The Moment You See Your Teacher Differently

The hair was different, but there was something familiar about the face.

And the posture.

The morning training session had concluded and we had about thirty minutes before the afternoon session started.

Quiet conversations had started around the dojo, along with a few students stepping outside to get some air.

I found myself in the entry hall to the dojo looking at the old pictures on the wall.

Pictures from the 1980s, some framed, some left unframed haphazardly displayed on the wall, trying not to attract any attention.

The last guy in the last row in one of the pictures.

A gathering of sixty or so men, and one very brave woman, at a new forgotten dojo sitting with the master who somehow looked the same defying time.

I could just ask him.

The afternoon session ended with a demonstration, a chance for all the gathered teachers, mine included, to give a brief demonstration to the master and the students assembled in the dojo.

Some of the demonstrations were flashy, other rather humble focusing a few simple cuts with the sword.

When my teacher took the stage and drew his sword, it wasn’t what he did, but the flash of what I think I saw.

Hesitation?

Doubt?

I knew that feeling, but seeing it manifest in him felt alien.

It was one thing to demonstrate before a gathering, but in-front of the master, my teacher’s teacher.  

That moment in the movement when suddenly you realize your teacher is analyzing your moments and there is no way to hide you faults. Your teacher could be on the other side of the dojo talking to a senior student, but the moment their eyes move and make contact you feel it.

The Master had a few nice words to say, but the echo in my teacher’s posture shared differently as he returned the sword to the saya at his waist.

The Master could see something I was missing, something that my teacher saw.

It left me wondering for a moment.

If my teacher had flaws, what did that say about my movement?

Our group had just finished changing and was ready to head out as I lingered again in the entry hall looking at the picture on the wall. It took a few moments to realize my teacher was standing next to me, his gaze not on my but the picture hanging on the wall.