words...

"Watch for anger of the body: let your body be self-controlled. Hurt not with the body, but use your body well.
Watch for anger of words: let your words be self-controlled. Hurt not with words, but use your words well." -- The Dhammapada
The first part, not using unnecessary violence, is well known to most practitioners of martial arts. The second, I feel, is a beneficial outcome of a martially disciplined mind.
Words can damage as much as a fist; they cannot be taken back--just like a punch thrown at a target. Most people think this means aggressive, rudely phrased words--yelling and screaming. But in truth, subtle quips, negative comments, and frequent jests can erode another's self worth over time.
A teacher must be aware of this; a student, a friend, a parent, or a spouse.
In a dojo setting, for example, this does not mean giving endless praise to one's students. Nor should a training partner have only non-critical words for his/her partner. However, I have known many individuals who have stopped doing something they loved because of words either said or not said.
"Speak the truth, yield not to anger, give what you can to him who asks..."

Throws...

Throws can be devastating.

Because we learn how to fall properly--on mats--it is easy to forget how powerful a well executed throw can be.

On a hard surface such as concrete, it could mean broken bones, concussions or even fatal/damaging injuries.

This last result is why we have to be aware of the threat level, for both legal and moral reasons. Remember, we study defense tactics that are not to be used lightly. This is easy to forget. Ultimately, we must remember that possessing discipline, and not using one's skills unnecessarily is always the best outcome for everybody involved.

But back to throws.

It is my thinking that in any close quarter system, throws can prove to be more valuable than one might think. Along with the impact of the throw itself, the thrower (tori) also achieves a huge advantage in position following the technique.

Many of the arguments against throws that I have heard are based from fans of sport-fighting, such as the UFC, where throws aren't so common (albeit effective when used). Often, the judo guys don't get the throwing opportunities without a gi (shirt) to grab onto, and that is a big disadvantage for them. However, what no one points out is that on the street we don't normally go around without a shirt on (true, streakers can be hard to get hold of and subdue). Nor are we abnormally sweaty and slippery (again, this applies to most of us).

And another thing that is overlooked is the fact that many judo throws are cleaned up or banned in competition, and many traditional jiu-jitsu throws occur following a joint lock and/or bone break.

These differences are, in my opinion, game changers.

Cultivation

Language can determine outcome.

It can shape our vision and therefore our approach.

Advertisers know this and use specific trigger words to manipulate human behaviour; politicians know this, and as a result, carefully craft their sentences in order to shape and fulfil their desired results.

But it works for us, too.

For example, when it comes to martial arts, exchange the word practicing for cultivating. Immediately a more organic, slow, and more patient vision comes to mind. I see a garden when I hear the latter word. Something sensitive and adaptable to the elements surrounding it.

Qi, teachers will suggest, is cultivated rather than learned. You start from nothing. It grows. The process is slow, but as a result, the knowledge of qi should permanently meld into the mind and body.

Another term is self defense. It is much different than combat training or grappling, etc. It suggests an entirely different situation than, say, fighting. It conjures up scenes of street violence and how to escape them as quickly and effectively as possible. Fighting brings to mind more calculated strategies, feints, combinations, and often a referee.

This means we approach self defense differently than fighting. For me, this is a huge difference, and involves very different training.

The brain works like this: Put the word "fighting" into a search engine. Look at the pictures that appear. Now do the same with "self defense", and you will see a much different take on violent situations.

This is what your mind does.

And it can change everything.

What is Truth?

The Truth, say the sages of Taoism, is often paradoxical.

I find this to be accurate, as my entire journey along the path of the martial arts has been this way.

As a child, I was sheltered, living in a remote, forested area on the edge of the rocky Canadian Shield. My worries were much more to do with bears than street thugs, and I really hadn't witnessed true violence until my family moved to an urban neighbourhood after I was close to becoming a teenager.

Then I was exposed to violence--in the world around me and on TV--and I found it to be disgusting.

Don't get me wrong, I knew how to throw a hard check in hockey, and I proved to be a decent wrestler in gym class, but the intent behind true violence sickened me.

And it still does.

Again, it is the intent--as much or more than the action--that even in my youth, struck me as primitive.

"Silly monkeys, give them thumbs, they make a club and beat their brother down...." (lyrics from the band Tool, whose singer is a student of Gracie Jui-Jitsu).

Anyway, to skip a lot of unnecessary details, and rescue this post from becoming an autobiography, I'll return to the concept of paradox, which is this:

That many of us studying violence, in depth, are doing so to become less violent humans.

It is paradoxical. And if you were to break it down and intellectualize it you might, perhaps, come up with good theories as to why it is true. Maybe by better understanding specific behaviour we can change it; maybe by increasing confidence and discipline we can better curb our ego's need to prove itself.

But I don't know, for sure.

We all just know the paradox is true.

Qi: Part One

(the energy of uniting opposites?)

It's my belief that everyone who trains eventually searches for the verification of qi energy.

It may be conscious or not; it may not be why one begins their journey--but it is always encountered along the way.

And the thought never really goes away. Even if you think it has.

Perhaps the reason for this is that anyone who has spent any significant amount of time training has experienced the near-electric feeling of energy being properly focused and used to its full potential (sometimes by ourselves, often at the hand of another). As a friend who studied aikido once told me about his instructor: "I don't know what it is, but for some reason every time my Sensei throws me it hurts like Hell because it's so powerful. It's like getting hit by a truck. But then, for some reason I can't wait to get thrown and feel the energy again."

His teacher was barely five-feet-tall and my friend is about six feet.

And we've all either felt this ourselves or heard stories like it.

Now, Qi shouldn't necessarily be confused with fire shooting from one's fingertips. It is subtle. It's like looking for something that is so hard to find, only to realize that it IS US. We are the eye that, in Zen fashion, can look directly at anything in the world except itself.

Science, especially when it comes to quantum mechanics, could likely make a strong case for qi being a simple alignment of magnetic/electric body systems with non-local results. After all, the body, as with all matter, can theoretically be broken down into more of a frequency than a tangible solid, by these same scientists (and ancient mystics). Or a psychologist may assert that it's all the result of positive thinking and visualization. (This is the argument the skeptics prefer, that it's all in your head--and they wouldn't be entirely wrong. The world exists alone in one's consciousness, really, and the outer is a symptom of the inner.)

Any reasonable student of meditation will tell you that one goal of their art includes mentally breaking down the barriers between the external and the internal. In aikido circles--pun intended--this is the concept of tori and uke becoming as one. When this unity is achieved, the relationship is altered, and the separation of the tori's mind (intent) and the action of the uke is eliminated. And when two opposite forces unite.... well.... it's electric.

In this process, imagination IS the method of accessing qi. And when your mind buys into it, the body--a water-based conductor--aligns with the energetic signals of the brain.

And the Qi was there all along.

The Boxer

I was given some pointers from a retired military boxer recently.

We went over stances, guards, strikes, etc. He told me his theories on fighting in the ring versus self-defense on the street, and we then went over some good martial arts strategies for facing a boxer. Namely, don't let him break my ribs and take minimal damage while I moved inside his striking range. However, the full details of these points I will not go into right now. Rather, I want to point out one of the most important things I learned from him before even a friendly sparring punch was thrown. Namely, that I knew his power and intent were there before we even took a step towards each other. His guard was tight, his face was mean, and he showed an inherent awareness of why I travelled so lightly on my front foot. He narrowed my options and had no problem with forcing the action. He was more interested in striking my ribs first than my face, claiming if "I can't breathe, well... I can't fight." And believe me, while qi studies may not be a usual component of boxing, the qi was definitely there.

A good post that ties into this is at Be Not Defeated By the Rain, here. Another, at Physics of Aiki, is here.

Anyway, I valued this former fighter's insights very much and love when I get a chance to learn new knowledge whether in my own style or not. In fact, often learning from someone outside of one's own style can be the most eye-opening.
In this instance this was certainly the case.