It was a fall evening, late in the season, with the characteristic Northwest mixture of rain, cold, and darkness. It was to
be another in a long string of demonstrations originating somewhere in the distant past, continuing regular as the seasons, taking us to all corners of the Pacific Northwest.
Back then, Sensei was sensitive about his
talents. People could beg or bribe to see his skills, but to no avail. On the other hand, if he took a liking to a someone, he would share all, and on more than one occasion, spent hours instructing, demonstrating, and
refining to a new friend.
Some months previous, two young men visited our workout area as invited guests. They were athletic, and one had been an accomplished wrestler in high school. During the span of the afternoon,
Sensei made believers of both...but more importantly, made two new friends. They were Christians from some church up north. They came from affluent families. Sensei, who was a common man, and loved common people, was
invited to demonstrate his skills before a youth group at the church. Because of the new found friendship, Sensei was quick to accept, but later, dreaded his art and antics might be considered uncouth by outsiders.
Demonstration night came, and we looked for a place to set up our equipment. We scheduled to start at 7:30 pm, but arrived our usual 30 minutes early to set up. No one was around. Quite a disappointment, given we drove
nearly two hours through horizontal rain to arrive on time. Finally, close to 7:30, people began pouring in. The organizers, our two friends, had not yet decided where to have the demonstration take place. However,
quick to react and improvise, we were nicely set up within minutes and there were soon seats for all who come.
In short order, the room was filled to capacity. People drifted in from other events in adjoining
buildings, a wedding member here, choir member there, stragglers, etc.
I led off the demonstration with an overview of the martial arts, and how different arts developed in various countries stimulated in part by
social issues and needs of the inhabitants. The message was that almost anywhere you went, fighting arts took root among ordinary people and reflected their great dedication toward perfection of discipline.
introduction, I demonstrated the Filipino stick fighting art of Arnis, afterwhich my son did a demonstration of kicks and punches and Kata.
It was clear the audience was impatient for Sensei to come on. Out of
deference to myself and the other demonstrators, he sat patiently behind a screen where no one could see him. When his time drew near, I gave a lengthy introduction, billing him as the greatest martial artist I had ever
He walked out in his blue satin Chinese style uniform, wearing his red sash. Even in this crowd of society's elite, his innate nobility radiated through.
"All of the compliments, the titles, the honors mean nothing. I don't teach Karate," he
said in a mocking, half-sneering voice, baring his teeth as the word "Karate" dragged across his palette. "I don't teach Kung Fu either."
From out of nowhere came his imitation of Bruce Lee as he uttered the words, "Judo, Ai Ki Do, Tae Kwon Do, Goju Ryu...I don't teach any of those. What I do teach...is discipline!"
"Take Bill...this man (pointing at me)...he knows Karate styles. When he came to me, he knew kicks, punches,
blocks, tactics, and all of the weapons. But I could still beat him! Because I had discipline...and he did not! Now...I've taught him discipline."
"When I talk to my Christian friends, they say how can I profess to be a Christian and teach people to fight, to
stab, to kill? My reply again, is that I teach discipline. I call it Mind over Matter. Your mind over your matter."
"How many times do we hear ourselves say that we are willing to sacrifice for the Lord...willing to forego consumption and pleasure to ease the burden of our poorer fellow man? How often do we say we are willing to
pay the price it takes to be a good practicing Christian, or Buddhist, or Muslim in this difficult time? Like many
things, easy to say...hard to do. If you had the discipline I teach, you could do anything you decided to do. If you
wished to be what you profess, you could...because with discipline, you choose what you want to do, then you truly do it, and nothing less. Tonight, you'll see what it means to have discipline."
The first part of the demonstration involved a series of spontaneous defenses and
reactions to my random attacks. We had done this many times before, but in fact, had never choreographed a routine. As he had said in the past, "When you have talent, why
confine yourself to a script." For a period of thirty minutes, he threw, twisted, tangled, tied, curled and disabled me into submission, no matter what attack I initiated. Before
long, members of the audience were hollering out attacks for me to try on him. Eventually, Sensei tired of playing with me, then turned to the audience and asked
people to come out and attack him. Of course, no one would...but Sensei always had the next move, and by then, he spotted the largest and most physically impressive male specimen in the crowd. At Sensei's urging the
audience encouraged the strong man come up and attack. It was always an enormous crowd pleaser to have their local hero ending up helpless, on the floor.
After winning the crowd over, Sensei proceeded to his breaking demonstration.
Now many people dismiss breaking demonstrations with comments like, "Bricks don't strike back."
Yes, bricks don't strike back, but the discipline of breaking is not the same as that of fighting...therefore, whether
or not bricks fight back is a moot point. Breaking exercises the principles of discipline, concentration, commitment, and courage. Without developing these traits to their fullest, Karate has no substance. True breaking
involves an almost mystical relationship with the target. One picks up the piece of wood, or the brick, and studies
it closely. After careful scrutiny, somewhere in the artist's mind, the decision is made that "I can break this
object." It is set down on the stand, the artist focuses, and almost unconsciously, adopts techniques of power and
breathing rooted in the shadowy wisps of time. The crowd, the sounds, and the environment drift into the distance. The demonstrator takes aim, breathes once, clearing his mind, then exhales. He breathes again,
reaffirming commitment to the break. He breathes a third time, lifting his striking arm, then drives his energy and focus downward at the target, smashing it to bits.
There is no finer feeling than a successful break!
Sensei, as master of the iron hand, was especially theatrical that evening. Before I realized what he was up to, he
had built an I-beam of cinder bricks, standing them on their sides, rather than horizontally, to augment the
difficulty of the break. From out of his bag, he pulled a bottle of lighter fluid and ignited the newly formed tower. I nervously eyed the overhead sprinklers.
"This is my discipline," he said, as he put his hands into the midst of the flames. Five seconds went by...the
crowd began to gasp...ten seconds, there seemed to be the smell of burning flesh in the air. He pulled his hand
from the flame, skin still smoking and steam rising from the surface. He postured himself into a solid breaking
stance, concentrating completely on the target to be broken. He raised his hand and delivered a powerful hammer fist that resonated along the floor to the feet of all in the room The bridge of bricks exploded downward.
Next came the rocks. No matter what people could say about breaking bricks and boards, and driving nails into
pine, no one could argue that breaking rocks was anything less than awe inspiring. Sensei began passing the rocks
to members of the audience. When they returned to the front, fully inspected, he laid them onto the breaking stands, and, one after the other, proceeded to pulverize them.
Then, he reached into his basket and pulled out a large boulder. Turning to the audience, he said, "I found this
rock today, I'm gonna try to break it!" As a courtesy to the audience, he passed it around for all to see, feel and
inspect. When it came to the front, he placed it on the stand. He delivered a thundering blow, and the rock shuddered beneath the force of impact. But it did not break! Again, he struck, and again, and again. He got up,
adjusted the rock's position, and attacked it with different strikes. After five minutes of striking, he turned to the
audience and said, "How like some of you in the audience tonight, this rock is. It comes here as a rock, and
chooses to leave as a rock. How many of you will fail to hear the message of the Creator's love that I bring
tonight? How many of you will fail to see the love of your Christian brothers and sisters in this group tonight? I believe in the Creator, and I know that through him and his love for me, I will split this rock.
Then, in mocking self deprecation, he said, "I don't know when I'm going to break it, but I know I'm going to
break it tonight, and I'm going to stay up here until I do. I hope all of you stay with me to see this through."
What followed was a demonstration of discipline, perseverance, humility, and commitment unlike any I had ever
witnessed in the past. Sensei repeatedly smashed at the rock, never wavering from his commitment. Five minutes passed, then ten, and all could sense that with each strike, the rock was on the verge of breaking, but had
somehow managed to resist one more time. Suddenly, a sound of submission emanated from the rock, as Sensei,
driving his hand through the boulder, split it perfectly into two sections. With a smile of satisfaction, he picked
up the two nearly equal halves of black stone, and passed them to the audience for inspection. The crowd was silent.
Though he learned his arts in the Temple, and his beloved masters were Buddhist monks, Sensei always
professed his Christianity. This was fundamental to everything else. In my writing, he would want for me to tell,
at least once, about his love for Jesus, his Lord and Savior. I hope I've done justice to his philosophy and his teachings with this piece.
When the demonstration was completed, Sensei was surrounded by admirers from the audience. Off to the side was a professional looking woman, holding one of the pieces of rock which she was about to put into her
carrying bag. I went over to ask if she was taking a souvenir. Her response was that she was a geologist, and
recognized from the outset that this particular rock was one of the most difficult of rocks to split. It was her
intention to take the rock sample back to the university lab, and have it tested for ability to withstand stress. She said she was certain that he never could have broken the rock without the Lord's direct intervention.
I responded, "Sooner or later, he always breaks the rocks."