The Path of Traditional Martial Arts

WELL, THAT WAS FUN...

2026-11-08T23:15:03.347-08:00

by Phillip Starr

As Westerners, we place a lot of value on “having fun” when we engage in various activities, including martial arts. Having been involved in teaching the martial ways for more than five decades (and practicing them for more than six), I will say that more emphasis is placed on this idea than in years past. For those instructors who run full-time schools, it has become one of the top priorities of their class curriculum; after all, if students don't have fun in training, aren't they less likely to continue to attend class? Probably. Our priorities are flawed.

When you enroll in a martial arts school/group in the East, the #1 priority is learning the art and acquiring skill as opposed to having “fun.” They feel that strength of will and spirit, and the building of character is achieved primarily through very hard training. Period. For instance, kendo is very arduous and rigorous. After training one day, one young man remarked to his friend that “class today was a lot of fun.” He didn't notice that the instructor happened to be standing within earshot. The next day's class was fairly brutal...

The teacher(s) aren't trying to mistreat students at all; they're determined to teach them an authentic martial discipline and assist them in becoming better people. Spirit and character, they feel, is not to be developed any other way. I've had many students over the years who expressed a desire to learn the “spiritual” side of the martial ways, but were apalled at the severity of the training. The spiritual side of these arts is not to be achieved through meditation or simply reading about it; the spiritual truths are revealed only through relentless training over a period of time.

Now, I'm not anti-fun or anything like that...having fun has its place in training, but for the most part, training should be serious and rigorous.

THE FOUR LEVELS OF APPLICATION

2026-11-07T23:15:17.838-08:00

by Phillip Starr

Back in the day, China didn't have training halls such as those we enjoy in the West. They still don't; most training was and still is, conducted outdoors. And the teachers of those bygone years were very concerned about people hiding in the bushes and watching them teach and practice; they feared that the secrets of their style might be learned by others who might then find ways of defeating them. I'm quite sure that they didn't plan to “spoon-feed” their students; they wanted and expected them to train hard to learn the entire system. Those who were in a hurry or who just didn't want to bother with it weren't worth the trouble of teaching beyond a certain level, anyway.

And so it was that they began to “camouflage” certain techniques in the forms. The veils were several, which I refer to as “levels” of breaking down the information contained in various forms. I'll cover them briefly here:

The first level I call “Obvious” because what you see is exactly what you get. A punch is no more than a punch and a kick is just a kick. Not every technique or posture contains hidden breakdowns and too many people, in their enthusiasm for unveiling these things get carried away and start “seeing a wolf behind every tree.”

The second level I call “Concealed” and it involved hidden joint techniques and/or chokes as well as holding techniques. These can be rather difficult to uncover; an extensive knowledge and understanding of such techniques is necessary. If you're not familiar with a variety of such techniques, you're not likely to spot them.

The third level is the “Mysterious” level and involved hidden takedowns and throws that are concealed within the form(s). Like the previous level, finding them requires familiarity with such techniques.

The fourth level is the “Dark” level, wherein certain types of blows are applied to certain vital points. The points are mapped out in the form. But most forms do not contain this level of information; only a few do. You must learn to “decode” certain movements as you “read” your form.

To find levels 2 and 3 also require that you recognize certain “red flags”; that is, movements that don't seem to make sense in the form. For instance, in the first form of most karate styles as well as taekwondo -heian shodan (some call it ping-an shodan, and Okinawan styles refer to it as ping-an nidan) and known in taekwondo as chon-ji, there are several red flags right out of the gate:

You step to the left in a forward stance and do a left low block. RED FLAG!
You advance the right foot in a forward stance and execute a right lunge punch. RED FLAG!
You pivot on the left foot, moving to the right. The right foot steps around 180 degrees to a forward stance and do a right low block. RED FLAG!

That didn't take long, huh? Why are these movements red flags? Well...

Movement #1: We're usually told that we're blocking a low level attack coming from the left. WHY would you ADVANCE into an attack to block it? If it's a kick, it'll certainly reach you before you get halfway through your step!

Movement #2: We're often told that following the block, we advance to punch the bad guy. Nah. If you're close enough to block, you're much too close to execute a lunging thrust! WAY too close!

Movement #3: We're told that a second bad guy attacks from the rear, so we turn and block his low-level attack. Then I ask, WHY are you stepping the long way around? It'd be much faster and more efficient to cimple reverse your stance, wouldn't it?

Red flags such as these indicate that the movements are not as they seem. To be brief, the first movement isn't a block at all...it's a pre-emptive thrust. The 2nd and 3rd movements show a peculiar throw, not another block and punch.

Forms are replete with such red flags. You must learn to recognize one when you see one, and then work diligently to figure it out (this is why familiarity with various throws and joint manipulations is so necessary). It is also why each movement in a form is to be done exactly so and why, if you don't understand a particular movement, you mustn't just go ahead and change it.

ENJOYING THE MEAL

2026-11-06T23:27:19.056-08:00

by Phillip Starr

Most group activities (such as meetings of almost any kind) in China involve various foods. And the Chinese truly love their native cuisine. It's the same in Japan. Unlike many Western barbarians (I say that with a smile), they take time to truly savor each mouthful while they also appreciate the aroma and even the appearance of the food. So many of us slug down our food with such zest that we often miss many of the subtleties, which add so much to the meal.

It is often the same in our martial arts practice; we tend to gobble down the meal without taking time to experience every part of it. While visiting Japan with my senior student, Hiro Misawa ( a guide of inestimatable value), we stopped in at a local sushi restaurant just a few blocks from the room where I was staying. It was a traditional eatery and Hiro started us off with two bowls of miso soup. Before I tried it, he told me that the cook had used a very subtle fish stock to cook the dish and I tried a spoonful. Instead of simply gulping down the soup as is my wont, I took time to gently savor it. Yes, the hint of fish was there; it was veiled and delicate rather than overbearing... I very much enjoyed this special soup.

It has occurred to me that this should be done with our techniques and especially, our forms. If we simply go crashing through them with hurried enthusiasm (what my teacher called “youthful enthusiasm”), we miss out on so much that is shrouded and difficult to see or feel. Such seemingly nebulous details will, once experienced, add so much to the technique or form! That which we once regarded as rather bland suddenly becomes a magnificent feast!

Go back to your first form, your first technique and taste it again. Savor it carefully and look for subtle flavors.

DON'T JUST SIT IN YOUR STANCE!

2026-11-05T22:41:17.985-08:00

By Phillip Starr

The legendary Tadashi Yamashita (10^th dan, Kobayashi Shorin-ryu karate) once said that one of the great “secrets” of karate was in the correct training of stance, but very few people do it anymore. And he is 100% right.

First, we must determine just what is the purpose(s) of a given stance? Think about it for a second, I'll wait......

First and foremost, a stance is a stable platform from which we can deliver powerful blows (bearing in mind that the platform must be capable of withstanding the force of said blows). Secondly, some stances are stable positions from which we can move quickly and easily in a firm, contolled manner. And that's it. They do not exist for purposes of aesthetic appeal.

In so far as issuing power is concerned, we must consider the proper (leg) tension that is to be used and there are only two; inside tension and outside tension. Inside tension involves contracting the adductors (muscles of the inner thighs) to “lock” you into place. Styles such as Goju-ryu and Uechi-ryu karate as well as Chinese forms such as Wing Chun (should) utilize this principle a great deal; they are “in-fighting” styles and as such, they must be able to lock themselves into place when delivering close-quarters techniques.

Footwork is what happens in between stances, moving from one to another in various ways. It must be balanced and controlled. But footwork and stances are two separate subjects...

Additionally, stances such as the empty-leg stance (aka., cat stance), the sancai stance found in internal forms of gong-fu, the pigeon-toe stance, and hook stance use inward tension to stabilize the stance.

Outward tension involves tension in the legs in opposite directions. This is used for longer strikes and thrusts. For instance, in the forward stance (aka., zenkutsu-dachi, bow and arrow stance) the front leg presses forward while the rear leg thrusts down and back – opposite directions. This helps stabilize the position and even adds some impetus to the blow.

The only stances that don't use either inward or outward tension are those that involve standing on one leg only. To create inward or outward tension in a stance, it's necessary to have BOTH feet planted on the ground.

In any case, you must not simply “sit” in your stance, leaving it devoid of proper tension. I call this a “dead stance” because once you assume such a position, you can neither move as quickly nor strike as powerfully as you could from a properly “loaded” stance. And in a life and death struggle, that can mean the difference between life and death.

CHICKEN FEET

2026-11-04T22:43:17.772-08:00

by Phillip Starr

One of my senior students who had his own gong-fu club employed a rather unique method to help him determine the sincerity of a prospective student. He didn't advertise at all; so those who came to him for instruction had learned of his group by word of mouth. Of course, most of them were quite certain that they REALLY wanted to learn his art in depth and if they were insistent about it, he'd invite them to lunch.

When they arrived, he'd drive them to a very traditional Chinese restaurant (the area in which he lives has quite a number of such places; they serve authentic Chinese cuisine as opposed to the “made for Americans” version, which is what is usually found in most cities). Once seated, they'd peruse the dim sum delicacies being pushed around on small carts and offered to customers. He'd select (for both of them) something like chicken's feet or other unusual dishes and watch the prospective student's reaction.

If the visitor balked and wouldn't even try the “delicacy” placed before him, he would suggest that the potential student go elsewhere for instruction; clearly, he would shirk trying something that didn't meet his expected “tastes.” He felt that such a person, who was unwilling to try something new in the restaurant, would very likely also be unwilling to “try something new” when it came to learning the art...especially concepts and training routines that didn't fit with his “tastes” and culture.

I experienced the same kind of “tests” when I moved to China some years back. Whenever we'd go out with friends for dinner, they'd see to it that I was offered some rather strange cuisine. My Chinese wife and a few members of her family as well as friends expressed concern that I, as a Westerner, would be unable to adapt to Chinese culture. They sought to test as well as teach me as I was served things like chicken stomachs and intestines in bowls of chicken soup, fish eyes (they're crunchy!), and other tidbits that were clearly foreign to me. And, of course, there were the hot and spicy dishes for which Guangxi Province is known. A couple were peculiar to the city of Liuzhou, where I lived.

A little extreme? Perhaps. But likely fairly accurate.

THE CATFISH AND THE GOURD

2026-11-04T01:47:36.759-08:00

by Phillip Starr

The depiction of a catfish swimming around a gourd is a common sort of decoration in the art of old China and Japan. It can be found as the subject of Zen-inspired ink paintings that are often artistic parables. Why is this? Even if I told you that a dried, hollow gourd was used to catch catfish – that still wouldn't explain why these two things (gourd and catfish) have been so popular among Zen artists. The answer lies in the way that the gourd is used to catch the fish and the meaning behind this story has meaning in both Zen and martial arts training.

If you gave many people a hollow gourd and told them there were catfish in the stream, they'd walk into the water and do their best to scoop up their unwary prey...and come up empty-handed. Catfish are slippery critters and you'd likely die of old age before you could get one into a little opening at the end of a dried gourd. At the very least, you'd get soaking wet and probably create some very colorful adjectives to describe your feelings about using such an idiotic trap.

Those who understand catfish would consider the problem, then wade into the water and gently sink the gourd to the bottom of the stream. Then they'd return to dry land where they'd wait and perhaps make preparations for cooking their fish dinner. They understand the nature of catfish, which are very curious critters. The fish would approach the gourd and examine it for a bit before giving in to the temptation of a quick meal (or perhaps an interloper) and the fish swims into the narrow neck of the gourd to see what's inside...and then he's trapped, unable to turn around in that narrow space and escape.

This has much to do with your approach to learning martial arts. I'm sure you've seen people like the first would-be fishermen I described; they jump in and start flailing around, trying to catch a catfish. They're fun to watch, Perhaps you're even one of them. They come to class with a furious inensity; if a new technique is shown to them, they're relentless and follow their motto - “I'm going to get this right if it takes all night!” And they puff and strain and turn beet red in the face.

This kind of “do or die” enthusiasm is certainly admirable but it doesn't help much in class. That's because even the most basic techniques of any martial art are not entirely (or even predominantly) physical skill. Like the horse-riding stance, which seems simple enough...you can be TOLD how to do it but your body needs some time to “fit in” to it and this isn't going to happen in just one class...or even a week or month. The catfish can't be forced into the gourd.

Another example is that of making wine. Assuming that you knew how, could you – within a couple of weeks – turn out a vintage wine even if you had the best grapes, the finest facilities, and an unlimited budget? No. Wine must age and mature. There are no shortcuts. This process can't be changed, regardless of how much “spirit” you put into it. The martial Way is often compared to a path, which is a fine analogy. But remember that his road has its own peculiar geography and it certainly is nothing like Kansas. Sometimes, the path is so steep that you can hardly raise your eyes. You may come to flatter areas where you can travel more easily and you have insights that provide a broader perspective. Then it'll get rocky and hilly again and there's no way you can see the destination before you've covered the whole of the route.

Now, I'm not saying that you should adopt a lackadaisical attitude. Far from it; you must train with total effort. You may be tempted to despair and think that you'll never be able to get it right – and that's hardly a good frame of mind for class or training on your own. Do your best and give it your total effort. The catfish will be trapped eventually, just as your techniques or forms will eventually come on their own.

You have to train hard but at the same time, you must be mature enough to understand that it's going to take some time. Although patience and time are essential ingredients, they can't replace hours, months, and even years of dedicated practice. You have to understand that there's a balance that must be struck. Like catching fish in a gourd, it may not be the most cost effective way of doing it but in the long run, it's better than chasing the fish all over the stream and ending up with nothing more than getting wet.

THE BROKEN BOW

2026-11-02T22:59:49.591-08:00

by Phillip Starr

“The bow is shattered, arrows are all gone.

At this critical moment, cast aside all doubts.

Shoot, without the slightest delay.”

These lines were penned by Zen master Bukko Kokushi during the Kamakura era (1226-1286) in Japan. Typical of Zen-inspired poetry, it's a bit puzzling. How do you shoot if your bow is broken and your arrows are all gone? For an answer, we must turn to kyudo...most of you have never practiced it and fewer than that will ever engage in it but the answer it provides can be applied to any martial Way.

Kyudo is the Japanese Way of archery. It's one of the less popular martial disciplines, especially outside of Japan (where high-level teachers are pretty much non-existant). Equipment is terribly expensive; a good yumi (the bow, which is handmade with laminations of bamboo and various woods) can cost as much as $4,500.00, although you can get modern ones of considerable less quality for as little as $500. Then, too, the precise dictates of the art seem to have more in common with the tea ceremony than with a bloody fighting art. A kyudo neophyte will spend months learning the intricacies of kyu-ha, the etiquette and rituals of the art.

The details involved are intimidating and all of them must be committed to memory until the practitioner has integrated them on a level that is virtually instinctive. For instance, there are a certain number of steps taken to approach the shooting stand, the angle at which the bow is held when the arrow is nocked must be just right. All of the various facets of the mechanics and movements of drawing and shooting are precisely set into forms that have been formalized for many, many years. And they must all be learned exactly. There is even a set of certain movements used for approaching the target, leaning the bow against it, and removing arrows from the target! Kyudo is a bit long on outer movements, to say the least.

Many of you will think that kyudo focuses an awful lot on seemingly petty details, but consider that a beginning karate or gong-fu student likely thought he could throw a pretty decent punch...until he started training. His chin must be held just so, his shoulders have to be adjusted here, his hips have to move exactly this way, and so on. I've been known to spend as much as two hours going over the details of a simple reverse punch and I could easily have gone on for another two or three. I've seen novices become so overwhelmed by the details of their art that they actually freeze. Their eyes betray their minds, which are frantically trying to recall all of the details...and they become as statues!

Many uninformed people present considerable criticism about this approach to what is allegedly a “fighting art.” They often make very ignorant commentaries, claiming that the practitioner who trains in this way will be so concerned with ensuring that all of the tiny details are just right that he'd be quickly pounded into dogmeat before he can mount an effective defense. This reasoning is based on the erroneous assumption that this stage of training (known as toteki), is the FINAL goal. Not hardly.

In time, the kyudo student (kyudoka) begins to integrate the details of the art into his performance. He doesn't have to count his steps as he approaches the stand; they come out naturally. The arrow is correctly nocked without conscious effort. This is the beginning of what is called zaiteki; the bow and archer are becoming one. Practitioners of other martial Ways may use other terms to describe the same thing; they often speak of mushin (無心 wuxin in Chinese), which is a term often heard in the practice of Zen. Mu (Wu) means “nothing” or “without”, while shin (xin) refers to the mind or consciousness. Thus, the term is often translated as “without consciousness” (also, “no mind”). Rather than inferring that one is unconscious, this term indicates that the practitioner no longer has to consciously “think” about what to do.

The practitioner moves naturally; he has passed beyond the level of training that required him to concentrate on the details of his technique. His movements are spontaneous and correct. The technique has become “no-technique.” If you can drive a car, play the piano, or even tie your shoes, you already are familiar with this concept. But there was a time when you stared at the piano keys and tried to get your fingers to move to the right spots. With lots of practice, you eventually reached a stage wherein you no longer had to think about it; your fingers “knew” where to go.

If you're a skilled typist and you've been at it a while, you'd likely be stumped now if someone asked you about the layout of the keys/keyboard. Like, which keys are on either side of the letter “J?” You may be able to type 80 words a minute, but that question confounds you. That's because you've achieved a certain mushin in your ability to type. Now, there's a considerable difference between the “no-technique” of the highly skilled martial artist and the “non-technique” of the novice. Neither the expert nor the beginner can probably tell you what adjoins the “J” key but that doesn't mean they're at the same level in terms of their understanding and ability to type. One must strive to achieve the stage of “no-technique” and there's no short-cut, no way to bypass technique altogether. It's going to take time. Lots of it.

The bow, the arrows...as the Zen master's poem reminds us, these are external details. Drive yourself past them through severe, unceasing training and effort and press in to the core of the art. When you art is fully integrated in body, mind, and spirit, the bows and arrows, the details of the punch, kick, or throw are unimportant. At the critical moment, as Bukko advised, you must penetrate the target without the slightest delay.

THAT BOW IS A BIT ODD...

2026-11-01T23:02:55.540-08:00

by Phillip “Pete” Starr

Although many martial arts afficionados bow when they enter onto and exit from, the training floor, and to the instructor at the beginning and end of class, most are wholly unaware that there's a proper way to do it. Not just any form of “bowing” will do.

The standing bow is, by far, the most common. It is done the same way, regardless of whether you're in Japan or China. I've mentioned before that unlike what some Westerners believe, China is not the “land of bowing.” That title belongs to Japan. Bowing in China isn't done with nearly the frequency as in Japan; the handshake is much more common, but bowing is often seen in special events such as wedding activities, funerals, and on noteworthy occasions (such as celebrating the memory of a past leader).

Bowing is done as a gesture of respect and in the martial Ways of Japan, it also provides time for preparing the mind and spirit prior to a martial arts class or performance. It has no religious significance whatsoever. The standing bow is performed with the neck kept straight – I've seen many martial arts zealots bow with their necks craned upwards so they can clearly see the other person (having been told that this is essential by their Western teachers – and the eyes looking upwards. To do either of these things is considered very rude. I've seen many practitioners perform a “bow” with nothing more than a nod. This is also very rude and is considered an insult of sorts. The eyes should look at a spot about 8 ft. or so in front of you; and, trust me, you'll be able to see if your partner makes an aggressive movement easily enough. The eyes are NOT turned upward to look directly at your partner.

Males should keep the hands at the sides while women generally place the hands in front of themselves. There is no thigh-slapping whatsoever. I actually did that once and my teacher scowled and said, “Why are you spanking yourself? Are you a naughty boy?” I never did it again. The whole thigh-slapping business was created by Westerners to add a bit of military flair to the bow. It is unnecessary, gauche, and very risky in so far as martial arts are concerned (it's an unnecessary action, which should be avoided).

The kneeling bow is done in a very specific way; the hands are placed flat on the floor (left first, then right...with the fingers turned somewhat inwards). Again, the neck is held straight and the eyes look forward rather than upward. This kind of bow isn't seen in China at all (only in Japan); rather, the Chinese use a “koutou” (known as a “kowtow” in Cantonese), which means roughly “knock the head” and it is used for some religious rituals and to show complete subservience. It is never used in the practice of martial arts. It really hasn't been used much in China since the collapse of Imperial China.

Some gong-fu styles begin their sets with a type of “salute” (oftentimes, one hand is kept open and the other closed in a fist), which is intended to pay respects to senior practitioners and/or teachers who may be present. The salute is sometimes (but rarely) followed by a number of movements or gestures to indicate the form's origins (such as one that has a Buddhist origin). The old style of shaolinquan that I learned featured forms that utilized such gestures.

Because of my involvement in Japanese karate, which I had studied prior to meeting my gong-fu master, Shifu Chen, I would bow before stepping onto the floor of the basement of his home, which is where we trained. He actually thought that paying respect to the training hall/area was a good idea and made sure that I continued to do it, berating me if he felt my bow was too quick or casual. The training hall/place is where we will pour sweat, gasp for air, and bleed in an effort to improve ourselves. Therefore, he told me, it deserved our deepest respect. It is where we “grow up.” Our teachers take time out of their lives to instruct us, so they deserve our deepest respect. And our classmates assisted us (as partners as well as in other ways), so they were worthy of respect as well...more than a simple nod or slapping our legs like trained otters.

BLOCKING? WHY?

2026-10-31T22:49:35.487-07:00

By Phillip Starr

My teacher, Master W. C. Chen, would occasionally remind me, “If you have to use your arms to block attacks and keep them from hitting you, your technique needs work...” Internal systems such as baguazhang and especially xingyiquan, do not make use of powerful, direct blocking techniques. Instead, they make use of making contact with the opponent's arm (or leg) to “make a bridge”, which enables them to feel the enemy's intention and deliver a quick counter-attack. In many cases, even “bridge-building” simply doesn't occur; the opponent is struck immediately as you evade his attack so that all it hits is thin air. There's a saying that tell us, “A sword slicing through the air is harmless...until it meets resistance.” So we offer no resistance whatsoever...

My friend, Master Seiyu Oyata (10^th dan, Okinawan karate, dec.), once told me “There are no blocks in karate.” Initially, this confused me... until he demonstrated the true bunkai (breakdown) of various movements in the kata. Then I could cleary see exactly what he meant. In many cases, a “bridge was established. But in most cases, what was usually regarded as a “block” was actually a strike or joint-twisting technique.

The legendary “sword saint” of Japanese legend, Miyamoto Musashi, spoke along these lines in his famous book on strategy, The Book of Five Rings.

What we generally think of as “blocks” are actually attacks that are applied against the enemy's attacking limb(s) and they are delivered in a very sharp, focused manner. Moreover, they are always followed immediately with a sharp striking or thrusting technique. This will alter the (probably incorrect) manner in which you perform your form(s). There is almost no space between the “block” and the counter-strike (oftentimes, they are performed simultaneously).

A good way to learn how to adjust yourself to this rhythm is to use a metronome (or a classmate tapping two sticks together in a nice, even rhythm). The counter-strikes are to be executed BETWEEN the steady, even beats of the device.

Believe me, a well-focused “block” will quickly dampen an opponent's determination to hit you and will likely impede his ability to do so a second time...

THE BEST NIGHT'S SLEEP...

2026-10-30T23:18:49.983-07:00

by Phillip Starr

Vietnam, 1966. Taekwondo was young and making its debut. Three special ROK divisions were deployed: the White Horse Divison, the Blue Dragon, and the Tiger Division. To even apply for service in one of these units, one had to hold a minimum rank of 2^nd grade black belt in taekwondo. The “uniform of the day” didn't include combat fatigues; it was a karate uniform (the new V-neck style taekwondo uniforms hadn't yet been invented) and rather than doing a lot of close-order drill in the morning, troops practiced basic punches and kicks.

They were as tough as case-hardened steel and absolutely merciless. Both the NVA and VC were terrified of them. In fact, none of their fire bases were ever attacked – throughout the entire war! They preferred to engage the enemy at close quarters, using their hardened fists and feet to quickly dispatch their opponents.

A dear friend of mine (Mike Biggs, dec.) who served in Vietnam for three tours with Special Forces (green berets) told me that the best night's sleep he had the whole time was when he stayed in the White Horse Division's fire base. Giggling, he told me that he slept very soundly, knowing that there were no enemy troops with three miles of the place. Both the NVA and VC went to great lengths to avoid the fire bases of these units.

Mike got the chance to watch the Koreans in their early morning drills and taekwondo practice. “It was brutal”, he said. “Anyone who screwed up was kicked in the head by his Lieutenant”, Mike went on. “If they couldn't find any VC to whip, they'd fight each other!” He was more than a little impressed with their hand-to-hand skills.

Some of the members and instructors of these special divisions emigrated to the U.S., where they could make a good living teaching taekwondo. In Korea, martial arts teachers weren't held in high esteem and were near the bottom of the social ladder. Not so in America! The young Americans who trained under these early taekwondo pioneers endured very tough training, but they developed considerable skill. I remember because I knew many of them.

In fact, U.S. military personnel were stationed in Japan and Okinawa as well and many of them took up the study of martial arts. They would return home and open their schools and clubs, and train their students with the same intensity that they had endured. But with the passage of time, things changed considerably. Training became much less intense and focused. What happened?

ANGRY?

2026-10-29T22:33:18.641-07:00

By Phillip Starr

I was mad enough to spit nails...I'd just started the broadsword form that my teacher was teaching me, and I messed up AGAIN in the SAME SPOT! Sifu Chen didn't move. He just stood there, waiting with his arms folded. I shook my head in disgust at my incompetence and said, “I'm sorry. I messed up AGAIN.” As I prepared to start over, sifu walked up and slapped my shoulder with a loud thwack. “Anger...you cannot afford it! It is a luxury!”

For a couple of seconds, I thought that that was a rather strange way of looking at this all-too-common emotion. But like so many things that sifu said which, on the surface, seemed rather odd, it was worth thinking about. Anger is a luxury because it permits us to focus our attention on only one thing; ourselves. Remember the last time your car stalled in traffic, or you got to the checkout counter at the supermarket and found that you'd forgotten your wallet? At times like these, nothing else in the world was on your mind but YOUR immediate problem. Your mind takes a little vacation...

In an actual fight – the kind of situation where that form was intended to be applied (or any of the others I had learned), that kind of self-indulgence could have cost me my life. As a martial arts practitioner, the price I'd have to pay for the luxury of getting angry was much too high. Some believe that anger “pumps us up” and for some simple situations, that may work – like kicking down a door. But in close combat where one must maintain an awareness of distance, timing, the possibility of multiple assailants – anger has no place at all.

Police officers, soldiers, and other such persons whose vocation may cause outbursts of anger are well aware of the consequences of relying on adrenaline-fueled anger to face emergencies. It wastes energy indiscriminately (usually when we need it most), it robs us of self-control precisely when we need to maintain complete control, and it blurs our minds so that we do not accurately see what is before us. As martial arts practitioners, it is an emotion that we cannot afford to indulge.

A SLOW TEN COUNT

2026-10-29T00:36:01.345-07:00

by Phillip “Pete” Starr

I was once reading an article written by a well-known outdoorsman on the basics of wilderness survival. Such subjects do interest me although the odds of me finding myself stranded out in the bush somewhere are pretty slim (I don't get out much, which is why I'm able to write my own articles and books). Anyway, this author suggested that when one is lost or stranded, one should pause long enough to count to a hundred so that the mind is able to relax enough to absorb the situation fully and focus fully on survival. For day to day situations that are stressful, maybe not a full hundred count – usually a good ten-count will do.

A few moments spent occupying the conscious mind with a simple, repetitive job can be very beneficial. And this is a central goal of the Dao (Do in Japanese)...such as the Japanese tea ceremony and Chinese/Japanese calligraphy. When the visitor to the tea hut pauses outside to rinse his mouth and hands from the water basin that is always there, it's a moment for him to clear his mind from the distractions of daily life. When the calligrapher sits and rubs his ink stick against the stone well, mixing the ink with water, he is not just preparing his utensils; he is doing the same thing...calming his thoughts and centering himself.

We “count to ten” in the martial Ways as well although few take advantage of the natural opportunities they have to do so when at the training hall. Although survival in the wilderness is a bit different from survival in the training hall, the time you take to prepare yourself for the rigors of training can be vital. This moment occurs with some frequency but it's not announced as a special event. One of the main ones occurs when you pause to bow.

In China, martial arts classes rarely involve bowing. It is my opinion that they should. Some gong-fu schools in the U.S. have adopted this practice, but it's very rarely seen in China. In Japanese martial Ways, the class bow is not simply a courtesy; the minds of the students are brought to a state of refined concentration. Matters outside of the training hall (or class in general) are put on hold temporarily. What matters is the lesson and training, and the direct experience of facing yourself through attacks and defenses against others, and the practice of form.

Beginners, who are still fumbling with the technical details of movement and technique generally lack the ability to make a strong, potentially harmful technique. If one of them strikes his partner, the harm done (if any) is usually quite minimal. More senior practitioners, however, are more serious and their technique is much stronger. They must be very mindful of what they're doing. The advanced student must more and more enter training with a complete grasp of the seriousness involved and the real possibility of hurting someone or being hurt himself. For him, the bowing and other such rituals should have greater significance.

Within the older Japanese martial arts (especially those intended for the battlefield) the rituals are a bit longer and more intense. There is more intensity to the bow that is much deeper and more concentrated than that found in lower levels or arts that were not developed for warfare. These forms of bowing and ritual take some time to learn and appreciate. In some of them (especially those exercises involving a partner) it is common to see the two participants advance and retreat a few steps before or after bowing. The elaborate nature of this kind of etiquette suggests that such rituals are more than merely quaint anachronisms, as many outsiders often suspect.

Rather, they are a dynamic way of preparing the participant mentally and spiritually for the rigors of the exercise that is to follow. They're a way of “counting to ten.” And although most modern martial arts devotees may not ever experience these arts and their accompanying rituals, he/she should strive to adopt a similar serious and focused attitude when preparing for training.

So, what if the practitioner practices a discipline in which the bow is little more than a quick nod and a slap of the thighs with the hands? Well, as I said earlier, the more serious the art and training, the more important is the ritual. If the practitioner is content to emgage in limited endeavors of sparring and dance routines (which are often all that's taught and learned in some schools), he/she has no need of ritual. But if he/she wants to devote him/her self to the study of a serious martial form which demands confronting the essentials of life and death, then it is inevitable that the mental/spiritual preparations he/she will need to make in his/her training will be as intense as those required for surviving mortal combat.

A CLEAN SWEEP...

2026-10-28T00:48:02.548-07:00

by Yang Xuangxing

The lowly foot sweep...it rarely gets the attention it deserves. The foot sweep, as used in karate and gong-fu, is a bit of a different animal than that which is used in arts such as judo; in the grappling arts, the sweep is usually employed to throw the opponent to the ground and score a point. In karate and gong-fu, it is used primarily as a means of disrupting the opponent's balance long enough to employ an effective strike or kick.

Although the sole of the foot (the bottom of the instep) is usually employed, many Chinese styles utilize the top part of the foot where it joins the lower leg (forming an “L” shape) as a “foot hook.” The sweep, done with the sole, is applied just above the ankle and although it sounds easy enough to do, it really requires considerable training. I would have students practice with a partner who held a staff vertically, with one end planted firmly on the floor. They had to sweep it with enough power that the staff swung up horizontally. After 25 sweeps with each foot, they learned quickly exactly what part of the foot is to be used. Hitting with the inner edge of the foot is a religious experience...you'll swear you saw God!

I also told them that I knew of people who practiced their sweep against a 55 gallon drum. Then several weeks later during sparring, a young senior student who was something of a “hot dog” was paired to spar with my oldest pupil, who was about 62 or so. The youngster charged in with a driving punch and the older fellow caught him with a sweep that was so powerful, both of the younger guy's feet left the ground and he crashed to the floor. Undiscouraged and very red-faced, he got back up and squared off with the older man again. When he thought the moment was right, he moved in again...but his timing wasn't as sharp as he'd thought. A second sweep, even stronger than the first, sent his backside into the air. It was as though he'd been clipped by a minivan!

After class, I complimented my older student on his sweeping technique. “How did you develop such a strong sweep”, I asked. He chuckled and said he'd practiced with a 55 gallon drum and when he was able to move it with his sweep, he began adding water to it...it was 1/5 full and he could still move it! Small wonder he sent a 160 lb. opponent into the air! I doubled over with laughter and I was amazed at his dedication and hard training!

When I used to compete back in the 60's and 70's, foot sweeps were allowed, so long as they contacted the “boot” area of the ankle and lower leg. Many fighters specialized in this technique. One of the best was from England, a shotokan stylist. I felt sorry for his opponents...he was legs from the armpits down and he used those long legs to sweep his opponents and then deliver punches to them before they'd even hit the ground!

In actual combat, the sweep can readily be applied to the sides of the knee and may cause severe damage to the joint. In some forms, sweeps are “hidden” in the form of kicks. The well-known “crescent-kick” is often eschewed by many instructors who claim that it's just too slow and obvious to be truly effective in combat. And they're right! So, why is it even included in the form...? Certainly, our martial arts forefathers (who used the various movements of the form in actual self-defense) would have recognized that, wouldn't they? Yes, they would and did.

According to my gong-fu teacher many years ago as well as Master Seiyu Oyata (10^th dan, Okinawan karate), the “crescent kick” is actually intended as a sweep. The target areas are the lower legs, ankles, and knees. But the “kick” (sweep) is practiced much higher to foster the development of strong hips, which are essential for effective sweeping. Makes you stop and think, doesn't it?

SUFFER? WHY?

2026-10-27T00:27:31.783-07:00

By Phillip Starr

Training in any given martial discipline frequently involves suffering of one kind or another. Your instructor acts as though it's a good thing and tell you to keep the spirit and endure; he won't let you quit. And so you press on and endure what often seems to be unbearable suffering. Many aspiring devotees give up and throw in the towel. Is all this really necessary?

In a word, yes.

Enduring that which seems unendurable fosters the development of character and a strong spirit, indomitable will, and perseverance. Some will insist that they can (or have) developed these attributes without having had to endure some form of physical and/or mental/emotional discomfort. They are wrong. They may THINK they have, but no...

There is an old saying that tells us, “I've learned more from pain than I ever could have learned from pleasure.” And it's true. It's true not just for the practice of martial arts, but for life in general. Overcoming that pain is what builds character and perseverance. It makes us who and what we are.

SHU, HA, RI

2026-10-26T02:01:06.340-07:00

by Phillip Starr

“Shu, Ha, Ri”....words sometimes heard in the practice of Japanese swordsmanship but their meaning can be easily applied to any martial discipline, regardless of its place of origin. These terms represent the three main stages of development.

SHU (守) means to protect or obey. It is traditional wisdom; learning the fundamentals and basic techniques. This is where we all must begin. Getting through this stage takes time and a great deal of practice. The movements must be trained thoroughly so they come second-nature and are fully “internalized” so that you no longer have to “think” about how to do them correctly.

In the Chinese stage of progression, this is known as EARTH (地 , di). It is the stage of learning the fundamentals. There are no short-cuts; this stage can't be completed in just a few weeks or months. It's more than just learning the basics and remembering them. They must be learned thoroughly in minute detail so that they are absolutely correct every time you practice them.

HA (破) means “to detach, digress.” In China, it is referred to as the stage of HUMAN (人 , ren). In this advanced stage, we may make innovations but they must be grounded in the foundation we built in the previous stage. Some people have interpreted this stage as breaking with tradition and tossing away that which we struggled to learn earlier. This is grossly incorrect.

It means that we so internalize the techniques and forms that we perform them in perfect accordance with our own bodies and minds. This doesn't infer that we necessarily find a “new” way of doing them; our bodies have adapted to them and they have become a part of our natural being. There is no longer any thought of “I am doing this technique/form”; the technique/form just does itself.

RI (離), known as TIAN (天 , Heaven) in Chinese arts, means “to leave, separate.” You no longer think in terms of techniques and you act in accordance with what your mind desires; unhindered, while not overstepping laws/principles. To reach this stage requires many years of arduous practice.

The problem is that many practitioners, anxious to explore their own creativity and “do it their way” often assume that they have reached the limits of the first two stages after a rather short time and believe that they can then “have it their way.” This is where we see “freestyle forms” and eclectic martial disciplines sprout up... There are many who push against the edges of the envelope, chomping at the bit to break free of the restraints of tradition and they often decide much too early that they're ready to sprout their own wings and “be free.” The first indication that they are far from ready is that their desire to “break free” exists at all.

There are reasons for tradition. Adhering to many of them can be tiresome and frustrating but they're not there just as a matter of exotic, Asian decoration. They often serve as the “shells” of the eggs within which we develop. The shell should not be broken too early...

RULES?

2026-10-24T23:43:43.361-07:00

By Phillip Starr

Rules, rules, rules...they're the main reason why good traditional martial arts practitioners sometimes lose competitions against boxers and MMA devotees. I define “rules” as follows: “a convention which help to ensure fair play, so long as they are followed by all involved participants.” Of course, if one (or more) participants refuse to adhere to the rules, those who do strive to adhere to them are guaranteed to lose.

Imagine a boxing match wherein only one of the fighters had to follow the rules. Which one do you think stands the best chance of winning? Boxing, per se, was developed as a sport and all sports involved the enforcement of certain rules. So boxing evolved within that framework. The same is true of MMA.

Traditional forms of karate and gong-fu were never intended to be applied as sports and consequently. They didn't care much about rules. There weren't any. Survival was the only concern. But human nature being what it is, competitions were developed and this necessarily required the development of rules to ensure not only fairness, but to reduce the chances of injury or worse. Many martial forms became “sportified.”

Now, when a practitioner of one of those traditional disciplines competes against, say, a boxer – and he's required to adhere to boxing rules – who is most likely to win? Even with their rules in place, traditional martial arts allowed for wide variety of techniques, which are forbidden in boxing;

*In boxing one cannot strike with the edge of the glove in the manner of a sword-hand strike.

*Striking to targets on the back are also forbidden.

*No striking is permitted below the waist.

*NO kicking or foot-sweeping is allowed at all.

*You cannot strike with your elbows or knees...

And so on and on. Moreover, modern martial arts competitions forbid techniques directed to the eyes and other such things that can result in severe injury. The original martial forms had NO interest in following any sets of rules. The object was to end the conflict as quickly as possible. This sometimes meant that at least one of the participants wouldn't go home after the fight. Ever.

If a boxer who was required to stick to the rules was put up against a traditional martial arts practitioner who was allowed to do anything he wanted, who do you suppose would walk away?

Remember, rules work only if ALL participants adhere to them...

THE RECEPTIVE MIND

2026-10-23T22:59:14.715-07:00

by Phillip Starr

Nyunanshin. It's a Japanese term that is sometimes heard in conjunction with learning traditional martial arts. It means, roughly, “soft-heartedness” and refers to the student's mental and even spiritual receptivity to instruction. Nowadays, we'd call it “open-mindedness” as opposed to being “close-minded” or “stiff-necked.” Heaven knows I've certainly had my share of students who, although they expressed a strong desire to learn martial arts, weren't particularly receptive to certain aspects of the Way. And I've had some who were actually “unteachable.”

I tell beginning students (and sometimes have to remind them periodically) that they must maintain a condition of receptivity – total receptivity of both mind and spirit if they are to truly learn. I have found that some build a sort of “wall” around certain subjects and won't allow new considerations/ideas to be absorbed and studied, contemplated, and/or expressed. This seriously stunts their growth in the arts and may even stop it altogether.

To truly learn and mature in the traditional martial Ways, you must set aside notions of what you think they SHOULD be, how they should be taught or practiced, and so on. Take the blinders off, open your eyes, your mind, and your heart, and be willing to see fully.

REAL KNOWLEDGE

2026-10-22T23:23:16.781-07:00

by Phillip Starr

There is a Chinese saying that tells us, “Real knowledge comes only through direct experience.” This is, I feel, very applicable to martial arts. It's not so much a question of how a given technique or combination is to be applied; rather, it's more applicable to just HOW a given technique or movement is to be done and WHY it is done in such and such a way.

Simply learning a given technique isn’t enough. You may be able to do it in a basic way, but you don’t truly KNOW how to do it. And you won’t know that until you CAN DO IT! Seem like a bit of a quandary? It is…

A good example of this is my senior student, Hiro Misawa. He became very interested in finding the most efficient way of executing a lunging punch. Generally, this is presented to novices as a simple forward step and thrust with the fist…and no instruction beyond that is provided. But there’s more. Lots more.

Although any technique or movement will suffice, we’ll use Hiro’s lunging thrust (known as “oi-tsuki” in Japanese, and it may be called “sudden chasing thrust: - 突追招 tu zhui zhao –in Chinese, which means the same as the Japanese translation), with which Hiro is enamored at this time. He has seen me as well as other teachers (such as the famed Naka sensei in Japan) do it and has seen Kuroda sensei (the best swordsman in Japan) virtually vanish before his opponent, and he determined to learn how to do it.

He’s previously trained with the legendary Hino sensei and he reflected on Hino’s words as well as those of Kuroda sensei and another revered teacher who wrote down his ideas many years ago. He understood that before anything else, he’d have to eliminate all unnecessary tension before executing the movement, and study – in minute detail – just how certain joints had to move (such as the elbow, shoulders, and knees) without creating tension. That required several months of introspection and feeling what was happening inside his body as he moved. We would talk and bit by bit, he came to understand the ultra-fine and subtle changes that had to be made to his posture and balance, and the timing of the thrust. After about a year, he began to truly understand how the lunge punch is to be done.

For starters, the lunging thrust is an ATTACKING technique. It generally isn’t applied as a counter-punch. So – if it’s to be used as an attack, how do we apply it with any chance of success? You rarely see anyone use it as an attack nowadays…they’ll tell you it’s too slow and your opponent can easily see it coming and either evade it and deliver a quick counter. The real translation of this is, “I don’t know how to do it correctly.”

In teaching this technique at many seminars, I can see the disbelief on the faces of participants when I tell them that I can easily use this technique successfully and there is no defense against it; by the time my opponent sees it, he’s been hit. They still don’t buy it, so I invite a couple of their top fighters to spar…and I demonstrate the truth of my claim, even at my advanced age. It is a fine example of not truly KNOWING until you CAN DO it.

But there’s more; catching “the right moment” is also crucial. Understanding and FEELING this concept of distance and timing (which, he came to realize, are the same thing) takes more time. And the whole movement must be made just so; if done correctly, an opponent who is standing in front of you cannot see the technique coming! Understanding how to do it is one thing, but everything changes when you actually CAN do it! Real knowledge and understanding comes about ONLY through physical practice. Many like to intellectualize about how something is to be done, but very few comes to actually KNOW how it’s to be done; most people just won’t put in the required time and arduous physical practice.

QI MA-BU, THE STORY OF A HORSE STANCE AND THE BOY WHO LOVED HIM..

2026-10-21T22:53:14.375-07:00

By Yang Xuangxing

I couldn't resist it...one of my senior students (literally thousands of moons ago and his name is John Morrow) blurted those words whenever it was time to practice the horse-riding stance. It didn't make the junior students feel any better but it got more than a few chuckles out of me... Got your attention, didn't it?

Arthur Lee was a dear friend and probably the world's highest authority on the style of Fut-Ga Gong-Fu. A stickler for mastering the basics, he especially focused on the importance of the “ma” (he was referring to the familiar horse-riding stance, often called “ma-bu” or “qi ma-bu” in Chinese and “kiba-dachi” in Japanese). He would say that “no root” also meant “no (martial arts) strength.” He insisted that regular practice of the “ma” would help lower the qi to the dantien (tanden in Japanese); that such training was the most effective way to accomplish this task.

I've been teaching the martial ways for just over 60 years and to this day, I stress the importance of the proper “ma.” Many moons ago at a national event, a world-famous gong-fu teacher (who shall remain unnamed) approached Sifu Lee and asked if he'd teach some of his senior students. Arthur told me that he declined. “They have no 'ma'”, he said with a frown. Gesturing to his chest and arms, he continued, “Their strength is up here. They fall over easily. No real power.” Then he flattered me...”Your students have a very good 'ma.' Would any of them like to learn Fut-Ga?” Fut-Ga is the style that Arthur taught. It's a very old form (perhaps the oldest) of shaolinquan, and Arthur was likely the world's highest authority on it.

I remember my own teacher, Master W.C. Chen, emphasizing the same thing and over the years, I have found it to be true. Those who fail to develop a strong “ma” invariably rely wholly on upper-body strength to generate power and it is insufficient. They may THINK they're doing well enough, but it's an illusion and without a proper “ma” they will never develop a high level of skill.

MORE THAN TECHNIQUE

2026-10-20T22:36:54.369-07:00

by Phillip Starr

For all the attention that is, and must be, given to learning proper techniques, there is a subtle development that is also being fostered. Our instructors constantly correct our movements, berate us for doing them incorrectly, and insist that we repeat them over and over. I remember my own primary gong-fu teacher, W. C. Chen, making us perform punches over and over until I literally thought I was going to puke! He didn't appear to care; he was focused on our performance...and as I got older, I realized that he was also watching something else. Something none of us could see. But he could.

When we made to stand in the horse-riding posture for extended periods, I began to refer to the practice as a “religious experience” because I thought I could see God! Our legs would burn and shake uncontrollably...and then, one by one, we'd collapse in a heap. I'd struggle back to my feet and start again as did most of my classmates. A few would just sit for several minutes, rubbing their legs. They wouldn't be back. But those of us who persisted with the exercise would...

There were numerous other forms of self-torture that we were admonished to practice...every day (like the xingyiquan posture of santi). And then there were the basics that we repeated incessantly, until both our bodies and minds became numb. And the forms...over and over again and again. And again. Many times I wondered if my body could continue to take it.

Small injuries such as split lips, bloodied nose, muscle spasms...were patched on the spot and we'd continue with practice. Gut it out. We thought nothing of it. We got stronger but more importantly, we became mentally tougher. And that's what our teacher was looking for; the development of an indomitable spirit, the willingness to persevere regardless of what we had to endure.

It prepared us not only for personal combat, but for life.

MAKING SACRIFICES

2026-10-19T23:26:57.366-07:00

by Yang Xuangxing

New students are sometimes surprised and more than a few are disheartened when I tell them that following the martial path is going to require making some sacrifices. Oftentimes, it means making changes in their lifestyles; changes that usually involve having to make some sacrifices. And that's rarely a comfortable thing to do.

One of the most common problems lies in the ability to attend class. Class times may run afoul of one's hobbies, job, or family activities. I never ask that a student sacrifice family functions (the importance of family is paramount, in my opinion) but hobbies, spending time with one's buddies, and even job conflicts? Oftentimes, yes. I sometimes changed jobs because my current one interfered with my ability to train. It may not have been a wise choice in so far as income goes, but my training was placed higher on my list of priorities. And training always took priority over hobbies as well.

I remember wanting a particular sword very badly. I simply couldn't afford it outright, so I saved up money by eating simpler meals and not spending money on anything that I didn't absolutely have to have. It didn't take long for the extra money to accumulate and I eventually bought that sword. I still have it. And I still practice with it regularly.

It's a question of how badly you want to learn and what level of skill you want to reach. If you want something badly enough, you'll make the necessary sacrifices. If not, you'll make excuses.

THE LONELY JOURNEY

2026-10-19T01:39:54.446-07:00

by Phillip Starr

For all of the colorful verbage we hear about walking the martial path, there is a consideration that is rarely mentioned. When you step onto this path, you must do it for yourself. You will begin alone and although you may enjoy the camaraderie of some fellow travelers from time to time, you must take each step alone. And of course, there will be times when you are completely alone and sometimes the burden of this aloneness weighs heavy on you. Many there are who can tolerate the loneliness for only so long before they turn around and go back.

For those who continue along the Way, there are the naysayers. Many of them mean well; they simply don't understand why on earth you want to be so involved in what they perceive as a rather exotic and foreign hobby. “Why do you have to be so different?”, they ask. “Why don't you do XX or XXX?” If you let it, this kind of babbling can really get to you. Rather than try to understand what you're doing and why you're doing it, they reject it out of hand because it's foreign to them and doesn't fit into their “box.” It doesn't necessarily mean that they're trying to be cruel or uncaring; they just don't understand.

Those who truly seek the Way are on a quest of sorts; striving towards a goal that cannot be reached in this single lifetime; perfection. And such an enterprise brings with it all forms of suffering – mental, spiritual, and even emotional – which must be borne in solitude; the only relief is to be found through more intense practice. We try to find the answers to questions that are themselves difficult to understand. Oftentimes, just discovering the question itself is a profound discovery. But this is the Way we have chosen to follow. For a lifetime.

FOUR PILLARS OF KARATE

2026-10-17T23:00:00.058-07:00

by Phillip Starr

There is an old Okinawan adage that reminds us that proper karate training consists of three essential parts, although they also include a fourth. These are sometimes referred to as the “Three (actually, Four) Pillars of Karate.” It is believed that one must practice all of them and refrain from neglecting any one of them. And they apply to all other martial disciplines as well...

The first pillar is Kihon (basics). Without regular (as in “daily”) practice of these, everything else falls apart. They must be practiced and continuously polished until they become a part of you. There is no end to striving to perfect the kihon. Beginning students often just lob them out into space, but this will lead nowhere. Each punch, each kick must be executed with yi (intention) and a strong spirit.

If we compare martial arts to language, the kihon are the words. They mustn't be garbled or mispronounced.

The second pillar is Kata (forms). As with the individual kihon, kata must be practiced and polished daily. It isn't necessary for you to practice ALL of the kata that you have learned every day; in fact, trying to do so would end in disaster! You'd quickly become bored, discouraged, or frustrated (or all of these) and discontinue your practice. You must FOCUS on the kata 100%. Select just one or two to practice on a given day.

If the kihon are words and phrases, so the kata are sentences and paragraphs that comprise a book. They are the ways of expressing the kihon in a coherent manner.

Kumite is the third pillar. It does not, however, refer only to freestyle sparring; it refers instead to practice routines that involve a partner. There are numerous two-person training routines besides sparring and training with them properly will develop genuine fighting skill. These include three and one-step fight, and freestyle one-step fight. Because they require a partner, such routines cannot necessarily be practiced daily, but they can and should be practiced in every class.

The Makiwara (literally, “rolled straw”) or striking post forms the fourth pillar. It will ensure that your Kihon are correct and it will polish, strengthen, and sharpen them. If the kihon are compared to using a sword, the makiwara is the sharpening stone. And it is where the blade is tempered. You wouldn't want to rely on a dull blade or one that's fashioned out of cheap iron, would you? It's better to have a razor-sharp sword made of the finest steel. And the striking post will make sure that you do.

An old friend of mine, “Sherm” Harrill once said, “Any karate school that doesn't have a makiwara is just teaching people how to dance.” And I agree. It's akin to a boxing school that is void of heavy bags...

Remember these Four Pillars. They're what your art and skill are based on.

FOOD AS MEDICINE

2026-10-17T01:35:35.010-07:00

by Phillip Starr

Basic Chinese medical theory is, in my opinion, seamlessly merged with the culture of that nation (probably more so than the average Chinese citizen suspects). One example is that of their diet. Unlike Westerners who tend to eat on the run and often garf down whatever is quick and easy, the Chinese thoroughly enjoy their native food and take time to adequately prepare good meals.

Although some Western fast-food restaurants can be found (such as McDonalds, KFC, and Pizza Hut) and they're usually rather crowded, most Chinese readily admit that they're very much aware that this kind of food is “bad for the body” and the truth is that they go to them just every now and then rather than on a regular basis; they're regarded as something special that's been imported from the West...a novelty (kind of disappointing to think that these are often held up as “American Food”...).

Traditional Chinese medical theory holds fast to ancient teachings regarding Yin and Yang, the so-called Five Elements, the Five Flavors, and so on. And although the average Chinese housewife cannot necessarily expound on the intricacies of these subjects, they understand something of their essense and utilize them in the preparing of daily meals. For instance, the so-called Five Elements – Earth, Metal, Wood, Fire, and Water - feature certain flavors. These are: Sweet, Sour, Salty, Bitter, and Pungent. And each (complete) Chinese meal contains a bit of all five flavors which, they believe, contributes to good overall health. Their food is also their daily “medicine.”

And since good health is necessary in order to keep up daily training, martial arts followers are careful to maintain a good diet. They take their medicine daily.

2026-10-15T22:31:33.776-07:00

DON'T HAVE TIME...?

by Phillip Starr

In 2016 I met sensei Hino Akira while I was visiting Japan. A world-renowned martial arts master, Hino sensei began his martial arts career in karate. Being extremely devoted and determined to learn the secrets of high skill, he practiced arduously every day, doing sanchin kata daily for up to eight hours! That in itself is a testament to his dedication! However, he realized that what he had learned and practiced wasn't going to let him improve his skill as much as he wanted, so he began going through the ancient martial arts writings with a fine-toothed comb...and he gradually re-discovered various principles that had been long forgotten. He set out to present his findings to the martial arts community and is now in demand worldwide (especially in Europe).

Although he travels quite extensively, he also conducts training in the spacious dojo that he installed in his home. In the photo below, you can see Hino sensei's beautiful home. Pretty nice inside and out, huh? It's even more impressive when you discover that HE BUILT THE WHOLE THING HIMSELF! He didn't design it and then hire people to do the actual construction. He pounded every single nail himself. And held down a full-time job to boot.

And he kept up with his training. Every. Day. Although he's certainly not a very physically imposing specimen, he has an iron will and perhaps even more importantly, an unquenchable desire to learn and improve himself. Now at the age of 75+, he continues with his daily regimen. So next time you're about to say, “I don't have time to practice at home”, consider Hino sensei...