The Drunken Boxing Project w/ Neil Ripski

Tradition Is Not a Museum

Tradition is not a museum.
It was never meant to be preserved behind glass.

A museum displays objects that no longer function. You look. You admire. You do not touch. When a martial art is treated this way, it stops being a method and becomes an artifact. The shapes remain. The purpose does not.

The heretic lens starts with an uncomfortable truth. Most traditions survived by changing. What we call pure is usually what adapted best to its environment. What we call orthodox is often what became safe to teach.

Real methods do not fossilize. They either evolve or they disappear.

When people say we must preserve tradition exactly as it was taught, they are usually preserving the outer shell. The ritual. The choreography. The vocabulary. What they are actually afraid of losing is legitimacy. If the form changes, they can no longer point to lineage as proof of authority.

But tradition was never a fixed object. It was a living solution to a living problem.

If a movement no longer produces power, stability, or control under pressure, it is no longer traditional. It is decorative. Keeping it unchanged does not honor the ancestors. It betrays them. They were not curators. They were problem solvers.

The obsession with preservation creates a subtle inversion. Instead of asking what the method was designed to do, students ask how closely they can imitate the appearance. Accuracy replaces effectiveness. Memory replaces understanding.

This is how forms become dance.

The old teachers understood this. That is why so much was transmitted indirectly. Through drills disguised as rituals. Through metaphors that pointed toward function without stating it. Through variation rather than repetition. The student who could adapt was the student who understood.

A museum has plaques.
Tradition has pressure.

If a practice cannot survive resistance, fatigue, confusion, or fear, it is already dead. It just has not been buried yet.

The heretic lens does not ask how old a method is.
It asks what problem it solves.

When someone says this is how it has always been done, the correct response is always the same. Under what conditions. Against whom. And for what purpose.

Tradition is not something you protect from change.
It is something you protect from irrelevance.

If your training looks exactly the same year after year, you are not preserving tradition. You are embalming it.

And no living art was ever meant to be kept that way.

neilripski@gmail.com

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3 weeks ago | [YT] | 8

The Drunken Boxing Project w/ Neil Ripski

Sink float spit swallow coil and uncoil

These six forces live in every Chinese martial art. They show themselves again and again as training deepens from technique to shape to foundation to theory. They are not separate skills but different angles of the same body wisdom.

Sink settles downward and roots you. It anchors power and drags the opponent into your gravity.

Float rises upward through the opponent lifting and unbalancing them.
Spit sends force out from the root to the target in one clear line.
Swallow draws force inward folding and gathering it close.
Coil turns the body inward storing potential like a bowstring.
Uncoil releases that power in an instant.

Together these six reveal the three dimensions of all motion. Every strike, throw, and joint lock is born from them in one proportion or another. The writhing and living quality of Chinese martial movement comes from the ability to transform between them without pause.

Qi Jiguang wrote of training the body until “the hands, eyes, body, and steps act as one.” These six forces are what make that unity alive. When they flow together the body moves as a single creature, heavy yet light, still yet fierce.

Train them until they appear without intention. Then each action will already contain the others, and change will come before thought

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Patreon Members’ Section — The Six Forces in Depth

The six forces: sink, float, spit, swallow, coil, and uncoil
All form the living language of Chinese martial movement. They are the grammar that connects intent, structure, and application. Each is a principle that must be felt rather than memorized.

Sink (Chen)
To sink is to settle the qi, to let gravity work through you instead of against you. When the joints open and the breath drops, the body becomes heavy and rooted. Qi Jiguang’s Ji Xiao Xin Shu advises that “the spirit is lifted but the qi is sunk.” It is this paradox: light spirit above, heavy energy below that gives true stability. In combat, sink when pressed, dragging the opponent’s force into the earth.

Float (Fu)
Float is the rising of structure without tension. The whole body expands and lifts through the crown of the head. It is what the Taiji classics mean by “the top of the head is suspended."
Float is not simply upward motion but the internal release that makes the body buoyant. Against an opponent, it uproots and carries them from their stance.

Spit (Tu)
Spitting is issuing: power sent outward from the dantian through the limbs in a single pulse. It is the outward expression of intent (yi). The Taiji Treatise says: “When one part moves, all parts move.” Spitting is that unity in expression, the completion of a wave that began in the root.

Swallow (Tun)
Swallowing gathers. It receives power rather than meets it. The classics say, “Receive like drawing silk.” Swallowing transforms an opponent’s force into your own structure, pulling it inward to your center. This is the core of sticking and following — the hidden strength of softness.

Coil (Pan)
Coiling is the preparation for transformation. The waist and spine twist like a rope winding. Baguazhang Treatise says: “Coiling is storing.” It builds spring in every joint. Even stillness can coil; even stillness hides potential.

Uncoil (Shu)
Uncoiling is release. The body unwinds and lets stored power fly free. True uncoiling has no stiffness; it is the snake striking from its spiral, the whip that returns to stillness after the snap.
When you train, do not think of these six as techniques but as directions of internal intent. Feel how one becomes the next: swallow into coil, coil into spit, spit into sink. This constant shifting is the “living body” spoken of in the old manuals.

The goal is not to master six forces, but to dissolve the boundaries between them until only change remains.

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2 months ago | [YT] | 15

The Drunken Boxing Project w/ Neil Ripski

Footwork is the quiet backbone of structure.
A stance is only a starting point. What matters is how you move from it without losing what it gives you.

Every step asks the body to keep its lines alive—hips stacked over feet, spine tall, pressure balanced. If the frame collapses the strikes weaken and the mind follows.

Train your feet to carry the shape of your structure from one place to the next. Slow enough to feel each shift. Fast enough that the opponent never finds the moment you changed.

3 months ago | [YT] | 19

The Drunken Boxing Project w/ Neil Ripski

Slowest is Fastest

Move as if time has stretched. Let each gesture rise from the bones first. Feel how the joints stack and how the spine settles before the muscles join the work. Watch the path of force as it leaves the center and travels through every limb.

Slow training lets you see the origin of movement and the cascade that follows. When you correct the base, every layer above begins to change without effort.

This is not just correction of form. It is a quiet study of how intention becomes action and how the mind shapes the body long before the body moves.

When the skeleton, the muscles and the breath learn to begin together, speed appears without chasing it. Slowest is fastest because nothing is wasted.

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Drunken chinese broadsword starts in October ! Write to get more info.

4 months ago | [YT] | 10

The Drunken Boxing Project w/ Neil Ripski

Move Second, Arrive First

In martial training there is an old saying: “move second, arrive first.”

It sounds like a riddle but in practice it is simple. When the opponent begins to move, they show you their intention. Their shoulder, hip, or step reveals what they are about to do. If you watch, even for a breath, you can intercept at the point where their motion is still opening and not yet complete.

To move first is often to guess. To move second is to read. If your timing is right, your strike or step lands before theirs does, even though they started first.This is not about speed. It is about understanding rhythm and direction. A hand moving out to strike is already committed and cannot change. Your answer can cut across that path and finish before the strike arrives.

The mind must be calm to see this. No rushing. No hesitation. Just awareness. When the body responds without panic, second becomes first.

This is the meaning of true timing.

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4 months ago | [YT] | 20

The Drunken Boxing Project w/ Neil Ripski

Silence of the mind is not the absence of thought.
It is the stability that remains whether thoughts rise or fall.
This stability is trained not only in the stillness of sitting but in the flow of walking, the vigilance of standing, and even the release of lying down.

In drunken fist, balance is not the frozen stance but the unshakable root carried through every sway and stumble.
The body may reel, the steps may spiral, yet the center does not falter.

Mind training is the same. Movement in thought is inevitable, but awareness can be constant.

The goal is not to bind the mind to stillness but to anchor it so deeply that stillness is present in all motion.

Like the drunken player who falls without falling, we learn to rest in the unchanging even as the world and the self shift endlessly.

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5 months ago | [YT] | 13

The Drunken Boxing Project w/ Neil Ripski

The Eight Aspects of Martial Technique
Martial arts, at their core, are an exploration of human movement, intent, and the interplay of strategy and technique. The Eight Aspects of Martial Technique (八大法) provide a framework for understanding the depth and breadth of martial skill. These aspects are divided into two categories: four types, which describe the ways we engage with an opponent, and four layers, which delve into the complexity and applicability of these techniques. Together, they offer a lens to view martial practice as both art and science, blending physical skill with philosophical insight.

The Four Types 四式
The first category, the Four Types, examines how we interact with an opponent:

Da (打) – Striking “Da” is commonly translated as striking, referring to percussive techniques with the upper body. While it encompasses punches, it also includes elbows, shoulders, and other methods of upper-body impact. Da exemplifies efficiency in delivering power and precision. For example, a shoulder strike can disrupt an opponent’s stance, while an elbow strike targets close-range vulnerabilities. As Qi Jiguang (齐续光) notes in his New Book of Effective Discipline (義防新书), “The fist strikes like an arrow; swift and direct, it cuts through hesitation.” This principle applies not only to speed but also to clarity of intent—a hallmark of effective striking.

Ti (踢) – Kicking Ti is the art of lower-body strikes. While commonly associated with kicks, it includes knees, shins, and even hip movements, such as a hip check to disrupt balance. A foundational principle in Ti is not merely to strike but to control space and destabilize the opponent. For example, a crescent kick can both attack and clear a path for further strikes. In forms like Shaolin’s Tan Tui (踢腿法), kicks are taught as both offensive tools and methods to manage distance. By understanding the trajectory and purpose of each kick, practitioners ensure they maintain balance while delivering force.

Na (拿) – Seizing Na refers to grappling techniques such as joint locks and holds. The term “Qin Na” (撳拿) is often used to describe the intricate methods of controlling an opponent’s body. These techniques demand acute sensitivity and timing, turning an opponent’s strength against them. The writings of Sun Tzu (孙子) remind us, “To capture without fighting is supreme excellence.” This philosophy resonates deeply within Na, where control, rather than brute force, determines the outcome. For instance, a well-applied wrist lock not only immobilizes the opponent but also channels their momentum into your control.

Shuai (摔) – Throwing Shuai involves techniques for unbalancing and throwing an opponent. Whether through sweeps, trips, or body-leveraging throws, this type emphasizes using the opponent’s force against them. In the fluid footwork of Baguazhang (八卦掌), the adage, “Move like a dragon and strike like lightning,” reflects the dynamism required for Shuai. A simple sweep, for example, can transition into a full-body throw when combined with precise timing and positioning. Shuai teaches the practitioner to view the opponent’s body as a whole system—disrupt one part, and the rest will follow.

A Single Principle Across Types
A back kick, for instance, can illustrate the unity of these types. Initially performed as Ti, the same movement can transform into Shuai by catching the opponent’s leg and executing a throw. Alternatively, the same motion could evolve into Na by transitioning into a leg hold and joint lock. This adaptability highlights a core martial principle: no movement exists in isolation. Instead, techniques evolve, embodying multiple aspects simultaneously. As Qi Jiguang emphasized, “What is learned as one is applied as ten.”

The Four Layers 四层
The second category, the Four Layers, explores the depth within each technique:

The First Layer (第一层) – The Obvious The most apparent application of a technique is often the starting point. For example, a punch targets the face or torso. However, this layer is merely the surface. As Qi Jiguang observed, “Collecting techniques is the habit of the novice; refining them is the mastery of the expert.” Mastery at this layer requires precision and intent, ensuring that even the simplest motion is performed with maximum efficiency.

The Second Layer (第二层) – Changing the Opponent At this layer, techniques are applied to manipulate the opponent’s position or intent. For instance, a feint not only redirects attention but also exposes vulnerabilities. The “Two Changes” principle—altering the angle of attack or the type of technique—creates opportunities that an opponent cannot anticipate. For example, transitioning a front kick into a side sweep confounds the opponent’s expectations and opens new pathways for attack.

The Third Layer (第三层) – What is Forgotten Beyond conscious intent lies the realm of instinct. Consider the act of stepping: initially practiced for mobility, it becomes a weapon when integrated seamlessly into sweeps or trips. The third layer involves actions so ingrained that they appear effortless. As the ancient martial manuals remind us, “What is natural is often unseen.” This layer represents the bridge between form and formlessness, where technique merges with instinct.

The Fourth Layer (第四层) – Kicking It Up a Notch This final layer transcends physicality, delving into the energetic and strategic dimensions of martial technique. Pressure point strikes (点脉) exemplify this layer, requiring precise timing, anatomical knowledge, and intent. These techniques leverage the opponent’s vulnerabilities while maintaining adaptability. For instance, targeting the Ren Zhong (介中) point under the nose can disrupt an opponent’s focus and balance in an instant. Yet, as with all techniques, the goal is not premeditation but responsiveness—to use what arises naturally in the moment.

Conclusion
The Eight Aspects of Martial Technique remind us that true mastery lies in integration. Each type and layer interweaves with the others, creating a dynamic and adaptable practice. To borrow from the Tao Te Ching (道德經): “The greatest skill appears effortless.” In embracing these aspects, we move beyond rote technique, embodying the art’s essence in every movement.

Take a single technique this week—a punch, a step, or a throw—and explore its depths. What can it become? How might it transform? Ask yourself: How can this motion teach me about balance, timing, and adaptability? Through curiosity and persistence, we uncover the art within the art.

neilripski@gmail.com
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5 months ago | [YT] | 11

The Drunken Boxing Project w/ Neil Ripski

The Other Leg

Most people only train the kicking leg. The one that leaves the ground. The one that makes contact. The one everyone looks at.

But the real secret is in the leg that stays behind.

The support leg is the foundation of every kick. It is the Yin side. It does not strike. It does not move much. But it does everything
If your kick feels weak or out of control it is probably the support leg that is failing. When you throw a kick the power must come from the ground. That means the foot on the floor must press downward. The knee must align with the spine. The hips must turn through the rooted leg. The structure must be clean and connected.

When the Yin side is trained the kick becomes heavy. It becomes fast. It becomes hard to catch and easy to recover from. You can land balanced. You can strike again. You can change direction. Because you are connected to the floor.

The kicking leg is the expression. The support leg is the source.

This is true for front kicks. For roundhouse kicks. For sweeps and jumps. The foot on the ground is the most important one. But people do not train it. They forget it. They let it wobble. They let it drift. And then they wonder why the kick fails.You want more power? Train the other leg. Press into the floor. Twist from the root. Keep the spine vertical. Keep the mind in the foot that stays.

This is Yin training. It is the part no one notices. The part that holds everything else together.

Train it anyway.

#martialarts #kungfu #internaltraining #drunkenboxing #yinandyang #powerthroughbalance #kicktraining

5 months ago | [YT] | 6

The Drunken Boxing Project w/ Neil Ripski

The Other Leg

Most people only train the kicking leg. The one that leaves the ground. The one that makes contact. The one everyone looks at.

But the real secret is in the leg that stays behind.

The support leg is the foundation of every kick. It is the Yin side. It does not strike. It does not move much. But it does everything
If your kick feels weak or out of control it is probably the support leg that is failing. When you throw a kick the power must come from the ground. That means the foot on the floor must press downward. The knee must align with the spine. The hips must turn through the rooted leg. The structure must be clean and connected.

When the Yin side is trained the kick becomes heavy. It becomes fast. It becomes hard to catch and easy to recover from. You can land balanced. You can strike again. You can change direction. Because you are connected to the floor.

The kicking leg is the expression. The support leg is the source.

This is true for front kicks. For roundhouse kicks. For sweeps and jumps. The foot on the ground is the most important one. But people do not train it. They forget it. They let it wobble. They let it drift. And then they wonder why the kick fails.You want more power? Train the other leg. Press into the floor. Twist from the root. Keep the spine vertical. Keep the mind in the foot that stays.

This is Yin training. It is the part no one notices. The part that holds everything else together.

Train it anyway.

#martialarts #kungfu #internaltraining #drunkenboxing #yinandyang #powerthroughbalance #kicktraining

5 months ago | [YT] | 10

The Drunken Boxing Project w/ Neil Ripski

Some martial artists reach a point where the training shifts.

The hands still move. The forms still live in the body. But the questions become quieter. Deeper. Less about winning. More about understanding.

That is where I like to meet people. Not to teach from above, but to share what I have seen through Lohan Palm, Drunken Fist, and Xinyiliuhe. Sometimes a different lens changes how we see what we have practiced for years.I work privately with a few martial artists who are still exploring. We talk as peers. That has always been my way.

I want to talk with you, not to you.
Online private sessions

neilripski@gmail.com

6 months ago | [YT] | 19