A Message From Sensei

From the Words Attributed to Oda Nobunaga

Reflections on the Kendo I Strive For

As I read through words and sayings commonly attributed to Oda Nobunaga, I am often struck by how closely many of their underlying ideas reflect what I have come to value through many years of practicing and teaching Kendo.

Not all of these sayings can be historically verified as Nobunaga’s own words. For me, however, their value lies not simply in who may have said them, but in what they can teach us when we reflect upon them through the practice of Kendo.

The following are my own interpretations—lessons that express the kind of Kendo I continue to seek.

“It also takes courage to step back.”

In Kendo, courage does not always mean moving forward.

There are times when we must resist the temptation to strike, adjust the distance, and begin our seme again.

But there is an important difference between stepping back and escaping.

The body may move backward, but the spirit must never retreat.

Even while creating distance, we maintain our connection with the opponent and prepare for the next opportunity.

That, too, is courage in Kendo.

“There are no absolutes.”

There is no point in Kendo at which we can say, “Now I have completed it.”

Something we were able to do yesterday may not work today. Something we could not understand when we were young may suddenly become clear after decades of training.

We should never allow our Kendo to become fixed.

We must continue questioning, changing, and learning.

The higher our rank becomes, the more willing we should be to return to the fundamentals.

“Be sensitive to the right moment.”

Of all these ideas, this is one that I consider especially important in Kendo.

Kendo is not simply a competition to see who can strike faster.

We apply pressure. We observe. We feel the opponent.

There is a moment when the opponent’s mind moves, when the kamae begins to break, when the opponent is about to strike, or when the opponent begins to retreat.

We must learn to recognize that moment—the ki, the opportunity.

Do not simply strike fast. Strike when the moment is right.

This is one of the ideals of Kendo that I continue to pursue.

“Have an ideal, and live by your convictions.”

We should have an ideal in our Kendo.

Winning alone should not be our purpose.

We should ask ourselves:

What kind of Kendo do I want to practice?

What kind of kendoka do I want to become?

We begin by learning from our teachers. Through mitori-geiko, we observe their Kendo and try to follow it.

But eventually, we must discover our own Kendo.

Do not merely imitate your teacher’s technique. Seek to understand the riai—the principles behind it.

To me, that is how a teacher’s Kendo is truly inherited.

“The greatest victory is to win without fighting.”

When we are young, we often try to win by striking faster.

As our Kendo develops, however, we begin to understand the importance of what happens before the strike.

Take the center. Apply pressure with the spirit. Create uncertainty. Cause the opponent to move.

By the time the opponent reacts, the decisive moment may already have been created.

My goal is to progress:

from striking in order to win,

to winning through seme and then striking.

And beyond that lies an even deeper ideal—the ability to control the encounter without needing to strike.

“Do not think it impossible. There is always a way.”

As we grow older, we cannot move exactly as we did when we were young.

But that should never become an excuse for our Kendo to stop developing.

When we lose speed, we can deepen our understanding of maai.

When physical strength diminishes, we can seek greater sae and riai.

When we can no longer rely on moving ourselves faster, we can learn how to move the opponent.

As the body changes, our Kendo should also change.

This is one reason Kendo can remain a lifelong pursuit.

“Everything begins and ends with preparation.”

An ippon is not created only at the instant the shinai reaches its target.

It comes from everything that has preceded it—daily kihon, proper appearance, reiho, care of our equipment, physical preparation, and our state of mind.

And when keiko ends, we reflect upon what happened.

That reflection becomes preparation for the next keiko.

Practice begins before we enter the dojo and continues after we leave it.

“One who has never known defeat may ultimately destroy himself.”

There is no shame in losing.

Defeat shows us what we still lack and what we still need to learn.

The greater danger comes when our rank becomes higher, people begin calling us “Sensei,” and we start believing that we already understand.

At that point, fewer people may correct us.

That makes self-reflection even more important.

When others no longer teach us, we must learn how to teach ourselves.

The higher our rank, the more humble we should become, and the more seriously we should remain students of Kendo.

“Follow your path. Do not be distracted by others.”

We do not need to compare our Kendo constantly with that of others.

Our bodies, ages, personalities, and experiences are different.

We should learn from our teachers, from our seniors, from our peers—and sometimes from our juniors and students.

But ultimately, each of us must walk our own path.

The goal is not simply to become better than someone else.

It is to become better than the person we were yesterday.

That continuous effort is shugyo.

“Work is something you must discover and create for yourself.”

The same is true of keiko.

We cannot improve simply by waiting for a teacher to tell us what to do.

We should constantly ask ourselves:

What can I learn today?

Why was I struck?

Why did my technique fail?

What can I learn from this opponent?

A serious student learns to discover his or her own problems.

Good keiko is not something a teacher simply gives us. We must also learn to create it ourselves.

“Do it or do not do it. That is all.”

In Kendo, if we wait until the opportunity appears and then begin thinking about whether to strike, the opportunity is already gone.

We apply seme.

The opponent breaks.

The moment comes.

Then there can be no hesitation.

Be patient and deliberate in creating the opportunity.

When the moment comes, commit completely.

This is what I understand by Sutemi does not mean attacking recklessly. It means that after sufficient seme and after recognizing the true opportunity, we abandon hesitation and give ourselves completely to the strike.

“Only by living wholeheartedly does one’s life truly shine.”

When we are young, we may pursue victory.

Later, we may pursue rank.

But if we continue practicing for many years, the meaning of Kendo gradually changes.

There is a time when we practice primarily for ourselves.

Then comes a time when we have a responsibility to teach and develop others.

And perhaps eventually, there comes a time when younger generations can learn something simply by watching how we practice, how we conduct ourselves, and how we continue our own shugyo.

Kendo is not only about taking ippon.

It is also about how we train, how we face others, how we face ourselves, and ultimately how we live.

That, to me, is Kendo.

A Lifelong Mitori-Geiko

I do not believe there is a final point of completion in Kendo.

When we are young, we learn through our bodies.

With experience, we begin to understand riai.

When we become instructors, we discover that we can learn from the very people we teach.

We learn by watching our teachers.

We learn from our fellow kendoka.

We learn from our students.

And we learn from the person we ourselves were yesterday.

Rank does not change the fact that we remain students of the Way.

Teaching does not end our own shugyo.

The teacher is also a student.

And perhaps this is one of the most important lessons Kendo has given me:

Kendo is a lifelong practice of 見取り稽古 — mitori-geiko.