Łukasz Machura

Where and when were you born? 
I was born on December 1, 1977, in Zawiercie.  

You are one of the pioneers of Jodo in Poland. When and how did you start training, and what rank did you achieve? 
My first Jodo training took place in September 2002 at the Yoshinkan Aikido dojo in Munich and was conducted by Marie-Luise Tomasek. I currently hold the rank of Renshi Jodo, 6th dan.

When did you realize that training in Jodo was more than just a hobby for you? 
I would say it was around 2008, when I was spending two or three weekends a month at iaido and jodo training camps. At that time, I was already heavily involved in promoting and organizing Jodo training in Poland. I felt this even more strongly around 2013, when I had to single-handedly organize and then settle the accounts for the Polish Championships. During that period, I was spending roughly the same amount of time on my professional work as I was on iaido and jodo within the Polish Kendo Federation. Evenings spent at the computer working on iaido and jodo matters became my daily routine.
In 2009, I also traveled to Japan for the first time and became completely immersed. Over the course of these 20 years, I have been a competitor, coach, and referee; chairman and member of the Jodo Committee; Vice President for Jodo; and the organizer of several dozen events in Poland, including the European Championships. If Jodo were just a hobby, I would not have done all of this. However, I must add that all this work felt natural to me, because I was building something with the training community—and ultimately for myself—in mind.

What were the beginnings of Jodo in Poland like from your perspective? 
It was cold ;) Our first training sessions—when we didn’t really know who was supposed to lead them—and the evening meetings that followed, during which we established the first informal procedures and a training calendar, took place in sleeping bags in the unheated dojo of Kraków Koryukan. I remember the first disputes about whether we wanted Jodo exams starting at 5th kyu in Poland, or whether, following the Japanese model, we should begin at 1st kyu. A very Kraków-style compromise was reached: optional grades from 5th to 3rd kyu and mandatory grades at 2nd and 1st kyu. This regulation did not last very long, as around 2010 we moved 2nd kyu to the club-level grades.
During training sessions, everyone taught what they had learned at seminars abroad and what they remembered from the first serious seminars organized in Poland with pairs of instructors who were active in Poland at the time: Sensei Daniel Chabaud – Sensei Corinne Marie Dit Moisson, or Sensei Jock Hopson – Sensei Chris Buxton. There were countless differences, but thanks to that the training was very colorful. We even had plans to establish our own nationwide Jodo Federation, but that was a long time ago and not quite true anymore ;)
I remember that in the early days the Warsaw-based Tenshinkan club was the most active, led by Marcin Wojtasik. The three of their leaders—Marcin himself, Grzesiek Puchawski, and Rafał Polański—were the first Poles to pass the 3rd dan exam at a seminar organized in Poland, on the occasion of the Polish Jodo Championships in Warsaw in 2008. They organized a lot: seminars in Warsaw, a camp in Kownatki, championships… On the other hand, Michał Nowakowski, Darek Leszczyński, and I organized seminars first in Kraków, and later in Katowice and Gdynia. At that time, I was still a member of Koryukan.
Those years also marked the first seminars with Sensei Andy, the teacher who brought us to where we are today. They began in 2008 with a seminar in Gdynia, when he came together with Sensei Jock. Since then, he has been to Poland dozens of times. He continues to come to this day.

What were the Jodo classes like in the dojo where you trained? 
In my first dojo in Munich, when my main focus was still Aikido, Jodo training took place once a week, on Saturdays, right after the instructors’ class, and lasted an hour and a half. At that time, I did not progress beyond the first five kata, as these were the only ones Sensei Nagano required from instructors. He also devised one long kata, a combination of those first five kata, performed solo. It did not really make sense, but back then I did not know any better. I also do not recall training tandokudōsa or sōtaidōsa; it is possible that we did not practice them, although it is also possible that I have simply forgotten.
My serious Jodo training began two years later, in February 2004, when I enrolled at Budo Gym in Augsburg. Iaido and Jodo classes there were taught by Sensei Henry Schubert, who at the time held 3rd dan in Jodo and 4th dan in Iaido. After the first warm-up, I immediately signed up for a full year (in Germany, club contracts are typically signed on a monthly or yearly basis, with the yearly option being cheaper). Training took place three times a week and was divided between iaido and jodo. Here, we practiced in the classical way as a matter of course: tandokudōsa, sōtaidōsa, and kata. In addition, every Jodo training session began with 500 cuts with the bokken as a warm-up, performed with kiai. At that time, no one in the dojo apart from Henry knew Ranai.
In February 2005, I returned from a seminar at which Sensei Luis Vitalis taught Ranai for the entire Sunday, but I only managed to learn the tachi side, as there was not enough time for the jō side ;) Thanks to this, however, Henry was able to begin teaching Ranai in the dojo.
I returned to Poland in 2006 as a 2nd dan in Jodo, knowing only ZNKR Jodo. I had no dojo and no group, so I trained on my own. Once a week, I rented a room in a nearby primary school for two hours, where I mainly practiced iaido, and I practiced tandokudōsa on my in-laws’ plot of land, performing techniques while walking from the house to the fence. This amounted to about 50 repetitions in one direction. Sometime around September, I started traveling to Sunday training sessions in Olkusz, where Jodo appeared after a few months. Quite quickly, however, I ended up as the instructor—the others held 5th kyu, while I was already 1st dan. Michał Nowakowski from Kraków also attended these sessions. This was the beginning of our shared, many-year-long Jodo training and a friendship that has lasted to this day.
After a conversation with Rafał, my former Aikido teacher, I opened an iaido and jodo section at Bumeikan in Katowice. The first training session took place on October 16, 2007. I have been leading this section ever since, drawing on the training patterns I learned from Henry. We therefore practice in a classical manner: first tandokudōsa, then sōtaidōsa, and finally kata. Sometimes we also begin with several hundred bokken cuts, although we rarely make it to 500—which is a shame.

What did your own training in Jodo look like outside the dojo (seminars, competitions, trips...)? 
Oh my, that’s a vast topic… At the very beginning of my training, Henry did not send us to competitions—unless they were part of a seminar, as was customary in Villingen. There, the Open German Jodo Championships were always held during the second Friday training session. I took part in those competitions after just three months of training. Later, Henry changed his mind and strongly encouraged us to participate in taikai for purely training-related reasons.
During the first two years of my training, we attended two Jodo seminars: one in Villingen with Sensei Ishido, and one in Magglingen, led by several of Sensei Ishido’s students, where Sensei Jock was most often the main instructor. After returning to Poland in 2006, seminars were practically my only opportunity to train in pairs, so I tried to be everywhere. At that time, seminars were still relatively rare: there were only two or three per year in Poland, and in Europe perhaps one per month, of course spread across different countries. I tried to attend as many as my finances allowed. At first, I traveled a lot with Michał Nowakowski, and later with Darek Leszczyński.
I made an effort to attend at least one seminar with Sensei Ishido each year, but I also went to other places: Magglingen, the Ishido Cup in Utrecht, Gothenburg in Sweden, and a week-long Jodo seminar in Boulouris. In 2008, I began traveling regularly to England for the BKA Summer Gasshuku. There I met Sensei Oshita Masakazu, who had been Henry’s teacher and who is now my main source of knowledge in iaido. I trained a great deal and with everyone. In 2009, I traveled to Japan for the first time with Sensei Jock and Darek. For several years now, I have been going regularly, at least once a year—it is the best place for advanced training.
I also took part in many competitions, most of which were organized in conjunction with seminars. The ones that come to mind include the Open German Championships, the Open Swiss Championships, the BKA Koryu Jodo Taikai, the Eishinkan Team Taikai, and the Ishido Cup. Sometimes I won, sometimes I lost my category—on average, I probably won as many times as I lost. Most often, I ended up in the medal zone, so there’s no shame in that ;)
A separate matter altogether is the European Championships, which for many years have been the central event of my year and the one I always look forward to. I have attended every edition since 2006; only once did I return without a medal. Even so, the human aspect is now far more important to me than the sporting one. I met many people who are close to me at the championships—some of them motivate me to train hard, and with others I simply enjoy talking and having a beer.

How did you establish contact with your teacher?
I first met Sensei Jock Hopson at my first seminar in Villingen in 2004, during a seminar taught by Sensei Ishido and Sensei Namitome. At the time, I had only three months of Jodo experience and was still dressing like an aikidoka—white keikogi and black hakama. I trained in the most junior group, led by Sensei Momiyama, then still a 5th dan, who taught us kata that were completely “cosmic” to us at the time, such as Seigan ;)
In the evenings, we would meet at Pizzeria Flughafen, where the teaching sensei would often join various tables to chat. That was how I met Jock, who sat down with our group from Augsburg. Over the next two years, at every event where he taught, we had the opportunity to talk over coffee about budo and his extraordinarily interesting life. In 2006, at my first European Championships, there were many such conversations, and eventually we agreed that sensei would visit Poland. Kraków was chosen for two reasons: first, I was a member of Koryukan at the time, and second, Jock wanted to visit Kraków, in particular to see the Veit Stoss Altarpiece.
They flew to Kraków in September 2007 together with Chris Buxton and his wife. The training took place at the Koryukan dojo, and we had the opportunity to thank them for their presence with generous Polish hospitality ;) In return, Sensei Buxton invited us to England for the Eishinkan Team Taikai. We went as two teams and even won some medals—though I don’t remember which ones; we certainly didn’t win overall.
That was how, for me, the era of training under Sensei Jock began, and it continues to this day. I officially became his student in 2015, during the sayonara party at the BKA Summer Seminar, when Sensei Ishido, quite casually and without any introduction or explanation, said to Sensei Jock: “From today on, you take care of Łukasz,” thereby formalizing what was in fact an already existing situation.

What does Jodo mean to you, what is its significance, and what does Jodo training give you?
An existential question, but I will try to answer it. At the beginning, I simply enjoyed training very much—and in fact, I still do. I liked those moments of learning new, increasingly difficult things, those situations when a sensei (any sensei) would tell me that something was good, but… To this day, I really enjoy the process of mastering new things—whether it is a new kata, a technique, or simply a movement—the constant, relentless repetition of the same motion.
It works best under the supervision of someone from the outside; then progress is faster. But in truth, after so many years of training, I have developed self-control and can reach my training goals on my own—of course, provided that someone has pointed them out to me beforehand. This aspect of Jodo—conscious, deliberate training—simply makes me happy. So I can say that Jodo training triggers endorphins for me.
The second aspect of Jodo, which has always been extremely important to me, is the social factor. Meeting new people, meeting those I already know, and spending time with them—whether in the dojo or in a pub—is just as important as the training itself. Over these 20 years, I have built several very valuable relationships that I am not afraid to call friendships. I have people around me whom I trust unconditionally and who are extremely important to me—people without whom I cannot imagine my life today—and I met them precisely because I train.
My life largely revolves around Jodo and Iaido. From the very beginning, I have been teaching, training, and working for the development of Jodo in Poland. Today, that has been going on for 18 years, and I simply feel responsible for it. In this situation, Jodo training is not an escape from everyday life for me—it is my everyday life.
Today, Jodo gives me a great deal of joy: when I practice, when I learn new kata, and even when I have to teach them to others. Even the administrative work within the Polish Kendo Federation has not been particularly stressful lately, because I have simply decided not to let anything discourage me and to keep moving forward.

What impact do competitions have on the development of Jodo?
I’ve thought about this a lot—these questions really do force reflection. I would say that, in fact, it’s not very large ;) For me, development in Jodo is connected with several things.
First of all, mastering all 134 kata of Shintō Musō Ryū. If we consider that we also have to learn the tachi side, that makes 268 forms in total—which is quite a lot. I still have the final twelve left to learn, and what remains is to understand them and master them fully. To achieve this, competitions are not necessary—what is needed is a competent teacher.
Second, bringing the movements that make up the kata to technical perfection and adapting them to oneself. Some techniques can be performed slightly differently while still remaining within the bounds of correct technique. How exactly they are performed depends on many factors—how we are built, how old we are, and even on our personality. If a technique works—that is, it does what it is supposed to do, does not allow a counterattack, and has no gaps—then it can be considered sufficient. How we arrive at that point is already an individual process of understanding movement. For this, too, competitions are not necessary, but rather conscious training with many different partners.
Finally, third, there is training under stress—the kind of stress that undoubtedly accompanied budō several hundred years ago, when jōjutsu was genuinely a practical fighting art. This kind of stress, tension, and hands shaking from nervousness cannot be generated in regular training, no matter how seriously we train. In a sense, it can be felt during exams, but these happen rarely, and our main opponent there is ourselves. Of course, stress is present, and the higher we aim, the greater it becomes, but it is usually accompanied by the feeling of “don’t mess this up.”
If we want to evoke the feeling of fighting another budōka, to experience the stress of whether we will win or lose a bout—even though the outcome is no longer linked to death, but merely to winning a piece of metal or wood—then competitions are essential. Giving up such an interesting aspect of training means losing a significant, and quite substantial, part of Jodo.
I am not claiming that it is impossible to reach a fantastic technical level in Jodo without competing—it certainly is possible. It’s just that I personally do not know anyone who has reached such mastery without having been a competitor. On the other hand, many competitors at the European Championships whom I know demonstrate an outstanding, inspiring level of Jodo—one that, in my view, does not differ from the level of Jodo in Japan.

What do you think about the relationship between Iaido, Jodo, Kendo, or other Budo arts and how it influences the development of Jodo?
Additionally, I train only Iaido; I have had a few Kendo sessions, and years ago I also practiced Aikido. That is the perspective I have on other martial arts. If someone can separate the specifics of other martial arts, it doesn’t have much impact on Jodo. But if they cannot, another martial art can actually interfere with Jodo. Distance, timing, and the ability to attack and defend with a weapon are elements that are natural for Jodo.
Iaido can help refine cutting skills and the understanding of ki-ken-tai-ittchi principles. In a few kata, the ability to perform nukitsuke may also come in handy. Kendo might add some dynamism, but I wouldn’t rank it too highly in terms of Jodo skills—what matters more is good timing and coordination. What one could really learn from kendokas is the ability to make split-second decisions when an opportunity for an effective attack appears, and the subtle skill of forcing gaps in an opponent’s defense—here, Kendo has no equal among Japanese martial arts.
Aikido training is fantastic for learning how to use distance to neutralize an attack. A few times in my life, the ability to do rolls and breakfalls on a wooden floor has also come in handy. My teachers in Japan usually don’t even ask whether someone can do such things ;)

What is the role of Koryu Jodo in the development of ZNKR Jodo?
Koryu Jodo is Jodo. Period. ZNKR is an extract of several techniques—not necessarily the simplest ones, but perhaps those that should provide a comprehensive introduction to the world of Jodo. However, they lack depth and do not convey the full complexity of proper Jodo training. It is impossible to truly understand Jodo or to learn it at a more advanced level without studying Koryu.
Of course, practitioners of Shintō Musō Ryū have it easier than groups training other old Japanese schools, because the entire ZNKR curriculum is essentially a mix of SMR techniques. I find it surprising that in Japan they have moved away from examining Koryu Jodo at the highest levels, but that is a sign of the times.
In my opinion, Koryu training should be introduced in clubs relatively quickly. After mastering the first six or so ZNKR forms, one should start training Omote—or a corresponding set in other schools. It doesn’t matter if some kata are repeated. Each SMR set offers a different perspective on Jodo and allows for the natural evolution of training. Training only ZNKR is a dead end, and dan ranks should never be the goal—at least, they are not for me.

Teaching is a very important element of progress and passing on culture to future generations. Tell us about yourself as a Budo teacher.
My approach to teaching changes over time. In the past, I wanted to push people hard and tried with all my effort to train them to the highest level as quickly as possible. Over time, I realized that not everyone comes to training for the same reasons I do; not everyone cares about perfect technique or mastering all of Jodo. Many people simply want to escape from reality and come to swing a stick. This is true both here and in Japan, and as a teacher, it’s important to notice this and adjust the way I train different individuals.
For those who need to be pushed, who want to work hard on their development, and whose goals are similar to mine, I require significantly more than from those who simply want to come to the dojo. It took me some time to understand this. Currently, my teaching methodology focuses on one thing at a time—I never introduce two training goals simultaneously. I do not get frustrated when someone does not know something or forgets a name or command. I simply teach it again, no matter how many weeks in a row it takes; it does not bother me at all. The only things I require are respect, proper reiho in the dojo, and listening to my instructions, since I am responsible for the group.
I have also stopped worrying when someone interrupts their training and leaves the dojo. I have realized that most of the people I currently teach will eventually stop training, regardless of how long they have been practicing. At the moment, I do not have any advanced students in the dojo—no one who has trained for over ten years; everyone who started with me in 2007 has left. I remain in contact with some, and with others, I do not.
Interestingly, I do not expect anyone in the dojo to meet the standards I set for myself as a student—except, perhaps, in listening to instructions and observing proper reiho. I try to teach the approach to the student-teacher relationship and to Budo by setting an example. If I was able to achieve something, anyone can do it, without exception. All it takes is hard work and dedication.

Can you describe one of your typical Jodo lessons? 
Nothing extraordinary. We begin with a bow to shomen and to ourselves. Sometimes we start with sword cuts; each person counts out ten cuts, all performed with kiai. We do several rounds, with each round focusing on one thing—for example: keeping the sword level, not dropping it above the head, maintaining proper kamae, and similar fundamentals.
If we don’t start with cuts, the first element of training is tandokudōsa. Everyone takes turns giving commands, and if someone doesn’t know them, they repeat after me. This is a good way to learn the correct commands at a relatively low level, so that later, even at a seminar as a 5th dan, one doesn’t say anything silly. We practice tandokudōsa in its entirety, sometimes repeating individual techniques.
Next, we move on to sōtaidōsa. Here we usually focus on just one chosen technique, and everyone has the chance to practice both the sword and the jō side. Again, all commands are spoken aloud by everyone.
After that, we move on to kata. At the beginning of this part of the training, advanced students help beginners. Around the halfway point, we pair up according to skill level. If the number of participants (including me) is even, I simply participate in the rotation; if it’s odd, I spend most of the time helping and teaching. Sometimes I join the advanced rotation while a free person helps the beginners.
Depending on who shows up for training, we either refine a specific technique or practice entire sets, step by step. Occasionally, we focus on a particular technique or kata, but usually we work through full sets. I spend a lot of time ensuring correct hikiotoshi. Henry once told me that, in his view, hikiotoshi in Jodo is like kirioroshi in Iaido—a key technique that should be polished endlessly. I wholeheartedly agree.
We always finish the training with a collective bow.

Do you think the approach to Jodo training in Poland has changed over the years, and if so, how?
Things have changed. In the past, we all trained together; today, we are divided. I’m not entirely surprised, since everyone sets different goals in life, but I’m not happy about the situation. There are barely 50 or 60 people practicing Jodo, and instead of supporting each other and working together, the development of Jodo in the Polish Kendo Federation is still carried by the same five or six people.
I mentioned earlier that we used to work together while sitting in sleeping bags, in a room that was only 4°C. Today, no one would even attempt something like that. Technically, we are in a very good position—the average level of Polish Jodo is excellent, and there’s nothing to worry about at the moment.
But this situation will likely change soon. Just look at the “older” budo countries; there, a significant regression is visible. We are bound to face the same.

What do you think about the future of Polish Jodo?
Actually, the forecast was already in the previous point. Soon, the people overloaded with responsibility will leave, exhausted, and stop handling the administration of Jodo and its development as a sport. There is a high chance that no one will step up to take on that responsibility. Things will probably continue somehow, because no one is truly irreplaceable, but there will be a lot of “reinventing the wheel,” just as is currently happening in Polish Iaido. It’s exactly like in Asimov’s Foundation—we are facing the first crisis. Let’s hope that somewhere out there, a Second Foundation exists.

What are your developmental plans for the near future?
To understand and master the Ikkaku Ryū Juttejutsu and Isshin Ryū Kusarigamajutsu forms to a relatively fluent level, and in the near future, to learn Okuden. The rest is going fairly well; I don’t have major problems. In addition, I plan to train as much as possible, preferably in keikokai format, so that all this knowledge is thoroughly reinforced. Other goals include maintaining an annual trip to Japan, participating in the Kyoto Taikai, and remaining an active part of the Jodo community in Europe.

If today, with the world of Budo being much closer to you, would you choose Jodo again?
Of the two classical martial arts I practice, Jodo is definitely more difficult to train—not technically, but because it requires a training partner. However, when you have someone to train with at a high level, it brings incredible joy. I’m fortunate to have training partners who motivate me, and at the same time, unfortunate that we live hundreds of kilometers apart. But I won’t complain—it could be worse, and I might not have anyone to develop with. Jodo has always been my second choice, and I don’t know if that will ever change. It does offer a significant depth in classical martial arts, providing plenty to explore and analyze, which I really enjoy. If I had to choose only one martial art to train, it wouldn’t be Jodo; but if I could train two, it would definitely be second on the list. So I suppose the answer to that question would be yes.

What advice would you give to a young Jodo practitioner?
As can be inferred from what I’ve written above, my path in Budō is not typical. I have sacrificed a lot to be where I am today; it is not simply a hobby, but a significant part of my life. If someone finds such a path appealing, my advice is fairly straightforward: train as much as possible. Dedicate all your free time to training and fully commit yourself to mastering Jodo. Everything else comes from this dedication and hard work. I would also add a second piece of advice—never fall into the trap of focusing on a high rank at the expense of your own training. Of course, teaching others is necessary, because that is the natural exchange with those who teach us—we cannot keep knowledge to ourselves. But it is important to understand that sacrificing your own training just to be a teacher is a slippery slope. That kind of approach is only appropriate after achieving the title of Hanshi. Before that, hard work and personal development are the most important things for a Budō practitioner.

What inspires you in Jodo?
I have always been inspired by those who truly have skill. I am incredibly fortunate that the people who dedicate their time to me are themselves such sources of inspiration—teachers in Japan, European instructors, and the people I train and compete with. The most fascinating part of practicing Jodo, or really any Budō, has always been the attempt to master the most difficult elements of a given martial art. In Jodo, once you understand the basic outline of the techniques, the real challenges emerge. For me, the most interesting challenge now is controlling the flow of an entire kata—controlling your opponent through your own technique. Even training briefly with Sensei Ishido, Otake, or Murakami makes this strikingly clear: the complete control over what happens between shijo and uchidachi is almost indescribable. It’s hard to put into words—you really have to experience it yourself. None of them rush, anticipate, or execute techniques with extra speed or force, yet you are simply powerless. A true inspiration. Thanks to them, I can set challenges for myself, like structuring my own training to reach the level they have achieved. It may already be unattainable for our generation—especially since living in Europe, we see them so rarely—but the motivation they provide is extraordinarily strong.

Finally, is there anything related to Japanese culture that you would like to share with us?
I don’t consider myself an expert on Japanese culture. The best person to ask would be Sensei Jock; he’s the most suitable person I know for that. I can only say this: many people involved in Japanese martial arts—both more and less classical—believe that by training, they can understand Japanese culture. Nothing could be further from the truth. It is a separate sphere of knowledge, closely connected to Budō training, but it is not served on a silver platter like the technical aspects are. This sphere is largely closed to anyone outside Japan, and despite our awareness and efforts to act “in a Japanese way,” we are usually destined to fail. The only way to somewhat assimilate it is to follow in the footsteps of generations before us, listen to their advice—even when it is difficult to accept—and act with great caution toward Budō teachers. This may protect us from unpleasant consequences, though there is no guarantee. The best approach is to be kind to yourself, enjoy Jodo training, and let everything else fall into place naturally.