Mindful of this and similar stories, the young Kaze kept his hands carefully in his lap as he sat silently next to the Sensei, watching Kannemori Sensei work on a blade.
Some blades were mass-produced for common soldiers and samurai, but Kannemori’s blades were made for samurai who treasured fine swords. It could take weeks or even months to finish a particular blade, and many craftsmen became involved before the sword was completed. A special artisan created and fitted the tsuba, the sword guard. Another created the tsuka, or hilt, a complex assembly of wood, ray skin, pommel and hilt decorations, and silk, leather, or cotton tapes and cords. Another artisan created and custom-fitted the saya, or scabbard, to each individual blade.
At the heart of all this effort was the blade itself, the creation of the swordsmith and an object heavy with mystical, religious, and practical significance. The sword was one of the great symbols of Shinto, and the religious significance of the blade was marked by the ritual the smith went through before working on the sword.
As the young Kaze watched, Kannemori sat on a mat in his fundoshi and poured a bucket of water over himself in a ritual act of purification. Assisted by his sakite, his aides, Kannemori donned ceremonial dress, including a small, black lacquered hat that was tied under his chin with cord. He then prayed to the shrine shelf, dedicated to the God of the forge, which occupied a corner of his workshop.
His spirit in the proper mode, Kannemori then commenced to work on the sword, first heating bits of iron on a metal spatula. The iron was repeatedly heated and pounded until it fused into one piece, with Kannemori’s assistants handling the heavy metal mallets as the master manipulated the iron using pincers. When the metal was one piece of the proper consistency, the process of folding and refolding the hot metal began. Care was taken to assure that no air or impurities were between the layers of metal, because this weakened the final product. Over and over again the metal was heated, folded, and pounded together, forming layer upon layer of fused steel. It was hard for Kaze to sit through this repetitious process, but he drew strength from the presence of the Sensei, who seemed to have an inexhaustible wellspring of patience.
The entire sword could not be constructed in one day, but Kannemori showed Kaze the grooved block of copper he used to correct the curvature of the blade, as well as the special files he used to shape it. He also showed Kaze the clay used to cover the blade before tempering. To Kaze, the clay looked like any clay, but Kannemori rubbed a bit between his fingers and even placed a tiny bit on his tongue to taste it, pronouncing it exceptionally suitable for the exacting work of sword creation.
Kaze marveled at the degree of subtlety in touch, sight, sensitivity, and even taste that the swordsmith must develop to help him properly gauge all the materials used in his art.
Now, two decades later, Kaze had not been invited to watch Kannemori at work, so he knew to hang back and not approach the forge while he was working. A master might be willing to reveal secrets to a young boy that he would keep hidden from a grown man. Kaze found a convenient tree limb and sat on it, balancing himself in the lotus position. He thought about the secrets of a master and the last long conversation he had had with his Sensei.
Kaze had been with his Sensei for several years, training hard and trying earnestly to learn. One day his Sensei said to him, “Have you heard that a master keeps one secret, one important secret, away from his pupils?”
“Yes, Sensei, I have.”
“Do you think that’s true?”
Kaze thought a moment. “I suppose it might be, or how could a master stay superior to his student?”
Sensei sighed. “What do you think is the supreme joy for a true master?” he asked.
Kaze shook his head. “I don’t know, Sensei.”
“The supreme joy for a true master is to have a pupil who surpasses him, so a true master would not withhold an important secret from a pupil. What do you think would be the effect of doing this? If a master did withhold a key secret from each generation of pupils?”
“Then I suppose, over time, that school of swordsmanship would get weaker and weaker as each succeeding generation of pupils knew less and less of the true essence of the art of the sword.”
“Precisely,” the Sensei said. “But now I think it is time for me to tell you the final secret in the art of the sword and, indeed, in the art of life.”
“What is that, Sensei?” Kaze said eagerly.
“The secret is, there is no secret.”
Kaze looked puzzled.
“The final secret is that after you’ve learned all the techniques, there is still something else that will make a difference. That thing will allow a pupil to excel beyond his master, and it is something within the pupil.”
“What is that thing, Sensei?”
The Sensei smiled. It was one of the rare times that Kaze had seen the Sensei smile.
“That’s the secret that is not a secret. I don’t know what it is. It is some quality within yourself that may allow you to surpass me in some way and in some dimension. Now you have been with me several years. Despite your stupidity and slowness, you have learned the techniques of my school of the sword. In fact, you are now at the point where you are very close to being a novice.”
Kaze was confused. He knew he had made progress with the sword. “Why do you compare me with a novice?” Kaze asked, slightly hurt.
“Because being close to a novice is being close to perfection in the use of a sword.”
“What do you mean by that, Sensei?”
“When you were totally without knowledge of the sword and you picked it up, you might not have even been holding it in the proper grip. But if someone attacked you, you would instinctively parry their thrusts and try to use the sword to defend yourself. You would do this even if you knew no technique and had not been initiated into the secrets of the sword. In this, you would be using the sword in a Zen manner.
“Zen says there must be no space between thought and action. A space so much as to allow a hair is not desirable. It is the same with a flint and steel. When the flint strikes the steel, there is no hesitation before the production of the spark. The same is true in the use of the sword. When you are a complete novice, there is no thought or hesitation in how you instinctively use the weapon.
“As you start learning the technique of the sword, you start practicing. At first you are very clumsy and have a hard time putting together combinations of moves so that you can both defend yourself and then attack your opponent. As your skill with the sword increases, you become increasingly confident in your abilities, and you no longer have to think about each of the movements, so they can be executed smoothly and correctly in turn.
“Eventually you can get to the point where you no longer have to think about technique at all. You are simply imbued with a sense of Zen so that you are instinctively on the alert at all times, in the state of mind we call zanshin. When you are attacked, you parry and defend and eventually attack your opponent without thinking about which technique you use or hesitating between each movement.
“In other words, when you have achieved mastery of the sword, you are using the sword much like a total novice uses a sword, based truly on instinct and not based on conscious thought of one move with the sword or the next. That’s why, when I say you are close to being a novice with the sword, it is, in fact, high praise. It means you’ve come the full circle from someone very inexperienced to someone whose mastery of the weapon now rivals mine.”
“But Sensei, how can I achieve this last step? This use of something inside me to gain more skills?”