Iaido: The Experience and the Way
by Paul Okami, Jigen-ryu and President of the New York Iaikai
(This article first appeared in Black Belt magazine in February of 1982)
It
was toward the end of autumn. All the windows of the dojo were open and a chilly
breeze was playing with a stack of papers in the corner. I had not made more
than two dozen movements of my body during the preceding five minutes, these
movements consisting of opening my eyes from mokuso (meditation); calmly rising
from seiza (formal seated posture); drawing my sword and slicing horizontally
as my right foot stamped forward; inching forward using my left knee and right
foot; cutting once vertically; pointing my blade to the rear; rising slightly
while bringing the blade down with a snapping motion of the wrist; placing my
forward foot to the rear and my rear foot to the front; returning the sword
to its saya (scabbard); bringing the rear foot forward to meet the front foot;
again assuming seiza and mokuso and then repeating the entire sequence. I used
to expend more purely physical energy cleaning out the sink after my daughter
had rinsed her paint brushes in it.
So why was the sweat creating little bird baths at my feet?
This question suddenly exploded into my consciousness. Why the hell was I sweating so much? I had 11 years of experience in karate-do behind me and was accustomed to performing long sequences of rapid, powerful movements without an equivalent downpour.
It was my third month of training in iaido (pronounced ee-eye-doh)-which literally means "way of the harmonious mind" but is often called the "art of the flashing blade"-the traditional Japanese sword form.
"Okami! Wake up! " It was my senpai's voice bringing me back to the reality of eight other people around me all performing kata with 28-inch-long razor blades with handles: the Japanese long sword (daito). This blade is considered the sharpest and most expertly made in the world. I had let my mind drift, and when practicing iai you just can't allow that to happen. And when I realized why you can't allow it, I understood a reason for the sweat: in iaido you are constantly reminded of the nature of life and death, the reality of your own mortality, and the fragility of your fellow humans.
The results of letting your mind go on "automatic pilot" in the early stages of training with the sword could be quite distressing-to your fingers or to even more vital areas of the body. (Later on in training you'll want your mind to be on a sort of automatic pilot called zanshin).
Stories were firmly planted into my memory by my senpai about students who put the sword into their hand instead of the scabbard when carelessly attempting noto (the special method of returning the sword to its saya without looking); or other unfortunates who, while leaning over, allowed their swords to slip out of the saya, and who then attempted to grab the tsuka (hilt) before it hit the ground . . . only they didn't grab the hilt. Need I say more? To this day I don't know if these stories were true, or if they were only senpai's way of insuring that they wouldn't come true!
After class, in the safety of the dressing room, I realized another reason for the pools of sweat: the mental and spir- itual effort involved in performing iaido kata properly, with the extremely detailed fine points of form which define the art, far exceeds that in karate-do. Although form and etiquette are of course vital in all traditional Japanese arts, iaido is defined by its form and etiquette. This is why it must be considered the ultimate expression of the do forms of Japanese martial arts, whose main concerns are the spiritual, physical and social development of the practitioner. The etiquette of the sword evolved out of necessity over centuries of continuous warfare. Because of the nature of devotion to martial skills, which formed the life style of the professional warrior, it was crucial to evolve strict codes of conduct to avoid misunderstood intentions and unnecessarily rolling heads.
In the beginning, this code was simply common sense. Just as one would not reach for a comb while a .357 magnum was directed at one's navel, so would a classical Japanese warrior pay strict attention to which hand he held his sword in when entering a room; what type of crouching posture to use and which side of his body the sword lay at while he was speaking; which foot was used to rise from seated positions, etc. Carelessness with one's body could conceivably result in death!
During the Tokugawa era, the constant inter-clan warfare that had characterized the history of Japan drew to an end. The country became unified under rule of the shogunate. This era is thought of as the time of the decline of the warrior in Japan.
But although the daily necessity for finely honed combat skills was no longer a fact of life for the bushi, the samurai were unwilling to give up the skills, craft, and spiritual insights they had gained over the centuries of bloodshed.
Thus, these men turned their attention inward. Fencing schools flourished. And the etiquette that began as common sense (and still functioned on that level; national "peace" did not mean that individual battles were not still common) became finely detailed and ritualized in a typically Japanese manner. The codes of conduct began to take on distinctly spiritual overtones as did the practice of the martial art itself. The refinement of skill was now important not for physical survival on the battlefield, but (as trite as it may sound) spiritual survival on one's private battlefield. Thus, modern iaido was born.
The preservation of the etiquette of the sword has a twofold importance: first, it is a way to stay rooted to the original meaning of the sword as an instrument of war while continuing to develop skills of swordsmanship that are directed toward inner peace. Second, it is a way of learning self-control in all things. If one can be careful and purposeful even in the act of preparing to seat oneself, then this care can be carried over into social dealings and into one's inner life. The etiquette is also extremely beautiful. It is simply right in ways that cannot be explained, but which traditional martial artists, by definition, understand.
Recently there has been quite a lot of material written detailing the differences between jutsu and do forms in the martial arts. In particular, people like Donn Draeger, Dave Lowry, Randell Hassell, et al, have dealt with this and related subjects admirably and in detail.
As the purpose of this article is simply to acquaint the reader with the nature of iaido in a very basic way, these definitions as they pertain to the practice of the sword will be briefly reviewed with the suggestion that the reader refer to the aforementioned sources for detailed information on do and jutsu.
Kenjutsu is the generic term for Japanese sword technique in combat applicator. That is, once the sword is out of its scabbard, and the warrior engaged in combat, how does he thrust, cut, parry, feint, step, etc.?
Iailutsu refers to the particular techniques of rapidly drawing the blade and cutting with a single motion. These techniques were refined enormously during the Tokugawa era when the need for the sword was often unexpected, due to the absence of formal warfare.
Kendo is the modern sport/way consisting of sparring matches between practitioners wearing protective equipment (gu) and using a bamboo mock sword called shinai.
Iaido is the formalized way of blending iaijutsu with meditation into a specific spiritual, philosophical and moral discipline, centered on the performance of kata. It is based on the desire both to preserve the combat skills of ancient times and, more importantly, to preserve the secrets, learned by the great warriors of the past, of how to live purely, fully, courageously and honorably; neither seeking nor fearing death; neither fearing nor underestimating one's enemies or adversities; and seeing nature as neither friend nor foe.
It is because of this spiritual element in the training that the form and etiquette of iaido are at the very heart of the way rather than being an unnecessary obscurification of "realism" as some have misunderstood. If iaido were realistic in that sense, it would not be iaido but simply a technique; and would be on a somewhat less evolved plane of human expression.
In point of fact, the first level (shoden) of teaching in Muso Shinden-ryu, probably the most widely practiced style of iaido, consists of 12 forms called Omori-ryu that purposefully emphasize extremely formal, restricting movements, inapplicable to any conceivable genuine combat situation. (The techniques however are genuine, and with modifications could of course be deadly.
The purpose of this lack of "realism" in Omori is twofold: First it teaches how to control the body in such a way as to make the higher, more "combat oriented" forms more fluid, precise, and assured. Secondly, Omori teaches infinite patience, and tends to weed out those who are merely drawn to the mayhem inherent in the techniques. Unless you love iaido, Omori is boring.
Learning to control the sword is learning to control your drinking or smoking
should you have those habits ... or your spending if you squander money . .
. or your temper . . . or even your human adversaries. This, and the confidence
and serenity that follow the study of the "art of controlling your own
life" are the treasured results of training in iaido; as well as the intended
results of training in all traditional Japanese art.
(For more information please visit Okami sensei at http://www.newyorkbudokai.net/ )