Life As I Play It

“Why do you do it?” It’s a question I’m asked more than any other (the second being what brought me to Missouri from California). From the outsider’s perspective, it’s a fair question; it hurts like hell, and it seems infantile, two grown men (or women) trying to beat each other into submission. At the end, you’re left beaten, bloody, bruised…and loving it?

Yeah, maybe we are a little crazy.

I’ve studied martial arts for more than twenty-five years, and I’ve yet to articulate why we put ourselves through this. Last night, after getting my bell rung by a former semi-professional boxer, I think I may have found a way.

First of all, I’m not a fan of street fighting. Two (or more) people banging away on each other in an uncontrolled environment isn’t something I enjoy. It’s violence that serves no purpose and could’ve been avoided, had the parties involved been smart enough to think things through.
Sufficient training teaches you to avoid, and then diffuse these situations altogether.

So, why do those who can, fight?

1). You Never Stop Learning.
I love to learn. I love the learning process, I love the experience, and I love the accomplishment. You can study one style of martial art forever and never grasp everything there is to know. You can never stop improving; there is no limit to how far you can go.
I’m also fascinated by the education; Capoeira, which I’ve studied for about five years, was originally founded as a method for slaves to defend themselves against their captors. The theory of the style was that the foot, supposedly the hardest part of the body, needed to connect to the head, which was considered the weakest. As slaves were traditionally chained, learning to use their feet in self- defense was mandatory. To prevent their captors from learning what they were up to,ey were up to, they disguised the style as a dance. No joke.
I find Capoeira not only compliments Tae Kwon Do nicely, but it’s great for cardio and rhythm training.
You never quit learning.

2). Discipline
In its original form, a lot of martial arts were meant to take life. Some styles were developed specifically for killing.  Krav Maga is a great example of this; it was taught to soldiers who had to kill their enemies quickly and silently, usually in close quarters.
A lifelong practitioner’s knowledge of human anatomy can rival that of a surgeon’s. As martial artists, we’re trained to do everything in our power to avoid a confrontation (I’m admittedly weak on this point), but if we’re forced into something, we cannot give into anger. Doing so means we will either cripple or kill our opponent.
I think the best aspect of the martial arts is not the power it endows, but the discipline it ingrains. Anybody can fight. Not everyone can walk away.
I confess; when fighting, I’ve done real damage to my opponents. Sometimes, it was to put them down, sometimes, I did it just because it was what the crowd wanted. I wasn’t justified in any case, and I should’ve paid more attention when I was training.

3). Unification
Imagine for a moment what would happen if you were able to unify your mind, body, and spirit towards a single objective.
You punch; in a single moment, you’ve told your fist exactly where to strike, to put your whole body into it for extra damage, and to lock your arm at the elbow for impact’s sake. You’ve conditioned your mind to hit hard enough to knock the other person back, to convey to them physically that you can hit them much harder if you like. If your spirit is in the punch, your opponent will feel it. I have a hard time articulating how the spirit factors in; you have to feel that for yourself.

When you’re able to channel your mind, your body, and your spirit towards a single objective, you will find that very few things can stand in your way. You learn how to do this from your first day of training, and as you progress, you learn to apply it to everyday life. The unification is what other people sense when they’re in the presence of someone who has devoted their entire life to studying the martial arts.
I know how to do this, but I haven’t figured out how to harness it full-time yet. I have yet to rise above the lure of fighting’s brutality.

Now, given these three things, you may understand what draws some of us to the martial arts, but it doesn’t explain why we fight.

Human beings are naturally competitive. We pay big money to see people who what they do best, against each other. Hell, we put big money on the outcomes.

Fighting is no different.  We compete to determine the best.

Going a bit deeper…
Trust plays a huge role in it. You have to trust that the person will not hit you hard enough to (severely) hurt you, and you have to trust that they will stop when you tell them too. When you’re sparring someone, you may be putting your life in their hands. My strongest friendships are with those I can trust with my life. My closest friends are former opponents.

This kicks off my next point; beneath whatever reason you may be fighting, there’s almost always respect. Win or lose, you have to respect someone who is willing to take your best shot and ask for more. I don’t see that kind of respect in everyday life. Between fighters, you don’t have to ask; it’s either there or it isn’t. You just know. Chances are it will be there by the end of the altercation.

This may be just me, but I love the moment-to-moment. I live by my instincts, and nothing exemplifies this more than a good match. The earlier point I made about Unification; when you’re sparring/fighting, you have to trust in yourself that you will react appropriately in the right situation. You can plan in advance, but if you hesitate in the moment, you lose. The punch comes; you block. You don’t think about blocking, you just do it. You do it because you’ve spent so much time training yourself to respond that way. When the same works for your opponent, it can be beautiful to watch—and experience.

I’ve just spent about a thousand words on my favorite subject, and truthfully, I could probably write a book. Studying martial arts can open your mind up to unbelievable experiences, and give you ways to control yourself—and the world around you—that you can’t even imagine.

I love to learn, because it makes me better. I love the physicality of the martial arts, I love the trust that comes from fighting a friend (before you think I’m too out there…remember when you were a kid, you had beef with someone, you guys went outside and knocked each other silly, and were best friends from there on out?). I love the power you can achieve and the discipline to wield it.

I love the idea that our bodies can be more dangerous than anything we create.

This is Why We Fight.

(c) Avery K. Tingle for Modern Magic Enterprises LTD and Nomadic Productions LLC

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I’ve been studying martial arts for more than twenty years, and yet, I can’t find the words to articulate everything it’s done for me.  I’ve used it in every aspect of my life, and continue to do so. It’s the purest and most complete system I’ve ever encountered.

I’m not someone who bullshits or plays games with people, something that often gets me into trouble. Martial arts is the same way. You have no excuses. You’re either skilled or you’re not, and if you’re not, then it’s plainly your fault, and you know it. In the end, you’re the practitioner, and you decide how far you go.

I think the world works better when there are no excuses.

I also find martial arts incredibly addictive. You never stop learning or improving. At the same time, the more you learn, the deadlier you become. Knowing that you have the ability to take a life with your bare hands is both intoxicating and humbling. And yet, knowing this, you ask yourself every time you raise your hands, and you bring that deadly power to bear; is this worth it?

To me, this is why the emotional impact of martial arts is far greater than the physical one; we do not train to fight, we train to reign in our emotions and diffuse situations in which we might become violent. We do this because violence is a last resort; if we must become violent, someone could quickly be crippled or worse.

In one fluent motion, you exhale. You thrust your right arm forward. At the last second, you tighten your hand into a fist, shifting your right hip into the blow for extra power. You crash your fist upwards into someone’s ribs. The ribs give beneath your blow, splintering upwards. The lungs and heart are shredded. The person dies painfully, slowly, at your feet.

Or you can just walk away.

And yet, the only way to test ourselves is by challenging each other. This is what I’ve always enjoyed the most of.

I have a couple of good friends in the area that I can do this with. Every so often, we get together, and we fight.

There’s a huge amount of trust involved, yet another reason why I gravitate towards the martial arts; I do not trust easy. Sparring requires a tremendous amount of control and trust, knowing that your ‘opponent’ is as skilled as you are, but will not lose their temper and elevate it to bloodlust if you get a lucky strike in. Sparring requires more trust than almost anything else I’ve ever done.

Getting tagged (hit) means that your defense is not good enough, and it gives you something to work on. If you are taken down easily, then your center of balance is off. If blocking his/her moves begins to wear you down, you should shift to dodging rather than blocking until you can condition your arms (kickboxing is good for that). Always something new to learn, and I enjoy that too.

There is a style for every occasion. If you want to learn how to defend yourself non-violently, there’s judo and aikido, which specialize in throwing your opponent off balance without doing too much damage. If you want to learn flexibility, grace, and offense, tae kwon do is for you. If you want to learn all of these, plus rhythm and dance, look into Capoeira. If you want to learn to regulate your breathing and gain better control over your body, Tai Chi and Kung Fu are for you. I have found that Chinese styles are better for mental and spiritual development (although styles like Tai Chi Chuan are both beautiful and offensive) while Japanese and Thai styles are more suited for people who want to learn straight out fighting.

What I take form the martial arts is a way to keep my type two in check. It gives me a constructive way to deal with rage. It allows me to feed my creative side (anyone read Universal Warrior yet? Shameless plug inserted). It allows me to see people a little differently (body language is everything) and it gives me something I can never stop learning.

Every time I thought I learned all there was to know about a style, I found a new level. I’ll never keep getting stronger, and there is no limit to how far I can take my skills.

This excites me. This is why I’d rather be fighting.

(c) Avery K. Tingle for Modern Magic Enterprises LTD and Nomadic Productions LLC

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I’ve been studying martial arts for over twenty years. I don’t think it’s fair to say that I am a martial artist. There’s nothing artful about what I do, or how I move. I see something, I react, normally in violence. Recently, I have learned not to react with the maximum amount of violence to every hostile situation, but I still have a long way to go.

Without going into too many details, yesterday, I got into a brief altercation. In hindsight, I was probably set up. Someone in my building stepped towards me from around the corner very unexpectedly, and I knocked him down. I was not looking for a fight; it was a reflex action to respond to a perceived threat with violence.

I could list the problems I’ve had with this guy before, but nothing changes the fact that I felt horrible about it. The man is forty years older than me.

So…that made me think.
I was always criticized by my various teachers for not having any form to my technique. I never saw a point to form, to be honest; form never got me anywhere in a fight. Also, I have never understood (nor tried to) the idea of learning to fight so you don’t have to fight. To me, that just doesn’t make any sense.

Isn’t that why we study? To defend ourselves, and those we love?
I learned how powerful techniques can become the more you practice them, and as such, I’ve learned to control myself in a fight, so I don’t do mortal damage to someone. I’ve always thought that it was awesome; to be able to hone your body into a lethal weapon, just as destructive as a bullet. Even more awesome is your ability to control your power, and use it to other achieve other means. My training plays a big role in keeping my blood sugar down.

I figured that once I learned to knock someone out, instead of shattering their jaw, I had a pretty good grasp on martial arts.

But I still have a long way to go, don’t I…?

I claim to want peace. Then again, I’d have no idea what to do with it.

If I’m not training to fight, then why am I training? And why do I still enjoy it so much?
What does this whole “training so you don’t have to fight” mean?

These are questions I seek answers to as I continue my training. Usually I work on speed and power. Today I slowed things down (not used to that at all), allowed my techniques to come slowly, and went through the forms I’d been taught. As I did this, I could feel the answers at the edge of my mind, trying to break in.

I know this ties into my future success, too; learning to approach the world peacefully instead of waiting for an adversary.

And so, as my training continues, I hope for peace and answers, praying I’ll be ready to accept it, knowing I won’t be aware when I do.

Thanks for reading.

(c) Avery K. Tingle for Modern Magic Enterprises LTD and Nomadic Productions LLC

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I first discovered this mindset while practicing. Bruce Lee spoke of it often; reaction without thought. Don’t think. Feel. It becomes instinct to respond to a certain situation in a certain way. I’ve been striving at this for years, only recently did I start to understand. A punch comes, you block. You don’t think about it, you just do it. Thought requires hesitation. Hesitation forfeits advantage.

This is why I learned to run (blindly) with my first instinct. Screw who gets hurt along the way. I’m right, you’re wrong, and at the end, when everything has been wrecked, you’ll see.

I wasn’t sure how to quantify it, but it was an unsettling peace, almost like the dark side of the force. I associated people with how they smelled. Once I had that scent, I could track them anywhere. it didn’t require thought to do this, only instincts. Raw emotions. Who needs logic?

I learned to communicate without words. I’ve always found that one learns much more by observing and listening than running off at the mouth. I still believe this.

Look at my eyes. Read my body language. What do you think is on my mind?

Pay attention to someone as they walk. Within seconds, you can tell how they feel about themselves—not just generally, but at that exact point in time. When they speak, do they make eye contact? Are they shifty in their movements? Or are they fluid, decisive, and confident?

Do they know how to handle themselves?

Before I left NYC, the guy who had shown me around (and waited on the embankment when that damn train went over me) had long maintained that he had no interest in martial arts, and he had no idea how to fight. It’s a good cover; sometimes, when it’s revealed that you can fight, people want to test you. They either want to prey on you, or use you to prey on others. So I don’t blame him for keeping his mouth shut.

But we were friends. And I knew.
He had already seen me fight, we had resolved the situation we had involved ourselves in. He knew what I could do, but more importantly, he knew I was trustworthy.

So randomly, before we leave the high-priced hotel, I threw a punch his way. Nothing serious; if it had connected, I would’ve gotten his attention, but not much else.

Instinctively, his hand shot out and grasped my wrist. The look in his eyes was priceless, as though he was at a holdup, and everyone had just realized his gun was empty.

We sparred fiercely for a moment, which became a great experience with a bona-fide Kung-Fu expert. We never said  a word the entire time. Words weren’t necessary.

Anyways…logic set in about a year ago. Everything got a little crazy then, trying to adapt to everything I knew versus everything I was learning. The real world is rough.

I notice that since I have gone straight, my reflexes have dulled. At first I thought it was age, as I’m still in pretty good shape.
Instead, I find myself asking why all the time. Why do I feel a need to injure this person? Why am I doing this? What purpose does this serve?

Is there another way?

My writing is something else, though. I’ve never tried at my writing, I just do it. It’s always been that way, even before I could fight.

In fact, now that I’m older, I have found that I create the characters and their backstories (with their input) and then they pretty much do their own thing. I find myself, after a few hours, with several thousand words written. Reviewing my work often leads me to raise an eyebrow and say, “Wow, didn’t see that coming.”

When I write, I’m not conscious of the time, other people, or even my environment. I feel as though some curse may be brought upon me if I dare to step away from the keyboard before finishing the story. I end up sprinting for the bathroom when I’m finished.

The same gift I had for fighting…it’s as though it’s passed into my writing. Or it’s always been there, and I’m just now harnessing it.

This is the life I strive for…to flow freely without conscious thought, to react in the most appropriate method for situation. When I write, I want the words to flow through me, without my trying to control them. If I feel a need to raise my hands, I want to have no doubts that I have exhausted all other options. And then, I want to react in the most humane way possible.

I want to feel. Everything.

I’ve spent enough time in the darkness, and I’m really enjoying the light.

(c) Avery K. Tingle for Modern Magic Enterprises LTD and Nomadic Productions LLC

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Four years ago, I was staying in an unlisted shelter in Saginaw, Michigan. Located in one of the city’s most dangerous neighborhoods, one would walk through a crime scene at least once per week, and Busterwolf had to be at his prime.

At the time, I was trying to raise enough money to leave Saginaw behind and head for Grand Rapids—where there were more jobs, more opportunities, and what I believed was the rest of my life. I wasn’t concerned about how I raised the money—I just wanted out.

And no one could outfight me.

The adventures in Saginaw were many, including a fight outside of a nightclub with two friends, one of whom was an adventurous, married woman, and a tournament that had been arranged just to see if Busterwolf was everything the legends said. Those invested in this tournament were so serious about seeing me fight that when I tried to back out, they conveyed their seriousness by firing a bullet at me.

Eventually, I was able to leave Saginaw, convincing myself that Busterwolf’s days were indeed behind him. When I arrived in Grand Rapids, I caved to the legend once again, and the real adventures began. They included two students (my first since my son) and the only man who put the fear of God in me, so much so that I could not beat him…

I realized a little back that I compiled all of these adventures into my very first blog, which goes all the way back to the days in Saginaw. Sometime this year, I’m going to compile and edit them, and then, if I can, self-publish them. I think they make a good read, and I changed most of the names…

The book will be entitled “The Road”. I’ll keep everyone posted as I put it together.

(c) Avery K. Tingle for Modern Magic Enterprises LTD and Nomadic Productions LLC

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A few days pass between the fateful sparring match between me and my cop friend and the events of about ninety minutes ago. The adrenaline is still working its way out of my system. I’ve already twittered that I won’t be going to bed; bad idea, since, as always, I have a lot to do. Not the least of which includes the update to my new series Universal Warrior: Journey to Asgard. Yes, that was a shameless plug. But it’s my blog. I can do that.

Spare moments between contracts are devoted to training; in the past few days I’ve knocked off close to a thousand push-ups, nearly tearing my shoulder in the process. I’ve gone through punches, kicks, blocks, meditation, even forms. Whatever’s coming, I want to be ready for it. I can feel it with every fiber of my being; this is the fight I’ve been waiting my whole life for.

The IM comes in tonight. The message is simple; “Out back.”
That’s the first twinge of fear to strike me. He’s out there, waiting for me.
As I get up, another message comes through, this one shakes me to the core; “Two knives.” He says, “Pick one.”
I’m almost ready to type; are you out of your f***ing mind?

No.
Not only is this man a cop, he’s my friend…and eventually I have to learn to start trusting people again. Besides, this is the fight I asked for. I refuse to believe that he’s going to come at me full force, blade-to-blade. Of course, it hits me that all those years on the road, I’ve never been in a knife fight. I know very basic techniques when it comes to using a knife, but my friend is ex-military. The advantage is clearly his.

Of my two knives, one has a compass, the other a knuckle guard. They’re both dull, but the one with the knuckle guard couldn’t cut through water. I go with the compass–in case I have to switch positions on the fly.
It hits me again as I leave my apartment and head downstairs, to the rear of my apartment building; he’s out there.

Indeed he is.
Dressed all in black, I might add, including this beanie that had to be pulled out of some action movie I saw somewhere. For a minute I wonder if he’s serious, and we’re gonna cut each other up.
Then he smiles.

I feel relieved. I may have lost–but I would’ve stood my ground.
He asks if I want to see what he’s working with and he pulls forth a miniature BROADSWORD that looks like it could cleave the world in half. Not really, but the blade is elegant, double-edged, and BEAUTIFUL. It’s about a foot long…and blessedly, it’s as dull as my blade. I snicker.

He clown each other about our knives (his is bigger) and we bow. So it begins.
He immediately corrects me, the only time he’ll do it that night; why isn’t your knife hand out front? I switch my hands around, holding my blade defensively.
Then it begins.
My heart rate increases. I exhale. Adrenaline flows. I feel like I’m eighteen again, in the prime of my life. I’m thirty-two, and I’ve been waiting for this my entire life.

I should say now that he is far better than I am with a knife, and had we been fighting, he would’ve put me down pretty quickly. I got in a few good shots, though. I realized that killing was his skill, not fighting, and this was the difference between him and I. This was what he wanted me to see, and having known me as long as he has, he knew I had to experience it to understand.

There were two key moments in this fight I was especially proud of. Fighting at my peak, I kept him away with kicks and our knives struck with such impact that he nearly dislodged my weapon on a couple occasions. He tried to get inside and demonstrate a killing technique; each time he did, I repelled him. Eventually, we stood toe to toe, slashing, dodging, intercepting, and countering. I had no idea how I was doing the things I was; I was just doing them. I often say that I don’t need things to be explained or even make sense. They just have to work. For about one minute, I stood toe to toe with him using a style I had no experience with and I frustrated the man. I feel pretty good about that.

The second time, just after we finished going toe-to-toe, he came in close. I tripped him, we fell together, me on top. I’m pressing the dull(er) edge of my blade downward towards his neck to demonstrate the kill, he’s pushing me off–but I’m physically stronger and he knows it. He can only save himself by putting his foot in my solar plexus (ouch) and sending me flying, landing flat on my back (OUCH!). We got up at the same time and simply took fighting stances at one another. Stalemate.

But….to all things an end…and he is the better man with the knife.
He came in close. He feinted low, knowing that I would go for it, and made a fatal error in lowering my blade to block what I thought was an attempt at my femoral artery. The second my hand went down, he grabbed it, holding it in place. The knife hand went to my throat.

If you ever have the sharp end of a knife pressed against your throat, then you know just how quickly your life can flash before your eyes. You also realize how quickly you can lose control of your bladder.

He looks at me. He smiles. I smile back, nodding. “You got me,” I concede, for the first time in life. I have to admit it felt good to say.
He tells me I’m not bad. For some reason, I don’t feel humiliated at conceding. I’m actually pretty pleased with myself. He extends his hand, and I shake it firmly. We may get together and spar, but it won’t happen as much as it used too. We’ll spend a lot more time training each other now. We don’t need to say it; we just know.

Don’t do nothing stupid for New Years, he tells me. You too, I respond. He turns, he leaves. I watch him go.
I got nicked a bit during our match. Soap and hot water should take care of everything.

I head back inside unsure why I feel euphoric. I lost. I did my best and I lost, and I’ve always said that was okay…right?
Well, yeah, but it’s not that.
The euphoria comes from knowing that my road has taken a different course now, and I have nothing left to do or prove in my old life. I fought once, I’ll write now.

And so the Busterwolf era finally, officially
Comes to a proud close.

Thanks for following along.

(c) Avery K. Tingle for Modern Magic Enterprises LTD and Nomadic Productions LLC

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