Frustration is a good thing – and knowing enough to know how bad you are is a blessing. Or at least that’s what I keep telling myself.

After 11 months training in Iaido, I’ve apparently reached that delicate point of balance between having a grasp of the basic movements expected of me, and understanding that I can’t do them well at all. This is common point in every martial artist’s journey, and I have been at this point many times before. It is often that point at which the causal drop out, becoming increasingly frustrated with the minor details, that may seem utterly trivial, that must be constantly addressed. This seemingly endless repetition of minute corrections belies any real progress. Things seem to stop, nothing seems to improve. In fact, the more one trains the more errors appear and it can become nearly depressing.

However, it is this precise point I relish in my training. It is at this point that the infinite possibilities become apparent. When I trained in Shotokan, this stage saw many talented students fall by the wayside as they failed to appreciate the opportunity this stage in the learning process represents. I doubt, I will ever go beyond this stage in my own examination of Iai and that’s perfectly fine.

This isn’t to say I won’t see progression, but it will be slow and hard won - each minute improvement leading to a greater understanding of the whole and what is expected of me, and thus to a greater understanding of all the other things that need to be improved on. It’s funny how this principal came up in training as I have seen it recently in my acupuncture practice. There has of late been an influx of patients into my practice complaining of depression, anxiety, and dissatisfaction with their lives. While I sympathize with them and know that these feeling are not true expressions but symptomatic of an internal imbalance, I am frustrated by their view point. Each of these patients categorically rejects their responsibility to their own lives. Nothing is ever easy for them, and they hate constantly having to be beginners, to never have mastered their own lives.

And again I’m reminded about the importance of the lessons learnt in the dojo carrying on to our everyday lives, be it simply learning to walk properly, maintaining zanshin, or this – knowing that we are all constantly beginners. As Bjorn recently reminded me, each moment we take up the blade, each time we go to cut – it is a new beginning; a new opportunity to come closer to our goals, to come closer, to polish and refine, to learn what else needs to be corrected and improved upon. What my patients fail to see is that the accomplishment of a specific goal is not satisfying. It is the work put into to achieve that goal which is the reward, and its achievement should only serve to lead you to the next journey. I find Iai is an excellent tool to remind me of this.

From a training perspective the polish must now be applied to my noto. Not only in the movement of the blade to my hand (kissake MUST move first), I must concentrate more on the movement of my saya. Presently I treat the motion as I would change gears in a car and I have a tendency to pull the saya up and down, as opposed to straight back. This has the affect of taking the symmetry of saya and blade away from the movement, causing my right hand to make unnecessary adjustments, and ultimately running the pace of the movement.

Of course much of this stems from the underlying problem of my posture and failure to move from my Hara or centre. This is especially galling as I work with the alignment of the spine on a daily basis, and it seems nearly hypocritical of me to spend my day correcting others for there sacro-illiac separations when I myself move with a anterior pelvic tilt that throws my bum back and my head forward, leaving me off balance, open to attack and unable to move with the fluidity I desire. This in turn corrupts every aspect of my Iai. Concentrating on that movement I feel, must be my primary focus for the next few months.

Saturday’s training session was a focus on all of these aspects along with an excellent discussion of attitude and focus on terms of chiburi styles with Bjorn and Daniel. Both men have an wonderful insight in to a stillness of movement of soul that I can see, but cannot replicate. More accurately choose not to replicate at this time – it’s too much fun for me to be “in character” during my Iai, and for now while I appreciate that may not be the goal, it is an excellent reflection of who I am at this point in my life. I once wrote that Iaido was a mirror to oneself allowing for a detailed and honest self reflection. At no time did I feel this was truer than on Saturday.

Finally on Saturday we finished our training session with Mai. And for the first time – I had that experience of feeling that it was “right”. Now I realize in saying that, I made hundreds of small mistakes, but when I cut the feeling, the movement, felt free of conscious thought – it was simply a cut. The moment felt long, yet instant and as I knelt I truly believed I had cut down my opponent. I have no idea how long I stayed there but the waza felt right. That’s a great feeling to end training on.

On a side note I’ve been reading the works of Yukio Mishima, and playing around with a number of ornamental saya knots for my swords, and completed one the most advance forms in less than 10 minutes thanks to the aid of a sharpie pen. It looks lovely on my mantle piece. I also after several weeks completed the rough work for my origami model of and Iaidoka. The pose is taken from Tsuekekomi, and the only thing I like about are the legs.

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Searching for Hejoshin

Iss hogai.