantly, I sometimes wonder, if there is in fact a difference, whether we should be building it up, or breaking it down. I guess I get tired of Japanese people telling me, "Oh, you just think that because you're a foreigner!"
[Aside finished. Thanks for indulging me.]
Anyway, it was a great visit and I'm happy to say that, although I didn't get too many pictures, it was because I was actually practicing for a change. Here are a few good ones that I did get.

Hell freezes over: Kim doing iaido in Japan

Eric, showing nice zanshin

Back row (l-r): Pam, Chris, Ed, Jeff, Eric, Dave, Doug, Kim, Miki, and Adrian (a regular member of Hatakenaka Sensei's dojo);
the young folks are members of the Waseda University iaido club

It was great to see everyone again, especially in Japan. I regret not being able to go with them on the rest of their tour (a couple days at the Kyoto Taikai, followed by Jodo training in Fukuoka) but alas, I had to work. I hope they will all make it back again at some point! Hopefully see you all in Canada, in August ...

Book Reviews

2009-03-15T04:11:00.000-07:00

A couple book reviews, both courtesy of my friend, Keith Vargo.

The first one, which Keith lent to me to read, is "Rational Mysticism" by John Horgan, a former science writer for Scientific American and numerous other publications. Horgan begins with a description of a mystical experience from William James: "Mysticism, James proposed, begins with an experience that meets four criteria: It is ineffable - that is, difficult or impossible to convey in ordinary language. It is noetic, meaning that it seems to reveal deep, profound truth. It is transient, rarely lasting for more than an hour or so. And it is a passive state, in which you feel gripped by a force much greater than yourself. Two qualities that James did not include in his formal list but mentioned elsewhere are blissfulness and a sense of union with all things."
As the title suggests, the book is an exploration of mysticism from the standpoint of science and rationality. Horgan interviews a number of scholars, philosophers, theologists, neurologists, and even pharmacologists, and looks at mystical experiences from a great many angles. What was interesting to me were some of the parallels with accounts of mystical experiences in the martial arts - these are usually couched in Zen buddhist terms like satori or kensho. As martial artists, aren't we all searching for a deeper insight into life?
Read this description of a seigan in John Stevens' biography of Yamaoka Tesshu, The Sword of No-Sword:

Yanagita Ganjiro completed the two-hundred-match seigan on the final day of his thousand-day training period. He then practiced five hundred more days in a row and undertook the three-day, six-hundred-match seigan. Blows received from the short, thick Muto Ryu bamboo sword (shinai) were extremely painful. Yanagita recalled: "After the first day my head was full of lumps and my body covered with bruises, but I did not feel weak. On the second day I began to suffer. I thought I would have to give up halfway. I managed to continue and near the end of the day I experienced 'selflessness' - I naturally blended with my opponent and moved in unhindered freedom. Although my spirit was strong my body was weak. My urine was dark red and I had no appetite. Nevertheless, I passed the final day's contests with a clear mind; I felt as if I was floating among the clouds."

Tesshu used the seigan as a way to make his students confront death - not death at the hands of one's opponent, but rather death due to exhaustion. Completing the seigan forced the student to push past barriers of pain to reach a new level of awareness - a mystical experience characterized by "blending" and "unhindered freedom".
Horgan interviews neurologists who have this to say about mystical experiences:

Newberg and D'Aquili divided all methods for achieving unitive experiences into two categories: top-down and bottom-up. Top-down methods, which included meditation and prayer, achieve transcendence through relaxation, by focusing and calming the mind. Bottom-up techniques, which include dancing, hyperventilation, chanting, and vigorous yoga, approach the same goal through excitation. Each method taps into a different componenet of the body's autonomic nervous system, which regulates heartbeat, blood pressure, respiration, metabolism, and other physiological functions. Top-down methods exploit the so-called quiescent component of the autonomic system, which limits the body's expenditure of energy and maintains its equilibrium. Bottom-up methods exploit the arousal component of the autonomic system, which triggers the body's fight-or-flight response, causing adrenaline to be pumped into the bloodstream, boosting heart rate and respiration.
If either the arousal or the quiescent component is pushed far enough, the one activates the other through a "spillover effect," producing a paradoxical state of ecstatic serenity. At the same time, activity decreases in a region at the top and rear of the brain called the posterior superior parietal lobe. Newberg and D'Aquili referred to this region as the orientaton-association area, since it helps us orient our bodies in relation to the external world. Patients whose posterior superior parietal lobe has been damaged often lose the ability to navigate, because they have difficulty determing where their physical selves end and the external world begins. Suppressed activity in this region, Newbeg and D'Aquili hypothesized, could lead to the decreased sense of subject-object duality and the heightened sense of unity with the external world reported by mystics.

The rest of the book is just as interesting, and is highly recommend for anyone interested in philosophy, mysticism, or religion.

Next up is Philosophy of Fighting - Morals and Motivations of the Modern Warrior. This one really does come courtesy of my friend Keith Vargo; he wrote it. It's a collection of articles published in Black Belt over the last 10 years. Keith has done karate, boxing, wrestling, and most recently has practiced Mixed Martial Arts for a number of years at the Takada Dojo, a leading training center in Tokyo, with such luminaries as Akira Shoji and Kazushi Sakuraba. His bias shows somewhat, as many of the articles are about the MMA world, but there is a great deal of interest to general martial artists; even reclusive iaidoka like myself.
One of Keith's recurring themes is the idea of violence, and its place in the modern world. One of my favorite pieces comes from an article called "The Reality of Violence", originally published in 1999.

In the beginning, we were little more than primates with the potential for consciousness. Like most social primates, we spent much of our time fighting with each other over food or access to females. The first human ancestor with anything like our reflective mind was the first one who felt the sting of regret because of hurting or killing one of his own kind. This caused him to reflect on his actions, giving him an interior life new to our species. Finally, this primordial drama is what we are recreating, to some degree, in every modern dojo...

Mr. Vargo then goes on to explore this theory, arguing that warrior Zen is a necessary attempt to return to a sort of primordial state, where we do not reflect on consequences but simply act at a moment's notice. It's a very interesting idea, and one that I had never considered before.
There are a lot of thought-provoking ideas in this book that struck me as novel or unique, and that's why I strongly recommend it to martial artists of all backgrounds. Our shelves are already full of style-specific technical manuals; that's what most books on the martial arts really boil down to, even if they claim, at some point, to be something different. Unfortunately, books that analyze the martial arts on anything like a psychological, philosophical, or anthropological level are all too rare. I hope that this book will inspire others to produce similar works.
If the book has a drawback, it's in the format. It is just a collection of Keith's short (one- or two-page) monthly articles. This makes the book's pacing a bit monotonous, and frequently left me wishing that he could have expanded more on what he was saying. But in terms of giving the reader bite-size chunks to chew on, it's great.
One more note: there is one article ("Defining the Warrior") which Keith Vargo didn't write, but which was included due to an editorial oversight. The article doesn't really match Keith's writing style, and so it stuck out like a sore thumb when I read the book. I trust it will be left out of future editions.

Sengoku Jidai Boom!

2009-03-07T06:13:00.000-08:00

Apparently there is a Sengoku Jidai (Warring States Period) "boom" in Japan right now. I think it's safe to say that Japan is one of the most craze-prone countries on earth; any kind of boom or fad can spring up, spread quickly, and then fade away to be replaced by the next thing. There always seems to be something new on the horizon, and magazines and TV shows are constantly reporting on what's hot.

I was just in the convenience store and saw a magazine for men called Goods Press. It's aimed at young guys with lots of disposable income, and it tries to tell you what you should be buying this month in various categories: electronics, clothes, toys, watches, etc. This month, they had a feature for people who are into the Sengoku Jidai, probably inspired by the current Taiga Drama on NHK. I must admit, most of these toys and things really brought out my inner geek! (People who know me are saying "Inner geek?")

Some of the items featured: knee-length underwear that is patterned like haidate, or the thigh-armour worn by the samurai. I really want a pair of these!

Also available: mobile-phone straps that look like little bits of armour. Cool!

They mentioned a Sengoku Jidai theme restaurant in Shinjuku. I want to go! Some women from my office who are into Oda Nobunaga and Takeda Shingen went there last year, but didn't invite me (sob).

They also have super-detailed figures of samurai in armour, based on historical personages. Here's Ii Naomasa, and here's Oda Nobunaga. I had this exact idea a few years ago! (I also imagined a Miyamoto Musashi figure ... hope somebody puts that out.) How fun would it be to start a business making action figures? I wish I had had a hundred thousand dollars of start-up capitol, some graphic artists working for me, and even the vaguest idea of how to run a business...

They did an in-depth profile of Marutake, a company that makes Japanese armour. They even did graphs for each suit of armour, ranking them on things like "ease of movement" and "prestige factor".

They had a page about Yagyu Shingan Ryu (see my last post!) on fighting in armour, and went so far as to select some "Choice Techniques".

Finally, they went to Ginza Choshuya, a prominent sword-dealer in Ginza, and looked at some of their real and replica swords.

Part of me gets annoyed at how modern Japanese people seem to think the Sengoku Jidai was such a cool, romantic period, while ignoring how utterly horrible it must have been. They seem to like it just because of how dramatic and spectacular it all was ... but then I think, I'm no different! I originally started iaido because I saw pictures of samurai in books when I was a kid, and was fascinated by how cool they looked. Later, I saw iaido and was drawn in by the aesthetic, while knowing nothing about the deeper side of it. And as you can see, part of me still gets excited when I see samurai-themed toys or restaurants or accessories. I guess it's okay not to look too deeply into things all the time, right?

Nihon Kobudo Taikai, or Buy Me a New Camera

2009-03-07T04:28:00.000-08:00

Last month I went to the Nihon Kobudo Taikai at the Nippon Budokan. (This example illustrates the sometimes-confusing nature of Japanese; the modern name of Japan is "Nihon" but traditional things still retain the old-fashioned sounding "Nippon".) I took a lot of pictures and video with my now rather outdated camera, and it really struggled to get any good shots at high levels of zoom indoors. So, most of my pictures are a bit blurry, or have terrible white-balance. I suppose I could have tried to fix them but ... well, by now I think most people who read this thing know how lazy I am. If you want, you can always donate to the "Buy Jeff a New Camera Fund". Anyone?

A report, much better pictures, and (we hope) video will appear on Kendo World soon. If you enjoy seeing this sort of thing, you should subscribe to the magazine to support the ongoing effort to bring you free content like this. What follows are my own not-very-good pictures, and some thoughts.

Everyone lined up at the beginning. It is amazing to think of the combined hours of practice standing in that acre of real estate. On the left is Namitome Shigenori Sensei of Shinto Muso Ryu jodo; on the right is Iwami Toshio Sensei of Hyoho Niten Ichi Ryu kenjutsu. Both have been kind and generous enough with their time to visit us in Canada.

The demonstrators are split up into groups by weapon - archery, kenjutsu, jujutsu, iaijutsu, and so on, and within each group, each ryuha goes by age. Oldest ryuha go first. Ogasawara Ryu kyubajutsu (mounted archery) is just about the oldest continuous martial art in Japan (after sumo, perhaps) so they go first every year. If you ever think that iaido or kendo is an expensive hobby, I shudder to think how much those kimono and handmade bows cost.

This is a pretty bad photo technically, but I kind of like it anyway. Kyoso Sensei doing Tenshin Shoden Katori Shinto Ryu iaijutsu.

Ono-ha Itto Ryu with its distinctive "oni gote" or large padded gauntlets. They really smack those things.

Iwami Sensei demonstrating the Nito Seiho of Niten Ichi Ryu.

This was amazing. Kobayashi Sensei of Shin Gyo To Ryu is 95 and unable to walk very well, and so came in a wheelchair. He demonstrated seated techniques with his son.

Takenouchi Ryu

Suio Ryu

Katsuse Sensei of Suio ryu shows Masaki Ryu kusarigama-jutsu

Iai in full armour: Shojitsu Kenri Takaichi Ryu

Hozoin Ryu Takada Ha Sojutsu (spear)

Saburi Ryu

Owari Kan Ryu spear ...

... and Kenjutsu; in the background with fukuro shinai and in the foreground with an o-dachi. The first third of the blade seems to be wrapped with paper to allow the user to grip it there.

Yoshin Ryu; definitely the best-looking demonstrators of the day.

Arai Sensei is on the receiving end of Ukan here. A demonstration of Shinto Muso Ryu.
Furukawa Sensei was supposed to demonstrate but didn't. Next practice, I asked him why he didn't demonstrate; was he sick? He said a word in Japanese that I didn't know. I stared blankly. He said it again; I asked him "What does that word mean?" He barked in English, "My - muzza - dead!" And that's how I learned another word for "funeral".

Yagyu Shingan Ryu. It is hard to categorize as it is fighting in armour but they wrestle, use swords, knives, and sometimes even their helmet to clobber the other guy.

I've never seen gunnery before, so this was great. Seki Ryu Hojutsu. Do I need to explain how loud it was? Note the guys crouching in the background with fire extinguishers, just in case something goes very wrong somehow. I heard an anecdote that, a few years ago, all the black powder smoke set off the sprinkler systems in Himeji. Oops.

Now With 50% Less Jerkitude!

2009-03-04T17:52:00.001-08:00

If you've ever tried e-mailing me at my gmail address, odds are that I didn't write you back. I apologize. It was only because I'm a big, stupid jerk, and I never check that mail address. So, I have taken the extraordinary step of having my gmail forwarded automatically to an address that I actually check from time to time. No, I have no idea why I thought that would be difficult to set up, nor why it took me ... 4 years? ... to do it.

I love technology!

Minimum Criteria

2009-02-28T19:55:00.000-08:00

Watching the Nihon Kobudo Embu Taikai the other weekend, and seeing a couple rather lackluster demonstrations (only a couple, mind you, out of 40) got me thinking about efficacy in martial arts - again! It's a strange cycle to fall into. On one hand, after thinking about things for a long time, I finally conclude that "combat effectiveness" doesn't matter one iota to what we're doing. And then, I see a demonstration of something that strikes me as obviously bad, and I start to criticize it as ineffective.
I was running these ideas past my friend Keith, and he asked me a very simple question that cut right to the heart of what I was struggling with. "So, what are your minimum criteria for iaido? Even if you know nothing about the particulars of the style, what do you need to see to think something at least has the possibility of being good?"
I thought about it, and I think it's pretty simple. Here's what needs to be present for iaido to be good, in my opinion.

1. Zanshin. The iaidoka must be aware of what's going on around him, and must at least look at his targets before he cuts them. (I have learned a style of iaido where you look at a target, cut for it, and actually look away a split-second before you cut into it, to spot the next target; this still meets my criteria.) After cutting, there must be zanshin and readiness. I have heard that someone I know is developing this idea right now: What separates budo from sport is zanshin.

2. Balance. When I see someone throw themself way off-balance after cutting through a piece of bamboo or a straw bundle, I am always unimpressed. It doesn't matter what he cut through or how great the actual cutting was, if he ends up off-balance, it strikes me as useless. How many opponents stand stock-still and allow themselves to be cut? If you were to commit that fully to a cut and missed, you would probably end up spinning yourself into the dirt like a baseball slugger who misses what he thinks is going to be a sure homerun.

3. Hips and tips. This is Kim Taylor's catchphrase that sums up iaido from a technical point of view. It encompasses my point #2 because, to have good balance, your hips must be in place. Basically, you must move and wield the sword from your hips. (I've never been completely satisfied with that term "hips" because I think the Japanese term "koshi" is a more figurative description of something like "center of gravity" not just a body part, but still ...) "Tips" indicates that the iaidoka is aware that cutting is done with the tip of the sword, and so puts power and awareness into the kissaki. Movements should begin with the tip of the sword, unless there is some overriding reason not to do so - a specific situation in the kata, for instance.

4. Dignity. This is a hard one to describe, until you've seen somebody doing kata to music in a Stars & Stripes gi, cutting apples off the heads of his students. Swordsmanship was about killing, and now, if it's about anything, it's about confronting death. It should never be entertainment.

These are my minimum criteria. Anybody have a take on these points? Any I've missed?

Hilarious!

2009-02-27T21:05:00.000-08:00

Here's a great video that skewers all the old cliches about training in swordplay. Hilarious! Thanks for sending it to me, Kim.

One of the things I love about this video is the way the performers start cracking up, just like in all the best SNL skits. I'll never forget that Chris Farley motivational speaker bit, where he throws himself into the coffee table. The table is obviously designed to break, but Farley hurls himself into the table with what is clearly more force than anybody expected, smashing it to smithereens, and the rest of the performers can barely carry on with the skit.

An Iaido Story

2009-02-22T00:53:00.000-08:00

A few years ago, there was an earnest student who learned swordsmanship from a kindly old master. The master was well past his heyday, and his body was weak. His arms and legs shook if he practiced too hard or too long. Neither his hearing nor his vision were quite what they used to be. Nevertheless, he was devoted to his art, and practiced as much as he could. When he wasn't practicing, he researched the history of the art, and wrote down pages and pages of notes.

The student was happy to have such a master. Because he was old, and lived far away from the city, the master had few students, so most of the time they practiced together, just the two of them. The master was strict, but fair, and after seeing that his student had reached the point where he was ready, he began teaching him the local koryu that he had learned from his own master.

Sometimes, the student would attend practices in the city. In the city there was a large group of people who did the same koryu as his master. When they found out that the student was learning koryu, and who his master was, they laughed. "That old fool? He has no idea what he's doing! He does this wrong, and that wrong, and he's too stubborn to admit that he's wrong. He used to train together with us from time to time, but I suppose he got tired of us telling him all of the problems with his techniques!" The student asked them how they were so sure that they were right and he was wrong, since their original teacher had died many years before. They answered, "Because we have a videotape of our teacher, made before he died. This tape is the final authority on what is right in our koryu. We tried to show this tape to your teacher, but he said he doesn't need to see it. He's so stubborn, he doesn't care about right and wrong technique!"

The student was hurt and angry to hear people talk about his teacher in this way. He went back home and at the next practice, told his teacher what the others had said about him.

"Yes, it is true that there is a tape made by our master before he died. I have seen it, and in fact, I have a copy of the same tape. But what the others don't know is that my teacher always considered those others to be too arrogant for their own good. He sent me a letter - I have it here, with his personal seal on it - detailing all the things that are wrong with his performance on that video. He has gone through step by step, point by point. For example, the others always told me that I do this part too slowly. But in the letter, my teacher explained that he is doing the motion too quickly - it's not good budo to do it in that way. None of the others knows about this letter."

"Master, did your teacher perform the techniques wrong on purpose?" asked the student.

"Not at all, but he was human. Our actions and our intentions are rarely the same. He did the best he could, and then he analyzed his own techniques and found this long list of problems, which he passed on to me, but not to the others."

"Well, then, you have to go to the city, and show the letter to the others! Then they will realize that they were wrong about you all this time, and they will have to respect you!"

"Why do I care whether what they are doing is correct or incorrect? It has nothing to do with me. I'm old now, and you're my only student. I only care that you do it the right way, and that you try and teach your students the right way."

"But master, don't you care about the Truth?" asked the student, who was getting quite upset. "Don't you have a responsibility to make sure that the Truth gets passed to the next generation?"

The master said: "Don't confuse telling the Truth with being recognized by everyone for telling the Truth. You want to be rewarded and respected by everyone because you know better than they do. This is vanity, and vanity is self-deception. It is enough to know the Truth, and to do what you think is right."

--------------------------

And that's what the student told me. As you may have guessed, it's a true story, which is why it's hard to pull out any clear morals. I sometimes feel that, in the koryu arts, (like in religions) Truth is treated like a commodity to be bought and sold. "You want the Truth? Get it here, and only here! Only from me, everyone else is wrong!"
What about the master? Is he just as bad as the others in the city, jealously guarding his secret knowledge, content in knowing that he has a higher version of the Truth? Or is he enlightened, knowing as he does that, in the end, he's going to die and none of it will ever really matter?

New Year's Practices

2009-02-20T22:00:00.000-08:00

Hi. Sorry it's been a while since I've posted anything. I'm so backlogged that I've got a little hand-written note in my bag, with about 7 ideas for blog posts written on it. I'm going to start with my iaido New Year's practice.

New Year's practices are quite common in Japan and the custom has spread to other countries, too, I'm sure. We (by which I mean, "my club") used to do them in Canada every year, although I don't think I ever attended one! In Canada, they often did a toshigoshigeiko, or a "span the New Year practice" where you start in the evening on the 31st and practice through midnight and into the New Year. And then, from what I hear, you drink a whole lot. It sounds like fun!

Here, it seems that toshigoshigeiko are pretty rare. I've only ever done the paired "Bounenkai" (end of year party) and "Shinnenkai" (New Year party). Two parties for the price of one! Double the drinking! (Which reminds me: Ozaki Sensei was talking about the meaning of Bounenkai. It is written 忘年会 which means forget-year-gathering, so most people assume it means a gathering to forget about the troubles you may have had in the past year, and get ready to welcome the new one. Ozaki Sensei said that the name and the custom actually came from China, where it carries a meaning closer to "forget-age-gathering". In other words, old and young come together and forget about their respective stations in life, and the rather strict Confucian hierarchy that is attached to age, and everyone drinks and has a fun time together. I like that idea.)

In any case, early in January we had our first practice of the year. As I have been moaning about endlessly to anyone who will listen, my knees had been bothering me quite a lot prior to New Year's, so I had taken a bit of a break from practice, and so I was really rusty. Unfortunately, our New Year's practice was to take the form of an extended demonstration. The entire club would go and show their best techniques, in embu divided by rank: ikkyu, then shodan, nidan, sandan, and so on. Everyone showed up, so we had a lot of people crammed into the small dojo.

Somehow (just my luck) I was the only 5th dan present, which meant I would have to demonstrate by myself. I felt a little bit nervous before going out, but as I am the only Muso Jikiden practitioner in my dojo, I knew that whatever I did (mistake or otherwise) everyone could basically write it off as a stylistic difference.

I started my embu and after standing up following chiburi on Mae, I switched my legs and ... somehow sent my back leg into a convulsive tremor that made my entire body shake! I couldn't stop it and I could barely keep my balance. Was it nerves, or muscle fatigue? Probably a combination of the two, but in any case, it was very embarrassing and threw me off for the rest of my short demonstration.

Afterwards we all went to a nice Japanese restaurant for my favourite part of any practice: the drinking. Sake and beer were flowing freely and I found myself voicing something that I might not have had I been more sober:
"Sensei", I said, "today I was really nervous, and it showed in my demonstration. My techniques completely fell apart. Isn't iaido supposed to be about building concentration and mental focus? Sometimes it seems to me that I haven't made any progress in those areas."
Sensei just laughed and said that iaido meant something different for everyone. But if I felt nervous, then I was missing the point of iaido. I was thinking about the crowd, or thinking about myself, but the one thing I definitely wasn't thinking about was the threat in front of me. If you let your attention get sucked into thinking about people watching you, he said, or on the other hand, about thinking about your own demonstration, then you'll probably get nervous and fall apart. So, the way to do a good demonstration was not to think of it as a demonstration. There is no audience, there is just the imaginary opponent, who is everywhere all at once.
The only thing that counts is something that isn't even real. Very zen.
I thought about that for a while as I got drunker and drunker. There was a moment there where I think I understood it, but I kept drinking and destroyed those brain cells that may have gotten his point. Easy come, easy go, I guess.
At the end of the evening, after the room was almost completely cleared out, Ms. T., one of only a couple women in the dojo, who was also quite drunk, grabbed hold of my wrist, gleefully exclaimed "Iai is not the only martial art, you know!" and then did ikkyu or nikyu or some damned wrist lock on me and threw me to the floor. I was too drunk for much of the pain to reach my conscious brain, but somehow my body knew enough on its own to flip itself to the floor. I was laughing so hard I could barely get back on my feet, and as soon as I did, she screamed and threw me to the floor again. This continued four or five times until Sensei came back in and said, "Quit messing around you two! Time to pay the bill."
So, it was a humiliating day in a few ways, but also quite enlightening.

This is shocking...

2009-01-02T01:02:00.000-08:00

Happy New Year, everyone! I hope that 2009 turns out to be a happy, healthy, and fulfilling year for you.

And now ... this. I honestly can't quite say what I think about it. Too shocked to comment.

The Dojo, and the Way

2008-12-26T23:09:00.000-08:00

The moment I step into the dojo, I change. In fact, the change begins even before I set foot inside. As I walk to the dojo, perhaps limping a little bit due to some new, random pain in my foot, or ankle, or knee, hunched over slightly, looking at the ground a few paces in front and lost in thought, my mind graduallly starts to clear; my sightline raises up until I'm looking forward. My spine straightens; I begin walking with purpose, ignoring the nagging pains in my stride. I start breathing from deep in my belly.
I open the door to the dojo, careful to do it without making much noise. I remove my shoes, place them carefully on the rack, and step in. Feet together, I bow to the kamiza. I walk silently to the change room. I remove my street clothes, fold them, and place them in a neat pile - something I wouldn't even bother to do in my own home. I put on my training clothes, careful to tie all the knots properly, smoothing the pleats in front, adjusting the ties so that everything is worn properly. All this time, my mind is getting clearer, my breathing is getting deeper, my field of vision becoming broader.
I re-enter the dojo, and bow to Sensei. I greet all the others in the dojo with courtesy and a smile. I am always paying close attention to what others are doing - not only for obvious reasons of safety, but alert for the possibility that I might be missing something due to the language barrier, or just from being lost in my own thoughts. I try to be considerate of everyone.
We begin to practice, all the time mindful of what we're doing. I review what Sensei has told me in the past few weeks, and focus on not mindlessly making those mistakes again in spite of having been corrected. I analyze my own form in the mirror, and try to pick up my own weak areas. I push myself to practice as hard as I can without hurting myself, and when I'm tired, I watch the others intently to see what I can learn from them. If they are more skilled than me, I don't envy them, but try to see what they are doing right. If I am more skilled than they are, I don't look down on them, but check to see if I might be making some of the same mistakes. If they ask for my help, I am quick to give it.
After practice, I listen carefully to what Sensei tells the class. I have to listen attentively to pick up what he's saying, and concentrate on what his message really is. The class is dismissed, and we bow to each other, expressing our gratitude for the shared experience. If I am lucky, Sensei invites me to have a drink, and nothing is as delicious as after-practice sake - I hold it in my mouth for a few seconds before swallowing, just to absorb all the flavour.
Practice makes us focus all of our powers of concentration on doing things right, with the right mindset, mindful of the present. This is the real value of practicing martial arts, I think, and it's why it doesn't matter whether you're doing calligraphy, tea ceremony, flower arranging, or archery. You enter the practice space, put yourself into the mindset, listen to your teacher, focus on what you're doing, and then just do it - to the best of your ability. You show respect to the people you are doing it with, to your tools, and even to the actions themselves. After practice, you are mindful of what you did, what you are doing, and what you have to do.
The most important thing, though, is the gradual realization that the dojo is the world, and that there should be no difference between our "martial artist self" and our "everyday self". And yet, how many times have I shuffled listlessly to the dojo, then done 2 hours of focused practice, and then released that focus, exhausted, and shuffled listlessly home? I am cold or downright rude to the people around me, then go to the dojo where I am the pinnacle of good manners, and then return to being a callous jerk on the way home. Or, I am lazy and self-centered for days, then go to the dojo where I pretend to be energetic and selfless. At practice, I cultivate "beginner's mind" but outside of the dojo, I am vain and ignorant.
It seems to me that the point of practice is to extend it - to always widen the circumference of the dojo until it encompasses everyone; to improve your behaviour until there is no difference between the way you are in the dojo and the way you are everywhere else.
Realizing this is probably impossible, and I guess that's the point. A connected idea, I think, is the fact that there is no end to our practice. This is what distinguishes a martial "way" from a combative skill. A combative skill is possible to master. It is difficult to criticize the technique of a boxer's punch if it connects and knocks the other man out. But the techniques of iaido, for example, combine equal parts of aesthetics and effectiveness - they are grounded in combat-effective techniques, but they have been refined to reflect an aesthetic of movement, control, posture, and (dare I say it) grace. They exist in some Platonic dimension - somewhere, there is an "ideal Mae", but I am sure nobody on earth has ever executed it, and nobody ever will. To make things more complicated, my "ideal Mae" is probably different from your "ideal Mae". Furthermore, my "ideal Mae" of last week is different than my own "ideal Mae" now. We are chasing the impossible, but at the same time, getting closer and closer to it all the time, like a mathematical function that approaches a line (an asymptote) but never quite reaches it.
And this is a good thing. This gives us an open-ended path to follow for the rest of our lives. A boxer, on the other hand, either reaches the top of the heap, becomes champion, and then retires, or else gets beaten and gives up somewhere along the way. This is not to say that one cannot approach boxing as a Way, just that it is not done (unless you are Rocky Balboa, who seems to be making a good attempt at boxing well into his twilight years).
Chasing the impossible, and knowing it is impossible, should make us aware of the fact that it is the chasing that is important, not the catching. First of all, there is nothing to catch. We are not samurai, and mastering swordsmanship is not a real goal for any of us. Furthermore, debates over the combat-effectiveness of this technique over that, or this ryu-ha over that, are pointless. Pointless, too, are arguments over whose teacher is more legitimate. The best teacher is the one who gets you into the dojo, and keeps you coming back.

A Book To Check Out...

2008-11-19T20:33:00.000-08:00

My friend Keith Vargo has just had a book published. Based on other writings of his that I have seen, it is definitely on my "To Buy" list. I recommend everyone else check it out and support martial arts publishers.

http://www.shopblackbelt.com/phoffimoandm.html

It has a great cover, too, by the way!

Meiji Shrine Demos and All-Japan Kendo

2008-11-09T01:55:00.001-08:00

Culture day in Japan means 2 things to me - the Kobudo demonstration at the Meiji Shrine, and the All-Japan Kendo Tournament at the Nippon Budokan. They are held on the same day, and so I have (for the past few times that I've been living in or around Tokyo, anyway) gone to the Meiji Shrine in the morning, and then gone off to the Budokan to catch the third round and onwards of the kendo, in the afternoon.

As I am a weakling and a horrible budoka (don't all jump to my defense at once, it's true) I slept in on Sunday morning, so after my 90-minute train ride, I didn't get to the Meiji Shrine until about mid-morning. As usual, a large section of the shrine lawn had been roped off, and was surrounded by people (about 50% foreigners, it seemed) with huge zoom-lens cameras and camcorders, busily recording the action. In fact, the whole area had so many cameras, it was hard to move without getting in the way of somebody's zoom lens.

I felt pretty inadequate with my little point-and-shoot, but I got a few pictures anyway, some of which (of course) are better than others.

This is the Muhi Muteki Ryu, famous for their very interesting bojutsu. Interesting stuff; they seem to take a lot of difficult kamae. For me, the most interesting thing is seeing how the ma-ai differs between jojutsu and bojutsu.

How cute is that? This is a demonstration of Kurama Ryu. I didn't get a program (it may only be for participants, I'm not sure) so I couldn't verify whether the demonstrators are father and daughter, but I'd like to think so.

Shindo Muso Ryu jojutsu. I have no idea who these gentlemen are, unfortunately.

Kyoso Shigetoshi, son of Otake Risuke, demonstrates the iai forms of Katori Shinto Ryu. I was happy that I didn't miss the demonstration this year as I have in the past.

The naginata of Katori Shinto Ryu. A friend of mine doesn't like TSKSR because he believes that the kata are too long to be of any practical use, but I've always enjoyed watching their demonstrations, because they are always done to a very high level of technical excellence.

Even I was able to get a couple nice photos. This one surprised me because I didn't think that I could get such a high shutter speed on such a gray day and with such a high level of zoom. But it looks pretty crisp! That chunk of tatami seems to be floating there in mid-air. Nice cut by this fellow from Toyama Ryu.

There are always some really weird, inscrutable koryu on display. This is Shin Muso Hayashizaki Ryu, and the kata all seem to feature someone with an immense no-dachi (extra long "field sword" - why anyone would wear this indoors is beyond me) sitting down very, very close to someone else with a strange, chopped-down katana. I say "chopped down" because the blade is short and stubby but the tsuka is normal length. It doesn't have the proportions of a wakizashi or standard short sword. They sit down so close that the tsuka of the no-dachi is poking right in the face of the other fellow, who (understandably) gets offended and tries to cut the other guy. It's all very strange.

Which kind of brings me to my next point. Why do we (foreigners in particular) care so much about the koryu, especially when we don't even practice them, or in many cases, even want to practice them? When the pair above were doing their demonstration, dozens of cameras (representing scores of thousands of dollars in camera equipment) were zoomed in on them. I know I'm a hypocrite, because I was there too, doing the same thing, but I couldn't escape the feeling that this was an absolutely pointless exercise. We're like butterfly collectors, I think, trying to get pictures of that rare and elusive species that we've never seen before. The weirder the better! Boring old karate doesn't excite anybody's interest, but hey! Guys with huge swords doing impractical waza badly, that's fascinating. I don't get it...

Anyway, the time was getting on, and so I headed off to the Budokan. As a member of the "press" I get embarrassingly good seats for the most prestigious kendo event in Japan.

I was sitting down right beside those tables reserved for the judges. In the far left of the photo, to the left of the number 2, you can see the NHK television cameras, pointing directly at where I was sitting. Which explains why many of my students who do kendo came up to me later in the week and said, "Did you know that you were on TV?" I tried to tell them I was a judge, but they wouldn't believe me.

It was a great event. I always start thinking about getting back into kendo when I see it, especially at such a high level. This year's finals were the most interesting in the last few years. Teramoto, last year's winner and many people's favourite for the title this year, was deposed in the quarter-finals, I think. The eventual winner was Shodai, a jodan fighter from Osaka. His strikes from Jodan were so quick that, between my slow trigger finger and the shutter lag on my camera, I couldn't ever time a shot. I kept getting him coming up off the rebound.

The nice thing about kendo, in my mind, is that it's kind of a professional sport (there are certainly police and teachers at sport universities who are paid to play kendo) but basically, even at the highest level tournament in the country, little kids can come up and get autographs. And the players sit on the floor to write them. And they seem kind of embarrassed by all the attention.

After the tournament, a bunch of people went out for drinks afterwards, which was a lot of fun. Some people were kind of incredulous that I don't practice kendo. "What the heck are you doing here?"

The next day I went to talk to a doctor about my knee and the ongoing pain I've been having. I actually haven't done iaido in about 3 months because the pain has been pretty bad, on and off. Just when I think it's getting better, it comes back for no apparent reason. Anyway, a brief consultation and a few x-rays later, it seems that I have osteoarthritis, probably a result of being overweight and doing iaido for 17 years. It's not a good prognosis, because there's no cure and it tends to just get worse as you get older, but ... well, there are things I can do (like losing weight) to keep it under control. And, maybe this is blind optimism but ... I am hopeful that treatments will get better in the future. Maybe 10 or 15 years from now, they will be able to give you an injection of stem cells or something, and you'll start growing new cartilage.

This last weekend, I went to an exhibition of the recent works of Tenmyouya Hisashi. He does a weird blend of pop illustration, graffiti art, and classical Japanese drawing. He calls his work "New Japanese Art" or Shin-Nihonga. His stuff is amazingly cool and staggeringly good from a technical standpoint. But (paranoid foreigner that I am) I couldn't help wondering if he is right-wing, politically. A lot of his stuff is about "The Spirit of Japan" and I can't tell if it's being ironic or not. Anyway, speaking of irony, I initially saw this illustration on the web and laughed out loud:

But actually it's part of a series of beautifully drawn ink paintings done to illustrate daily articles in the Nihon Keizai Shimbun. The rest of the pictures are completely serious, and in fact resonate with a kind of gravity that is hard to describe. Taken together, they seem like visions from a dream whose meaning is inscrutable. So I viewed this drawing completely differently in context with all the other pictures in the series. As a scribbler myself (it's hard to call myself an artist in comparison to him) I was very envious of his technique and skill.

In connection with all this (envying the artist his skill; envying the All-Japan kendoka their skill; being impressed by the level of the All-Japan iaido tournament, etc.) I have been trying to bear in mind something Miyamoto Musashi wrote (as quoted from Colin Watkin's hyoho.com page):

Sozen to wa soto gawa kara mieru: Means, "When I look at people I am disturbed by them and am envious."

That happens to me more often than I'd care to divulge, so I've been really trying to take it to heart lately.

All-Japan Iaido in Sendai

2008-11-04T02:03:00.000-08:00

The good folks at Kendo World needed somebody to go up to Sendai to cover the 43rd All-Japan Iaido Tournament, so I bravely volunteered! It's a dirty job, but somebody's got to do it. It was scheduled for Saturday, so I headed out of Tokyo after work on Friday night by Shinkansen, and got into Sendai in time to enjoy a late dinner of beef tongue, the local specialty up there. The folks in the bar were extremely friendly, and I was reminded (again) how nice people are once you get away from Tokyo. (Not to put Tokyo people down but they are, shall we say, accustomed to foreigners.)

I got to the gym in plenty of time but there was some kind of miscommunication, so I was led around to the wrong place, and then left to sit for a while, and then made to wait a little bit more, by which time the opening ceremonies had begun, and the guy in charge (i.e., the guy who was supposed to know I was coming and give me the thumbs-up) was busy; finally, they just felt sorry for me and told me I had carte-blanche and to go ahead and film whatever I wanted.

Unfortunately, by that time all the best seats were taken. Everybody in the front rows had already set up their video cameras and were busily recording the action. (What happens to these scores of video tapes? Are they traded on some kind of underground network of iaido enthusiasts?) Resigning myself to having a crappy angle, I settled in and set up the camera.

I was under instructions to film the finals, at the very least, but I had 4 hours of battery life and a couple one-hour tapes, so I indulged myself with a few "practice runs" and filmed some of the preliminary rounds when I knew one of the competitors. The team from Oita consisted of Kosaka Sensei (7th dan; has won 6th dan twice and come in 2nd or 3rd quite a few times; has gotten 2nd at the 7th dan level but never won) and Nishino Sensei (6th dan; has gotten 2nd or 3rd at the 5th dan level a few times, and done well at the 6th dan level, but never won) and a new member, Oishi-san (5th dan, 31 years old). In the end, Kosaka Sensei and Nishino Sensei were eliminated fairly early on, and it was Oishi-san who got the furthest, making it to the best 8.

As the day wore on, people left their seats, and I jumped into the vacancies, gradually moving closer and closer to the action. Eventually, with the words of my editor Alex Bennett ringing in my ears ("Jeff, just be ruthless and get in there, mate!") I ducked under the cordon and into the area reserved for the ZNKR cameramen, and just filmed from there. I figured that, since I was "Press" it was okay, and in fact, there were already some sneaky buggers in there before me anyway! So, in the end, I got some good angles.

In between filming, I wandered around and said Hi to a lot (but not all) of the teachers I have had the chance to train with over here. It was a great opportunity to shmooze. I was disappointed, though, that I couldn't seem to find some people whom I had expected would be there. Their names were in the program, but maybe they couldn't make it after all.

I also got a chance to speak briefly with Kawamura-san, the Kendo Nippon photographer who put out the fantastic "Iaido" photo collection in the early 90's. I told him I was a huge fan of his work (he seemed surprised by that) and I asked if he had any plans for an "Iaido 2". He said he had no plans; the original had been a labour of love that was actually very, very difficult to put together and to publish, and which lost money. He also said that many of the people in the original book had since passed away (definitely true; I would say about 80% of the people in there are now deceased) and that not enough time had passed to fill a new book with a whole new generation of iaido masters. I'm not sure about that.

Anyway, it was a great day and a great event. I was, as usual, just blown away by the caliber of the iaido on display, but at the same time, kind of sad (in a way) that the judging standards have become so narrow that everyone is doing basically the same kind of iai. There doesn't seem to be any room for "individual variation" as such. I remember Yokoyama sensei (MJER from Kochi, I think) telling us that we all had to do our own style of iai, in a way that suits our physical stature and our personality. I'm not sure if there's room for that in modern iaido; or if there is, it won't win you any tournaments. Which is fine, I guess. Everyone can enjoy skating, for example, but not everyone is going to make it to the Olympics.

Now, regarding my little "theory" ... well, first of all, Miyagi prefecture (the host prefecture) won the team competition as well as first place in the "prestige event", the 7th dan division. Sasaki sensei, who won for Miyagi, has done well in the past though, so it was certainly no stretch to imagine him winning first place.

There are probably a few reasons why the home team regularly wins. I'd like to keep an open mind about the whole thing, but here's what I imagine:

1) Judges have a (probably unspoken) understanding that, whenever it comes down to a close decision, they will favour the home team. And let's face it, at this level, it always comes down to a close decision.

2) The home team knows at least 2 or 3 years in advance that they will be hosting the event, so they train LIKE MADMEN and rise to the occasion. (I've seen how hard the Oita group trained for events in other prefectures, so I can imagine how hard the host team trains.)

3) Knowing that they are favoured gives the home team a certain confidence; we all know that iaido is a highly mental/spiritual discipline, so that confidence extends to their technique and gives them an intangible edge.

Having said that, here are the results from the past few tournaments as printed in the back of the program.

Tournament, Location, Winning Team

43 Miyagi Miyagi
42 Okayama Okayama
41 Hokkaido Chiba (2nd: Hokkaido)
40 Chiba Chiba
39 Miyazaki Miyazaki
38 Saitama Saitama
37 Osaka Osaka
36 Yamanashi Yamanashi
35 Oita Oita
34 Yamagata Yamagata
33 Hiroshima Hiroshima
32 Kagoshima Kagoshima
31 Ishikawa Tokyo (2nd: Kanagawa, 3rd: Ishikawa)
30 Kumamoto Kumamoto

And so it goes. But what's more telling is what teams have finished in the top 3 the most times. Since the 30th (I'm lazy and not willing to go back farther than that) we have:

Kanagawa - 8 times
Chiba - 5 times
Tokyo, Oita - 4 times each
Saitama - 3 times
Hokkaido, Fukuoka - 2 times each

And now, some photos.

Nishino Sensei competes in the 6th dan division, showing his commendable form.

Inoue Sensei taught me during the time I was living up in Nihonmatsu, Fukushima. Here he is in the 6th dan tournament.

Mitani Sensei from Kochi is, of course, one of the most respected MJER teachers in Japan.

Azuma Sensei from Oita (left) and Tanno Sensei from Fukushima (right). Both men have won the 8th-dan Hakone tournament. Tanno Sensei seems to have injured the fingers on his right hand, but I didn't get a chance to speak to him or find out what happened.

"If only I had a better sword I'd be out there competing right now..."
That was certainly what I was thinking when viewing all these swords on display. Alas, they had nothing in a 2-point-7.

There are videos and (hopefully) a full report up at Kendo World. Have I mentioned that you should subscribe, too?

All-Japan Jodo Champs, 2008

2008-10-23T05:24:00.000-07:00

There were about 500 participants crammed into a fairly small high-school gym, with 4 courts operating at the same time.
Bit of circus atmosphere at times! That's Arai Sensei judging there...

Seki Nobuhide (left) is not only a great jodoka, but also has a funny way of winning the 6th-dan level at iaido tournaments, too.
He's younger than me, as well. Grrrr.

Namitome Sensei and Kaminoda Sensei chatted amicably the whole day, but occasionally stopped when somebody caught their eye.
They were scheduled to demonstrate, but didn't in the end; maybe Namitome Sensei's knee isn't completely healed yet.

Morii Sensei (7th-dan) attacks Masui Sensei in this shot. Morii Sensei is one of the guys who
really puts me through my paces at the Nikkei Dojo practices.

Hi. My knee is really bad these days, so I haven't been practicing much. Hence the lack of news. But I did go to the All-Japan Jodo Championships on Sunday. They were held in Tokyo, so I agreed to go and cover them for Kendo World magazine. (Not a subscriber yet? What are you waiting for?)

There were almost 500 participants, along with all the high-ranking Jodo teachers in Japan, all gathered in one place. It was quite awesome to think about, really.

Details of the event, as well as more photos, will show up in Kendo World, so I won't say too much about it here. But, since this is my Blog and I don't have to be TOO political (of course I do try to be, shall we say, "tactful"), I noticed a few things.

The main thing is that Jodo is "small" enough that this event was an open tournament; anybody could join. And so it didn't come down to one Prefectural Team competing agains another Prefectural Team, and (I think) as a consequence, I felt that basically the best people won. This seems to be in contrast to iaido where (at least recently) there has been a strong correlation between award winners and what Prefecture is hosting the tournament this year.

Another interesting thing is that all the high-ranking sensei seemed to be getting along just fine; there was no evidence anywhere of any tension between Fukuoka and Tokyo or anything else that people sometimes go on about.

Anyway, regarding the iaido thing, I'm going to Sendai tomorrow to cover the All-Japan Iaido Tournament. It should be interesting and will definitely put my little "theory" to the test. Miyagi is not a strong iaido prefecture, as far as I know, but I'm no expert. I guess a positive result will be strong evidence that my theory is correct, although a negative result doesn't prove it's wrong, either ... it's just a "tendency" I think, not a hard-and-fast rule.

The last thing is that, after seeing the other competitors (who were very, very impressive) I can confidently say, without any doubt, that I am the very best 36-year-old, Canadian, balding jodoka named Jeff in Japan. Oh yeah!

Things I Love About Jodo Practice

2008-10-01T23:34:00.000-07:00

when I'm doing Kasumi no kamae, the way I can feel the heat radiating off of my steaming forehead
the way Furukawa Sensei (at age 75 or something) is the only person that I can't basically fling across the dojo at will with a strong Tai-atari
that feeling of excitement and fear I get when he looks like he's going to practice with me
how when I practice with him, I feel a weird combination of terror ("Don't hurt me!") and total calmness and trust ("I know you're not going to hurt me ... but you could ... but you won't... whoops, that was close ...")
that look he gets on his face when he knows he killed me, and I know he killed me
how he puts me through my paces while keeping an eye on the rest of the class; he doesn't even need to devote his full attention to me
the almost musical "Spak!" sound of a good hikiotoshi-uchi
how Mr. Watano and Mr. Kadomatsu, two of the nicest, meekest guys you'd ever care to meet, turn into demons of screaming woody vengeance when they practice together
the fact that, in this day and age of high-technology, oak and rawhide are still the best things to make practice weapons out of
"Ieeeiiii!" and "Ooohhhh!"
how, after practice, all the problems in my life seem less important. I'm up to my eyeballs in debt, but who cares? I don't have a girlfriend ... so what? It'll work itself out somehow.

How about you?

Turnabout is Fair Play

2008-09-22T04:11:00.001-07:00

I turned a conversation I had with my friend and co-worker, Keith Vargo, into a piece for my Blog, and now he has turned the same conversation into a piece for Black Belt magazine. His piece is much better than mine. I don't think the article is online yet, but if it does go online, I'll link to it.

Coincidences, and Reasons Not to Practice

2008-09-22T03:48:00.000-07:00

Okay, reasons NOT to practice first. I have a whole bunch of 'em.

Japan is hot in the summer. Like, really quite hot. And humid! Boy, is it ever. I sweat like a pig just getting dressed in the morning. By the time I get to the station, I'm a mess. I'm drenched. Can you imagine practicing martial arts in this weather? I sure can't.

My knee kind of hurts. Not too badly; just, you know, sometimes. It kind of twinges when I'm walking up the stairs, for example. Kneeling on a sore knee? No thanks!

Plus, there seem to be complicated politics going on. Teacher A doesn't like Teacher B, and doesn't want me practicing with him; Teacher B thinks Teacher A is crap and doesn't care if I practice with him, but says I'm wasting my time, blah blah blah. Oi vey! It hurts my head just thinking about it. Who needs all that confusion?

On top of all this, I gave my sword to a friend of mine to hold over the summer. His schedule is hectic; my schedule is hectic - it sounds crazy, but we just can't seem to find the time to get together! It IS crazy! Can I practice without a sword? No, sir, I maintain that I cannot!

Okay ... Okay ... it's all bullshit. I don't know why I haven't practiced since I've come back. A little bit of column A, a bit of column B; the main reason is that I'm a bad, bad person. Argh.

Meanwhile, I have had a couple of random run-ins with people who actually DO practice; my teachers, actually. The first time, it wasn't so exceptionally surprising since I was at the station near the dojo, right after practice time. I was on my way into the city to meet a friend for some reason, and saw an older man walking with a sword case. "Sensei!" I said. He turned, recognized me, and gave me a friendly smack. "Where have you been all this time?" I explained that I had gone home to Canada for the summer. "Okay, why didn't you come to practice today?" I had to go into a few of the reasons above (sore knees, no sword); he just nodded. Sensei are usually pretty good judges of character. He knew I was making excuses; I knew he knew I was making excuses. I felt like a complete rat.

Then, yesterday, I was at a minor station in downtown Tokyo with a couple friends. I saw a few folks with sword cases and said, "Oh, they must be iaido people ... Wait a second, I think that's my teacher!" She was looking across the street in my direction. I looked back and smiled. She continued looking in my direction, so I waved. She looked away and started talking to the people with her, then pointed back in my direction. "I'd better go say Hi," I said to my friends. I crossed the street and walked up to her. We were only a few meters apart, but she still hadn't made direct eye contact with me; she was looking right at me, but kind of past me, to the other side of the street, where another man with a sword case was coming out of the station. By this point, I was standing right in front of her; short of grabbing her or shouting, I didn't know how to get her to notice me. Suddenly, I started to wonder if she was treating me as persona non grata because I had stopped going to practices since I moved away. Paranoid, I just decided to go away before she noticed me. It was making me way too uncomfortable.

Tools

2008-07-30T00:45:00.000-07:00

When I was a kid, the mere sight of a sword got me really excited (nothing Freudian in that, I'm afraid). I can still recall being 8 or 9 and reading a cartoon: a traveling toy salesman was showing his wares at the local toy shop. His "toys" for sale consisted of real swords, a shield, a horned viking helmet, a spiked mace, and other implements of destruction. The caption from the unimpressed toy store owner was something like, "Haven't you got anything a little bit more ... fun?"

I remember seeing that and thinking, "That would be the coolest store ever!" and wishing (as only an 8 year old can wish) that I could find a toy store where they sold actual swords. You have to remember that, in that long-distant day and age (before the "Internet") you didn't have control over content - you couldn't just google "swords" and turn up all the information you ever wanted.

And so I went on in my way, scanning the newspapers for whatever else I could find. I watched "Bedknobs and Broomsticks" and thought the final scene was just about the coolest thing ever and almost made up for the singing. I bought my Conan the Barbarian comics at the local smoke shop every month. Somewhere in there, I started to play Dungeons and Dragons. At some point, I think I must have visited the Royal Ontario Museum and seen their collection of swords and armour. I think I was a little bit disappointed that they didn't have at least ONE sword - maybe an unimportant sword - that kids could try out and swing around a little bit.

One day, I came home for lunch and found the new copy of National Geographic magazine, which had an article about the samurai. One page had a photo of a beautiful suit of armour. Another photo was of a sword. The caption said this sword was 600 years old. I couldn't understand how it was still so mirror-shiny. It was nothing like the knight's swords I had seen in the museum. The Japanese sword took on a special place in my mind from that day on. When people ask me why I came to Japan, I guess I really have to trace it all back to that day when I became obsessed with the samurai, and with their swords.

The sword continued to occupy an almost mystical place in my brain for many years. Eventually, I took up iaido, having essentially stumbled upon it at my university. The first time I went to see a practice, I think I almost had a heart attack. I didn't know what to expect at all (I'll say it again - this was before the internet! I didn't even know that iaido was an extant art, let alone being practiced outside of Japan) and I was prepared for disappointment if it had been a bunch of guys dressed in sweatpants wacking each other with homemade, wooden sticks. But they were wearing samurai clothes! And they all had samurai swords! Real samurai swords! Well, okay, they were replicas, but they weren't like those crappy plastic-looking replicas they sold at the army-surplus store. I was hooked. For all the wrong reasons, but I was hooked anyway.

Have you ever seen Conan the Barbarian? A very under-rated movie, in my opinion, even if it is a bit adolescent. Conan's family is slaughtered by a warlord who is looking for "the riddle of steel" - the secret power contained within swords and weapons that might give a man power over others. Later, when Conan comes to exact his revenge, the warlord admits that his obsession with steel was nothing more than a childish fantasy, that it is the man who wields the sword who is powerful. The sword itself is inert, a tool.

Gradually, I think I began to realize the same thing. Through a gradual process of disillusionment, I found out that swords were just lifeless hunks of metal, completely devoid of any mystery at all. I discovered that they were beautiful sometimes, most particularly when someone really skilled was using one. But in that case, they were just an extension of the individual, a manifestation of his or her technique. A good swordsman brings a sword to life, but just for a few seconds at a time.

I went to a sword show the other day in Tokyo. There were about 30 blades on display, from perhaps the Kamakura period onward. In other words, some of these swords were 800 years old. All of them were cutlural treasures. Looking at them, I felt the usual feelings I have at these exhibitions: absolute fascination at the level of craftsmanship; frustration at the lack of English information and my own inability to glean much from the Japanese explanation; a vague sense of wonder that something so old has survived to the present day in such good condition; and my childish feeling that I would like to cut something with them. But basically, I no longer felt that swords are magical.

I'm sure I wasn't alone in feeling that way. All around the world, legends tell about magical swords that gave power to those who wielded them. But of course, the reality is that swords are just tools, for killing.

My friend told me about this clip of a sword being used as a tool for political change:

The clip is from 1960. So it's only a few decades ago that people in Japan were still using swords in this manner. If you include knives in this category, well, see my previous post on the Akihabara stabbings a few months back.

Satsujinken - the sword that takes life. Katsujinken - the sword that preserves life. The difference is only in intention. In iaido, we use swords as tools for personal development. So maybe we can, by having the right intention, accomplish a little bit of magic with them after all?

Knees

2008-06-28T21:43:00.000-07:00

I seem to have injured my knee a little. It happened at jodo practice, but the back story is relevant, I think.

I hadn't been going to practice very often for one reason or another, but I had been going to the gym quite frequently, and lifting pretty heavy weights with my legs. I recently changed gyms and my new gym has a squat machine that is a bit too small for me - even on the furthest seat setting, I have to start from a very tight squat position and I could feel that it was putting stress on my knee. One day, I felt a "twinge" in my left knee, but it didn't hurt so much that I stopped.

Then, I went to Jodo. I don't usually warm up much before jodo, because we do Kihon and warm up "naturally". But on this particular day, I jumped right into koryu and was trying to do Neya no Uchi. I wasn't popping up strongly enough, so I was being told to go from a one-knee position, to a straight-legged "ready to go" posture. I didn't have much luck with that - my legs just aren't strong enough to launch me forward like that.

The next day, my left knee was really hurting me, especially when going up stairs and in particular when my knee straightened out. It still hurts, in fact.

So, I have been trying to do a self-diagnosis using information on the internet. I should go to the doctor, but ... simper simper ... I don't know if I have coverage for this kind of thing, it's hard to get time off work, it doesn't hurt THAT much, maybe I should just rest it for a while, etc.

In the meantime, I am taking a break from iaido, at least. I think my left knee is worse than my right knee as a direct result of tate-hiza always being done on the left side.

Anyway, anybody have any experience with this kind of pain: short, sharp pain inside the knee, very centralized, occurs when you straighten the knee out when it is bearing weight?

Hypothetically ... Pt. 2

2008-06-26T00:48:00.001-07:00

This interesting letter to the editor appeared in The Daily Yomiuri on June 26, 2008. The author makes a good point ...

Police officer should have shot Akihabara assailant

News reports are labeling Police Sgt. Takashi Ogino, the policeman that caught and arrested Tomohiro Kato on June 8 in Akihabara, as an unsung hero.
Kato at first resisted arrest and was able to slash Sgt. Ogino's protective vest three times with a dagger before the officer pulled out his revolver, which made Kato drop his weapon.
The Metropolitan Police Department is calling Sgt. Ogino's actions "textbook perfect." Yet, a police officer possessing a gun, a baton and a third-degree black belt in judo still got slashed three times by Kato's dagger.
Kato had already stabbed one officer in an attempt to kill him, and I am sure he wanted to do the same to Sgt. Ogino. If Kato was able to get close enough to the police officer to slash him three times in his vest, Kato might have been able to stab Sgt. Ogino in the face or neck, too.
In this scenario, Kato might have gotten the opportunity to take the sergeant's revolver and cause even more destruction and murder.
Kato was murdering people in broad daylight, and Sgt. Ogino should have taken out his revolver and used it first and taken down Kato right away.
Sgt. Ogino is no unsung hero, just a very lucky police officer.
Andrew Van Goethem
Mitsuke, Niigata Prefecture

This Looks Interesting...

2008-06-16T05:29:00.000-07:00

Alright, you dojo-dwelling, gi-wearing, stance-obsessed martial artists! Check this out.

Hypothetically ...

2008-06-08T00:34:00.000-07:00

In iaido, we spend a lot of time thinking about killing other people. We casually talk about cutting our opponent across the eyes to blind him before cutting his head and neck in half; we talk about the best angle to stab someone in the heart; we discuss the best grip for cutting off someone's head. Of course, it's all hypothetical, right?

Well, what IF ... I know it's a big if ... but what if you found yourself having to decide whether or not to intervene in a violent situation?

Today around noon, a man drove his car into a crowd in Akihabara, Tokyo, and then went on a stabbing spree. He killed at least 3 people and injured 14 others.
Read more about this story here.

I was in Akihabara on Friday night. I have been there in the past with my sword after an iai practice. So, forgetting about how unlikely it is, it is possible that you or I might find ourselves in this kind of situation.

I wonder whether I would be able to do anything, or if I would just stand there in shock. In the end, police apprehended the man responsible, but only after more than a dozen people had been injured or killed. I don't know karate; I don't know aikido, or krav maga or anything else - there's no way I could stop him short of cutting his arm off or something. Would I have the guts to do it?

I first started thinking about this kind of thing after this happened. A madman stabbed children to death in an elementary school. As an elementary school teacher (at the time) I wondered whether I would have been able to stop it had it been my school.

I can't quite explain why, but I think this is an important question for iaidoka, especially. I'm prepared to admit that this situation is almost certainly never going to happen. But am I mentally prepared to kill and/or die to save another person's life?

Hakone Iaido Taikai

2008-05-31T06:39:00.000-07:00

This past Wednesday, May 28th, was the Hakone 8th-dan Iaido Tournament. It's held every year at Hakone Shrine on May 28th, regardless of whether or not that falls on a weekday or a holiday. As it was a work day for me, I couldn't go, as much as I might have liked to.

More info about the event here (in Japanese). It is by invitation, and so only the very best 8th dan competitors - those who have won tournaments at the 7th dan level, for example - participate. I'm not entirely clear on how it works, but it seems that (usually) if you have won it in the past, you are not invited to join it again. There appear to be some exceptions, though.

I found a list of previous competitors. Where I was able, I have written the names in Romaji. This is much easier to do with family names than it is to do with given names, so I will usually give family names only; apologies if that seems disrespectful, or if I get any names wrong. Obviously, the honorific "Sensei" is implied after each name...! The family name plus the prefecture is probably enough, in most cases, to identify the individual. In some cases, I outright guessed at the name and probably got it wrong.

1st Annual Tournament - Heisei 5 (1993)
Winner: Kawaguchi Toshihiko (Yamaguchi)
2nd: Ide Katsuhiko (Hiroshima)
3rd: Otsuka Taro (Gifu)
Participants - Kobayashi Masao (Ibaraki), Namitome Shigenori (Fukuoka), Fujita (Tokyo), Mori (Osaka), Yamazaki (Saitama), Yamazaki (Shizuoka)

2nd Annual Tournament - Heisei 6 (1994)
Winner: Yasunaga (Kumamoto)
2nd: Kishimoto (Chiba)
3rd: Yoshinari (Kanagawa)
Participants - Ohashi Ryo (Tokyo), Kataoka (Aichi), Sato (Miyagi), Takeda (Ishikawa), Miura (Yamaguchi), Watanabe Hideo (Saitama)

3rd Annual Tournament - Heisei 7 (1995)
Winner: Ishido Shizufumi (Kanagawa)
2nd: Mitani (Kochi)
3rd: Oda (Shizuoka)
Participants - Hakuno (Fukoka), Sato (Tokyo), Saiki (Yamaguchi), Sugahara (Miyagi), Tamagawa (Osaka), Fukuhara (Hyogo)

4th Annual Tournament - Heisei 8 (1996)
Winner: Kimura (Kumamoto)
2nd: Monma(?) (Yamagata)
3rd: Fujiwara (Hyogo)
Participants - Oura(?) (Tokyo), Tanaka Shinzo (Fukushima), Tamagawa (Osaka), Fukube(?) (Mie), Yamauchi (Osaka), Yoshinari (Kanagawa)

5th Annual Tournament - Heisei 9 (1997) - Shrine 1240-Year Anniversary; many former participants were re-invited to compete again.
Winner: Kawaguchi Toshihiko (Yamaguchi)
2nd: Ide Katsuhiko (Hiroshima)
3rd: Mitani (Kochi)
Participants - Ishido Shizufumi (Kanagawa), Oura (Tokyo), Fukuhara (Hyogo), Yasunaga (Kumamoto), Yamazaki (Saitama), Yoshinari (Kanagawa)

6th Annual Tournament - Heisei 10 (1998)
Winner: Ogura Noboru (Tochigi)
2nd: Fukushima Manabu (Tokyo)
3rd: Kumeno (Ehime)
Participants - Sojima(?) (Kanagawa), Gota (Hokkaido), Nishidaira Hirofumi (Okinawa), Imura (Osaka), Noguchi (Chiba), Inoue Katsuhiko (Shizuoka)

7th Annual Tournament - Heisei 11 (1999)
Winner: Tanaka (Tokyo)
2nd: Yamazaki (Shizuoka)
3rd: Fujita (Tokyo)
Participants - Kishimoto (Chiba), Takeda (Ishikawa), Mori (Osaka), Watanabe (Saitama), Miura (Yamaguchi), Yagyu Hideo (Osaka)

8th Annual Tournament - Heisei 12 (2000)
Winner: Azuma Yoshinobu (Oita)
2nd: Muraomo(?) (Tokyo)
3rd: Haruna Matsuo (Okayama)
Participants - Nakamura (Tokyo), Obayashi (Osaka), Kaneda Masao (Tokyo), Hisano Michiya (Shizuoka), Hirota (Aomori), Koike (Yamanashi)

9th Annual Tournament - Heisei 13 (2001)
Winner: Kusama (Niigata)
2nd: Aoki Eiji (Tokyo)
3rd: Harada Sho (Tokushima)
Participants - Ishihara (Okayama), Hakuno (Fukuoka), Sato Yukio (Oita), Miyata (Ibaraki), Koyanagi (Osaka), Yamamoto Noboru (Tokyo)

10th Annual Tournament - Heisei 14 (2002)
Winner: Fukuhara (Hyogo)
2nd: Yamazaki (Saitama)
3rd: Miyata (Ibaraki)
Participants - Tanaka Shinzo (Fukushima), Oda (Shizuoka), Saiki (Yamaguchi), Fukube (Mie), Kimura (Kumamoto), Fujiwara (Hyogo)

11th Annual Tournament - Heisei 15 (2003)
Winner: Tanno Sutekatsu (Fukushima)
2nd: Matsuoka (Aichi)
3rd: Muraomo(?) (Tokyo)
Participants - Hisano (Shizuoka), Aoki Eiji (Tokyo), Harada (Tokushima), Kamikokuryo (Kagoshima), Oguri(?) (Kumamoto), Ito (Tokyo)

12th Annual Tournament - Heisei 16 (2004)
Winner: Ikeda Masao (Tochigi)
2nd: Inoue (Saitama)
3rd: Nakano (Osaka)
Participants - Oura (Tokyo), Obayashi (Osaka), Fukube (Mie), Ueno Masanobu (Okayama), Doi (Ishikawa), Takao (Osaka)

13th Annual Tournament - Heisei 17 (2005)
Winner - Ito (Tokyo)
2nd: Sato (Okayama)
3rd: Ide Yuta (Fukuoka)
Participants - Imura (Osaka), Muraomo (Tokyo), Harada Sho (Tokushima), Kamikokuryo (Kagoshima), Oguri (Kumamoto), Ogasawara (Yamagata)

Update: (June 15, 2008)
I found some more information...

15th Annual Tournament - Heisei 19 (2007)
Winner - Mizuno (Aichi, style: Shinkage Ryu)
2nd: Nakamura Masahito (Ishikawa, MJER)
3rd: Ide Yuta (Fukuoka, MSR)
Participants - Katsuaka (Kanagawa, Tamiya Ryu), Aoki (Tokyo, MSR), Maebara (Hiroshima, MSR), Tatsuno (Ibaraki, MSR), Miyazaki Kentarou (Nagasaki, MSR), Yanagihara (Tokyo, MSR)

16th Annual Tournament - Heisei 20 (2008)
Winner - Arao (Osaka, MJER)
2nd: Kaneshi (?) (Shizuoka, MJER)
3rd: Ozaki Makoto (Kanagawa, MSR)
Participants - Takahashi (Tokyo, MSR), Sugawara (Kyoto, MJER), Tsuchiya (Gifu, Yagyu Shinkage Ryu), Yoshikawa (Tokyo, MSR), Tanizu(?) (Ibaraki, MSR), Sotozaki(?) (Aomori, MSR)

My current teacher, Ozaki Sensei, came in 3rd.

Authenticity

2008-05-15T02:42:00.000-07:00

The whole issue of authenticity is one of those things I struggle with a lot, when I'm thinking about koryu.

Here's how a lot of people seem to think about koryu:

The best koryu have been passed down from generation to generation from the time of the samurai. The best warriors distilled their knowledge of practical fighting techniques and the skills necessary to survive a life-and-death struggle, and taught them faithfully to their students, who, through long and hard study, and deep insight into the techniques, mastered the techniques themselves and, in turn, passed them on unchanged to their students. And so on through the ages.

If that view is correct, then koryu represent not only a priceless cultural/anthropological heritage, but also an invaluable insight into effective combat techniques. Unlike modern "budo", these koryu "bujutsu", having been handed down from the time when life-and-death battles were a reality, must reflect true, killing techniques.

The model for transmission, according to koryu purists, would seem to be some kind of "photocopy" model. To use a visual analogy, the founding master creates a "map" of the techniques. Through diligent study, his chosen successor copies the master, creating an identical map, much like a photocopy of the original.

People who think this way believe, not only in the possibility of "true and correct transmission" but also in its likelihood. Consider this: Many currently-practiced koryu are on somewhere between their tenth and twentieth generation, and the current state of the art must reflect "the weakest link", so to speak, in that chain of ten or twenty masters. In other words, if there was even one "bad teacher" in that chain of teachers - someone whose understanding was less than complete, or whose physical mastery was less than perfect - then the subsequent generation would continue to propagate that error, or that weak point.

Koryu purists would argue that only the best students would be chosen to continue the school - those pupils who, through long and hard apprenticeship, would have the very best mix of understanding and physical mastery.

But isn't the reality far more complicated, and less ideal than all that?

First of all, the very idea behind the "photocopier" model seems faulty. Human beings are not photocopiers. We draw by hand. The master creates a "map" of the techniques, and we re-copy his map in our own shaky hand. We introduce errors, distortions, and omissions. As time passes, we re-draw our map many times, and perhaps it gets closer and closer to the master version. Perhaps it eventually gets remarkably close. But then the master dies, and we are forced to go on by ourselves and re-draw our map from memory. It is hard to defend the idea that what we are doing is identical to what our master did.

Furthermore, the above ignores another fact of human nature: pride. Once the master has died, and we are made master, despite our best intentions to preserve the techniques as we were taught, it is almost inevitable that we are going to emphasize personal preference, or otherwise introduce (even very subtle) differences that are going to be amplified over time.

The above also ignores the nature of organizations and human endeavors. Politics enters any organization consisting of three or more people. It is not necessarily true that only the best students are chosen to represent the school. Many times, it is the most charismatic student; or the most polite student. Or the student most skilled at organizing others. Or the best teacher. Or the student who didn't offend the master a few months prior to the master's death.

(More about this topic here in Kim Taylor's Blog.)

More complications: martial arts have a tendency to wax and wane in popularity. In fact, most martial arts went through periods of near-extinction, when they had very few students. When there were only 6 students to choose from, what does it mean to say that the one who was chosen to carry on the tradition was "the best"? The best of a very, very small field, indeed.

Other martial arts survived because they were hereditary. The art was passed from father to son. Do koryu purists really believe that, in every case, the son was the absolute best person to represent the art as taught by his father before him, in terms of understanding and physical mastery?

I think it's pretty clear that "true and correct transmission" is basically a myth. If you still don't believe me, take a look at old films of any martial art you can find. It's almost certain that there are significant differences between the way they are done now, and the way they used to be done. Many times, these films (perhaps of 400-year-old arts) are only 50 years old. We, at least, have the benefit of viewing these films, where previous generations had only drawings or written descriptions. Surely even greater changes were introduced within the first 350 years.

So, if it's safe to say that what we're doing bears only a vague resemblance to what the founders set down, what is the meaning of "authenticity"?

In koryu, it seems that it is not enough that teachers are "skilled"; people also demand that they are "authentic" and "legitimate", as if these terms have any meaning. In fact, I question the meaning of the word "skilled" too, since increasingly, nobody really knows what skills are required to defeat someone in a sword fight. (If you really want to find out, perhaps you can find employment as a mercenary in a civil war in Africa somewhere, and get some experience carving people up with a machete. Just please, please, never come back to where I live.)

Legitimacy, in turn, is decided by a committee of people who have no direct connection with the art itself. An organization is set up (usually by people with a vested interest in representing themselves within said organization) and then it is a race to get recognized as "the legitimate head" of your school before the other guy down the road gets it. If you've got more papers and knick-knacks than the other guy, (not to mention more students) you'll probably win. But if it happens that you don't get recognized, all is not lost: you can always get together with a few other people and form a rival organization of your own. Nobody needs to be left out completely: it is just a question of how large and influential YOUR organization happens to be.

So, do I seem pretty cynical to you?

All of this is in response to some bickering which took place in a couple of online martial arts forums. The problem is that I know both parties involved, and as far as I know, despite all the accusations of lying and "spreading falsehoods", I think both parties really believe in their own version of the truth. The problem is simply that their versions are mutually incompatible. It's like Rashomon.

I don't know what the truth is. I don't know when X sensei started training with Y sensei or what Z sensei said about whom. I do know that all sensei in question were or are fine, reputable, generous, dedicated, and honourable people who would be ashamed and embarrassed that their students were carrying on like they are, EVEN if this carrying on was being done with the best of intentions and in the name of defending their honour.

I wish people would keep a few things in mind:

It's not your responsibility to defend your teacher's honour. Your teacher probably doesn't care what some yahoo says about him. Turning around and saying something bad about his teacher only makes an ugly situation uglier.

When somebody says "My teacher is more skilled/authentic/legitimate/enlightened than yours!" the correct response is "So what? How skilled or enlightened are you? And how does authenticity or legitimacy (assuming these words have any meaning whatsoever) affect my teacher's ability to teach me right from wrong?"

Finally, martial arts are about self-improvement. Self-improvement is found in the dojo, and then in your real-life interactions with other people. I find it very difficult to imagine self-improvement coming after a long night of posting on forums, or in blogging.

Which reminds me, I've really got to get my fat ass into the dojo.

Things You Learn in Crowds

2008-04-29T07:16:00.000-07:00

Having left the relative calm of the countryside, I now find myself in the capital, where I am forced to wade through crowds of people on a daily basis. Actually, I have learned a few interesting things.

There are a couple techniques that help me get through crowds with a minimum of hassle, and both of them relate in an interesting way to iaido.

The first is this: when moving quickly through a very dense crowd, try not to lift your feet off the ground. If you do, there's a good chance you will step on somebody else's foot, and completely aside from the pain you inflict on them, it really throws you off balance. Instead, slide your foot across the floor. Just like in iai. Forget about all those things people say about why we slide our feet in iai: it's just more stable.

The second thing is this: when you're trying to move quickly through a medium density crowd, the kind where everybody seems to be going in a different, random direction, don't look at people's faces. If you do, you will almost certainly collide with somebody who is staring off in one direction while walking in the other. Or, you will make eye contact and then do that "Which way are you going?" dance where you both step left, then right, then left, then finally bump into each other. (This sounds like a good way to meet girls, but it really isn't.) Instead of looking at people's faces, look at their feet. Feet don't lie. If somebody is going to make a sudden turn, they will indicate it with a twist of the back foot. (Soccer goalies have known this for a long time: they watch the striker's "other" foot - not the one they kick with - and the direction it plants the instant before the kick is usually the direction the ball is headed.) Bearing this in mind, this may be why kendo is so stringently done with feet locked front-to-back - not only to reduce the chance of injuries to the achilles tendon, but possibly also to avoid telegraphing one's next movement. Maybe?

Oh yeah. The other thing I've learned from being in crowds: I don't like crowds.

Yoshihara Yoshindo

2008-04-29T07:04:00.000-07:00

Wow. It's been a while. I moved, and now I'm in Kanagawa ken (officially I'm living in Yokohama, but I'm so far out in the suburbs that saying I'm in Yokohama sounds a little bit odd). I haven't found a practice yet. These things take time ... at least, they always seem to take me a lot of time. So I haven't actually practiced in ages, and consequently have very little to say. But, just so you don't think I've fallen off the face of the earth, here's a little video from the Japan Times. They've also got another video of one of the Japan Times staff doing some iai - looks like Iaido Federation MJER to me.

Stupid, Stupid, Stupid

2008-02-23T03:11:00.000-08:00

So, I'm in Tokyo now. Well, living in Chiba, but it's fairly close to Tokyo: it takes about 45 minutes for me to commute to work in the city. I finally made contact with H-Sensei* and found out when and where they're practicing, so on Monday of this week I went to the dojo (in an elementary school gym) and had my first practice in about 3 weeks.

They practice quite hard there, so it was tough for me to keep up. It's basically free practice, but Sensei wanders around and gives pointers when she sees something worth commenting on. So unlike a lot of practices that I've been to and what I've gotten used to, it's pretty steady for 2 hours. There's no time to stand around and rest while Sensei explains some point. Of course, if you're really tired, you can stop and rest, but ...

At the end of class, they do a group practice where they go through the 11 Shoden forms together, and then the 12 Seitei forms. By the end of it, I was pretty tired!

I didn't notice any after-effects, except that my forearms were pretty tired. The "stopping muscle" in particular - you know, the one outside your elbow, the only one you actually develop doing iaido! - was pretty sore.

I went to practice again on Thursday. It was quite cold, and I was late, so I didn't warm up much at all. My very first nukitsuke on Mae, I twinged something in my stopping muscle. It hurt, but I didn't think too much of it. I continued the technique and did the O-chiburi and Twang! Something was definitely wrong now. I did a few more techniques, but I couldn't stop the sword at all. It was almost flying out of my hand, so I decided to call it quits. I felt pretty stupid for injuring myself like that: by overdoing it and then by not warming up.

So I'm taking a few days off to see if it gets better on its own. I don't think it's anything serious, but I think it would be dumb to push it any more than I already have.

The only other interesting(?) thing is that there was a young-ish guy there who was doing the MJER koryu techniques as fast as he possibly could. He would whip his sword out of the saya (scraping it loudly in the process) then flail around, cut-chop-chop-cut, no zanshin, then a fast noto, even on shoden. It was very strange. Imagine a room full of people waltzing, and there is one guy moshing by himself in the middle. I kept wondering why H-Sensei didn't say anything to him. I also wondered where he learned his techniques. I figured maybe he bought a book or a video, and then decided on his own that "faster is better". Or perhaps there are teachers out there who are teaching it that way. (Shrug)

*Maybe I'm being paranoid, but recently I've realized that a lot of people I don't know read this blog, so I'm starting to think maybe I should dispense with names, since not everything I say is entirely positive. Sigh. Anybody know how I can password-protect a blog?

In the Shadow of Musashi

2007-12-06T05:42:00.000-08:00

In the middle of November, thanks to exam week at the university, I had a week's vacation. I decided to take a trip to Kumamoto to visit the various places connected with Miyamoto Musashi. I had been there a couple of times before, but not since I bought my digital camera. I wanted to take a lot of photos and also just soak in the atmosphere by myself. (It's hard to do that when you are with a bunch of non-martial-artists who can't understand why you want to visit some stupid cave in the first place, let alone sit on some rock for half an hour.)

I took a Trans-Kyushu express train from Beppu on Monday morning. The train traverses some beautiful scenery, including the basin of Mt. Aso, an enormous 25-km wide caldera left after a gigantic volcano exploded some 300,000 years ago, leaving what appears to be a ring of mountains surrounding a flat plain.

I arrived into Kumamoto around 2pm and checked into my hotel, a very no-frills business hotel close to the bus station. I had been carefully considering my itinerary, basing it on the weather, as well as museum holidays and bus availability.

I decided to first go to the Shimada Museum of Fine Arts, which contains the largest collection of Musashi-related items in Japan, along with a large number of very fine kabuto and sets of armour.

Upon entering the museum, I was greeted by a very cute young lady who flattered me by complimenting by Japanese (quite dishonestly). To the left was a beautiful display of beautiful kabuto, swords, and armour. In the next room, all collected together in one case, were three paintings by Musashi (Shrike on a Withered Branch, Self Portrait, and Cormorant, I believe) along with the sword he used, and the famous "Sea Cucumber" tsuba he made. Despite having seen all these items before (both in person and in books) and the very real possibility that they are all copies (the real items safely in storage) it is still breathtaking; I imagine it is much like seeing the Mona Lisa with your own eyes.

At the same time, it is humbling to think that this is a good part of all that remains of Musashi's life. How much will I leave behind me, and how long will it be before it is forgotten?

As I was deep in thought, a bus arrived full of middle-aged tourists. They noisily spilled out of the bus and stormed through the exhibit. "A katana? I thought Musashi always used a wooden sword!" one exclaimed loudly. They paused for a few seconds at each exhibit, and were gone almost as suddenly as they had arrived.

I did another few go-rounds. The museum is small, and what documentation there is is in Japanese only. I deciphered what I could, and then approached the receptionist. "Um, I have a question about Musashi, but ... it's kind of specific ..."

"Oh, well let me just get the curator for you!" she said, and scurried off upstairs. In a few moments, an older gentleman appeared and asked me what he could do for me. I had a few questions about the genealogy of Niten Ichi Ryu (the school founded by Musashi) and he went back to his office to retrieve a late Edo-period book he had on the subject. It listed a number of different branches of the schools founded by Musashi, including a few lines of Niten. One of them was apparently founded by his first disciple in Kumamoto, who was given "hamon" or banished from practicing for some reason. I wonder why ...

The books he showed me didn't really answer my questions, but I didn't want to press the matter, nor did my Japanese ability really allow me to rephrase the question. He returned to his office. I tried to think of some other ways to make small talk with the receptionist, but was unsuccessful, so I sheepishly bought a book and a calendar, and was on my way.

By this point it was getting dark, so I took the bus back downtown. I wanted to find a nice restaurant serving bazashi (raw horsemeat) which is the speciality of Kumamoto. I quite like it (imagine a richer version of steak tartare) but eventually settled on a nice little general-purpose place with good ambience. I had a nice meal and struck up a conversation with the waitress; as it happens, she was a high school student at a school in Nagasaki when I was a JET there. She had been taught English by a friend of mine. More little coincidences ... we are all, indeed, connected!

The next day dawned bright and clear. The weather forecast predicted a very slight chance of rain, so I decided that it would be a good time to go to Reigando, the cave where Musashi retired to write his Go Rin no Sho before he passed away.

The bus was packed with senior citizens on their way to a hot spring in the countryside. About 30 minutes outside of the city I got off and walked a couple kilometers up the mountain to the cave. As I approached, I saw a large white marble statue of Musashi that had been erected in the last few years, as it hadn't been there the last time I was.

The likeness is a little bit cartoonish, as it is based on a contemporary portrait of Musashi. But the eyes have a real vitality in them, and he seems to stare down at you with quite an air of intensity. Behind the statue is a path which leads to a lookout point, where you can see the Ariake Sea and all the mountains in the vicinity, as well as valleys where people continue to farm as their ancestors did hundreds of years ago, perhaps.

There is a small temple outside of Reigando cave, which was a holy site long before Musashi went there to pray and to write. The gate, manned by a bored-looking monk biding his time watching game-shows and playing solitaire on a notebook computer, contained a number of Musashi-related items: replicas of the bokuto he carved from an oar and used to defeat Sasaki Kojiro, as well as a few of his paintings, including this one of a rather miserable-looking Daruma. I wonder if Musashi, who had wandered the length and breadth of Japan many times over by the time he settled in Kumamoto, felt a bit like this weary-looking Daruma.

The approach to the cave itself is overlooked by steep stone walls, upon which perch a hundred stone Buddhas. It is said that each one bears a different expression on its face, and if you can find the one that looks like you, you'll have good fortune. Over the centuries, many of them have been damaged (by earthquakes?) and lost their heads.

I was the only visitor to the cave that day, and after my experience at the museum, I felt very lucky. The scores of Buddhas, many headless, other laughing, grimacing, or serene, made for a very quiet scene of contemplation. I was happy to be alone.

Meanwhile, as luck would have it, the sky was turning grayer and a light rain began to fall. I hurried up to the cave entrance, which is ... imposing.

Perhaps it was just being alone in that silent place, or the atmosphere created by the numerous ancient stone guardians all around, but the cave looked to me like the entrance to another world. Everywhere I looked, I was struck with the age of the place, and it created this incredible sense of gravity. I don't want to get melodramatic, and say that I felt a "presence" or that the place was "haunted" ... but it was nothing like I have ever experienced before.

The rain began to get heavier as I climbed the stairs up to the cave. Inside, it was utterly silent. I would be lying if I said it wasn't a little bit frightening. I really felt as though I weren't quite alone there.

The interior of the cave contains an enclosed altar (it is difficult to see what is contained at the very back) and a large rock which gives the impression of rising up through the floor. Of course, the cave must have been very different in Musashi's time. The floor was almost certainly not there, and the rough steps carved into the side of the rock let you imagine that at the time it was the only place to sit - I wondered if he sat looking out at the landscape in front of the cave, (a view now mostly obscured by trees) or whether, perhaps, he sat with his back to the opening, looking into the darkness.

I signed the guest register and noticed that I was the only visitor today. The rain was falling heavily now, meaning (much to my delight) that I was stuck there for the time being. I spent an hour in the cave, thinking quite successfully (as I recall now) about nothing. Eventually the rain let up, and the sun came out as if to say, "Okay, you're free to go now."

As I was leaving, I found the Buddha that looks like me ... or at least, the one I think represents me somehow. Poor guy ... don't worry ... I feel the same way too ...

I bought a charm at the temple ("Progress in the Martial Arts" - if only it were that easy!) and walked back down to the road. I checked the bus schedule, and the next bus was in 2 hours or so. I decided to hitch-hike. At first I made a sign saying "Kumamoto Downtown Area" but nobody stopped. Eventually I realized that having a sign just made it easy for people not to stop: "Downtown? We're not going there ... well, not exactly. Someone else will pick him up..." I ditched the sign. Exactly two cars later, a farmer in a sub-compact pulled over. "Where you headed?" he asked. "Anywhere, really ... but I'm hoping to go downtown ... anywhere there's a bus stop would be fine." "Well, where would you like to go?" I told him the castle and he said nothing. I don't think he said another word, actually, until about 25 minutes later, when he pulled up at the back gate of the castle. I thanked him and he told me to have a nice time, then took off.

Kumamoto castle is considered one of the finest castles in Japan, because of its size, impressive lines, and well-designed castle walls. The day I was there, there were tons of tourists; many of them Korean, and also a lot of students on school trips.

Like most castles in Japan, Kumamoto castle is not original. Most of it was burned down in 1877 during the last rebellion following the Meiji Restoration, and was rebuilt in concrete. There are some parts, though, that remain original and let us see what the interior would have been like.

The castle was built and designed by super-samurai Kato Kiyomasa. Some of you may remember me assembling and painting a tiny, ridiculously-detailed white-metal model of Kiyomasa a few years back (I'm such a nerd!) The model is based on this painting.

The castle contains a nice museum-style series of displays, including a lot of Kiyomasa's personal effects. It also talks a lot about the history of the area. Japanese history is (for me at least) extremely hard to understand. Despite the emphasis on loyalty (or perhaps because of it - the slightest transgression must have been punished quite severely!) vassals were always betraying their lords; lords were always ordering their vassals to commit suicide; alliances were continually being made and being broken ... and so, somehow, despite being an extremely well-respected and venerated Daimyo, Kiyomasa's dynasty didn't last long, as his son was banished and replaced by the Hosokawa's as the local warlords. It was the Hosokawa family that Musashi came to Kumamoto to serve.

Just north of the castle is located the Hosokawa residence, a fine example of a high-ranking Daimyo's home. Aside from the layout of the gardens, and the architecture of the house itself, though, there was little to see.

The nice side, however, was that there was almost nobody there, so I had the place basically to myself. There's nothing worse than looking at a garden that was meant for quiet contemplation in the middle of a herd of junior high school kids on a field trip.

That night, I went out for a bit of a walk around town. I stopped in a bookstore, but didn't see anything worth buying...

The next day was my last day in Kumamoto. I had two scheduled stops on my way out of town. The first was Suizenji, considered one of the three finest gardens in Japan. (They never actually print the lists, they just say "One of the top three [fill in the blank]s in Japan." So I don't know how true that is, but I do know that Suizenji is absolutely beautiful. It was almost impossible (even for me) to take a bad picture.

That hill in the background is designed to look like a miniature Mt. Fuji. It even has some bushes planted on the back slope that resemble horizontal clouds around the peak.

Suizenji is beautiful, but it just made me wish I was there with a girl. Clearly, it was time for more Musashi! Time for our last stop:

Musashi-zuka, or the Grave of Musashi. When Musashi retired to the cave to write the Go Rin no Sho, it was because he was dying of stomach cancer, and he knew his time was almost finished. One can only imagine the agony he must have endured as he wrote the scrolls containing the distillation of his life experience as a swordsman. If anybody ever criticizes the Go Rin no Sho (and there are many people who do) I would suggest they remember the circumstances under which it was written.

In any case, a few months after writing the scrolls, Musashi died. He requested to be buried (some say standing up, in full armour) beside the road used by the Daimyo as they travelled to and from Edo on their mandatory trips to the capital. He wanted to watch over his Lord, even in death.

Now, there is a small but very nice park containing his gravesite. It is dominated by a statue, based on his famous self-portrait.

In the grove of trees beside the statue lies his gravesite. There is also a beautiful pond with a small waterfall.

I had read in a number of places that Musashi was quite content in Kumamoto, until his Lord, Hosokawa Tadatoshi passed away, only 8 years after Musashi arrived. After Tadatoshi's death, it seems that Musashi was discontent; perhaps Tadatoshi's heir was not interested in Musashi's teachings and he may have felt unappreciated and unwanted, something of a relic. Although he had a large number of students, there seems to be a consensus that Musashi's last years were a disappointment. Considering this, I felt a sense of melancholy as I sat beside the waterfall. Musashi dedicated his life to the martial arts, but in the end, what did it get him? And how much did he have to give up? Did he "enjoy" his life in the common sense of the word? Did he feel that he had accomplished everything he set out to do?

I stopped in at the dojo which stands beside Musashi-zuka Park. It is quite a fine dojo, and when I was there, a number of ladies were doing Tai-Chi. They were quite amused to see this large foreign guy peering in at them. I decided to ask them for directions to the last place on my list: some good Kumamoto pork-bone ramen! They happily informed me of a very well-regarded ramen shop just down the street and over.

I was able to get a very delicious, very filling bowl of ramen, and then walked back to the station to catch my train. The perfect end to a very fulfilling three-day trip.

Ninja Parade

2007-10-30T05:24:00.000-07:00

From the Onion:

Ninja Parade Slips Through Town Unnoticed Once Again

Pride and Prejudice

2007-10-28T07:09:00.000-07:00

So the results are in from the All-Japan Kendo Federation Iaido Tournament. The results are, um, let's just say "a bit predictable". Hosts Okayama won the team tournament, as well as taking first place in the 6th and 7th dan categories. Hmmm.

Oita did okay, I guess. Kosaka sensei came in 3rd in the 7th dan division, but the 5th-dan and 6th-dan competitors both got ousted in the first round, so Kosaka's points were only enough to give Oita 7th place overall. Still, coming in 7th out of 50 prefectures is pretty respectable, I think.

Which brings me to "Prejudice" ... the home team has won the tournament the last 4 years running (and possibly longer, I just don't have the data ... does anybody?) so why isn't everybody screaming the obvious: "The tournament is meaningless! It's rigged! The results are pre-decided!"

Well, I guess nobody wants to upset the apple cart. Besides, in all honesty, it's pretty difficult to judge iaido at that level. I suppose the judges might (consciously or unconsciously) make a decision in favour of the hometown player when everything else is equal ... and at that level, most of the time, everything else is pretty equal! I dunno.

I wonder about the 8th-dan taikai which is held every year in Hakone, near Tokyo. It might be more impartial than the other taikai, since it's held in the same place every year. Or, maybe it's even more political. Who knows?

Which brings me to ... Pride. I'm certainly guilt of it. I don't like it when my juniors give me pointers, or when one sensei tells me to fix something that another sensei (one I probably like more) has told me to do. This is just our pride getting in the way of our objectivity.

Martial arts is supposed to be all about destroying our ego, tearing down our sense of Self and replacing it with a sense of Selflessness, a willingness to serve society and others, blah blah blah. Unfortunately, it doesn't seem to work that way. The higher up we get, the less likely we are to be Selfless, and the more likely we are to have a very high estimation of ourSelves.

I saw a video of myself taken at practice the other day. Wow, it was incredibly cringe-inducing. Azuma Sensei is always telling me, "Jeff! Stop pursing your lips! Keep a poker face at all times ... you should have the tiniest little smile as you draw!" I have heard him say that so much that it was starting to annoy me. Well, I'm kicking myself in the ass for my own arrogant stupidity, because I can hardly watch that video, I look like such a prune-faced twit, screwing up my face into a ridiculous grimace. I have vowed never to question my Sensei again ... but I also know I will break that vow, probably soon.

I recently heard about a high-ranking member of a national martial arts organization who, after failing a grading and having some other requests turned down, decided to quit the organization. That's fine, he can become a "ronin" if he wants and train directly in Japan, but what happens to his students? They are forced to choose between 2 equally unpleasant options: 1 - turn their backs on their national organization and follow their sensei, or 2 - turn their backs on their sensei and stay loyal to their national organization.

This sort of things seems to happen a lot, doesn't it? And it all seems justified by some weird sense of "loyalty" which is in turn driven by a twisted kind of pride. I don't know ... the best advice I can think of is "Just keep your head down and practice as much as you can ... and when someone tells you you're doing something wrong, believe them whole-heartedly, and try to change it."

Simple. But not easy.

Beppu iaido group

2007-10-15T04:58:00.000-07:00

This is the part where I pretend that I'm a fully-integrated member of the iaido group and not a perpetual outsider... (I'm not bitter!)

We had a big turnout the other Sunday, so I made everybody line up while I took a picture. I'm not too pleased with the performance of my camera, but I didn't really adjust the settings very well, so it's my own fault.

Front row (l-r): Yasumatsu Sensei, Azuma Sensei, Kawamura Sensei, Sato Sensei, Nishino-san, Uramoto-san.
Back row (l-r): Kosaka Sensei, Tokumitsu-san, Hirota-san, Naka-san, Yamamura Sensei, Karai-san*, Hamasaki-san, Fujikawa-kun, Yoshimochi Sensei, Ishii Sensei.
*I'm almost certainly not reading that right, but I don't know his real name because everyone calls him Kacchan!

Keep your eye out for Fujikawa-kun. That kid is going to win the All-Japans, starting in about 10 years and continuing for a while, I think. Yoshimochi Sensei is the new soke of Niten Ichi Ryu (in the Gosho-ha scheme of things) and Ishii Sensei is his training partner. Both of them also teach Sekiguchi Ryu.

Here is the team that Oita is sending to the All-Japan's next week. From left to right: Kosaka Sensei (7th dan division) has placed 2nd or 3rd a number of times, but as far as I'm aware, never won. He is currently writing a series of iaido articles for Kendo Nippon magazine. Sato Sensei (8th dan) is the team coach. Kawamura Sensei is one of only 3(?) ZNKR 9th dans in Japan. Nishino-san (6th dan) came in second last year. Uramoto-san (5th dan) is very good, but maybe is going for the first time, I'm not sure. Anyway, I wish the whole team good luck as they've been training really intensely for the last 6 months, at least. I hope they can upset the "expected" outcome and knock out the favourites: hometown heroes Okayama, and the powerhouse team from Chiba that has been dominating the competition for the last couple years. Bring it home, guys!

Jo, Ha, Kyu

2007-10-15T04:24:00.000-07:00

At practice the other night, as I was trying to do the first Sekiguchi Ryu technique, Sensei stopped me and said, "In Seitei iai, and in Eishin ryu, you have Jo-Ha-Kyu, but we don't have it in Sekiguchi Ryu. It's just 'Baaaat!' ... once you make the decision to draw, you just draw as fast as you can and cut in one motion."

I found that very interesting. Jo-Ha-Kyu is a fascinating concept, I think. There are a lot of different metaphors people use to describe it. Sensei described it by making the analogy with a waterfall. If you watch a bit of water (a ripple or something) as it travels downriver, it appears to be moving quite slowly and peacefully. It gently crests the edge of the waterfall, and begins accelerating. Your eye follows it naturally, and you're not aware of just how fast it's going until BAM! It hurtles into the mist at the bottom and disappears.

Another description was often given by Kim when I was in Guelph. Imagine you have a large rain barrel, with a hose in a bit of water at the bottom. You turn on the hose, and at first, you can't even be sure whether the water level is rising or not. You come back a bit later, and the water level is closer to the top, and you can definitely see it moving, although still quite slowly. You come back a bit later and the barrel is almost full, and the water level is coming up quickly, so quickly that you can't shut it off in time ... and the water is overflowing everywhere because you misjudged how quickly it was coming up.

I had my own experience of Jo-Ha-Kyu the other day. I have an old umbrella with a few bent vanes. It doesn't open the way it used to when I bought it. You press the button, and nothing seems to happen; you want to give it a shake, but no, very gradually, you realize that it is actually unfolding. But the more it unfolds, the more advantage the springs have on the vanes, and the faster it unfolds! Suddenly, it's really moving and FWAP! it opens with such a snap that you almost drop it, you're so startled.

In comparing ryuha, it's kind of too easy to make categorical statements, so I'll try to avoid them. But Mr. Sakashita was saying that some people, when they see Sekiguchi Ryu, say that it has no "kigurai" or "dignity"; it's too quick and to the point, whereas Eishin ryu is considered a very aesthetically nice, upright, and dignified style. I don't know if that's true, but I do wonder how much Jo-Ha-Kyu is an aesthetic point, and to what extent it might be a "combative" element.

Jo-Ha-Kyu is present in many Japanese traditional arts, such as Noh, calligraphy, and drumming. So it might be easy to dismiss it as simply aesthetics. But considering the metaphors used above, it might also be a way to lull one's opponent into thinking they have more time than they actually do, thereby controlling their timing and possibly suppressing their movements. When I first learned Mae, the mental state was "Don't draw ... don't draw ... don't ... [and at the last possible instant] okay, too late! Cut!"

Sekiguchi ryu seems to take a different approach. I'm not sure I understand it, but it seems closer to: "Wait ... wait ... wait ... Cut!" It isn't so much a suppression of the opponent, as an anticipation and reaction (or perhaps "pre-action" would be a better term).

Anyway, it is a very deep subject, I think, and something I'm looking into more.

Sad news: Yamashita Sensei, 8th dan, of Omuta, Fukuoka, passed away recently at the age of 91. He was Namitome Sensei's iai teacher. He always referred to his iai as "iaijutsu" and in demonstrations, he often did unusual variations of techniques that I have never seen elsewhere. Azuma Sensei told me a bit about him; he was of the "old guard" and was one of the last "bushi" -- people who approached budo with a real warrior spirit. I'm sorry I didn't get to see more of his iai.

Messing Around ...

2007-10-07T05:58:00.000-07:00

I spent the last couple hours tinkering around with Pixelmator to make the image below ... the source images aren't very good to start with, and I don't know what I'm doing, and the program seems a bit buggy. For example, it introduced that weird diagonal line into the one photo when I resized it. Also, it's a demo, so there's a watermark I can't get rid of. Anyway, here you go.

I wonder if that diagonal line is an artifact resulting from changing the image size by an improper fraction or something ... anyway, I'm through worrying about it.

Practice has been good this week, although my legs and toes really hurt after trying to do Sekiguchi Ryu on Wednesday. To be honest, I am just hopeful that we will do some Niten, but every week Sensei is pretty insistent on me learning Sekiguchi Ryu. And I'm not really in a position to argue. All the same, I don't know if I will ever get the flexibility (and also the necessary leg strength) to do it properly. As it stands, I'm sort of doing it against my will; I think it's really cool, but I can't do it.

I go up to the dojo with Mr. Sakashita, who lives in Beppu and gives me a ride in his car on Wednesday nights. The trip takes about an hour each way, and so we end up talking about iaido, or Japanese history, or martial arts in general. (Or movies: it seems that Akira Kurosawa's "Ran", one of my all-time favourite films, was shot here in Oita, on Kuju plateau, and a large number of his horse-riding friends were samurai extras! How cool is that??) Unfortunately, since he does most of the talking, I'm not sure whether or not he realizes how poor my Japanese really is, and how much of what he says is lost on me. Occasionally, I'll stop him mid-story, when I've lost the drift of what he's saying, but since I can't say "I have no idea what you're talking about" usually I'll pick the last difficult word he's said, and repeat it in a quizzical voice. Then he'll get out his phone and we'll look up the word in the mini-dictionary, and it will be something like "absolutism" or "fiduciary" which will shed almost no light whatsoever on the subject. Oh well.

Here in Beppu, practice is also going well. For the last long while, the class has been split into two groups. Kawamura Sensei and Sato Sensei take the three who are going to represent Oita in the upcoming All-Japan's (to be held in Okayama in two weeks' time) while Azuma Sensei and Yasumatsu Sensei take the rest of us. Today we focused on number 10 a lot. I'm still not convinced that I'm doing the handle-strike properly; I never used to think too much about it until Tanaka Sensei (in Fukushima) saw me do it once and proceeded to break it down completely; he told me that it must be done like a very solid kote strike in kendo. I could see what he meant when he did it, but I couldn't get it right myself despite doing it over and over again. Since then, I haven't had much confidence, and the kata has kind of gone downhill from there. But today I think I worked out a lot of kinks, although it all still needs to get smoother and more stable.

I think it's interesting how our favourite and least-favourite techniques change over time. I'm not sure why that is, except perhaps that our perspective changes. I hope the techniques themselves don't actually backslide! For example, I used to like number 8, but now I hate it; I hope it hasn't actually gotten worse in the execution but rather that I now recognize some weaknesses that were always there. Meanwhile, I've really come to like Mae, and occasionally do a very satisfying nukitsuke and kiritsuke, although other parts of it are still very bad.

Anyway, my back is killing me today; not just muscle pain, but it seems to be pressure-on-the-nerve kind of pain, and it keeps threatening to go into spasm. I kind of hoped that I was through with that ... this is no doubt my "payback" for having been physically inactive for so long. I will have to make sure to get light exercise every day for the next few weeks until I'm sure I can handle it, and then start jogging and stretching again. Damn.

One-Legged Cutting

2007-10-02T00:49:00.001-07:00

Azuma sensei frequently talks about balance. Last class he had us standing on one leg and cutting. We had to think about why we wobble back and forth, and also why we tended to kick up the foot that we had lifted off the ground at the moment when we cut.

It was really hard to do, and I thought about my friend Ed, who has one leg but does beautiful iaido. The reason he does such nice iai is because he is never off balance. If he goes off balance, he takes a fall. The rest of us, however, can indulge in bad habits where we lean forward, or lean backwards, or bob our heads when we cut. These habits are extremely hard to break because balance is so fundamental that it is hard to change.

So here's a suggestion: lift one leg right up and try cutting a few times. Keep doing it until you can cut without wobbling or moving your lifted leg. Gradually lower your foot until it is almost in contact with the ground. Then, cut and without toppling forward onto that foot, shoot the front foot out. Next, try to step through and recapture the feeling of loading your weight entirely on one foot as you transfer your weight. Now, try and make the whole process natural!

Here's another check. Do ipponme-mae but stop at nukitsuke. Check your posture mentally. Carefully perform furikaburi, and at the jodan position, lift your front leg completely off the ground and cut with your front leg in the air. Could you do it? I couldn't.

One more check: do mae and continue through to kiri-otoshi. Before you do chiburi, imagine that your opponent suddenly cuts for your front foot. Don't block, just step backwards so that your feet resemble the nukitsuke position for Ushiro. Was it easy, or were you so dog-legged that you couldn't stand up easily?

I'm back

2007-09-26T18:40:00.000-07:00

I went to practice last night. With the exception of the single day of practice I mentioned before, it's the first time in six weeks. When am I going to learn this is not the way forward?

We were doing Seitei iai for a little while, but then Sensei declared that we should practice koryu. I don't know how to say this without sounding whiny and defeatist, but I just wasn't built to do Sekiguchi ryu. My legs don't fold that way. Maybe with constant practice I'll be able to get there someday, but right now it seems impossible. So they just kept telling me the same things: "Go lower! Deeper stance! Back straight!" which (currently) are impossible for me. It was kind of frustrating, but I did the best I could. Because I have been inactive for almost 2 months, though, my head was reeling after a while, and today my legs (and toes!) are really sore. As Mr. Sakashita said, "Pain and sports always come together."

Anyway, I have a couple more videos for you. The first one is one of the funniest things I've seen in a while, although it has some coarse language.

Cautionary Tales of Swords

This next one is just ... sad. I like it when frauds are exposed but ... I don't know. The guy claims to be a master of "Ki" who can beat you up from across the room. It seems to be a case of mass-hypnosis, as his students also appear to believe it. Unfortunately, the guy who accepts his challenge is not a believer.

Sigghhhhh.

Back in Japan

2007-09-20T18:26:00.000-07:00

After six weeks of near-total inactivity, I'm back in Japan. While I was in Canada, I did attend one day of iai training in Fredericton, New Brunswick, with Bill Anderson's group there. Kim Taylor and Dave Green were down from Ontario to lead the seminar. It was great. Kim has such a good eye and a good way of explaining things that he fixed my chiburi in about 5 seconds, and had good advice for my cut. (I haven't touched a sword since then, so we'll see whether or not I remember any of what he told me.) Anyway, it was good to see them both again, and to meet new folks in NB.

I was a bit annoyed by the fact that there is no standardization in Seitei iai, as they are doing things somewhat differently than I am being taught, but whatever ... I should be getting used to it by now. (I'll say it again: if anybody out there thinks there is just ONE way to do something, and that's the "right" way ... well, sorry, you're just plain mistaken. There may be a right way to do it when a particular teacher is watching, but as soon as somebody else comes along, get ready to change.) Things seem to run in cycles, too. What was in style 10 years ago is back in style now.

Before I left, I dropped in at Kip and Carole's place in Toronto. (Carole is my senior in iaido and one of the best iaido-ists in Canada.) She had some videos of events in Toronto, and I was struck by how many of the young people there are much better than I am! Argh. Oh to be young, fit, and strong.

So anyway, I'm back in Tokyo for a few days. Yesterday, I had some errands to run (registering with the Chiyoda-ku office for example) which found me in Kudanshita, right beside the Budokan. There is a small martial arts supply shop on the corner, and I had some time to kill, so I went in there and looked at all the nice iaito they have there. It really made me want to re-fit my katana (right after I get it polished ... yeah, right!) with new fittings - magical fittings that will somehow make me better at iaido! Since I didn't have $1000 to drop on a new iaito, I settled for buying some leather-soled tabi. I was very pleasantly surprised to find my size! (I'm worried about the day I move back to Canada; they are more strict about the use of tabi and generally don't allow them to be worn. I wonder if I could get away with it...)

I'll be back in Oita in a few days, and hopefully back in training soon. This is bound to be uncomfortable since I've been so inactive the last couple months. I can expect shaky legs and sore arms, that's for sure. And sweaty feet. Don't forget the sweaty feet. Argh.