Pokeless in Rehovot

Chogi Kishaba- Armed & dangerous

For unknown reasons, I entered into the new week with a desire to practice. Unusual. Generally, the end of a restful Shabbat brings out the restlessness in me. My running shoes go on and off I go. Tonight, my gi pants went on and up I went, a woman with a mission.

Starting with Naihanchi, I went through all my kata, loosening the arms, tightening the lats and activating the hikite. An experiment that is typically Kishaba Juku: How does it affect my body mechanics? What practical advantages does it have? What problems does it raise? 


And typically mindfulness meditation: How does it feel? And noticing how easy is it to forget to pay attention whenever the mind begins to wander.


I was on a roll, so I figured, why not get into my weapons kata as well? I had spent some time in the Fall, working on Sai but I hadn't swung a Bo staff with any seriousness since my visit to George Donahue in August. 


That was when I discovered a fundamental fault in my Yamane-ryu Bo swing. No poke.


Bo has never been my forte. It was my first weapon and certainly the one with which I have the most experience. And the most frustration. After more than 20 years of swinging the bo, I have picked up a few things, but have had no real sense of making progress. I know a few kata. I have gotten better at impressing people who don't know what they are looking for. However, whenever I swing the bo for one of my teachers, I get that "where-shall-I-begin" look and instructions to keep practicing. 


This time was different. This time George was able to point out something very specific that I was doing wrong. Something I could work on. No poke in the swing. That is, I was cutting the air as if I was swinging a sword, as if my goal was to strike my opponent where the neck meets the shoulder. However, I was not stabbing in, as if I intended to skewer him through the throat as well. 


It took me a while to understand what he wanted. When I understood, I was struck by the fact that this striking-blocking-stabbing concept was exactly parallel to the way I had been taught to strike-block in empty-handed karate when I switched from doing straight Shorin-ryu Matsubayashi to the body-mechanics oriented Shorin-ryu Kishaba-Juku.


My demons wasted no time stirring me up. How could I have missed something so fundamental for so long?  And when I tried to make the change that August day, I found the older habit so ingrained, it was nearly impossible for me to even imitate the new movement.


And why hadn't I noticed it before?


Switch back to tonight. Maybe it was the restfulness of the day. Or the sense of accomplishment I had from practicing my other kata. Or the relaxation of inhibitions that comes after a workout. 


But I worked on my bo swing by striking at the heavy bag, poking the letters printed on it and drawing back into a block. And then I worked on my kata, letting myself forget the details of the moves but forcing myself to poke when I struck. 


I found that the physical issue was not as daunting as the conceptual one. I thought I understood the strike; I thought I simply wasn't doing it right. It turned out that I never understood the strike at all.


Over the years, I had worked on speed, on looseness, on the elliptical throw. The poke, stabbing into the target in the middle of the strike, meant everything else would have to change. But change to what? 


However, at least for one night, I gave up the pursuit of perfection for the satisfaction of investing in change. Can I strive to make a change in my way of being, at least with the bo, and be satisfied merely with that?


For one night, apparently so. The rest of eternity will have to wait, at least until tomorrow.