The Ninja Diet

So, you've probably heard of the, 'Ninja Diet,' right? Genmai, brown rice, umeboshi, dried plum, Azuki beans and what not? Takes some getting used to, but good for you - healthy.

Don't buy it. The real Ninja Diet is fried izakaya food - karaage chicken with mayo the base of that food pyramid. Strange pizza concoctions - we had one with cooked pasta on it ... yes, pasta. Convenience store food during the day and ramen fit in between. And everything lubed with abundant amounts of beer, beer, beer - 'dai jockey' for the faithful, with braver travelers downing sake and exceptional super-soldiers, shochu, Japanese vodka.

Oh, and did I mention you're up all night? And going all day? Training, sometimes up to three times a day? And with the best in the world, no less. Men with such high ability, it actually pains the brain to study with them. You're spending way too much money that you remind yourself not to feel guilty about. Plus you're trying to get over jet lag. You're in a foreign environment with possibly little to no language skills. Maybe you can't read anything. So, you wind up choosing that same damn sour plum 'convenie' rice ball over and over, even though you're desperately trying to choose the 'tuna mayo' one. Your voice is shot from screaming into a karaoke mic. You have to scream because everyone else is screaming, because, well, Bon Jovi's "Wanted, Dead or Alive," just doesn't sound right unless everyone is screaming. Oh, and you're drunk.

Well, maybe not drunk, but you've had ten beers and you really want to fight Yakuza now, but only if you won't get stabbed. Or shot. Which nowadays, even in Japan, is uncertain. So, you grab the wall telephone in your karaoke closet as your mates are screaming out "Hotel California" and getting the pitch all wrong, which means another low score, and order the third round of beers even though no one is halfway through their current mug. And someone inevitably hits on the Japanese chick who brings the beers, even if she resembles Ernest Borgnine in From Here To Eternity, when he was actually pretty svelte.

The Ninja Diet is an adventure. Healthy? Good for you? Let's just say it makes you stronger. Or at least, let's believe that until we figure out a more sustainable (read smarter) way to enjoy it. It's Musha Shugyo, the quest, the pilgrimage, the journey we take with our fellow shugyosha to hone our ability and broaden our capacity. It's no vacation, but it usually is fun, even when some turn salty from culture shock or frustration. But it's all part of the diet.

The reason for the diet is simple. We're trying to lose weight; to shed the pounds of all our unnecessary habits, beliefs, and desires and reduce ourselves to the kosshi, essentialness, the kanjin kaname no kosshi, that which is of critical importance. But that, of course, begs the question, what is it that we should know as critically important? What is this Gokui, essence, of Budo?

Soke "told" us such at last Sunday's training when he spoke at the beginning of class - lectured, really. He said we needed to study history, as people begin to repeat it. Becoming surprised is because one cannot see far enough ahead, because we haven't looked far enough back, studying the trends and rhythms of human frailties that have led to so much suffering in the world. In other words, relying on the form only leads to its completion, but does not give us the tools to forge any new direction.

Once again he chided those who believe technique is the means to illumination and reminded us of the Gokui no uta, song of the Gokui - "In the world of martial arts, one should not stick to strength or weakness, softness or hardness; rather one should transcend physicality and understand the void, 'ku,' regarding the body also as empty." Training Budo with childlike selfishness is to believe in the power of its minutiae, the white noise that obscures clear transmission.  

Soke is imploring us to discover the right direction. He won't tell us directly, mind you - that's not good for us. We must discover it for ourselves. So, we trudge along the path as best we can, watching him zoom by on his jetpack.

The basics may be fundamental, but they are anything but basic. The Kihon and its waza are in fact the pinnacle of movement and technical prowess, not our most rudimentary forms. The most basic form we can provide to each other is not physical, it is the ability to recognize our purpose for studying Budo. Unless each of us can answer this question honestly, we obscure for ourselves the fundamentalness of truth so important to our own discovery.

When Soke mentioned the evolution of weaponry throughout Japanese history, I was taken by the fact that it mirrors the evolution of ethics as well. From the brutish and straight 'ken,' through tachi, and firearms, to the life-giving katsujinken, the katana became a symbol of valor, honor, and benevolence in a brutal land. Such is the metaphor for training itself.  
There are all kinds of concepts, principles, and techniques to practice and study throughout our training. But no matter how well we program ourselves with the material, none of it makes any difference unless we can apply it when it counts. But when does it count? How do we know when it counts? If we never ask ourselves the question, there's never any reason to give a good answer.

It seems to me, Soke's theme for the year, Rokkon Shojo, is a means to perceive training in a different light, from a different perspective. "The purification of the senses through laughter," is not meant, like so many other themes throughout the years, to concentrate on our physical training. It is to place our training into perspective, a context, from which we can discern its meaning.   

The Ninja Diet provides many ways to train - asobigokoro, a playful heart, Majime ni asobi, serious play, and shinobigokoro, the hidden, persevering heart. But to what end?

For so many years, Soke has directed us toward finding the means to express ourselves physically. Now, it seems he is asking us to understand life's most poignant question. A question that has befuddled philosophers, warriors, and scientists alike; a question that has been asked and answered and will be asked and answered again and again.

Why?