Katana ~ the Journey to Live Steel (pt 4)

Nalini MacNab
Aug 24, 2017 · 8 min read

In sword training it is said that the sword represents the spirit. The weapon becomes an extension of the wielder.

My first practice swords were a handed-down wooden bokken and a brand-new size 36 shinai (bamboo slats wrapped in pieces of leather and twine) for practice. The shinai was new because I needed a shorter sword. The longer version tipped in my small hands, my ‘weaker’ wrists, until they strengthened with practice.

Live steel was not the preferred implement of my art. That was for the Iaido practitioners, the guys with the weird samurai-styled top knots that looked particularly strange when they weren’t made from straight, black, Asian tresses. Stereotypical I know, but true. Some styles are not to be worn by all. Weirdness ensues.

Live steel is used in kendo mostly for show. The exercise of extending my energy into something that could describe a circle of energy around my body in a deadly dance of grace, was about to become anything but ‘show’.

Most katanas, available in stores or online, are cheaply mass-produced decorative items made to sit on a display stand or hang on someone’s wall. I never wanted one of those. The real blades, honed and sharpened by a Master, never move outside of secret circles. Their price is beyond the reach of anyone not extremely wealthy and a collector or supremely dedicated to the art. I wasn’t destined for one of those either, but I wanted something real. I wanted a blade that would become part of me.

So, of course, I looked online because who doesn’t? I don’t live in Japan or near a Japanese community, and I wanted a gracefully curved katana, not a straight, Chinese blade. I wasn’t going to find that in the phone book or some ‘Joe’s Japanese Junk’ shop.

When I saw the simple, smooth, rosewood-handled, blade in the online catalogue I knew I wanted it. I knew its balance was perfect even from the photo. Nothing fancy, no ornamental artwork to be seen, this was a high quality, functional weapon that I could use in training.

I happened onto this exclusive online brochure by accident, while searching for something else. ‘Each custom-made blade is one of a kind’, caught my eye. Knowing how many mass producers advertise in this way, I was skeptical, but I read on. The information seemed legitimate and the shop owner certainly knowledgeable about his craft.

The voice of reason shouted that I had no use for such a weapon, and that I was being silly to even consider it. What did I want something like this for, to hang on a wall? How much would I truly use it?

I knew the feeling of it in my hand. I knew its weight, its flexibility. This was a new blade, how could we have known one another before?

It’s the essence you recognize, not the steel.

Every martial artist fantasizes that they have had samurai past lives, been a monk in a shaolin temple or something like that. I had heard them all and laughed right along with the skeptics. What a cliché. I recognized this blade? Sure.

“Will you practice with me?” I asked it, feeling the light beginning to glimmer within the blade. My curiosity began to overcome my doubts.

The online photo of the sword seemed to flicker for a moment.

“You don’t have a personality yet, do you?” Another slight flicker glimmered within the photo.

That comes with the wielder.

THAT voice I know. I phoned the shop owner. He was all business and clearly not going to sell this blade to me.

“The weapon chooses the wielder you know. Does this one feel like your own? Please explain your circumstances and why you want this sword.”

I was quiet for a few moments, thinking. There was more to this than a surface inquiry from a seller.

“I have a customer right now. Perhaps you could phone back when you have made up your mind. I will put the sword aside for you.” With that, he hung up the phone.

I refreshed my browser only to see that that particular sword was no longer listed. I must have been dreaming or out of my mind. I chose to forget all about it.

***

Dressed in my kendo uniform, without armor for once, I glided into the tatami room. It was small, with no furnishings except for a low cabinet built against one wall. On top of the cabinet a katana rested in its stand. Not the usual two-bladed display stand, this arrangement seemed designed to suit the sword. The room was not a training room, nor a part of any kind of shared family space. The blade was at home here.

I moved toward the cabinet, gliding quietly on tabi-clad feet.

“You have kept me waiting.” The sword knew its place. I was about to learn mine.

“Forgive me, my friend, I was detained.” Further explanation would be rude.

“Not for the first time,” its voice was curt and reserved.

Bowing, I lifted the sword and unsheathed it in one swift movement. I felt the ki begin to flow outward from my hara (the navel center, source of power in the body in the Asian traditions) and into my arms and legs, joining with the energy of the sword.

Stored in the blade were the accumulations of countless practices and meditations. And there was something else, an infusion of celestial light. As the ki stored in my body met the energy of the sword, the blade blazed with life.

Whirling through techniques born of many disciplines, the blade and I trained, making music from movement. The precise thrusts of Kendo and Iaido created silvery bell-like tones that surgically structured the light around us. The flowing moves of Tai Chi Chuan and Taoism created currents of light, surging and ebbing throughout the cosmos.

The sound crested into a wave, creating, purifying, fulfilling my long desire for immersion in the Infinite. Then, a thread of dissonance entered the space. I couldn’t hear over an odd chiming… what was that sound?

I looked for the source of the intrusion in the bare tatami room, and felt the space around me fading away.

I rolled over on the sofa where I had dozed off, silencing the alarm. Aah. Not yet. Not yet. As I drifted off again I realized. I’m dreaming… this is a dream.

My living room faded around me and I opened my eyes into the tatami room once again, merging with the blue-eyed strawberry blonde warrior still flowing through the moves of a form I had never practiced in earth-space-life. The noticed, for the first time, that sword led the motion.

“This is a dream.” I stated out loud. I was sure of it now. How else could these moves come so effortlessly?

“Is that so?” commented the living blade. “ We shall see.”

Swept into the motion once more, I surrendered to ki and katana, aligning my will with the task at hand. Playing with light and tonality, the sword and I began to dance.

***

The snooze alarm yanked me out of my dream so abruptly that I forgot where I had been. The sheets were soaked as were my pajamas. Laundry day. I must have been dreaming again.

It wasn’t until I was in the shower that parts of the dream came back to me. It was something about training and dancing with a sword. I paused in mid-shower, dropping the soap. The sword?

Dream school? I don’t believe in dream school, no matter what the sages say. That is new age nonsense. Training is training, even when cultivated over many lives.

Is that so?

I wrapped a towel around my dripping hair, and picked up the phone. I couldn’t remember who I was calling until the owner of the Japanese specialty shop answered the phone.

Moshi-moshi.”

“Oh, hello, this is…”

“Yes. “ He interrupted me mid-introduction. “You are calling about the katana I put aside for you the other day. It has been waiting for you.”

“I…how do you know it has been waiting for me?” No stranger to the mystical, I was still confused.

“I told you. The weapon chooses the wielder.” I could hear his smile over the phone line. “Do you not understand what I am telling you? This blade belongs to you.”

Hai!” I answered in Japanese without thinking, which made him laugh out loud.

“When will you come to purchase it?”

“Oh, I thought you could send it? Your website indicates…”

“That is for those who do not understand. For those individuals, I make swords that are unique, yes, but not alive. “

“I will be in town for business early next week. If I give you my credit card now, I can collect the sword then bring it with me on my return flight. I’ll have to check a bag though.” I was thinking out loud and he knew it.

“Don’t worry. Once you are introduced, I will package the weapon so the airline will let you put it right in the overhead compartment. No problem. They won’t make you check it. I have done this many times. What day will you come?”

I named the day and he collected the pertinent information. As I was about to give him credit card number he interrupted again.

“No, no no,” he laughed. “Cash only.”

“Cash?” I would have to fly with that much cash? Ummm. Well no, of course, I could pop into the bank in town. I was being silly but still I hesitated.

“Why, cash?”

“You know I don’t sell my blades to just anyone.” His tone said ‘idiots’. “ I thought you would never call back and removed this blade from the inventory so that you would lose interest. The katana made me hold it for you. So I know you do understand.”

“This is an energy exchange, not just a business transaction,” I began.

“Yes,” he interrupted again. “The blade is smarter than either of us, apparently.” Still laughing, he gave me directions to his shop from my hotel. “GPS can’t find me,” he laughed again. “Too much traffic down here. Better if I tell you myself. Write it down.”

***

I arrived at the appointed time to collect my purchase, and gave the cash to the shop owner. He was an Iaido practitioner himself, possibly an instructor. He didn’t have to tell me. The tip of his non-dominant index finger, the one that holds the rim of scabbard when a blade is sheathed, was missing. That can happen with a fully sharpened blade, a real katana, when the practitioner is the slightest bit careless or distracted. My kendo instructor’s left hand was the same. He told me the story the first time I took him out for a meal after practice. This man, this shopkeeper, had just earned my respect.

My bow to him, as I accepted the sword into my outstretched hands, was real. The minute the sword landed on my open palms, I gasped at the connection. The shop owner smiled.

“Yes,” he nodded gently. “You will have many adventures. Wield it well.”

He trundled off to the back of the shop to package my new friend for the flight. He said he was ‘putting the sword to bed’ so it would sleep well and awake refreshed.

I wondered what I was getting into. Not the training, but this gift, this oddly orchestrated purchase.

And what was with the dreams?

Disney: promotion image from Mulan

If you enjoyed this installment (it probably ought to have been a series) please ‘appreciate’ so others might enjoy it as well. This is one of my favorite chapters. Thanks!

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