Tuesday, September 20, 2011
Seminars: Milwaukee, Paris, Bousse, Romeoville
Monday, September 12, 2011
Rooting
Saturday, September 10, 2011
3 Permissions
I have found myself repeating often a set of permissions I received from my sensei, George Dillman. Now, he never said it exactly in this manner, but this is how he taught me and what he expected from me. So, I have sought to summarize the philosophical approach to teaching within Dillman Karate International (DKI) and which I try to model for my own direct students (known affectionately as KJK). (By the way, I owe the idea of permissions as a way of articulating a teaching philosophy to the writings of Rory Miller. He has a great list of permissions he gives his students.)
My sensei gave me three permissions: 1) the permission to learn something he hadn't taught me; 2) the permission to discover something he doesn't know – provided I show him, so he can learn it, too; 3) and the permission to stop doing what doesn't work.
I can remember way back in the 70's, I had purchased a pair of sai, and taught myself the sequence of a sai kata. (Now, I was doing a lot incorrectly, as the shredded sides of my gi and scratched flesh over my ribs could attest, but, I was trying.) I went into the Shotokan dojo where I trained one afternoon (no classes scheduled, and the floor was mine). I practiced empty hand kata, then, pulled out the sai and began to practice sai kata. That particular kata has a a movement in which the sai clash together. The sound brought my sensei out of his office. He watched for a moment, then said, "We don't do that." He then paused, struggling, I could tell, with some inner contradiction. "It is fine for you to do that, for it's historical value, but I do not want you to bring it into the dojo. I don't want people to be confused about what we do here."
That was the last time (actually, the only time) I brought sai into that school. But, it didn't stop me from training with the weapon. Nor from adding manji-sai, bo, nunti-bo and tonfa to my practice (never really picked up the kama or the nunchaku, though I own them, and can manage a few basics). In fact, I am currently working on a book on sai and manji-sai, and plan a follow-up on bo and nunti-bo.
Interestingly, about 25 years later, I checked out a website about my old dojo, and – lo and behold – my former sensei now teaches bo and tonfa.
In contrast, sensei Dillman expects his senior students to research and learn things he himself doesn't know. And, he expects us to share that knowledge. A typical weekend at the Dillman Training Camp in Pennsyvania will feature any number of arts taught by members of the organization. Sometimes what people bring back is "nothing special," but sometimes it is critical information which helps tremendously. That is why we incorporate kiai-jitsu into our practice, and that is why we incorporate toate-jitsu into our practice. These skills really began with students who learned something and brought it back.
There are risks in this. First, it is tempting for students to develop a "flavor of the month" attitude. Always learning something new can make novelty itself the value (in contrast, great masters spend most of their time learning something old). Second, when a student has permission to learn from another source, the sensei can end up losing that student to some other style, school, teacher or group that fits their fancy. Third, if a student learns something the teacher didn't know, and brings that back to the group, the student can begin to think that they have become something special, that they have attained a level superior to others.
But, the values outweigh the risks, because in a learning environment that is open, great learning possible. New information deepens our understanding of existing knowledge. It equips us to discover more information and unlocks new possibilities. And, it encourages lower ranked students, as high dans continue to model learning even after years of training. (This last one is important, because, at seminars we old-dudes often are seen standing around, talking, or watching with our thumbs in our belts. So, we really need to show that we are still learning, still discovering and still open to being taught something we don't know.)
Because I think these things are so important, these three permissions, I have taken to repeating them when I teach, repeating them around the world, and granting the same permission to everyone who trains with me.
Thanks for reading.
Now go train.
CT
p.s. You'll notice I say there are three permissions, but I only talked about one of them. You can read this older post of mine where I talk about the permission to stop doing what doesn't work. http://christhomasmartialarts.blogspot.com/search?updated-max=2009-07-06T07%3A12%3A00-07%3A00&max-results=7
Friday, September 9, 2011
Martial ARTist
Ken Smith helping me demonstrate at a Dillman seminar).
My friend, Ken Smith, is a direct student of Professor Remy Presas, and is one of the designated inheritors of Modern Arnis. Ken loves to quote his beloved teacher, and when he does, he will do a spot-on impression of Remy's accent, phrasing and somewhat imperfect English. It is a funny, loving tribute. When he teaches Arnis, however, Ken sounds like Ken.
In contrast, I knew an American karate teacher, who, whenever he was teaching, sounded like his Japanese sensei, same broken English, same everything. I am only remembering this because my acupuncturist was telling me about fellow students (from his days studying kung fu) who started speaking like their Chinese sifu.
This tendency points to a fundamental problem, most martial artists are not artists at all, they are mimics. Their goal is to imitate and they hope to become clones of their teachers. Oddly, at the same time, they believe that their teachers are somehow imbued with other-worldly skills that no one else could ever attain.
But, as Professor Wally Jay like to say (I'm sure he said it often, but this is the exact way he said it to me), “No matter how hard you train a St. Bernard, it will never run like a greyhound. Everybody has a different way.” No one can become Bruce Lee, or Remy Presas, or Wally Jay. All anyone can do is be their own martial artist. So, Ken Smith is not Remy Presas. And even though he is inheritor of Modern Arnis, he still moves, thinks and teaches like Ken. And that is what makes him a martial artist.
Thanks for reading,
now go train.
CT