Kiai is Not a Sound
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I practiced in an unofficial line of Kashima-shinden Jikishinkage-ryū kenjutsu for eight years before I moved to Seattle. I came to the practice having first trained to the level of mokuroku in a heterodox line of Katori Shintō-Ryū. I eventually decided to only practice Jikishinkage-ryū, instead of continuing to train in both side by side. Once in the PNW, I made the decision to stay on that path, despite having no one initially to work with, even though there are orthodox representatives of Katori Shintō-ryū near Seattle. This essay is about where I wound up.
For ease of reference, in the essay below I compare and contrast my understanding of both arts and why I came to such a positive impression of Jikishinkage-ryū compared to my earlier practice:
Gogyō Exegesis, 2020
Much of my writing on Inner Dharma has been about kobudō but the primary focus of my martial arts practice has been in Chinese internal martial arts. Jikishinkage-ryū to me felt compatible enough with internal martial arts principles and possessing a small enough curriculum that its practice, unlike a sogo bujutsu such as Katori Shintō-ryū, is not in principle as overwhelming to maintain. I felt as though I could practice both internal martial arts and Jikishinkage-ryū without doing injustice to either.
In a recent essay I compare and contrast Jikishinkage-ryū as I understand it with other surviving lines of Shinkage-ryū. I also discuss the evolution of Japanese martial practices from being field combat focused, to dueling focused, to an activity primarily concerned with personal development. For those not as familiar with Jikishinkage-ryū I hope it might also be a useful resource:
Divergence and Unification in Shinkage-ryū, 2024
If the discussion below meanders, I will provide a short quote from the article above, which sums up my current thinking as well as anything else I might write:
In my own practice, I feel it is important to cultivate a virtuous mind (zen-i善意 ) and try to increase my abilities with the positive goal of purification as part of the ongoing process of shugyō. Training is an offering and a connection back towards something greater, from which mind, time and space all arise. Making an offering of one’s practice, with humility and maintaining a virtuous mind is what I strive for and the most important tradition that I am a part of. This puts much less emphasis on whether I am practicing the “correct,” “direct” or “true” Shinkage-ryū and instead is focused on my own experience and discernment. For me, it is enough to train. It is up to the official lines of these arts to transmit things to the next generation, to the best of their abilities, unchanged or not.
Preliminaries aside, below I describe how my own practice has evolved since making those decisions.
Glossing Shinkage
What's in a name? Not much, or a great deal, based on your perspective.
Glossing Jiki, Shin and Kage as a single word in English seems to give it the character of a proper noun "jikishinkage" as the name of the school. Splitting Jiki from Shinkage, as done in the group I train with, puts the emphasis on Jiki meaning "true" or "correct". We are doing the correct Shinkage-ryū, as opposed to that other Shinkage-ryū over there. In fact, historically, this is the rationale for the choice of name.
The character we use for shin is read as heart, from the Buddhist concept of Jikishin, or original/pure heart, the bodhi seed of enlightenment. This is the focus placed by the practitioners of Jikishinkage-ryū naginata (which is not actually related to Kashima-shinden Jikishinkage-ryū kenjutsu and may have originally been named Jikishin-ryū Kage-ryū of all things). Yamaoka Tesshu, the famous swordsman, calligrapher and Zen priest of the late 19th century is known to have said that if one practices Hōjō, the foundational kata of Jikishinkage-ryū, it is the equivalent of practicing zazen.
It is strange how names work on the mind. I heard someone who practiced the more recently developed naginata style, refer to the art I practiced as "jikishin" for short, putting an emphasis on that original mind of Zen. At first I didn't know what he was talking about. I had to do a double take, even though I knew the story of Tesshu's comments well, and the use of the word "jikishin" in general.
Kage is translated as "shadow" and at times the character for yin has been used in its place. There is a notion of matching, moving with and also solidity to the art when practiced in depth. Also, the notion of invisibility or concealment, either of your person or your intensions and the protection that affords (specifically, as granted by the patron warrior deity Marishiten) comes into play when speaking about the concept of shadow in Japanese swordsmanship.
I now tend to use the character in (陰)
for kage when I write Shinkage,
to pay homage to my internal martial
arts training and my interest in
Japanese mountain religion called
Shugendō. I also use
shin (
直神 is a shorthand way of writing the name of Naobi no kami (直毘神 ) the kami who relieves disasters and misfortunes, appearing in the Kojiki.
Although the Jikishinkage-ryū is said to have lost its teachings associated to Shugendō or Mikkyō, we see at least hints of connections embedded in its name. Might there be more that survives?
Evolution of A Practice
Over time, I found a few people who wanted to learn kenjutsu and began working first with them on traditional katageiko drawn from the introductory curriculum of Jikishinkage-ryū:
- I emphasized in my teaching an interpretation of the foundational walking and cutting practices of Jikishinkage-ryū as informed by my practice of internal martial arts.
- I also took time to provide analyses and applications of exchanges encoded within the kata of the art, called kuzushi, to explore what Jikishinkage-ryū could be.
- Once enough time had passed for their skill to mature, I introduced a pressure testing practice called tameshi ai, to better help forge their spirit and resolve and deepen their understanding of budo.
Each martial art lives or dies in a single generation and we must all work to keep our practice alive in each moment, never taking our knowledge for granted, no matter where we train.
The Cloud of Emptiness
Yamada Jirokichi's 1927 book on Jikishinkage-ryū has some poetry from Jiki densho in it that survives even machine translation, which I will paraphrase here to maybe explain why internal martial arts has influenced my kenpō:
Hold swords and wooden swords on both sides and use the sword to fight. Among them, the two standing, is the place where the chaos was not divided before the heaven and earth were opened. Before the heaven and earth were opened, there was chaos and no separation. The shape is the same as the Taiji cloud, the Wuji is the cloud, the cloud is the cloud of the infinite and the cloud is the cloud of no self. If you dare to go to a place where there is nothing, you will be able to take it and you will be able to wield the sword.
One insight I would like to share regarding practicing classical internal martial arts and Japanese swordsmanship is that if I am to fully embody internal martial arts principles, I cannot simply practice the parts of Japanese arts I have learned that are compatible with higher-level Taoist ideas, or improve their content with my understanding of Xingyi, Bagua, or Taiji. I also must eventually cease practicing what is incompatible.
Portions of my practice of Jikishinkage-ryū, if taken to its logical conclusion, I feel can fall into that category and caution is warranted, as Jikishinkage-ryū is an art that lends itself being taken to extremes. For example, happon geiko is a traditional practice of doing hōjō no kata 100 times in a single day.
I have been working for the last several years on strengthening my constitution and continuing my dedication to internal martial arts, as my own teacher was encouraged to do by his sempai. My practice is a form of austerity called shugyō that develops the body, mind and spirit. Because Jikishinkage-ryū is organized around Taoist principles but winds up being a very hard practice at times, I find utility in and embrace the idea of balancing its practice with elements drawn from the classical internal martial arts (e.g., Bagua, Xingyi and Taiji). This is in keeping with advice my teacher was given when he was learning the art and the fact that Jikishinkage-ryū's fourth headmaster spent an extended period of time in China in the early 17th century, which had a profound impact on Jikishinkage-ryū compared to other surviving Shinkage-ryū traditions.
Is that enough?
In later conversations with the inheritor of one line of Jikishinkage-ryū that is close to what I had learned, it was stressed to me that each level of practice in Jikishinkage-ryū requires specific purifications (misogi). Failing to do so, he maintained, can lead to the practice becoming dangerous. That resonated with my own experience. One of the strongest admonitions from my internal martial arts teacher stands out clearly in my mind. He was speaking in terms of Chinese martial arts (e.g., hard practices associated to some forms of Shaolin Lohanquán) when he said very clearly:
If your practice makes you sick, you must stop.
I take that as an admonition to not try to cultivate hard or external qigong to extremes while training in internal martial arts. In my case, this means it might not be enough simply for me to add internal martial arts ideas to Jikishinkage-ryū practice to perform it as best I am able. Instead, I also must examine my practice more closely and restrict myself to a practice that is not in opposition to internal martial arts principles.
But, if I:
- Constrain my expression of kiai to be more akin to the vocalizations found in internal martial arts: flowing from, or aligned with, a movement, rather than driving a movement
- No longer forcefully coordinate breathing with each movement, but instead keep my breathing relaxed, steady and even
- Utilize sophisticated reverse breathing methods from Tàijíquán and abandon the ibuki style breathing called aun kokyu
am I now practicing the same kenpō but at a higher level than I once did or am I practicing something fundamentally different?
This is the challenge with the role of gokui and kuden in classical Japanese martial arts. An incorrect understanding can take an advanced practitioner off into a very bad direction. I saw this, I believe, in the heterodox Katori Shintō-ryū I first learned.
While the changes above work for me at this point in my development, making changes to the fundamental practice of an art has impacts and effects (even if no art stays entirely unchanged, despite what their practitioners might think). In my case, having made changes to my own practice, I can't now easily work with beginners in the way I was first trained. That does not mean the introductory practice was wrong in some way, or needs to be changed, but instead simply that I am at a different place than they are right now and benefit from different activities.
Now when I visit class held by my students, I do so as a guest. I visit from time to time to explore kuzushi and conduct tameshi ai, but they are the ones who hold the space for katageiko.
In my own practice, I have chosen to embrace tàijí principles as Tàijíquán is the most advanced approach to martial arts I know. Others who are in formal lineages of Kashima-shinden Jikishinkage-ryū will have their own paths and their own answers.
For example: 1) advanced principles such as hassun no nobegane and 2) the misogi I referenced above. These may profoundly inform others' practice of the art.
While I think I still attempt to cultivate the spirit of Shinkage-ryū in my practice, I cannot claim what I am doing is true or correct. In cultivating a more withdrawn approach to my study, I am reminded that the final level of practice of Jikishinkage-ryū, called marobashi or marubashi (
Kashima-shinden
Before I do, I want to share a translation of an essay from the head of Jikishinkage-ryū Sounkai, I find inspiring:
The other day, I went to the Kashima Shrine dojo for a dedication practice, which I do every year. A member asked me, "Do you do anything special during the dedication practice?” I responded: "Practice is just practice. We don't do anything special other than practice after visiting the shrine in Kashima."
But what is an offering and what should be offered? What is the Kashima-shinden of the Kashima-shinden Jikishinkage-ryū taught and continues to be taught? If you are proud that you are practicing a school that has something passed down from the gods of Kashima and if you feel that you are honoring that and practicing in this way, then of course you should dedicate it to the school. I think you will feel that way.
The people who actually walk the path are the people who practice, so it is necessary for the people who practice to set clear goals and aspirations [...] dedication, whether it is a dedication performance or a dedication practice, I believe this is a report of the training we have done [...]
When faced with the gods and Buddha, everyone is an immature person. It's just embarrassing to be in front of something much bigger than yourself, such as being superior or inferior, or even thinking that you're real, that person is fake, I'm right, you're wrong, etc.
At least for those who practice Kashima-shinden Jikishinkage-ryū, dedication, such as dedication performance and dedication practice, means humbling yourself and exposing yourself in front of the gods and Buddha. Reflect on your own practice with an honest eye. I think this is the kind of place it is.
Training earnestly, to purify my body, mind and spirit and return to or recognize my original nature is the goal of my kenjutsu. Kenjutsu exists for me as a form of shugyō ("mindful austerity") and is part of my practice of Shugendō (lit. the path of mysterious power), a blend of Taoism, Shintō and Buddhism practiced widely, especially in sacred mountain areas, before the Meiji Restoration). With that perspective, I now am making a conscious effort to talk in terms of kenpō when I refer to my practice, and also emphasize that at this point I train outside of a formal Japanese tradition.
百錬自得
Hyakuren jitoku means that through a great deal of practice you can better understand yourself. My focus has shifted over time more towards this kind of self-reflection than being primarily concerned with self-preservation. In doing so, I realized it was time for the people I worked with to maintain a keiko of their own instead of my teaching more people beyond what was strictly needed to maintain my own practice.
I have evolved from thinking in terms of practicing in one or more classical traditions or ryūha (流派) and instead maintain a practice of sword method derived from my training in classical kenjutsu as a form of mindful austerity called shugyō. I attempt to do so in a manner informed by and compatible with internal martial arts principles. The result is not a lineal practice of a specific ryū.
Visiting sacred places has been an important component of my martial arts training over the years. It was while visiting the Dewa Sanzan area that I realized I needed to study classical and traditional arts instead of continuing to teach modern jujutsu. Much later, visiting shrines and temples in Nara and Kyoto, I realized that my path had narrowed exclusively to practicing internal martial arts. Internal martial arts training is the common theme in my practice and what I am focusing my efforts on moving forward. This means when I practice kenjutsu, it has to be in alignment with internal martial arts principles, even if that means I diverge at times from how I received instruction.
That divergence is the reason for this essay.
While in classical Chinese martial arts I train in a formal lineage, my kenjutsu practice over the years has become more solitary, having been transformed by the former activity and my distance from surviving lines of Jikishinkage-ryū. I refer to my kenjutsu practice as kenpō and a form of shugyō. This is not something I do lightly and moving forward it is something I must do largely on my own.
I am grateful for the chance to have worked with several people as my understanding has evolved, and for my conversations with experts in the field. I am better for those interactions even as I have come to realize I do not count myself an expert when it comes to classical Japanese martial arts. Practicing independently can devolve into a form of egoism (starting with a desire to keep training in the manner one learned, then in a spirit of sharing what one knows with others, but can turn into not being able to listen to or learn from one's betters).
I want to cut through that.
In Taiji there is an idea about a level of skill called dong jin, which means to properly understand force. Once you properly understand force from a Taiji perspective, if you keep training on your own, you will continue to improve. I will still help the people I have mentored in kenpō, who now lead a katageiko of their own, but my focus will be on mentoring and providing feedback on their expression of internal martial arts ideas in their practice and helping them culvitate the proper mindset to conduct their own training as a form of shugyō. Maybe for me it is time to focus more on Kashima-shinden and less on worrying about the true or correct Shinkage-ryū.
I am grateful for the opportunity to conduct hyakuren jitoku (