Still a Beginner: Thougths on "Shu-Ha-Ri" and needing a Guru

I wrote an earlier, draft version of this post as a response to Grace Gravelle's insightful blog entry, "One Guru." Grace is a talented instructor, and she currently leads yoga classes at my dojo on Tuesday and Sunday evenings. You can check out lots of her writing on her website, Front Porch Yoga.

Many martial artists dedicate themselves to one teacher, or sensei. I don't think there's anything wrong with that. In my case, there are many fine instructors out there whom I would call "sensei" out of respect for their knowledge and expertise, but there are only two people, Sensei Dennis Mann and Sensei Brian Ricci whom I would call "my Sensei."

Sensei Mann and Sensei Ricci are great martial artists. I've spent DECADES learning from each of them. The style of karate that I've learned from them has a particular name, a specific lineage. That's important to me, and I do my best to "keep the faith" when I teach. I feel a strong sense of responsibility to pass on the art just as it was given to me. But there's a big martial arts world out there, full of many, many things that I do not know. There's so much I'd still like to learn. I am, to be sure, a beginner — a mere babe in the woods.

And for me, no post on the subject of the people whom I consider to be my teachers, sensei, or gurus would be complete without mentioning Coach Tom Callos, creator of the Ultimate Black Belt Test. Now I've known Coach Tom for years now. He's part guru, part life coach, and a very dedicated martial artist of no small skill or reputation. Tom is my teacher, "my other sensei," but he's never corrected my posture, taught me a kata, or told me to blade my foot more when I throw my side kick. In the interest of full disclosure I must state here that I've never even met him in person. But we have a vibrant virtual relationship through phone calls, emails, Skype conversations, and blog posts. He's helped me bring meaning and clarity to how I practice and teach the martial arts in ways that no one else has.

I know that cannot learn "everything" (related to the martial arts and otherwise) from either of my sensei. Or my "other" sensei. They are great role models in a number of ways, father figures even. But they're not enlightened spiritual beings. (At least I don't think they are.) They are people. With flaws, just like me.

So in a way, I guess I consider everyone to be my teacher. Everyone has something to teach me. Especially those folks outside of the world of the martial arts who we might call our "Living Heroes". In the martial arts and out, I am an Artist of Life.

In the martial arts, I believe that a student should follow a teacher only as long as it serves that person's growth and development. I try to be a good sensei and role model for all of my students, but it's not my place to guide and advise them in the non-martial areas of their lives. Inside the dojo, in the world of blocks and kicks and punches, in the world of conflict, tactics and strategy — well, I tend to know a whole lot more than my students do. That's to be expected — after all, I've been at this game a long time. And I expect my students to do their utmost to absorb and precisely replicate the things that I have to teach them on the mat.

But spiritually and morally? Well, I've got room for improvement, too. The best I can do is try to lead by example; my students can/will choose to follow the path that I walk only if they find value there. And if they don't? Well, that's okay, too. I don't want to change anyone. I simply want to help people become a more genuine, authentic, present, confident version of themselves. And hey, I stumble a lot on my path. Aren't we all walking in the dark?

In the Japanese martial traditions, there's a concept called shu-ha-ri that tries to explain the phases of learning: First, the student tries to copy and emulate exactly what they're being taught. Then they try to master it, to make the teachings theirs. And finally, they must transcend the teaching and forge their own path. They must actively create, but this cannot happen without a solid foundation somewhere. So while I still call Sensei Mann and Sensei Ricci "my Sensei," there's not too much more at this point that I'm actually going to learn from them other than external forms... Have I learned my lessons well? Perhaps. There's still a lot that they've taught me that I've yet to master. And by now, they don't really need to correct me anymore. (Honestly, they're probably tired of repeating themselves when I continue to make mistakes.)

I know exactly what I need to work on to improve and grow. From here on out, I'm more or less on my own. (But I'm not "alone." My Sensei are still my wise councilors and advisors.) The work ahead is mine to do. Part of that journey, I suppose, will be to find another sensei (or two, or three) — people who can guide me along the trails I've yet to walk on. But I must also turn within, and find more lessons there:

More and more these days, I surprise myself on the mat while I'm teaching. I find "cool stuff" in what I already know that I never knew was there, stuff that no sensei has shown me, but has always been there, awaiting discovery. There are variations, subtleties, and small shifts that produce different (and sometimes surprising) results. My "fighting" is becoming creative play. (It must drive my students crazy when I digress...)

But I'm still a beginner, to be sure.