Chopping Wood

When the master and student arrive home, Mushahsi instructs his disciple to “chop wood.” The student diligently goes about his work for the entire day, and the next.   When he awakens the next day, his routine remains unchanged. The wood chopping chores continue unabated. Days turn to weeks. Weeks turn to months, and finally three years pass.

One day the student is fed up, reaching the limit of his patience with the task of chopping wood. He confronts the master and exclaims rather loudly and emotionally:

“ I have been chopping wood for three years! I have not done anything else, but chop wood for three years.  I must have been crazy to agree to be your student! I was a samurai! What was I thinking in following you? What kind of nutty Sensei has his student chop wood and nothing else for three years?” What does this have to do with samurai swordsmanship?

During this time the master remains unusually calm, nodding his head in agreement with his student’s comments. Musashi inquires, “Are you through? “ The student replies that he is through. Although not a quitter, he cannot understand why he has been chopping wood for three years and, worse yet, why the master has not taught him one lesson about the sword. Musashi replies with  an apology saying, “You are right; now we can begin.”

Walking

The student is beside himself with joy and excitement in anticipation of his first sword lesson with the greatest samurai who every walked the earth.

Master and student arrive at the dojo. The student picks up a bokken (wooden sword) and says, “Master, I am ready.”

Musashi says, “Just a moment,… please observe how I walk.” Musashi then proceeds to walk the along the dojo perimeter in a deliberate, determined fashion. Mushashi instructs the student to follow him in this exercise. Satisfied that the student has emulated his example, Musashi leaves the dojo instructing the student to continue, “walking.”

Well, the walking was no different than the wood chopping. Day in and day out, the student found himself “walking.” Months passed, then two years, passed “walking.” Once again, the student’s patience runs out and he confronts the master.

“Why are you doing this to me? Are you crazy? I must be crazy to be your student! Maybe you have lost your mind? First you have me chop wood for three years, next you have me walking the dojo for two years. What a waste of time!”

All the while Musashi remains calm nodding in agreement then, finally, he replies. “You are right! I am so sorry for the trouble; let’s begin your training this very moment. Gather your belongings for a trip to the mountain. Be sure to pack food that will sustain us for a few days. Once we arrive at the mountaintop we will begin your training at once.

At last, the student was joyful at the prospect of learning from the master. However his journey had only just begun.

Crossing the Abyss

After several hours of vigorous walking and climbing up the mountain, student and teacher reach a precipice. The only     way  to get across is to walk atop a fallen tree which joins       the two mountains. The valley is several hundred feel below  on either  side of the fallen log leaving little or no room for error. A single misstep would certainly lead to their demise.

Musashi instructs the student to “walk” across the mountain over the fallen log. The student is frozen in his tracks, immovable as the mountain. Musashi asks “What’s wrong? Why don’t you walk?”

Musashi knows the student is frozen in fear. The student is wondering why this madman of a  Sensei is asking him to walk across a mountain over a narrow log! Anyone could “see” that one misstep would lead to death. 

There are several moments of silence, which seem like an eternity to the student.  Suddenly, a    blind man approaches. Without any fanfare, and no assistance other than his cane, he casually  walks atop the log traversing the precipice and arriving safely on the other side of the mountain.

The student watches in stunned silence and amazement, utterly flabbergasted that such a feat is possible, even though he witnessed it with his own eyes.

Musashi pierces the silence and the student’s mind with this:

“You have made your body as strong as the mountain by chopping wood for three years. Next you walked for two years to steady your step. No one in all of Japan is as strong as you. No one can  walk a straight line better. No one is more prepared then you for this task”.

Like a bolt of lightening, the student understood. He walked across the mountain and the master, satisfied that the student “understood,” began the intricate process of teaching his student the way of his swordsmanship.

This student-teacher relationship is often compared to the relationship of parents and children. When children are young, they usually behave in an exemplary fashion and follow their parents’ instructions to the letter. In their teenage years, other factors come in to play and those same children may begin to rebel. Usually sometime after college, hopefully sooner, they regain their former respectful ways.

So it is in the dojo with some students who acting like children as explained above, initially are  model students in their comportment and conduct only later to rebel against their teacher. In such cases they have completely forgotten their place, in the hierarchy of the dojo, their own self-respect and that towards their teacher.

This invisible line is the relationship between the teacher and the student. Each must never forget his/her job and commitment to the other and the relationship, and live “Onegeishimasu,”  promising  to give his/her best effort. With this commitment comes responsibility. The unwritten code is that the student accepts in good faith the lessons the instructor imparts.

Student and teacher voluntarily enter into this agreement with good intentions; however, sometimes along the way people become lost, veering off the path. Some find their way back, learning how to navigate.  Others try different roads but cannot read the signs and continue to veer off course, or encounter roadblocks, finding detours which continue to divert them from the path, or “do” way. 

The dojo is a special place; some would say a sacred place, where multiple lessons are transmitted from teacher to student. Life is a two way street. As children, we are taught “it is better   to give than receive,” but it takes maturity to truly learn and   grasp this simple statement. This is what the teacher does.

The teacher exists to “give” so that the student may “receive.”

The invisible line is something of which the student becomes aware through experience and education. Sometimes students stub their toes, knock their knees or worse, smash their head on   the brick wall that others negotiate by leaping over, sidestepping or simply taking another route.

Recently my Sensei, world renowned martial arts expert, and Shinkendo founder, Kaiso Obata Toshishiro, shared with his students the gift he received of a magnificently brushed scroll describing the wisdom of the masters. This scroll is proudly displayed at the “shomen” the area of the dojo we “assign” as significant and most honorable. To paraphrase the characters brushed on the scroll, the master laments the fact that although modern technology improves our lives in many ways, with   taller buildings; bigger and faster planes, trains, automobiles, and so forth; tragically, human  progress remains stagnant, unchanged, therefore unimproved, unenlightened.