If You Can’t Do It, You’ll Just Die

In the dojo, even when I didn’t understand the lesson it turns out my teacher was correct.

There was distance between us.

Standing across from each other in the dojo, they relaxed and removed and signaled intention from their posture.

After a few seconds of mu, the entire body moved as they entered my space.

Existing in a similar state, there was no expectation of action, just a fluid movement of stepping to the side and when the punch passed by, kicking up to the elbow with my right foot.

Recovering the posture as my training partner moved past me, the distance was again between us and the moment reset.

It was now my turn to punch and enter the space.

I could understand the distance, timing, and rhythm; the DNA of the martial arts in this waza, but the actuality of its application?

Realistically I was being asked to kick a punch out of the air.

It’s not that one wasn’t allowed to have personal thoughts and opinions in the dojo, but rather the dojo was not a democracy. Entering the martial gate required a form of submission, even if begrudgingly, or following the teacher and copying what was being show as best to one’s ability.

In many ways, thinking and the intellect is antithesis to the martial arts.

Thinking about things, analyzing things, and asking questions means the mind is fixed and the body is not moving. The forms and patters passed down for the past 800 years contained the blueprints to bypass the slowness of the mind and just move without thinking.

Questions got in the way of this.

But a good student still asks them, still thinks about them, and a good teacher still answers them again and again in the hopes that eventually the student will run out of momentum in asking and let the experience in the dojo speak for itself.

Who the heck is trying to kick a punch out of the air anyway?

The first time I asked I got a technical response.

Something about footwork, understanding the kukan, and a suggestion to pay attention to my body alignment; the relation of my head over my shoulders, spine and hips. This wasn’t the answer I wanted as I already know that if the form was perfect, or close enough on my part, I would be able to do it.

Like a good student I tool the suggestion, knowing at least enough regarding the hierarchy of the dojo that I couldn’t ask again about it until I could physically demonstrate through the movement that I at least practiced the suggestion.

The next time the lessons cycles back around in the dojo and I found myself (trying) to kick punches out of the air, there was a window opportunity to ask again.

Why were we kicking punches out of the air?

It’s ok if you can’t.

If you can’t do it you will just die.

Followed by a laugh and playful dismissal to keep practicing.

Further cycles and questions would lead to an understanding on a technical level, using the legs like one would use the hands so there is no difference between the two.

If two arms are good, four arms are better.

The best way to show this concept was kicking punches, they move fast with intention, enter your personal space, motivate one not to get hit.

The punch was just a drill, an excuse to demonstrate something.

This was the point where there were no more questions beyond the training that one could ask.

The moment you stop asking questions, that is when the mind turns silent and inward and the learning begins.

Maybe kicking a punch was the impossible, and sometimes a situation might arise where the impossible is required.

And if you can’t do the impossible?

That’s ok, you’ll just die.