Iaido

Not even the dark, bone-chilling wooden floor of the aging dojo on this cold winter morn could break my concentration.  I raise from a deeply focused meditation of what may have been minutes or hours, purified and centered.  Simple indeed--this task of mine.

I bow long and deep, my weapon resting at my side.  Then in a deliberate manner, I raise the sword in front of me, once again bowing long and deep and then, with a sense of finality, holster the weapon in my hakama.

In my seiza position on the chilled floor, I then return to another round of meditation.   Moments later I slowly lean forward with my hands positioned to draw my sword.  The moment my hands move from my side and my left hand grasps the scabbard, I become one with my weapon in both mind and spirit.

At the speed of light, my right leg surges forward and my drawn sword whistles upward, deftly cutting its mark.  The observer senses that only a disciplined student of the sword could have harnessed the mind and body harmony necessary for that lightning kill.  The second cut is even more devastating.  First upward, parting the cold air of the dojo with sonic-boom speed, then downward, with a simple, severing accuracy.

Following the centuries' old tradition, I rigidly sheath my sword into the lacquered saya.  I again bow with the happiness of knowing I am in harmony once again