Once I had a dream.  In it, I had the good fortune to be living in Monterey.  I don’t know why Monterey, but I recognized it, and it was bright and beautiful.  While there in the dream, I befriended an old Japanese gentleman, for whom Monterey became home after leaving a World War II internment camp.  Within his community, he was a revered master of weapons arts.  During our brief time together, he seemed eager to pass some of his knowledge to me. 

Though only a dream, I could see life was difficult for him.  He existed hand to mouth, and when not teaching, he was looking for work.  English was not his language of choice.  He spoke it, but only when necessary.  Perhaps because of that, he never achieved the notoriety his skills warranted, and lived very modestly, depending on the generosity of others.

He told me he had come for me because he had been watching from the other side, and saw my struggles with training, particularly with the weapons, "If I could put it all into a purse for you to take, I would."  Of course, the constraints on his English made detailed explanations impossible.  He had me demonstrate what I could do, and he studied my movement for what seemed an interminably long time.  Then he had me repeat, so many times, I could barely continue, and fought with myself, demanding another part of me wake me from the dream.   What I took from my experience came only after agonizing repetitions and corrections under his close scrutiny.  He showed the way, and I learned by doing.  He saw his role as being like a strong wind, blowing away the chaff, leaving behind only that which had substance.  I thanked him, then woke.

Now that wind blows in some other place.  Those of us fortunate enough to have met him hold tightly to the substance which remains.  I think of him even today, as Sensei.  In time, I encountered and worked with living masters, who were equally influential in my training, most notably Isidro Archibeque, but also including Dave Bird, James Tille, Steve Armstrong, Don Wasielewski, Roy and Russ Kauffroath, Robert Atlas, and even some others, who would prefer not to be named.  When I use the expression "Sensei" in the article, I am referring to all of them collectively, as well perhaps to one or two of them individually.

For you my friends, here are their lessons.  In this small way, I am putting it all into a purse for you to take.

The Starting Point

The Martial arts are a "path of knowledge."

This distinctive path presents a singular contract to all students who tread it.  Sensei emphasized, "Whether you study Karate, Kung Fu, or some other kindred pursuit, the arts are a partner with whom you make a solemn compact.  Performance returns growth.  Perform and you will be rewarded.   Fail to perform, and you'll get nothing."

Sensei believed the martial arts promised unlimited accomplishment.  Over the course of a lifetime, anyone, with the proper spirit, could become a master.  Yes, times might come when further growth seemed impossible.  Even then, the mission is to be patient and to learn.  That is the rule!  Never lose sight of it.

Sensei added "The Bo tolerates all but the most glaring errors.  As a teacher, it is patient and generous.  When one technique is mastered, the next drops into your consciousness serendipitously.  As a partner, it is dependable.  Nothing more can be expected from a weapon.  If the same were true for people, mankind would be content and at peace."

Though Sensei had great skill with the Bo, he seldom forced technique onto the aspiring practitioner.  He took me aside, put a weapon into my hands, then demonstrated the first moves.  Periodically, he checked progress to ensure I hadn't detoured.  Occasionally, he added a move or disarm gained from his own experience with the Bo.  What, with practice, it wasn't long before I surprised even him with new moves. 

This is the aristocrat of weapons.  In line with its complex demeanor, the sword may be the most formidable of all weapons to learn.  One student described, "Empty hand technique is like addition and subtraction, working with the Bo, algebra. The sword goes far beyond.  There's no other weapon quite like it, no other skill as exacting.  It's almost as though everything done before, is but preparation."

It demands perfection.  Movements that were inconsequential with other weapons become important with the sword.  Against a skilled attacker, even minor errors result in disfigurement or death.   What may be a valid block with the empty hand, results in loss of limb against the sword.  Recognizing the consequences of a touch, slash, or hit, the sword defender learns to close all openings to an opponent.

Repeated exposure develops a new array of instincts, senses, and movements.  If asked, "Why are you holding the sword low?  Why is your foot at a right angle?  Or, what is the next move you would make from that position?" you will have definite answers.  With swords, everything has a purpose, everything has a reason, everything leads to something else.  This is the principle of "Oneness."

Sword concept is "one thought."  In action, it is "one move."  Defense and offense are "one."  You learn to see attacks in your blocks, and blocks in your attacks, and to use them simultaneously and effectively in every situation.

Having mastered the sword, you'll have new strength of limb and continuity of movement.  Others will marvel that your moves seem to leap from the void.  Your art will be characterized by spontaneity, explosiveness, and economy of technique.  Facing others, you'll feel they are moving in still frame.  While you are smooth, they are rough and riddled with stutters.  As they search for openings, you have already penetrated.

The knife is the "great equalizer."  An opponent with a knife can defeat you, no matter what level your skill.  This is the "knife wielder's advantage."  Once a knife is present, anything can happen.

In attitude, it is transparent.  It reflects and magnifies the personality of the wielder, rather than changes it.  It can be forceful in the hands of the thrust-and-kill attacker, or subtle and tentative in the hands of one who prefers to hit and run.

There are some who are adept at throwing the knife.  Others shudder to think that one would be thrown.  My practice is to use a fighting knife for fighting, and a throwing knife for throwing.  In essence, they are two different weapons. Regardless of what you're holding, throwing should be done only when the hit is certain.

There are many theories on throwing the knife, and I have experienced two.  The Western School recognizes a knife spins and rotates when thrown.  The thrower always knows his position relative to the target.  For me, the knife half turns at five steps.  That means if I'm standing five steps from my opponent, I release by the handle.  At eight steps, the knife will do a full turn.  Therefore I release by the blade.  At eleven steps, one and a half turns, the handle again...and so forth.

Hap Ki Do Master James Tille, an adept at knife throwing, graciously shared his training techniques, and the concepts he had studied in Korea.  He brought samples of knives common to his school.  Upon inspection, they appeared to be metal bars, weighing close to one-half pound apiece.  Handles and razor sharp edges had been machined into each.  When asked to demonstrate his throwing technique, he stepped off about twenty yards from the target.  With what appeared to be complete disregard for distancing, he slowly raised his hand. Looking like he was doing Tai Chi, he released the knife toward the target.  The grins on our faces wiped clean when, with a loud "thud," the knife planted firmly.  He proceeded to a new location, and reproduced the outcome.  We questioned him about rotations, and distance from the target, and why he set the knife on the flat of his palm.  He replied that as far as he knew, this was how to throw a knife.  He had never thought about the revolutions before, or about whether to hold the handle or the blade.  To him, those issues didn't matter, and never presented a problem.

We asked him to teach us the technique.  By the end of the day, we were throwing his knives from all distances, and consistently sticking the target.  Don't ask me to explain it.  Just know that it happened!

For Master Archibeque, this was "the first lady of weapons."  Who would ever believe a defender could respond to an attack by snapping a handkerchief into the attacker's eyes, leaving him helpless and in pain?

Putting a knife into your hand, he would invite your attack.

"What shall I do, Sensei?"

"Do anything you want...whatever comes to mind."

You lunge forward.  The handkerchief snakes around your wrist, pulls taut, and the knife is gone.  Instantly the fabric coils around your neck, and you are falling to the ground.

"The handkerchief has no substance, no strength, no force, and no form.  Because no one believes you can do anything with it, it is perhaps the most deceptive of weapons.  You can snap out at vulnerable targets, entangle your opponent, lift him off the ground, gag, smother, and blind him, all with a handkerchief."

It was easy to see why it had become a preferred weapon for him.  "Master the Handkerchief and you master the rope, the belt, the chain, the towel and other like weapons too numerous to list.  Master the Handkerchief, and you will always have a weapon, even if it's the shirt off your back."