Many cultures indigenous to the land known today as the United States and its surrounding areas have overlapping, but unique, philosophies regarding the cyclical nature of life.
The Plains nations, such as the Lakota or Crow, commonly express their perspective with the medicine wheel, whose circular shape symbolizes the continuous, interconnected patterns of creation, including the cycles of life and death as well as the movement of the sun and moon. Their Anishinaabe cousins to the east use the “Four Directions” to map human life stages from birth to death alongside repeating natural cycles like the four seasons and physical elements. Moving through the cycle in a clockwise, sun-wise direction aligns human practice with these celestial and natural forces to foster continuous harmony and balance. Further South, the Mexica people rejected a linear view of time, instead viewing existence as a dynamic, cyclical web where balance must be actively maintained; this is reflected in the concept of “Ollin”, a foundational idea of movement, transformation, and dynamic change. The Mexica universe is a constant, shifting dance; if the movement stops, the world dies. In my culture, Lipan Apache, gozhóó is a state of living in perfect alignment with the natural world, the community, and the spiritual realm. Gozhóó encompasses universal harmony, balance, beauty, and holistic well-being.
These concepts all share a worldview that sees life as a dynamic, interconnected system where human well-being depends on balance, movement, and cosmic order. Across these Indigenous traditions, passing down knowledge is the sacred act of keeping cosmic balance and cultural continuity in motion.
Throughout human history, skills and knowledge developed through discovery and innovation shaped society and culture. The collection and transmission of hard-earned wisdom ensured the survival of the human race; parents teach children the essential skills to feed and fend for themselves. This perpetuates the cosmic cycle of birth, growth, and passing—maintaining the natural succession of things.
"If I have seen further than others, it is by standing on the shoulders of giants." –Sir Isaac Newton
In the (good) Moana film by Disney, the protagonist’s father, Chief Tui, leads her to a sacred space atop the highest point of the island’s tallest mountain. He shows her a column of stone slabs stacked upon one another, explaining the tradition of each chieftain contributing to raising the island and its people higher. My philosophy in raising my own children has always been to teach them early what I learned late, because I want them to know the things I wish I knew—just without learning them the way I did. As parents, we turn the stories behind our scars into lessons; and as individuals with unique trials and tribulations, we try to learn from our mistakes and simply do better next time. Now, I do not claim to have every answer; my knowledge stems from my own experiences that shaped my perspective, but if I seek knowledge that I do not possess, then I must pursue a source of that knowledge. If we do not know something, we (should) read* about it and seek perspectives from individuals with experience and competence in that area, to deepen our understanding of the material, leaving us better equipped for the future.
*Preferably a book.
Martial arts culture is an interesting paradigm because the central concept is transmitting knowledge cultivated through diligent study and practice of the art. This has countless methodologies; on one end of the spectrum there is the example of the infamous “McDojo” where the primary objective is to accumulate revenue through excessive fees masquerading as legitimate martial rank advancement. Students cycle in and out of a revolving door, whereas the opposite end of the spectrum is a scene familiar to many who have held rattan sticks: the lone teacher and student. Traditionally, the art we call eskrima would be taught privately from parent to child, godparent to godchild, uncle to nephew, or master to disciple—a famous example being the relationship between that of Floro Villabrille and Ben Largusa. I have found the Filipino Martial Arts to be unique in that innovation isn’t just necessary; it’s encouraged as part of the practitioner’s journey. When I first met Guro Arnel Mendoza, he was this hulking figure with a powerful aura that designated him as a man with earned authority. When I decided to embark on my FMA journey, I found that his “learn or die” pedagogy validated his presence but simultaneously belied a selfless man who wished only peace and harmony upon his fellow man. His philosophy of growth and self-improvement through martial practice inspired the idea that Filipino martial arts is not some sedentary collection of techniques; it is a method of authentic self-expression, the same way a picture can be created by pencil, crayon, marker, paint, and beyond. Arnis, Kali, and Eskrima are skills and tools to enhance one's ability to craft their own signature expression artistically or through the martial way.
It is through these practices that we hone our mind, body, and spirit to build toward the next phases of our potential. The hard skills and soft skills alike produce a more balanced, harmonious individual whose wisdom and presence influence those around them. In this way, we each add our stone slabs to the stack.
“Rising tides raise all ships.” –John F. Kennedy
