Shobudo new year's resolutions and goals

 Yesterday, Kevin Cummings Sensei and Michael Morris Master Sensei mentioned that they trained under Matt Sensei. Our Shōbudō（尚武道）karate traces its lineage to Toyama Kanken’s Toyama-ryū（當山流）, transmitted through Shūdōkan dōjō（修道館道場）in Naha, Okinawa（沖縄). At this point, I do not yet have further details.

To my pleasant surprise, as a 2026 new year's resolution, Sensei discussed tradition, discipline and the use of Japanese language. I really welcome it because as a student of cultural anthropology of East Asia, ex-U.S. Marine I am a traditionalist and I dislike the current trend of "Mc-dojos".

Seiretsu（整列） Line up! Students line up in sempai（先輩）to kōhai（後輩）order on a single line, by belt rank first and age second, juniors closer to the door.

Musubi-dachi（結び立ち） Attention stance. Heels together, toes slightly apart, used when receiving formal instruction and during opening and closing.

Hachiji-dachi（八字立ち） Ready stance. Feet shoulder-width apart, forming a stable hourglass shape, used while awaiting the next command.

Shōmen ni rei（正面に礼） Bow to the front. A formal bow toward the shōmen（正面）of the dōjō（道場）.

Sensei ni rei（先生に礼） Bow to the instructor. A formal bow directed to the sensei（先生）leading the class.

Onegai shimasu（お願いします） Spoken before training begins. A formal request to train together under instruction.

shijū ichi 始 終 一

Literal meaning:

• 始 (shi), beginning
• 終 (jū), end
• 一 (ichi), one

Taken together, the phrase points to a single, unbroken continuity from beginning to end. The start and the finish are not separate. They are held within one line, one mind, one action.

This idea appears often in Zen and in martial traditions, even when the exact phrase varies. You may know the fuller expression 始終一貫 (shijū ikkan), meaning consistency from start to finish. Here, the calligrapher has stripped the idea down further, removing explanation and leaving only the spine of the thought.

In practice, this speaks directly to budō, kata, and daily discipline. A movement is already complete at its start. The bow, the first step, the final posture, all belong to the same act. There is no rushing toward the end and no attachment to the beginning.

Visually, the brushwork reinforces the message. The strokes are confident but not decorative. The spacing is generous, allowing each character to breathe. This is not meant to impress. It is meant to remind.

Placed in a tokonoma or dōjō, this scroll quietly instructs without words. Begin correctly. Continue without wavering. Finish as you began. All of it is one.

Shibui

 

03.c Aruki-kata (歩き方), The Quiet Art of Walking

When I visited my parents recently, I noticed how much time they spend sitting. They live in a clean, walkable neighbourhood with fresh air and nature around them, yet most of the day is spent in easy chairs passively watching TV. It is stillness, but not the kind that strengthens the body or exercises the mind. 

In Japan, the idea of movement is part of the system and habits. People walk to the train station, to the store, to school, and to visit friends. Even when the distance is not short, walking is the default. This habit begins early and continues into old age. There is no special meaning to it. It is just daily life. The Japanese call this natural way of walking aruki kata (歩き方), the manner of walking. The idea is simple: keep the body in motion whenever possible.

When I lived in Japan, I learned that the art of movement is different from that in the West, where we sit or move as little as possible, then go to the gym and stress the body. In Okinawa, movement was part of everything. People walked to the fields or along the coast. Elderly men and women walked slowly in the mornings, greeting neighbors. They did not schedule fitness. They simply lived in a way that kept them strong. Even today, when I read about Okinawan longevity, I am reminded that their long lives were shaped not only by intense training but also by everyday movement, sunlight, simple food, and community.

Walking has a cultural weight in Japan. The train system supports this lifestyle. You walk to the station, travel as far as you need, then walk the rest of the way. This creates a rhythm in which the body never falls into deep inactivity. The steps are small, but they accumulate. It is one of the reasons older Japanese adults maintain balance, coordination, and mental clarity far longer than people who rely on cars and long hours of sitting.

When I look at my parents, I can see how the lack of movement affects their posture, breathing, and overall cardiovascular strength. Passive sitting offers temporary comfort but slowly erodes the body. Without intentional motion, the body forgets what it is capable of. Even gentle daily walks would help. A ten-minute walk after breakfast, a quiet loop around the neighborhood at sunset. The body does not need intensity. It needs consistency.

In my own life, walking has become a form of active meditation. I wrote earlier about the monks of Mount Hiei, but the principle does not belong only to them. Steady steps, calm breathing, and a quiet mind can be practiced anywhere. The forest trails in the Pacific Northwest give me the same feeling I once had in Okinawa. Moss, rain, silence. A place where walking becomes time to think and rejuvenate.

If there is a lesson here, it is that longevity is less about supplements or perfect diets than about daily rhythm. Standing up. Moving. Using the legs, balancing. Breathing fresh air, watching sunrises and sunsets.

I hope my parents will rediscover this and form new habits. A short walk each day is not a significant change, but it can shift the entire atmosphere of a life. Strength returns slowly. Mood improves. The world feels larger than the space between a chair and a television. It is a gentle way to return to being part of the world instead of merely observing it.

Walking is the simplest practice I know. It requires no equipment, preparation, or instruction. Just a path and a few clear minutes. It is a good way to begin again.

mujo (無常)

I have a habit of "stopping to smell the roses", or as in today's case, to take a photo of baby mushrooms on the forest floor. In these simple acts, I began to feel what the Japanese call mujo (無常), the impermanence that gives life its meaning.

kansha

kansha (感謝), a sense of thankful respect that arises naturally when one feels harmony with the world

awari wa hajimari 終わりは始まり

The phrase awari wa hajimari (終わりは始まり), "the end is the beginning," has become one of the core concepts in my life. For most, what are the undesirable chores or routines I see are actually small cycles of completion and renewal. 

I know at this point it is a widely popularized cliche, but the Marine Corps has taught me to make a perfect bed each morning. From the Japanese perspective, making the bed —or putting away a bed roll if you sleep on tatami —is not merely the end of the sleep cycle but the first meditative gesture towards the new day. Similarly, routines like a morning shower and shave make for a better day.

When I cook, I have a habit of opening jars of spices one by one, inhaling each aroma before deciding what belongs in the pot. I put the spice on the palm of my hand; do not use a spoon or a measuring cup. I never buy pre-mixed blends, because each spice has its own character and spirit. This small ritual is a moment of ichigo ichie (一期一会) — “one time, one meeting.” 

It is a conversation between nature and my senses, a way of meeting the present moment through something as ordinary as soup. I have come to understand that mindfulness does not require meditation cushions or temples; it happens in the kitchen, in the steam rising from a pot.

In Okinawa, where I once lived, this way of being seemed to exist naturally. The people there often said nankuru naisa (なんくるないさ) — “things will work out if you live sincerely.” It was not laziness or avoidance, but trust in the natural order of life. They treated their surroundings with quiet respect, believing that kami (神), the spirits of Shinto, reside in all things — the house, the tools, the garden, the wind. I feel this too. When I handle my kitchen knife or clean the counter, I sense I am tending to more than objects; I am honoring the spirit of the place. The home becomes a living jinja (神社), a personal shrine of gratitude.


I have also found this awareness in my work with tools, both physical and digital. I love Japanese joinery, not only for its precision but for the respect it shows toward wood and craftsmanship. The carpenter’s philosophy, shokunin kishitsu (職人気質), resonates with me as deeply as any teaching of Zen. To sharpen a chisel before beginning work is not preparation; it is part of the work itself. In the same way, I see software architecture — the structure before the code — as the sharpening of my craft. A well-tuned tool or a well-structured program allows the spirit of the task to flow without resistance. In both, mastery is less about performance and more about readiness.

These ideas have merged for me into a kind of personal dō (道) — a way of life. Whether I am practicing karate, writing code, or tending to a small bonsai, I feel the same rhythm. Each motion is shugyō (修行), daily discipline that refines not only skill but character. Each action ends and begins at once. The repetition is not dull; it is liberating. There is no “done,” only continuous practice.

Over time, awari wa hajimari has changed how I see everything. The end of the day, the last spoon washed, the final line of code written — none of these are true endings. They are bows, gestures of gratitude before the next beginning. This awareness brings a calm satisfaction, a kind of chōwa (調和), harmony between what I do and who I am. Life becomes less about achieving and more about participating in its cycles — the quiet flow of beginnings, endings, and the spaces between.

Okinawan Karate

Prolog

I should have written about Okinawan Karate (琉球空手, Ryūkyū karate) years ago, right after returning after 3 years in Okinawa, but I let life flow on, often without enough reflection. However, Okinawan practice is a personal and family affair (kizuna, 絆), practiced in out-of-sight courtyards (agariya 上り屋), and it requires personal touch.

English-Japanese vocabulary

I am using Japanese vocabulary because it is the default language in all traditional Karate, Kobudo, Aikido, etc., schools, and it creates a bridge of understanding among international students. 

I use rōmaji, kanji, and hiragana, e.g. karate, 空手 (からて) meaning "empty hand".

- Rōmaji is Japanese pronunciation written in the Latin (Roman) alphabet, not English pronunciation.

- Kanji are Chinese and Japanese word symbols

- Hiragana is the Japanese script for the most accurate pronunciation 

For example, "karate" is pronounced か ka ら ra て te, where te is pronounced as "television", not the drink tea. It is highly worthwhile to learn Hiragana.

Introduction

My adopted adult name is Uki, 宇氣 (うき), which means "universe-space energy." I grew up studying Shotokan karate (松涛館) under (hard core) Józef Rączka Sensei, 7 dan (先生, 七段), in Poland. After I moved to the USA and joined the USMC, I was introduced to the Marine Corps Martial Arts Program (MCMAP). While in the USMC, for 3 years, I lived in Okinawa, Japan, much of that time outside of the base, where I was exposed to Japanese and Okinawan Ryukyu (琉球) culture.

While the above resume looks very martial, I am primarily interested in karate's physical and mental health, cultural, and personal betterment aspects.

I studied the cultural anthropology of East Asia while in Japan. After leaving the service, I studied Aikido (合気道) while staying fit by practicing karate. Since returning, I have read and studied a library-worth of works on Japanese culture, human behaviour, and history. 

Okinawa is designated a "blue zone," so I learned about the lifestyle, longevity, and diet of its people.

It is impossible to overstate that all of the above became the most significant influencers on my life, my body, and my mind. 

I consider my growing up in Poland as "primary education" and my time in the USMC in Okinawa, Japan, as my "formative" years. The rest of my life in the USA, I consider as a long process of "polishing"  (migaki, 磨き) of my character.

The origins of self-defence arts

The spiritual origins of this story date back a few thousand years, but for now, I will have to skip the Vedas, India, Buddha's life, and start with Bodhidharma (達摩, だるま), who, among others,  in the 5th–6th Century brought Hindu-derived Buddhist culture, meditation, concepts of "chi" energy qigong (氣功), and breathing techniques from India to China. 

Chinese Shaolin Kung-Fu

Over time, Buddhism has established itself in China alongside Buddhist monasticism, asceticism, and rigorous Zen practice.

In China's political situation, Buddhist monasteries had to protect themselves, and warrior monks emerged with a strong focus on non-aggression and self-defence. 

The particular place of interest was the Southern Shaolin Temple (南少林, Nán Shàolín) in Fujian Province, China, where warrior monks practiced empty-hand and weapons techniques. 

After the South Shaolin Temple was destroyed, the monks went into hiding, where they practiced their Five Ancestor Kung-Fu in "Incense Shops". 

The Okinawan Shorin-ryū literally means Shaolin tradition.

Okinawan Chinese Hand (唐手)

The original name for "karate" in Okinawa was "ku-wa-t'" in the local Ryukyuan language (琉球語, Ryūkyū-go). Please note that the final letter "t" is soft "tĭ" and barely pronounced, like in American "but."

The kanji for "karate" 空手, meaning "empty hand," is a contemporary term. 

Historically, Okinawans used 唐手, also pronounced "karate" in Japanese, meaning "Chinese hand", but this name was not appealing to imperial authorities in the 1930s.

Sensei Sakugawa Kanga (坂川虎山)

The legend begins at dusk in the Tsurumichi district of Shuri, where a young Sakugawa Kanga practiced beneath the flickering light of shochu lanterns. Few knew then that this son of a humble farmer would become the architect of Shorin-ryū, the system that birthed modern karate.

Sakugawa’s fate turned when he became a retainer to Peichin Takemoto (a peichin was an Okinawan noble, akin to a European baron). Unlike the samurai of Japan, Takemoto rejected rigid hierarchy: "A man’s worth is measured by his character, not his birth."

Under Takemoto, Sakugawa trained in Okinawan ti (手), using tools like the sai, a three-pronged weapon designed to disable an opponent’s sword. Yet something was missing.

In 1760, Sakugawa embarked on a voyage to Fujian, China, where he sought enlightenment at the Southern Shaolin Temple. 

At Shaolin, he found what he sought under Kangryū (康琉), a warrior-monk who taught the fluidity of White Crane Fist (白鶴拳) and the explosive power of the Five Ancestors Style (五祖拳).

Returning to Okinawa, Sakugawa synthesized these arts into a new system.
His kata Niseishi (二十一手) became the first to blend Chinese techniques with Okinawan circular blocks.

He taught Matsumura Sōkon, who would later codify Shorin-ryū. 

Sakugawa died in 1815, his tombstone bearing no grand epitaph, just "The Way of the Karate Man."
His legacy lives on in the Niseishi kata, still practiced today.

Sensei Matsumura Sōkon

Sensei Matsumura Sōkon (松村宗棍, 1809–1896) is the founder of Seito (正統, "the orthodox tradition") and a cornerstone of Okinawan karate. As a shizoku (士族, a warrior class akin to samurai), he served three Ryukyu kings: Shō Kōku (尚灝), Shō Iku (尚育), and Shō Tai (尚泰).

His martial arts pedigree is legendary. After training under Wang Ji (王志, Ōji) at the Southern Shaolin Temple in Fujian, China, he studied under Sakugawa Kanga (坂川虎山), the originator of Shorin-ryū. Matsumura synthesized these influences into Shuri-te (首里手), a distinctive blend of Shaolin’s linear strikes and Okinawan circular flows.

His legacy extends through his students, notably Ankō Asato (糸洲安恒), after whom the Ankō-ryū style is named. Matsumura also created foundational kata like Seisan (十三手, "Thirteen Hands"), which emphasized practical combat techniques. Other kata such as Hakkaku (八角, "Eight Corners") and Chintō (鎮東, "Pacify the East") became pillars of modern karate.

Matsumura’s disciplined approach earned him the moniker "Bushi Matsumura"—a title reflecting his samurai-like rigor, uncommon among Okinawan warriors of his time.

Ankō Asato: The Merchant Warrior

The year was 1850 when a young Okinawan merchant named Ankō Asato (糸洲安恒) knelt before Matsumura Sōkon in the dim light of a Shuri dojo. Unlike other students, Asato wasn’t born to Okinawan nobility or the warrior class. His family traded silk and herbs between Okinawa and Fujian, China—a life of privilege that left him restless.

Matsumura saw something in the merchant’s son. Asato trained relentlessly, but his approach was different: "Fighting is not only for samurai," he often said. His kata Seipai (十八手) became legendary for its close-range strikes, designed to neutralize an opponent quickly—useful in the crowded streets of Naha.

Asato’s innovations didn’t end there. He developed breathing techniques that harmonized Shaolin’s qi (氣) with Okinawan circular motions. His students called this "the way of breathing"—a precursor to modern ki (気) training. One such student was Chōjun Miyagi, who later founded Goju-ryū (剛柔流). Under Asato’s guidance, Miyagi mastered the Sanchin (三戦) kata, which became Goju-ryū’s cornerstone.

Asato’s legacy extended beyond kata. He taught that karate should be "a way of life," not just a combat technique. His philosophy resonated with Okinawan commoners, who saw martial arts as a means of self-betterment rather than as a means of battlefield dominance. Even today, his Ankō-ryū style lives on at the Shōrinji Temple in Naha, where his disciples have preserved his teachings.

When Asato died in 1906, his grave bore a simple inscription: "The way of karate is endless."

Sensei Chōjun Miyagi

The year was 1895 when a young Chōjun Miyagi first entered Ankō Asato’s dojo in Naha. He wasn’t like the other students—no warrior blood ran through his veins, just the quiet determination of a merchant’s son. Asato saw something in Miyagi and took him under his wing.

Under Asato, Miyagi mastered Sanchin, not as a physical exercise but as a meditation. The kata’s slow, deliberate motions taught him that karate was a way of life, not just combat. When Asato died in 1906, Miyagi felt a hole open inside him—but he knew his path wasn’t finished.

At 20, he sailed for Fujian, China, where the monks of the White Crane Fist school recognized his potential. "Your fists carry Okinawa’s spirit," they told him, "but your heart is Chinese." The monks taught him to harmonize harsh strikes with fluid circular motions—a balance he’d later call Goju (剛柔, "hard-soft").

Returning to Okinawa, Miyagi synthesized his knowledge into Goju-ryū. His system wasn’t just about fighting; it was about breathing (ibuki), balance, and the flow of life energy. He taught that karate should be a philosophy, not just a sport.

In 1928, Miyagi made history by demonstrating karate in Tokyo—a move that brought Okinawan martial arts to the Japanese mainland. Yet fame never interested him.

Miyagi’s final years were spent refining his teachings. He emphasized the dantō (段当, "right path")—a way of life rooted in discipline and harmony. When he passed away in 1953, his students carried on his vision.

Today, Goju-ryū stands as a testament to Miyagi’s belief: "Karate is not just a martial art. It is the way of life."