Standing Gateway

My Wife, the Self-Defense Expert

2011-12-11T03:26:00.001-08:00

My wife has gone her entire life without ever getting in a physical fight. She doesn’t train in martial arts. She does not read books on military tactics. She has never had any training on how to de-escalate violent and mentally ill people. She doesn’t know how to do any joint locks, or even how to throw a punch. And yet, her self-defense tactics have yielded perfect results for her entire life. To be clear, she hasn’t lived an isolated existence, either. She's been to some pretty rough places.

Food for thought, no?

I think about my martial arts training. When you use the term “self-defense”, people’s minds automatically go to punching and kicking. When I think about my own life, however, I am struck by how little of my own effective self-defense has involved those things. In fact, I can count on one hand the number of times I have had to use my physical training to defend myself. I literally cannot count the number of times I avoided violence through smart tactical decisions and careful social interaction.

So why is it, then, as martial artists, that we focus so much on those rare instances when all other options have failed and we are forced to resort to physical intervention? Shouldn’t the systems we use to train, if they are really effective systems of self-defense, have methods for training these non-combative forms of self-defense?

(A good friend of mine always says, “You tend to solve problems in terms of the tools you like to use.” If the only tool in your toolbox is violence, you’re in for a rough life.)

Martial arts should teach these “non-violent” facets of self defense, and thankfully, I have found that many do, if you look in the right places. When people look at a martial art’s curriculum, their eyes are naturally drawn to the “sexy” parts: the throws, the strikes, the locks, and the pins. All the stuff they put into movies. That said, I have noted one theme that is common among many people I have talked to who have seriously trained in a wide variety of systems: High level teachers in many systems spend a lot of time working on how you stand, how you walk around, and how you approach other people. I do not believe that to be a coincidence. I think that, hidden in a lot of these teachings, are the core concepts of non-violent self-defense.

Upright, alert, relaxed posture is a no-brainer. Sure, such a posture puts you in a good position to do the techniques of your system, but it also sends a message. Predators, by nature, are essentially opportunists. Watch as many nature programs as you want, and you will never see a lion crack its knuckles, look at its fellow lions, and say, “Well, boys, let’s assault that elephant over there. It will be a long fight, with casualties, but I think we can take him.” Lions don’t attack elephants because they would get trampled to death. Lions attack gazelles, because they can kill them. And even then, it isn’t just any gazelle. It is the smallest, easiest one to take down.

Human predators aren’t that much different. Even if you aren’t the largest or meanest looking person on the block, there is a high likelihood that predators will see you, an alert target, and simply decide to wait for an easier mark to head down the street. If he does so, and you do not have to fight him, congratulations. You have just engaged in successful self defense. Sure, you don’t have a swinging dick story, but does that matter? Nope. Not to me, at least. I embrace the “I want to keep on living” school of thought. I could give a damn about whether or not I am perceived as strong.

The focus on how one walks is important, too. I can’t think of a lot of refined martial arts systems that teach their devotees to move wildly or swagger. These sort of inefficient, attitude-infused methods of movement attract all kinds of bad attention, because they are an unspoken challenge to anyone who views them. Most of us don’t bother to answer that challenge, but a territorial predator who feels threatened certainly will. A relaxed, controlled, unobtrustive, non-eye-catching gait will render you effectively invisible. Paired with an unobtrustive appearance, your moving through a predator’s territory will not be viewed as any sort of challenge to his authority. If you aren’t challenging or threatening the potential Threat, there is no reason for a physical conflict. Again, self-defense without fighting.

If you think I am being a bit too obsessive about small details, I invite you to spend a lot of time at a jail and see who catches a hard time, be it an inmate, guard, or lawyer. The old ones, or at least the wise ones, will have learned how to keep their head down.

Another part of this non-violent self defense puzzle are what I call the okuden (Japanese for “inner transmission”). Nearly every high-level teacher that I’ve met puts in a significant amount of face time with their students, both in and out of the training environment. Enormous amounts of information are imparted orally, sometimes in lectures, more often in the form of instructional stories. These little gems often contain many of the important principles in non-violent self defense.

I know that I had picked up an enormous amount of information about this stuff before I ever studied it formally. My teacher, a paramedic for twenty-five years, is a veritable vault of information about personal interaction, violence on the street, and the realities of how people get hurt. He has been deluging me with these real-life stories for my entire training. It was only after many years of training, when I started formally studying things like de-escalation and tactical decision-making in urban environments, that I appreciated exactly what he was doing. More than once, I thought to myself, “Holy shit, I already know this stuff!”

It got snuck in to my training without my realizing it. Thanks, sensei.

I think another piece of it is the way that good martial arts training will systematically reduce your arrogance and your insecurities. (Note that “good” qualifier in that last sentence. There are a seemingly infinite amount of assholes out there that will teach you to swagger and act like an even bigger asshole. I’m not talking about those guys, and if you don’t know who they are, recognizing them needs to be one of your top priorities.) It takes a good deal of personal growth before you can habitually take your ego out of your decision-making. The serious martial artists that I know have no compunction about walking away from a fight if they have the option to do so. Even if it might make them look “weak” or “scared”. Drinking from the well of reality long enough will inform you that it is better to look weak than to run the risk that you are going to get seriously hurt or killed (which, by the way, is a risk in any physical conflict, no matter what). It is amazing how many options open themselves to you when your decisions no longer have to bolster some sort of skewed self-image about who you are, or how strong you think you are.

This also addresses the issue of what I call "unconscious data transmissions". Again, ask a scholar why this works, but here is how it works. In a thousand ways that you often don't realize, what is running through your mind is manifested in your body. There are the really obvious ones like scowling when you are enraged, or flushing when you are embarrassed, but there are a lot of much smaller transmissions that people don't even realize. A really common one I see with young public defenders is the idea they maintain that they are somehow better or smarter than their client. While there are instances where this might be correct, this sort of thinking is a bad idea. (There's a lot of reasons that it is - I'm only going to touch on one here.) This thinking, in a thousand small ways, manifests itself in the person's physical demeanor, and the clients pick up on it. Drug-addled, drunk, or even the mentally ill will pick up on these unconscious data transmissions and be rightfully pissed. And they will make life a living hell for the transmitter until said person pulls their head out of their ass and stops doing it.

I believe that martial arts, in its technical and psychological aspects, helps with this phenomenon. Earlier this year, I had to go to a really rough part of town to track down a witness. As a white guy in a suit, I definitely attracted a lot of stares. I kept the following dialogue running through my mind, "Good Lord, I am not supposed to be here. I have come here for a limited purpose. I am not a threat to you. I will do my job quickly and get the hell out." I totally immersed my mind in this as I moved through this particular neighborhood, and no one bothered me at all. Coincidence? Maybe. But I think not. I had enough young predators size me up that, had I moved differently, I am sure that one would have felt the need to protect his territory.

Hopefully I’ve made you think a little bit with my post. Take a long, hard look at your training system. Does it address these things? How so? Does it do it enough? If not, ask yourself where you might go to get this type of training.

After all, it’s only the vast majority of your self-defense.

"Catch!" Mind

2011-07-08T08:36:00.000-07:00

I recently read Patrick Rothfuss' book A Wise Man's Fear. I really enjoyed the book as a whole, and I am not sure whether or not Mr. Rothfuss has ever done any sort of training in martial arts, but there were a number of passages that stimulated my martial arts thought processes.

In one of my favorite passages, one of the teachers at a university gets seven students together. Each of these students is brilliant, and accomplished in a wide array of academic fields. The teacher tells the students that he will, in thirty minutes, stand at a certain point and lob a ball with a certain amount of force. He asks the students to use their arts and sciences to calculate where the ball will land.

The students spend their thirty minutes furiously applying their various disciplines to the prediction of the ball's landing point. The thirty minutes pass and leave the students frustrated. The teacher asks the students if they have their answer. The students grudgingly admit that they cannot say for certain where the ball will land, despite their calculations. The teacher abruptly leaves the classroom and comes back in the company of an eight year-old boy.

Striding right to the spot he gave the students, the teacher turns and lobs the ball at the surprised eight-year old. The eight year old, somewhat started, catches the ball perfectly.

The teacher then turns to the students and asks them, "How is it that an eight year-old was able to predict in less than a second what seven of the brightest students here could not in half an hour?"

The answer, of course, is that the boy saw the teacher's movements, the ball, and its flight and was able to make all the calculations in the subconscious parts of his brain, and relay all that information to place his hands in the right place, at the right time, in the right shape to catch the ball. If he'd tried to process it intellectually, the ball would have hit the ground long before he came close to making all the right calculations.

This brings me to martial arts training. I am not so different from those students described in the book. I have a great deal of intellectual training. Doing things intuitively, by feel, is not something that comes naturally to me. That said, I do believe it is a necessary part of martial arts training.

Kata makes sense to me. The pre-arranged forms are designed to teach certain principles in certain ways. Things go as expected, and can be intellectually processed and analyzed. If something goes wrong, you can repeat the experiment, making little adjustments, until it works correctly. While it is intense, and emotionally challenging in its way, it is somewhat predictable work.

Randori isn't so simple. For one, if it goes south, you can't just stop and do it over again. You've got to live with whatever ugly thing you tried to give birth to. Instead of a small number of variables, like in kata, there are an infinite number of variables, compounded by a problem that is constantly shifting and changing (i.e. - your opponent). Instead of a steady trickle of data, it is a flood. Compounded by the flood of information is the strange way that randori seems to tap directly into all of your inner psychological clutter and allow it to flow up to the surface. In such an atmosphere, the odds on being able to intellectually process your way through a problem in half a second (which, in my estimate, is a realistic measure of how much time you have) are quite long.

I have spent years doing randori slowly, thinking my way through it. I certainly learned a ton from this practice, but I believe I made some faulty assumptions about it. I functioned on the assumption that if I did enough of this, I could learn to "think fast" enough to do the right thing in full-speed randori.

My efforts have been met with a lot of frustration.

Last night, my training partner and I tried something totally different. We agreed to do randori with no definite plan as to what techniques we were "looking for". If he attacked, I would just touch him, feel, and move with him. That was my only agenda. I didn't even care if I got him or not, or whether or not I made a technique.

And strangely... stuff just started happening. We relaxed, moved our feet, and tried to do it "by feel" instead of engaging our intellectual brains. We didn't care if it looked silly, or even if it worked. We kept hitting techniques, and found ourselves echoing the words of our teachers... "I don't choose the technique. You do. I just go with it and it happens." It felt so organic, so natural. And my brain didn't feel like it was trying to do the intellectual version of lifting a car. I could describe what happened (usually after the fact), but I didn't really plan it.

This is a totally different type of practice for me, and it wasn't easy. After a few exchanges, I would find myself trying to "do stuff" again... and I would have to catch myself and remind myself that I was doing it by feel and to leave my machinations at the door.

Regardless, I think exploring this might bear some interesting fruit.

"I dunno..."

2011-05-10T08:49:00.001-07:00

“I dunno... I just did it. I didn’t have a reason.”

I do not accept this explanation for any human behavior. If you apply the labels “random” or “pointless” to any human behavior, you close off the possibility of exploring the inner workings of the behavior... and my experience is that there is always a reason for human behavior. That isn’t to say that it is a good reason, necessarily, but there is always a reason, and I think a large part of our task in practice is to ask the question.

It’s an important question, because what are we, if not a collection of behaviors and reasons?

I think people use “I dunno”, perhaps unconsciously, because looking at the alternative can be extremely uncomfortable.

I encountered a great example of this the other day in the dojo. I was on the mat with on of my training partners. We were about half-way through a kata that he had been practicing for about a year. Our in-class repetition of the kata had been sporadic, so his recollection of the techniques was a bit spotty.

In these situations, especially with juniors, my teachers have taught me to verbally communicate before attacking the person, to make sure he knows what he is doing. Bad stuff can happen in martial arts practice when the two people practicing aren’t on the same page.

In this instance, I said the name of the technique, and asked my training partner, “Do you know it? Are you ready?” He replied in the affirmative, so I attacked him. He started half of a movement in the wrong direction, moving without much real purpose, and then I knocked him on his butt.

Perhaps it comes from the fact that I am a bit too at ease in the dojo environment. Perhaps it is just that I am naturally a it disrespectful. Maybe I’m just getting better at being honest. But when this happened, I looked down at him and said, “You lied!”

My partner, who is usually a deeply introspective, spiritual, and moral man, stiffened up as he got up. I could tell that I struck a nerve. “I do not lie!” he responded, testily.

Years ago, I would have shied away from uncomfortable confrontations like this. Luckily, my teachers have put me in this “crucible” before, with my own thoughts and assumptions, so when I saw that I’d struck a nerve, I realized it for what it was: a great training opportunity. Randori for the heart and mind, if you will. I fell into the cadence of a cross examination without realizing it.

“Do you remember me telling you the name of the technique?”

“Yes.”

“Do you remember me asking you if you remembered how to do the technique? If you were ready?”

“Yes.”

“Do recall what you said?”

“... that I knew it, and I was ready.”

“Were you?”

“I guess not...”

“You guess? You mean you’re not sure whether or not you were ready? I’m positive. You weren’t. In your heart, you know it, too. So, why ‘I guess’? You know!”

“I dunno. I just said it. I didn’t have a reason.”

Ah-ha! The roadblock!

I have a dear friend (not the same person) who often tells me, “Words are just wind, Pat.” I disagree. If my life as a practitioner of law has taught me one thing, it is this: words have power. Words have deep, subtle, and resounding power. And the words we choose often provide a valuable cross-section into the inner workings of our minds and hearts. This interaction, rich as it was, gave testimony to that.

“Yes, you did,” I replied, “You just may not be comfortable saying it.”

He thought for a moment, and scratched his head.

“I guess...” he began. I looked at him meaningfully.

“Okay, I know why. I... did not want to admit that I’d forgotten it.”

“Eureka!” I raised my hands up.

Now, think about this for a second. It is one thing to be uncomfortable to admit a failure... but put it in the martial arts context. As I mentioned above, two practitioners who aren’t on the page can end up in serious injury, or even death, depending on what is being practiced. You add velocity, or weapons into the mix, and these little mental “vacations” can have life-altering consequences! My friend’s desire not to admit ignorance ran so deep that he was willing to risk injury to himself and one of his best friends in order to run from it!

I pointed out as much to him, and he looked troubled. That is a good thing, in my opinion. As one of your companions in training, if I do not occasionally trouble you, I don’t believe I am doing my part. (That’s another valuable thing I learned from watching my teachers.)

It really is amazing how all our little fears can have dramatic impact on our decision-making, without us even realizing it. The beauty of martial arts training, though, is that it has a way of making the things we’d prefer to avoid startlingly explicit. My friend may have been able to ignore words, but he could not ignore the fact that he ended up firmly on his butt. No shades of gray there, just shockingly clear truth.

I looked him in the eye, clapped a hand on his shoulder, and said, “How many places you got in your life where you won’t admit that you don’t know what the hell you’re doing?”

He grinned, sheepishly. I gave him a big hug. It was amazing to see Something in him (and yes, that is a capital “Something”) change as that realization traveled through him. I could see all the little gears whirring in his head as he thought about all the different places in life he ran into that particular mental roadblock. He’d discovered the reason for his behavior, and I could literally see him make the decision to have better reasons.

That kind of stuff keeps me coming back for more and more.

Lexicon

2011-02-19T09:16:00.000-08:00

(This is an answer to a friend's question that turned into a blog post.)

I remember when I first started training, I spent a lot of time on the internet reading material about martial arts, and discussing it with other people. The reading part hasn't changed that much (that's another essay), but I find myself engaging in a lot less discussion.

It isn't because I don't have anything to say. To the contrary, I've been training for eight and a half years, and I certainly have a lot more food for thought than I did at the beginning.

That said, I don't engage in much "net discussion" because of the lexicon problem. Here is what I mean. In any given system, there is a particular lexicon. One of of the difficulties of martial arts, in comparison to things like music, is that there isn't an extremely precise technical language that can produce nearly identical results. At best, we have a hodge-podge of terms from physics, poetry, and history meant to convey certain principles. Among practitioners in a common system, we at least use some of this same hodge-podge to convey meaning.

Further, this meaning is reinforced by common experience. Most of us have been the business end of the same people, and spent time trying to do the same things. Therefore, our "common picture", if you will, is a little bit more clear.

That said, I often find myself striving to communicate things in the dojo and failing. And this is among the people that I work with every day. I use a word like "push" to mean a certain method of moving feet and dropping weight on a certain vector, while relaxed and extending. When I say it to someone, they might interpret it to mean that they are going to plant their feet in one place and strongly "exploding" into their target with upper body force.

There is a constant struggle to find the right words to cause a certain set of muscular actions.

Now, remove that web of common experience. Things get a lot more tricky at that point, when you've got different people doing things. Made more confusing by the fact that some people use the same words to describe different sets of physical activities. (Get people from 3 styles of aikido together and try to define what "attack" means.) When you get a group of different people from different traditions on the same mat, confusion is inevitable.

But at least you've got the equalizer of being able to get hands on each other. Even if I can't say the right words to someone, I might be able to create understanding by demonstrating what I am doing. Whatever labels we put on things, we can all perceive the same phenomena in the same room.

Thus my problem with internet discussion. Now, we've muddied the waters even further by removing physical proximity. In this virtual dojo, nothing that we say has to be backed up by reality. We never "walk the talk". In the way, when one doesn't have that ability to get out and do, I think the essence of martial arts practice is lost. Much of what is said has to do with killing spare time and affirming one's own views, and very little to do with that visceral, heart-touching learning that occurs in a dojo.

Regarding Tygers

2009-11-14T04:04:00.000-08:00

I've recently been reading William Scott Wilson's translation of Miyamoto Musashi's Go Rin no Sho ("The Book of Five Rings"). Thus far, I have really enjoyed it because I think Mr. Wilson takes a much more precise approach than some of the "interpretations" done by other authors. I have taken very much from some of the more "elemental" passages about martial arts as a way of training and a way of life, but I must admit, I have taken somewhat less from some of his more technical discussions of swordsmanship.

This is not because of some problem with Musashi's writing. I'm sure what he says is very informative... if viewed in the proper context, which I do not have, since I have never had my hands on Miyamoto Musashi, nor any exponent of his style.

The whole problem makes me think of William Blake's poem "The Tyger".

Let me start by saying that I really like this poem. I think it is a really concise, powerful meditation on the existence of evil in the hearts of men. I think it is one that employs powerful, emotive imagery.

... but there is something missing.

Some people don't know that along with being a skillful poet, William Blake was also a master engraver. He accompanied many of his poems with illustrative prints. "The Tyger", taken from his "Songs of Experience", is no exception.

To give you a bit of background, this poem was penned in 1794. Many people in Blake's native England had heard of a tiger, but very very few (ostensibly including Blake) had ever seen one. If you look at the above image, you'll see that it has all the proper characteristics of a tiger... four feet, stripes, a tail, and claws... but we all agree that something is missing. Somehow, despite the fact that Blake correctly executed the "tiger making" characteristics, his lack of real experience left Blake unable to convey the "soul" of what a tiger really looks like.

The reason I think this is relevant to my discussion of the Book of Five Rings is because I think many of us, as readers, are in a similar position to Blake and the people of England who had never had personal experience with a tiger. While we agree on many of the characteristics, lacking that "real knowledge", our picture is somehow inevitably skewed and never quite right... and this is obvious to anyone that really knows what the real deal is.

Among people who train in a common system of martial arts, have common vocabulary, and have a schematic through which to understand, I think technical discussions in the written word can be enormously helpful... but among people with no common experience, I think there will inevitably be a somewhat substantial "communication gap".

Which leads me to my conclusion. You can't learn martial arts from a book. I've known a number of people who have bragged to me about all the videos they have watched and the books they have read, and I always end up asking them the same question: what have you actually done? Without that direct contact with someone that "knows", and the feedback that comes from it, I do not believe people can learn something as highly technical as a martial arts system.

If real practice is the soil a plant grows in, books are just the fertilizer. (Feel free to insert your own "B.S." joke at this point.)

To Musashi's credit, he realized the same thing and stated as much in his book. He directly states that this his is an "oral tradition", meaning that it has to be passed down person to person - not through a book.

... so at least we're all on the same page.

The Vacuum of Respect

2009-11-10T20:02:00.000-08:00

"Budo begins and ends with respect."

I'm not sure if there is one specific person this phrase can be attributed to, but I have heard it regularly through-out my training in Japanese martial arts. When I first heard it, I believed this phrase to be a quaint, kind of aspirational thing about how we should all be nice to one and other. I never really gave it any deep thought. As I have continued to work as a public defender, I've come to believe that it goes a lot deeper than a simple aspiration.

Recently, I told a massage therapist, "I envy you. Everyone is happy to get a massage. No exceptions. You deal pretty uniformly with happy people."

He chuckled about that, because he knows that my situation is different. I do indigent criminal defense work. Whether you are guilty or innocent, you've come to know me because the government wants to take away your freedom. Meeting me is not a happy occasion. I always come to know my clients in the middle of a crisis.

This makes for more than a few angry people. When I first started doing this work, I would get angry right back at them. I would use my education to alienate them, confuse them, and ultimately (and unsuccessfully, I might add) try and camouflage how green I was at my job. Somehow, I inevitably got drawn into their web of anger. Things weren't terribly productive.

Similar frustration ensued with my mentally ill clients. Lacking the training in dealing with the mentally ill, I tried to force them into my very limited understanding of the attorney-client relationship. I appealed to them with logic and reason, and expected them to conform to social norms.

They didn't.

As a result, I would get frustrated. Then I would get angry. Then they would get angry. And again, I wasted a lot of precious hours getting pissed off at people when I could have been helping them.

I have been fortunate enough since those beginning times to get a lot of professional training on how to deal with the angry and the mentally ill, and that training has been reinforced by many, many hours of practical experience in the trenches. I have had to apply this experience when failure meant violence towards me and the people I work with.

Having considered all this things, do you know what works best on these clients? It ain't arm-locks or a rattle-snake glare.

It is respect. Plain and simple respect.

I get a client who comes in unwashed, under the influence, and angry, and I sit him down. I start asking him about the weather and his trip my office. Suddenly I am asking a lot of practical questions - his contact information, his prior record, any issues he might have with probation. Before he knows it, he is sipping coffee like a civilized person and calmly answering questions when asked... all the while looking at me with a confused look on his face, like the world just turned upside-down. Somehow, I can tell that my behavior has short-circuited his brain, which was looking for a target for his anger and now cannot find one.

There is a very particular way to do this. I learned it through getting it wrong many, many times.

Many people seem to confuse manners and respect with submission. I see this as a big mistake. In my experience, when there were little signs of fear or uncertainty in my manners, clients would sense those flaws with their "gut perception" and some of them would turn those little cracks into big chasms and things got out of control.

I only got effective once I was able to be polite without appearing weak.

There is a real art form to being polite without "flavoring" it with fear (scared sixteen year-old working retail) or falseness (bored police officer who is only as polite as he "has" to be). I had to find this balance where I was committed to never being brash, short, or arrogant with my clients (i.e. - really caring about them and respecting them as people with rights)... but having total willingness to introduce their face to the floor if they tried to get violent with me or my co-workers.

I try for "opaquely polite". Neither aggressive nor submissive... just there.

Having been able to do this with clients somewhat consistently for about a year now, I can tell you that the result is this weird kind of "conflict that never is". This type of tempered respect seems to head off 99% of the potential conflicts that could happen with clients.

And while I can't scientifically prove this, I can tell you with the certainty of my gut that I would not be able to do this strange thing if I had not undergone a training regimen specifically designed to push those "fear and uncertainty" buttons in my psyche, as it relates to other people. What's more, I have seen other budo practitioners who can do this same thing. In fact, I can name a number of people who do it way better than me. (I call more than one of these folks "Sensei" because I desperately want to get better at this.)

When you consider the drastic amount that this type of thing can reduce violence potential, I think it becomes one of the most relied upon "workhorses" in a real budo person's arsenal. So now, when I hear the phrase "budo begins and ends with respect", I know this isn't just a trite phrase that looks good in a brochure.

Speaking with Authority

2009-11-08T14:06:00.001-08:00

If you've got an astute detective's eye, you can see that I haven't posted anything here in a few years. This absence has been, in part, because my study of martial arts has grown to encompass my speech. Years ago, I deeply enjoyed the sound of my own voice (and its virtual manifestation on the internet). Rarely would a week go by without me cooking up at least two or three essays showcasing my "keen" insight into the universe. A few years in the trenches, working as a public defender, getting married, and most recently having a baby, have made me a lot less talkative. You could say that the world (along with my budo practice) has educated me in how much I don't know. As such, I try not to say much unless I really know about it, and it really has merit.

My time is so precious these days that I can't afford to squander it on "wasted speech". In fact, if you have been reading this blog for a while, you will realize that I have excised some of the more wasteful articles.

I try to ask myself three questions before I say anything:

1. What am I trying to express?

2. Why am I trying to express it?

3. With this medium and this audience, how likely is it that the message will successfully transmit?

That said, going forward, it is my hope that I only write about something when I take the topic and vet it against those three questions. Writing really only comes alive when it comes from the heart and rings of truth.

Blessings in Disguise

2007-03-27T12:35:00.000-07:00

My school has a very successful trial team. They practice hard. They “scrimmage” with other law students often. These practices allowed them to dominate the trial competitions for a number of years.

Their dominance has started to wane in recent years. Other trial teams are taking their tactics and using them, making the techniques used to defeat them into their own tools.

I recently heard one of our current trial team members bemoaning this phenomenon. Without thinking, I told him that I would have considered his circumstances a blessing. He looked at me like I’d grown horns and started spouting devil-speech. He quickly changed the subject and found a reason to go somewhere else.

In retrospect, it occurred to me that the thinking-model I embrace really is alien to our culture.

In my training, I’m eager to find the guy my techniques won’t work on. That’s where the art gets tested and made “real”. That is also where I am forced to analyze more deeply, understand, and push past my boundaries. I have to improve. I’ve seen arts where people never open what they do up to questioning. They never allow “outsiders” to test it. Often, in a subtle form of collusion, insular training partners end up lying to each other and “giving” each other unrealistic techniques. Often, they aren't even aware of this insidious deception. The result is that the art de-evolves and becomes useless (or, at least, not very realistic).

Therefore, the person who can effectively deal with my technique is a blessing: an opportunity to become better. This idea has been so repeatedly instilled in me that I sometimes forget that a large portion of the population doesn’t feel the same way.

Consider the real import of what the trial team member was expressing: what he really wanted was status quo and continued “winning”. That was more important than improving his advocacy skills, which is ostensibly what one would be doing mock trials to accomplish. It seems counter-productive, but the real inner mechanic is this: the utility of progress wasn’t worth the pain of having his short-comings made plain by his defeat.

Omote

2007-02-27T10:40:00.000-08:00

The sun sets on Boca Ciega Bay, creating lazy, golden sparkles on the rippling water. A few gulls above the water ride the warm breeze, which smells like salt. The breeze blows through the mangroves and makes their sun-warmed leaves slither together. Out on the pier, an old man and his grandson are casually flipping their fishing lines out into the water. A brown Labrador crashes through the dry grass that covers the hills. A teenage girl chases after him with a look of exasperation on her face.

Warm crushed oyster shells crackle under my feet as I shift my weight. As I breathe, my mouth forms the counts, barely audible among the relaxing sounds of the coast. The fading sun feels good, warming my tee shirt and the muscles under it. I expand and contract, my own movement breaking like a wave. As I go through the familiar motion, my muscles start to relax. That sense of never-ending movement fills my abdomen. The day’s tension rises off me like a burnt fog under the sun.

I easily slide aside as the Labrador and his ward careen by me, both of them smiling at the good nature of their dispute.

I feel genki. Life is good.

Click, clomp. My teeth smack together as an outstretched hand crashes into my face. As my feet leave the ground, I can already taste the blood in my mouth, welling up from my cheeks. Everything feels wet. My keikogi is soggy with my own sweat, which clings to me even as it drags the garment down and distorts its shape. My hakama seems to hang off of me, as if the cords holding it on are just as exhausted as I am. My moistened hair clings to my brow.

The top part of my right knee cries out in protest as I get up, its familiar pain adding irritation’s heat to my already exhausted mind. This isn’t the rolling, steady, and orderly practice I’m used to. It’s violent and chaotic. It is the maelstrom of a sinking ship on a stormy sea. It feels loose and sloppy. My mind doesn’t even have the time to think about what people watching might think.

I can only think about one watcher, the one who stands above me with a slightly raised hand. His eyes are alight with the same uncertainty and excitement which doubtless fill my own eyes. His unshaven jowls work as he shifts his weight, readying his next assault. His heavy shoulders tighten up and swell unconsciously. I find myself looking at the symmetry of his close-cropped haircut.

The dojo stinks of sweat and mold. The gray walls match my mood. The mats, pulverized by countless feet, have attained the consistency of a rotten pumpkin, albeit not the texture. The whirring ceiling fans give the fluorescent light an odd strobe effect. The venerable plywood under the mats creaks as I gain my feet. For the briefest instant, I look in the mirror on the far wall and see the two of us, figures slumped from fatigue but somehow still energized and taut, like guitar strings wound almost to the point of breaking. I find myself wishing that I was somewhere else.

“Matte."

The word is deliverance for us both. The edge recedes. We bow and then we shamble into a hug. For a moment, this rough, large man and I just hold each other, still uncertain of all the things going on within us. Not an embrace as an empty form, but rather as an expression of mutual beingness.

I feel genki. Life is good.

Home, Sweet Home

2007-02-16T05:43:00.000-08:00

Over my years in Budo, I’ve trained in some strange places. I’ve trained in hot tubs and on piers. I've trained in the park. I had a regular weekly training session in my living room for a while. I've even had some fairly meaningful Aikido exchanges at an electronics store. But perhaps the strangest place I've ever trained was the first dojo I ever encountered on the University of Florida campus in Gainesville. Whenever I start complaining about my current training environment, whatever that is, I think back to those early years and everything instantly seems better.

My roommate and I almost didn’t attend our first class because the building is called the “Women’s Gym”, despite the fact that it hasn’t been exclusively used by women in at least thirty years. As we stood outside, I envisioned scenarios with screaming women clad in towels and University police hauling us off to wherever they detain the campus perverts. My roommate had a more pragmatic view.

“At least we’ll get to see some boobs before they haul us off.”

It’s hard to argue with logic like that.

Preparing myself for breasts, custody, or both, I walked into the foyer of the old gym and found that it was incredibly ancient. The building was a massive brick structure with an arched ceiling. Pipes ran along with walls and a massive set of stairs lead up to the main floor. A thick layer of dust covered everything. In a strange moment of insight, I realized that this building must have originally been a church that was bought by the university as it expanded, and summarily converted into a gym. (Later research showed my hunch to be on target. My roomie and I would jokingly come to call it “The First Church of Pain”.)

My first view of the actual practice area was overwhelming. The area had originally been a basketball court. Figuring that basketball and martial arts are practically the same thing, the University had simply covered the entire basketball court with tatami mats, resulting in the largest padded practice area I have ever laid eyes on. It’s a shame there were only four of us. I recall sessions of randori (free practice) that turned into running battles. I think we even had a few fast-breaks.

The large surface area was nice, but the actual substance of the mats was not. I suspect the padded mats were at least three decades old, and had subsequently lost any pliability they might have once had. The half-century old oaken planks below the mats might have actually been softer. I know that at one point in time, after a number of cocktails, I took a few falls in a concrete parking lot and didn’t feel any appreciable difference, except that the concrete was a bit warmer.

If the petrified mats weren’t bad enough, they were covered with one of the largest pieces of canvas I’d ever seen. This canvas was just as old as the mats and it was coarse beyond belief. I recall getting home from the dojo on more than one night feeling like a struck match. Those mats rubbed feet, elbows, and sides raw without discrimination. My girlfriend even had a brief bout of fear that I was suffering from some sort of weird dojo rash which would infect her and ruin her beautiful looks. It took the intercession of a doctor friend to convince her otherwise. (“He doesn’t have a rash, he’s just scraped up and dumb.”) She could accept that.

To make matters worse, bloodstains spotted the canvas. Given its dimensions, the canvas wasn’t something that you could replace, or even launder easily. So the university opted not to do anything. Blood stains (and God knows what else) kept accumulating. By the time I started training on that canvas, I couldn’t help but wonder if UF had ever hosted a “Live Dueling with Guns” Club on that very canvas.

I didn’t want to join, but to this day, I’d pay hefty cash for their club tee-shirt. I can envision it now: “Murder with guns for fun! UF Live Dueling with Guns Club – 1979”

The dojo had a uniquely cosmopolitan feel, despite its age. Along with our Aikido class, a different tradition of Aikido trained there, a karate group, and a judo club. There was no shomen, per se. Pictures of the traditions’ respective founders were placed on opposite walls, resulting in a recreation of the “Mexican standoff” popular in Spaghetti Westerns, with venerable martial arts masters scowling at each other from across the basketball court.

I suspect there’s no surprise in revealing that there was no temperature control in this building, absent a couple fans that worked only when they felt like it. When my roommate and I tested for our first belts, we were so hot and sweaty that we couldn’t hold onto each other’s wrists without slipping off. I’ve worked up some serious sweat doing martial arts before, but in that place, we’d walk out looking like someone threw a bucket of water on us. I lost ten pounds in the first couple months of training, and those that know me can testify that I really didn’t have a lot of extra weight during undergrad.

It’s unfair to say that everything about this venerable dojo was bad. On one side of the building was the real gym. There are a lot of beautiful women at the University of Florida, and consequently there were a lot of beautiful women in that building. In the middle of practice, your partner’s eye would sometimes catch a young, fit woman in her early twenties exercising on the cardio machines and consequently, in the middle of a technique, he'd would get a dreamy look on his face and disengage. Then you’d deck him as he stared into the distance. After he recovered enough to explain what put him into dream-land, practice would stop for a minute while we took in the sights from the window and soberly debated their merits. (Did I mention that we were an all-male dojo at that time? Painfully so?)

My first dojo serves its purpose, however, so I can’t be too ungrateful.

Everyone that’s been doing martial arts for more than ten minutes has a story about how it was tougher in the old days. (“We chewed nails and practiced aigamae ate in a ring of cobras.”) I suppose that gymnasium-basketball court-dojo is mine.