1. External Form: Sixth Kyu to Fourth Kyu
The first stage is to learn the correct positioning of limbs and sword at the beginning and end of each movement. The movements are done slowly and without power until these alignments have been approximated. The use of mirrors to check form should be kept to a minimum to avoid “posing.” Posing leads to a leaking of both energy and awareness. It is vital that one learns to sense one’s posture and sword position from within.
2. Correct Cutting: Third Kyu to First Kyu
The second stage is to achieve correct cutting (trajectory and tenouchi) and includes the correct generation of power through coordination of energy, sword, and body (ki-ken-tai). Although this may have been achieved in kihon practice, in kata the sword is brought into position for cutting or thrusting in many different ways. There are also some subtle changes in grip strength and hand position during the shifts between different cuts and kamae. Cuts in the kata are difficult to perform when the tenouchi has to be adjusted from a one-handed cut (in which the right hand is power-producing) to a two-handed cut (in which the left hand is the main hand). An additional adjustment is required after a parry (uke nagashi) in which the right hand is positioned differently on the tsuka.
It has been my observation that 90 percent of cuts performed in kata even by experienced practitioners of tameshigiri would not cut a standard tameshigiri target. All of the kata should be performed occasionally with targets placed to replicate imaginary opponents. As soon as students begin to practice with a saya (scabbard), they should learn to perform kata without scraping or rattling the sword in the saya in nukiuchi (the drawing cut) and during noto (sheathing). Failure to do this will result in damage to the sword as well as the saya and the risk of serious injury if the saya splits. If one is serious about this art, one should not continue repeating these mistakes but practice assiduously to eliminate them.
3. Awareness: Shodan (First Dan)
The third stage is to cultivate an awareness of the opponent. This involves the metsuke being directed to the position of the imaginary opponent and also requires a visualization of both cuts and targets. One should note the actual trajectory of one’s sword. The moment of recognition of the opponent’s attack or intention should also be clear so that the instantaneous shift from everyday mind to combat can be recreated. Various strategies have been suggested in order to conjure up the feeling of real combat, but it is very important that one should avoid emotional theater. The unleashing of energy is the only sure way to respond in a genuine life-threatening situation with two-foot-long blades. Emotional excitement drains this capacity; the ruinous alternative is a state of hysteria or intoxication.
Figure 5. The Nakamura Ryu kata 3
At the end of his famous demonstration on NHK (Japan’s public broadcasting channel) in the 1950s, Nakamura Sensei was asked how he would describe the feeling before performing tameshigiri, to which he replied, “Seishin no toitsu.” (“Unification of spirit.”) He added that one must be absolutely confident of success, and went on to say, “Kibun de kirenai.” (“You do not cut from your feelings.”) I used to train with some of the stunt men who performed in television samurai dramas, and it was apparent that their profession colored their execution of kata. There is a clear division between imagining the movements of the opponent and creating a theatrical fantasy.
4. Flow: Second and Third Dan
All of the Toyama kata involve at least one walking step before the action starts. I describe this as the “walking along the road one day” step. One should try to recreate this everyday mind and natural movement as much as possible so that the combat movements that follow flow seamlessly from this state. If one is unable to do this, then the kata will be of no use in a real situation. One way to practice this is to walk halfway across the dojo before starting the kata, or to begin walking and continue until someone else shouts out for you to initiate the kata. This flow should then be maintained until the end of the kata and also through the walking back to the starting position. If one is going through a set of kata, the flow can be maintained until the end of the set.
The challenge here is to maintain a continuous state of concentrated engagement. Zanshin or “remaining mind” means that the mind should never go blank or fixed. The flow of attention should be continuous. This is the theme of Takuan’s classic text Fudochi Shinmyoroku. The mind, by its nature, tends to get stuck, sometimes on a particular object and sometimes in a mental void. The end result is the same—a potentially fatal inability to respond. For example, as one is observing the opponent, one notices some feature, perhaps a frown, that might indicate preparation for an attack. The focus on this can easily narrow until one is barely aware of other features, such as a change in the placement of the opponent’s weight or the position of his or her sword. Soon all that remains in the mind is a small fixed picture of a forehead.
The mind also tends to get excited by speed and power. As students become familiar with the kata, their movements grow stronger and faster. I used to spar regularly with one of my teachers; we used shinai (bamboo swords) but no armor, since he was confident neither of us was really going to get hurt. I would get badly beaten on the knuckles a few times every session, and for many months I could discern no pattern to these strikes. Eventually I realized they always occurred after I had made a strong attack or a fast parry. As I paid more attention, I noticed my mind went blank momentarily on these occasions. Consequently, I never saw the counterstrikes coming.
This is the reason for the samurai injunction that one should tighten the helmet straps after a victory. The same “gaps” appear in kata practice, and there are no rapped knuckles to bring home this deficiency. As soon as a student is ready to begin tameshigiri, they should look for a cutting sword with good balance and practice kata with this. Practice with a shinken (live blade) will automatically bring a vigilant mind, especially after the inevitable minor accidents during a careless noto. This fact has found a place in everyday Japanese speech: the expression shinken ni means to do something with absolute commitment and attention.
5. Power: Third and Fourth Dan
Shortly after getting shodan in Iaido, I remember watching seniors perform at a taikai. While I was able to see the good points and failings of the shodans and second dans, the relative merits of the higher grades were very difficult to judge. The point here is that you cannot see what you cannot feel, and you cannot begin to gain skills you have no feeling for. The student must watch his teachers and seniors with this in mind. A skilled observer will feel a response in their belly as they watch kata demonstrated well. The most difficult students to teach are those who have no sense whether they are performing well or badly. There is no scope for improvement here. These students should be encouraged to sit and learn to observe. When the intuition is blocked, people make inappropriate choices. When blindness persists because there is no real love for the sword, it is better to give up and find a more conducive art.
Strength, speed, and power can be manifested in different ways. Internal power arises from deep within both body and mind. It manifests in a smooth, centered, and perfectly integrated movement—there is no disturbance of posture or composure. As we have noted in the preceding chapter, kiai refers to the uniting of energy in a specific action. Kihaku means an accumulation of pressure or power (for example, kihaku is used to describe the gathering of thunderclouds), and in the context of kata, it refers to the development of energy through a sequence of actions. Kiai and kihaku should be generated in such a way that form, correct technique, and awareness are enhanced, not degraded. As Musashi points out, one should not shout during a cut but after it. In most cases, a vocal kiai made during a cut tightens the shoulders and tenouchi, disturbing both trajectory and blade angle.
The emphasis should always be on allowing the sword to move through the cuts rather than trying to force it. Especially in downward cuts, the most important component of the sword’s movement is its falling. The crucial thing is not to o
bstruct this natural descent. Much of my time as a teacher is spent trying to reduce the excess force students (especially male students) put into these cuts. The crucial thing in power generation is synchronizing the movement of sword and legs, not upper-body force. This synchronization comes naturally when all the movements of the body and sword emanate from the tanden. Kiai and kihaku come from the tanden.
Many forms of the internal Chinese martial arts are designed specifically to generate fajing (hakei in Japanese), the projection of inner power. Slow movements are used to build up a store of energy in the tanden that is then suddenly released. Although slow cutting movements with the katana are helpful when first learning the correct trajectory, from that point on they are worthless. Slow movements have nothing to do with cutting. However, slow suburi with the tanrenbo emphasizes the moments in cutting movements when the tanden is engaged. Once the student begins to recognize these connections, the quality of kihaku begins to manifest in the kata. Internal power will automatically be generated in the movements that precede the cut. Eventually this power will be present all the time and can be accessed immediately. Even in his eighties, Nakamura Sensei manifested this whenever he drew his sword.
Figure 6. Fukiage () — from the water element kata Uzumaki (Whirlpool)
6. Rhythm: Fifth Dan
The very achievement of flow and power can become the greatest obstacle to the progress of many intermediate students. Shortly after I achieved fourth dan, the two senior teachers at Nakamura Sensei’s dojo approached me during a practice and complimented me on my correct technique, speed, and power. Compliments from this source were a rare event, and I was rapidly enveloped in a warm glow. They quickly added “but no nami,” and laughed. The warm glow made the sting of this rebuke even sharper and burned it into my memory.
A nami (wave) gathers mass and potential energy before releasing. The wave seems almost to draw back into itself before it crashes forward. This illustrates well the nature of kihaku. Not only does this accumulation create the spring for a devastating attack, it also unsettles the opponent. In the moment before the release of power, the opponent is intimidated yet hypnotically drawn in. When one is drawing power into the center in this way, the timing and direction of attack can be varied effortlessly, as we shall see when we look at kumitachi. If this point is well understood, this ability can also be learned in the kata.
After the wave crashes forward, the flood of water is rapidly pacified, and again there is a drawing-back into itself even as it spreads out and forward. This is mirrored in the resolution of a kata, where the shock of the cut is absorbed smoothly in the tanden and the sword is returned to the scabbard while a flow of awareness is maintained forward. In the Nakamura Ryu, this quality is enhanced by the way in which the body moves forward as the sword is slid back into the scabbard. For many years I was beguiled by the complex outer (omote) form of many koryu kata compared with the apparent simplicity of the Nakamura Ryu forms. Over time I realized that their ura (inner dimension) was very sophisticated and the tenouchi and handling skills of the best exponents of Nakamura Ryu very refined.
Not long after my rebuke I was invited to the home of one of the senior teachers. After dinner he produced a shakuhachi and played a long and beautiful melody full of rising and falling rhythms. Afterwards he said this was how he had “learned nami.”
Ma or maai in budo refers not only to distancing between oneself and the opponent but also to the spaces within one’s own movements in time and space. Hyoshi or rhythm is also used to describe this phenomenon. Just as the musician draws out a response from the audience through subtle changes in tone, volume, and tempo, so does the swordsman seek to manipulate his opponent. For this reason Musashi said that the swordsman should learn all the arts and all possible rhythms. Many of my teachers and seniors were practitioners of shodo (calligraphy), taiko (drumming), and chado (tea ceremony), and Musashi was himself a gifted calligrapher, painter, and sculptor. This does not mean that one must master all instruments and art forms but that one should learn to appreciate the principles that underlie them all.
For many years I underestimated the importance of kata. Tameshigiri and kumitachi were electrifying by comparison. In test cutting and sparring, you are fed continuously with all sorts of feedback. The immediate pleasure of a well-placed hit on an opponent or a clean cut is very satisfying. This thrill may give the illusion of combat for those who have not experienced the real thing. Yet both these activities are partial; in tameshigiri the targets are dead and fixed, and kumitachi is always a game with a safety net. When the experience of tameshigiri and kumitachi are brought to bear in kata, real power is unleashed in what Musashi called a heavenly rhythm; then one is as close to reality as it is possible to get.
A Salutary Note
With the growth of large martial arts associations and tournaments there has been an increasing emphasis on technical standards in kata competition in all serious martial arts. This has had decidedly mixed consequences. A Korean monk and accomplished martial artist recently practiced alongside the training session of a European national team preparing for a synchronized forms competition. A coach observing this marvelled that although externally these performances were identical his impression was of two completely different activities. Afterwards the coach asked the monk what he thought of the team’s efforts. While the monk acknowledged the dedication and extraordinary effort that had gone into creating such precision and synchrony, he added it was unfortunate that every ounce of effort expended had taken them further away from the goal of the art. However, he added, if they came to his monastery and trained as he and his fellow monks did, all this damage could still be undone. We will later note the distortions that can result from competitions in tameshigiri and kumitachi. However the damage caused by kata competition when the form is treated as an accumulation of technical points can seal one off from the very core of these arts.
1. Translated by Kenji Tokitsu, “Notes on Mind, Energy, and Body in Strategy,” in Miyamoto Musashi: His Life and Writings (Boston: Shambhala, 2004), 230.
Tanren—Forging Power
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Beneath the scales in fiery core
to bellows’ gust and beat of steel,
soft binds to hard.
tan: forge, discipline, train
ren: refine, drill, train, polish
Any arduous, progressive training may be termed tanren, but the two kanji (Chinese characters) that make up this word both refer to the forging, refining, or tempering of metal. In the context of learning a physical art, tanren refers not so much to the acquisition of skills as to the transformation of structure. Despite the obvious differences between metal and human tissue, there are many parallels between the phases of sword making and the stages in the making of a swordsman.
The first stage of sword making takes place in a smelter. The rough heating and hammering that is carried out here to purify the base material (tamahagane) is analogous to the hard training of the youthful beginner: kihon are practiced repeatedly at a high tempo and with copious sweating so that the body is roughly toned and the organs cleansed of toxins.
The forge master chooses the best material to pass on to the sword maker—not all of the tamahagane will be of sufficient quality to make a blade. In the same way, not all who undergo initial training will move on to deeper practices. In part this is up to the teacher, who chooses those he or she considers ready, but more often it is a case of self-selection. Some will not be able to endure the first phase of training, and others will not reach the point at which their minds are sufficiently clarified to value deeper teachings.
After receiving the material from the forge master, the sword maker conducts a ceremony of purification. The selected pieces are then heated, beaten, and repeatedly folded to complete the removal of impurities, homogenize the constituents, and produce the layered crystalline structure that gives the distinctive grain of the blade. Softer metal is then introduced into the center of the rod to give
the sword its tensile strength. The harder metal will form the outer layer of the blade and will be further hardened by differential cooling to produce the cutting edge.
The Three Goals of Forging
Purification, homogenization, and integration of soft and hard qualities are also the goals of the forging of the swordsman. In the Chinese systems, this process is called nei gong, inner work, or chi gong, energy work (kiko in Japanese). These terms are used to differentiate “internal” training that focuses on internal energy from “external” practice that focuses primarily on muscular development. In practice, the distinction between internal and external is not clear-cut, since all internal transformations are expressed through the physical body.
Inner work usually begins by slowing down and in other ways “loading” the movements of one’s art while coordinating them with slow breathing. If the mind is properly attuned and can pick up the appropriate cues from inside, this leads to a conscious engaging of tissues, organs, and systems normally considered outside the control of the mind. This attuning of the mind is the crucial difference between the forging of metal and the forging of the budoka. Even with a sound system and a skillful teacher, everything depends on the mind of the student. At each stage the mind must participate appropriately for the steps of transformation to be successful. There are no manuals for this process since the internal cues and the sequence of steps differ according to the unique constitution, physique, and mindset of each student.
Homogenization—Equalizing
John Maki Evans Page 4