Instructor's Corner

Introduction

This is an occasional column that hopes to shed a little light on the practice at Iaikai. The columns will stay until a new one goes up, after which the old one will disappear into my personal archive. I am hoping that these small posts will be thought-provoking in a good way, showing something of the character of our practice and, for those who do other styles, perhaps prompt some thoughts of your own on the nature of what you do. 

Why practice?

This is a question I have been asked numerous times by many people, including, initially, by Otani Sensei himself long ago.  It is also a question I have always had a difficult time answering even to this day.  Iaido is unique among martial arts in that simple prowess with a deadly weapon is not the sole, or even most prominent reason for practice.  It is impractical – we do not carry swords to defend ourselves nowadays, and takes years to learn.  Much of the heart of the practice is meditative, but not overtly spiritual, nor is it linked to any particular religious practice.  Moreover, to learn iaido properly, one needs some sort of grounding in Japanese movement and cultural aesthetics.  As difficult as the techniques are, learning technique alone does not make one an iaidoka. 

Otani Sensei’s answer to the question years ago prompted some self-conscious laughter: “It’s because, in a previous life, you were all once Japanese.”  Indeed, those of us who have pursued Asian martial arts have met our share of Americans who have decorated their homes in Japanese style and have tried to abandon themselves in their interpretation of another culture, put on like a light jacket (or an overcoat).  In many cases, their imagined culture is much more exciting than the real thing; self-made samurai, practicing against the background of some sort of video game or chambara movie that exists in their heads.  But in the end, they are no different than they were before.

Sensei’s point was that echoes of previous lives can exist in the present, and people might feel an impulse to find things in the now that connect them to their past, even if their past is not a conscious memory.  That is the explanation many of my Japanese friends concur with. Since I am not religious, I have some trouble agreeing with that answer myself.  I have never, in fact, been able to come up with a simple answer for why I practice, and especially when someone presses me, my mind goes blank altogether.  Maybe there is no one answer, but a set of answers that evolves over time. Maybe that is why I still practice after 24 years.  For me, even the most basic movements provide room for deeper exploration and improvement.  The practice never, ever gets old.

But if I ever figure it out, I promise to take out a billboard somewhere.