A Holy Pilgrimage

Life goes on and one can only hope that those is power search their souls and do what is right and not simply what is expedient or favorable to their own ends. Power is a drug, a dangerous addiction, I wrote the following blog a few months ago related to power of another type. I hope you enjoy it.

A Holy Pilgrimage

Many years ago I set out on a holy pilgrimage to find the pure warrior. I am still in search of both the ideal and the man. I know that from where I stand I have a long path yet to walk and that I personally fall far short of the ideal. My search has led me to several mentors and instructors, books and videos, and Internet forums.
I have queried other men and women, martial artists, religious, and otherwise. None of them have seen the pure warrior either. In the long arduous process I have found many fools and profilers who thought they qualified. Following the thorny heroes’ path revealed many of the things that ultimately caused me to disqualify them. I have shared some of the same faults and these have sullied my quest, tarnished my armor.
My Abbot once told me, "Never give a sword to a man who cannot dance." In my younger years I assumed this had everything to do with coordination or physical balance. It is amazing how youth sees so clearly, even if not accurately. This old Celtic proverb is about balance, but not the physical type. As I find myself aging and needing stronger prescription glasses it is ironic how much clearer I see some things, things of the inner heart. As Miyamoto Musashi said in his seminal work The Book of Five Rings, there are two types of sight, kan and ken. One is physical, the other is intuitive, and the latter is by far the more powerful. It is the second sight that I more recently find myself reverting to.
As I grudgingly pass 60 years of age, I am also beginning to realize that the pure warrior may not be endowed with 20/20 vision, a set of taut abdominals, and bulging pectorals. His walk may be a little tottery at times, but his balance remains impeccable. The pure warrior’s hearing, although dulled by age, clearly hears the movement of eternity ticking in his ears. He can still swing a sword lively and deftly side-slip any sword cut. His attacker never sees him move, and only the pressure of the master’s sword against his flesh informs him of the folly of his ways.
In a sense it is all about balance! As we bustle through our youth we swing from one extreme to another, pushing and shoving trying to expand exponentially. Like a boat rocketing down a river gorge we are raw emotion and energy. Over time we learn how to modulate the swings and find a sense of balance and moderation in our life. (At least most of us do.) As our reserve of energy diminishes we see that taking the path between the rocks is easier than bouncing off them or grinding over the top of them. In our youthful esprit when our karate instructor tells us that to be fast you need to be soft, smooth, and flowing, we nod yes and continue to move as fast as our bio-mechanics will allow. Our inter-personal actions often reflect the same jerky, quick to ire, non-flowing actions. We tend to enter into and carry out our personal relationships in an equally brusque fashion, without grace or elan. In fact, elan does not enter into our vocabulary until later in life, and until we age a little we do not have the faintest idea of real balance or power. Balance and power require more than application of force. The Japanese refer to it as Bun and Bu, the combination of fine arts and war. The Celt also knew that the pure warrior had to be able to dance, compose rhyme, perhaps carve wood or form calligraphy.
Up until his death, the best students in the Nagoya Yagyu kai, some of them in their sixties, took great pride in testing their skills against the unbeatable master, Yagyu Nobuharu. Over seventy years of practice had embued Yagyu Sensei with perfect timing. The sword cuts of its own accord without the need of excessive power, and the master’s task is to simply guide it on its path. When speed and power had begun to leave him, his intuitive sight and his exquisite sense of timing and distance still enabled him to defeat men many years younger. I think that there, within the frail body of Yagyu Nobuharu, beat the imposing heart and immovable spirit of a pure warrior. Even unto his end, I bet you would never have gotten Nobuharu sensei to admit to being anything other than a student, also in search of the pure warrior.