The dojo was cold.
It was always cold in the winter, and it took a few minutes of stretching to warm up the body enough for me to get up and start preparing for the day.
Class was still a few hours away, but my routine was to always have everything ready to go right after waking up.
Put the mats out, hang up the punching bags, put any needed training tools at the top of the racks, vacuum the floor, and make sure everything on the kamiza is correct.
The phone was ringing from the office across the hall and when I picked it up it was the teacher.
Class was canceled for today due to the weather.
Weather?
Pulling up the shades in the office there was a blizzard outside, a foot of snow on the ground, and almost a complete white out.
I was instructed to keep the dojo open and if anybody called to let them know that class was canceled and to be safe at home.
One of the senior students was the first to arrive at the dojo and when he walked through the door he looked frozen. The trains had stopped service and coming from the city he was forced to get off a few miles from the dojo.
I got him inside and sat him down next to a small space heater in the office to warm up.
Shortly after that, two more students arrived, living close enough to the dojo they decided to walk to class.
When the phone rang again it was the teacher asking me if anybody had showed up for class, and at this point there were about a dozen or so of us at the dojo.
Get them ready, I’ll be there shortly.
Ready for what?
When the teacher arrived the class was dressed, bowed in, and ready at the dojo, but we were instructed instead to put our jacket and boots on over our uniforms and to line up in the hallway.
Across the dojo on the corner was a park with a walking trail that took it through the hills, and often in the summer classes would be held outside. This time, in the middle of Winter the park looked like an alien landscape.
Juniors in the front, seniors in the back.
Keep up.
And with that we all went for a run with the teacher in the lead following the snow-covered path as best we could.
When we arrived at the top of one of the hills one could see the dojo, the Japanese restaurant and the train station in the distance.
A moment to pause and catch your breath.
There was a bit of a collective shock when we received instruction on how we were going to down the hill. Not following the path, but cutting across and down the slope of the hill itself.
Keeping up with the teacher while observing what he was doing was going to be key.
The descent down took us in a diagonal pattern.
Running across the slope of the hill, and when the running became to fast, using a tree to slingshot round and cut across a new diagonal.
Somehow, we all made it down the hill and now back in the park class was about to begin.
That was just the warmup.
As the blizzard increased it reached a point where one could only hear the teacher, let alone make out anybody next to you.
Follow my voice and keep up.
At some point we arrived back at the dojo covered in snow, ice, and soaking wet.
A makeshift clothesline was hung up in the hallway for jackets and the uniforms as we changed into our street clothes which was an odd site to see in the dojo out on the main floor.
We all looked so out of place with the lack of formality.
The office was the smallest room in the dojo, and it was in there we all gathered around the space heater and hot tea was served by the teacher.
This was a different kind of tea ceremony from the one that normally followed class. More informal as we were unable to sit based on the hierarchy in the dojo.
After some questions and light conversation, once everybody was warmed up, class for the afternoon was dismissed.
As the students left the dojo and disappeared into the snowstorm, the teacher pulled both the senior student and me aside.
The trains to the city were still shut down, and the snow was forecasted to continue into the evening. With no way to get home, the senior student was instructed to stay with me at the dojo tonight, and once conditions were better in the morning, he could leave.
As uchi deshi I’d be expected to show him the routine.
Normally after a Saturday class the group would go out to dinner with the teacher, either at the Japanese Restaurant or the pizza shop and after that I would return to the dojo and practice by myself for a few hours before turning in for the night.
The snow and the senior student changed that course of action.
While we couldn’t go out for dinner, that didn’t mean we couldn’t eat.
Sometimes I’d get hungry at night in the dojo, so I always kept a supply of instant-noodles, spices, and some fresh fruit around. Practice had made me adept at making a noodle dish off a hot plate, and after the hours of training outside, the cold and the snow those noodles were the best that both of us had ever tasted.
After cleaning up and relaxing for a bit, it was time to get back in uniform.
Uniform?
The dojo rules were the dojo rules.
After getting back from dinner it was time to practice.
We finished a little before midnight and honestly, we were both ready for sleep, but there was one more preparation to be made and it had to be exact.
I explained we would be sleeping out on the dojo floor as I pulled out a box from the storage closet. Inside was my sleeping bag, and extra blankets, enough to make a passable second bedroll for the senior student.
After laying out my sleeping bag, next to it was my folded hakama and top, and next to this removed from its cloth bag was my mogito.
The senior student copied my layout out of curiosity.
Was every Saturday night like this?
Yes.
It was probably around 3 AM when I woke up, my internal clock being set from waking up at the same time each Saturday.
The snow outside had stopped and the light from the street was steaming into the dojo creating a mix of soft light and shadows across the floor.
I should wake him up first was my though as I went over and gently whispered to the senior student, taking a few moments to realize and snap into focus regarding where he was and who was speaking to him.
Get dressed and be ready I instructed him as we put on our hakama and tied our mogito.
He was just about to ask me what was going on when he also heard it.
The outside-front door to the dojo quietly unlocking.
Light footsteps coming up the stairs.
The main door slowly opening and closing.
Followed by silence.
I was still as shocked as the senior student when the teacher suddenly appeared in the corner of the dojo.
Class was about to begin.
This class was different.
Conducted in silence, on the interplay of the borders of light and darkness in the dojo, all one had was feeling.
You could see bits and pieces of the kenjutsu kamae, flashes of the movement, and the sound of feet moving on the wooden floor.
Soft steps, had steps, sliding steps, and no steps are all one reliably really had to decode where the teacher was, and what was coming next.
Visible movement was hidden, masked by the shadows, and often the hiss of the sword passing through the air was all one had to know that if this wasn’t practice it would have been a different outcome.
There was nothing to instinctively learn, all one could do is try to keep up.
And that was the entire point of this, the grand lessons behind all the lessons.
Keep up, keep going, and one day in the future it just happens.
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