遠近 Enkin (Distance/Perspective)

遠近 Enkin (Far Near)

Distance/Perspective

Part 1

(Chicago Tribune, Monday, 4 January 2019)

Homeless Artist, Former Gang Member, Found Dead

Born in Marseilles, Illinois in June of 1958 and orphaned at age 9, Marshall Marseilles, rose to prominence as a member of Chicago’s notorious Clear River Gang from age 13 until he joined the Army at 17, and then again after discharge.  Following his service, Mr. Marseilles did not maintain a fixed address and appears to have spent much of his time living nomadically.  His body was found at the camp near Bullfrog Lake/Palos Preserves where he'd made his home for the last few years since retiring to semi-seclusion.  He was 60.

Marseilles, who took up writing and various art media later in life, received acclaim for his autobiographical prose and essays on surviving violence while his sketches, paintings and sculptures are prized by collectors.

Although never prosecuted, Marseilles (by his own estimates) injured or killed more than 60 individuals in violent conflicts, starting at the age of 13 when he fatally bludgeoned a man as part of a gang initiation.

Mr. Marseilles’ two sons have scheduled a private memorial service and request that donations are made to Veterans' causes in lieu of flowers.

Does the (fictitious) obituary above describe a person who suffered from untreated brain-chemistry issues (and probably PTSD)?  Was it someone who managed to shape a role for himself in a culture of pervasive violence… or, maybe, it’s the heartwarming story about the redemptive power of art?  It is, to some degree, a combination of (and far more complicated/nuanced than any single one) of these answers.   Historically, you may recognize similarities to the Kensei (sword saint), Miyamoto Musashi*, author of the Go Rin No Sho (the Book of Five Rings/Spheres) and founder of Hyoho Niten Ichi Ryu, often (wrongly) credited with pioneering ryoto (both swords) or nito (two swords- wielding the long and short swords in tandem).

The obituary helps to illustrate the (often extreme) dichotomy that most of us experience between how we see people, based on their proximity to us (physically or temporally), and our perceived differences or similarities to the person or group.  It also points to how critically narratives affect the way that we view historical figures- for example, who would you rather find yourself seated next to on a crowded train or bus, a giant** homeless veteran (with hygiene issues and a history of violence/mayhem/murder) or a wise master of swordsmanship noted for his keen insight, tactical skill, and physical prowess?  It is complicated to acknowledge that they are, at least potentially, the same person.  Which brings up some questions about that split in thinking:   

1)     Is it fair to apply modern standards (of conduct, mental health, etc.) to people from antiquity?

2)     Would we accept the same level of 'eccentricities' seen in many historical figures in modern ones?  If so, what is a 'bridge too far' and if not, why?

3)     Can we find aspects of these figures admirable despite vehemently disagreeing with them on certain, key, issues?

A. If so, does it mean that we ought to disregard sections of their works that espouse beliefs that don't align with our own (or those of our culture)?

4)     Finally, and possibly most importantly, who is the arbiter in these matters- does it fall within the orthodox structure of our art(s) or is it the duty of individual practitioners, to decide for ourselves?

Investigating our arts (and their history) ought not to be an exercise to find universal answers.  Let’s instead use the process to discover what we actually think about things (rather than parroting/regurgitating what we’ve heard or been told).  This pairs with physical training to develop a working epistemology, one capable of removing the separation of time and distance.  Relying on myths that have persisted for generations do us no favors and can dissuade future students from finding useful tools to interact with the world as we find it.

Yours in seeking perspective,

Jigme

Jigme Chobang Daniels, instructor

Aoi Koyamakan Dojo

    

* Please note:  I draw these parallels not to diminish or impugn his impact and legacy, but because of how widely known his biographical details are, even among those who aren't terribly familiar with the period.

** The historical Musashi is said to have stood over 6 shaku (6 feet/nearly 2 meters), far taller than average for the time; his hygiene issues, if true, may have been due to eczema.

圧覚Akkaku (Sense of Pressure)

圧覚 Akkaku (Sense of Pressure)

Pressure- bearing down on me, bearing down on you...

Under Pressure

Queen/David Bowie

Ichi Go Ichi E

One Meeting, One Chance

Japanese Proverb

People are occasionally incredulous that not all combative methods hinge on 'sparring*,'  (the assumption seems to be that this sole component is more critical than any other in creating useful skill-sets).  As mentioned in previous entries, the primary means of transmission for many older-style Japanese arts (including the one that I study and practice) are kata (形 [two-person] forms) in which the senior takes the role of the  Uke/Uchitachi/Uketachi (受/打ち太刀/受け太刀receiver/swinging sword/receiving sword), the 'loser'.  As practice progresses, the speed, maai (間合いinterval meet, the nexus of distancing and timing), contact strength, connection, etc. are all subject to change, sometimes radically.  What often gets lost in written descriptions is just how unpredictable things can get within an individual form.

In learning any two-person form, both partners' are trained to initiate, receive and counter certain specific actions in certain orders- and for a while, this happens exactly as learned.   However, once the junior can replicate the gross format, the senior begins making alterations.  Before you know it, the senior partner can end up next to (or behind) you, while maintaining the format, forcing the junior to adapt and extend his/her awareness beyond his/her own space to include wherever aite (合手meeting hand, one's partner) is at that moment (keep in mind, this is all without losing focus on greater spatial awareness). 

The cutting, grabbing, crushing or striking in these forms might seem (almost) symbolic at first; shortly, though the danger becomes clear. Maintaining the attention and concentration required to avoid being struck, cut, bound or immobilized is taxing, especially when it feels like no matter where or how much you move, that aite is uncomfortably close... or just slightly too far away for your cuts, thrusts, kicks, punches or grabs to land, while s/he always seems to be able to reach you with ease.  Akkaku (this sense of pressure) is a distinguishing feature of effective kata keiko (形稽古- form consider the old, or, practice) on both physical and psycho-emotional levels and keeps us working at or close to the edge of our skill** while reinforcing the maintenance of core body and tool-use mechanics.

Among other things, akkaku prevents kata keiko from degenerating into merely tapping tools, striking the air near aite or grabbing/contacting in some namby-pamby way.  It provides a sense of urgency while helping to shape appropriate responses, built on the framework of kihon (basics) and gensoku (principles) native to our arts**.   In sets with matched tools (sword to sword, spear to spear, 'unarmed,' etc.), we are presented with what appear to be symmetrical, force-on-force exchanges that make variations on kihon.  As we progress, those kihon become more robust and useful thanks to an understanding derived through the alterations found within one's kata.  Training with akkaku also gently reinforces for shitachi (仕太刀performing sword) or tori (取りthe taker or 'winner' of a technique or form) that merely repeating the form ‘correctly' is no guarantee of a positive outcome.

Through consistent akkaku, it becomes clear that doing kata exactly the same way every time, even if it appears 'technically right' is an empty exercise (and poor training, which a good aite will make obvious rather quickly).  When done with proper intention (well designed) kata aren't fragile museum pieces to be treated preciously and put back on some shelf, nor are they observed at a remove.  Good kata are robust, meant to be inhabited, thoroughly dissected, digested and internalized***.  By bringing participants into the present to share a completely unique expression of principles in a setting that varies slightly depending on each person's level of experience, power generation, friction, etc. This is an excellent example of the expression Ichi Go Ichi E, the idea that even in the familiar each iteration will be unique.

Of course, there is 'free play' in Japanese arts; much of it quite hearty (up to and including inter-school challenges.)  With that said, there is a direct benefit to working at the fullest extent of one's speed and power against someone capable of leading you to make the 'appropriate' (to strategy, level, etc.) tactical choices through kata.  It is a means of transmission that alters the practice in progressively subtler ways, evoking some of the same psycho-physical responses as being in 'live fire' situations, with fewer of the bad habits and almost none of the feelings of invulnerability that 'winning' at sparring can induce.  And, as if by some strange coincidence, it turns out that many of the skills from properly trained kata translate to 'free' exchanges rather nicely (almost, as if these silly old training methods make provisions for real-world use...)

Yours in appreciating pressure,

Jigme

*It is my contention that concentrating on sparring without a firm foundation in basics and body method can lead to bad habits, sloppiness, reliance on too few responses, and, can reinforce the assumption that force encounters ought to be symmetrical, a profoundly dangerous notion.  Also of concern is becoming too used to the built-in accommodations required to not die in robust exchanges. In other words, working one-on-one, barehanded, on level ground might lead to an inability to adapt to additional opponents, a challenging environment, or tools being deployed.

**Not safety though, that's dumb!  Which is why it works best to train with someone seasoned enough to know where on the continuum between level-appropriate stress, adrenal response and 'likely to die'-level panic we, the juniors, ought to find ourselves at any given moment.  Good aite are constantly pushing each other, not by trying to show the other person up, but through honest, connected and present interactions.

*** This is one reason that it makes no sense to 'shop' for forms from other arts and ways- those worth their salt exist to reinforce skills specific to one art's transmission.  Beyond the very real likelihood of misunderstanding the meaning of a form or its applications, it can lead to incongruities.  The kind that can be difficult to overcome when it matters, e.g. under duress (the very most wrong time to discover that a skill only works intermittently or not at all outside of the laboratory conditions of class...)

称号 Shogo (Name Titles)

称号 Shogo- Titles

Please note:

This essay is a slightly modified version of one that appears in the recent update to the

Aoi Koyamakan Dojo Gakusei Benran 学生便覧 (student handbook)

Displays of deference have, from time immemorial, served as a means to reduce the friction of interpersonal interaction.  This was particularly critical in feudal societies, but examples carry through to our modern era; to imply through behavior or speech that one thinks oneself more important, experienced, skilled, etc. than the person with whom s/he is speaking, can, in itself, be perceived an insult.  Here in America, introducing oneself using honorifics may not receive a second thought; in Japan, however, it is a faux pas that will lead listeners to assume that the speaker is, at best, too young (in practice), inexperienced (at relating to humans IRL), insecure, or mentally deficient to be taken seriously; at worst, it's a quick way to catch a beating.  To that end, introducing oneself as "Nani-Nani Sensei (or worse yet, "Sensei Nani-Nani*") is a fairly easy error to avoid- just don't do it! 

Sensei. O Sensei.  Waka Sensei.  Renshi.  Shihan.  Hanshi.  Sempai.  Kohai.  Iemoto.  Soke.  Japanese traditions are rife with titles, most of which suffer from severe misuse.  What those words mean and how they are used matter, especially if you are expected to use them as forms of address.

Very few Japanese words are as widely known and carry more portent (and baggage) for English speakers than, 'Sensei'.  Most simply, it comprises two kanji (non-phonetic Chinese ideographs used in Japanese) 先 sen, and, 生 sei. Sen means before and appears in many compounds, including Sen no sen 先の先 (initiative of initiative- a timing concept) and sente 先手 (before hand- an attack, attacker, forestalling or making the first move).  Sen carries an idea of leading, in part because the kanji represents a person (two legs on the bottom) coercing a cow (legs and horn on top)- implying that rather than contend directly with a physically stronger animal, the human compels the cow or bull along by the horn or nose.  The notion at its essence is that the power of intellect, experience, and tools can overwhelm and control brute force.

Sei (or Sho) 生is existence.  Together, they make born or existing before... that's it.  Someone whom you respect (without regard to the field of endeavor) or whose counsel you seek might be called, "Sensei."  On a film set, the director is, Sensei, in a kitchen, it is the chef.  Dentists, researchers, lawyers, and school teachers can all be Sensei.

Okay, you may be saying, but what about O Sensei- that's almost always translated as 'Great Teacher,' so that's on the level, right?  Well... no.  O Sensei (大先生/翁先生) doesn't imply awesomeness- it's a means of clarification.  When folks of the same family name (usually father and son, but it can/has been otherwise) work in the same field, keeping straight which 'Jones Sensei' you mean can be a hassle.  Add Waka 若 (young) to Sensei and it's no longer in doubt that one is talking about the junior relative.  Same with adding大 (large) or 翁 (old) "O" to Sensei, you aren't saying, 'most beststest teacher evah,' you're simply being clear that you mean the elder 'Jones'.

Sempai 先(before) 輩(generation/companion) points to someone (or ones) senior to you, but, perhaps, not in quite as august a role as sensei.  It's been suggested that while the term sempai is clearly applicable to anyone with more experience, it is ideally used only for the person or people whose influence you feel strongly enough to want to follow around like a duckling trailing its mom.

Kohai 後輩 (rear generation/companion) is also a relative term, but one that is not ever used as a form of address.  To refer to younger students, diminutive honorifics are used (for boys, family name or occasionally, given name, followed by 君 [kun]; for girls, family name, then ちゃん [chan], as opposed to family name, さん[san]).

Shogo are, in general, written 'titles' and not meant to be used as direct forms of address and doing so makes no more sense than using a full title in English, "thank you, Dr. Brown, Licensed General Family Practitioner..." That means that people addressing their teachers as "Shihan" or 'Hanshi*' are incorrectly applying shogo; '(name) Sensei' is what you call her/him (although one could use the shogo to talk about a teacher to another, it would, again, tend to be used as distinction from someone with a similar name).  This is true no matter whether Renshi (錬士- practice gentleman/expert), Shihan (師範- master paradigm) or Hanshi (範士- paradigm expert)- they may write shogo on meisho (明証 -certificates), but they should not expect you to call them such because it's goofy.  Despite their frequent misapplication, shogo, when used correctly, point to people who exemplify the teachings of a Ryu (流- flow, a school or style).  In order to discuss lineage titles, just a bit about how Ryu are structured.

 

Ryu exist for many types of endeavors in Japan, from Ikebana/Kado 生け花 [flower arranging] to Cha no Yu/Chado 茶の湯 [tea ceremony] to etiquette, music, and theater.  Every member of a ryu is expected to mold him/herself to his/her ryu, first, by adopting group dynamics and reishiki (例式- formalities), then through the practice of Kata (形- forms).  Initially rote and prescriptive, kata are designed to introduce clearly structured skills in certain orders to develop and integrate specific psycho-physical attributes.  Eventually moving beyond emulation and repetition, the practitioner finds him/herself appropriately manifesting gensoku (principles) innate to his/her ryu as acquired through the practice of kata and deepened through oyo (application).  It is in the transition from imitation of physical format to incorporation of the gensoku paired with immersion in the tradition that characterizes the oft-maligned (though, rather unsurprisingly, not often by those who are 'products' of) pedagogical methods of ryu.

Many ryu**, use lineal transmission (usually within families and/or around a location significant to the tradition) to ensure an active connection between the founder, the earliest students of the method, and subsequent generations.  Inheritors serve as a bridge between the (sometimes distant) past, present, and future with duties ranging from mooring the transmission symbolically (fulfilling ceremonial tasks without involvement in day-to-day operations) to much more hands-on.  Direct oversight can include everything from selecting prospective members to actively teaching, depending on the ryu. 

The two most common titles for those charged with the oversight of a Ryu are Soke (宗家- sect house) or Iemoto (家元- family foundation), although in some traditions Shihan indicates generational responsibility (for others, Shihan are responsible for technical transmission) and similar to other official-sounding titles, these are frequently misused in the West.  Implied by both is a willingness to carry their ryu's gensoku into the future with an odd combination of reverence, investment in their method's technical underpinnings and the fearlessness to encourage others to discover the 'truth' contained within the teachings.  As with other shogo, it is unusual to hear them used as a direct form of address (although one does occasionally hear Japanese speakers refer to the inheritor of their art as 'Soke Sensei' if s/he actively teaches.)

Two final notes:  when referring to one's own teacher to someone outside your group, it is déclassé to call him/her 'Sensei'; instead, standard politeness suggests that one to refer to him/her by family name (or whatever you use regularly) only.  However, when referring to other people's teacher(s), it is normal to use Sensei (this may seem overly deferential, but again, reduces 'social friction'.)                            

So there you have it- a snapshot of shogo and their proper use.  As with any component of training, the specifics may change depending on circumstance; in general, anyone teaching a Japanese-based art who wants you to call them by any title 'fancier' than Sensei on the tatami [畳 mat] demonstrates a lack of knowledge about (or indifference to) the culture, leading one to ask, 'what else might be odd?'

Best regards,

Jigme

Jigme Chobang Daniels, instructor

Aoi Koyamakan Dojo

* Just to reiterate, if you're gonna misuse these titles, at least do it in the correct order- titles after name!!!

**It must be said that there are some ryu without a centralized family or locale at all.  Rather than some (potentially distant) authority, these ryu rely on Menkyo Kaiden (complete transmission), at which point teachers have total discretion to move the ryu forward as they see fit, e.g. Araki and Kiraku Ryu. 

誠 Makoto (Truth/Honesty)

誠 Makoto (Truth/Honesty)

Very few of us are as good as we'd like to be at the things that we find important.  There are two very distinct approaches to coping with this:  1)  Wait passively for long enough, spending time with someone we believe to be a good instructor, attending classes, doing the minimum to progress, believing all the while that skill will strike; like lightning.  Magical, magical lightning.  Or, 2) Work- struggle with failure and mixed success; to, through practice, slowly erode impediments and build-in means to understand and express the principles of our art(s)*.  If one opts for the first, nothing more is required- good luck and Godspeed; for those who take the second, there are few traits that enrich the process as deeply as Makoto.

It would be easy to leave Makoto (often translated as 'honesty' or 'truth') open to interpretation, but in this is meant to address a specific type.  It is not what we often think of, that is, being a 'pretty stand-up person who tries to do the right thing and sticks to his/her word.'  Makoto in training is only very rarely about what is said aloud; it is about actions and one's relationship to objective reality; the willingness to work from wherever we find ourselves and to train as we are without pretense**.  Training in that way plunks us down nakaima 中今(literally, 'in the middle of now,' fully experiencing and inhabiting the present) and suggests, strongly, that we exist 'in the moment' rather than envisioning another present, longing for the past, or anticipating the future.

Training with makoto makes feeling insulted by reality seem a bit silly (e.g. gravity isn't a referendum on whether you're a saint or a jerk; being off-spine, out of structure and/or balance are fixable***, but only if experienced honestly- the same is true for any making a good cut, strong strike, etc.).  Through prolonged exposure, we find opportunities to be more aware (and to then act upon that information).  We can actively foster Makoto by receiving feedback, with an eye to developing the capacity to feel for ourselves where we need to make adjustments.  This presents us opportunities to pare away unhelpful and unnecessary habits with each repetition,  aggregating over time into more physically robust and powerful practitioners.  Beyond that though, Makoto in training offers insight into long-standing patterns of mind.  By coming to grips, often in a visceral and unmistakable way, with how individual choices and reactions are a microcosm, we can start to look inward, not with anger, impatience or expectation, but with genuine curiosity. 

Projecting who we think we are (or are trying to be) is personally dangerous in the early stages of training, both on and off 'the mat'.  At no point does that benefit society nearly as much as perpetuating a willingness to experience and interact with the world honestly.

Now, lest that start to sound inviting, it should be stated unequivocally that developing an honest practice can be unpleasant:  boring, irritating, terrifying, and harsh, by turns (or sometimes, all at once, and it a given that you will discover things that you don't want to). If the opening statement is true though, that very few of us are as good as we'd like to be, then makoto is one arrow in the quiver of improving.  Not by magic, but through an active, mindful and rigorous application.  Ultimately, you may even find makoto leaking into other parts of life- even when not wearing pajamas/shorts/sweatpants and punching, throwing or attacking people with sharp tools or blunt instruments.  For those of us drawn to 'martial' culture, we just happen to do that one punch, breath, throw, kick or cut at a time.

Yours in striving for Makoto,

Jigme

Jigme Chobang Daniels, instructor

Aoi Koyamakan Dojo

www.bluehillsdojo.org

*One of these approaches is fruitful, the other is consistently unreliable...  The chief issue with 'waiting' is that proficiency isn't binary (nor is it osmotic) even for those with 'talent.'  Yes, it may be possible to make some progress initially, just receiving pointers and corrections from a mentor at early stages, but sustained growth doesn't happen without sustained effort.  Taking agency as individual practitioners for our own development and, if inclined, the survival of the arts or ways that we practice is a necessary step (it's nobody's fault nor is it anyone's responsibility outside of ourselves).  Pretending that it is, fundamentally lacks makoto.

**Pretenses include things like failing to accept mistakes and/or take responsibility for oneself and one's improvement.

*** As you can imagine, the more minor or subtle the fu antei 不安定(instability), the more honed one's perception and instantaneous the fixes need to be, particularly when interacting with other bodies that might not be interested falling down or being struck without... coaxing.

Kurushi 苦しい ([Lame] Excuses)

Kurushi 苦しい ([Lame] Excuses)

There are many words and expressions for 'practice' in common usage. Renshu 練習 is a term derived from metallurgy, meaning to forge (strengthening, adding whatever characteristics are meant to be imparted while removing impurities) but has been used for centuries in reference to practice (initially, meditation).

Keiko 稽古 is a slightly more holistic term a compound of two kanji (chinese characters) kei (consider, ponder or think [about]) and ko (old). Keiko implies a marriage of practice and study with an eye toward appreciating the roles of previous generations reflected in our traditions. There are also far more specific turns-of-phrase for things like austere practice (Shugyo)

As you may have gathered from previous blog entries, the notion that consistent practice is integral to acquiring any worthwhile skill is a one that we hold near and dear. Creating (and maintaining) a meaningful Nichijo no Renshu (daily training) can be difficult; not everyone has the inclination or interest to do it, and even for those who do, there are no guarantees of Awesomeness, only proficiency (and even so, not quickly). Let's look at some of the most commonly heard excuses.

Before we start in earnest, for the purposes of this essay, let's define practice as: a means to connect the observed (external) to the soma (comprising mind and body- the internal), creating cohesively consistent and usable 'assets', girded by the basics and principles of your art or way (which can then be used both internally and externally). One key component to 'practice' is repetition, but unlike training*, practice can't be done mindlessly (ultimately, good training can't either...); if training is about reinforcing core mechanics, practice is how you express those taijutsu (literally, body skills).

“It takes too long/I don't have the time”

A period of focused, mindful, practice is of far more use than a much longer (but scattered) session. In truth, many arts' basics can be done in a relatively short period of time. Realistically at the beginning of an art, you can do everything you know in well under 20 minutes. With a greater volume of material comes a requirement that you select what you will devote your time/energy to during any individual session (FWIW, Kihon [fundamentals] should still factor in).

“I'm not in the right shape”

And you plan to get into shape by doing... what now?

When beginning in an art, you'll spend some time doing conditioning (even if you are in competitive athletic shape). Why? Because each system has unique requirements for things like balance, connection and flexibility that being 'in shape' will be good for, but miss the mark. After achieving a baseline, it is necessary to maintain or surpass that conditioning level, lest you come to an intellectual understanding with no means to physically manifest your art. Does that mean that you will be an olympic-level athlete? No, not unless you train to be, but for every art or way there are some specific things that make learning the method go more smoothly; conditioning is high on that list.

“I tried training but I didn't seem to be getting better”

If you're at an early stage of training, it is likely that you won't feel the improvement; that doesn't mean that there isn't any though. Later, you will hit plateaus or even start backsliding- (often what seems to be regression a good sign in part because it heralds the transition from forcing things to work to actually making use of the appropriate basics).

With that said, if your daily regimen is the same at year 5 or 8 as it was at year one, something may be hinky** By the time you've been around for a while, even if the amount of time that you spend practicing daily is the same as when you started, the focus will necessarily have shifted. Rather than taking days-off and bargaining, making the choice to engage in a consistent daily practice is of far greater use than skipping days and doing marathon 'make-up' sessions (if you can regularly find hour[s] in your day though [outside of livelihood, familial responsibilities and sleep/health maintenance] do that!) So maybe changing the concentration of your time may make a difference.

“I can't remember what we did”

How good are your notes? If you aren't taking them, you're depriving yourself of a critical study tool. If you are but still get home and can't figure out what the heck you meant, you may need to find a better method. Some folks use pictures, descriptions, outlines or combinations of some or all; the idea is to find something that works for you (check with seniors, teachers and classmates, they might have helpful suggestions).

“I don't want to do it wrong”

Okay, let's change contexts for a moment (just to fully appreciate what an insanely counterproductive notion this is)- imagine a child saying, “I'm not going to read (or practice reading) until I can read perfectly.” That makes zero sense. Here's the bad news- if you practice, you're gonna spend some time doing it wrong, but, there's good news too- if you've done the preliminary training, you can only do it 'wrong' for so long; at some point, principle, body method and theory meet*** to steer us in the right direction (sometimes, despite our brains' best efforts).

“I need to be better first”

This is, in some ways, a continuation of the previous excuse. Improvement through practice assumes that you aren't starting from 'perfect'; the process of shedding unhelpful tendencies/habits while building-in more useful ones (liken that to creating a sculpture from a block of raw material) simply doesn't happen without practice (or to strain the allusion, carving). The sculpture gets better the more you carve to a point. Beyond that, it's no longer a matter of removing material but of polishing to bring-out the fine details. Even if the competence is obvious to you, that polish and 'finish' work allows the intricacies to express themselves.

Now it's true, we're not blocks of wood, granite or marble. We're complex(ish) creatures with bodies that (usually) aren't ideal and are never (totally) free from discomfort. With that said, what daily training offers to those willing to participate is the process of working with those raw materials of body and mind (and to, through exertion, develop ourselves into something more today than we were yesterday. Not ideal, just better.

“I get enough from class, I don't need to work at home”

Maybe that's true. However, if even a chance exists that we gain more through the process of practice and study itself than merely the acquisition of 'skill;' perhaps expending effort every day offers rewards beyond getting good at punching, kicking, throwing and using tools. Heck, one might even suggest that training is, itself, some kind of path...

Yours in Renshu,

Jigme

Jigme Chobang Daniels, instructor

Aoi Koyamakan Dojo

*We are drawing a distinction here between training (conditioning and development work for strength, posture, alignment, etc., usually in service of integrating core structural and movement principles), and practice, which points to acquiring, understanding and refining those principles. To be reductionist, training (development and observation of your body, position, power uses, spinal and joint placement, etc.) is the scaffolding that allows you to do things that you're expected to; practice (observation of the external and bringing it into your sphere as developed through training) lets you build more complex structures, so as to do things that you want to.

**At that point, have you been training in your art for 5 years, or, as people are fond of asking, “have you had the same year five times?”

*** This is not to say that it is impossible to misunderstand or think about things incorrectly, only that with correct training the physical expression will out... eventually.