Tag Archive for 'martial art'

The art of ninjutsu (August 1999)

‘This isn’t for everyone,’ John Cantor’s sensei informed him, referring to the ancient art of ninjutsu. But for a small group of men meeting weekly in Tsuruhashi, ninjutsu is more than a martial art. It is also a way to deal with the challenges of everyday life.
Ninjutsu, renowned for stealth, shrouded in mystery, steeped in legend and popularized with cartoon animation, may in fact be far more down to earth than most would imagine. Cantor explained the principles that ninjutsu practitioners should strive to live by:
  • Patience comes first. Stephen Hayes, the renownd ninjutsu expert, has noted that ninjutsu can be translated into “Even if you hold a blade over my heart, I will persevere. I will succeed.”
  • The path of man comes from justice.
  • Renounce avarice, idolatry and obstinacy.
  • Experiencing sadness and worry is natural. The practitioner, however, seeks the “immovable heart.” One must make the heart and spirit clean; one must strive to comfort people.
  • Ninjutsu practitioners–or “bujutsuka”, nowadays preferable to “ninja” for the many associations people make with the latter word–must not stray from the path of loyalty and brotherly love.
These principles hardly seem to depict the stealthy warriors who could send fear-or a blade–through the heart of the bravest samurai. While some ninjutsu methods can be traced to ancient China, the art flourished during Japan’s medieval warring states period (mid-12th to 16th centuries). The techniques were most often used for military operations. Two main schools developed during this period, the Iga school in Mie Prefecture and the Koga school in Shiga. With the peace that the Edo Period (1600-1868) brought came a change from verbal transmission to a more systemized, codified approach. Principally, the ninjutsu master Fujibayashi Samuji wrote, in 1676, the Mansen Shukai, which brought together techniques and practices from both schools.
Ninja, who were principally spies, often fought for their village, against the aristrocracy. Ninja were in fact the elite of elite, capable not only of enduring great pain, but also of using their bodies and ordinary objects in extraordinary ways. Training for would-be ninja began early, usually from around five years old, and included training for balance and endurance as well as ninjutsu techniques. Legends of ninja’s mystical powers can be tracd to antiquity in Japan. Many of the more fantastical claims about the ninja’s powers can be easily explained, says Cantor.
“Imagine you’re a proud samurai warrior,” Cantor suggests. “You’re riding horseback when you’re bushwhacked, overpowered and robbed by a man in black. What story are you going to tell when you return to the castle? Of course you’re going to describe a being of magical powers, one who changed form to overcome you. This way the warrior retained a semblance of face, and these stories multiplied over time.”
Ninjutsu practice differs from most martial arts in that it has no fighting matches for advancement–one aspect of ninjutsu that turned Cantor on to it some 13 years ago.
Hatsumi-sensei, who lives in Noda, Chiba Prefecture, is a Japanese “living treasure” for his knowledge and skill ninjutsu. Cantor has often had the opportunity to study with Hatsumi-sensei in Japan, and was encouraged by him to set up a dojo in Osaka in 1992.
The Bujinkan Kansai International Dojo is a branch of a worldwide organization with over 5,000 members. Australia, Europe and America all have a significant number of practitioners. Not surprisingly, ninjutsu is practised rather seriously in Israel as well.
Would-be practitioners must conentrate on technique until the movements flow naturally, without thought. During the Saturday morning practice, the class practiced various rolls, and striking and dodging techniques. The technique of ninjutsu, to a large extent, focuses on body knowledge. Cantor notes that mainly, ninja were not trained to fight, but to strike and run. Everthing practiced has an aim towads practicality, towards usage in actual combat situations rather than competition. Practicality, in fact, is a key principle for bujutsuka. The other four include individuality–following one’s own path fearlessly; versatility; achievement; and practicing for “the benefit of all concerned.”
Some of the ancient weaponry, like the collapsible bamboo poles for scaling walls (shinobikumade), the starlike objects thrown on the ground to injure a pursuer’s feet (makibishi), and the sicle-like object for binding and killing adversaries (shinobigama) are still practiced with today. While the weaponry is obviously archaic, the self-dfeense principles learned can be applied to everyday objects, like lampcords and combs.
The Saturday class achieved a level of relaxed concentration, with laughter occasionally breaking the intensity, and the more skilled practitioners squared off with newcomers.
As much as the bujutsuka’s art is physically demanding, in the end it’s the mental development–the warrior’s philosophy–that more deeply depicts the path of ninjutsu. Cantor explained that one studies ninjutsu in order to study the self, to live more naturally, to transform oneself. The group is introduced to meditation techniques in the dojo and are encouraged to practice at home. At the back of the training manual, in large letters, is a quote from the Japanese Edo warrior/philosopher Yusan reminding the Bujutsuka of their true aim:
“The idea most essential to the warrior is that of death, which he ought to hav before his mind day and night, night and day from dawn first day of the year until the last minute of the last day of it… Think of what a frail thing life is, especially that of a warrior. This being so, you will ome to consider every day of your life your last and dedicate it to the fulfilment of your obligations.”
It’s no wonder that approximately 95% of new students drop out in the first year. Bujutsuka in Japan are aware of–and thankful for–the improbability of actually applying their physical defense practices. Cantor stresses that ninjutsu is really about success in life. Rank in ninjutsu–which isn’t influenced by competition–not only involves mastery over an array of weapons, movements, and the study of strategy, but also of living a full, successful life. This ability to achieve success seapartes the ranks of practitioners at the level of 5th dan and above.
The perseverance needed in pursuing an art with the loftiest objectives clearly motivates Cantor. With all the profound quotes that Cantor has encountered, and that surround the art of ninjutsu, the simplest had the the greates impace on Cantor’s life. “John, keep going,” Hatsumi-sensei implored. “Keep going.”

The slow dance (KTO July 1999)

Once, in the presence of my friend Robert, I told a Japanese friend that I thought tai-chi wasn’t really a martial art. Robert’s eyes widened and he forced me to utilize my defense tacics to parry his verbal blows. Robert teaches tai-chi in California and knows there’s much more to this ancient art than the slow rhythmic movements that most people are exposed to.
For my part, I wasn’t just referring to second-hand knowledge. I had spent many weeks in America “grasping the sparrow’s tail” (the one move I still remember) and trying to gain fluidity, grace, and tune into the mysterious Chinese concept of “chi.” My sensei never even implied that I would ever be able to ward off an attacker or spar successfully with a Thai kick boxer, as I later saw Robert do. It all depends on your brand of tai-chi, and your teacher.
The comparatively recently developed Yang style tai-chi places the emphasis on slow, fluid movements to enhance the flow of chi, heal the body, and sharpen the mind. Practitioners are encouraged to relax, a key element of Yang style. For a beginner, it’s hard to shake cynical tendancies, the feeling that the moves are utterly ordinary–and for the biginner they probably are. One friend parodies tai-chi moves by doing it while snatching glances at his watch. But when you watch an accomplished teacher–like Kyoto’s Muranaka-sensei–gracefully flow through the movements, you know there’s profound learning for those willing to stay with the art.
Muranaka-sensei teaches Chen-style tai-chi. Chen-style, which is also referred to as “big style,” places more emphasis on stability, stretching and extending. Muranaka-sensei explains that the practice is not about copying movemnts, but about cultivating energy. Each person necessarily has a different experience and a different result.
Unlike many martial arts where practitioners seek the physical power and technique to defeat opponents, tai-chi is not about defeating your opponent, nor is it even about developing physical power. Tai-chi legend holds that about 800 years ago Zhang San Feng saw a magpie fight a snake. He marvelled at the fluidity and sofness that the animals displayed and, after retreating to a hermitage to experiement with forms, developed tai-chi chuan after several years. Thus, a modern tai-chi axiom states, “Use four ounces to deflect 1,000 pounds.” One should attack through yielding and use your opponent’s momentum and change its direction.
For those with a bent towards Eastern philosophy, there’s a treasury of profound thinking in this tradition. Chi, also known as prana, or in Japanese ki, is the primal force of the universe that is said to pervade everything. An advanced practitioner strives to cultivate the three treasure of Chi-kung: jing, chi and shen. Jing is the base energy, crudely stated as sperm or ovary energy. The advanced practitioner draws jing overflow up the spine, transforming it into chi. The transformative process peaks (but continues as a cycle, replenishing jing) when chi transforms into shen. Shen is intent, or divine energy, which brings the practitioners to another level of awareness. The practice of tai-chi, for the serious prationer, is not limited to the movements, but pervades every aspect of life.
To start, one plants one’s feet firmly on the ground, and breathes deep…


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