The Mayonnaise Jar and 2 cups of coffee...
A Young Man, an Old Man, and a Drunk
Matajuro and the Art of the Sword
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Throughout the year, we will be adding stories pertaining to the nature of Martial Arts philosophy and practice.
A fervent fan of Noh theater performance, Tajima no Kami was attending a performance at which the entire court was present. The greatest actor of the time was performing. Tajima attentively watched his performance, which revealed a great self-mastery. His concentration appeared flawless and his gestures left no opening, just like a veteran soldier. Not having taken his eyes off the actor for a single second since the beginning of the performance, Master Kajima pushed a shout of kiai toward the actor. It was a discreet shout, but it didn't go unnoticed.
A murmur went through the audience. Looks were exchanged. The shogun himself turned around to see what was the matter.
Once the performance was concluded, the shogun hastened to summon Tajima no Kami to ask the reason for his strange behavior. The master contented himself with saying, "Ask the actor, he knows why."
In fact the actor admitted that, "the kiai echoed at the very moment
I experienced a momentary distraction because something in the decor had
changed."
The performance of Noh at the Edo castle was not a rare event. Not, the
stylized and subtle form of theater that the samurai naturally preferred
to the more common and extravagant Kabuki that was enjoyed by the other
classes was staged several times a year at the Tokugawa castle. Even so,
the appearance of Kanze Sakon, master, made the play a special occasion
in the capital. Noh is the most ritualized of any theater form. A single
gesture, a turning of the head or lifting of the arm, can convey meaning
of profound depth to the accomplished patron, so now actors had to train
throughout their careers with painstaking thoroughness. To assume difficult
poses and move with controlled, emotive face, their strength and their mental
concentration, their Zanshin (the spirit of alertness), had to be quite
comparable of the bugeisha (classical Japanese martial arts practitioner).
It was, therefore, a matter of great interest for Munenori to watch Kanze
on the stage. Invited to the play by Iemitsu, he studied the actor's movements
with fervent attention. The shogun, sitting in front of Munenori, turned
to him during a break in the play.
"Sensei," he whispered. "Is Kanze a man of Zanshin? Does his concentration ever falter?"
Munenori squinted, as if considering the question, but made no comment.
"Please tell me then, if you see it broken in him during the play."
When the performance was ended, Munenori touched Iemitsu on the shoulder. "Kanze's Zanshin is nearly flawless," he confirmed. "During the entire time he was on stage I saw him lose it only once, when he turned and sat near the pillar. At that moment he was without Zanshin."
To Iemitsu's awestruck wonderment, he later discovered that while he was hearing Munenori's explanation of Kanze's performance, Kanze himself was speaking of it to one of his assistants in the dressing room behind stage.
"There was a man sitting behind the shogun who was watching me with ferocious intensity," he said. "Can you tell me who he was?"
"Of course," replied the assistant. "That was Lord Yagyu,
the fencing master."
"Ah, that explains it then," Kanze said, nodding in understanding.
"What do you mean, master?" asked the puzzled assistant.
"My performance was a reasonably good one, but as I crouched during the scene by the pillar, my attention was distracted. It was only for an instant, yet as I turned toward the audience I saw Lord Yagyu smiling, as if he'd seen something missed by the rest. Indeed, he must have," Kanze finished to himself.
Indeed he had. Through the mental and physical challenges of a lifetime
of training in the martial disciplines of the Yagyu Shinkage Ryu and a commitment
to the principles and philosophy of Takuan's Zen, Munenori's was an enlightened
perception. His swordsmanship had gone far beyond mere technique and had
become, like Zen itself, a thing of the spirit.
Any act done in the spirit of Zanshin requires a level of concentration
that is common to Zen and Buddhist practices. An attentive and experienced
Martial Artist will recognize that quality (or lack thereof) in other areas
outside the Martial Arts.
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