Touchdown; winter's bite,
Emotions swirl like snowflakes—
Japan's embrace felt.
Kip and I had binged on Pocky and watched Tom Selleck's hit film "Mr. Baseball" from the '90s, a movie set in Japan. I finally finished reading James Clavell's "Shogun". Our plane touched down at Kansai International Airport. Everything was a whirlwind of emotions. As we deboarded, the winter evening chill greeted us with a peculiar humidity that sharply pierced through every layer of clothing; our breath visible, forming tiny cumulus clouds.
"Welcome to Japan," I thought to myself.
While most people visit to see the beautiful cherry blossoms in spring or the colorful fall leaves, we had another plan. Originally, Kip and I were not even supposed to be in Japan. The plan had been to go straight to Qingdao, China to teach English at a university, and to spend all our free time exploring the vast beauty of the sleeping giant. But, our plans changed, and a pitstop to Japan was added.
Before leaving the states, I had exchanged a handful of emails with Inoue Sensei, and there was some uncertainty about whether we had properly communicated our travel itineraries that added to my deboarding emotions. After a slightly intense bag search, and many questions about our bokkens and other martial arts gear from our unenthusiastic customs officer, we made our way to the exit. Our fears were quickly dispelled when we saw Inoue Sensei, Motohisa Sensei, and Morioka Sensei standing there with warm smiles, holding up a paper placard bearing our names: “Jake & Kip.”
Darkness was quickly settling in, a light snow gently falling as we wound our way northeast through Osaka towards Kyotanabe. I was overwhelmed with more emotion–this was my first view of Japan, dark and cold. But, none of this damped my spirits.
I had dreamed of this moment my entire life, fueled all the more by stories of Japan from my Iaido teachers. I was already in love with this land of the samurai, and I was determined not to waste a single moment.
"We would like to eat dinner," Inoue Sensei chimed in, snapping me out of my daydream. "Have you tried ramen before?"
Minutes later, we arrived at a whimsically mushroom-shaped ramen shop, looking like a set piece plucked from a Mario Brothers game. After a brief lesson on different types of ramen broth from Inoue Sensei, a steaming hot bowl of savory pork broth filled with mouth-watering meats, noodles, and vegetables was placed before me. It bore no resemblance to the instant Top Ramen I’d grown up with. With every bite, the cold outside seemed to dissipate.
Every bite a poem
Noodles swim in pork delight
Ramen stirs the soul
Our stomachs full, a deep sense of contentment and curiosity carried us across town to the quaint home where we would be staying during our time in Japan.
Kip and I, rubbing our jet-lagged eyes, bid a farewell to our teachers, promising to be ready for an early start the next day. Once back inside, the reality of our adventure seemed to settle in all at once. We sprawled out on our heated futons, our heads nestling into rigid, barley-filled pillows, eager to talk about this new experience. Yet, as we began to weave our thoughts into words, sleep—a relentless thief—stole in. Kip’s last mumbled wish was to buy all the Pocky in Japan, a thought cut short as his breathing deepened and he fell asleep.
I lay awake a few moments longer and eventually drifted off to one of the best nights of sleep in my entire life.
The next morning, laughter trickled up the stairs, rousing me from a deep sleep. With a groan, I peeled myself from the cozy confines of my toasty futon and padded downstairs. Giggles were emanating from the bathroom.
Having known him for a long time but still unsure of Kip's bathroom habits, I turned back to give him some privacy. However, another flush, followed by music and a polite "thank you" from the toilet made me pause, with Kip laughing as the toilet interspersed more phrases I couldn't quite catch. We both shared a laugh when he finally emerged from his toilet discotheque. Later, I too experienced the marvels of our musical toilet, took a shower, and soaked in the hot spring water bath. Our teachers picked us up and we spent that day exploring parts of Kyotanabe, sightseeing at local spots steeped in samurai history, and visited what is now one of my favorite places on our tiny pale blue dot: Uji, the heart of Japan’s green tea cultivation. The air was alive with the astringent and sweet scent of green tea the moment we hopped out of the car. Many of the dishes and drinks we tried were infused with tea that had been harvested from just down the road. After a lunch of green tea soba noodles, and beautifully portioned tempura-battered salmon, we visited Byōdōin, where I was captivated by the beautiful Jodo architecture. This archaeological marvel, one of the oldest temples in Japan, is depicted on the ten yen coin. Having been drawn to Buddhism from a very young age, the presence of the Buddha enveloped me in an immense calm, reminding me that every moment matters and to always strive for compassion. While I never felt the need for a statue or picture to be a good person, I indulged my material cravings and purchased a beautiful black and white photograph of this Buddha statue. Whenever I look at it, I am transported back to that cherished moment, feeling grounded and a renewal to walk the Middle Way. Ancient jodo walls Stone and spirit intertwined Compassion is the way
That evening marked our inaugural training session at the Kyotanabe Municipal Ozumi School in Japan, and I felt that the very air was charged with my excitement to meet all of the teachers and students. Nervously, Kip and I donned our uniforms. We were handed two iaito swords to train with. The atmosphere was incredibly warm and welcoming, even though we didn't fully grasp everything. We managed to follow along with assistance from Inoue Sensei, who helped bridge our understanding of the Japanese instructions.
Long ago, my journey in Iaido first began with Eishin Ryu. By this time, I had also been training in Toyama Ryu for a couple of years, and I felt confident—perhaps overly so.
There is nothing more dangerous than a full cup of water.
After warm-ups, one of the assisting teachers alongside Inoue Sensei, pulled me aside to observe my technique closely. They asked me to perform a set of makko-giri, the basic straight cut, making slight adjustments to my form. I continued to keep cutting this one movement, over and over, with the teachers encouraging me to keep repeating the exercise.
Glancing over at Kip, I saw him having a grand old time with Hamano Sensei and some other students practicing the Kiso-Iai forms, which contained multiple movements and cutting techniques. Meanwhile, I was stuck in the same spot, doing the same cut repeatedly.
Was I doing something wrong?
As the rest of the class moved on to more techniques and focused kata practice, I stayed and continued with the same task at hand, my arms growing weary with every single cut. Just when I thought I might finally be allowed to transition to kata or something different with the rest of the class, I heard "yame" shouted across the dojo floor. Everyone stopped.
The training was concluded with a group Oku-Iai Happo-Nuki, and the class was over. Perplexed by my singular focus on makko-giri, I felt puzzled, and sore.
Noticing my confused expression, Inoue Sensei approached me with a smile and said something that forever changed my view on perfecting the art of the cut.
"Only the cut matters, and you must be able to perform it consistently, the same way, every time."
Sensei acknowledged that my cuts were very impressive, but remarked that my mind had seemed very busy. He wasn’t wrong; I've battled with anxiety my entire life.
I could tell there was something else Inoue Sensei wanted to share when he asked if I knew about mushin—a Zen concept suggesting a state of mindfulness unclouded by thought. I did, and clearly, I wasn’t very good at it.
Weary arms, heavy sword
Sensei's wisdom cutting deep
How to pierce the fog?
Earlier that day, the Buddha statue in Uji had reminded me to be present, and here was that same lesson again—mushin. My appreciation for the simplest of cuts deepened, and since that experience I aim to stay present in the moment, no matter how repetitive the task may be.
Iaido technique is the same for every student, but I have learned that each practitioner brings their unique traits and personality to their Iaido. We're all on a journey to become the best Iaido-ka we can be. Mastery of Iaido is quite daunting—striving for perfection in every cut, ensuring our bodies and minds are seamlessly connected every time. However, the simplicity of this lesson is that mastery is achieved one cut at a time.
After class, while carefully folding my uniform, I continued to ponder this lesson of mushin, of one cut, of being present.
Our group walked around the corner to a local restaurant where we were treated to another life-changing meal and round of drinks. Were all meals in Japan this good? Days later, natto—a gooey fermented soybean breakfast—would challenge me on this, but even then, I found myself falling in love with this slimy breakfast delight.
Skill honed cut by cut
Iaido's path winds onward
Perfection's path calls
Note to Reader: This story is an excerpt from Sorensen Sensei's upcoming iaido book, which is scheduled for release sometime before 2060.
Comments