Zanshin

By Kenji Tokitsu

In Japanese martial art, one often hears the word “zanshin”. Its meaning? Let’s see what the dictionary says about the term and then I’ll comment on its significance.

This article is written in response to a request from Vincent Leduc, my 6th dan Belgian student and karateka. So at the end of the article, I will clarify the concept with regard to karate.

Japanese dictionaries give two meanings for the word “zanshin”. As their explanations are short, I will add my own personal comments below.

1 - The spirit that remains, or the fact of letting the spirit remain.
- The spirit that does not break off
- The fact of not being fully satisfied with things or events.

2 – The frame of mind sought and practiced in kendo and in kyudo (archery).

In kendo: the state of mind maintained after having delivered a strike.

Striking with the shinaï (in kendo) corresponds to the action of fighting with the sword. The dictionary definition means the following: having attacked (confronted) your opponent, your mind must not dwell on this action. You have to be ready to face any other opponent that might turn up, while still keeping a watch on the first one. Suddenly stopping your gesture or continuing it in the void is no good. Even if your movement stops, your mind is still in action without being under tension. Vigilance, readiness and energy remain when your attack action appears to be over…

In kyudo: maintaining mental tension after having released an arrow.

Your body is in symbiosis with the target. You shoot an arrow. Whether it hits the target or not, your action continues to resonate in your body and in your mind. The action of shooting the arrow is over, but not the spirit behind this action, as the gesture continues to resonate inside you. Releasing an arrow does not mean the end of the action of shooting that arrow.

In the practice of martial arts, the word is used in this second sense.

Modern karate gives great importance to the technique of executing kimé, a concept inspired by the idea of “zanshin” that we have just seen.
If you have some training in karate, I invite you to pay attention to your body when you perform kimé. What happens in your body? You contract your muscles to instantaneously block your body, so as to express the power and precision of your technique. Modern karate encourages this form of expressing power associated with a technique.
If you compare the tensions involved in performing kimé with what I have just written about “zanshin”, you should realize that there are certain differences.
Because, when you execute a technique with kimé, for an instant you’re in a fixed posture in which you  are expressing the precision and power of the gesture. If you could observe yourself, you would see that at that exact moment, you have blocked yourself. Watching more closely, you would see that you’ve kept yourself from making any other movement. Which means that at that moment, you are keeping yourself from reacting to a potential attack from another opponent – which is absurd in martial art.
This is one of the reasons why I feel that the implementation of kimé in modern karate has not been a success as an application of the “zanshin” concept.
If you compare this situation to the comments that I added to the definition of “zanshin”, you’ll easily see the difference. In the original karate of Okinawa, the situation was very different. (I’ll explain this in future articles.)
But a question remains.
If kimé was inspired by “zanshin” in Japanese martial arts, what gave rise to the present-day model of kimé? This question will lead us to reflexions of a sociocultural and historical nature, which I’ll leave you to think about. Here I will simply provide a few historical notes.
But first, a small anecdote to top off this short reflexion about “zanshin”.
“A famous 20th century kendo master was having tea with his pupil on a terrace overlooking a garden. The pupil asked his master a question about the meaning of “zanshin”. In response, the master quickly threw the contents of his cup into the garden. Then he showed his pupil the bottom of the cup where a few drops of tea remained, saying ‘That’s what “zanshin” is’.”
Historical timeline of modern karate
To my mind, modern karate is the set of currents and schools of karate formed and developed after 1920 on the main islands of Japan. I distinguish four periods in the history of modern karate.

1) First period (1921-1945).
The introduction of Okinawan karate to the main islands of Japan. This process begins in 1921 and continues to the end of the Second World War. It is a period of efforts to get Okinawan karate incorporated into the tradition of Japanese martial arts.

2) Second period (1945-1970).
End of World War II to the end of the 1960s. The formation of modern karate, which associates the karate of the first period with a trend towards competitive sport. It is the birth of what is known as “traditional karate”.

3) Third period (1970-1990).
After the first world karate championship held in Tokyo in 1970, karate experienced an upsurge the world over. Riding the wave of Bruce Lee films that would come a few years later, karate enjoyed real expansion in the world until the end of the 1980s.
4) Fourth period (1990-to the present).
As of the 1990s, karate began a period of decline. The furore of the preceding period began to fade and the number of karatekas diminished. At the same time, Chinese martial arts, including tai chi chuan, enjoyed a rise in public appreciation.

Conclusion
In this historical timeline of modern karate, we are now in the fourth period.
I believe that the concept of kimé was formed and developed over the course of these historical periods when karate had to develop as a martial art discipline that was both traditional and for sport. That is, modern karate had to develop as a spectator sport while maintaining the sobriety of a traditional Japanese martial art.
In a way, modern karate is the result of a dilemma: how to develop as a spectacle while successfully maintaining the sobriety of martial art. We can see this clearly in the anecdote about the cup of tea – how can you create a spectacle with a drop of tea in the bottom of a cup? The answer is in our reflexion on “zanshin”.

Building a martial arts method X

by Kenji Tokitsu

The trunk is the seat of life

I was born in Japan two years after the end of World War II and so saw numerous amputees during my childhood, an experience that left a profound mark on me. I still have vivid memories of the horror I felt as a child whenever I saw someone missing all four limbs but who nevertheless was able to make astonishing movements.

I wouldn’t wish such a fate on anyone. “How lucky to have kept our bodies intact!” But with more detachment we can say that despite horrible conditions, people who have lost all their limbs have at least managed to survive, whereas no one can survive without their trunk, since the trunk is life itself. And activating the trunk is essential to energy exercises.

Fortunate are those who are able to keep their bodies whole. If we could make even a few efforts comparable to the exertions made by people missing a limb, we could progress a great deal in our practice. So let us turn our attention to our trunk. How is it activated? How do we learn to activate it? Can we truly distinguish the different dorsal and ventral areas of the trunk, as well as the different parts of the spinal column?


Does activating the chakras constitute a secret?

Not many “normal” people are in the habit of moving their torso independently.  They see its mobility as secondary, or even as the simple continuation of limb movements. They are not used to making their trunk move independently of the movement of their limbs. Many even seem to live as though their trunk were totally or partially immobile. In any event, we think we can live without any particular need of resorting to the independent mobility of the trunk. Life can go on without ever needing to attach any importance to such movement.

Must it be said therefore that having a normal body means there is no need to try to activate the trunk, just as people who enjoy good health hardly think about how to stay that way?

As can be seen daily in the technical context of different physical activities, we are not used to creating complex movements with our trunk. In effect, there are very few articulations that can be seen in the trunk, apart from the shoulders, the shoulder blades and the hips. To caricaturize, I could say that many people tend to regard their bodies as though they were just like Pinocchio’s.

Here is my personal view.
Occasionally we chance to see a military parade, with soldiers marching in time to military music, stepping high and swinging their arms. Some people find these scenes beautiful and reassuring, since such parades represent a kind of order, a force, a system holding up society. Personally, I don’t share this impression. To me it’s like watching rows of marionettes. My image of the warrior is quite different – but that’s my personal opinion.

Sometimes I’m tempted to compare this orderly military marching with classical ballet, where the dancers also express the beauty of their gestures through the movements of their body. I am sensitive to the elegance of the body and its movements. But after having studied and worked on the martial dance (jian-wu), I can’t help seeing the agility of the trunk in a different way. For the essence of the martial dance is generated through activation of the trunk, however difficult this is to see.

The martial dance – jian-wu

Researching the martial dance (jian-wu), I have closely studied the article by Wang Xhiangzhai (1886-1963) in “O Kôsai den” (Transmission of Wang Xhiangzhai), translated by T. Ishikawa, co-authored by Sun Li and Sài Shiming, ed. Bêsu-bôl (journal), Tokyo 1996.

Here are some excerpts:

Wang Xiangzhai, fundador del Yiquan

“…. Technical expressions such as: ‘dancing waves’, ‘playful dragon’, ‘white crane’, ‘surprised serpent’ each designate a technical form in boxing. The fist dance (boxing) is also called jian-wu (lit. dance of health or of strengthening) or wu-wu (lit. martial dance). This form of dance was very popular in China in the Sui (581-618) and Tang (618-907) periods. It was practiced as a method for well-being and health, and also as a method of sparring. It was performed not only by martial arts practitioners, but also by scholars and pundits. After this period, the tradition of the dance was lost.”

“Recently, Master Huang Muqiao, a martial arts researcher, reconstructed various forms of jian-wu based both on his long years of practice and on his study of drawings of dancers such as those found in the Dui Huang murals and on ceramic bowls and pottery.”

“During the period of the Northern War (circa 1925), I travelled to southern China and was fortunate enough to meet Master Huang Muqiao in Huan Nan. I attended his jian-wu classes and learned the essential line of this dance form, but was unable to comprehend its hidden subtleties. I have taught this dance to some of my pupils, but only about ten of them were able to learn its subtleties.”

“The indispensable condition for learning the boxing dance is mastery of the ‘four similes’ – i.e.,  ‘the body is like a foundry, as though it were full of lead, as if all its muscles formed a single block, and its hair had turned into wire’.”

“Unless you fulfil these conditions, your dance will only represent the superficial movements of the limbs, and you’ll never be able to dance well. I also said that ‘power (jin) resides in the body and strength (li) emerges from it’.  When you attain the level of realisation of the ‘four similes’ by working on zhan zhuang, it will mean that you have obtained internal power (nèijin).”

“Working on the ‘four forms’ is the best exercise for acquiring efficiency in combat, by learning how to make internal power (nèijin) explode into external force...”

From these writings, we can see that the dance known as jian-wu or wu-wu was a physical practice entailing a much broader cultural context than the one we have encompassing dance today. The transmission of this dance was interrupted in the course of history and was only reconstructed in the 20th century.

But even though this practice was lost in times past, we can imagine that an essential part of it became impregnated in different Chinese physical practices. I believe that this tradition is implicitly present in the different currents of Chinese martial arts.

Secret knowledge

The ballet dancers of today all have very supple limbs, and the elegance of their movements is undeniable. However, I am not at all happy to see how little agility they have in their trunks, for I truly feel that this part of their body is not very mobile at all. Is this just a prejudice of mine?

Each of our energy zones or chakras is located near the central line of the body, whose sides can be activated like accordions. But few people know that these areas can produce subtle, complex movements that generate great dynamic power. In the practice of kiko (qi-gong) and of martial art, activating the trunk is crucial for effective well-being and motion. It is not easy, of course, to put into practice, because few people seem aware of this possibility. In fact, these qualities are submerged in our physical habits and therefore remain hidden.

Knowledge can be kept hidden spontaneously due to our ignorance or lack of perspicuity, but it can also be hidden intentionally by people who wish to keep it secret for their own ends. A secret is born when someone tries to keep something hidden.

Let’s look at this more closely.

The existence of the trunk is obvious to all. When something is deemed readily apparent, it becomes couched in a banality that will constitute the best refuge for keeping a secret. There is an old saying: “Secrets are like eyelashes: they’re so close to your eyes that you can’t see them.” Until something obvious is made evident, it will be ignored and remain hidden. Such secrecy is of even greater importance for the martial arts, since it safeguards essential clues for producing power and speed, and also for creating a particular mode of perception.

(See essay No. 7 on first and second physical capacities.)

For example, the speed, power and subtlety of Iai (the art of Japanese swordsmanship) are attained through activation of the entire body, particularly certain areas of the trunk including the hips. Unless you know how to activate them, you cannot excel in this art. The speed of a movement is not produced by moving the hand, but by the entire body based on the central line of the trunk.

The different schools of martial art transmit the subtlety of bodily movement, particularly activation of the trunk, which constitutes a secret of their teaching. Efficiency is obtained through exercises that put this secret into practice. But unless it is put into practice, the exercises cannot be productive.

As we will see later, what is known in physical practice as the “secret”, or essential knowledge, ends up hidden out of ignorance while people look in the other direction. The secret exists… I invite you to reread Essay no. 8.

But a secret is like a map for finding hidden treasure on top of a mountain. Even if you manage to get hold of the map, you have to be able to get to the top of the mountain where the treasure is hidden. And then, if you’re lucky enough to find it, you still have to be able to carry it home, for otherwise no treasure will be of any use to you.

The equivalent of the map is the method, while the effort necessary to bring the treasure home so you can benefit from it is training, or implementation of the method.

Without that effort, having the map won’t do you any good. However, without the map (method) you could never find the treasure. So the method is essential, but by itself it is insufficient.

Activating the chakras

The kiko of the Yayama method applies the yoga concept of chakra as it is understood in Chinese medicine. Here the chakra is defined as an area where vital, dynamic energy is collected. I apply the dynamic aspect of this concept in my method.

If you activate the ventral part of the body, the corresponding dorsal area will get a workout as well. The front and back of the trunk move simultaneously. This dynamic corresponds to that of the yin and yang parts of the body, which touches on the essence of tai chi chuan. Because the technique of this discipline can only be formed by the dynamic action of the yin and yang parts of the body. Otherwise, there would be no sense in calling it tai chi chuan, for tai chi means the dynamic integration of yin and yang. So there is no tai chi chuan without mobilisation of the yin and yang parts of the body.

If you mobilise the chakras according to the principle of tai chi, they will be activated as if each of these zones served as a hinge.

In the front part of the body, these areas are found at the level of the:
- base of the throat
- sternum
- solar plexus
- navel
- lower abdomen

Note that for each zone, we must include the corresponding dorsal area. The dorsal and ventral parts are inseparably linked.

In practice, you can think of your body as containing five balls of energy that bulge a little in the front and the back parts of the trunk. You can activate these balls by following the method. As we have seen, these five areas move like articulations, which is why in our method, we refer to them both as chakras and as hinges.

A secret arises when you think you have understood

Whatever the discipline in martial arts, activation of these areas is essential, because it is the source for increasing your dynamic capacities beyond the ordinary level. This is why the method for activating them is often hidden in transmission. Remember that when physical arts are transmitted, there is a visible part and also a part that is invisible.

One of the most flagrant examples of this is the exercise known as zhan-zhuang (ritsu-zen). This is an (apparently) immobile exercise for obtaining different results, such as whole-body strength, forming the sensation of qi (ki), a deep sense of physical relaxation and well-being, improved health, etc.

The visible aspect of this exercise appears to be a simple posture, whereas the effect you seek varies according to the way and level of your comprehension. That is, you will interpret the aim of the exercise according to how you understand it. This is the beginning of the secret. I’ll try to explain this with the help of an image.
You have before you a precious object.
Let’s imagine two possible reactions to this situation.
Reaction 1:
You can treasure it as an object of unquestioned value and bequeath it to your family to hand down from generation to generation.
Reaction 2:
You’re not satisfied with simply keeping it as a precious object. You want to find out its composition so as to be able to reproduce it yourself.
After several years of hard research, you find the component material of the object, and you say to yourself, “That’s it, I’ve found its composition.” Having invested so much time and energy in it, you think, “I’ve finally understood the secret of this precious material”.
You believe that you’re the one who holds the secret. But in reality, the object is made up of ten layers of materials having a homogenous appearance. You have only found the first layer of this object…

As long as you’ve made up your mind that the object is composed of a single material – the one that you found – you will be convinced that you know its composition. You wouldn’t dream of thinking that there could still be nine other elements making up the object...

This imaginary situation illustrates the complexity of research, where the way is long and full of snares.
Many people believe that they only need to learn physical techniques and move their limbs systematically.  But as we saw in Essay no. 8, a technique worthy of the name involves subtleties that are hard to execute and that may constitute a secret in teaching and transmission. The secret is whatever is kept hidden. Things may be kept in the dark intentionally for tactical advantage, or we may not see them due to our own ignorance.

To be continued...

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Building a martial arts method IX

The kendo body

Many martial arts practitioners think that a kendo shinai, which weighs about 500 g, must be light and therefore easy to handle. I thought so too. But I soon found I was wrong, because a half-kilo shinai gets very heavy  when you start using it in combat, especially with an opponent who is better than you. A change of 50 g upwards or downwards makes a huge difference and your attack or defence action varies according to your perception of the weight of the shinai.
This prejudice of mine stood like a wall in front of me. In working to overcome it, I came to see the practice of kendo in a different way. The same was true of kenjutsu, Japan’s classical sword art.
To form an opinion about sword art, you have to understand that a true Japanese sword is much heavier than a bamboo one (shinai) – particularly the sword used in the feudal war period (15th to 16th centuries) and at the beginning of the Edo period (17th century).  This latter sword was three times heavier than a shinai, if not more. So even if you learn to handle a shinai or a bokuto (wooden sword) with ease, there is no guarantee that you can do the same with a real sword.

Additionally, there are a few rare masters of contemporary kendo who, at the age of 80, still know how to employ their undeniable capabilities in combat with the shinai. This is due not only to their technical ability based on long experience, but also to the physical capacities they have built up.
“One such 8th dan master over the age of 80 is diminished in strength and suppleness, and must ask one of his students to help him tie the laces on the back of his armour. But once he has his shinai in his hands, he can bring great force to combat with penetrating sword strikes and with a body (tai-atari) that can knock his opponent backwards.”
I have heard this same type of comment many times.

I think that this physical capacity depends on a range of qualities: the person’s physical strength, the strength of his ki (qi), his physical and perceptive powers which are constructed through the practice of a discipline. This set of qualities constitutes one’s second physical capacity.
The tai chi body is also a  body specifically formed by the practice of the method of that discipline, which forms a second physical capacity.

The samurai body and the jujutsu body

As for kendo, everything depends on the way you train and the objectives you’ve set. There are many people skilled in the form of competition combat, which is conducted according to certain rules. You attack your opponent’s head (men), but he leans to one side. Your strike touches the base of his neck or his shoulder, just as you receive a blow on  the wrist. Your strike doesn’t count, but his blow to your wrist does. You have lost and he has won….
In modern-day kendo, the tsuki (piercing) attack is restricted to the throat, a very limited target. The idea behind this limitation is important, because if you can manage to touch the small area of the throat, it means that you could also easily touch other, broader parts of the body.

This requirement for the aggressor creates in the defender an attitude of not needing to worry about a “piercing” attack to the stomach or to the chest. But such technical negligence would be unthinkable in a real fight.
So everything depends on what you are striving for in your practice: being able to win a point within the framework of competition rules, or practicing as though you were in real combat.
There are numerous points where modern kendo strays from the values of budo. Nevertheless, I feel that kendo is one of the rare disciplines that preserve the possibility of approaching, studying and developing the fast-diminishing values of Japanese martial arts.

In kendo, there are still a few masters over 80 who are capable of completely dominating young practitioners in free kendo combat. Eighth dan kendo masters are in this category.
In many other martial art domains, high-level grades (7th, 8th or 9th dan) are awarded by secret vote. In this kind of system, political and administrative considerations as well as seniority count for a great deal in the awarding of grades, whereas high-level grades in kendo are granted following a rigorous exam in which the quality of one’s capacities in combat is what counts most.
I want to stress this fact, because during a rigorous exam, there is no room for trickery or the complicity that exists in a complacent examination, because these grades must really be deserved.
It is not only a question of earning points in combat, but of demonstrating one’s decisive qualities as a fighter. Accordingly, an 8 th dan in kendo must in all ways be superior in combat to a person of lower grade. The rigour of the grades system in kendo is its guarantee. If this requirement were allowed to lapse, kendo grades would lose their value. Fortunately, their value is being maintained, which is why all kendo practitioners respect high-level dans. This way, grades have meaning.
Can we say the same for other martial arts disciplines in which grades are awarded by secret ballot?

Kendo and the sword

Certain kenjutsu (classic sword) masters have been heard to say the following: “Anyone who fails to grasp the true weight and nature of the sword cannot understand the sword art of the samurai.”
I think they are right.
They further criticize modern kendo with words like the following:
“Kendo is not the way of the sword, but shinai kyogi: a sports version of shinai fencing.”
Still another criticism is this:
“The way people use the shinai, they could never beat an adversary with a real sword.”
I think this is true too.

I have attended trials where people attempt to “cut bamboo with a sword” (tameshi giri). Although some kendo masters managed to cut them well, other 6th or 7 th dan kendo masters failed to do so, which gives rise to the following criticism:
“Those who train without being able to handle a sword cannot hope to practice the art of the samurai. “
Or this other claim:
“The practice of kendo is not realistic, since it doesn’t teach you how to use a real sword.”
I think that they are wrong to judge kendo in this way. 
It is true that most kendokas have not had the experience of wielding a real sword. Why? Because doing so is not necessary in order to excel at rule-based kendo combat.

If people criticise kendo in this way, we would have to ask the following question: “What do you mean by ‘realistic’?”

If the practice of kendo aimed atthe skilful handling of a true sword, we could indeed say that it is not realistic. The great majority of kendokas have had no experience wielding a sword, but what is more, they don’t want to! These kendokas will undoubtedly never have an occasion to use a true sword in their entire career in kendo, although this will not keep them from becoming excellent kendokas.

Realizing this leads us to the following questions.
In our society, it is against the law to carry a real sword. And besides, very few people even own one, whereas we can legally arm ourselves with a cane to use as a walking stick. So which situation is the more realistic? Knowing how to use a sword that we will never have a chance to wear, or knowing how to handle a stick or cane effectively according to the technique of kendo?
I think it all depends on the goals of your practice.

Contrary to the criticisms we have just seen, I feel that modern kendo could be very effective and realistic, if certain points were revised. I think that if we trained and associated unarmed combat techniques -- hand and foot strikes, throws, holds and locks -- on the basis of kendo, we could come up with a very complete martial art.

This is exactly what the samurai used to practice.

Differences between the kendo body and the samurai body

Let’s return now to our subject.
For the samurai, learning the art of the sword was quite different from learning modern kendo. For them, sword practice was not only the art of using this weapon with skill. It had to be associated with a strength that would enable them to slice through their adversary. Such power could only come from a body trained in a specific way that is almost unknown in the practice of present-day kendo.

For example, adepts of the Jigen-ryu sword school trained daily striking a post stuck in the ground. They were said to practice striking the pole 3,000 times in the morning, and another 8,000 times in the afternoon. When I came to live in the country, I tried this exercise. Instead of a pole, I set up an innertube from an old tractor that a neighbouringfarmer gave me. From the first day, even before I’d struck fifty blows, my hands were already full of bleeding blisters. It took me several months before I was able to do a thousand strikes a day. “Only”a thousand.

This experience gave me a basis on which to form a small idea of what was meant by the drill of “striking with a baton”. I didn’t continue any further. It was enough to understand the sense of this exercise, since I had set my sights elsewhere.
In the Edo period (1603-1867), in the villages around Kagoshima (feudal domain of Satsuma in southern Japan), poles were set up for this purpose in different parts of the village. Since several long wooden sticks were used in each session, piles of them were placed at the foot of the posts for people to use. Anyone passing by, including peasants, could pick them up and do the drill.

The force of the Jigen-ryu sword strike was fearsome. In a confrontation with this school, adversaries were taught to avoid the first attack. “Don’t try to parry it,” they were told. “Above all, do not cross your sword with theirs. Your only chance of winning is by dodging their first attack.”
This anecdote calls into question a claim such as the following: “In swordsmanship, strength is not necessary, because the sword is extremely sharp”.

For another thing, since samurais had to behave as worthy warriors even if they couldn’t use theirsword, the technique of jujutsu was necessary. They are not actually two different disciplines, since swordsmanship entails the physical techniques that are the basis of jujutsu. In a way, jujutsu arose in parallel with the art of the sword, which is efficient when based on jujutsu.
So now we can pose a question regarding kendo. Couldn’t an equivalent of jujutsu be formed in working on shinai exercises in modern kendo? This is where we should note the difference between using a shinai and wielding a sword. We could ask the same question of kenjutsu (classical sword)practitioners.
The sword art formed the samurai’s body to make him capable of assuminghis obligations as a warrior. If a kendoka wants to practice swordsmanship as the art of the samurai, his practice should not be limited to the handling of a shinai. He must at least be able to transpose his skills into a more general physical technique. I think that the first thing he must ask himself is this: “What will I have left if I don’t have my shinai?” The samurai were able to practice other disciplinesby transposing to them all their skills in swordsmanship. Using the sword they formed a martial body, which in a way is the samurai body, and so were able to use both their weapons and their body efficiently.
This was not because the samurai had learned minutely diverse disciplines, but because their swordsmanshipentailed the formation of a particular kind of body – i.e., the samurai body.
It is at this level that we find a fundamental difference with modern-day kendo.

There are numerous jujutsu schools, each with different techniques, because they arose simultaneously from the martial activities of the samurai in different periods.
During the time of the feudal wars, a major problem for the warriors was that they had to fight with heavy armour on the fields of battle.The school of jujutsu created during this period developed a particular range of techniques. Instead of throwing his adversary, all a samurai had to do was pull his head back so that his neck would break due to the weight of his armour. In times of feudal peace when fighting took place in ordinary clothes, such a tactic would be replaced by a holding or throwing technique. And so techniques changed depending on the way of life in different periods.
The classical schools of jujutsu taught both unarmed and armed techniques: sword, spear, stick, cord, etc. All disciplines begin with unarmed techniques, as this is the starting point for all martial arts that use weapons.

The specific body

As we have seen, armed martial arts, including the sword art of the samurai, enabled them to form the martial body they were famous for. This physique provided them with the martial strength they needed to express themselves in both armed (sword) and unarmed combat.
For example, the subtle strength and way in which they were able to carry and handle a sword enabled them to seize the wrist, arm or body of their opponent to exert a pressure or torsion that would immobilize or throw him. A samurai was not a mere specialist who could not manage without his sword. Sword training enabled him to build the martial strength that could also be applied in other domains. So jujutsu was a supplement for their swordsmanship, and its development affected a physical principle of the samurai.

This is why the samurai had a way of walking that was so special and so difficult to hide. For example, even when they disguised themselves as normal town-dwellers, dressing, wearing their hair and successfully imitatingthe speech of people of this social order, it was very hard for them to disguise their hard-wired way of walking. That is, in the Edo period (1603-1867), one could tell just by watching how a person walked, what social class he or she belonged to.
This is expressed by the following terms: bushi-aruki“samurai walking”: walking with the handsheld in front of the hips and moving the same hip and shoulder together; hyakusho aruki“peasant walking”: leaning forward with the hands ready to carry a burden on the back or shoulder; shokunin aruki“craftsman walking”: moving easily as though on a scaffold carrying work tools; chonin aruki“merchant walking”: shuffling forward as though ready to lean on a counter.

Have you seen the film“The Last Samurai”?
The story of this film takes place during the time of the Seinan-senso (Seinan war) in 1877, when the samurai of the Satsuma domain(modern-day Kagoshima) rose up against the new Japanese government.The government emerged victorious thanks to its use of modern (Western) military force. Japan at that time was investing most of its energy in attaining two objectives: enriching the country through industrialisation and strengthening its armed forces.
This latter objective was closely linked to the system of education. Japan was already aware of the likelihood of future conflicts with China and Russia. Thanks to enormous national efforts, Japan would prove victorious in these two wars in 1895 and 1905 – an exceptional feat for a nation that had just emerged from feudalism. Western military marching became the model to follow in the national educational system.

From then on, all Japanese began to walk in the same way, no matter what class they came from. Samurai, peasants, craftsman and merchants all had to learn to walk in the European way. The European physical education system was adopted in compulsory schooling.
I have written this short summary in order to explain how the very different ways of walking of the Japanese people were finally unified. This means that there used to exist distinct physiques depending on a person’s social class, and that the samurai body was in itself a technical achievement.

I mentioned earlier the Jigen-ryu school of swordsmanship. In the film “The last Samurai”, the American actor Tom Cruise takes sword lessons and receives numerous blowsto the body. But in such a case, it would have been impossible for him to receive so many blows from a wooden sword, even during training, without being seriously injured, if not killed.

But after all, it was only a film.

To be continued...

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El ki en el karate

Ir hasta el límite para adquerir capacidad de ki

Según mis investigaciones, hay varios caminos para lograr la sensación del ki. Hay caminos empíricos y caminos trazados por los métodos tradicionales. Es un ejemplo de camino violento y directo, pero muy espinoso. El ki no es el objeto de la búsqueda, sino la consecuencia de una experiencia vivida hasta el límite. En cierta manera está al alcance de todos, a condición de ser capaz de perseverar, de superarse. Escuchemos al Maestro Kenji Kurosaki (65 años), famoso Kyokushin budokai, uno de los primeros combatientes de kick-boxing:

«Tuve unas experiencias que no se pueden explicar de manera racional. En otro tiempo, en la habitación donde yo dormía, estaba colocada justo detrás de mi cabeza una gran caja de madera en la que se conservaba el arroz. Pesaba por lo menos 120 kg y el fondo de la caja se hundía en el tatami a causa de su peso. Un día, echado sobre la cama, tiré la caja. Ocurrió. Yo pesaba sólo 60 kg. Físicamente, esta situación es imposible...
Un grueso bambú envejecido es muy difícil de cortar. Yo era capaz de cortarlo limpiamente con una vieja hoz inutilizable por estar la lámina totalmente gastada... Una vez, andaba por el campo en la noche oscura y pasé delante de un granero; de pronto me paré, porque sentí el movimiento de algo vivo. Al mirar con atención, vi un bambú cortado como la punta de una lanza justa delante de mi garganta. Si no me hubiera parado, sin duda me habría atravesado la garganta...

No sé por qué he tenido estas experiencias pero creo que he adquirido una capacidad particular gracias a mi formación. Cuando era niño, me obligaron a trabajar como los mayores en las tierras de una nueva explotación. Gracias a ello, adquirí una fuerza física y de espíritu excepcional.
Para el entrenamiento de kárate, me impuse ejercicios especialmente duros con el fin de ir más allá de mis límites: pasé 20 días sin comer, 7 días sin beber una gota de agua, 7 días sin dormir. Sostuve contra mi brazo un haz de incienso encendido hasta que se consumiera totalmente.
Viví 82 días en invierno en la montaña a temperaturas de 20 bajo cero. Perseveraba en estos ejercicios mediante los cuales pretendía apurar mis límites. Creo que viviendo constantemente al límite, entré en un estado psicológico particular, y que esto me ha permitido desplegar una energía particular.

Volviendo a mi experiencia con la caja de arroz, estaba constantemente nervioso y este nerviosismo dio lugar a una explosión en aquel momento. Mi fuerza límite se disparó en ese instante. Para mí, la verdadera fuerza se deriva de esta energía límite. Es el objetivo de mi enseñanza. Los que pretenden hacerse fuertes deben pasar por entrenamientos duros, penosos y severos. No hay otro camino para hacerse fuerte.... Los que han llegado a ser campeones de kick-boxing bajo mi tutela han pasado por un entrenamiento diario de 10 horas, durante las cuales no autorizaba ningún relajamiento del ki. Los obligaba a hacer todos los ejercicios a fondo. Durante esas 10 horas de entrenamiento intensivo, podían desplegar su capacidad máxima sólo durante 3 o 4 minutos.
Se puede decir: ¿no basta con hacer 4 minutos de ejercicio intensivo? La respuesta es que no, porque durante el combate nadie puede estar constantemente en una condición óptima. Diez horas de entrenamiento les eran necesarias para que fueran capaces de afrontar cualquier situación».

Así es como el Maestro Kurosaki resolvió la cuestión del ki el combate. Al leer cómo se entrenaba, sorprende la buena salud que conservó. En este método, la condición de base es superar las pruebas límites. Si las superas preservando la salud, ciertamente habrás adquirido algo. Pero también pueden destruirte. No es pues un camino recomendable para todos. De todas formas, el Maestro Kurosaki desarrolla hoy un método más racional que está basado en sus experiencias.

Aproximarse al ki mediante el método del taiki-ken

El taiki-ken se basa en un método constituido para adquerir el ki: se trata del método de ritsu-zen. Está al alcance de todos, a condición de perseverar. Los métodos de qi-gong o de respiración también permiten cultivar y desarrollar la dimensión física interna del ki. O sea, que el camino no es único.
El fundador del taiki-ken, el Maestro Sawai, era kendoka, y en este arte marcial, se busca una forma de ki próxima a la del kendo, además de unos movimientos técnicos producidos espontáneamente por la manifestación del ki.
El Maestro Sawai cita la imagen de una peonza. Cuando gira fuerte, la peonza se mantiene recta y estable, llena de una energía dinámica. Un hombre se vuelve como la peonza cuando se llena de ki. En un instante, puede acercarse al adversario, en un instante puede evitar un ataque y en un instante puede tumbarle al adversario. Así, se busca la eficacia producida espontáneamente por el ki.

Citaré algunos consejos del Maestro Sawai sobre la manera de captar el ki:
«Hay que comenzar por alimentar el ki desarrollando la sensación del ki en la vida diaria (kibun). Para ello hay que meditar en ritsu-zen, la meditación es particularmente eficaz en la naturaleza, entre árboles inmensos.... Aunque hablara del ki centenares de veces, no podrías comprenderlo hasta no hacer tú mismo la experiencia.... Los peces nadan bajo el agua. Si echas una piedra en el agua, los peces desaparecen con una rapidez excepcional. La manifestación del ki se parece a ello.... El cuerpo lleno de ki es comparable a una olla llena de agua hirviendo a punto de hacer saltar la tapa».
El ritsu-zen del taiki-ken es la aplicación y la adaptación personal del Maestro Sawai del trabajo de zhan zhuang del «da cheng chuan». Para el Maestro Sawai, es sólo a través del ritsu-zen que uno puede adquirir el ki y luego seguir alimentándolo.

Aprendí el método del ritsu-zen en 1982 y lo practico desde entonces. Al mismo tiempo estudié el qi-gong y un método de respiración que pretendía cultivar el ki. Gracias a estos métodos, logré sentir el ki por primera vez al cabo de aproximadamente un año. Desde esa época, he replanteado mi entrenamiento de kárate, centrándolo en el trabajo del ki. He estudiado con esta base el «da cheng chuan», método que había estudiado el Maestro Sawai para crear el taiki-ken. Según mi experiencia, el progreso es más rápido si se comprende la lógica y el objetivo del ejercicio. Pero la comprensión teórica no puede sustituir una práctica regular. Uno de mis maestros de qi gong me ha dicho: «El qi-gong, es el tiempo. Es el "gong fu” (talento cultivado) que se construye con el tiempo. Hay que practicar sin cansarse cada día sin preocuparse del resultado inmediato.»

Aplicaciones del ki

Sentirse lleno de ki y combatir con el ki son dos cosas diferentes. Si te sientes lleno de energía vital, pero frente al adversario te quedas petrificado de miedo, no podrás luchar con eficacia. En este caso no se puede hablar de ki. Pero, comparado con esta experiencia, la combatividad sí puede ser comprendida como una expresión primaria del ki.

A este nivel, no hace falta intentar preparar el ki mediante un método particular, porque basta con querer combatir; ya es el ki. En el kárate después de la guerra, la práctica del ki parece haberse limitado a este nivel, suscitar la combatividad reforzando el coraje y la excitación. Era la continuación del espíritu de guerra. Al dedicarse a entrenar a fondo, se adquiere una combatividad casi animal. Recordemos el caso del Maestro Kurosaki, que había adoptado el modelo de entrenamiento de su difunto Maestro Ohyama.
Es incluso más interesante y evocador cómo el Maestro Ohyama, partidario de la hazaña física, se acerca a la idea práctica del Maestro Sawai cuando declara que sin nutrirse del ki, la práctica del kárate es efímera. Es el encuentro de una vía empírica trabajada a fondo por el Maestro Ohyama con un método constituido, el del Maestro Sawai. No es por casualidad que los adeptos avanzados de Kyokushin-kai integran el método del taiki-ken en su entrenamiento.

En el taiki-ken se procura familiarizarse con la sensación del ki mediante un método construido; no se trata pues de un método empírico.

He aquí las principales etapas:
- abrir la sensibilidad a la sensación ordinaria del ki (kibun)
- alimentar el ki desarrollando el «kibun»
- aumentar la sensación del ki

Estos procesos te permiten formar la sensación de ki. Luego debes entrar en una etapa en la que haces combate dejándote guiar por la sensación del ki.

Impregnar el ki en la técnica

Para entrar en la etapa en la que haces combate dejándote guiar por la sensación de ki, tienes que construir técnicas basadas en el ki, es decir técnicas que transportan el ki.

Existen dificultades a este nivel también, porque se hacen inevitables ciertos replanteamientos de los movimientos técnicos. Me explico. Si tienes el cuerpo rígido no puedes dejarte dirigir eficazmente por la sensación de ki en los movimientos del combate, porque el ki es una energía móvil. ¿Cómo puedes hacer circular plenamente el ki, si tienes el cuerpo rígido y contraído, es decir, en estado de bloqueo energético?
En un cuerpo rígido, el ki se estanca y no puedes hacer uso de él en el combate. Si quieres construir un kárate nutrido de ki, debes mirar a ver si no tienes el cuerpo bloqueado, o, más exactamente, si no bloqueas el ki al contraer inútilmente los músculos.
En cualquier movimiento, existe contracción muscular; mejor dicho, podemos movernos porque sabemos contraer los músculos necesarios. Pero la calidad de un movimiento varía según la manera de dirigir la atención. En un arte marcial, el flujo del ki debe ser fluido y expansivo, no puede quedarse encerrado en la rigidez del cuerpo, lo que supone, de hecho, el estancamiento del ki.

Si nos fijamos, los karatekas a menudo confunden el despliegue de fuerza con una simple contracción muscular, incluso con una rigidez del cuerpo. Este acondicionamiento es tan fuerte que pueden sentir su fuerza sólo con ponerse rígidos. Con un golpe de tsuki, por ejemplo, cuando creen haber golpeado fuerte, a menudo es porque sienten que han gastado fuerza en los músculos. Esta forma de gastar la energía a menudo se traduce en una sensación de fuerza. En esta situación la fuerza del golpe queda encerrada en el cuerpo y no va en realidad más allá del puño. El resultado es un golpe apagado y poco penetrante, mientras que un golpe guiado por el despliegue del ki choca y penetra profundamente. Esta sensación es diferente de la que se suele llamar «kimé».

Escribo estas líneas a partir de mis propias experiencias. Yo mismo pasé por un largo período en el que confundía el bloqueo de la fuerza física con la concentración de fuerza.

Recordemos la reflexión del difunto Maestro Egami (cf. Historia del kárate-do):
«... Tuve que reconocer que el tsuki de los karatekas son los menos percutientes. Me pregunté con desconcierto: “¿Que es lo que he hecho hasta ahora?”».

Es sin duda una de las mayores dificultades en el camino de un karateka. Feliz aquel que tenga la suerte de practicar sin dar un gran rodeo. No basta con hacer el qi-gong o el ritsu-zen para construir su kárate con ki, hay que reconstruir los movimientos que permiten absorberlo y hacerlo circular. Este esfuerzo no es evidente.
Basta con recordar el ejemplo del Maestro Egami y preguntarse ¿por qué a su alto nivel con 30 años de experiencia, tuvo que cuestionar radicalmente la eficacia del tsuki? Tienes que descubrir dónde se produce una obstrucción energética en tu técnica. Si quieres cambiar, tienes que estar dispuesto a cuestionar la cosa más elemental: la sensación técnica que parecía evidente. Si no cuestionas, no podrás cambiar. Si no hay cambios, no habrá esa nueva sensación corporal del ki como guía de nuestras técnicas.

El período de cuestionar dura más o menos tiempo según la persona. Acordémonos del Maestro Egami. El Maestro Matsuda (desde principios de 1970 uno de los precursores del arte del combate chino en Japón) me dijo:
«A partir del kárate rígido que yo practicaba en aquella época, me costó 4 años reconstruir una nueva sensación del cuerpo.
Este período fue deprimente para mí porque ya no sentía ninguna eficacia en mis técnicas, mientras que antes me había sentído mucho más fuerte.
Era muy duro aceptar esta sensación de debilidad. Al cabo de 4 años, comprobé, con alegría, que había adquirido finalmente una fuerza de otra dimensión.»

Dejarse guiar por el ki

Con frecuencia los karatekas se imaginan que el entrenamiento consiste en practicar los golpes de puño y de pie o los kata. Si todo principiante empieza el kárate aprendiendo las técnicas de puño y de pie, esto no quiere decir que hay que seguir repitiéndolas de la misma manera 20 o 30 años después.

El Maestro Sawai dice:
«Aunque practiques con seriedad una técnica de puño y de pie durante años, nunca podrás doblar tu velocidad.». Según él, esta forma de entrenamiento alcanza rápidamente un techo y para elevar realmente el nivel, hay que adquirir el ki. A partir de un cierto nivel, puede ocurrir que cuanto más se entrene, más se retrocede; es porque el entrenamiento no responde a las necesidades de la etapa actual de la persona. Hay que seguir un método de entrenamiento que pueda llevarnos lejos. El trabajo de ritsu-zen y de otros ejercicios de taiki-ken pretende construir un cuerpo listo para saltar cuandoquiera, dondequiera. No deja el cuerpo rígido dentro de formas estáticas.

El Maestro Sawai dice:
«Tienes que entrenarte hasta un punto tal que puedas tener total confianza en tus manos.». Con largos años de entrenamiento en el ritsu-zen, si te has formado bien, basta con ponerte frente al adversario, ya que de alguna manera tus manos llenas de ki encontrarán la mejor solución. Las manos jugarán el doble papel de radar y de arma. Formar unas manos fiables hasta este punto, esto es el entrenamiento.
El Maestro Sawai cita la imagen de la trompa del elefante. Es flexible, sensible, tan sensible que es capaz de envolver y de levantar a su cría recién nacida, es capaz de detectar la dirección del viento y la de un olor. Es tan fuerte que puede arrancar un árbol, rechazar a sus enemigos de un golpe. Al formar tus manos, tienes que tener presente esta imagen, que es la opuesta a la de la solidez del hormigón, cuya dureza y rigidez no supone fuerza, sino fragilidad en la situación dinámica del combate.

Conclusión

No hay trucos que nos guien rápidamente hacia la maestría del ki en el arte marcial. No creo tampoco que nadie pueda proyectar o hacer despegar al adversario por la fuerza de ki sin tocarle. Asistí a esta forma de práctica en la que los alumnos eran proyectados lejos del maestro sin que éste les hubiera tocado. Pero yo ni fui tumbado ni proyectado; no creo pues en esta suerte de energía. Pero sí sentí algo energético emitido por el cuerpo de ese maestro en aquella ocasión. Había algo difícil de describir, pero esa energía estaba lejos de poder desplazarme. Sin embargo, en mi opinión, los demás alumnos, sensibles a esta forma de energía, aumentaban el efecto de esta sensación por una forma de sumisión al maestro, y despegaban de modo espectacular. Comprendí pues, que el ser humano es capaz de dejarse proyectar por una energía que no puede mover una hoja de papel siquiera, a causa y gracias a su energía psíquica.


Desde hace varios años, siento con nitidez las corrientes energéticas dentro y fuera de mi cuerpo. No es por casualidad, porque su distribución y movimiento en el cuerpo corresponden perfectamente a la enseñanza que he recibido. Compruebo así cómo, integrándome en esta sensación, puedo captar hasta cierto punto el movimiento del espíritu del adversario, y mi fuerza llega más lejos al dejarme dirigir por esta sensación.

Creo que es la sensación que habían descrito nuestros predecesores: lo esencial es indescriptible e intransmisible sin pasar por la práctica. Tengo la certeza que es la energía que debo continuar alimentando y desarrollando. Estoy comenzando el nuevo camino.

K. Tokitsu 1996