Focus is Forever – Distilling a core practice from many options

Sometimes people say they don't want to be broad in their interests or efforts, for fear of being diluted — instead they say they want to be surgical in their effect. I prefer the concept of focus — surgery lasts a couple hours, while focus is forever. I am, over time, attempting to focus my kenjutsu practice. I have studied under two schools of Japanese swordsmanship that may once have been related in the distant echoes of time, but now are quite divergent. It is interesting the explore the benefits each provide to a practitioner, and how they relate to my continued focus on internal martial arts.

Jikishinkage-ryū kenjutsu traces itself back to the teachings of Matsumoto Bizen no Kami, who founded it out of a synthesis of the Kage-ryū of Aisu Iko and kenjutsu he learned at Kashima shrine. Jikishinkage-ryū views Kamiizumi Ise-no-kami as Matsumoto's student, but other lines of Shinkage-ryū have the roles reversed. Kashima Shrine is the birthplace of these arts and the home of Kashima Shintō-ryū. Indeed, the full name of what we affectionately call "Jiki" today is Kashima Shinden Jikishinkage-ryū. It is unclear what level of influence Kashima Shintō-ryū had on Jikishinkage-ryū, but both arts to this day have powerful nagashi movements instead of the smaller kaito or linear movements found in Katori Shintō-ryū, the art practiced at Kashima's sister shrine. It is thought that Kamiizumi studied Shintō-ryū as well as Nen-ryū — likely the Kashima variant, although that is uncertain. The core kata of Shinkage-ryū is called Empi-no-Tachi, and is a set of six teaching that may be drawn from or a reaction to an upper level teaching of Katori Shintō-ryū called "empi". Kamiizumi's innovation from his earlier study of Aisu's Kage-ryū led him to choose the name Shinkage or "New Shadow" as his school's name. It is not clear how different the Shintō-ryū of Katori and Kashima shrines was in the 16th century — today, Kashima Shintō-ryū and Katori Shintō-ryū are quite divergent.

Jiki evolved during the time its fourth headmaster, Ogasawara Genshinsai Minamoto no Nagaharu, spent in exile in Beijing at the beginning of the Tokugawa Shogunate, and no longer seems to have a set of kata called Empi-no-tachi. Instead, emphasis is placed on the Hojo-no-kata ("Four Seasons Kata"), which is heavily influenced by the Taoist theory of the Five Elements and Four Seasons. Individual sections of Hojo-no-kata have similar names to the Sangakuen-no-kata found in different surviving lines of Shinkage-ryū. Some elements of Jiki's Habiki no kata are reminiscent of Empi-No-Tachi, but no full set seems to exist. This is interesting from a hoplogical standpoint: the degree to which Empi-No-Tachi remains hidden inside Jiki is an area of active study and contemplation for me. Some could say Jiki lacks the core of Shinkage-ryū as Empi is not practiced. But, if Empi really lies hidden in the upper level kata, maybe its essence is still the essence of the art. It is an interesting riddle, especially since Jiki calls itself the "true" Shinkage-ryū.

In some ways, Jikishinkage-ryū is exemplified by its aggressive, dominating, aspect and emphasis on kiai, which translates into stability and cutting power. I am only an observer of Yagyu Shinkage-ryū, but I would say it is exemplified by timing, precision, and perception. Today, Katori Shintō-ryū is, in contrast to both those arts, exemplified by mobility, positioning, and speed. The long introductory kata of Katori serve to develop stamina in its students, but as one advances through the system, a great emphasis is placed on rapidity and posture in practice.

I have drawn great value from my study of both Katori and Jiki, and wish to continue to practice those arts. Since I view the internal as my primary martial practice, I view everything through that lens. Jiki, for me, has a much clearer path that is compatible with the body dynamics I am slowly absorbing through my study of arts such as Xingyiquan. The internal differences in how I might generate power, as opposed to my training partners who do not have an exposure to neijiaquan, do not break the kata. We can both train together within the framework Jiki provides. I am finding, however, that when I reach into my center to "hold my own" against my peers in Katori, it is usually by drawing on an element of Xingyi or Jiki in my practice, rather than utilizing a pure Katori response. I do not consciously break the kata or change a movement, but the application or expression of intent or power may be incorrect from the perspective of Katori alone, and serves to intrigue some practice partners while annoying others.

Am I being a good training partner in Katori if that is my approach?

Clearly, I need to keep a focus on what it means to do Katori correctly, and then see how this meshes with my long term goals. When people get excited in their practice, the pace of kata in Katori can accelerate very quickly, and this can cause a reversion to external approaches — the intensity of the practice can be easy to get caught up in. This is both a blessing and a curse: sometimes when a person moves through the kata very quickly, they can lose track of initiative and centerline. My holding centerline then provides a problem for my partner to solve without resorting to brute force. But, there has to be a balance. A goal I have is to practice Katori in a manner that is in alignment with my long term goals of continuing to deepen my study of internal martial arts as my primary practice, even if that means slowing down a bit, while still providing a clear benefit to my training partners when I am in the senior role of the kata. Internal does not mean slow or fast, but it does mean mindful, and I have to make sure my kenjutsu practice is mindful as well.

Despite these challenges, I believe a real benefit a study of Katori Shintō-ryū provides for me is that it has both advanced and fundamental level kenjutsu — its iai, omote no tachi, and particularly its naginata vs. tachi kata serve as an excellent foundation for kenjutsu practice, while its gogyo and shichijo no tachi are subtle practices that imbue the earlier kata with additional layers of meaning. Arts like Jiki have evolved into advanced practices that are a bit cryptic — thus my interest — and could be viewed as finishing schools of swordsmanship. In contrast, because Katori Shintō-ryū is a sogo budo (comprehensive budo) — even though the line I practiced did not teach its jujutsu, shuriken, and esoteric practices — a lot of time is spent exploring proficiency in a variety of arts in order to be complete. Shintō-ryū is a sword tradition, ultimately, so even though the senior side of the kata (uchi) uses the tachi, and is ostensibly in teaching mode, the benefit of the kata can often be viewed as for uchi. I find a lot of value in its basic teachings, which I seem to grasp, and can practice them in a focused and determined manner. Even a subset of Shintō-ryū is an interesting long-term practice from that perspective.

In conclusion, I am at the point where I believe I need to focus, and maintaining advanced progress in two koryū that are disparate in expression of skill is challenging. I need to prioritize, and in doing so, realize some of my limitations as well as my strengths. In doing so, I can continue to refine my understanding of kenjutsu, as I focus most of my efforts on neijiaquan.

It is good to take periodic inventory of what one has learned, what benefits one has acquired from his or her practice, and how best to balance the time and effort required to maintain commitments to the different lines of study one is engaged in. This includes not only personal practice, but time taken traveling to training, financial costs, social obligations, and the responsibilities one makes to their students, juniors, seniors, and teachers (as the case may be).

With my study of Shintō-ryū, over the last four years I have had trouble due to work commitments and injuries maintaining a regular presence at Capital Aikikai in Silver Spring. I found the raw external athleticism of Shintō-ryū is not tolerant of injury, whereas other arts I practice could be practiced easier when in recovery. It is likely because Shintō-ryū is such a visceral, external, practice when done with a partner at speed. I continued to practice Shintō-ryū on my own, and get to class when I was able, but over the last four years my focus shifted more and more towards understanding Jikishin Kage-ryū. My mindset, posture, movement, rhythm, and timing have become more and more a product of my Chinese training and my exposure to Jikishin Kage-ryū than a pure expression of Shintō-ryū. Additionally, I am at the point in my Katori training where I have to dedicate the effort to get from the plateau I am on now to a point where I am good enough to be allowed to teach others, performing Shintō-ryū in as pure a manner as possible.

At the 2014 annual seminar in DC, I did not understand more than one advanced practitioner's approach to the art -- at times the roles of uchidachi and shidachi lost their meaning in a pure quest for speed. The speed may be a mechanism to test how relaxed one can be under pressure, how efficiently one can move and react, and how well one knows the kata under duress. It seemed to me, however, almost as if Sugawara-sensei has come to view his sword practice as a form of aiki-ken versus a manifestation of teachings from Marishiten. In contrast, I very much appreciated admonitions to be soft and precise and smooth in movement. That resonated with my interest in Taiji, but how to do that at such speed?

Given that I do not practice Aikidō anymore [maybe I should have joined Capital Aikido ten years ago when Clyde invited me to train] and that my passion is first and foremost neijia, I could just do the latter rather than Shintō-ryū, but there is a great depth to art I do not want to abandon. So, what of Katori Shintō-ryū focused as a personal practice?

Katori [like Nen-ryū ] is said to be the sword that protects, and Jiki said to be the sword that dominates, but one should not ever be found wielding a sword of doubt. I need to let go of preoccupations about my skill in Shintō-Ryū versus the time I have put into the system and simply train if I enjoy training -- but, importantly, in a manner that is compatible with my goals of furthering my abilities as someone who practices the internal martial arts, and does justice to the art in of itself.

Letting go of an idea, a fear, or a path can be terrifying or liberating. It is all about one's state of mind. When challenges arise, or things do not work out according to plan -- this is when equanimity is put to the test. However, when one has a surplus of opportunity, the question is how one should best focus to get the most out of the time, resources, and energy one has to devote to the craft. Each person may make different choices when presented with the same opportunities. The choices made depend on their history, mindset, and goals. These remain private and personal decisions, but I am writing on the topic to shed some light on my thinking, in case the narrative and analysis might be of help to others. I have been examining my older practice of Katori Shintō-ryū through the perspective of my current knowledge. For this practice, I use wooden swords from Kashima Shintō-ryū and Nen-ryū for my practice, so that I have an implement that can be the same across the different kata I have learned (Shintō-ryū, Jikishinkage-ryū, Shinkage-ryū), and have the length and heft of a traditional Japanese sword (nihonto). I have focused my cutting actions to be universally that of Jikishinkage-ryū where there is overlap between the arts. In an instant, you can only cut once. I am practicing the omote-no-tachi, gogyo-no-tachi, and shichijo-no-tachi with the longer weapon and focusing on keeping zanshin between segments of the form. Over the next six months I am going to continue that exploration on iai/batto and naginata.

Once I integrate my Shintō-ryū naginata practice with the body mechanics, zanshin, and kiai I have come to expect in my kenjutsu practice, I am going to revisit Jikishinkage-ryū to-no-kata to determine a set of tactics compatible with the kabbala of Jiki that can be performed with naginata. I have had good fortune exploring Jiki with odachi and found that both Hojo no kata and To no kata have analogues with the larger weapon. I then will explore the Shintō-ryū naginata and tachi kata with odachi as well.

I have written on this blog previously about some of the distinctions between Shinkage-ryū and Shintō-ryū and my efforts to practice both, as well as how Jikishinkage-ryū changed my view of what kenjutsu could be. All that still stands, and having taken a pause from Shintō-ryū, focusing on Shinkage-ryū and Internal Martial Arts (Bagua, Xingyi, Taiji), I can't go back to practicing a martial art in an external manner. But what I can do is look at an art from the perspective of the internal, and see how I can maintain internal ideas in my practice. For this, it is good to not be attached to a school.

I've long felt that Jikishinkage-ryū, done properly, is an internal art. I will write more about this in the future. But Jiki Shinkage-ryū is also restricted to tachi and kodachi in its practice. I am curious what a solo iai practice should be for me and how I will use the naginata based on what I know. This will begin with revisiting Shintō-ryū naginata and then practicing it in a manner that is compatible with my current understanding of budo. It is easy to criticize other arts or move on from one art to the next, but it is more interesting to explore different approaches and attempt to purify them around the most profound understanding one has.

In the past, there were different dōjō of Katori Shintō-ryū and that Katori was famous for long weapons (naginata, spear) while Kashima was considered the place to learn sword (tachi, odachi). Maybe a long time ago Kashima and Katori were not as different as they are today. The full name of Jikishinkage-ryū is Kashima-shinden, the divine tradition of Kashima, Jikishinkage-ryū. So, the art is not entirely divorced from the place it was born. I think exploring these ideas may be quite interesting and maintain this line of inquiry as part of my personal practice.

Ultimately, I continue to enjoy practicing a subset of the Shintō-ryū kata I know as a personal misogi (purification) and shugyō (asceticism). That will have to be enough for me.