An Uchideshi Experience: Chapter Six
Iaido
I never really liked iaido, but I did it anyway.
After I received my green belt in Seibukan, Sensei told me I could train in another one of the arts taught at the Academy. Iaido and ninjitsu were my options, and it took some serious mulling over to make a decision.
I didn’t really choose iaido as much as decide against ninjitsu. It seemed to me that ninjitsu had a lot of, for lack of a better term, dark energy surrounding it. Running around in black suits, chucking shurikens (throwing stars), there was a little too much make-believe in it for my taste. Plus, a few of the practitioners I had run into had an ego trip that emanated this message: You don’t know the secrets I know. Mess with me and I’ll kill you. I am a ninja! I didn’t want to get involved in that. Those guys would hurt me.
That isn’t to say that make believe isn’t also involved in iaido. Nobody walks around with a sword these days, so if the question of practical value pops up, push it back down because it’s really nil. Devotees will attest that much can be learned from the sword. To a certain extent, I can agree. From energy extension, body coordination, and mental focus to simply strengthening up your wrists, the sword can offer much as a training tool, but you have to practice. A lot. Hour after hour must be put in before you can start reaping practical by-products of sword training, and I’d rather spend that time kicking the heavy bag or doing arm bar drills.
Sensei gave me a private introductory lesson on how to use the sword. How to bow in, how to wear it, how to draw it, etc. It was sorely needed. I was pretty dangerous, with the sword falling out of the saya (scabbard) half the time, and the other half spent stabbing myself, trying to put it back in. Even though I had previously declared drawing and sheathing the sword to be physically impossible, after I got better at it, I dropped the idea that this art was a conspiracy against me.
Overall, I must say, it was a good discipline. Wednesdays were my long days at the dojo, starting with the kids’ classes in the afternoon, usually training through the breaks until the seven o’clock class, and after that was finished, iaido until nine thirty at night. I was always fading halfway through iai, hypoglycemia having already set in and my irritability steadily increasing. After class was finished, I would oil Sensei’s sword, the dojo sword I was using, then put them both away. Finally, after swinging for my supper, I allowed myself to eat.
But being able to bear discomfort isn’t the kind of discipline that iaido’s all about. The real work with the sword is being able to honestly assess where you are. I’m not just talking about iai class, I mean in all areas of your life. It starts with the sword, then, if practiced properly, spills over into other activities.
From the outside, iaido seems ridiculously simple. Draw the sword, maybe do a few cuts since it’s out, then put it back. It looks pretty, you can make a cool whooshing sound if you cut the air properly, but it doesn’t seem like the stuff that could make a dent in your daily life. Hey, where’s The Work?
It’s all in the details. Most importantly, iaido’s a solo activity, which means you don’t have to listen to anybody else if you don’t want to. In Jujutsu, a partner can force you to listen to him by physically proving that your technique doesn’t work if practiced incorrectly. In iaido, if you want to draw the sword so fast that you bend it, swing with your arms and not your body, or sheathe the sword as ungloriously as it was freed, you can. Instructors and peers may offer advice, but the onus is on the student to trust in the criticism, then correct and improve. If you want to just let the words go by and hang out in your rut of bad habits, there’s nothing and no one to stop you.
Some methods are better than others, and it may be ugly, but as long as you can yank that thing out and shove it back in, it’s swordsmanship. It may not be good, or as effective as it could be, but it works. That, however, is not iaido. That’s something else entirely.
Iaido is constantly striving to better yourself by monitoring and improving every aspect of drawing, cutting with, and sheathing the sword. It’s hard to do, continually searching for things to improve upon, not allowing yourself to rest on your laurels. Most people don’t consciously believe that they’re choosing to stagnate, but they do, since it’s the default result of not integrating criticism into improvement. There’s always something to work on with the sword, and iaido will train you to look intently for where work is needed. It won’t fix anything by itself, but it may prepare you to look deeper into your own life, and challenge you to examine the most fundamental attitudes you hold. One of the most uncomfortable discoveries I’ve found began with earnestly ironing out physical flaws in my swordwork, then continuing that level of hyper-awareness to question a very personal facet: my own honesty.
I like to think of myself as an honest person, but it’s pretty easy to be honest with others. If you’re not, there are consequences when the lies are cut and the truth is known. What about being honest with yourself? No one can call you on that except you.
I took a look at myself and realized that I lie all the time. Not necessarily in an overt manner, but at the very least by mental omission. Choosing not to think of my mess-ups, the trouble I’ve caused others, things I’ve said that should have never left my lips, awkward moments and segments of my life; in short, all the things that I gloss over because they’re uncomfortable to think about. I’m not recommending that you dwell on the past, but I think it’s necessary to fully glean the lessons from the moments you enjoy least, so the fear of bringing up the past won’t hold you from progressing in the future.
It’s agonizingly simple: Can you be honest with yourself? Are you willing to listen to criticism and acknowledge those problem areas? Are you able to honestly assess where you’re at and work through your problems, instead of burying them or running away? Can you acknowledge things from your past that you thought you’d left behind, or hoped you wouldn’t ever have to dredge up again?
I’d like to look away during those moments of discomfort, but I know that’s not going to serve me in the long run. I think those key seconds of acknowledgement or dismissal can define who you are as an individual. Which path will you travel by? Can you eat bitter now and trust in the sweet?
If you can, I believe you will grow, improve, excel, and transcend. If you can’t, you will remain, cajoling yourself, resting on a plateau. So as much as I dislike iaido, I must admit, it helps you do The Work. It may not be easy, but I don’t think internal evaluations can ever be. I’m trying to eat bitter, be honest, and to do the right thing, but it’s seldom the easy option. I don’t even like doing it, but I know I’ll be better off down the road.
I guess I’ll do it anyway.