The First Encounter

 

(thanks for the inspiration BB)

The first time I encountered my ego (that I remember) would have been in the 5th grade in elementary school. I was small and had a big mouth, but I was usually the smartest kid in class. I loved knowing the right answers and had my hand up all day every day. Having the teacher call on me and me giving the right response was my personal endorphin. I don't think I was actually smarter, maybe I just cared about being right more than the other kids. They were busy with hobbies and sports and friends. I had almost none of those. I read a lot of books and so I was usually much further ahead of the class on any given topic. This made me feel good. It made me feel worthwhile.

In 5th grade, the Bradfords moved to town. Chris was my age and his family had a lot of siblings, living in a big house at the end of a cul-de-sac, walking distance from school. Chris wasn't just smarter than me. He was smarter than me at everything, in every class. Ridiculously smarter than me. He would go on to take a full load of AP classes in high school, graduate as class valedictorian and go to West Point, then law school. Yeah, I know. In retrospect, I think I, too, have had an amazing life, but I was never going to be his intellectual or academic equal. It was not even a fair fight. I was humbled.

Throughout my life, including 45 years in martial arts, I've had my ego smashed down agin and again. There have always been those around me that are better, more knowledgeable, training harder. If I compared myself to them I would have been miserable the whole time, and probably have quit by now.

Kali Majapahit was a special kind of ego-killer. Punong Guro Fred was spectacular. Not just as a martial artist but as an academic (Chinese and Tibetan Buddhism, Freemasonry, Esoterica, etcetera - he wrote over a dozen books) and as a human being.  Guro Lila was his counterbalance; always smiling and quiet but with a ferocious and untamable warrior spirit. Not just that, the other students were fantastic as well; athletic, passionate, powerful. With my background I felt I should have been... better. I just wasn't.

I struggled with every movement and technique. This was initially very hard to accept, however I resigned myself to the fact that patience, repetition, discipline and just plain old stubbornness would ultimately help me improve.

Even as recently as my 4th dan test in June, I have had to contend with and sublimate my ego. This is necessary to accept who and how I am so that I can change, grow and improve. It's easy to say but hard to do. I didn't do as well as I wanted to but I must accept the result and keep going.

For some, not being immediately "good" at Kali is a blow to their ego, especially if they come from long backgrounds training in other systems (as I did) or had strong athletic backgrounds (I didn't). The fact is, Kali is unique among martial art systems and Kali Majapahit is unique among Kali systems. Without specific training in it, there is no realistic reason to expect to be able to pick it up easily. At the beginning, we all suck.

That also means that when you see someone who is genuinely good at Kali Majapahit there can only be one reason they are - training. Every rank in our system is hard-earned with blood, sweat and tears. The tests are extreme and are great ways to learn to let go of your ego - they are humbling to say the least. All of mine have been.

For new students, I encourage you to give yourselves grace - allow yourselves the time to become good. Train diligently and let the hours speak for you. Be proud to be a student. It's a noble path.

For advanced practitioners, always remember how you got here - the journey and the many steps it took. Have empathy and compassion for others, and yourself as well, so that you keep moving forward.

For instructors, make sure it is always about THEM and not about you. Be grateful to be part of their story, if even for a little while. We will be measured by how many lives we have touched.

Learn to accept the person in the mirror.

See you at class

 

The Beautiful Game

 

(thanks for the inspiration Joe Perry)

I am far from the first one to draw parallels between the world of martial arts and the world of chess. Even Wu Tang Clan, famous NYC hip hop legends, made songs like "Mystery of Chessboxin" about it. Several of my blog posts reference chess, including this one from back in 2006 (before I started KM) and this one from 2018.

Having said that, the connection goes much deeper than many people realize. Last night a great conversation with one of my dedicated students reminded me.

Sportsmanship - learning how to win (and lose)
Chess can teach us so much and give us insight into others as well as ourselves. By studying chess we can learn to better understand our emotions and those of our opponents. Chess is not only a logical game, it is at times passionate and impulsive. If we must always win, then we face the chance that we may also lose. Rather, if we are intent on learning, either outcome becomes easier to accept. Martial arts is exactly like this. If I were upset about "losing" or being touched in sparring or about being tapped out on the mats; if I became emotional and had a tantrum, not only would it disrupt my own harmony and impair my learning, it would do so for my opponent and maybe even others in the gym. It is far more productive to analyze my performance, what happened, and what I can do to improve. This is not from the standpoint of punishing myself, but rather for the sake of benefitting from each experience. I learn far more from a technique gone wrong than I do from a technique which always works. This was a very important reminder from my last grading in June.

Game Phases 
Both chess and martial arts matches have distinct phases that require distinct strategies. In every encounter there is a beginning, middle and end. In chess these are, respectively, the opening, the midgame and the endgame (checkmate or stalemate). In martial arts, specifically Japanese martial arts, you may hear them referred to as Irimi 入り身 or Sekkin 接近, Waza 技 and Zanshin 残心. The goals and objectives of each stage are very different, but they should flow seamlessly together.

The Opening
When we open or close distance, our goal is to read the board and find an advantageous position as quickly as possible. In chess this often (but not always) means activating key pieces and controlling the center of the board to establish defense and set up lines of attack once we discover the opponent's weaknesses. In fighting it is basically the same. Together with the initial hit, Atemi 当て身, we should already have used our footwork to be in the best relative position, and have struck to unbalance our opponent and create an opportunity to close.

The Midgame
Once we close, our technique should develop based on sensitivity to the partner. They push; I pull. They use circular motion, I use straight lines. In a sense, their reaction to the opening helps determine what happens next. In chess, the timing of my attack will depend on the aggressiveness of my opponent. It may take longer to erode his/her defenses or cause me to use the edges of the board more than the center, for example. In the Japanese martial arts, warriors seek decisiveness (one strike one kill) while in the FMA we may prefer a flurry of attacks in order to overwhelm our opponent. These could span inside and outside lines, high/medium/low lines, largo/medio/corto ranges. There are nearly limitless possibilities across the combination of weapons/tools/subsystems to choose from. It is this element that makes FMA fascinating. Like chess, the possibilities for expression are endless.

The Endgame
The midgame should lead to an inevitable end conclusion: checkmate or stalemate. If I am in control, my technique should naturally lead me to the finish. This could be my successful escape, my opponent giving up, my opponent being incapacitated or, if unavoidable, loss of life. As much as possible, we should minimize injury to others. In chess, thankfully, the outcomes are not so dramatic. My opponent may resign if the outcome is indisputable. They may be checkmated, and hopefully I do so without malice or ego (ie. not trying to take every single piece before the checkmate). Where possible, I want to respect my opponent's effort and be grateful for the challenge, regardless of whether I win or lose the match. When my position is untenable, I may seek a stalemate, which is preferable to being checkmated. In fighting, this may mean that neither of us can continue.

A good chess player knows the attributes of every piece and how to use them in combination. They can develop and play both a defensive and an offensive game. They can be patient as well as daring and are able to think a few moves ahead, always with an outcome in mind. Likewise, good chess players manage themselves so that ego does not cause frustration, since that would inhibit learning and growth.

In martial arts, good jiu jitsu players know that they should tap out of a losing position quickly enough to avoid injury, and that there is absolutely no shame in doing so. The best players loved to be submitted since it is the best way to truly understand technique and strategy. In chess, losing a match with grace and dignity is one of the hallmarks of a great player's mindset.

In Closing
Martial arts is about so much, much more than punching and kicking. Techniques are vehicles for exploration, discovery and growth. Through the training we learn about ourselves and others and help develop the characteristics that will help us become the most successful version of ourselves. With the right mindset, we can (and should) use this training every single day. Chess is another way to do the same.

"It is bad when one thing becomes two. One should not look for anything else in the Way of the Samurai. It is the same for anything that is called a Way. If one understands things in this manner, he should be able to hear about all ways and be more and more in accord with his own." - Hagakure, Yamamoto Tsunetomo