On April 28th and 29th, the North/South American director of Hakko Denshin-Ryu Aiki-jujutsu, Souke Michael Lamonica, came to the Grand Rapid’s Kyoseikan dojo to lead a Shiatsu basic qualification course. For practitioners of Hakko Denshin-Ryu, basic certification in Shiatsu is required at the shodan level. This course, however, was open to the general public and, indeed, attracted a variety of people who do not regularly practice a martial art. This reflects positively the growing interest in alternative forms of medicine and the healthy benefits of massage.
Shiatsu (指圧), literally “finger pressure” is a style of Japanese massage that focuses on using the fingers and thumbs to apply pressure along major lines of the body. These “lines” closely follow nerve bundles which run from head to toe. By applying pressure, the shiatsu practitioner seeks to improve circulation and relieve stress in his or her… for lack of a better word, patient. In a more traditional sense, we take in energy with each breath. The Shiatsu massage follows, in a sequential order, the natural flow of this energy throughout the pathways of the body. If a patient experiences pain or tenderness, this could indicate a blockage. Blockages can be caused by stress or, in some cases, a more serious injury. The Shiatsu practitioner attempts to remove such blockages by massaging both the affected area as well as the holistic system. As Souke Lamonica explained, extreme tenderness in the bladder line, for example, might indicate a more deeply-ceded problem, such as infection, or simply that a patient is drinking too much coffee and not enough water.
In the basic course, we studied twelve of the body’s major meridian lines. Like meridians on the globe, these lines run up and down along the length of the body. Below I have listed the twelve meridians with a brief description of their locations:
--Boko-Kei (Bladder-Line): The bladder line runs along the back approximately one to two inches on either side of the spine. This line continues down the backside-center of either leg.
--Tan-Kei (Gallbladder-Line): The gallbladder line runs down the extreme outsides of the body, starting underneath the ear and running down the neck, continuing under the armpit and down the side, finally following the outside center of either leg.
--Jin-Kei (Kidney-Line): The kidney line runs up the back of the leg toward the inside of the bladder line. AS a point of reference, you can think of the kidney line as beginning between the Achilles’ tendon and the ball of the ankle on the inside of either leg.
--I-Kei (Stomach-Line): For our basic shiatsu course, the stomach line runs down the top center of either thigh. Past the knee, the stomach line continues just to the outside of the shinbone.
--Kan-Kei (Liver-Line): The liver line runs up the inside of the leg, following close to the shin. Past the knee, the liver line runs up the inside middle of the leg.
--Hi-Kei (Spleen-Line): The spleen line runs up the inside middle of the lower leg (straight up from the ball of the ankle). Past the knee, however, it crosses the liver line and runs up the leg between the liver and stomach lines.
--Daicho-Kei (Large Intestinal-Line): The large intestine line runs up the top-inside of the arm. You can think of the daicho-kei as beginning between the thumb and first finger.
--Sancho-Kei (Groin-Line): The groin line runs up the top center of the arm. You can think of the groin line as beginning with the middle finger.
--Shochu-Kei (Small Intestinal-Line): The small intestine line runs up the top-outside of the arm. You can think of it beginning between the ring and little fingers.
--Shin-Kei (Heart-Line): The heart line runs down the bottom-outside of the arm. You can think of it terminating with the ring and little fingers.
--Shinpo-Kei (Heart Area-Line): The heart area line runs down the bottom center of the arm. You can think of it as terminating with the middle finger.
--Hai-Kei (Lung-Line): The lung line runs down the bottom-inside of the arm. You can think of it as terminating with the thumb and first finger.
There are two points of difficulty I would like to explain for greater clarity. On the inside of the thigh, somewhere above the knee, the liver and spleen lines cross. Where the liver line is closer to the shin on the lower leg, it now becomes lower down and closer to mid-thigh. The spleen line, however, begins in the middle of the inner calf on the lower leg and crosses the liver line to set higher-up on the inner-thigh. At this point of crossing sets a particularly sensitive nerve bundle. A strike to this spot can be excruciatingly painful. It is also somewhat difficult, when beginning, to follow the meridians of the arm above the elbow. When following lines up from the hand, it sometimes helps to turn the patients arm slightly toward their own center when passing the elbow. This helps to expose the meridian lines which might otherwise be hidden by the bicep. Due to the way we hold our arms, it might be thought that the bicep is on the top surface of the arm. Actually, when dealing with the meridian lines, those that cross the bicep actually run to the underside of the forearm.
When beginning a shiatsu massage, we first set the spine. Because our backs bend and vertebrae become out of alignment during our daily lives, the shiatsu practitioner’s first duty is to settle the backbone straight. The patient lies flat with the face turned to one direction. The shiatsu practitioner places him or herself on the opposite side of the body from where their patient has the head turned. Then, with thumbs or fists placed one inch to either side of the spine, direct pressure is applied downward as the patient exhales. This is repeated several times down the length of the backbone. The process is repeated once more with the patient’s head turned toward the opposite direction. Now, with the fingers of one hand spread across the spine, a fist is gently dropped several times on the back of the hand. This process is repeated three times, moving from the base of the spine upward. This final “tapping” is a smaller settling of the vertebrae after the somewhat larger process of setting the spine.
After setting the spine, the Shiatsu practitioner continues by applying pressure along the various meridians. I have noted above the direction which the practitioner should move. The bladder line, for example, runs downward along the spine. Likewise, the massage must move downward. The kidney line, however, moves upward from the foot. Similarly, the massage moves upward.
There is a great deal of debate as to the health benefits of Shiatsu. All I will say regarding this topic is that shiatsu helps to relieve stress. The negative effects of stress on the body have been well documented. It is also important to note the positive emotional benefits of massage. Apart from the physical release of stress, massage creates an intimate connection between two people. Humans naturally crave physical closeness from their earliest years. Even if shiatsu does no more than provide physical closeness and a release of stresses, this is a health benefit in itself.
Thursday, May 10, 2012
Thursday, May 3, 2012
Souke Michael Lamonica
On August fifth, 1997, the Kokodo-Renmei (an umbrella organization for jujitsu consisting in hakko-Ryu shihans from around the world). Appointed three directors to carry on the art of Jujitsu as taught by Souke Ryuho Okuyama (1901-1987. In a gesture of unity and respect for their teacher’s memory, the North/South American and European directors agreed to call their styles Hakko Denshin-Ryu or The Heart of the Eighth Light. This past weekend, the North/South American director, Souke Michael Lamonica, visited Grand Rapids to give a shiatsu basic qualification seminar. In my next post I will concentrate on a detailed description of basic shiatsu as well as how it applies to the practice of jujitsu. First, however, I would like to dedicate a post to the story of Souke Lamonica.
I honestly find myself lacking the words adequate to describe Souke Michael Lamonica. I have met some amazing sensei throughout my travels, in both the U.S. and Japan, and Souke Lamonica deserves recognition as being among the best. Humble, humorous and, above all, an expert in the art of aiki-jujitsu, Souke Lamonica has had a life well worthy of a biography. I strive here to share some small part of his character and active life in the martial arts.
Michael Lamonica began training in the martial arts while serving in the U.S. Marine Corps in the late 1950s. Beginning with Chinese Kempo and Judo, Lamonica soon met James Benko—the then head of U.S. Hakko-Ryu jujitsu—and quickly discovered the value of Jujitsu as a form of self defense. While working as a police officer in Akron Ohio, Lamonica was shot in the face. Because the gun had been knocked slightly askew at the moment of firing, the bullet entered his cheek, ricocheted off the bone, and exited through his temple. His assailant then put the gun to Lamonica’s forehead, intending that a second shot would not miss. Lamonica, however, used a variation of the jujitsu technique known as “Kanoha” to disarm and secure his attacker. Holding his attacker fast, Lamonica then marched his would-be murderer to a nearby phone where he could call for police backup.
Incredibly, Souke Lamonica returned to work after only two days of rest. As he told me jokingly, “What bothered me most was that my uniform was ruined—it was covered in blood. You see, at the time, we had to buy our own uniforms on the force.”
It was at this time that Lamonica dedicated his life to the study of Hakko-Ryu Jujitsu. It was jujitsu, after all, that saved his life. In 1975 Lamonica traveled for the first time to Japan, where he trained with the Tokyo riot police. The following year he returned and again the year after. It was in Japan where Lamonica became a trusted friend of the founder of Hakko-ryu, Shodai Ryuho Okuyama. Lamonica became the highest ranked non-oriental practitioner of Hakko-Ryu and eventually received menkyo-kaiden (literally: license and initiation, meaning a person has received the qualification of having been initiated into the deepest secrets of an art). Menkyo-kaiden is a very old, very traditional practice from before the time of “dan” rankings. The menkyo-kaiden comes in the form of hand scrolls that are passed from a master to his most trusted students.
Michael Lamonica served for twenty-one years on the Akron Police Force. He then served another fifteen years as chief of police nearer to his home in Fairlawn. Over the course of his career, Lamonica has trained with both the FBI and CIA as well as teaching an accredited personal defense course with his wife, Chris, at Akron University.
I have rarely met a Sensei who could so captivate his students. As we watched Souke casually disable our Sensei, Matt Pinard, it was encredible to see how little effort is needed when Jujitsu is practiced correctly. After the seminar, I asked Souke if I might film a short video with him. In this clip:
Souke Lamonica demonstrating seated Mune Osaidori
Pay attention to the short and small movements that create such powerful techniques. I asked Souke to demonstrate a seated technique because, especially when seated, the small movements become most readily apparent. This technique—Mune Osaidori—is part of the “shodan waza” or first degree techniques. Though this situation might not occur in a real-world situation, waza are designed to emphasize specific aspects of jujitsu. In the following clip, I am now performing the same seated waza to Souke. My apologies for the background noise—these videos were taken at the conclusion of our three-day shiatsu seminar—it is not so necessary to hear what is being said. At the end of this clip, Souke’s wife, Chris, assists me on the hand positioning for the pin. As with most techniques in Jujitsu, the pin is made stronger by a pushing and pulling movement. While I push against Souke’s knuckles—effectively bending his hand toward his own arm—I am also using my little finger on his palm to pull outward.
I honestly find myself lacking the words adequate to describe Souke Michael Lamonica. I have met some amazing sensei throughout my travels, in both the U.S. and Japan, and Souke Lamonica deserves recognition as being among the best. Humble, humorous and, above all, an expert in the art of aiki-jujitsu, Souke Lamonica has had a life well worthy of a biography. I strive here to share some small part of his character and active life in the martial arts.
Michael Lamonica began training in the martial arts while serving in the U.S. Marine Corps in the late 1950s. Beginning with Chinese Kempo and Judo, Lamonica soon met James Benko—the then head of U.S. Hakko-Ryu jujitsu—and quickly discovered the value of Jujitsu as a form of self defense. While working as a police officer in Akron Ohio, Lamonica was shot in the face. Because the gun had been knocked slightly askew at the moment of firing, the bullet entered his cheek, ricocheted off the bone, and exited through his temple. His assailant then put the gun to Lamonica’s forehead, intending that a second shot would not miss. Lamonica, however, used a variation of the jujitsu technique known as “Kanoha” to disarm and secure his attacker. Holding his attacker fast, Lamonica then marched his would-be murderer to a nearby phone where he could call for police backup.
Incredibly, Souke Lamonica returned to work after only two days of rest. As he told me jokingly, “What bothered me most was that my uniform was ruined—it was covered in blood. You see, at the time, we had to buy our own uniforms on the force.”
It was at this time that Lamonica dedicated his life to the study of Hakko-Ryu Jujitsu. It was jujitsu, after all, that saved his life. In 1975 Lamonica traveled for the first time to Japan, where he trained with the Tokyo riot police. The following year he returned and again the year after. It was in Japan where Lamonica became a trusted friend of the founder of Hakko-ryu, Shodai Ryuho Okuyama. Lamonica became the highest ranked non-oriental practitioner of Hakko-Ryu and eventually received menkyo-kaiden (literally: license and initiation, meaning a person has received the qualification of having been initiated into the deepest secrets of an art). Menkyo-kaiden is a very old, very traditional practice from before the time of “dan” rankings. The menkyo-kaiden comes in the form of hand scrolls that are passed from a master to his most trusted students.
Michael Lamonica served for twenty-one years on the Akron Police Force. He then served another fifteen years as chief of police nearer to his home in Fairlawn. Over the course of his career, Lamonica has trained with both the FBI and CIA as well as teaching an accredited personal defense course with his wife, Chris, at Akron University.
I have rarely met a Sensei who could so captivate his students. As we watched Souke casually disable our Sensei, Matt Pinard, it was encredible to see how little effort is needed when Jujitsu is practiced correctly. After the seminar, I asked Souke if I might film a short video with him. In this clip:
Souke Lamonica demonstrating seated Mune Osaidori
Pay attention to the short and small movements that create such powerful techniques. I asked Souke to demonstrate a seated technique because, especially when seated, the small movements become most readily apparent. This technique—Mune Osaidori—is part of the “shodan waza” or first degree techniques. Though this situation might not occur in a real-world situation, waza are designed to emphasize specific aspects of jujitsu. In the following clip, I am now performing the same seated waza to Souke. My apologies for the background noise—these videos were taken at the conclusion of our three-day shiatsu seminar—it is not so necessary to hear what is being said. At the end of this clip, Souke’s wife, Chris, assists me on the hand positioning for the pin. As with most techniques in Jujitsu, the pin is made stronger by a pushing and pulling movement. While I push against Souke’s knuckles—effectively bending his hand toward his own arm—I am also using my little finger on his palm to pull outward.
Tuesday, May 1, 2012
The Three Wiseass Monkeys
Over the past few weeks, I have been writing blog entries primarily regarding my last couple months in Japan. Though I do have a few more of these tales yet to tell, I have not been idol in the meanwhile. I have continued my training here at home with renewed vigor. It is about this training, then, that I would like to devote the next three posts.
Several months ago I posted an entry about the Three Wise Monkeys. This is a famous symbol in Japan used during the Tokugawa Shogunate to represent the proper way to live: hear not, see not, and speak not. Some have given the ancient phrase a more modern interpretation: hear no evil, see no evil, and speak no evil. In 17th century Japan, however, these were maxims by which a samurai lived his life.
This age-old symbol was given a new meaning today as I was training with my father and our Sensei, Dave Mata, at the Grand Rapids Kyoseikan dojo. Due to the fact this was a day-class, when many people are working, it was just the three of us. My father, who began training in Aikido at the age of 67—who says you can’t teach an old dog knew tricks—is legally deaf. He usually doesn’t wear his hearing aids during class for fear of damaging them. Mata Sensei, on the other hand, claims to find verbally explaining techniques to be very difficult. As for me… well, I’m just blind.
So here you have a deaf monkey, a blind monkey, and a monkey who can’t explain what he’s doing; how do they work together? After spending several minutes trying to describe his movements while taking ukemi—safely falling—Mata Sensei suggested a very intuitive strategy for the three of us. While Sensei slowly moved through a fall, he asked my father to explain, in his own words, how it looked. Does this sound simple? Try to explain, in detail, the position of your body as you climb the stairs or even move from standing to sitting in a chair. Are your hips forward or back? How is your balance distributed over your feet; is your weight forward or back? These motions, which we take for granted, are very difficult to explain when moving slowly. Sensei, who has been “learning how to fall” for over fifteen years, does it without thinking. I myself have been training in Aikido for nine years and the falls have always been something I enjoyed. My father, though, has only been training for a year. These movements are not yet ingrained so deeply in his muscle memory.
Ukemi—falling—is not a simple, once you’ve learned it you’re finished, process. AS you age and your body accrues injuries and stiffness, ukemi is something you must develop and think about. The intent of this entry, however, is not to focus on a discussion of ukemi but rather on this interesting style of teaching. I believe Mata Sensei’s casual suggestion touches upon a very important piece of teaching methodology for the blind or visually impaired. I believe it can also serve equally well for sighted people both beginners and advanced, if for a slightly different reason.
Each person “sees” the world slightly differently. I realized this in particular when visiting an art museum with two friends in Japan. Each of my friends would describe the same painting, but using completely different words. While one friend spoke of the emotions she felt while looking at the image, the other friend talked in more detail about the specific techniques used to create the image. Though each person described the same picture, for me it was as though I had viewed two separate paintings: one a moving, emotional picture while the other was more detailed and graphic. Similarly, the same technique or, in this case, ukemi described by two separate people can touch upon details that one person alone might have missed. A concrete example from today’s class occurred when my father mention the way Sensei turned his hips to keep balance while falling forward into a front ukemi. While Mata Sensei had described to me how he kept weight back and lowered his knee as close to the ground as possible before shifting forward, turning his hips was something he had done without realizing. Again, I am not trying to teach ukemi with this post. I am only discussing a strategy for teaching.
Similarly, this same process of describing a technique can apply for sighted people as well, but the other way around. Especially when first learning, talking your way through an action may help you to more fully understand what it is you are doing. If anything, it may help you become a better teacher in the long run as it helps you to continuously think about your movements. Sometimes, talking yourself through may help you find the point you are missing. It really helps to bring a more conscious awareness to the activity you are performing.
The three little monkeys finally all fell successfully off the bed and landed safely on the tatami. Mata Sensei is, in the end, a very skilled instructor. I would not return to his dojo each time I am in G.R. if I did not feel I could learn from him. Sensei is constantly seeking to become a better teacher—a better “sensei—and this is more valuable than knowing how to describe each technique in detail. It is more important because, after all, each person learns differently. Mata Sensei seeks ways to adjust his instruction for his students.
Several months ago I posted an entry about the Three Wise Monkeys. This is a famous symbol in Japan used during the Tokugawa Shogunate to represent the proper way to live: hear not, see not, and speak not. Some have given the ancient phrase a more modern interpretation: hear no evil, see no evil, and speak no evil. In 17th century Japan, however, these were maxims by which a samurai lived his life.
This age-old symbol was given a new meaning today as I was training with my father and our Sensei, Dave Mata, at the Grand Rapids Kyoseikan dojo. Due to the fact this was a day-class, when many people are working, it was just the three of us. My father, who began training in Aikido at the age of 67—who says you can’t teach an old dog knew tricks—is legally deaf. He usually doesn’t wear his hearing aids during class for fear of damaging them. Mata Sensei, on the other hand, claims to find verbally explaining techniques to be very difficult. As for me… well, I’m just blind.
So here you have a deaf monkey, a blind monkey, and a monkey who can’t explain what he’s doing; how do they work together? After spending several minutes trying to describe his movements while taking ukemi—safely falling—Mata Sensei suggested a very intuitive strategy for the three of us. While Sensei slowly moved through a fall, he asked my father to explain, in his own words, how it looked. Does this sound simple? Try to explain, in detail, the position of your body as you climb the stairs or even move from standing to sitting in a chair. Are your hips forward or back? How is your balance distributed over your feet; is your weight forward or back? These motions, which we take for granted, are very difficult to explain when moving slowly. Sensei, who has been “learning how to fall” for over fifteen years, does it without thinking. I myself have been training in Aikido for nine years and the falls have always been something I enjoyed. My father, though, has only been training for a year. These movements are not yet ingrained so deeply in his muscle memory.
Ukemi—falling—is not a simple, once you’ve learned it you’re finished, process. AS you age and your body accrues injuries and stiffness, ukemi is something you must develop and think about. The intent of this entry, however, is not to focus on a discussion of ukemi but rather on this interesting style of teaching. I believe Mata Sensei’s casual suggestion touches upon a very important piece of teaching methodology for the blind or visually impaired. I believe it can also serve equally well for sighted people both beginners and advanced, if for a slightly different reason.
Each person “sees” the world slightly differently. I realized this in particular when visiting an art museum with two friends in Japan. Each of my friends would describe the same painting, but using completely different words. While one friend spoke of the emotions she felt while looking at the image, the other friend talked in more detail about the specific techniques used to create the image. Though each person described the same picture, for me it was as though I had viewed two separate paintings: one a moving, emotional picture while the other was more detailed and graphic. Similarly, the same technique or, in this case, ukemi described by two separate people can touch upon details that one person alone might have missed. A concrete example from today’s class occurred when my father mention the way Sensei turned his hips to keep balance while falling forward into a front ukemi. While Mata Sensei had described to me how he kept weight back and lowered his knee as close to the ground as possible before shifting forward, turning his hips was something he had done without realizing. Again, I am not trying to teach ukemi with this post. I am only discussing a strategy for teaching.
Similarly, this same process of describing a technique can apply for sighted people as well, but the other way around. Especially when first learning, talking your way through an action may help you to more fully understand what it is you are doing. If anything, it may help you become a better teacher in the long run as it helps you to continuously think about your movements. Sometimes, talking yourself through may help you find the point you are missing. It really helps to bring a more conscious awareness to the activity you are performing.
The three little monkeys finally all fell successfully off the bed and landed safely on the tatami. Mata Sensei is, in the end, a very skilled instructor. I would not return to his dojo each time I am in G.R. if I did not feel I could learn from him. Sensei is constantly seeking to become a better teacher—a better “sensei—and this is more valuable than knowing how to describe each technique in detail. It is more important because, after all, each person learns differently. Mata Sensei seeks ways to adjust his instruction for his students.
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