Making the Mind Empty in the Surf

Surfing and martial arts share much. Top-level practitioners, for one thing: a healthy percentage of the Brazilian black belts I met grew up surfing, and professional surfers like Joel Tudor have taken up the gi with great enthusiasm and success.

You can see why, since both arts require adaptability and grace in the face of powerful opposing forces. The ocean’s tougher than all of us.

Another point of commonality: the experience that surfers (and psychologists) call “flow,” that optimal experience of life. Jiu-jitsu people use the term “flow” sometimes, too, but it’s more typical in the circles I run in to hear it called “mushin,” a Japanese word that roughly means “empty mind.”

There’s really no experience like it. I got it when I was doing competitive debate during high school and college, and haven’t had it since — until jiujitsu.

Putting this type of experience into words is a weighty task. I won’t make too strenuous an attempt, because it seems contrary to the very notion of an empty, flexible mind. I’m merely going to describe how it seems to me during a perfect sparring or competition experience.

They come for you and grab you, hard. You off-balance them and then you’re on top and they don’t know what happened. Things are slow, slower than life ever is.  They try to grip you again, and you watch their hand come open as it reaches for you. It could take what seems like a second or what seems like a year, and you know where on your body it will land precisely.

But you’re not there any more. The hand’s efforts are useless. Then you let them grip you, just to show them they shouldn’t grab you there, and suddenly they’re tapping.

I don’t use the word sublime a lot, but not much else qualifies. The world is gone. Life is right here.

***

We often talk about martial arts as a practice, and other disciplines from sporting to religious to philosophical use that same terminology. The end results you’re aiming for with these disciplines differ widely. It’s the practice that brings focus, clarity, and the ability to experience what we call flow. It took me years to get there in both debate and jiu-jitsu, and I’m certainly not there every session. But, as with yoga or music or whatever your art of choice is, it’s the practice that matters.

Buddhism talks about emptying the mind in the context of meditation. This is a painting by the Chinese artist Gao Qipei:

Screen Shot 2015-12-30 at 1.06.12 PM

You’ll notice that a poem is inscribed at the top of the painting (about which there’s another fascinating story, involving Bertolt Brecht, but that’s for another time).

The poem is about using a quiet mind to tell the difference between good men and evil ones. Here’s a rough translation:

“The deep clarity of the empty mind
corresponds to the vast emptiness of the sky. 
All these malicious and evil men
can be seen in the stillness of contemplation.”

There is a difference between using mental clarity in evaluating someone’s personal ethics and in knowing intimately whether the kimura is available, but how you get there is the same: slow progress over time, culminating in the acuity to know instinctively what to do when the time is right.

Besides, every discipline has different aims, some of which exist beyond good and evil. To paraphrase Ash from the Evil Dead films: “Good, bad. I’m the guy with the heel hooks.”

The idea of mushin is divergent from daily life experience for most of us. We work day jobs that require constant attention. Whether you’re sitting in an office or waiting tables, your mind is active and thinking about minute details. If the world slows down in these spots, it’s not because of the flow, it’s because the quotidian is making you watch the clock.

What does this all mean? It means that the New Year is almost here, and with it, I’m thinking my annual thoughts about what to improve during the next trip around the sun.

I always play the Lawrence Arms song “100 Resolutions” at this time of the year, because the chorus is something to aspire to. You can see why it’d make me think of mushin:

This year I’ll try not to think too much.
This year I’ll try to stand up for myself.
This year I’ll live like I’ve never lived before.
This is my year, for sure.

This year I’ll practice more. Not just jiu-jitsu, but all the things that get me away from clock-watching and toward quiet. This year I’ll flow more and force things less, and I’m not talking about while rolling. The world will always make waves in my life, but I will learn to surf them better.

These are all things I wish for you, too. Happy New Year, everyone.

 

Just Stay Alive

Jiu-jitsu, my instructor says, is about survival. This is one of the things he says that resonates most with me.

Since I’ve started training I’ve said that my philosophy on yoga, jiu-jitsu and life is that as long as I’m breathing, nothing can have gone that wrong. This is an aspirational thing to say, too: it reminds me of how good I have it. Even when times are darkest, I’m surrounded with hope and possibility.

Let me come right out and say that I’ve always had friends who struggled with depression. If you’ve ever been in that particular mud, you know how hard it can be to see the world from the perspective I’ve just described.

What I am trying to stay here is that it matters very much to me that you stay alive.

I’m not trying to make a grand proposition of this statement — it matters very much to me that you stay alive — I’m just trying to state a fact. And it’s true basically whoever you are. Maybe you’re a close friend of mine and you know this already.


[I thought about walking out to this song tonight, because the Mountain Goats are from Durham, and because the song is great, and because this stuff has been on my mind lately.]

 

Maybe we’re not even close friends. Maybe you’re an acquaintance, and there are dozens of people who know you better than I do. Maybe I don’t even know you. It still matters very much to me that you stay in the world. And think of all the other people who know far better than I do what unique contribution you make to our human experiment.

When I’ve lost people to depression and the self-destructive behavior it engenders, I’m always struck at how the people who felt most alone were always surrounded by people who really cared. It can be hard to see, just like you can’t always see the shore when you’re in a boat. The shore is always there.

Jiu-jitsu is about survival. Jiu-jitsu is life, and life is jiu-jitsu, and sometimes your life has to be about focusing on survival. That’s your jiu-jitsu for the day.

If you do nothing else today — including coming to my match tonight, although you should do that too — read this poem by Naomi Shihab Nye.

Nye describes a scene where a father is crossing a rainy street carefully, holding  his son on his shoulder as he crosses the wide expanse.

She intricately describes the care he takes protecting his cargo — until the end of the poem, when you realize she’s not just talking about one father and one son.

We’re not going to be able
    to live in this world
    if we’re not willing to do what he’s doing
    with one another.

    The road will only be wide.
    The rain will never stop falling.

The road will only be wide. The rain will never stop falling. We’re not going to be able to live in this world without taking care of each other.

Jiu-jitsu is about survival. How you do in jiu-jitsu matters very much to me, and probably to a bunch of other people you don’t even know. Think about it.

Learn the Rules of JiuJitsu, Break the Rules of JiuJitsu

“Learn the rules, break the rules, make up new rules, break the new rules.” — Marvin Bell

 

The American poet Marvin Bell has a tremendous body of work that spans traditional, experimental and radical forms. His work is passionate, intricate and thoughtful — and as you’d expect, this makes him worth listening to when he talks about creating art.

There are points of commonality between the literary arts and the martial ones. I’ve been thinking about writing more lately, so I returned to some Marvin Bell texts the other day.

What does this have to do with training? I was struck by how many of Marvin Bell’s 32 Statements About Poetry sound, with minimal editing, like he could be talking about jiu-jitsu.

Below, I’ve taken many of the 32 statements and lightly edited them. I removed the ones that are just about the process of writing poetry. But I kept the majority of the statements, replacing “poetry” with “jiu-jitsu” and “writing” with “training,” for example. To me, there are significant insights that cross over. This might say something about the practice of each art, or it might simply speak well of Bell’s observations about life.

If you’re interested in poetry, check out the original 32 statements (and, while you’re at it, The Book of the Dead Man). If you’re just here for the jiu-jitsu, read on for some advice from a different type of artist.

The Dead Man would actually make a pretty sweet gi patch.
The Dead Man would actually make a pretty sweet gi patch.

 

1. Every jiu-jitsu practitioner is an experimentalist.

Jiu-jitsu is like science: we experiment with techniques. If the techniques work against a resisting opponent, we keep using and refining them. If not, they’re changed or discarded. And each of us has different physical attributes: for a time, I experimented with the body triangle. Upon my scientific discovery that I had stubby legs ill-suited for the task, I moved on. Training means trying things and finding what works for you.

 

2. Learning jiu-jitsu is a simple process: learn something, then train it; learn something else, then train something else. And show in your training what you have learned.

Jiu-jitsu is a deep, rich, complex art: jiu-jitsu is hard. In contrast, learning jiu-jitsu is easy. You find a great instructor, show up and do what they say. Drill the older stuff regularly, and be open when they show you something new.

 

3. There is no one way to train and no right way to train.

One of the instructors I respect most is old school, but also open-minded. After he watched a Caio Terra DVD, he remarked about how odd it was that Caio teaches techniques in a radically different way than he does — but the technique still makes sense. This is one reason Dave Camarillo’s maxim “train with everyone” is so apt: there are many things to learn and many different ways to learn them.

This man might not be able to tap you (or he might, who knows?). But he has knowledge that can improve your jiu-jitsu.
This man might not be able to tap you (or he might, who knows?). But he has knowledge that can improve your jiu-jitsu.

 

4. The good stuff and the bad stuff are all part of the stuff. No good stuff without bad stuff.

5. Learn the rules, break the rules, make up new rules, break the new rules.

Some of Bell’s statements I didn’t have to edit at all: these two were among them. These are true of poetry and jiu-jitsu and life. The latter in particular has echoed in my head for many years.

In jiu-jitsu, I think about rules like “hands off the mat,” which new people absolutely need to internalize. Then you train for a while and you learn exceptions. But this simple dozen words could be a philosophy all its own.

 

6. You do not learn from work like yours as much as you learn from work unlike yours.

I will never pull 50/50. Yet I own Tony Pacenski’s 50/50 guard DVD set. This is both because it’s important to learn the techniques you’ll come up against, and because it gives me a window into a way of doing things that is vastly different from my own.

 

7. Originality is a new amalgam of influences.

Ryan Hall is justifiably known for making great instructional DVDs. One of the things I like most about them is that Ryan explicitly mentions where he learned certain techniques and principles — almost like an academic citing sources. The way he thinks about jiu-jitsu is original, but includes knowledge he’s gathered from other sources. In amalgamation there is creativity.

Like it says in Hamlet, there is nothing new under the sun. We stand on the shoulders of those who came before us.

(This is also, incidentally, a reason I love rap music and mash-ups: creative combination and repurposing of found objects. But that’s a different post.)

"Wait, you're going to use this image in a weird post about poetry? ... Blue belts."
“Wait, you’re going to use this image in a weird post about poetry or something? …  Sigh. Blue belts.”

 

8. Try to drill techniques at least one person in the room will hate.

You can take this one of two ways. Either “that guy is going to make fun of me for drilling berimbolo, but I’m going to do it anyway,” or “I am going to drill heavy pressure techniques, like the kind Roy Marsh teaches, and give people free chiropractic adjustments.”

Like Bell says, there’s no one way to do things.

 

12. It’s not what one begins with that matters; it’s the quality of attention paid to it thereafter.

I started out with much better takedowns and takedown defense than one of my training partners. She’s been working assiduously on it, and now she’s basically caught up to me. Nothing is static.

 

21. Jiu-jitsu has content but is not strictly about its contents.

These days when I go to a seminar I’m more interested in conceptual understanding than I am in learning new moves. Concepts are more important than contents. Once you have a bucket, you can always fill it with water. If you have no bucket, get all the water you want, and all you’ll have is a wet floor.

Leo Vieira told me at a seminar this year: “As long as I am comfortable and using less energy than my opponent, I’m doing the right thing.” It blew my mind.

 

23. One does not learn by having a teacher do the work.

You can ask your instructor to show you every technique they know. They can spend weeks of their life doing so. If you don’t drill constantly, you won’t learn even one of those.

Sometimes you have to turn upside down.
Sometimes you have to turn upside down yourself instead of having the teacher tell you to turn upside down.

 

 

28. Jiu-jitsu is a manifestation of more important things. On the one hand, it’s art! On the other, it’s just art.

Dave Camarillo’s academy has one rule: respect. It’s amazing how one principle can apply to all practices and situations.

It’s great to learn self-defense, just like it’s great to learn to move people with poetic words. But it’s really about the larger picture: respect, beauty, work ethic and becoming a better person.

 

29. Viewed in perspective, Parnassus is a very short mountain.

I’m just going to leave that right where it is. It’s perfect.

 

Perspective is everything.
Perspective is everything.

30. A good workshop continually signals that we are all in this together, teacher too. 

Bell wrote this about writing workshops, but the best jiu-jitsu seminars are like this.

Murilo Bustamante, a man who as achieved more as a competitor, coach and instructor than 99 percent of people ever will, came to teach where I train. He listened to every question. He showed every detail people needed help with. He had enormous respect from everyone before he walked into the room and left with more than when entered.

 

32. Art is a way of life, not a career.

That says it all, no?