Three Swords Of A Similar Reflection

Before I leave for the day, I pause for a moment before the simple kamiza at the top of my bookshelf.

A moment of reflection before heading out that if today is the day, I resolve myself to be remembered well with the conduct that is expected of me.

Underneath is a similar simple rack made of driftwood we found on the beach after a storm, which holds three swords.

The top sword in the ready position is quite boring to look at compared to its similar cousins.

The handle wrapping in simple cord in a utilitarian pattern, the tsuba is simple hammered iron, the rest of the furniture similar iron, along with a lightly stained saya.

The blade itself is a bit thicker, finished with a duller polish, the hamon a bit hidden.

The first time I traveled up the mountain was on my 21^st birthday.

My mother asked me what I wanted to do for the landmark day, but wasn’t surprised when I told her I was already committed. The day of the gathering was that day, and this was the first time I was invited to attend.

We were asked to arrive at parking area at 6 AM, to be safe I was there by 5:30 AM, bokken in hand.

The hike up the mounting took a little over an hour and we arrived just as the Sun was rising. Setup took another hour or so and by 8 AM the training began.

Initial practice was with a wooden sword, as the group reviewed the basic stances and patters of cutting. That first time I already had a few thins working against me, tired from the hike up, and a bit disoriented as we were on the side of the mountain and for me, very high up.

After a small break at around noon, the second half of the training began, and for this my participation was limited by sitting off to the side and watching the senior students.

If I was diligent and a little lucky, it would be five to eight years or so before I could fully participate.

Shinken reflected off the mid-day sun as rolled up mats and bamboo were cut in complete silence.

The swords being used were different then the mogito used in the dojo.

The fittings were plan, with no adornment, the wrapping more utilitarian.

The blades had a deeper curve, a heavier spine, and were not finished with a full polish.

Five to eight years, sometimes even more.

I could wait.

There was still training in watching the cuts and seeing how the teacher did them and conducted himself.

The second sword was the opposite of the first.

Completely Western in design, a long thin blade ending in an ornate single handed grip with a cross guard. The handle and guard were a deep red, a green star adoring both sides.

The scabbard was equally ornate, also finished in red and green.

It was a few weeks after Corpus Christi Day that I was given instructions on what to make and how to make them. Some did them all at the same time, other one at a time. The timing wasn’t important, the intention was.

When I was ready, they were to be presented for inspection.

Laid out on the table was my sword which was the first to be inspected.

The inspector moved around the table in a circle looking at the different angles, noting the style and selection of colors being used before stopping in the East.

There was no need to unsheathe the sword, by closing their eyes they could see what they needed to see regarding it.

This was the one I used the least, perhaps only unsheathing it four or five times at most.

The third sword was on the stand was made of wood.

Not in the style of a simple bokken, but in the pattern of a much older sword.

A sword that no longer exists, yet was the father of them all.

A thick and heavy double-sided blade, stout tsuba, and a long flat handle ending in a large disk.

It as the custom for the New Year to put on a display, an embu for the first class of the new year. Each student would perform according to their responsibility and rank in the dojo, as invited guests would watch, followed by some light food and drinks in the dojo afterwards.

With regard to visible responsibility I had gone as far as I could go, and for the past few years my demonstration would be with the teacher of the dojo.

He would read a short poem, followed by taking two training weapons of the wall and passing one to me, followed by an exchange of movement back and forth.

Yari, naginata, rokusahku bo, jo.

This year, after the poem about falling leaves, he handed me a wooden sword which I had never seen in practice before, while similarly picking up a matching wooden sword that had the marks of being well used and taken care of.

I wanted to ask what I was supposed to do with it, as I had no formal memory of body postures, cuts, or forms with it.

None of that was needed, it was just the movement of the sword, which was really just the extended movement of the body.

It was after the food and drink, when the dojo started clearing out that the wooden sword was given to me, and explained to me.

It was an old pattern, so old that nothing formal exists for it anymore, just the dreams and shadows long forgotten, waiting to be resurrected.