Let go or be dragged.
- Zen proverb
When Bruce Lee talks about fighting, he preaches the importance of mushin, a state of mindfulness without a conscientious attention to the task at hand: “no-mind,” as it is roughly translated. Highly trained martial artists are said to enter this state during combat. I myself have never voluntarily attained mushin, though I believe to have brushed shoulders with it last week while sparring Horse, perhaps unbeknownst to everyone else in the room. We had been rotating partners in Fight Conditioning - by this time, I had already paired with Horse, Dragon, and Sifu Monkey at least twice each, and each time I’d been hovering between destructive frustration and the enjoyment of playful sparring.
Having spent no more than a minute or two in that state once I’d achieved it, I can’t really describe how I got there or if it even helped my technique [though Horse proclaimed I’d become far more relaxed than usual during the match]. To me it seems like mushin is no spiritual or magical place, it’s simply the product of
Not Having Time to Think
+
Being Skilled Enough To React* to Your Opponent in Real Time
=
mushin [?]
I only bring this up because it followed an instance of wanting nothing more than to throw in the towel. The drill was simple: no gloves, light hands, light feet, we’re not trying to kill each other, stay as close to your opponent as you can - uncomfortably so, for those of us [me] who prefer to fight at a distance. My footwork has improved [moving in a circle instead of back and forth] but still, my instinct is to move back back back. Intriguing, really. I would like more time with this drill but as a first go, it could have been better. My headspace was all over the place. Depending on the person I was paired with I may have been thinking any number of things, like
> relax, relax, relax, shit
> if I get any closer I’m gonna get turn-kicked in the mouth but I have to get closer that’s the point of this drill oh, nope there’s the kick, shit
> okay, this guy’s not gonna hurt me but he doesn’t have to, his technique can dance circles around me, so shit
And I know, I know that it’s like Joe Hyams says in his book Zen in the Martial Arts, “a dojo is an area of confined conflict where we confront an opponent who is not an opponent but rather a partner engaged in helping us understand ourselves more fully.” So I tried to keep that in mind, and also Sifu Monkey’s reminder that we do Kung Fu because we love it, because we like the way it makes us feel. But I wasn’t myself on the mat that evening. My headspace was not for fighting, not for Kung Fu. Bruce Lee says “the mind must be nowhere in particular,” but that doesn’t make sense to me. Because in my own life I am nowhere in particular and it has taken such a toll on me personally that I feel the very foundation of passion and humility that drives me forth eroding beneath me.
These are the things you play close to the chest. Nobody can pick holes in your arguments if you don’t voice them. There’s no way to aggravate a wound that’s not open. That’s unhealthy. That’s submission. Submission to suffering. You can’t live like that but you can’t just tell people what’s going on in your head because you’re talking from nowhere in particular and that’s not a credible place to be or speak from or bring ideas forth from. That place is desperate, lonely, and imaginary. It doesn’t exist. If I spend all my time in that place, what does that say about me?
I once said that the most important thing Kung Fu may have to teach me is how to get out of my own head. But it’s going to take much more than that. This isn’t everything I am. I need to get that person back. Until then, I might be different. I might not be. But I won’t be weak. And I won’t give up.
