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What does a black belt mean to you?
After having been in college for 4 months w/o seeing my instructor, I called him up and scheduled a class between him and myself. Before I left, it had started snowing to the level of a proper blizzard.
I must admit, I was a little dissapointed. Several years ealier, when I attended my first class with this instructor, I was driven by an black belt to class amid a snowstorm not unlike the one I was currently navigating. But that time, I was one of four students starting out amid a two 9th degree, one 7th degree, one 5th degree, and one 2nd degree blackbelt instructors.
I alone had persevered through the interval of the snowstorms. I alone was left from that initial class. I had seen each of the other students drop out for various reasons. Each of the instructors, excepting the head instructor, excused themselves for not coming, usually because they felt they knew it all. During the several years between the storms, I had brough many other students with me to train at this school. All were now snuggled beneath blankets by a warm fire watching the snow fall, glad they were not in it.
As I walked through Soke's doorway, I squinted in order to make him out. His darkened skin was always difficult to distinguish from the brown paneling he prefered along his walls. I located him, bowed my respects and sat down on the sofa along the wall nearest the door without many words. We finished watching the last 10 minutes of Lethal Weapon playing on TBS before he nodded towards the stairway leading upstairs. Once again, I bowed before leaving the room and, taking my bag with me, negotiated the stairs and entered our "dojo."
"Dojo" is really only the formal term. In reality it consists of little more than a tiney room with several layers of carpet for padding. Even that carpet is unnecessary because if you were to throw someone down with any violence they would find themselves the floor below given the poor workmanship of the inner-city house.
I laid open my bag, which I call my martial arts bag even though it has a sizeable Pittsburgh Penguins logo on the side, to find my neatly-folded uniform. I donned the top, already wearing the bottom, and remembered to put the left side on top. I had just recently learned that the left goes on top so that your hand would not get stuck when drawing your sword. Then, I procured my green belt and placed it proudly high about my waist, the green ends drooping from years of wearing the same belt. As with many ninjitsu schools, the only belt colors are green and black. I, having earned green belt 3 months after starting, have worn the same belt for almost the identical amount of time as the time between the storms.
Soke, at the time called Shihan, made his entrance, slowly and almost painfully ascending the stairs that I youthfully bounded up only moments before. His sizeable frame appeared in the doorway and I reflexively called "break." This only served to embarass myself because I was the only student, sempai or kohai, in the room.
Seeing as there were only two of us present, Soke decided to forgo the formal bowing in procedure. Immediately, he started asking to see my differnt kihon happo. This was to be one of the first times I had ever "shadow-boxed" my basics. They are designed to be performed on an uke. But seeing none present, I attacked the air, while Soke regarded my form. I ran through the whole list of basics, doing the kamae first, so Soke could watch, then advanced to the locks, which I actually performed on Soke. This was the first time he had allowed me to use his body for practice. He watched without critique as I applied each technique three different ways, knowing that he would expect slight variations based on punching style, body sizes, personality, and general attitude for each technique.
An hour and a half passed in this manner, during which I felt I was being assessed for how much I had retained during my tenure at college. Finally, he stopped and bent down to pick up a magazine that had been lying in the corner, underneath a number of bokens, shinai and other numerous types of sticks. He opened to an advertisement page showing a ninjitsu instructor, who was unknown to me, selling a line of instructional videos and books. Soke read off the list to me as I followed along, looking over his shoulder.
Each video was designed for a certain rank and this instructor listed the techniques that he felt were necessary to that particular rank. He started with the white belts and had videos all the way through 1st dan. After reading the list of techniques that were required for 1st dan, I said to myself "hey, that sounds a lot like what I just did." I dismissed the thought, knowing that I was not a black belt candidate.
"With that," his relaxed voice bringing me out of my revery "take off your belt..." Soke let the words hang in the air as he put down the magazine and walked into the next room. For my part, I didn't move. "... and put this one on." Soke appeared back in the room clutcthing a plain black belt in his hand. Still wary of being the brunt of a bad joke, I slowly removed my belt and affixed the new one to my waist. This time, the ends stood straight out, as if attached by a safety pin to my uniform top.
The first words I was to hear as a black belt were "How's it feel sensei?" After I stammered some kind unintelligible response, he continued, "You are going to have to prepare an answer to the question 'What does that black belt mean to you?' You are going to have students who are going to ask you and they're going to expect a well-thought out response. I wasn't thinking about answering him. I was still stuck on the fact that he said I was going to have students. "Who am I to have students? I'm just a green belt."
Eventually, we finished off the class and I took my leave. After taking some time to catch up on our lives since I left for school, I went back outside into the white world. I left my belt on.
When I got home, I had a totally different response than I expected. My dad said "you don't know how to beat the schnot out of someone yet." It needs to be understood that, although my dad has been great through the years, he has never seen me perform one single martial arts technique. My mom was supportive, yet not proud. How could she possibly understand what this meant to me? Hoping for praise, I walked down two doors to my best friend's house, who also was a martial arts student. I found him in his den downstairs in a sullen mood. His only acknowledgement of my news came in the form of a grunt before he went back to telling me what was wrong with is life. The next day we celebrated with cigars because he was accepted to the same school I was attending. Oh yeah, we celebrated for my black belt too.
Over the years since the last storm, I have pondered the question "What does a black belt mean to me?" To me, a person who has a black belt is someone who has studied the basics of a particular martial arts system and is ready to advance into higher understanding and physical undertaking in that art. Furthermore, the belt system itself has meaning. When you start out, you are white. White means innocence; you have nothing to bring to the table.
The next step is green. Green is for growing. During this time, the young student is nothing more than a small sapling in the woods started when a seed from the instructor fell. From time to time the older trees will shift slightly so that the young trees will get more light. For the most part, they are strickly under the umbrella of protection from the elements provided by the larger trees.
Black means void. Black is the absense of color. It is also the absence of innocence. The student has been acclamated to the basics of the art and is ready for his or her training in that art to begin. This is akin to driving a marathon runner to the race. This ride is really nothing compared to the work ahead. As the belt ages, it becomes lighter. The true idea is that a belt, if worn long enough will become white again, symbolizing a true circle back to innocence. However, this never happens. A belt becomes gray over time and will eventually fall apart before ever turning white. This gray stands for the gray matter of your brain and symbolizes all that you have learned over time.
I have come to understand that the belt means many things, however one thing stands out among the rest, perseverence. I was the only one who came through both storms. I was the only one who really understood what this could mean, personally. Studying the martial arts is a lonely hobby. Few spouses understand. When attending social gatherings, I have bored many people by keeping them informed of what happened at my latest class, what techniques we're currently working, and with which walk of life we are currently training.
It is up to the individual martial artist to find his or her own reasons for continuing. There are an incalculable number of walls along the way. I've seen more men drop out on account of women. Egos are another leading excuse for quitting. Money, lack of a ride, and general laziness have also caused many runners to quit the marathon. Bear in mind, less than one percent of all who begin will carry on to black belt.
-Hikage
I must admit, I was a little dissapointed. Several years ealier, when I attended my first class with this instructor, I was driven by an black belt to class amid a snowstorm not unlike the one I was currently navigating. But that time, I was one of four students starting out amid a two 9th degree, one 7th degree, one 5th degree, and one 2nd degree blackbelt instructors.
I alone had persevered through the interval of the snowstorms. I alone was left from that initial class. I had seen each of the other students drop out for various reasons. Each of the instructors, excepting the head instructor, excused themselves for not coming, usually because they felt they knew it all. During the several years between the storms, I had brough many other students with me to train at this school. All were now snuggled beneath blankets by a warm fire watching the snow fall, glad they were not in it.
As I walked through Soke's doorway, I squinted in order to make him out. His darkened skin was always difficult to distinguish from the brown paneling he prefered along his walls. I located him, bowed my respects and sat down on the sofa along the wall nearest the door without many words. We finished watching the last 10 minutes of Lethal Weapon playing on TBS before he nodded towards the stairway leading upstairs. Once again, I bowed before leaving the room and, taking my bag with me, negotiated the stairs and entered our "dojo."
"Dojo" is really only the formal term. In reality it consists of little more than a tiney room with several layers of carpet for padding. Even that carpet is unnecessary because if you were to throw someone down with any violence they would find themselves the floor below given the poor workmanship of the inner-city house.
I laid open my bag, which I call my martial arts bag even though it has a sizeable Pittsburgh Penguins logo on the side, to find my neatly-folded uniform. I donned the top, already wearing the bottom, and remembered to put the left side on top. I had just recently learned that the left goes on top so that your hand would not get stuck when drawing your sword. Then, I procured my green belt and placed it proudly high about my waist, the green ends drooping from years of wearing the same belt. As with many ninjitsu schools, the only belt colors are green and black. I, having earned green belt 3 months after starting, have worn the same belt for almost the identical amount of time as the time between the storms.
Soke, at the time called Shihan, made his entrance, slowly and almost painfully ascending the stairs that I youthfully bounded up only moments before. His sizeable frame appeared in the doorway and I reflexively called "break." This only served to embarass myself because I was the only student, sempai or kohai, in the room.
Seeing as there were only two of us present, Soke decided to forgo the formal bowing in procedure. Immediately, he started asking to see my differnt kihon happo. This was to be one of the first times I had ever "shadow-boxed" my basics. They are designed to be performed on an uke. But seeing none present, I attacked the air, while Soke regarded my form. I ran through the whole list of basics, doing the kamae first, so Soke could watch, then advanced to the locks, which I actually performed on Soke. This was the first time he had allowed me to use his body for practice. He watched without critique as I applied each technique three different ways, knowing that he would expect slight variations based on punching style, body sizes, personality, and general attitude for each technique.
An hour and a half passed in this manner, during which I felt I was being assessed for how much I had retained during my tenure at college. Finally, he stopped and bent down to pick up a magazine that had been lying in the corner, underneath a number of bokens, shinai and other numerous types of sticks. He opened to an advertisement page showing a ninjitsu instructor, who was unknown to me, selling a line of instructional videos and books. Soke read off the list to me as I followed along, looking over his shoulder.
Each video was designed for a certain rank and this instructor listed the techniques that he felt were necessary to that particular rank. He started with the white belts and had videos all the way through 1st dan. After reading the list of techniques that were required for 1st dan, I said to myself "hey, that sounds a lot like what I just did." I dismissed the thought, knowing that I was not a black belt candidate.
"With that," his relaxed voice bringing me out of my revery "take off your belt..." Soke let the words hang in the air as he put down the magazine and walked into the next room. For my part, I didn't move. "... and put this one on." Soke appeared back in the room clutcthing a plain black belt in his hand. Still wary of being the brunt of a bad joke, I slowly removed my belt and affixed the new one to my waist. This time, the ends stood straight out, as if attached by a safety pin to my uniform top.
The first words I was to hear as a black belt were "How's it feel sensei?" After I stammered some kind unintelligible response, he continued, "You are going to have to prepare an answer to the question 'What does that black belt mean to you?' You are going to have students who are going to ask you and they're going to expect a well-thought out response. I wasn't thinking about answering him. I was still stuck on the fact that he said I was going to have students. "Who am I to have students? I'm just a green belt."
Eventually, we finished off the class and I took my leave. After taking some time to catch up on our lives since I left for school, I went back outside into the white world. I left my belt on.
When I got home, I had a totally different response than I expected. My dad said "you don't know how to beat the schnot out of someone yet." It needs to be understood that, although my dad has been great through the years, he has never seen me perform one single martial arts technique. My mom was supportive, yet not proud. How could she possibly understand what this meant to me? Hoping for praise, I walked down two doors to my best friend's house, who also was a martial arts student. I found him in his den downstairs in a sullen mood. His only acknowledgement of my news came in the form of a grunt before he went back to telling me what was wrong with is life. The next day we celebrated with cigars because he was accepted to the same school I was attending. Oh yeah, we celebrated for my black belt too.
Over the years since the last storm, I have pondered the question "What does a black belt mean to me?" To me, a person who has a black belt is someone who has studied the basics of a particular martial arts system and is ready to advance into higher understanding and physical undertaking in that art. Furthermore, the belt system itself has meaning. When you start out, you are white. White means innocence; you have nothing to bring to the table.
The next step is green. Green is for growing. During this time, the young student is nothing more than a small sapling in the woods started when a seed from the instructor fell. From time to time the older trees will shift slightly so that the young trees will get more light. For the most part, they are strickly under the umbrella of protection from the elements provided by the larger trees.
Black means void. Black is the absense of color. It is also the absence of innocence. The student has been acclamated to the basics of the art and is ready for his or her training in that art to begin. This is akin to driving a marathon runner to the race. This ride is really nothing compared to the work ahead. As the belt ages, it becomes lighter. The true idea is that a belt, if worn long enough will become white again, symbolizing a true circle back to innocence. However, this never happens. A belt becomes gray over time and will eventually fall apart before ever turning white. This gray stands for the gray matter of your brain and symbolizes all that you have learned over time.
I have come to understand that the belt means many things, however one thing stands out among the rest, perseverence. I was the only one who came through both storms. I was the only one who really understood what this could mean, personally. Studying the martial arts is a lonely hobby. Few spouses understand. When attending social gatherings, I have bored many people by keeping them informed of what happened at my latest class, what techniques we're currently working, and with which walk of life we are currently training.
It is up to the individual martial artist to find his or her own reasons for continuing. There are an incalculable number of walls along the way. I've seen more men drop out on account of women. Egos are another leading excuse for quitting. Money, lack of a ride, and general laziness have also caused many runners to quit the marathon. Bear in mind, less than one percent of all who begin will carry on to black belt.
-Hikage
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