Here’s a trivial note for friends with martial arts schools that feature a Japanese-style kamiza “spirit focal point” shelf on the main wall of their training space.

As described in the book Enlightened Self Protection, a kamiza can be compared to the family mantelpiece tradition familiar to American and European homes. As the mantel holds special pictures, artifacts, and memories of our family history, the kamiza serves as a reminder of the historic al and cultural legacy that stretches out behind the teachings embodied in our martial art today.

The items on the kamidana “spirit shelf” are Japanese in origin, but they are equally relevant to us in the West as reminders of our connection to the forces of nature, our gratitude to our teachers – even those teachers we have never met – for handing the knowledge down to us, and our personal responsibility for discovering the keys to actualizing our potential in ways that will carry our legacy on to new generations.

• Tomyo candles symbolize the light we carry in our hearts
• The kagami mirror symbolizes a stainless heart, pure in its reflection of “what is”
• A dish of salt symbolizes willingness to sacrifice and gift others in order to grow
• The shinden wooden house-like structure contains a small ofuda plank talisman as symbol of the ancient spirit that guides our training (concealed behind the doors behind the mirror, so not visible in photo below)
• Sakaki greenery reminds us of our place in the richness of nature

(For a sense of size perspective, check the photo in my birthday party post)

When I was living in Japan in the 1970s to train at the house dojo of my ninja teacher, my job during each weekly dojo clean-up was to replace the water in the sakaki vases. I was “the tall guy’ in those days, and my reach allowed me to get to those vases of greens without having to drag out a step ladder.

Today, most of us in the West use artificial greens since fresh branches from sakaki plants are very hard to come by or grow in most of the USA and Europe. Sakaki (cleyera japonica) is a low-spreading, medium-sized evergreen tree of the plant family which also includes tea and camellia.

Even if you cannot get sakaki, you can get bountiful boughs of greenery for your kamiza – holly or any other waxy green leafed shrubs – or at least tasteful artificial ones.

And here’s the point: be sure your kamiza has those boughs. I have seen a lot of photos of various dojo kamiza on internet sites of martial arts schools in America and Europe, and more often than not, there for all to see are a lot of pitiful naked kamiza shelves. Avoid that. Celebrate your tradition with lots of rich green.

Avoid scraggly wisps reminiscent of the Charlie Brown Christmas tree. Avoid little potted plants with roots. Avoid avoiding greenery altogether.

If you are going for a traditional look in your dojo, be sure that you fully understand the tradition. And avoid ignorant “tradition for tradition’s sake”, just as you would avoid pointlessly odd technique in your curriculum if you are teaching useful methods as opposed to mere museum-like cultural imitation.

I had a conversation with a person who commented that our taijutsu looked “too slow” to him. He felt that for a real fight, we should be practicing with what he called “realistic speed”.

I understand how he could feel that way. Once upon a time a long time ago, I too studied a less mature form of martial art, a less sophisticated form of martial art, in which beating people to the punch or throw was the only way to win.

I did not say it that way to him, though, because it would only have resulted in an argument based on emotional hopes and beliefs. Instead, I invited him to look at a video clip of our art in action.

He wasn’t impressed. “See? There you go. You guys are moving slowly. Your art works as long as you guys agree to move slow.”

I knew he would say that. I was ready for his misperception. “OK. Now watch the clip again and this time, only watch the attackers. Check out how quickly and explosively they move.”

He watched and this time he remained silent. I could tell he was confused and did not know what to think.

I helped him out. “There is absolute speed. And there is relative speed. In the same way, there is power and there is relative power. If your timing is right, you can fit into furious action with minimal motion. Of course, if you are not aware of timing, or you are not experienced enough to use timing to your advantage, you will not be able to pull it off.”

It is all about mastery. The master painter may indeed need less paint and fewer strokes to tell more of a story. The master mechanic uses only minimal elbow grease action to get the most from tuning up a racing engine. Little children use high volume to express the importance they feel their words carry, while a master story teller may instead use a hushed voice to really capture an audience.

Of course, you have to be ready to hear such logic. If you are still a splash and slap painter, a bang-around mechanic, or an exuberant little kid, none of this makes sense.

Check out the video clip of spontaneous totally unrehearsed sword clashes and only watch the attackers’ speed and explosiveness. Do not even consider my speed. Then reflect on the results of each clash.

Can you see it? Can you get it? Are you ready to get it?

Back in the 1980s, I encouraged my friends and students to take our ninja historical martial arts into new areas where our knowledge could help others. How about military applications, police work, health restoration, corporate leadership training, running a local community dojo, and yes of course movie, TV, or novel entertainment? Take this art and do things with it.

Do things that I would not be the best one to do, I urged them. I was the guy who wrote books and conducted seminars and published the newsletter (that was how we communicated way back before the internet) and generally proved the art to the greater martial arts world. I was very good at that apparently, based on the resulting reputation of the ninja martial arts up to the end of the 1980s, and the massive river of American and European students who poured into my teacher’s dojos in Japan.

Yes but… It used to surprise me how many students did not take my suggestion. Instead, many tried to do just what I did. They started to publish newsletters and write books and conduct seminars – all the things that I was already doing. Whoa! Don’t compete with my work, I urged them. That just forces too many similar opportunities on too few consumers, I warned. Do something new and different from what I am doing. That way, instead of us all having to settle for increasingly smaller pieces of a shrinking pie, we could create a massive ever-growing-in-size pie.

By the end of the 1980s, the once-impressive image of the ninja had fragmented with so many voices competing against one another for authority in the art. With all that confusion, much of the world concluded we must not be for real, and the ninja boom faded.

But then a wonderful thing happened. Now out of intense public scrutiny, many students began to look for new ways to bring our gift to more lives. 5th Degree Black Belt Richard Sears is one of those special students who started with me as a teen back in the barn dojo days, went through years of personal growth and exploration, and is now doing what I had encouraged so many to do those decades ago.

I asked Rick to reflect and write on why he stuck with our training all these years, and where he has taken his passion for the art as his own personal contribution to a better world. Give it to me straight, I urged him. What are you doing now with all you have studied, and where are you headed, and why was this so important to you?

Here is Dr. Richard Sears reply:
 
I first began studying with An-shu Hayes as a teenager in 1986. For many years, I delved deeply into the art of the ninja, and even ran my own school for about seven years as one of the very first SKH Quest Centers. I also began studying the mikkyo esoteric mind tradition with one of An-shu’s teachers, and was ordained at age 21.
 
As I grew older, I realized that there was so much more to learn than what would be taught in the training hall. In the dojo, I learned principles that were timeless, and through the example of An-Shu, I came to appreciate the importance of translating the principles to a broader audience.
 
Because of my interest in the mind, I began to study Western psychology, and eventually earned a doctorate degree and board certification. I also obtained a master’s degree in business administration, helping me to understand how to effect change at the organizational and systems levels.
 
Today I am a professor, and I teach others who study to become psychologists. It is fascinating how psychology is now doing empirical research on the forms of meditation that I had first learned from An-shu, techniques that have been passed down for thousands of years.
 
Putting together all of my training and experiences, I have worked with Union University to start the Center for Clinical Mindfulness & Meditation. Already I have been asked to conduct several professional training sessions, and to contribute regularly to a local magazine. I hope to create a forum where scientists, clinicians, and practitioners can work together to share knowledge and experience and develop new ways to improve the well-being of the general public. An-shu has agreed to join as one of the first members of our advisory board.
 
It is an exciting time to be alive. For the first time in history, we now have access to thousands of years of historical knowledge, cutting edge science, and access to amazing teachers.
 
While there is a need to preserve tradition, how can you take what you learn and put it to use in the world? How can you positively affect your own community? What unique skills and interests can you leverage? How can you be of help in a sometimes confusing world? Finding your own way to share and encourage strength is the true ninja legacy that An-shu brought to us from Japan those decades ago.

(Read an interview with Dr. Sears in Natural Awakenings on pages 8-9)
 

Some friends asked me what I thought of the movie Ninja Assassin. “So how real was it?” some asked.

“Real? What can I say? It was a real movie, and it was about ninja assassins,” was all I could reply.

“No, I mean is that what ninjutsu really looks like? How real was the stuff in the movie?”

What am I supposed to say? Would you ask the CEO of Toys R Us how “real” he thinks the Nutcracker Ballet is in terms of its depiction of the way toys come alive at night and dance around under Christmas trees? What could he say?

“Yes, but, you were trained in ninjutsu in the 1970s, and you saw all the 1980s ninja movies, so how real was it?”

Well what did YOU think when you watched the movie Ninja Assassin?

Is it possible that a very old ninja tradition could become corrupted to the point where it no longer lived up to its original ideals and became something grotesque? Could that be real?

Is it possible that one of the very best students could become so disappointed with the corruption that he felt compelled to leave as a statement against the degeneration of the tradition? Could that be real?

Is it possible that the other students would feel so threatened by – and perhaps even envious of – the moral stand of the rebel, that they all banded together to eliminate the rebel lest their own degeneracy be exposed? Could that be real?

Is it possible that the students could be so blinded by their resentment of the rebel that they foolishly stuck with outmoded training that had them fighting modern assaults with antiquated defenses? Could that be real?

Is it possible that because the art was allowed to pass into the hands of degenerate students, conventional fighters in the world would be so busy snickering and eye-rolling and ridiculing “ninjuhz” that they would not recognize what an incredible martial art it was and would not appreciate the power for good that the rebel was trying to offer them? Could that be real?

How real was Ninja Assassin?

I don’t know what to say. What do you think? Real, or totally impossible?

Have you ever felt powerless to make the right thing happen as you watched a terrible injustice unfold right in front of you?

Walking home from middle school with a friend, we found ourselves surrounded by the gang of the cruelest violent predator at our school. This guy was no mere bully. A 26-felony teen, he was three years older than us because he had been away from school in a youth prison. This monster had not killed anyone yet, but that was definitely on his list for the future.

Angry, foul mouthed, and hungry for the pleasure of humiliating yet another boy, he barked out taunts and insults. He focused on my friend and closed in on him swearing and shoving. His buddies circled us smirking and chuckling.

Horror in slow motion, he grabbed my friend’s arm and barraged him with punches. My buddy was still trying to figure out what was happening. Neither of us was ready for this – we were still futilely working on talking our way out with dignity. Jerked off balance, my friend went down to one knee with his head ducked to protect from the blunt punches that showed no hint of letting up.

The ring of creeps positioned themselves to block me from aiding my friend, but they showed little interest in me as they hooted and laughed encouragement at their leader. It was his show.

It ended with the monster shouting threats to my downed buddy – say anything to cops or authorities and even worse would happen next time. The creeps flashed me a last mocking look of derision and then they were gone, strutting away with more foul laughing insults spit over their shoulders.

My buddy shakily rose to his feet and dusted himself off. Though scuffed and bleeding, he didn’t seem to be permanently injured. Neither of us said anything.

Furious with anger and embarrassment, my pre-teen mind churned with regrets and self-disgust. Why did I just freeze and stare? Why didn’t I step in and do something? What could I have done? What should I have done?

I made a vow to myself right there and right then that I would never be in that position again. I would never have to stand helpless and watch a good person be victimized by an ugly and horrific one. When slime gurgled up out of the gutter to threaten the right and just, I would be the one to stuff it back where slime belonged.

I vowed that wherever I had to go or whatever I had to study or whoever I had to find as a mentor – I would learn how to prevail over the cruel and unjust and brutal. I would never ever again have to stand helpless and watch the right be crushed into submission by the wrong.

That was way over 40 years ago. In the decades that ensued, I trained with karate and kickboxing champions, judo and jujutsu experts, SWAT specialists, elite military commandos, top-notch bodyguards, and eventually the grandmaster of the ninja in Japan. “Never again!” was my motivation, and I was the most determined and diligent student any of my fighting teachers ever had.

Somewhere along the way I found myself sharing with others the lessons I struggled to learn. Coaching others for power in a time of unexpected invasion became my career. Today, the results of my decades of training self and others in the ways of prevailing over the dangerous and degenerate is what I offer my community. More than anything else, I want you and the ones you love to have this power too.

Let’s go way back in time, back to the early 1980s. Think of a time when there was no internet, no DVD, no self-publishing, no MP3, no YouTube. Old enough to remember such a time?

We had magazines. We had books. Those were my only possible channels for getting word out to the world that there was a new possibility in the martial arts – the training legacy of the ninja. And those channels were owned and controlled by a tight group of business people known as “the publishing industry”. If a publishing company did not believe that:

• My credentials were authentic
• I was capable of delivering what I claimed to deliver
• I could write effectively and engagingly
• What I wrote was true and verifiable
• I was disciplined enough to deliver a finished manuscript on time
• Other people would want to read what I wrote
• What I wrote was important enough to see print
• What I wrote was a good investment for the publisher (“I would make them money”)
• What I wrote would add to the prestige of the publisher’s reputation
• What I wrote would so impress readers that it would lead to even more books or articles that would make even more money and prestige for the publisher

…then there would be no way for my message to see print on paper.

Back then, if I were just some silly barely-literate inarticulate poorly-skilled but big-ego wanna-be in a less than mediocre martial art method, I never would have made it in the door of a publisher, and never would have seen my work in print by a reputable company. Of course those were the days before YouTube freedom to willfully and thoroughly embarrass ones foolish self in the eyes of the entire world.

Back in the early 1980s, a new 3rd realm of publishing arose next to magazines and books. Videotape instruction became the new darling of sports trainers and instructors. But early videos focused on the sports of the wealthy who could afford the technology required to watch videos. Everyone knew that martial artists are notoriously lower-class poor as a group (as opposed to golfers or yacht crews), and so the big question was, “Would martial arts instruction ever make it to video?”

I was approached by Robert Clouse, director of “Enter the Dragon”, Bruce Lee’s final film, with a proposal to do a 2-tape VHS video exposition of the ninja martial arts. The company was Hawk Films, the producer was Nigel Binns, and I along with 3 other hand-picked martial stars flew to Ashland, Oregon, to film our four individual projects.

Those two VHS tapes were important in that they gave the world a first-hand look at what was only a frozen-pose 2-dimensional presentation on a page up to that time. I way over-packed the presentation with everything I taught – unarmed classic combat, unarmed modern combat, bo staff, Japanese sword, hanbo cane, shuriken star blades, kusarifundo chain, Ryutai Undo body flexibility, and stalking and climbing. The tapes sold like crazy in the 1980s and into the 1990s.

We eventually converted the two tapes to two DVDs, and added some updated footage. I was a little nervous preparing to watch the reissued scenes. That was 25 years ago when those were filmed. I was middle-30s in age. What if I now embarrassed myself with what I thought was cool or skilled back then but was now only amusing? What if by redistributing those original videos, I accidentally created my own embarrassing YouTube-style exposure? What if I wished everyone would forget what I had done back then?

I watched. I smiled. I nodded “yes”. Young guy in that dark beard way back then did not let me down today. I am delighted to see that what was real back then is still eye-opening today. One training friend (who admitted he was not even born when the originals went on sale) claimed the “paper napkin diner defense” was worth getting the whole set for. One friend cheerfully admitted to what he called “lifting” the sword segments and running them as a Black Belt Club course in his karate school, and he actually looked good with his copycat movement. A few Quest Center owners had school parties for viewing the DVDs together.

The set is now “back from the depths of the vault” and available if you would like to own a piece of ninja history in the Western Hemisphere. CLICK HERE to preview some scenes on your screen. I heartily recommend the DVDs, I am happily relieved to be able to report.

Here are a lot of my senior Black Belt students and SKH Quest licensed school leaders. Several folks came in before for my 9-9-’09 60th birthday party at the Dayton dojo and then we all got together for some high-level practice the Friday afternoon before our 29th annual Festival.

Some of these Black Belts have been training with me since the early 1980s. Some have traveled to Japan with me for training and visits to inspirational training halls and mountaintops and temples at the roots of our ninja warrior tradition.

Especially in this year of unprecedented financial devastation in the small businesses and lives of so many Americans (and world citizens), I emphasized a hearty salute to my Black Belt training partners for making it back to Ohio for our yearly gathering.

These are the ones who carry our To-Shin Do out to their communities to serve the call for heightened life mastery quality through martial arts training. These strong people saw the importance and beauty of the message I carried from what I studied with my teacher and my teacher’s teacher. Certainly they do not “have to” stay with me and my program; easier lessons and easier belts and easier trophy titles could certainly be had elsewhere. But they vowed not to take the cheap and easy route, and promised that no matter how difficult the lessons, they would persevere, they would prevail, they would master.

I am proud of my friends. You can see their schools listed on this web site under TRAIN WITH US.

I wrote a blog about relics being revitalized to provide new benefits to a new generation without damaging or destroying the essence of the relic itself. And of course I sometimes believe relics should be preserved as relics; museums inspire us with past triumphs in creative development.

Anyway, one commenter quite bluntly wrote in that the source martial art from which To-Shin Do evolved is completely sufficient in and of itself and required no “updating” at all to be effective. He went on to surmise that the reason I had changed my teaching was that my “ego and bank account” needed something more.

Brushing that cheap shot aside, out of curiosity my staff and I looked at my critic’s web site and links to videos of him in action. There he was, performing flat-footed robotic slow motion single action responses to a listless attacker who lurched in with a punch that resembled a bad bowler stomping forward with a right step and then a limp straight-elbowed right arm upward swing. The “punch” came to a stop almost a foot away from the defender when it ran out of what little steam it had. Made me shudder just to watch it.

Oh-ho. OK. Now I know why he does not at all approve of my insistence that we train against scary threats. He can’t handle those with what he is teaching. He then dodges the problem by requiring his students to attack him in a quirky stylized manner that fits what he wants to use for defense.

One difference between what I taught in the old days when I was an apprentice explorer and now 30 years later is that we usually avoid that lurching lunge that would never happen that way in a real fight. We insist our To-Shin attack simulations reflect what a real assailant would do to start a fight.

Many (most?) of the techniques that work so well against the extended straight-line-from-knuckles-to-neck arm need major modification to be effective in a real fight where the aggressor keeps angularity in his arm and shoulder joints. That’s why I had to create To-Shin Do.

Does that mean we do not teach defenses against leading-leg leading-hand attacks? No, not at all; we cover those. Boxers jab off the same-hand-and-leg-forward position, wrestlers lunge in with a same-side step and grasp, and MMA cage fighters fly in with a same-leg-and-fist lunge punch. We do train to protect against such fighting sports assaults that could end up on the street.

BUT when we do use a lunge punch, it really is a punch.

I suggest to my critic that to avoid embarrassment the day a real challenger struts into his dojo for a trial, my critic should think hard and carefully every time he is tempted to blow off and ridicule that which he does not want to understand. Save the cheap shots for later once you have earned your reputation.

That’s exactly what I learned to do in my decades of martial arts training. And that’s how I came to earn in the public arena the right to demand we revitalize the relic.

Here is my red suit photo. My teacher chose a red tux for his 60th in Japan to make a statement unique to the needs of the Japanese martial arts world of the early 1990s – more creativity, freshness, aliveness, and startling thinking.

At my 60th birthday party thrown by the students at the Dayton Quest Center dojo right before our 29th annual Festival, I chose a red gi and battle vest to show what I think we in late 2000s America need more of in our martial arts – more nobility, dignity, heroic presence, and pledge to ancient timeless ideals.

(That is my old “1980s barn dojo days” friend Bud Malmstrom next to me there with my family and friends; he drove in from Atlanta to celebrate our 32 years of friendship on our personal paths of warrior service.)

Here is a birthday greeting note from my teacher Masaaki Hatsumi:

Hayes-san, I hear this year is your Kanreki birthday.

A Kabuku actor considers 60 years old as the beginning for mastery of their art.
Zeami, famous Noh actor, says that you will return to the beginning at age 80.

Becoming old is wonderful.
You may lose your eyesight but your eyes will see the truth and authenticity.
I wish you health and long life.

A couple is like having eyes together.
Rumiko-san, enjoy the journey with Hayes-san, together.

Congratulation on your Kanreki birthday.

Heisei 21st Year September 9th.

Masaaki Hatsumi

Last week my martial arts teacher Masaaki Hatsumi mailed me birthday greetings for my 60th. In his letter, he enclosed a photo of himself at his own 60th birthday bash in 1991. In his kanreki red suit – a western tuxedo no less – he salutes his past and future.

His red tux is significant, I believe. More than a mere eccentricity, it is a reminder of his own creative nature as an icon-busting teacher. Many of his students today fail to understand his real message, I strongly believe. “Think originally,” he might be paraphrased as offering.

One of my biggest surprises was his urging over the decades to bring what he taught me into full relevance for my culture, my world, my friends. In those 1970s days when I trained in the little dojo in his house, he goaded me to go beyond the mechanics and details of his ancestors’ kata forms whenever I would express exasperation with not getting all the details exactly right, just the way Daisuke Togakure might have performed a combat maneuver back in the 1100s. In later years in the 1980s and 1990s as well he kept pushing me to bring the lessons to life.

Big new world, he implied, with big new problems that need big new answers. The classics are timeless in their applicability of course, and yes every advanced Black Belt in our To-Shin Do ninja martial art will own every one of the classical exercises as he or she progresses through a lifetime of study. No one is advocating changing the principles. But memorization of the class lessons was not the point he wanted me to get. Go beyond, he admonished. Where does that lesson take you?

Another thing he seemed to not want was for me to transform him into some sort of icon or fantasy master in my mind. He did not want a personality cult built up around him (though I often lament that is precisely what some of his current students seem determined to do). He never failed to break apart any training aspect that became too sacrosanct or too inviolable in his students’ minds. He continues to do that today even as he moves into his 80s.

If I really got my teacher’s lessons, would I faithfully imitate his body’s movements, his speech, his purposes, and his daily operations of his hombu dojo? I think you know my answer.

He wore a red tux to make a statement in a country and culture and age with firm stereotypes as to how an inheritor of an historical martial tradition should behave. I got my own 60th birthday red suit as my own statement in response to what is most popular and seductive and yes off-base in the pay-per-view televised culture of martial arts in my country and times.

Lesson offered. Thank you, Sensei.