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Cutting A Path to Freedom

Michele Benzamin-Miki

In Japan the best traditional swords are considered to be national treasures and they are referred to as if they were people, living beings. The making of the blade involves a mastery handed down by generations of sword makers. Metals are folded together to an unbreakable hardness, and then a metal skin, sharp enough to cut through another sword, is created. The process takes a long time, and leaves the skin with a beautiful pattern. Every pattern is unique, like a fingerprint. This strong bone of metal and sharp skin is then dressed with a handle and a scabbard-made especially for each individual sword.
Whenever I hold such a sword I feel that I am indeed holding something alive. The name they are given is 'shinken' or 'live blade.' Many of them have a long history of use in combat and war and now rest under glass, on display in museums and shrines.

Let me tell you a story. It is the story of a sword that was handed down through the generations of a single Samurai family. The life of the sword had been one of bloodshed and killing, of cutting through the flesh and bones of whomever came in its way-men, women, and children alike.
The sword now belonged to a young man. His father had given it to him, just as it had been given to him by his father, and so on, back to a time before anyone remembered. Since he was a child the young man had been afraid of the sword. He kept it hidden away at home in the family shrine and only wore it on ceremonial occasions.

The sword, with its yearning for blood, longed to see battle again. One day, as the young man sat at the family shrine, the sword whispered into his ear, "Take me with you today. It has been such a long time since you have worn me by your side. Please, take me with you." The young man fell under the spell of the words. He took the sword and fastened it to his side.
The sword was happy now. It led the young man along an unknown path. They continued for a long way, through dangerous and unknown places. As they went the sword entranced the young man with songs and stories. It told of heroic battles and boasted of all it had accomplished in the past, in his father's hand, and in his grandfather's, and before that, back into ancient times.

The sword and the young man were on a dark path in a forest reputed to be full of bandits. The sword led the young man straight into the bandits' hiding place, thrilled to imagine how the young man would kill every one of them. But before he could draw the sword, one of the bandits snatched it from him. Then, to the surprise of the bandit, as though the sword had a mind of its own, it unsheathed itself and killed the young man with a single stroke. The sword, after all, wanted only to taste blood, it didn't care whose blood it was.
Frightened because they had killed a young samurai, and thinking that others would come to avenge his death, the bandits immediately fled deeper into the forest. A search party was soon sent to look for the young man. They found his body in the deserted bandits' lair, with the sword beside him on the ground.
When she heard of her husband's death, his young widow, understanding what the sword had done, vowed to dedicate the rest of her life to taming the bloodlust out of the sword. She practiced every day. She learned all the traditional ways of the sword, and she created new forms (katas), and new rituals, so that her own discipline and purity of intention became stronger than the sword itself.

Instead of cutting through flesh and blood she cut through her anger, her sadness, her fears, her hatred, her loss. She was taming the sword, but she was also taming and refining her own mind and body. She cut, and cut, and cut-all the way through to freedom. What remained in her now were compassion, understanding, love and joy. By her purity she purified the sword.

In the Buddhist Traditions the Bodhisattva Manjushri holds a sword. Manjushri is an archetypal representation, a mirror of the awakened mind. The sword is the sword of wisdom. It is raised high in the air to cut through delusion, hatred and greed. It cuts through any notion you might have that you are separate from anything, inside yourself or outside. It transforms you into an embodiment of understanding, love, and compassion.

My own practice of Iaido sword, tempered by my practice of Aikido, and Meditation, helps me to cut a path to love and peace. It helps me to recognize, and to treat with kindness, the things inside myself that are unforgiving, self righteous, and even violent. Whether sitting, standing or walking, training with my sword in hand, or with my hands empty and folded in my lap in meditation, my breath becomes a soft blade that cuts me back to myself.
As it says in the Gnostic Gospel, "If you bring forth that which is within you, what you bring forth will save you. If you do not bring forth that which is within you, what you do not bring forth could destroy you."

In cultivating a life of peace, I must acknowledge, understand, and even welcome into my heart, into my life, into my living space, the very things that have kept me from it. Only by knowing the sword can I tame the sword. There is no deeper peace.

As my teachers, Shogi Nishio Sensei and Masa Tazaki Sensei have often said, "Throughout Japanese history the sword has been used for such violence. Now we must find ways to use the sword to train towards nonviolence, so that healing is possible."

When I wield my sword I am ready to cut through to freedom.

Michele Benzamin Miki. July 7, 2001