That thing I mentioned about Mandarin ducks being romantic? I totally take it back. Damn...
http://www.newscientist.com/article/dn11764-female-ducks-fight-back-against-raping-males.html
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
Monday, December 14, 2009
Life and Kendo
I have been thinking of late of how well kendo lends itself to metaphor. Of course, there are any number of activities out there which make fine metaphors for life. One that springs particularly readily to mind is juggling, seeing as I've been down that road before*. Indeed, if one simply takes the trouble to connect the dots and make the right generalizations to any learning activity, one will find that the universe has many lessons, all around us, for those who will but open their eyes.
But I find myself drawn time and again to kendo. I think it lies in its austerity. In kendo, the efficacy of every technique is tried and tested in combat. Garbed in armour, behind the mask, secure in the knowledge that it's nigh impossible to cause any significant harm to one's opponent, one encounters in every training session a kind of tightly focused ferocity that is rarely seen in other martial arts, save in the most intense and dedicated dojos. It is a profoundly liberating experience. And there is a sense of sincerity in seeing your opponent release himself against you. And it is absolutely exhilarating to fight one's peers with all the strength you can muster.
In the crucible of combat, any useless movements are quickly weeded out, leaving behind a small set of techniques, tactics and strategies. They are deceptively simple, yet take years of dedication and training to master. It's a bit difficult to appreciate how simple with words alone, so here are a few samples of kata or forms from selected martial arts.
From Wudang, the real Wudang, not this lot, 8 Immortal Staff:
Cheng-style (no relation) Baguazhang:
Shinshinkan's Chatanyara no Sai, just too pretty not to include:
And finally, kendo:
Some straddle the interesting line between dance and martial art. Others function as a small library of basic techniques, teaching the way they flow into one another. All have their merits and share the same trait of being a form of moving meditation. Kendo's kata is a relatively slow, stately, tense affair. Ideally, the attacker should execute his cut like he really means it, forcing his partner to be very serious indeed about defending himself. This tension between the two kendokas adds a powerful dimension to the practice of kata, demanding a measure of concentration and alertness from both that is quite hard to appreciate until you're actually performing the kata yourself.
Which brings me back to my point of kendo as a metaphor for life. I have, from the very beginning, taken a very cerebral approach to kendo. Before even picking up my first shinai, I'd read books on the matter. Even now, having trained in armour for well over a year (it ain't much, I know), I still consume a steady stream of kendo books. In Japanese, of course, as the ones in English are prone to drift in the direction of mysticism and romanticise about the age of samurai and basically miss the whole point of kendo altogether. The memory of my first time crossing blades with a sensei in free sparring is still very fresh in my mind. For those of you with the JCKL dojo reading this, it was Toyoda sensei. Yes, I know. I'm grateful to be alive.
That engagement made it very, very clear to me what it meant to be completely, utterly defeated before even raising my sword to strike. Before that moment, I had committed dozens of techniques and tricks to memory, devised strategems to break past any guard, theorized how I could transfer the skills of deceit learnt in capoeira to the art of the sword. It all came to nothing when I stood against the sensei. In the sheer fury of his kiai and the resoluteness of his stance, my spirit broke. All my attacks, far, far too slow. My mind raged against the absurdity of it. This man is at least twice my age! I should be faster! But back then, for the life of me, I could not see his sword, and was hammered at least a dozen times, hard, on my head and hand before the sensei let me limp away. By then I was seeing stars, and my right hand was trembling so badly I could no longer grip my sword.
I took that as a harsh lesson that, just as metaphysics and theology could never compare to science, no amount of theorizing can hold a candle to learning by experience. I have since thrown myself into many more engagements and can say with great certainty that though I'm some way from the dearly coveted shodan, I've lot more steel in me than I did back then. It's very strange to think about it now. When I'm there, panting and sweating in my armour during free training, what pushes me to go a little further each time to take a point is not some high ideal to be a better kendoka or sheer pride making me refuse to acknowledge defeat, but just a very simple, humble, mantra mouthed under my breath when the going gets tough:
I once calculated that from the first time once picks up a shinai, one must do about 15,000** cuts before you have what it takes to wear armour and really start kendo. 15,000, give or take a couple thousand, depending on your motor skills. With every cut, your body learns a tiny bit more. Then when you get in armour, you start learning all over again. Every training session is an exercise in mindfulness. Every cut must be done to the best of one's ability. And in every engagement, regardless of the disparity in rank, there is something to be learnt. Vita sine litteris mors. Life without learning is death.
I believe there's nothing quite as beautifully human as learning. I've held that belief since I was very young and my dad cleverly left cartoon versions of the Confucian classics in my room. But it is kendo that constantly reminds me of the right attitude towards learning. Knowledge is the brightest of jewels to be treasured and sought. This is to be done with both earnest and vigilance, and at the end of the day, evidence, the crossing of swords in combat, decides all. On the path, there will be passions and urges pulling and pushing us in all sorts of directions. They are not to be fought, because they are a part of what you are. They are to be understood and harnessed. If you doubt, if you hesitate you will lose, not because your opponent is better than you, but because you defeated yourself. Is this not shameful? But it happens to the best of us, and so we learn.
In terms of kendo, I am still young, barely a pollywog in a big, big pond. The mystery of my future beyond shodan is well within the realm of fantasy and speculation. But I know that, as long as I throw myself into the next training session with vigour and really, really work myself to earn that beer, the future can be very bright indeed...
* Note to self: Haven't done torches in a long, long time. Must pick up some kerosene in January...
** Revised from a previous estimate of 10,000.
But I find myself drawn time and again to kendo. I think it lies in its austerity. In kendo, the efficacy of every technique is tried and tested in combat. Garbed in armour, behind the mask, secure in the knowledge that it's nigh impossible to cause any significant harm to one's opponent, one encounters in every training session a kind of tightly focused ferocity that is rarely seen in other martial arts, save in the most intense and dedicated dojos. It is a profoundly liberating experience. And there is a sense of sincerity in seeing your opponent release himself against you. And it is absolutely exhilarating to fight one's peers with all the strength you can muster.
In the crucible of combat, any useless movements are quickly weeded out, leaving behind a small set of techniques, tactics and strategies. They are deceptively simple, yet take years of dedication and training to master. It's a bit difficult to appreciate how simple with words alone, so here are a few samples of kata or forms from selected martial arts.
From Wudang, the real Wudang, not this lot, 8 Immortal Staff:
Cheng-style (no relation) Baguazhang:
Shinshinkan's Chatanyara no Sai, just too pretty not to include:
And finally, kendo:
Some straddle the interesting line between dance and martial art. Others function as a small library of basic techniques, teaching the way they flow into one another. All have their merits and share the same trait of being a form of moving meditation. Kendo's kata is a relatively slow, stately, tense affair. Ideally, the attacker should execute his cut like he really means it, forcing his partner to be very serious indeed about defending himself. This tension between the two kendokas adds a powerful dimension to the practice of kata, demanding a measure of concentration and alertness from both that is quite hard to appreciate until you're actually performing the kata yourself.
Which brings me back to my point of kendo as a metaphor for life. I have, from the very beginning, taken a very cerebral approach to kendo. Before even picking up my first shinai, I'd read books on the matter. Even now, having trained in armour for well over a year (it ain't much, I know), I still consume a steady stream of kendo books. In Japanese, of course, as the ones in English are prone to drift in the direction of mysticism and romanticise about the age of samurai and basically miss the whole point of kendo altogether. The memory of my first time crossing blades with a sensei in free sparring is still very fresh in my mind. For those of you with the JCKL dojo reading this, it was Toyoda sensei. Yes, I know. I'm grateful to be alive.
That engagement made it very, very clear to me what it meant to be completely, utterly defeated before even raising my sword to strike. Before that moment, I had committed dozens of techniques and tricks to memory, devised strategems to break past any guard, theorized how I could transfer the skills of deceit learnt in capoeira to the art of the sword. It all came to nothing when I stood against the sensei. In the sheer fury of his kiai and the resoluteness of his stance, my spirit broke. All my attacks, far, far too slow. My mind raged against the absurdity of it. This man is at least twice my age! I should be faster! But back then, for the life of me, I could not see his sword, and was hammered at least a dozen times, hard, on my head and hand before the sensei let me limp away. By then I was seeing stars, and my right hand was trembling so badly I could no longer grip my sword.
I took that as a harsh lesson that, just as metaphysics and theology could never compare to science, no amount of theorizing can hold a candle to learning by experience. I have since thrown myself into many more engagements and can say with great certainty that though I'm some way from the dearly coveted shodan, I've lot more steel in me than I did back then. It's very strange to think about it now. When I'm there, panting and sweating in my armour during free training, what pushes me to go a little further each time to take a point is not some high ideal to be a better kendoka or sheer pride making me refuse to acknowledge defeat, but just a very simple, humble, mantra mouthed under my breath when the going gets tough:
"Earn your beer, you bastard."
I once calculated that from the first time once picks up a shinai, one must do about 15,000** cuts before you have what it takes to wear armour and really start kendo. 15,000, give or take a couple thousand, depending on your motor skills. With every cut, your body learns a tiny bit more. Then when you get in armour, you start learning all over again. Every training session is an exercise in mindfulness. Every cut must be done to the best of one's ability. And in every engagement, regardless of the disparity in rank, there is something to be learnt. Vita sine litteris mors. Life without learning is death.
I believe there's nothing quite as beautifully human as learning. I've held that belief since I was very young and my dad cleverly left cartoon versions of the Confucian classics in my room. But it is kendo that constantly reminds me of the right attitude towards learning. Knowledge is the brightest of jewels to be treasured and sought. This is to be done with both earnest and vigilance, and at the end of the day, evidence, the crossing of swords in combat, decides all. On the path, there will be passions and urges pulling and pushing us in all sorts of directions. They are not to be fought, because they are a part of what you are. They are to be understood and harnessed. If you doubt, if you hesitate you will lose, not because your opponent is better than you, but because you defeated yourself. Is this not shameful? But it happens to the best of us, and so we learn.
In terms of kendo, I am still young, barely a pollywog in a big, big pond. The mystery of my future beyond shodan is well within the realm of fantasy and speculation. But I know that, as long as I throw myself into the next training session with vigour and really, really work myself to earn that beer, the future can be very bright indeed...
* Note to self: Haven't done torches in a long, long time. Must pick up some kerosene in January...
** Revised from a previous estimate of 10,000.
Wish I had a Pokeball...
... so I could stick this guy in it:
... then send him to battle against, I dunno, something with lotsa spikes. Seriously, how utterly pathetic do you have to be to preach the immorality of Pikachu, based on your own code of morality derived from what is essentially the Bronze Age equivalent of Pokemon?
"Thor! I choose you!"
"Jesus! I choose you!"
"Thor! Hammer attack!"
"Oh, shi-..."
Hammer attack is super effective!
... then send him to battle against, I dunno, something with lotsa spikes. Seriously, how utterly pathetic do you have to be to preach the immorality of Pikachu, based on your own code of morality derived from what is essentially the Bronze Age equivalent of Pokemon?
"Thor! I choose you!"
"Jesus! I choose you!"
"Thor! Hammer attack!"
"Oh, shi-..."
Hammer attack is super effective!
Sunday, November 29, 2009
Dolphins =/= Romantic
I was at a friend's wedding dinner earlier this weekend when someone at the same table brought up the subject of the invitation cards for another wedding he'd been to earlier this year. Apparently it had a picture of a pair of bottle-nosed dolphins swimming side by side, and he thought it kinda sweet and romantic, up until I was obliged to point out that the dolphin idea of sexual relationships largely involves kidnapping and gang rape. Oh, yes, indeedy, have a look see.
Word to the wise: You want romantic animals? Stick with Mandarin ducks.
Word to the wise: You want romantic animals? Stick with Mandarin ducks.
Thursday, November 26, 2009
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
Hearts and minds revisited
Hokay, finally got round to listening to that lecture by Prof Damasio. Long story short, a dead end. It was a lecture delivered to an audience mostly comprising liberal arts students introducing his work in studying emotion, in a charming accent I can't quite identify which makes it sound as though he's meticulously putting every word in place with a pair of tweezers. So no answers for me just yet. Oh, well.
On a vaguely related note, I was listening to the radio the other day, and heard that David Guetta & Akon "song", Sexy Chick. And I facepalmed and despaired for the slow death of romance. I mean, really, have you heard the lyrics to that rubbish?
"I'm trying to find the words to describe this girl without being disrespectful..."
... and the best he could come up with is "sexy chick". "Sexy chick"?? Is this how far we have fallen? Is this how a man expresses his attraction for a woman in this day and age? Not 3 days ago I watched Gerard Depardieu playing Cyrano de Bergerac. Ah, that balcony scene... Now THAT's romance, not these crude grunts and babblings that pollute the airwaves*! Ah, the hell with it. No time to rant, there's books to omnomnomnomnom...
*For which many Malaysian DJs are also guilty...
On a vaguely related note, I was listening to the radio the other day, and heard that David Guetta & Akon "song", Sexy Chick. And I facepalmed and despaired for the slow death of romance. I mean, really, have you heard the lyrics to that rubbish?
"I'm trying to find the words to describe this girl without being disrespectful..."
... and the best he could come up with is "sexy chick". "Sexy chick"?? Is this how far we have fallen? Is this how a man expresses his attraction for a woman in this day and age? Not 3 days ago I watched Gerard Depardieu playing Cyrano de Bergerac. Ah, that balcony scene... Now THAT's romance, not these crude grunts and babblings that pollute the airwaves*! Ah, the hell with it. No time to rant, there's books to omnomnomnomnom...
*For which many Malaysian DJs are also guilty...
Friday, November 20, 2009
Thursday, November 19, 2009
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Hearts and minds
This is just a quick note to remind myself on an interesting thought I had today:
It seems to be a fairly universal thing. Solzhenitsyn once said:
I personally have a very Zen-influenced interpretation of that (which I'll be detailing in my book). Pascal said:
And I know Japanese and Chinese cultures both take the same view of the heart being associated with mental functions in their word for psychology: 心理学 (literally, heart study*). The only exception I can think of is Malay culture, which uses hati (liver) in much the same context where we'd usually use heart. This is known to lead to some hilarity in A-level biology in Malaysia when students sent to the butcher for a cow's heart to dissect translate the term wrongly and end up lugging several kilograms of liver back to an exasperated bio teacher.
I suppose the experience of heartache might shed some light on why this link has been made, but now I have to wonder, why does it feel like it does? Why should getting your heart broken result in that horrible, crushing feeling in your chest?
I'm quite curious about the neurobiological reasons for this and so have decided to grab this lecture by Prof Antonio R Damasio and have a listen. Will try to remember to post a summary and my thoughts on the matter later...
* That's just off the top of my head, so I'd be much obliged if someone could tell me if it's a bit off.
Why do so many cultures associate the heart with emotional and mental character?
It seems to be a fairly universal thing. Solzhenitsyn once said:
The line between good and evil lies at the centre of every human heart.
I personally have a very Zen-influenced interpretation of that (which I'll be detailing in my book). Pascal said:
The heart has its reasons that reason knows not.
And I know Japanese and Chinese cultures both take the same view of the heart being associated with mental functions in their word for psychology: 心理学 (literally, heart study*). The only exception I can think of is Malay culture, which uses hati (liver) in much the same context where we'd usually use heart. This is known to lead to some hilarity in A-level biology in Malaysia when students sent to the butcher for a cow's heart to dissect translate the term wrongly and end up lugging several kilograms of liver back to an exasperated bio teacher.
I suppose the experience of heartache might shed some light on why this link has been made, but now I have to wonder, why does it feel like it does? Why should getting your heart broken result in that horrible, crushing feeling in your chest?
I'm quite curious about the neurobiological reasons for this and so have decided to grab this lecture by Prof Antonio R Damasio and have a listen. Will try to remember to post a summary and my thoughts on the matter later...* That's just off the top of my head, so I'd be much obliged if someone could tell me if it's a bit off.
Monday, November 9, 2009
繋がり
Sorry, I just found out how to type in Japanese with Vista and just can't resist tapping out bits and pieces every so often. Anyway, 繋がり (tsunagari) means 'connection(s)', which is the topic of this lovely video here:
I don't know what it does for you, but I haven't had such goosebumps since the first time I contemplated the big bang, deep star nucleosynthesis and evolution. I was sitting in the library of the Physics department at uni at the time, mind wandering while I studied for an exam. All around me were aspiring scientists and tomes and journals by the metric tonne, the distilled sweat, blood and tears of hundreds and thousands of scientists who had come before us. And in a file before me, in the frenzied scribbling of a student trying to keep up with the professor's OHP slides, sat my notes, a miniscule sliver of knowledge of the Universe.
A huge piece of the puzzle clicked into place for me back then, and I got that feeling one gets when you're, say, building a complex model and you put that piece in place which just puts you past the border between "chaotic mess" and "it's taking shape". I'm pleased to say I've had a lot of those moments since then, and such is the complexity of the Universe (and so much of it of our own making!) that I know I can look forward to many more.
The model-making analogy works the other way as well. Consider the acquisition of knowledge without the aegis of the scientific method, i.e. no formulation of hypothesis, no experimentation, no peer review, no constant testing against the realities of the universe... Is this not akin to grabbing a model off the shelf, dragging it out of the box, ignoring the instructions, casting aside files, knives and glue and slapping together whatever you like with duct tape? Well, I suppose this is but one possible scenario, exemplified in the real world by that special breed of person who is so open-minded his brain has dropped out.
The point is, there is a balance to be maintained. It's all well and good, perusing Wikipedia, National Geographic, Youtube and the popular science section of the local bookstore for these clips, articles and books exalting science and its bounty, but one would do well to remember the discipline and effort that went into them.
And right now, if I had a hat, I'd take mine off to the late Carl Sagan and all of those very rare scientists with the ability to communicate the beauty of science to the general public. Hum. It's been too long since I've watched a Royal Institution Christmas Lecture...
I don't know what it does for you, but I haven't had such goosebumps since the first time I contemplated the big bang, deep star nucleosynthesis and evolution. I was sitting in the library of the Physics department at uni at the time, mind wandering while I studied for an exam. All around me were aspiring scientists and tomes and journals by the metric tonne, the distilled sweat, blood and tears of hundreds and thousands of scientists who had come before us. And in a file before me, in the frenzied scribbling of a student trying to keep up with the professor's OHP slides, sat my notes, a miniscule sliver of knowledge of the Universe.
A huge piece of the puzzle clicked into place for me back then, and I got that feeling one gets when you're, say, building a complex model and you put that piece in place which just puts you past the border between "chaotic mess" and "it's taking shape". I'm pleased to say I've had a lot of those moments since then, and such is the complexity of the Universe (and so much of it of our own making!) that I know I can look forward to many more.
The model-making analogy works the other way as well. Consider the acquisition of knowledge without the aegis of the scientific method, i.e. no formulation of hypothesis, no experimentation, no peer review, no constant testing against the realities of the universe... Is this not akin to grabbing a model off the shelf, dragging it out of the box, ignoring the instructions, casting aside files, knives and glue and slapping together whatever you like with duct tape? Well, I suppose this is but one possible scenario, exemplified in the real world by that special breed of person who is so open-minded his brain has dropped out.
The point is, there is a balance to be maintained. It's all well and good, perusing Wikipedia, National Geographic, Youtube and the popular science section of the local bookstore for these clips, articles and books exalting science and its bounty, but one would do well to remember the discipline and effort that went into them.
And right now, if I had a hat, I'd take mine off to the late Carl Sagan and all of those very rare scientists with the ability to communicate the beauty of science to the general public. Hum. It's been too long since I've watched a Royal Institution Christmas Lecture...
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