Relax, then proceed.
The mountain gaze sees all things.
Nene has new clothes.
Four hours before practice on Friday evening, I found myself sitting in the lounge at the Inn on Long Lake in exactly the mental state that seems to precede every seminar.
Not fear.
Not nerves.
More a mild conviction that everyone else had somehow received an email that I had not.
The Nanaimo folks, the Vancouver folks, and all the Genwakan folks (but me) had already practiced the night before.
People knew each other.
Stories had been exchanged.
Friendships renewed.
Meanwhile I was sitting in a fluffy robe overlooking the lake, nursing a protein shake and wondering whether my heel was plotting a blister.
Then a text arrived.
From Ron Sensei.
“Wilson-san,
Wanna go to House of Knives?
Dale & Pritchard and I are headed over there.”
At that point I felt considerably better.
In retrospect, my concerns may have been misplaced.
After all, these were my people.
Not going for hikes.
Not kayaking.
Heading to the House of Knives.
This was strengthened almost immediately upon reaching the gymnasium that would become our dojo for the next three days.
People half dressed, winding obi around themselves.
Oiling swords.
Stretching.
Slowly walking through footwork with imaginary swords in hand.
Oh.
It’s these weirdos again.
My weirdos.
Us sword weirdos in long black skirts.
And just like that, the apprehension disappeared.
Checking In
At check-in, we were given two gifts.
The Japanese senseis had brought carved wooden sword-bag hangers, each engraved with a single word in Japanese.
The Vancouver and Nanaimo dojos had arranged another surprise: handmade inner sword sleeves for every participant.
Embroidered: Todo Kai 2026.
Blue exterior.
Dark purple lining.
At the time, I thought both gifts were beautiful.
Later, once Uchizono Sensei began teaching, I realized that the word on the hanger was not merely decorative.
It was the word that would become the watchword of the weekend.
Zanshin.
Awareness.
Presence.
The state of still seeing.
And as for the sword sleeve . . . well.
Given what TSA had done to Lady Nene’s original inner silk sleeve, the timing felt almost suspiciously perfect.
Lady Nene had new clothes.
Friday Night
The seminar began with approximately sixty participants divided into three groups.
The highest-ranking practitioners were together.
The middle dans were together.
And then there was my group—a rather large collection of shodans, shodans-to-be, no-dans, and assorted hopefuls.
The structure differed from the North American seminar in Boston the year before, where the “no dans” had been split between Cheong Sensei and Mikhail Sensei, and the shodans-to-be were yet another group. This required senseis to teach each group and not get in their own practice. In Nanaimo, all the senior practitioners received direct instruction from the visiting Japanese senseis while simultaneously getting some of their travel energy out through paired bokken work.
The downside was that there were a lot of us in the Shodan and Below group.
And the translator had a relatively quiet voice.
This became especially challenging when one attempts to hear nuanced instruction while a dozen higher-ranked practitioners are simultaneously kiai-ing and striking one another with bokken twenty feet away.
Still, the instruction itself was excellent.
Uchizono Sensei, the head/highest-ranking sensei, taught our group.
Watching him cut remains one of the more irritatingly inspiring experiences available in iaido.
The cuts were effortless.
And impossibly fast.
One spends years hearing that speed comes from relaxation.
Then a master demonstrates it.
And suddenly the lesson moves from theory into reality.
The two things we were instructed to take away from the event were surprisingly simple.
#1: Relax, then
#2: Zanshin.
Uchizono Sensei explained that #2 also incorporated actually seeing your teki.
Not imagining.
Not vaguely gesturing toward.
Seeing.
The judges must see that you see your opponent.
Uchizono Sensei explained that O-Sensei was constantly asking:
“Where is your opponent???”
The lesson appeared in everything.
Zanshin.
Focus.
Awareness.
The famous “long mountain gaze.”
Attention that moved from close range to far range and back again.
Look at the teki you vanquished, on the floor about 2-3 meters away—but let your gaze be wide enough to take on anyone foolish enough to try to avenge his honor. (NOTE: This theme returned, when Hiro Sensei talked about yokochiburi the next day.)
Uchizono Sensei also spent considerable time discussing the left hand.
To explain it, he produced a handkerchief.
Imagine tearing it.
If one hand pulls while the other remains passive, nothing happens.
The action requires equal and opposite force.
The same principle applies to drawing the sword.
To noto.
To cutting.
The left hand remains active.
It pulls the saya back.
It rotates the saya.
It participates.
Without that action, one ends up out of alignment – where staying aligned means staying alive.
The left hand moves deliberately—going straight to where it belongs.
No reaching.
No hesitation.
The left hand is determined.
Sensei also devoted considerable attention to Ochiburi.
Tip low.
Trace the arc.
Elbow in.
(“Elbows are everything” was, at least, how the translation reached us.)
Hand at the temple.
“Touch the head, don’t pretend.”
The details mattered.
The geometry mattered.
Everything had purpose.
Saturday
Saturday brought a full day of training.
More instruction.
More corrections.
More opportunities to realize how much there still is to learn.
Our group had been split again, with the shodans and shodans-to-be remaining with Uchizono Sensei while us no-dans were assigned to Hiro Sensei.
This turned out to be one of the highlights of the weekend.
Okay.
And the fact that Hiro Sensei spoke perfect English might have been part of it.
After spending Friday straining to hear the translator over kiai, bokken impacts, and general dojo enthusiasm, the ability to hear every word felt almost luxurious.
Hiro Sensei’s teaching was remarkable.
His cuts were neat.
Precise.
Effortless.
No strain.
No tension.
No visible force.
Just clean movement.
It was the physical manifestation of everything we had been hearing all weekend.
Relax.
See.
Move correctly.
The speed arrives on its own. Don’t chase or seek it.
Whether I have fully accepted this lesson emotionally remains a separate question.
As foreshadowed above, Hiro Sensei built upon Uchizono Sensei’s discussions about Ochiburi by discussing yokochiburi.
In correcting me, he said I was making “too big of a deal” of the move.
I was putting “too much energy” into it.
”In actual fact,” he said, “It’s really zanshin.”
You are placing your iaito in that position while you make sure no one else is going to be silly enough to attack you.
Don’t think of it as a “small shake of blood off the blade.”
Think of it as a ready position while you evaluate.
A completely different view of that move, and one that will take me some time to embody.
Another great visual regarding the first two sword movements in the Shihotos:
“You are the bow, the sword is the arrow. Don’t think so much of hitting or bumping the teki you’re going to turn and kill. Think of it as loading the bow, for the guy you are going to stab. Also remember to stop the tsuba at the nipple, not past. You want to stab him in the heart. That one inch will do it. You don’t want the sword to go in so far that you can’t pull it right out, to turn and kill the next teki.”
Two of my favorite memories from the day involved Michael-san from Nanaimo.
Michael-san had been practicing for almost exactly the same amount of time that I had.
He was helpful with small observations and corrections.
For example, he saw that Hiro Sensei had corrected my nukitsuke in Shihotos, but mentioned that I wasn’t carrying it through to the other waza. In fact, I thought it only applied to the first sword movement in the Shihotos, but I definitely saw his point.
I appreciated this.
And then there was the moment while we were repeatedly practicing Tsuigekito.
Eventually Hiro Sensei switched the class to Junto Sono Ichi.
Unfortunately, Michael-san had not heard the change.
The lovely woman from his dojo standing in front of him though—using a bokken, as she had been practicing for a total of about two months—had.
As Michael-san advanced into the “kiri oroshi to the head” cut of Tsuigekito, she remained exactly where a person performing Junto Sono Ichi would reasonably be expected to remain.
In other words, she basically became his teki.
Michael-san stopped with admirable speed.
Sword raised.
Potential death blow suspended.
A brief moment of realization.
Then, in one of the smoothest recoveries I have ever witnessed, he transformed the kiri oroshi into a perfectly respectable ochiburi.
Just as though that had been his intention all along.
I experienced one of those moments where laughter becomes physically painful because one is trying not to release it.
Eventually I managed, sotto voce:
“Nice save.”
“Yep.”
After that I started holding up fingers at my side whenever Hiro Sensei changed waza, just to ensure we remained synchronized. Michael saw, nodded, and away we went.
The second Michael-san story involved Zantotsuto.
Or, as the woman with the bokken referred to it:
“The stabby one.”
After several attempts to incorporate a correction, Michael-san asked Hiro Sensei:
“Is that better?”
A dangerous question.
Hiro Sensei, a slight white-haired gentleman who could not have weighed much more than a minute and a half, suddenly transformed into Lurch from The Addams Family.
Eyes partly closed.
Low Lurch groan.
Slow head shake.
The entire group burst out laughing.
Including Hiro Sensei.
Blue ice for the win
This being the longest day, and Hiro Sensei not being a huge one for giving us breaks, I was exceptionally thankful for Sharon’s special blue ice bag.
It already has a cover, so no need for a baggie and handkerchief, and it has a Velcro strap to really tie it onto my foot.
Definitely an upgrade from Boston.
I went from resting it on the seat of Dr. Scott Sensei’s chair to putting it up on the wall, as I had done in Boston, and lying flat on the ground.
This seems to be the best position.
Though Ron Sensei did, at one point, chide me for my “anti-gravity spider/dragonfly waza.”
As I was lying flat on the floor with my foot propped up against the wall beneath said excellent blue ice bag, Dr. Scott Sensei came over to chat.
Looking up from my position on the floor, I informed him that from my current vantage point I was about to be looking up his skirt.
Dr. Scott has a wonderful laugh.
The Celebratory Dinner
At some point Saturday evening, after training had concluded, I found myself sitting in the hot tub with John Pritchard Sensei discussing iaido.
A perfectly reasonable activity.
(We may, however, have chased another soaker away – in hindsight, also perfectly reasonable.)
We had a couple hours before dinner.
Chat, chat.
John Sensei explained why he believed a particular waza from the list of five possibilities would be announced the next morning as the “secret waza” for the Roku (6th) Dan test, adding a fifth required waza to the four they had already prepared.
(NOTE: He turned out to be right—Dave-san owes him $20.)
We also talked through corrections John Sensei had received on one of his required waza for the Roku Dan, and how he could rearrange the furniture in his room to try to do it over—and over and over—that evening to engrain it.
Then John Sensei casually mentioned:
“Oh, by the way, we need to leave for the celebratory dinner in ten minutes.”
Ten.
Minutes.
Now let us compare.
Man
Exit hot tub.
Go to first-floor room.
Shower.
Dry off.
Put on clothes.
Done.
Woman
Exit hot tub.
Limp to elevator.
(A little less though due to hot tub.)
Ride elevator.
Walk to third-floor room, as far from hot tub area as you can get.
Pee.
Shower.
Dry off.
Blow dry hair upside down.
Flip hair back dramatically.
Attempt not to resemble a damp Labradoodle.
Makeup.
Jewelry.
Clothes.
Shoes.
Purse.
Ready.
Somehow.
And thanks to the continued heroism of the white button-down shirt that had already survived two Michelin dinners in Vancouver, I managed to pull it off.
Upon seeing the finished result, John Sensei stared for a moment and simply said:
“Wow.”
Which was nice.
But the evening’s true victory came upon arriving at the restaurant.
Ron Sensei took one look at me and demanded:
“WHO are YOU???”
I consider this one of the seminar’s highest unofficial honors.
At the dinner, I made a point of finding the woman who had sewn the inner sword sleeves and thanking her personally.
I told her the story of TSA’s enthusiastic examination of Lady Nene’s original silk sleeve.
By then, Lady Nene’s new clothing felt less like a gift and more like cosmic correction.
Sunday
Sunday was embu and testing day.
While I was just starting to warm up, Hiro Sensei came up to me.
I thanked him profusely for the truly personalized instruction he had given all of us no-dans the day before.
He smiled and handed me a tiny Canadian flag pin.
“I just found this in my gi sleeve. You should have it. For luck.”
Moved, I pinned it inside my gi out of sight.
Later that morning, John Sensei quietly said:
“Come with me.”
The conversation that followed was serious.
Dave-san has survived two heart attacks – one of which had happened at one of their training sessions in Japan.
During the previous days John and Dave had largely been together.
On testing day that would no longer be true.
So John Sensei showed me the location of the AED.
He showed me where Dave’s nitroglycerin was located.
If I heard my name called, no matter what I was doing, I was to act immediately.
Get the defibrillator.
Call 911.
Send someone outside to meet the ambulance.
Bring him the nitro.
Clear instructions.
Clear responsibility.
The conversation was serious enough that I found myself mentally rehearsing it several times throughout the day.
Embu, hajime!
Right before the embu, Dr. Scott Sensei came up to me and asked if I wanted a suggestion.
I immediately said:
“No.”
This surprised him.
And honestly, it surprised me a little too.
So I clarified.
The previous day Hiro Sensei had made approximately fifty corrections to my technique.
The last thing I wanted was Correction Number Fifty-One.
Dr. Scott laughed.
“No, not like that.”
Then he explained.
It wasn’t really a technical correction at all.
It was about relaxation.
Not merely thinking the word.
Actually embodying it.
He told me to breathe deeply into the second chakra—the orange one, the warrior center.
That all movement in iaido should originate there.
When I stood waiting to begin each waza, taking those two breaths while conjuring my teki, I should bring my attention there.
Feel the breath there.
Feel the relaxation begin there.
Let the movement come from there.
The advice immediately echoed Uchizono Sensei’s instruction from Friday.
Relax.
Actually see your teki.
Everything seemed to circle back around.
So, during the embu, I did exactly what Dr. Scott suggested.
Every waza.
Two breaths.
Relax.
Belly breathe.
See.
Move.
Earlier during free practice, I had noticed Sue Sensei and several of the Japanese senseis looking in my direction and speaking animatedly amongst themselves.
Very, very slowly, I looked down to see whether my metaphorical fly was undone.
There, peeking perhaps a millimeter above the top of my hakama, was my obi.
Mystery solved.
Or so I thought.
I quietly disappeared, completely re-dressed, and returned to practice.
Looking back, after what happened later that day, I am no longer entirely certain that was what they were discussing.
After the embu, the day continued.
Dan testers’ written exams.
Lunch.
Dan embu.
Waiting.
And waiting.
And waiting.
(“Twenty more minutes.”)
(“Twenty more minutes.”)
(“Twenty more minutes.”)
(Calligraphy takes time . . . )
At one point Ian-san, whose wife had made the embroidered sword sleeves, came looking for me.
He wanted to confirm Lady Nene’s name, because his wife had asked. He wrote it down.
He was curious about her leather tsuka-ito, and I told him it would be an honor if he would like to try her out.
He made four cuts.
I told him he was welcome to do more.
He raised an eyebrow.
Smiled.
And said:
“Oh, that’s all I need.”
Several senior practitioners later asked to see her blade after oiling.
Particularly the hamon—the beautiful temper line running along the blade edge.
Lady Nene was made especially for me.
Having that aspect specifically noticed was unexpectedly meaningful.
And eventually, the awards ceremony.
Eep!
I was standing in the back row.
The ceremony was proceeding normally.
As in Boston, the first order of business was the presentation of Excellence Awards.
Names were called in rank order.
Wilson-san first.
Of course.
He is iaido personified.
Marla received one in the shodan rank.
Again—Of course. She is also the embodiment of iaido.
And then I heard:
“Dangai Shepādo Sandora”
(Unranked, Sandra Shepard.)
To which my immediate response was an audible:
“Eep.”
In retrospect, perhaps my subconscious had not entirely forgotten the hallway conversation from earlier that morning.
After all, only a few hours previously I had mentally ingrained the fact that if a senior sensei called my name unexpectedly, I was to sprint from the room to get the defibrillator.
Fortunately, no defibrillator was required.
No ambulance was summoned.
No emergency response plan was activated.
Instead, I discovered that I was receiving an Excellence Award.
Which was not where I thought the sentence was going.
(I may never remove the little Canadian flag pin Hiro Sensei gave me for luck that morning.)
The Award
The certificate itself is beautiful.
But what mattered more was what happened afterward.
Only a small number of Embu Excellence Awards are ever presented.
Multiple people whose opinions I respect pulled me aside afterward.
Ron Sensei.
John Pritchard Sensei.
Wilson-san.
All said essentially the same thing.
A dan rank recognizes that one has met a standard.
This award recognizes that one has stood out among peers.
Many achieved dan rank – very few obtained an excellence award.
That was humbling.
Unexpected.
And meaningful.
Particularly because it came from a community that does not hand out recognition casually.
After the awards ceremony, Dr. Scott came over to congratulate me.
I told him I had done exactly what he had told me to do.
Exactly.
And look what happened.
He looked genuinely touched.
The certificate is paper.
The conversations afterward are what I will remember.
Lady Nene Has New Clothes
And finally, the most important news.
Lady Nene has new clothes.
Balance has once again been restored to the universe.
But if my story ended there, it would be a bit too neat.
A bit too cinematic.
A bit too accompanied by swelling violins.
Instead, this morning, while adjusting a replacement zip tie on my iaito hard case where TSA had cut off the lock, the entire thing fell apart on the way to the car.
Fortunately I had a spare zip tie.
Unfortunately I sacrificed the tiny scissors from my sewing kit in the process.
The Universe, apparently, felt that after an Excellence Award, a custom sword sleeve, and an unexpectedly emotional weekend, it needed to rebalance the scales.
And so I found myself crouched in a hotel hallway at six in the morning wrestling with a sword case.
Which, honestly, feels like a much more believable ending.
I was also informed that, in my absence, Bruno had conducted an independent review of my Japan packing preparations.
The review was not favorable.
The video Sharon sent showed what can only be described as a catastrophic audit of the staging area in my office.
Casualties appear to include a travel clothesline, my Trax, and the bag containing the remainder of my zip ties.
Regarding the latter, perhaps he had telepathically received my “Oh NO!” when the hard case needed one, and was just coming to the rescue.
More universal balancing.
As I write this, I am on a ferry headed back toward the mainland, munching on the potato chips and mandarin oranges that Christina-san kindly gave me.
The seminar is over.
The certificate is safely packed.
The sword case is held together with zip ties.
Bruno has apparently declared war on my Japan preparations.
And Lady Nene is traveling home in considerably finer clothing than she arrived with.
All in all, a successful weekend.
Above left – the College of Marin contingent of Genwakan. Top right – Genwakan, “motley crew” version. Bottom right – Genwakan, samurai version.