Coulee Roots Movement and Martial Arts Dojo

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The Best Martial Art for What?

This is truly a laughable question.

When people ask, “What is the best martial art?”, they rarely stop to think about what they are actually asking. More often than not, they are looking for confirmation that the style they already practice is superior to others. Some follow the latest trend. Others point to the success of a particular fighter or organisation and conclude that the matter has been settled.

The truth is far more complicated.

Ultimately, the best martial art is the one that best serves the life of the practitioner.

Before anyone can answer the question honestly, they must first clarify the context. The best martial art for what? Self-defence? Military combat? Competition? Fitness? Personal development? Cultural study? Spiritual growth? Different goals require different approaches.

Many people today conclude that MMA or Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu are the best martial arts because of their success in modern combat sports. I have great respect for both and recognise their effectiveness within their intended environments. However, effectiveness in one context does not automatically make an art superior in all others.

The martial arts are, at their roots, studies of conflict and survival. Once we begin looking beyond the boundaries of sporting competition, the picture becomes much larger.

What if there are multiple attackers?

What if weapons are involved?

What if the terrain is uneven, slippery, confined, or crowded?

What if the confrontation can be avoided entirely through awareness, communication, or good judgement?

What if the attack is never seen coming?

Throughout history, warfare has involved far more than direct confrontation. Intelligence gathering, deception, ambushes, strategy, logistics, and psychological operations have often played a decisive role in victory and defeat. The battlefield has never been limited to two opponents facing one another under agreed conditions.

As Hatsumi Sensei once remarked:

“Quite simply, Budō is teaching the top techniques of murderers.”

The statement is confronting, but it reminds us of an important truth. Martial arts were born from the realities of conflict, not from sporting contests.

Many martial artists become trapped by success within a particular environment. A person who dominates on the mat may unconsciously begin to believe that all confrontations resemble a match on the mat. A person who excels in striking may see every problem through the lens of striking. Familiarity can create confidence, but it can also create blind spots.

No matter how skilled a person becomes, there are always situations beyond their preparation. A sniper firing from hundreds of metres away, an unseen weapon, an ambush, or a simple accident can render years of training irrelevant in an instant.

This is not pessimism. It is humility.

Every martial art possesses strengths and weaknesses. Every technique has situations where it excels and situations where it fails.

Ground fighting is an excellent example. It is a highly developed and effective area of study. Yet one must still ask practical questions. Are there multiple attackers? Are weapons involved? Is the surface safe? Can others intervene? The same questions can be asked of striking, throwing, kicking, or weapon-based systems.

Context determines value.

This is why the search for a universally superior martial art is ultimately futile.

Classical martial arts understood this reality well. Techniques were developed in response to specific environments, cultures, weapons, and battlefield conditions. A school developed by warriors operating aboard ships naturally emphasised different principles than one developed in mountains, forests, or urban environments.

Modern combat sports have also evolved according to their own objectives. Rules were introduced to allow practitioners to test themselves while reducing unnecessary injury. This created highly refined methods for particular forms of competition. There is nothing wrong with this. The problem arises only when people mistake success within a ruleset for universal superiority.

A martial art is not defined solely by what it includes.

It is also defined by what it excludes.

The same principle applies to the practitioner.

Many debates about martial arts are driven by ego. People criticise other systems not because they truly understand them, but because they seek validation for their own choices. Yet many modern systems are descended from older traditions, and all martial artists owe a debt to those who came before them.

Koryū were not developed in theory.

They were forged through blood, hardship, and survival.

People lived and died discovering what worked and transmitting those lessons to future generations. Whether one chooses to practise a classical art or a modern combat sport, respect for that history should remain.

As Hatsumi Sensei teaches:

“Remember that for every technique you think you can fall back on, there is a counter for it, or there are times when it cannot be used. When real battle comes, you must remember that some things will not be applicable. Don’t think that any one technique is quintessential.”

This lesson extends beyond technique.

It applies equally to martial arts themselves.

No style is complete. No method is perfect. No practitioner is invincible.

There is only what is appropriate for a particular moment.

People often say that a certain martial art is the best. BJJ is the best. MMA is the best. Karate is the best. Krav Maga is the best. Bujinkan Budō is the best.

In reality, there is only the best choice for a given circumstance.

There is only the best in the moment.

The deeper question is not what makes the best martial art, but what makes the best martial artist.

Is it the person with the most victories?

The highest rank?

The greatest strength?

The fastest techniques?

Perhaps not.

A superior martial artist is someone who continues training despite setbacks. Someone who remains humble despite success. Someone who develops character alongside skill. Someone who seeks understanding rather than validation.

Most importantly, a superior martial artist understands that the highest expression of martial skill is not winning fights.

It is avoiding them.

A person who has lived a good life, protected others when necessary, avoided unnecessary conflict, and contributed positively to their community has achieved something greater than victory in combat.

The purpose of Budō is not merely to learn how to fight.

It is to learn how to live.

Without philosophy, ethics, and self-reflection, martial training can become little more than a study of violence. The practitioner may become a fighter, a competitor, or a collector of techniques, but not necessarily a martial artist.

Budō seeks something deeper.

It seeks the protection of life, the cultivation of character, and ultimately the attainment of peace.

For this reason, the best martial art is not the one that wins the most arguments online, dominates a particular competition, or claims superiority over all others.

The best martial art is the one that helps the practitioner become a better human being and supports the way they wish to live their life.

Yours in Budō,

Duncan

“ A great artist finds joy devoting his life to his work. In a trance, he forgets the self while pouring himself into his work and finds an eternal life there. Not only the artist, but we too must live our lives this way.
In order to do so, we must have a clear purpose in our daily life. If we live our daily lives with Sutemi, the mind of Budô, and the passion of an artist who pours his soul into his works, we can almost forget about death, and never regret our life at the moment of its end.”

宗家Hatsumi

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"A good teacher, therefore, especially in mid-career, is not just teaching students to be students. He/she is teaching students to become their own teachers, their own fountain of knowledge. To forever make a student dependent on you, to hold a student back, is to forever infantilize the student. It only shows the insecurity of a teacher to do so. And a student who only wishes to be spoon-fed everything, even after years of training, needs to grow up, to stumble more on his own, to pick himself up and try again, as we did, and as our own sensei did years before us."

Muramoto san.
Takeuchi Ryu Jujutsu.

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The Direction of Bushi
By Hatsumi 宗家

It is said that the martial ways are shown through one's daily life and behavior. Namely, through the manners of humanity. Needless to say, the Budoka who avoids thoughtless or inappropriate behavior is not consumed by rashness; he maintains a calm attitude, does not hesitate, but is modest, full of kindness, and is highly respected.
The true path of the martial ways is to not let one's eagerness take control. Although it is said that to be honorable is to protect the weak and fight the strong, it is not permitted to fight unnecessarily or without reason. When the circumstances necessitate, however, those who do not fear the strong and protect the weak should be called true warriors. When someone insults or disrespects you, the courage to laugh and not make them an opponent is true courage. Taking up the sword unnecessarily should be avoided at all costs. Maintaining a graceful heart together with the virtue of affection that is genial and pleasant, while also retaining the stern temperament to be decisive and bold; valuing both the literary and military arts without being carried away by learning: possessing a well balanced heart of kindness and valor: this is the divine warrior.
We should persevere in this eternal direction of the warrior.

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Around the corner from the modern fitness center, lies a realm where discipline, respect, and self-discovery converge - the Dōjō.
Within this modest area, laden with tradition and resonating with the echoes of disciplined footsteps, reverberating to the sound of staffs meeting bokken, is not merely a training ground for martial arts; it is a crucible, a catalyst for profound personal transformation.
Those who step through its threshold, embracing the rigors within, will inevitably emerge changed, sculpted not only in body, but also in spirit.
Under the watchful eyes of seasoned, qualified instructors, limbs that once felt awkward morph into instruments of precision and power.
The Dōjō is a sanctuary of discipline, where the mind is trained alongside the body. The strict adherence to rules, rituals, and the code of conduct, instills a sense of order and focus.
Practitioners learn to control impulses, overcome challenges, and maintain composure in the face of adversity. This discipline can extend beyond the mat too, permeating various aspects of your daily lives.
Beyond the kicks, punches, kata and drills, the Dōjō is often said to be a crucible for character development. Where respect for others, humility, and the pursuit of excellence are core tenets. The interactions with fellow practitioners and mentors helps to shape your moral compass, fostering empathy and understanding.
Having a bad day? The austere training make distractions melt away like snowflakes on a hot stove, replaced by an unwavering laser-like concentration.
Martial arts training is not without its challenges of course, and the Dōjō becomes a testing ground where practitioners face setbacks, failures, and moments of self-doubt. But it is through these trials that resilience and perseverance are cultivated.
The ability to rise after a fall, to endure physical and mental strain, to push though difficult times, helps to mold individuals into resilient beings capable of confronting life's uncertainties with unwavering determination.
As students progress through the ranks, the ranks help symbolize their evolving skill and understanding of Budô’s philosophy.
Randori sessions, kata, repetitive drills and the pursuit of unifying one’s spirit, technique and body contribute to a students holistic development.
Those who enter its doors embark on a transformation, its lessons echo long after students leave the training floor, whispering wisdom into the fabric of their lives.
This evolution is not a destination, but rather a continuous journey.

So, if you seek a path beyond the mundane, a journey that sculpts not only your body but also your mind and spirit, then step into the Dōjō.
It is not merely a place to learn martial arts, fighting, sport or self-defense; it is a crucible for personal transformation.
Embrace the challenge, shed your old skin, and emerge stronger, sharper, and more in control than ever before.
When you come into the Dōjō, if you stay long enough, when you leave, you won’t be the same person that came in.

The Dōjō awaits, and the journey it offers is one worth taking. What are you waiting for?
How do you feel when you enter the Dōjō?

( Dialogue adapted from an original post from the Shuri Dōjō )🙏

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The ability to keep going is decided by ones inherent depth of love and conviction for following the path. Eventually, most people that are with you will begin to disappear.

From experience, one reason is the lack of capacity or ability of people to adapt their training according to the changes in their lives. Also, as we get older, the only way to maintain one’s health is to become more disciplined.
This is an aspect of ‘control’ which is one of the six treasured transmissions or precepts of the Bujinkan Dōjō stipulated by Sôke Hatsumi.

Unfortunately, most people do not change their habits and this results in their health decline and thus an earlier than necessary retirement from training in Budô.

By nature, people often quickly take offence and refute these words as it strikes a nerve within them, as they are unable to accept their own truth. Rather than accept, people blame to protect their denial. As I said, it is to be expected.

Quite simply, Budô is a commitment of the entire being. If one aspect is neglected or there is an inbalance of character, this can become one’s shortcoming that unravels the ability to continue.

There is absolutely no way one can pursue an art form earnestly without constant personal reflection and being able to adapt to circumstances to remain on the path. However, even if one wholeheartedly enters a pursuit, there are never any guarantees of achieving success etc. This is where one’s mindset and heart has to clearly understand that it is about following a stoney path of moment to moment changes. The lessons of the journey are the rewards, not a predetermined future destination or achievement.

Many people hold within themselves the desire to achieve a rank or attain a mastery of certain skill sets. This is fine, however, this has nothing to do with truly living as a martial artist.

Budô is a path that in essence strives toward living a life of greater authenticity with a stronger spirit to cope with the struggles of life and protect one’s family and self from any type of threat or antagonism.

To enter a Dōjō expecting to be fulfilled, gain superb skills and always be entertained, is to have illusions of grandeur. True Budô is ultimately to come to terms with ones weaknesses. As a result, every class is austere practice toward discovering, accepting and weeding out ones shortcomings. This is not easy and definitely not always fun! Training is going to be boring,trialing and frustrating more often than not. If you do not have the heart of the Shugyosha, it will be very hard for you to endure, let alone accept the training. If this heart is absent, everything will seem an attack on your ego and identity. You will come to see the teacher as harsh or cruel, and the training pointless or archaic. Quite simply, not everyone is ready to enter the Dōjō to pursue Budô. As a result, bastardised versions are established to accomodate those who wish to fulfil a fantasy over discovering the real thing. For most people, the real thing is too frightening. As a result, they’d rather enter an environment that accommodates their level of requirements.

If you truly wish to enter a Dōjō, you must be prepared to bend to it, don’t expect it to bend to you! Nowadays, we are seeing this self entitled attitude being pushed on to many other professions and institutions. It’s creating weaker people, not stronger ones.

Budô requires a person to relinquish their ego enough to follow centuries of tradition and transmission to enter their heart correctly. If one does not have an open heart, there is no way one can come to understand the art they wish to learn.

The struggle is real, but most don’t want to experience it and just live in their own protected bubbles, never truly having the courage to venture into the unknown and expand their lives beyond limiting constructs, often unknowingly conditioned upon them.

I have come to recognise that I am quite a simple man with many weaknesses and vices. However, it seems that I’ve held enough conviction to make a life from something I fell in love with as a youth.

Please think well about how you are pursuing the martial arts and what it means to live as a martial artist.

南虎eseed