Is my kendo really mine?

At our dojo, every morning, after finishing Seiza -quiet sitting- while hearing the birds chirping, we bow to the Sho-men and to our Sensei. After that, before starting our warm-up exercises, Sensei usually gives us a talk for about 5 to 10 minutes.

The topics of the Sensei’s talks vary widely from day to day.

Often, Sense shares stories mentioning the names of his own teachers, who have now passed away. I have heard names like Yoshinaga-sensei, Furuyama-sensei, Oka-sensei, Akagi-sensei countless times in these talks.

Even during practice, when instructing us, Sensei frequently references these senseis, sharing their teachings and stories. For example:

“XX Sensei taught me that Te no uchi cannot really be taught with words. You must watch me closely, feel it, and grasp the sensation.”
“YY Sensei was small in stature, yet moved through kendo as smoothly as flowing water, skillfully inviting the opponent and executing Ouji waza –counter attack–with finesse.”

Unfortunately, when I started practicing kendo in Hawaii, these teachers had already passed away or retired from practice.

Therefore, I have never actually seen how these senseis practiced kendo.

Yet, through countless lectures and stories shared by my teacher, I gradually feel as if I am learning kendo directly from those past senseis.

Of course, I am being taught directly by my teacher in front of me. But my teacher was able to acquire kendo skills thanks to the dedication of his own teachers, who likely had their own teachers before them. Thinking about it this way, a sort of kendo family tree emerges in my mind.

In other words, all the teachings I have received and the techniques I have learned are not solely mine. They are the result of the efforts of past generations of teachers.

I must not forget this.

Certainly, I endure tough practice and overcome challenges through my own effort, feeling the stress and joy of progress, but to think that what I now possess is purely the result of my own hard work feels a little arrogant.

Without the teachings passed down from the past, I would never have been able to study kendo at all. I must never forget the dedication of those past teachers, done for the sake of future generations like us.

This reminded me of a phrase:

“When no one in the world of the living remembers you, you vanish even from the world of the dead.”

I cannot recall if it was from a movie, a drama, or a manga, but hearing it once tightened my chest and made me feel, yes, that is truly the case.

I have never asked my teacher directly why he frequently mentions the names of his Senseis when teaching us kendo, so I do not know.

But as long as my teacher brings up these names in our practice, it feels as if the kendo of those past teachers continues to live on through us. At the same time, I feel deep gratitude that I am able to learn kendo from my Sensei today, thanks to those teachers before them.

Being a student in this lineage, it seems to me that my responsibility is to carry this flow forward and pass it on to the next generation.

However, at present, I feel that I have hardly fulfilled that responsibility. Simply taking what I can from my teachers and living without returning that debt seems selfish, and somehow, it feels wrong.

Therefore, figuring out how I, too, can become part of this kendo lineage will likely become one of my major challenges going forward.

I suspect this idea applies not only to kendo, but also to many aspects of daily life.

Wow… it seems I have so many challenges ahead.

Anyway, I will head to practice again tomorrow♪