Portrait in Linen

Maybe it only seems like hula haunts my every endeavor. When one loves something so passionately, she sees it everywhere and in everything. My study of Shotokan is no exception.

Striking similarities I’ve uncovered so far:

• The Japanese writing system referred to as “Revised Hepburn Romanization” (established c. 1887 by James Curtis Hepburn) frequently utilizes a macron to indicate long vowels: Tōkyō.

  In the Hawaiian language, the macron kahakō (appeared c. 1821 in transcriptions by missionary Hiram Bingham) is used to indicate a lengthened vowel sound: Lāna’i.

• As Westernization began to impose on the Okinawan culture in the late 1800s, the people were pressured to abandon the traditional “topknot” hairstyle in favor of short, Western haircuts.

  In Hawai’i, after missionaries influenced the ali’i to adopt Western ideas and mannerisms, the people were led to European styles of dress, instead of the native pā’ū and kīhei.

• As The Meiji Restoration tightened its hold on the Okinawan people, the traditional arts of karate-dō and kendō (fencing) (among other arts) were banned. Practitioners were forced to train in secret, and never spoke of their training.

  In Hawai’i, as Western philosophy continued to dominate, the traditional art of hula was banned. Dancers and chanters and their kumus went underground and never spoke of their hālaus.

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I was a bit disturbed by something I read in Genshin Hironishi’s foreword to Karate-Dō: My Way of Life (Gichin Funakoshi). He writes:

A Japanese actively seeking self-enlightenment will say that he is “training his stomach” (hara wo neru). Although the expression has wide implications, its origin lies in the obvious necessity to harden the muscles of the stomach, a prerequisite for the practice of karate, which is, after all, a combat technique. By bringing the stomach muscles to a state of perfection, a karateka is able to control not only the movements of his hands and feet but also his breathing.

Okay. I’m not “a Japanese actively seeking self-enlightenment.” But hardening the stomach as “obvious necessity” and “prerequisite for the practice of karate” all but eliminates me from ever reaching an ideal level of skill–at least as it seems to be above described by Mr. Hironishi.

I’m not whining and complaining. “It is what it is,” and my mommy-tummy definitely “is,” and I can’t whine or complain about that, because it could be a lot worse. I mean, really. It really could be.

But it’s just like with hula. And Tahitian. I will never, ever, ever–no matter how hard I study, no matter how hard I practice, no matter how much I learn–ever, ever reach a level of considerable skill, because my body just isn’t capable of the range of motion that’s required. Sure, I can “sway” and “swish” to a point of appearing to sway and swish, but these just ain’t competitive hips. The centrifugal limit is quite…narrow. Like trying to bend a steel rod. Literally.

I accept this. It is just a little heartbreaking, because my brain thinks I can do it. But just because a person wills herself to fly doesn’t mean she can.

So what of the “trained stomach”? There’s only so much training my stomach can do. Alas, the spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak.

Am I being a defeatist? No. A realist. Just because I acknowledge my limitations doesn’t mean I intend to put a cap on my efforts. I’ll continue to aim high, but not so high that I begin to envision myself far beyond my means, and not so high that I place myself in harm’s way (which–in martial arts–is relative).

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Sensei Sage told us, “When it’s time to test, Mr. Master is not going to judge you alongside your peers, or compare you to any other martial artist but yourself. He’s going to look at you–take into consideration your health, your age–and decide what you’re capable of doing.”

This may be a comforting thought. Except I wonder…do I look like I’m capable of more than I actually am? I’d have to answer “yes.”

In hula, no one had any idea my spine’s fused together. There was a time or two when Kumu urged me to “make bigger motions with your hips…Swish…Swish…Swish!” Under my pā’ū, I was pushing my hip into the joint, consciously over-extending, even though I knew it wasn’t proper form. I reasoned, if it looked correct and exaggerated to his liking, then that was okay, since the technique was happening “under wraps.”

I don’t think I’ll be able to get away with anything like that in karate. But even if I could, I wouldn’t want to. There’s more than aesthetics at stake, and I know enough to admit shortcuts like that are a big mistake–on so many levels.