Mangetsu 満月

jorgevaccaroFebruary 7, 2013

3 Years ago, Sôke Hatsumi Masaaki sent me a beautiful painting that says: “Mature Fruit, Full Moon”

From time to time, I read the letters again and I behold Soke’s paintings. My feeling is that time shows in out path, if the maturation is at it’s right moment to taste the present at it’s maximum. Just like the moon comes only in a day at it’s full figure, likewise the fruit gets eaten when it has the right time of maturation. You can eat lots of fruits, but only when one it’s on it’s right time of maturity, is when the most tastefull it is. You can look at the moon all the month, but the day that it is full is when it’s beauty is at it’s maximum flow.

Running after the effort ot others, o trying to live the experiences of others, is a futile race. Many want to fly and yet have not learned to walk. Running after the foreign effort might keep them away from the own escense. Playing with the children of others does not make you a father unless you gave birth your own children, nor wanting the students of other teachers make you a good master.

Looking always the light of the moon, may not let you see where you’re standing. Having gluttony for the fruits, might no let you appreciate the light of the moon. The moon and the fruit are connected as Budo and Life.

Sôke once shared a precious teaching during the Alicante Taikai: “Forget the meaning of why you practice, don’t think about it. Though the martial arts have a sole purpose and is at the end of the life to find truth, finding God. Only at the end of life, in the last instant, will happen everything you’ve done, what you’ve lived”.

Bufu Ikkan

Christian P.

REI

jorgevaccaroDecember 20, 2012

From TENRYU by jorgevaccaro

REI

“In what’s immutable, there’s existence;

In what’s immutable, there’s No existence”

Lao Tzu

Budo must be an example of life, but not of great heroic acts nor magnificent spiritual gestures, but of simple and daily acts of ofering, gratefulness, protect, caring and being, which to my understanding mark us on a human basis.

Rei 例 means practice, habit, custom, example, ilustration. Being able to give the example of constant practice is part of the escense of Budô, thus one must keep individual training and learning without an aparent goal, so this way may leave a print of existence to those who come behind.

Continuing self training and follow the teachings of a master, are fundamental to not get lost in the illusion of the path. In time, the master is aparent, as is the path and the teaching, but they are mostly needed, because they keep connected with one another like a misterious red thread that bonds the pinkie fingers of every people.

To be always thankful also connects us with REI 礼, that in this case means to be thankful. This Rei, must be a real expression of gratitude in a humble degree, by lowing the head on a reverence. In Japan, the sence of. Reverence towards the elderly, the teachers, those who help or by example the clients, are acts of showing respect by lowing the head lower than theirs. This is also a part of the Reigi 礼儀 (behavior manners, courtesy acts).

The Path is apparent, but being able to give the example of moving forward without a real path is the escense of Budo. Believe of an ccomplished path and believe that one can be the path, is just an illusion.

To my understanding, the path relies on Mu 無, so then we can say that one of the Kaname of Budo, is the Mudo 無道 (http://tenryuden.wordpress.com/2011/04/28/budo-mudo/) However, is the Mudo no Kaname is an illusion, Kaname 要 is an non existential point, that only manifests itself by the fact of expressing it over the space. Even though we believe that the Kukan no Kaname is the escential point on the space, we all know that within the Kikan there’s only emptyness, so it’s impossible to find a point of support, a rotation point of even an escential point from within. The mind creates it only by the fact of needing a point of support , a way where it can sustain itself, to not get lost in MU.

Sôke talks to us about Rei 例

“It is said that the martial forms are shown through the daily life and behaviour. That is, through costumes and humanity”.

In the daily life, the present life, is the only real thing we have, but from within, it’s an existential echo from the actions from the past, our own and our ancestors. They only manifest in the apparent path, but is only an illusion for the ego to have the security from where to stand.

In the Zen Budhism we can find the text about the cuestions to the mastern Nansen, which they come from the Nara period.

Nansen was interrogated by Joshu ¿What is the Path? to what Nansen responded: “Your ordinary mind is the path”, Joshu then said: “¿Can you find it?”. To what Nansed said, “Just the you try to find it, It’ll fade away”, Later on Joshu asked “If you can’t find it, How can you know that it is the path ?” Nanses said “The path does not depend on knowing or not knowing. Knowing is confussion, not knowing is to be cheated. If you really were to find the path of no doubt, is like a great void. How can you force this to adapt the categories of confirmation of negotiation?

We can say, that REI 例 are the costumes, practices and habits that we acquire throughout the keiko, achieving the humbleness of being thankful (Rei 礼) to the existence of the ancestors and teachers.

Following the no path, in the individual transformation in REI 零, in which case means “cero, nothing”, and this is the escential part that cannot be understood. Being “Cero”, is submerging the conscience in the No conscience of the “no existence”, to what we can call Mu 無.

Sôke says;

“If you can’t understand, this is normal because is Ninjutsu. If you could undersand, if wouldn’t be Ninjutsu”

Si then our called existential ans spiritual essence REI 霊 (espíritu)”, comes fro the no understanding and the no path. The more we want to use our intellect, the further we are from the true experience. The experience comes from the constant practice inside, and out of the tatami. Inside of the tatami with our Gi moving us and improving the physical techniques, achieving knowledge through distance, the space and time with hundreds of skills, outside of the tatami moving us without the Gi and improving our habilites of generosity, kindness, patience, tolerance, giving and protecting, observing and learning, hearing and caring. All this applied to family, work and society are the instruments that mark our “humanity”.

Inside, as outside of the Dojo, we must also cultivate the ming in the no existence to turne it in the No Mind (mushin 無心). That is, the existence exists, and the no existence also exists, both are connected.

According to a famous martial arts teacher from the Edo period; Yagyu Manuneori:

“In a moment of existence, a Tsuki is thrown to the existense. In a moment of no existence, a Tsuki is thrown to the no existence. Equally, without expecting the existence, there’s an attack thrown to the existence. In that sense, it is said that the existence is existence, and the no existence is also existence”.

Christian

Path to the Heart of the Flower (IV)

Shawn GrayDecember 7, 2012

From The Magick & The Mundane » Bujinkan by Shawn Gray

Finally, some free time to blog again!

In the last blog article I wrote on my early adventures in Japan, I related how I went to Iga in search of Hatsumi Sensei in October 1990, but didn’t manage to find him.

After not having found him, there was nothing else to do but return to Hiroshima and continue with my English teaching schedule. I also went back to my Karate studies, and continued pounding my fists into bloody hamburger against trees.

Back to Eikaiwa!

Back to Blood!

In December 1990, I had the opportunity to travel to the Chito Ryu Karate Hombu Dojo, located in Kumamoto, on the southern island of Kyushu. The Dojo was equipped with two bunkbeds, accompanying four people. When I arrived, there were two guys visiting from British Columbia, Canada, also staying there for training. (I wish I could remember their names after all this time, so that I could track them down. It would be fun to share stories again.) The Soke (Grandmaster) was 40 years old at the time. His father, the founder, had died in 1984. (From what I’d heard, an elder brother had been destined to continue the leadership of the style, but from what I heard, had been disabled in a car accident and therefore unable to continue with training. The younger son, next in line, had been in Tokyo pursuing medical studies, but was recalled to Kumamoto by his father to take over leadership of the lineage.) I stayed at the Dojo for two weeks, and greatly enjoyed the training. I was awed by the skill level of Chitose Sensei and his senior instructors. In the backyard behind the Dojo were two Makiwara punching posts. Wooden covers protected them from the rain, and on the covers were painted a Japanese character which is very familiar to my fellow Bujinkan practitioners. The character is pronounced “Nin“, and is the first character of the word “Ninja.” What was this character doing displayed so prominently at a Karate Dojo? Although sometimes understood in ninjaphile circles to mean “stealth,” the character is more widely used in more mainstream Japanese to mean “restraint,” “patience,” or “perseverance.” It was with these noble ideals in mind that we forged our minds and bodies in the daily training at Hombu Dojo. Kata, Kumite, and Makiwara training were all part of this. By perseverance and austerity in training the body and mind in the way of the Bushido ideal of the Samurai of old, we pushed our mental and physical limits beyond what we thought possible.

Makiwara with “Nin”

Aside from the training itself, there are a couple of memorable experiences from that time in Kumamoto. One was when Chitose Soke took the other visiting Canadians and myself out for a visit to Kumamoto Castle, one of the three premier castles in Japan. Scars from the Satsuma Rebellion of 1877 (when Samurai warriors of Satsuma province rebelled against the imperial forces of the Meiji government) pock-marked the stone walls. It was an impressive edifice. Soke took us out for sushi afterwards.

Another memory was from one night when my two new Canadian friends took me out for a night on the town, Kumamoto style. I had never been out drinking in Canada before, let alone in Japan. I had no idea what kind of town I was in or where we were going. Before I knew it, we were sitting at a table ordering drinks, surrounded by very nicely-dressed ladies from the Philippines. I was from a farming town of 3,600 people on the Atlantic Coast of Canada. It took me a while to catch on that these ladies worked here. Anyway, we kept ordering and my two Canadian friends were on my left, engaging the ladies in deep conversation. Almost as if they’d met before. I felt a nudge on my right and turned to see what appeared to be two of the local Japanese bikers. They seemed friendly enough. The one next to me, I discovered through our broken conversation (my Japanese vocabulary was probably about 30 words at this point), did well in the local boxing scene. At least that’s what he told me, as he kept grinning and pointing to the biceps bulging out from under his cut-off denim vest.

I was starting to feel a little bit uncomfortable, but couldn’t really understand why. I started to think I should ask my friends when we were planning to leave. I turned to my left to ask my friend when we were going to get the check, and then felt a fist slam lightly into the right side of my face. My friend turned. “What?” “I think maybe we should go. This guy just hit me.” “Wait a second.” He turned to confer with the other friend. I turned to my right and smiled nervously at the two grinning Japanese guys wearing black leather. They looked like they were having fun. A moment later I turned to the friend on my left again. “What.” Again a punch from the right hit the side of my face. Harder this time. “Look man, our friend on my right here has now hit me in the face twice. We need to go, now.” “Ok.” My two friends stand up. Both of them were about fix-foot two. Sturdy Canadian farming boys. I turned to my right. The two Japanese dudes were gone.

We paid the bill and headed down the elevator. It came to a stop at ground level, and as we stepped out into the parking lot and the doors closed behind us, we found ourselves on the back side of a slowly-shrinking circle, on the perimeter of which were four or five tough-looking locals. The friend on my right made a quick beeline to the right, down an alley. I was close behind him. Closer than I normally am to other guys. We zig-zagged quickly through some alleys and eventually found ourselves with our hands on our knees, panting and out of breath, outside the Hombu Dojo “bunk room.” There were just two of us. The other Canadian friend was nowhere in sight. It was around 2am. We waited. We didn’t want to wake anyone and cause a scene. We waited some more.

After what seemed like at least 20 minutes, our friend loped quietly out of a side street and over to join us in the shadow of the Dojo roof. “Where were you?” “What took you so long?” “What happened!?” He told us that he didn’t see us bolt away right away, and before he knew it, he’d been surrounded. As the four or five tough guys closed in, one of them had pulled a knife. Our friend had a quick eye and saw the guy start to draw. He jumped on him and punched him to the ground, and then made a run for it. It took him a while to give them the slip and sneak back to join us at the Dojo without being found. We quietly slid into the Dojo dorm and into our bunks, glad to be alive. The next morning Soke asked us how our night had been. We played it cool and made like nothing out of the ordinary had happened. He smiled.

The next day was the day he took us to Kumamoto Castle. On the way in the car he told us that he’d heard about what happened, saying he was glad we got through it ok, and apologized “for those with bad manners.”

Chitose Soke and 2 Canucks

Before I left Kumamoto to go back to Hiroshima for the New Year, 1991, Chitose Soke gave me some training advice for when I got back. Study also Kendo, for speed and timing, and also Judo, for throws and locks. I was a bit surprised to hear this. Martial arts masters aren’t always known for recommending that their students study other arts. Soke’s openness in this way really impressed me.

When I got back to Hiroshima, I asked around about Kendo training. There was a small Okonomiyaki bar in Hiroshima run by a young Japanese woman and her American (Seattle, I think it was) husband. He was very into Kendo, and was proud of doing it in Japan as a foreigner. He had photos of his shop and would brag about being a 3rd Dan, which I think he said was one of the highest ranks of any foreigner in Western Japan at the time. I have no real way of knowing whether that was true or not, but that’s what he’d say. He agreed to bring me along to his Kendo class and introduce me to his teacher, Fujiwara Sensei.

With Fujiwara Sensei

Lesson with Fujiwara Sensei

Fujiwara Sensei was a wonderful old (to a twenty-year old!) Japanese man who always had a huge smile floating across his face. He had a very soft, gentle manner and a kind way of speaking. For some reason he took a real liking to me and, in addition to selling me $1,300 of training gear for $300 and giving me a set of Hakama with both of our names embroidered in it, also refused to let me pay for lessons. This irritated the American guy who introduced me. Fujiwara Sensei had been his teacher for years, but he always had to pay for his lessons. I was unable to explain why Sensei seemed to like me so much. Maybe it was just because I was always so polite. I’d always greet him with the extra-polite, “O-kawari arimasen ka?” (“Has there been no change [in your health, etc.]?”) He’d always smile widely and say, “Hai, arimasen!” (“Yes, there hasn’t!”) My American friend was less than impressed. He’d pound the hell out of me when we were paired up in the Dojo and I would go home with headaches from getting hit on the head so hard repeatedly. I didn’t know what to do. I could not force Sensei to take the money. Out of desperation I would bring bags of fruit to the Dojo and force them on him. The Japanese students would laugh at this, but I didn’t know what else to do. I was never ranked in Kendo, although in addition to the regular Suburi and Randori training, Fujiwara Sensei also taught me 5 Bokuto Kata forms and 2 Shoto Kata forms. I seem to remember that these were for Shodan level, but my memory could be wrong on that.

Kenjutsu Lesson

As far as Karate ranking went, I went to Japan as a brown-belt. Kanao Sensei in Fukuyama wanted to promote me, but said that Chito Ryu had prohibited ranking of foreigners to Yudan grades (black belt grades) in Japan. Apparently some Japan-promoted foreigners had in the past gone back to their home countries and caused political problems by claiming their rank from Japan was worth more than a locally-given rank of the same degree. So I wasn’t promoted during my stay in Japan, but Kanao Sensei did teach me some very interesting Kata that made things interesting when I got back to Canada.

To be continued…

Shihan Noguchi Yukio

jorgevaccaroNovember 21, 2012

From TENRYU by jorgevaccaro

Año 2003

Interview to Shihan Noguchi Yukio

Shihan Noguchi Yukio is well known in the Bujinkan, by his classes in Noda City and for being always very close to Masaaki Hatsumi Soke, not only in Japan, but in many Taikai that have taken place all around the world.

His way of moving doesn’t stop to amaze, no matter whoever sees him for the first time, as much as those who have been training with him for years.

The classes developed by Shihan Noguchi Sensei are dynamic and with happiness, and although his movements are fast, precise and sutile for the human eye, the power behind his techniques leave a mark on the body that lasts for days.

While he is moving, it seems that he’s dancing at the same time as the attack, sometimes he’s movements are so absorving that can take us from our own balance without even touching us.

From every waza he shows, and infinite amount of Henka are quickly expanded on infinite changes. There’s no time to analize, no time to reflect, his classes are as the wind of Bufu that wraps us and takes us from one side to the other without thinking. Everyone gets out smiling, the happiness is captured in his trainings.

In this opportunity, a breath after class gave us place to interview him for the Tenchiwado (Antique publication of the Bujinkan Tenryu Dojo & Christian Petroccello).

—

Noguchi Sensei ¿How did you began in the martial arts?

I began when I was 30 years. Now I’m 61. I’ve been training for 31 years, and never did any other art but this one.

¿How did you meet Hatsumi Sensei?

I knew him before training. I met him once when I went to meet him because I hurt my ankle. I went there for him to cure me, because that’s what he was dedicated to at the time. There we became friends

However, when I started training with him, I stopped being his friend, to became his student.

¿What other activities did you do beside Martial Arts?

I’ve practiced several sports such as Volley, Beisbol, Bowling, Ping Pong, etc..

At bowling I was quite good. I always did over 200 points!

¿How do you see the growth of the Bujinkan in the world?

The Bujinkan is growing naturally, without propaganda.

All over the world, people have been gathering by themselves. Good people, that make good things.

¿Do you feel identified by any ryuha in particular?

I have no preferences. All are equal to me. Besides, I don’t understand all of the schools.

¿What did you feel the first time you took the Sakki Test?

I felt very nervous, but it was something I made gladly.

¿What advice would you give to the instructors?

When they come to Japan to train as much as they can, to then bring those teachings to their countries. Once there, teach freely.

¿How do you apply Budo in your life?

No difference. I live in complete fullness.

¿Respect this year’s theme called Koteki Ryuda Juppo Sessho, what can you tell us?

It’s something that it’s practiced from every directions. As people, that come from every part of the world, every direction. They come from Switzerland, England,Spain, Argentina, etc. The base I think is to work from those directions.

Ko teki Ryu da, gives me the idea of something candent, that expands or that comes from every directions.

As sensei explains more about this matter, the more I will be able to talk about it.

¿How was the training when you started in the Bujinkan?

It was different. Sensei tought old school, but now he doesn’t. He’s smoother now.

¿Where you able to meet Takamatsu Sensei?

No. I only met his wife.

¿What did you feel when Sensei talked and showed the teachings of Takamatsu Sensei?

Afraid!!!

…

Path to the Heart of the Flower (III)

Shawn GraySeptember 18, 2012

From The Magick & The Mundane » Bujinkan by Shawn Gray

In Part I and II of this adventure, I wrote about how I made my way to Japan in 1990 to teach English, pursue Karate training, and look for ninja grandmaster Masaaki Hatsumi. I had arrived in Japan in early August, and now, finally, in October, after getting settled into my apartment, teaching schedule, and Karate training, it was time to set off in search of the ninja master.

Getting information about ninja masters wasn’t as easy in 1990 as it is today. There was no Internet, at least not as we know it now. I remember writing letters home that would take a week to ten days to get from Japan to Canada, and a ten-minute phone conversation to connect with family cost me $100. The only information I had to base my search on was contained in two books on the ninja that I had brought with me to Japan. Both of these books were authored by the same American student of the grandmaster, and both of them pointed to the Iga region as the home of the ninja clans. Eager to meet Hatsumi Sensei for myself, I made plans to visit the area, the city of Iga–Ueno, located in present-day Mie Prefecture.

To plan the trip from Hiroshima to Iga–Ueno, which took around 6 hours at the time (I assume travel times have shortened in the time since), I went to the tourist information centre in Peace Park in central Hiroshima, about 200 metres from where the atomic bomb was dropped in 1945. (I had lived across the street from this location the first month I was in Japan, before relocating to the suburbs, and had been able to see ground zero out my kitchen window.) While the lovely ladies at the desk looked up train connection options, I watched televised footage of the carnage that was going on in Kuwait at the time. Saddam had torched the Kuwaiti oilfields, prompting George Bush Sr. to order the invasion that would drive him back to Baghdad.

Train information and tickets in hand, I was finally ready to make the trip. It was only a weekend trip, two days and one night, so I packed light, but made sure to take my two ninja books with me for reference. I got as early a start as possible, and made it to Iga–Ueno station early on the Saturday afternoon, images of the mystical ninja floating in my teenage head. Exiting the station, the reputation of the city as the home of the legendary shadow warriors was immediately apparent.

Iga-Ueno Station – October 1990

I couldn’t bring myself to pose behind the mask. I was looking for the real deal, not a propped up wooden cut-out for tourist photos.

From the station, I made my way to the ryokan inn where I would be spending the night, checked-in, and then excitedly made my way to the ninja museum, where I was sure to find the next clue in my search for Hatsumi Sensei. The ninja exhibit was fascinating, complete with purple-clad kunoichi female ninja agents, a creaking nightingale floor, hidden compartments, and trap doors. But I was really after information about the living master himself.

Proceeding into the museum proper, I slowly made my way past the many exotic artefacts, pausing to inspect them, unable to decipher the Japanese descriptions. Approaching one glass display case, I stopped in my tracks – I had seen something that I recognized. Underneath the glass was a partially unfurled makimono scroll. I had seen this very scroll before – there was a photo of it in one of the books I had brought with me! I excitedly ripped open my pack and quickly leafed through the book until I found the corresponding image. There was no mistake – the photo in the book was of exactly the same object I was looking at, as if I had taken it myself only moments before. This was a valuable clue in my search – it provided a link between what I had read about the ninja warriors and the exact place where I was physically standing in that moment. Surely a meeting with Hatsumi Sensei himself was only moments away!

I flagged down one of the few staff floating about the place, and in my awkward Japanese asked about Hatsumi Sensei. Her response was a blank expression. Hatsumi Sensei? Bujinkan? Another blank look. When I persisted, she wandered off to find a more senior person who might know more, and soon returned with an elderly gentleman. Between my dreadful Japanese and his attempts at English, he made it known in no uncertain terms that he knew nothing of the whereabouts of Hatsumi Sensei or of anything regarding the Bujinkan organization. I couldn’t believe my ears. I had come all this way to find him. And the photo in my book was proof that I was on the right track! How could the staff not know anything? I tried again to get more information from them, but they simply shrugged, and as the afternoon waned, I left the museum, crestfallen.

On the way back to the ryokan, I tried to make sense of what had happened. I was obviously at the right place – the photo in my book was proof of that. There could really be only one explanation. The staff had lied. There must have been some invisible, unspoken test that I had unknowingly failed and, having been deemed unfit for acceptance into ninja training, I had been sent away empty-handed. From what I had read of the elusive ninja in the books by the American student (who, by his own account, had managed to gain acceptance into the clan himself), it was likely that they were watching me right now, monitoring my movements. Maybe the ryokan staff themselves were also in the employ of the clan. Perhaps if I conducted myself well, someone would appear and tell me that I had passed the test after all. These were the thoughts of a 19-yr old from a small Canadian country town, brought up on fantastical ninja books and then transported into the mystical homeland of the ninja warriors, only to be denied in the end.

No ninja appeared at the ryokan that night. Or the next morning. There was little else to do but have a look around Iga–Ueno, including the castle. Photos were not allowed inside, but I did take a picture of an old palanquin from the doorway. This would have been carried on the shoulders of two retainers, the person of importance, such as a regional feudal daimyo lord, seated in the red box-like structure in the middle. I also got a shot out across one of the tiled roofs – tiled roofs are very exotic – and one of the castle moat, which conveys the mystique that I had come to associate with the image of the ninja through the books I had read.

The day was passing and it was time to return to Hiroshima. No ninja having appeared, it was with a heavy sigh that I boarded the train and watched the misty mountains of Iga pass slowly out of sight.

I may have waited just a bit too long for the ninja to appear – I missed my connecting train in Kyoto. It was already late at night by this time. It was dark and the temples were closed. The only thing I found open was a portable ramen noodle stand close to the station. I had a bowl of hot noodles to console myself and, as I had little extra money, curled up to sleep on the concrete sidewalk in front of Kyoto station, using my pack as a pillow. It seemed an appropriate finalè to the ill-fated trip. I caught the first train back to Hiroshima the following morning and just managed to make it to my first English class on time. It would be another four-and-a-half years before I finally caught up with the legendary ninja master…

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Mangetsu 満月

REI

REI

Path to the Heart of the Flower (IV)

Shihan Noguchi Yukio

Path to the Heart of the Flower (III)