Rubber Meets Road: The Intersection of Martial Arts Philosophy and Real Life

Back in 2001, as part of my Nidan (second degree black belt) examination, I was asked to write an essay in response to the question, "How have the philosophies of the martial arts influenced your life?"

This is what I came up with:

I took my first karate class at age 6 — there were no other boys my age in our neighborhood for me to play with, and my mother thought karate classes would be a good way for me to make some friends. I actually still remember that first lesson with clarity. More than anything, I remember that I wasn't very impressed with the class, but karate was something to do, and there were other boys there. So, I agreed to sign up. Now, as I turn 30 and look back to the start of my karate training, I can see that the martial arts have affected me on every level of my life: physically, mentally, spiritually, and emotionally. Indeed, the martial philosophies I have learned over the years color the way I interpret the world, and I know that I will continue training for the rest of my life.

I've always enjoyed hard physical training, and I strongly believe that the confidence and discipline I learned from pushing myself in the dojo has contributed to my successes in the military and in the corporate world. My physical study of the martial arts has stimulated my mind: I've amassed a library of more than 200 books, not only about the martial arts, but also about eastern culture, history, and philosophy. Through my own readings and through the teachings of my instructors, I feel that I have become a more spiritual person. For all of its violent, combative applications, karate has contributed to my emotional stability, and I feel that as a result of my training I have developed a more peaceful, balanced disposition.

Ethics and Morality

Sensei Kim is fond of repeating the following saying:

Watch your thoughts; they become your words.
Watch your words; they become your actions.
Watch your actions; they become your habits.
Watch your habits; they become your character.
Watch your character; it becomes your destiny.

Through their own example, my instructors have taught me that karate is more than physical, and that our core values — respect, compassion, honor, integrity, and gratitude — are more than a list of words to be memorized. Indeed, our core values are a list of principles to be internalized — they become part of our personalities over time. The more we meditate on our core values and discuss them with each other, the more we will recognize them in our actions and in the actions of those around us. I am happy to report that the values I have learned in the dojo compliment and overlap the leadership traits and principles that I learned as an officer in the United States Marine Corps.

By observing the actions of my instructors and the senior students in the dojo, I have also discovered the martial arts values of generosity and humility. All of my peers are eager and willing to share their karate knowledge and insights, but the giving does not stop there. Everyone in the dojo is also quick to lend a hand or a dollar to a classmate, without any hesitation or expectation of reciprocation. It is beautiful and touching to observe. The most talented individuals in the dojo are paradoxically also the most self-effacing and humble. Their egos fully in check, they are admirable role models to follow.

As we absorb the intangible teachings of the dojo, our martial arts practice becomes a constant lesson in morality. Our Dojo Kun is a set of moral instructions that we can apply equally both inside of the dojo and in our daily lives:

Seek perfection of character
Be faithful
Endeavor
Respect others
Refrain from all violent action

Over the years, the meaning behind my karate training has been changing for me. I'm constantly striving for physical improvement in the dojo — I've got lots of room for it — and the focus of my karate training is still the perfection of my basics and kata. However, I know that practically anyone can learn to kick and punch in a fairly short amount of time, and I have learned by degrees that another goal of my karate training is the perfection of my character.

Beyond physical training, the dojo brings me face-to-face with my own ego, insecurities, and fears. When I see that someone on the dojo floor is more skilled than I am, I'm ashamed to admit that my ego makes a quick comparison, and I push myself just a little harder. Perhaps this is healthy, but nevertheless, I constantly remind myself to tend to my own garden. When I see someone who is not as skilled as I, I resist the urge to feel accomplished, and I look for a way to help that person improve. When my sensei or a senior student points out a flaw in my form or mistake that I have made, my ego attempts to resist the truth. Ultimately, I cannot hide from myself, and I know when I'm not doing my best on the dojo floor. Because these experiences carry over to other aspects of my life, I also know when I'm not doing my best at work, and in my personal relationships. In all three areas, I try to correct my flaws and shortcomings when I become aware of them.

Learning the Art of War

My practice of the martial arts has made me a more strategic thinker. As a Marine, I was required to learn both classical and modern combat tactics and battlefield strategy: the employment of troops, limitations of weapons systems, the effects of terrain and weather, logistics, intelligence, and more. Even today, Sun Tzu's The Art of War is on the reading list for Marine lieutenants. Because of my martial arts training, I have also read the strategic writings of Miyamoto Musashi, Yagyu Munenori, and others. The scaleable teachings of all of these men can be equally applied to combat between individuals, armies, or nations.

The principles of sen, go no sen, and sen no sen that I have learned from my teachers in the dojo has also made a great impression on me, and I've learned to apply these strategic principles in less martial settings. At work, I've discovered how to best take advantage of the relationships between different departments, and how personalities can play a role in corporate politics. I know whom to ally myself with, when to push my agenda, and when to be quiet. At home, I've learned how to choose my battles more carefully, be more flexible, and determine what is really important in life. Most importantly, at work and at home, I constantly strive to "win without fighting", and I try to avoid conflict altogether.

The Dojo is My Family

My karate training is high on my personal list of priorities, second only to my wife and family. In fact, the dojo members have become so much a part of my family, and the sense of community in our dojo has become so strong, that the two aspects of my life have become virtually indistinguishable from one another. My dojo mates and their families have grown together into a tightly knit support structure. As a pack, we work out together in the dojo, and socialize together on the weekends. We celebrate together at weddings, and cry together at funerals. Always, we celebrate each other's achievements and comfort each other in hard times. I am honored and blessed to have such unique and loving people in my life.

For these reasons, while I tremendously enjoy the work I do for a living, at a basic level, my work is what I do between karate lessons. The samurai value of loyalty is strong in our dojo, and the commitment to the dojo by its members is unquestionable. Sensei Ricci has always taught us, "Don't give up the night." He has said that every time you miss a class, it makes it easier for you to miss the next one. I've slipped into a slump from time to time, teetering on the edge of what we call "the black hole." However, we all know that if either student or teacher fails to make it to class, there is no dojo. We have a responsibility to each other to make it to class. All of us willingly make a small sacrifice every night we train: we understand that every hour we spend in the class is an hour away from family, career, other hobbies, laundry, the lawn, personal time, and more. Out of love, respect, and commitment to my extended martial arts family, I have resolved to make the dojo my "appointed place of duty" on karate nights, scheduling almost every other activity around my training. Week after week, we come to train. Sick or injured, we come to train. In summer's brutal heat and in winter's bitter cold, we come to train. This is what we do.

The Dancer and the Dance

I have always appreciated the simple beauty that is inherent in the martial arts. Setting combat practicality aside, I find the movements the Asian martial arts — particularly the movements of karate, tai chi, aikido, and iaido - to be unspeakably beautiful. There is nothing more pleasurable for me than to watch the performance of someone who is well advanced in the martial arts: it is indeed art! At the highest levels, there is no distinction between the performer and the performance. I see in others' effortless effort a shadowy hint of what is possible for me to express by means of my own body. I discovered the best expression of this concept in the following excerpt from Among Schoolchildren by W. B. Yeats:

Labour is blossoming or dancing where
The body is not bruised to pleasure soul.
Nor beauty born out of its own despair,
Nor blear-eyed wisdom out of midnight oil.
O chestnut-tree, great-rooted blossomer,
Are you the leaf, the blossom or the bole?
O body swayed to music, O brightening glance,
How can we know the dancer from the dance?

Practically speaking, karate training is "worthless." You can't see it, hear it, taste it, smell it, or feel it when you're not doing it - it doesn't exist without the actor. You can't hold a kata in your hand; after it's performed, it's gone. You can't spend it or trade it in for something. A painter creates something that exists long after he paints. The work of a martial artist is fleeting — most katas only last about sixty seconds or so - but it still communicates something pure!

Some years ago, I came across Peak Performance, a book about peak performance in sports activities. The author of the book wrote about the relationship between the body and the mind, and about the power of visualization and meditation. It was in this book that I first heard the term "flow state" used to define the fleeting feeling of effortlessness, confidence, unity, and freedom that one feels when totally absorbed in an activity. The book spoke volumes to me, for every now and again, when I'm at my best, in the midst of a kata, my mind becomes the peaceful eye of my physical hurricane, and I'm nearly overcome by a wonderful sense of peaceful detachment. My personal experiences on the dojo floor, the lectures of Sensei Kim, and my own readings have led me to believe that karate can serve as a powerful link to something beyond our everyday existence. A few years ago, I sketched out my own personal mission statement about my martial arts training:

Budo is the vehicle through which I practice the principles of warriorship. It is an inner calling. Training mind, body and sprit gives me a sense of purpose and the feeling that I am in control. Budo serves as a catalyst for constant self-improvement, honest introspection, character development, and overall well being - it is a gateway to other holistic disciplines. Through Budo I discover myself and my relationship to the universe; it has given me a sense of spirituality. During my journey I create my own reality and seek the company of others who share my vision.

My readings in Zen philosophy have taught me that only the present moment is important. Although it is difficult, multi-layered reading, Takuan Soho's The Unfettered Mind is one of my favorite books. I strive to be present in all I do, although I fail far more often than I succeed. Zen Buddhism was attractive to the feudal samurai because its teaching cultivated a free, unattached, spontaneous mind. Sitting meditation allowed the samurai to focus on the present moment, and doing day-to-day activities in the spirit of Zen was an opportunity to practice "mindfulness." Clearly, the ability to focus on the task at hand was valuable to the samurai: hesitation or attachment to life on the battlefield could mean certain death.

Modern karate training is often called a kind of moving meditation. When a person is totally focused on performing a movement, the mind grows increasingly quiet. There is no past, no future, and no ego: only total absorption in the current technique. Moreover, when the moves of a kata are so thoroughly and totally ingrained in an individual — to point that no thought is required to execute them - performance becomes pure expression of the soul. This stage — the "flow state" - is the goal of our training, and once we achieve it we'll do anything to feel it again, and lengthen the experience. Karate training has shown me that when the mind is quiet, wonderful things can happen: It's the silence between the notes that makes the music.

The Principles of Warrrorship

From my training in the martial arts, I have developed a fascination with eastern culture, concepts, and attitudes. As a United States Marine — a modern-day warrior — I began to idealistically compare my life and values with the lives and values of the feudal samurai of ancient Japan. It is very easy to draw a few simple parallels across time: the values of loyalty, bearing, tact, and physical courage are just as prominent in the lives of Marines today as they were in the lives of the samurai.

As I expanded my comparison, I discovered that throughout all of history, many warrior classes around the world have also held these values dear. I examined the knights of medieval Europe, the legionnaires of ancient Rome, the plains Indians of North America, and others, as I sought to learn more about the warrior's function in society. Without realizing it at the time, on my own, I had discovered the primary attributes of the classical warrior archetype.

Reading the works of anthropologists and sociologists gave me more insights into the nature of the archetypal warrior. My definition of a warrior grew beyond the realm of combat to include individuals who live an authentic life. I came to understand that along with loyalty, bearing, tact, and physical courage, a true warrior should also display presence, discipline, compassion, integrity, and moral courage. Certainly, Sun Tzu, Miyamoto Musashi, and Yagyu Munenori were warriors, but, in a broader sense, so were contemporary figures Dr. Martin Luther King, and Mahatma Ghandi.

A warrior is someone who, through committed action, transforms knowledge into power. Warriors seek to overcome their fears and maximize their abilities. A warrior seeks self-mastery instead of power over others. A warrior is someone who promotes peace and love. I believe that as marital artists, this type of warriorship should be our ultimate aim. It is our destiny as martial artists to become examples of outstanding moral character for the rest of our society to emulate.

The Journey toward Mastery

Many karate students have entered our dojo with the goal of earning a black belt. I have witnessed some students invest only the minimum amount of work they need to do in order to achieve their black belt, while others pursue the goal with vigor and enthusiasm. However, one thing remains constant: those who only set their eyes on a limited goal often disappear from the dojo shortly after obtaining it. It is unfortunate that so many never realize that achieving their black belt is a sign that one's training is truly just beginning. I have observed that the students that are "in it for the long haul" are focused on the process of training itself, not on the trappings of status and rank.

I have learned that there is no finish line in the martial arts. More importantly, I've realized that there isn't even a race to begin. Everyone in the dojo learns at his or her own pace and we should never judge our progress by our rank, or by how many katas we have memorized. The road to what outsiders call "mastery" is a lifelong journey without end — in every aspect of our training, there is always room for improvement, always more we can give of ourselves. As process-oriented students, we know that sincere effort and perseverance are more important than talent or results.

Sensei Kim has labored to teach patience to all of us. There are people in the dojo who will never be "good" (i.e., aesthetically pleasing to watch), but they still come every week, they still try to improve, and the dan ranks never tire of trying to help them. The martial arts journey is different for everyone. Whether you are practicing a martial art for self-defense or self-discovery is unimportant. I have learned that the only important thing is to patiently continue.

Better, Better, Better

Sensei Kim's mantra, "Every day in every way, I'm getting better, better and better," has had a profound effect on my life. His lectures on meditation, visualization, prayer, positive thoughts and energy have led me to do further reading on the power of the mind. Sensei Kim has taught us to tap the unconscious mind and give it a goal. Over the past few years, I have meditated, visualized, and consciously directed my mind in positive directions. I have also actively surrounded myself with positive, loving people. I believe that as a result, many of my dreams and desires have manifested in my life, including a beautiful and loving wife, a close-knit family, a challenging and rewarding job, excellent health, and dear friends. I am truly blessed and forever grateful.

_____________________________

I once heard the saying, "It is better to never begin; once begun, it is better to finish." I like to apply this maxim to my approach to martial arts. In my own study of the martial arts, I have continually gone deeper and deeper. I have yet to find the bottom - and I have yet to find any evidence that there even is one. Karate is a lifetime endeavor. As I've stated earlier, I will spend the rest of my days training.

It has been many years since karate ceased being "what I do" and began to be the art by which I define myself. From my martial arts training, I have learned about the duality of yin and yang, soft and hard, good and evil. I am more aware of the constant changes around me, and I have become more attuned to the changing of the seasons and the cyclical nature of life. Through karate, I have also become more aware of my own impermanence. As I progress in my own martial arts journey and watch my teachers age, I realize that I too, only have so much time for physical improvement. Technical proficiency is a worthwhile goal, but I know that the body is limited and time is against us all. Thus, we must bravely move beyond the physical aspect of our training to focus on strategy and — ultimately — spiritual growth.