Gone Training 2025 Vol. III

This past Sunday and for this weekend and the next, I have the good fortune to train in my dojo with our headmaster.

Over the past two years I have had a surfeit of training with our headmaster:  training in Japan, training in New Home 2.0, and training in New Home 3.0.  If I do the training in my head, that is almost two full weeks of training with a living national treasure this year, or a month over two years.

I am blessed beyond all measure.  

---

What is like to train in a traditional art?

It is is repetition. A great deal of repetition. And a great many reminders of where one can improve (I leave every seminar with a rather long list of improvements).

One of the main points I was reminded of in 2024 was the fact that, as a traditional art, my job is not to "interpret" the art.  My job is to faithfully replicate the art - as someone noted, "Add nothing to it, subtract nothing from it".  Take is as a received item.

While that might seem like a simple thing, I find it more difficult than you might expect.  I cannot fully define why I find it so:  part of it, I suspect, is due to the fact that the level of concentration required to fully pay attention is something that I struggle with immensely.  Part of it may be that - like lots of Americans - I like to put my "stamp" on things, because "individuality" and "personal expression:.

One of the greatest changes in how one trains is the realization that it is very much not about you.  It is very much about the art.

In a way, this concept seems similar to me in the treatment of heirlooms such as swords in Japanese culture.  One does not "own" such items; one is merely a caretaker for them until they pass to the next generation.  This is one of the reasons that one finds, for example, swords of 400 years of age throughout the world:  the "collectors" understand they are merely caretakers, not owners, and while the sword may be bring them joy, ultimately it is about the sword, not them.  

In a same manner, the art is about the art, not me.

I will train hard, write down my corrections, and prepare for the next training (hopefully in Japan again).  And try, very hard, to remind myself that it is executing the thing as it is transmitted to me, not as I see fit to execute it.

The master is the die, we are the material.  We should so be like them that there is never any question what art we follow.

On A First Dojo

(Thanks for your patience over the past weekend with my absence and my sincere apologies for the delay in responses - as I have learned, trying to answer anything from beyond the basics on The Computer In My Pocket (TCIMP) is little more than an exercise in mis-spellings and short, bland responses.)

I have often read and seen portrayed in films and books the concept of returning to the dojo that one started at.  The best scene I have seen is, perhaps, from the remake of Thirteen Assassins in 2010, where one of the characters returns to the dojo of his master.  The scene portrays him there, practicing in silence, noticed but not interrupted by his master and teacher, until after training his master enters and asks if he would like a match.  The moment is profound, the student returning after years away implementing the training that he had undertaken there.

That is fiction of course, and fiction can portray whatever it would like without a basis in fact.  What I did not anticipate about returning for this seminar is that I, too, would be confronted by the same sort of reverential feelings.

Oh, I had been back since my move in May, once for last year's seminar and once for a single class when I was back for other reasons.  But those seemed more like continuations of class, not the hard break that had happened with a full move. 

The dojo itself had not really physically changed since my last visit - oh, certainly, a few things had moved around and there were more weapons than before, but the core of it remained the same as the day we moved there (this is the third "location" that the dojo has been in but that is irrelevant; the dojo is where the sensei is and training happens, not a single physical space).   The people, too, had changed:  old faces I recognized, new faces I had met online but not in person.  Suddenly one realizes that one has now become "that student" that is referred to in dojo stories.

But - surprisingly to me - the sense of coming home was palpable.

In the fifteen years I had trained there, I cannot count the hours that I spent in that space training.  It is a meaningless number of course:  even if I could give you a number that does not portray the fullness of what happened there, the hours and hours of repeating and repeating the same actions, the learning of new things, the correction of techniques and overcoming of bad habits.  It does not account for the friendships that developed and the friends that moved on, either to other arts or simply stopping training.

It does not account for the personal learnings that happened there, learnings that continue to serve me to this day.  And it does not account for the personal struggles, the triumphs and repeated failures and occasional overcoming of those failures.

The hours and the place do not account for the fact that the first dojo really is like either the place one grew up all one's life or that one location in a series of locations that sticks out to one as home.

I train here now at a dojo in New Home 3.0.  This is my home dojo, to whose sensei I am bound and where I meet the same challenges, learnings, and (occasional) victories.  And there is an argument that a different dojo and different sensei challenges one in new ways, much as any change can do.  I have no reason or expectation that I will not continue to grow and mature here or that I will not spend many fruitful years here perfecting my art.

And yet - perhaps much like the first place that we have a particular experience or our first love - it will somehow always be different, even thought perhaps only in my emotions.  Because I suspect that, like a first love, one never forgets one's first dojo.

A Lifestyle Not A Hobby

The Seminar with my headmaster - although sadly shortened this year due to the change in my location and the starting of a new job - was good; two days with a Grandmaster is better than no days with a Grandmaster.

The great joy of training comes not from the physical exertion - plenty of that - but of the small comments and vignettes that are woven into commentary as he observes us. I envy him his ability to seamlessly do this; I always seem to awkwardly approach such issues when I try to do the same.  

At one point during our training, he mentioned the fact that one of the great frustrations he had as a teacher was people who simply made no progress.  This could take one of two paths: the first, that they only appeared irregularly, trained but obviously had not improved, and then went away for another period of time - a sort of drop-in casual student.  The other was those that did train regularly, but only seemed to mark time in their position: they did not improve, but simply add years to the amount of time they were present.  The comparison was made to traditional Japanese arts and martial arts in Japan where the lifestyle is all encompassing and difficult to the point that many, if not most, wash out because they do not wish to make the level of commitment.

Iaijutsu, he said, is the same.  It is is intended as a lifestyle, not a hobby.

The thought flew from my headmaster's lips and profoundly smacked me upside the head.

Anyone that knows me or has followed this blog is aware that I am a hobby person.  My interests are wide ranging - and arguably, there is nothing wrong with that.  The gathering of knowledge can itself be a lifestyle of sorts.

But in my case, I have also chosen the lifestyle of Iaijutsu.

When I was accepted into the school and my headmaster became not just my headmaster but, in a real way my master (Note the small "m", not the capital "M".  I have only one Master.), I entered a contract:  This is how it was, back in feudal times.  I agreed to train in this art and not others.  Additionally, I agreed to other conditions, some of which I knew and some of which I did not fully understand until later in my journey.

I cannot just "display" my art; I need to ask for permission.  Training at another dojo (as I did over the weekend, as New Home 2.0 is now my new dojo) requires formal permission.  There are techniques I am not allowed to publicly display, knowledge I am not allowed to speak.  I am even forbidden from casually displaying my sword to other martial arts practitioners.

Somewhat to my surprise, I found I had started a martial art and acquired a lifestyle instead.

But frankly, it is a lifestyle that I do not practice as I should. In so many ways, I still treat it as a hobby, something that I can practice or not at will.  In point of fact, I have made the commitment.  For me to give up now would be to be cast out in a literal sense:  my name would not be spoken, my sensei (plural) shamed because of my failure (it has happened).

But really, this true of my life in general as well.  A lifestyle of hobbies prevents one from really become skilled simply because one is not willing to commit in meaningful ways.  It means choosing not to do some things.  It means training when one is tired or bored or just not feeling it.  It means - at some level - measuring all of one's activities against the standard of "What best advances me in this lifestyle?"

Does this mean I will stop making yogurt and cheese or studying Old English or half a dozen other things I do?  Hardly.  These things fill useful niches of my life, either by the products I get from them or the simple enjoyment derived from them.  But it does mean that some things have precedence over others and that my time and indeed all my activities need to be viewed through the lens of how this impacts the path of swordsmanship I have chosen.

For me, I was reminded that the musha shugyo - the warrior's pilgrimage - is not just a saying.  Even now, for some, it remains a way a life.

Said differently, it is a lifestyle not a hobby.

Training 2024: Learnings

 

Utagawa Hiroshige, Autumn Moon at Ishiyama, 1834 (Source)

For my trip to Japan in 2024, we have discussed location and facilities, meals, vending machines, and other places I had seen (here and here).  What we have yet to discuss is what I actually learned.

It is not as ethereal a subject as it might sound like.  We are required to write a paper every time we train with our headmaster stating what we learned during our time with him.  My understanding is that somewhere out on the InterWeb, all of these papers exist (no idea where, of course).  My Sensei has always been kind enough to share his drafts with me; what I suspect is that everyone takes away both general things and things specific to their situation.

More relevant to this discussion, of course, is what did I learn?

Learnings for these events fall into two parts.  The first is that of technique, corrections received that are general to the waza being practiced and applicable to all or specific to the individual and their practice of it.  Mine for this category were not, for the most part, surprising to me:  Posture.  Grip.  Height (e.g., I need to be lower).  Straight(er) back (something I have been battling for 15 years).  Cutting angles (hasuji).  Area and direction of my gaze (metsuke).    To correct these is practice, feedback, more practice.

The second part - what did I take away as an individual - is always the more interesting and revealing part.  These have differed from year to year, based largely on where I was in my life at the time.

It all started with stiffness.

One of the corrections I received multiple times this training was that I was too stiff.  My grip on the sword handle (tsuba) was compared to a "death grip"; my completion of any technique was noted as being rigid not just in my grip, but in my whole body.   I was strong - very much so - but with flexibility, I would never truly perform the technique.

"A living hand is pliable; a dead hand is fixed" wrote Miyamoto Musashi, the 17th Century swordsman who knew a thing or two about swordsmanship.  It was not a minor thing.  

The encouragement, therefore, was to relax.

Relaxing in swordsmanship is something that seems to be at odds with the practice itself, at least in my mind - but then, as I considered it, in point of fact it was true of almost all aspects of my life: I am tense.  I tense up.   This is true in social situations for sure, but really it is true of any situation in which I have to make a decision or sometimes even just the thought of doing anything.  I become paralyzed and I become stiff.

Enter a hot bath and fluorescent lighting.

One evening in the ofuro, the beloved hot soaking tub that is a staple of Japanese onsen and even our humble training center, I sat looking at the reflection of the fluorescent lights above the tub in the water.  The water was stirred up due to the activity of people getting in and out.  The fluorescent lights above the tub chipped and shattered into a million light shards in the pool, lighted waves rippling back and forth in endless motion.

It was only when everything stopped - when no-one had entered or exited the pool, or when we just sat there - that the fluorescent lights reflected clearly in the pool.

The moon and water is a common motif in Japanese art, a staple of poetry and paintings and woodblocks.  Even in our sword art, there is a technique that is literally translated as "Water Moon Sword", the imagery of the two swords reflecting each other like the moon and water.  

Suddenly - in what I would not name "Satori" (enlightenment) but enlightening - I saw clearly that only when one is at peace and relaxed can one truly see and reflect what is around one.  Any stress, any disturbance, and the image is lost in a jumble of moving waves and fractured light.  And so if I wanted to improve my technique - to become less stiff and rigid - I needed to practice being at peace and relaxing, even in the midst of practicing forms.  It also helps in that only when one is at peace and still that one can see those subtle visual and mental cues that in the life a swordsman determined when to draw and in the life of ordinary people when an action was required.

The lesson, at least as I understood it, became even more critical upon my return and indeed during the past week:  being stirred up and anxious prevents me from seeing things for what the really are.  If I can bring my intensity down, manage my internally generated stress, I become free to act in ways that are actually beneficial.

I cannot say I am implementing this well; like anything it is a learned activity that has 50 plus years of habit and training going against it.  But I have at least been able to make myself conscious that such a thing is happening, and if I can realize its occurrence, I can take measures against it.

The moon will always be there to reflect in the water; likewise, every day is an opportunity to learn afresh that only through stillness and calm can relax enough to see things clearly.

Training 2024: Food

Beyond the three square meals a day we had at the training center, we still had to eat prior to our arrival there and after we left.  Below is a compendium of other meals we had.

Unagi Bowl:  Grilled eel over rice

Breakfast at our first hotel:  The bread item on the left hand side of the plate is a curry doughnut.  Actually better than it sounds:

Bento, the ubiquitous boxed lunch of Japanese train stations.  There are many varieties, and regions are known for their specialties.  This one was fried chicken:

Traditional soba (buckwheat) noodles.  The jar on the left is the dipping sauce, which one pours into small dish then dips the noodles in.  Slurping the noodles is considered polite.  Of note, one does not use all the sauce but leaves some in the jar.  There are containers on the table that contain the water the noodles were boiled in that day.  One takes the water and pours it into the jar, making a soup to drink.

Udon (wheat) noodles with tofu:

Japanese burger meal (with fries) from Mos Burger:

Onigiri (rice wrapped in seaweed in a triangle shape, sometimes with fish or vegetables inside) and a mochi (red bean) bun:

After our last night training in Tokyo, we went out to a traditional style ramen shop.

All of the additions, which included ginger, garlic, and various peppers:

The order board:

Our meal, pork ramen and gyoza:

Instructions for how to prepare and eat the meal:

After ramen, we had dessert later.  Gelatinous coffee flavoured dessert with ice cream and mochi

Typical hotel breakfast we had during our second stay in Tokyo:

Final meal at Narita Airport, Chinese style noodles with fish cake:

Training 2024: Sengaku-ji And The 47 Ronin

 Sengaku-ji (Sengaku Temple) is a temple located in the greater Tokyo metropolitan area .  Originally founded in 1612 by Tokugawa Ieyasu, it became famous as the final resting place of The 47 Ronin.

Outer gateway to Sengaku-ji

The Ako Icident (as it is formerly referred to in the history of the time) started in 1701, when a daimyo, Asano Naganori, was forced to commit seppuku (ritual suicide, literally "cutting of the stomach") after he attacked a high court official, Kira Yoshinaka, in the palace of the Shogun.  To draw a sword inside the castle was strictly forbidden, to attack even more so.  Asano had felt deeply insulted as Kira has degraded and insulted him in the course of instructing him in court etiquette (popular rumor was it was because Kira was hoping for a bribe).

Original entrance gate to Sengaku-ji

After his suicide, the Shogunate demanded the Asano family's domain of Ako be surrendered (along with its castle), its goods confisticated, and its samurai made ronin (literally "A man of the waves" or a masterless samurai, which did not find a place in the Tokugawa's Neo-Confucian social structure of warrior, merchant, farmer, and craftsman).

Enter Oishi Kuranosuke, head chamberlain of the Asano Clan.

Statue of Oishi Kuranosuke

Oisihi, having been notified of the impending forfeiture, first moved the remaining Asano family members and then, against the arguments of some of his clan, formally surrendered the castle and its domain.  He requested to re-establish the house of Asano but failed.

In the meantime, he had a second plan.

Main Temple, Senkaku-ji

Oishi began reaching out to former retainers of the Asano with a plan:  To take revenge on Lord Kira by his assassination. This would be difficult, as Kira was on the watch and carefully monitoring the movements of Oishi and many of the former Asano samurai. 

Rear view of the Main Gate

And so Oishi hatched a plot.  Reaching out to key retainers, he began to construct a plan whereby he and the retainers would ambush Kira.  This would have to be completed in secret and could not be done while Kira suspected a thing.

Bell Tower

Not only would the men have to gather; they would have to get arms and armor without raising suspicion and assemble at a given time when Kira was in a location and no longer suspicious.

Temple Buildings

The execution of the plan took 14 months.  During that time, Kira's agents tracked Oishi in Kyoto.  What they saw was a man who apparently had given himself over entirely to pleasure, visiting the pleasure quarters and drinking and carrying on with women.  All the time in the background, the team continued to work to gather arms and manufacture armor in secret and remain in contact.

Plum blossoms in February

Finally, Kira's agents gave up. Oishi had turned into a wastrel and his men the same.  There was no threat.

On 31 January 1703, Oishi and 46 other ronin, all former retainers of the Asano, stormed Kira's mansion in Edo (now Tokyo).  Splitting into two groups (Kuranosuke led one and his son, 15 year old Chikara, led the other,) they captured the porters lodge and opened the gate.

Entrance to the graves

Prior to the start of the attack, Oishi emphasized to his men that their target was Lord Kira:  women, children, and non-combatants were to be spared.  He also sent messengers to Kira's neighbors, notifying them of the attack and that they were in no danger.  And at the formal initiation of the attack, one of the 47 Ronin climbed to the roof and announced the attack to the neighborhood and that this was an act of revenge.

Tomb of Oishi Kuranosuke

The attack went on through the night.  The 47 stormed the house and began searching for Kira.  Kira's retainers, when they realized they were losing, attempted to go for aid but were cut down by Oshi's bowmen stationed on the walls.  16 retainers were killed and 22 injured, but Kira could not be found.

Graves of The 47 Ronin

Finally, in a shed for storing charcoal and firewood, a man was found.  Refusing to give his name, he was examined.  His head bore a scar, put there by the sword of Asano.  Lord Kira had been found.

Graves of The 47 Ronin

Oishi addressed Kira as a retainer would based on Kira's rank, explaining why they had come and offering Kira the chance to commit seppuku and retain his honor; Oishi would act as his kaishakuin (second) and behead him to prevent suffering.  Kira was shaken and trembling; finally, seeing there was no change, Oishi cut off Kira's head with a dagger.  

Extinguishing all lamps to prevent any risk of fire, The 47 Ronin sent one man, Terasaka Kiechiemon, to the Asano domain to announce the deed.  The now 46 Ronin began a walking retreat to Sengaku-ji, a temple favored by the Asano's.  The story spread quickly and as they marched along, they were feted and offered refreshments by passers-by.

Grave of Oishi Chikara, Oishi Kuranosuke's son

Upon arriving at Sengaku-ji, they washed Kira's head in a nearby well and presented it and the dagger that had cut it off on the grave of Lord Asano.  Praying at the temple and giving their remaining funds to the Abbott, they surrendered to the Shogunal authorities.

Graves of The 47 Ronin

The Shogunal government was in a bit of a pickle.  Lord Kira was not a popular man, and at the time the decision against Lord Asano had been wildly unpopular.  Also, The 47 Ronin had demonstrated a retainer's loyalty to one's lord, something that the Shogunal government was effectively built on.  To decry that would be to decry the very existence of the Shogunate. 

At the same time, the government could not support acts of revenge like this - there was a process for seeking revenge, but it was a defined process and included a formal declaration of the act of seeking revenge.  The 47 Ronin had done none of this.

Grave of Horibe Yahyoe.  Oldest of The 47 Ronin, he was 77 at the time of The Ako Incident

The government came to the following decision:  The 46 Ronin, who had been placed in the custody of four daimyo, were to commit seppuku, allowing them to die as warriors and retain their honor.  No revenge could be sought by Kira's family.  The matter was closed.

The Ronin had always planned this as a possible outcome.  And so, on 20 March 1703, the 46 committed seppuku.  Their remains, along with the remains of Lord Asano and his wife Yozen-in (Buddhist name), were buried at Sengaku-ji.

Overlooking the graves, with Oishi Kuranosuke's in the background

One may note only 46 died.  The 47th, Terasaka Kiechiemon, who had been sent to the Asano domain to declare the revenge, was pardoned by the Shogunate.  Accounts vary of why he was pardoned: some say it was because of his youth, others that it was "plot" by Oishi and the others by clearly stating he as not part of the action to allow his survival.  He lived until 1747 and died at the age of 87, when he was then buried with his comrades.

Another odd note:  There are 48 graves for the Ronin present.  Added in their number is Kayano Shigezane, a retainer who was forced to commit seppuku when a family member disapproved of his taking part in the act.

A final note:  The Asano were restored to their status, but not as the Lords of Ako domain.

A festival for The 47 Ronin is celebrated at the temple on 14 December.

Entrance to the graves, with Oishi Chikara's in the background

One climbs the stairs above, where a monk and/or a volunteer will take 300 Yen and offer you lighted incense sticks, which are placed on the stone alters in front of each grave.

This was my second time in Sengaku-ji.  It is a humbling and haunting experience.

Head Washing Well - The well where the head of Kira was washed before being presented on the tomb of Lord Asano.

Further information:  If one wants to learn more, the Wikipedia link above is a great start.  Do not - and I mean DO NOT - by any means watch the more recent movie starring Keanu Reeves (whom otherwise I enjoy as an actor) - it has almost nothing to do with the actual story except there may be a revenge and 47 Ronin may be involved.  If you have a long period of time, there was a 1941 movie produced which, while not having the fighting, is probably more true to the actual events (located at archive.org). There have been more recent (1950's to 1970's) adaptations.  Perhaps unsurprisingly, it instantly became a classic in the samurai culture and remains so to this day.

For written works, I cannot recommend highly enough Donald Keene's translation of  Kandehon Chushingura (more colloquially known as "The Chushingura)".  Originally developed as a bunraku (puppet play), it had to recast the events to an earlier period due to Shogunal censorship but retains the spirit of the events (especially Oishi's deception).

The 47 Roinin (Source)

The 47 Ronin on their way to Sengaku-ji, stopped by locals for refreshment (Source)

Training 2024: Yasukuni Shrine

 Yasukuni Jinja ("Peaceful Country Shrine", located in Tokyo) is a Shinto Shrine created by the Meiji Emperor in 1869 to commemorate the spirits of those who died for the restoration of the Imperial Monarchy.  Since that time, it was expanded to include all who died in the service of Japan, which includes the Boshin War (1868-1869), the Sino-Japanese Wars (both 1894-1895 and 1947-1945), and the first Indochina War (1946-1954).  Over those years, it has been expanded to include all conflicts during the Meiji, Taisho, and early Showa reign (1868 to 1945), Koreans and Taiwanese killed in the service of Japan, and all those killed by World War II, regardless of nationality.  This includes Class A war criminals, which has lead to no Japanese Emperor attending the shrine since the 1970's.  

(Note:  Sakamoto Ryoma, a personal hero of the Bakamatsu period, is enshrined there.)

The first torii, the traditional Japanese gateway indicating the entrance into a holy precinct:

Statue of Omura Masujiro, founder of the Imperial Japanese Army (died 1869 by assassination):

A view towards another torii and the Outer Shrine:

Stone lantern:

The Outer Shrine, where anyone can visit.  Beyond this is the Inner Shrine and the area housing the kami (we went into it in 2020 as part of our demonstration):

Buttressed tree:

Area of the Outer Shrine:

As part of a display, each province of Japan contributed an artistic cherry blossom (sakura), which was to somehow represent that province:

Statue of War Widow with Children:  Donated in 1974, it was set in place to honor widows who raised their children after the War.