I begin my Sunday practice as usual, with the spinning ebb and flow of the spear drills. It’s early, and the air is crisp again; spring has not yet fully established itself. Sunlight is reaching in from beyond the mountains, though, and soon it will be serviceable at least, and maybe even warm. So I let my breath sync with my movement and get on with it.

The spear flow drills always begin with a simple figure-eight pattern: probing outward with the spear tip, then dipping down on the opposite side, circling behind and up, then back in again—only this time from the other side—dipping down again to arrive where I began. Over and over, I repeat this pattern of figure eights, all the while syncing my hip rotation and breath with the movement of the spear. On and on I go until I reach 200, and then I switch hands and directions for 200 more. I am warm now, and I can feel my old joints loosening and accepting the movement.

I switch then to a study of my footwork, identifying my standing leg and feeling the contrast between its earthy connection and the freedom and mobility of my other foot. The sages say that standing with double-weighted feet—that is to say, with your weight distributed on both feet—is a position of foretelling. This position is one of unity, and from here anything is possible. But once you begin to move, a duality appears between your feet. One is the standing leg, and the other is free.

If your body is confused about this, you will remain in a condition of unity when you are trying to move, and this will never do. To move is to commit, and you must do this all in. The duality of the stable side versus the free side is a condition of action.

So I focus on one foot and designate it to be my standing leg. First, I simply throw my spear out as before, but this time I am turned to the side. As I shift my weight forward, I consciously change the designation of my feet. Now my leading leg is the standing leg. I move lightly, and as I carry the tip of the spear forward, my rear leg—now free—moves up to a position just behind my standing leg. It is one form of what they call a cat stance. I can feel how my spear tip remains connected to my body and hips as I move in this way, and my figure eight takes me first forward and then back away from my imaginary opponent.

Next, I step past my standing leg with my free leg into a slightly different form that has also been called “cat stance,” and once again retreat the way I came. Finally, I step boldly out as I extend the spear into a full passing step. I notice that it is the combination of the movement of the spear and the movement of my body, along with the form my body takes, that defines the thrust.

I continue to study variations of this set. All so far, the positions are different aspects of the same forward movement. Then I start to add lateral movements to the drill, noting that only my free leg can initiate a movement, and for my other leg to move, it must switch roles.

In spear and in weapons arts, the centerline is important. We imagine moving “off the centerline,” tantamount to slipping in boxing, and then capturing the centerline in order to attack. My body structure finds new paths, new kinetic chains linking my spear tip into the earth through my bones, muscles, and joints. Such positions are many and varied. Some do not look stable, and yet they are. Some are momentary in their application, achieved at the moment of impact only.

And so my practice goes, fueled by my experience and my awareness, until the hour is up and I move on to something else.

And this is what I think the spear can teach karate guys—or anyone who practices unarmed arts: the incredible variability of movement, as well as the invariants that make each position work.

What is the point of footwork anyway, except to allow us to avoid danger and to position us for efficient actions of our own?