Steven Ho's Blog - Deconstructing Fighting and Stunts for your enjoyment

Sir Isaac Newton is best known for his theories regarding gravity and laws of motion on earth (we all know the apple story by now). In short, Newton theorizes that all matter is self-contained and that the only way to change matter is by force or collision; heating, freezing it, burning it, dropping it, hitting it.

But what Newton and many scientists do not account for is the “energy” of our world that is generated by essentially everything around us (our thoughts, feelings, plants, animals, etc…). In simple, commercial terms….think of the Na’vi (blue people) in “Avatar”.

If you’re an athlete or have been in a position where only your sheer willpower was the only way out of a jam, then I’m sure you have experience in the power of human intention. Be it “chi power” or just an “adrenaline rush”, I believe we all the power to do things that could not be explained by Sir Isaac Newton.

In 1985 Harvard Benson went against the typical scientific grain and conducted self-heating/energy tests with a group of Tibeten monks. Here is what he found…

Performed by: Herbert Benson - Cardiologist at Harvard Medical School

Experiment Details: In 1985, a group of Tibetan monks were put into a room with temperatures approaching freezing, while a fellow monk
draped them in cold, wet sheets. These severe conditions would normally send the body into shock, the core temperature plummeting,
and result in a loss of consciousness and vital signs after only a 12 degree drop in body temperature.

Instead of trembling from the cold, the monks began to sweat, causing steam to rise from the sheets. In an hour they were dry, and two other
ice-cold, wet sheets were placed on the monks, one after another - both were quickly dried by the heat generated by the monks.

Results: Herbert Benson and his team of scientists found that these monks had raised their temperatures by up to 17°F and lowered their
metabolism by more than 60%.

They had done all of this with the power of their thoughts and intentions.

Source: H. Benson et al., “Body temperature changes during the practice of g tum-mo (heat) yoga,” Nature
1982; 295: 234-6; H. Benson, “Body temperature changes during the practice of g tum-mo yoga (Matters
Arising),” Nature, 1982; 298: 402.

My wife Nina recently found this amazing Japanese antique tray for a client. I begged her to keep it for our own collection, but her client had already seen and fallen in love with it, so I’ll have to be happy with this picture. The artwork depicts a single Samurai warrior fending off a dozen enemies with a tree trunk. I am assuming it represents the legendary lone Samurai, Miyamoto Musashi.

The image struck a chord with me because I feel the artist really captured the spirit of the Samurai. If you’re not already familiar with it, the code of Bushido is based on seven principles to guide a Samurai - the most prominent being honor.

These are time honored principles that continue to guide martial artists and men of honor today.

The 7 Principles of Bushido

1. Honor (Meiyo)

2. Duty & Loyalty (Chu)

3. Justice & Morality (GI)

4. Complete Sincerity (Makoto)

5. Polite Courtesy (Rei)

6. Compassion (Jin)

7. Heroic Courage (Yu)

This short story (and super valuable life lesson) is an extract about Ed Parker from Joe Hyam’s book Zen in the Martial Arts. Enjoy…

I first met with Kenpo Karate master Ed Parker in 1952 in a Beverly Hills gym where he rented space. A handsome, six-foot-tall Hawaiian with a thick thatch of black hair, Parker reminded me of a huge tree, with arms like powerful boughs and bare feet rooted firmly on the canvas mat (despite his size, he is a whirlwind in motion). He was wearing an old, loose-fitting GI, a two-piece cotton uniform worn by most martial artists. The GI, like his black belt, was white in places from fraying and repeated launderings. His face was serene and peaceful, as though he had just completed meditating.

I will remember one of my initial sessions at his dojo in Los Angeles where I was practicing Kumite (sparring) with a more skillful opponent. To make up for my lack of knowledge and experience, I tried deceptive, tricky moves that were readily countered. I was outclassed, and Parker watched me get roundly trounced. When the match was over I was dejected. Parker invited me into his small office; a small sparsely furnished room with only a scarred desk and battered chairs.

“Why are you so upset? ” he asked.

“Because I couldn’t score.”

Parker got up from behind the desk and with a piece of chalk drew a line on the floor about five feet long. “How can you make this line shorter?” he asked.

I studied the line and gave him several answers, including cutting the line in many pieces.

He shook his head and drew a second line, longer than the first. “Now how does the first line look?

“Shorter,” I said.

Parker nodded. “It is always better to improve and strengthen your own line or knowledge than to try and cut your opponent’s line.” He accompanied me to the door and added, “Think about what I have just said.”

I did think about it and studied hard for the next several months, developing greater skills, increasing my knowledge and ability. The next time I went on the mat with the same opponent, he, too, had improved. But I fared far better than I had previously because I had raised my level of knowledge as well as developing my skills.

Not long after, I realized I could apply the principal Parker had taught me to my tennis game. An avid weekend tennis player, I frequently found myself pitted against better players, and when things started to go badly for me on the court I often resorted to trickery - slicing the ball, trying to hit it with a spin, attempting difficult drop shots. Invariably I lost and was frustrated. Instead of trying to better my game I was trying to “cut their line.” I recognized that I had to play to my best ability rather than to try to worsen my opponent’s play. Keeping Parker’s advice in my mind, my game soon improved.

It has been nearly three decades since then, and in the intervening years Parker has taught his art to thousands of students. Even long after their training they think of him as a good friend - and as a wise and gentle sifu who embodies the martial arts spirit and philosophy.

# end

If you enjoyed this story by Joe Hyams, I recommend this book highly…Zen in the Martial Arts on Amazon. $7.99

Joe Hyams, June 6, 1923 – November 8, 2008

If you follow this blog, you may know that I consider Zen in the Martial Arts, by Joe Hyams, to be one of the defining books in my childhood that encouraged my lifelong interest in the martial arts. I recently received a note from Lisa Hyams thanking me for a previous mention of her late-husband’s book. (Lisa I wanted to connect with you, but did not have contact information - thank you for taking the time to write me)

I had not realized that Mr. Hyams had passed a few years ago and wanted to take this moment to again share with you my favorite chapter of this book, “Beginner’s Mind”, where Mr. Hyams shares his first meeting with Bruce Lee. My wish is that you all have a chance to read this book and that it may touch you as deeply as it did me. It’s the best $7.99 you’ll ever spend.

FROM ZEN IN THE MARTIAL ARTS, “BEGINNER’S MIND”

The air was muggy and fetid in the Long Beach Sports Arena on that summer day in 1962. The air conditioning was malfunctioning and the crowd at the International Karate Tournament was getting restless after watching hours of matches. The Ed Parker, sponsor of the annual event, took the microphone and introduced Bruce Lee, who was to put on a demonstration of jeet-kune-do. There was an instant hush and all heads craned forward. Before his movie career began Bruce Lee was already legend among martial artists.

Bruce walked onto the elevated boozing ring wearing a simple, black, tailor-made kung-fu uniform. He spoke quietly for a few minutes about his art and then began the demonstration. It is always impressive to watch a large, muscular man perform karate, overwhelming the observer with the display of sheer, vibrant power. But to me, it even more impressive to see a slightly built man executing techniques with blinding speed, his motions as quick and elegant as those of a bird in flight. When Bruce finished there was a moment of silence and then shattering applause.

Some weeks later a friend arranged for me to meet Bruce, from whom I hoped to take private lesions. Bruce was highly selective about the students he chose to teach, and this meeting was to be a kind of audition for me.

Since he gave only private lessons and had no formal studio, the meeting was at my home. He arrived promptly and I went out into the front yard to meet him. At first glance he appeared even smaller than he looked on stage. He was wearing snug-fitting, full-length athletic pants and a green tank top shirt that revealed rippling muscles. He was smiling when we shook hands, but he quickly got to the point.

“Why do you want to study with me?” he asked. “Because I was impressed with your demonstration and because I have heard you are the best.”

“You’ve studied other martial arts?” he asked.”For a long time” I answered, “but I stopped some time ago and now I want to start over again.” Bruce nodded and asked me to demonstrate some of the techniques I already knew. We went out to my driveway and he watched intently as I went through the various katas, or exercise, from other disciplines. Then he asked me to execute some basic kicks, blocks, and punches on a bag hanging from a rafter of the garage. “Do you realize you will have to unlearn all you have learned to start over again?” he asked. “No,” I said.

Bruce smiled and placed his hand lightly on my shoulder. “Let me tell you a story my sifu told me,” he said.

“It is about the Japanese Zen master who received a university professor who came to inquire about Zen. It was obvious to the master from the start of the conversation that the professor was not so much interested in learning about Zen as he was in impressing the master with his own opinions and knowledge. The master listened patiently and finally suggested they have tea. The master poured his visitor’s cup full and then kept on pouring. The professor watched the cup overflowing until he could no longer restrain himself. “The cup is overfull, no more will go in.”

“Like this cup,” the master said, “you are full of your own opinions and speculations. How can I show you Zen unless you first empty your cup”

Bruce studied my face. “You want me to empty my mind of past knowledge and old habits so that I will be open to new learning”

“Precisely,” said Bruce. “And now we are ready to begin your first lesson.”

This does not mean that Bruce prevented me from applying a critical mind to his teaching. In fact, he welcomed discussing, even argument. But when challenged too long on a point his reply was always, “At least empty your cup and try.”

Later I learned that Bruce practiced what he taught. As a youth in Hong Kong he had studied wing-chun, a branch of kung-fu, under the celebrated master, Yip Man. When he came to America as a teenager he observed Ed Parkers’ kenpo-karate, taking from it many hand techniques that appealed to him. From tae-kwon-do he borrowed the devastating kicks that make the Korean style so formidable. He also studied other styles of martial arts, taking from all of them whatever he thought useful. Although considered one the best martial artists of his time, he was always learning, always in a constant process of change and improvement. He truly kept his cup empty.

Bruce had not only developed his physical abilities to a point of perfection, he had also honed his mind with the study of Zen. His den in Los Angeles was stacked ceiling-high with worn volumes of the Zen masters written in Chinese and in English.

It has been more than a decade since my first lesson with Bruce, and I am now in my mid-fifties. With half a century of life experience behind me, I sometimes get impatient with a new idea or technique. But when I feel impatient or act dogmatically self-assured, I remind my self of the lesson Bruce taught me, and I try to empty my cup to make room for new methods and ideas.

That was my first real lesson in Zen in the martial arts and its application to life-although at the time I didn’t recognize it as Zen. It was merely good sense-which is what Zen really is.

###

Zen in the Martial Arts on Amazon.

Zen in the Martial Arts by Joe Hyams was my favorite book growing up as a young martial artist. As many times as I’ve read these Zen short stories, I still enjoy reading about Mr. Hyams’ training experiences with OG’s like Bruce Lee and Bong Soo Han.

Here is an excerpt from one of my favorite chapters on Beginner’s Mind:

The air was muggy and fetid in the Long Beach Sports Arena on that summer day in 1962. The air conditioning was malfunctioning and the crowd at the International Karate Tournament was getting restless after watching hours of matches. The Ed Parker, sponsor of the annual event, took the microphone and introduced Bruce Lee, who was to put on a demonstration of jeet-kune-do. There was an instant hush and all heads craned forward. Before his movie career began Bruce Lee was already legend among martial artists.

Bruce walked onto the elevated boozing ring wearing a simple, black, tailor-made kung-fu uniform. He spoke quietly for a few minutes about his art and then began the demonstration. It is always impressive to watch a large, muscular man perform karate, overwhelming the observer with the display of sheer, vibrant power. But to me, it even more impressive to see a slightly built man executing techniques with blinding speed, his motions as quick and elegant as those of a bird in flight. When Bruce finished there was a moment of silence and then shattering applause.

Some weeks later a friend arranged for me to meet Bruce, from whom I hoped to take private lesions. Bruce was highly selective about the students he chose to teach, and this meeting was to be a kind of audition for me.

Since he gave only private lessons and had no formal studio, the meeting was at my home. He arrived promptly and I went out into the front yard to meet him. At first glance he appeared even smaller than he looked on stage. He was wearing snug-fitting, full-length athletic pants and a green tank top shirt that revealed rippling muscles. He was smiling when we shook hands, but he quickly got to the point.

“Why do you want to study with me?” he asked. “Because I was impressed with your demonstration and because I have heard you are the best.”

“You’ve studied other martial arts?” he asked.”For a long time” I answered, “but I stopped some time ago and now I want to start over again.” Bruce nodded and asked me to demonstrate some of the techniques I already knew. We went out to my driveway and he watched intently as I went through the various katas, or exercise, from other disciplines. Then he asked me to execute some basic kicks, blocks, and punches on a bag hanging from a rafter of the garage. “Do you realize you will have to unlearn all you have learned to start over again?” he asked. “No,” I said.

Bruce smiled and placed his hand lightly on my shoulder. “Let me tell you a story my sifu told me,” he said.

“It is about the Japanese Zen master who received a university professor who came to inquire about Zen. It was obvious to the master from the start of the conversation that the professor was not so much interested in learning about Zen as he was in impressing the master with his own opinions and knowledge. The master listened patiently and finally suggested they have tea. The master poured his visitor’s cup full and then kept on pouring. The professor watched the cup overflowing until he could no longer restrain himself. “The cup is overfull, no more will go in.”

“Like this cup,” the master said, “you are full of your own opinions and speculations. How can I show you Zen unless you first empty your cup”

Bruce studied my face. “You want me to empty my mind of past knowledge and old habits so that I will be open to new learning”

“Precisely,” said Bruce. “And now we are ready to begin your first lesson.”

This does not mean that Bruce prevented me from applying a critical mind to his teaching. In fact, he welcomed discussing, even argument. But when challenged too long on a point his reply was always, “At least empty your cup and try.”

Later I learned that Bruce practiced what he taught. As a youth in Hong Kong he had studied wing-chun, a branch of kung-fu, under the celebrated master, Yip Man. When he came to America as a teenager he observed Ed Parkers’ kenpo-karate, taking from it many hand techniques that appealed to him. From tae-kwon-do he borrowed the devastating kicks that make the Korean style so formidable. He also studied other styles of martial arts, taking from all of them whatever he thought useful. Although considered one the best martial artists of his time, he was always learning, always in a constant process of change and improvement. He truly kept his cup empty.

Bruce had not only developed his physical abilities to a point of perfection, he had also honed his mind with the study of Zen. His den in Los Angeles was stacked ceiling-high with worn volumes of the Zen masters written in Chinese and in English.

It has been more than a decade since my first lesson with Bruce, and I am now in my mid-fifties. With half a century of life experience behind me, I sometimes get impatient with a new idea or technique. But when I feel impatient or act dogmatically self-assured, I remind my self of the lesson Bruce taught me, and I try to empty my cup to make room for new methods and ideas.

That was my first real lesson in Zen in the martial arts and its application to life-although at the time I didn’t recognize it as Zen. It was merely good sense-which is what Zen really is.

###

If you enjoyed this story, I recommend this book highly…Zen in the Martial Arts on Amazon. $7.99

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