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The Phoenix of Ifu
Originally uploaded by nashara.

My sensei gave me this sword yesterday after he accepted me as student for one and a half month. It was a special moment for me. The quiet, gentle, solemn, almost sacred moment when he formally handed out this sword for me as we were kneeling face to face on the wood floor.

I carefully bowed my head down, both hands reaching up gratefully to accept the sword, which was also carefully handed out with both of his hands. It felt just right. Ought to be. It was especially made for me, my height, my arms'length, how I swing, everything was meticulously measured.
I brought the sword over, admiring it as formality required. It needs not be. The sword is a beauty worthy of great admiration.

Sensei also gave me a traditional sword-carrying pouch made from delicate cotton with my name embroided on it and showed me how to neatly tie the knot on the top of the bag.
He also gave me instruction how to care for the sword and gave me the special oil for it. He indicated that the first few pull and tuck could be stuck and he showed me how to gently push the blade in until it would fit snuggly. He also showed me that, once drawn half way out, the blade would be very smooth. The flash of the blade under light temporarily blinded me. Either sensei was very fast or the lighting was perfect, or could be both. I held my breath. She is beautiful! And how smooth she glided out effortlessly!

I also received a wrist-protection wrap that is helpful when I advance to a higher training level. It looks like something that you let your falcon sit on when you hold out your arm, if you happen to train falcons for hunting purpose, like some Tokugawa period damyo (feudal lord) did.
It was raining the day I received my sword. A sprinkle. The weather was breezy and nice. Reminded me of a spring in Japan. When sensei finally asked me if I had any questions, I asked where the sword is from.

With a proud smile on his face, he said it's from a master swordsmith in Ifu. I thought about it, and decided to name my sword, "The Phoenix of Ifu." It was how I felt about my sword.
I now understand why they say each sword has its own soul. Mine was gentle and observing. It can perform great things if needed be. And like a Phoenix, it would always rise from the ashes. I feel good to have it around. Almost a gentle encouragement to always get up when I'm down, never giving up.

And the moment I've been waiting for arrived. No, it seemed to float in. Just like a dream. As I was standing in my ready position, my sword tugged in firmly in my Obi, the belt, one hand held the scabbard firmly, the other grasping the handle, sensei ordered me to draw a kill.
The draw from a standing position is always the most difficult one for me. You need a lot of inner energy and swift upperbody movement which you have to fully mobilize from all sides, not just moving your sword arm. If you draw from a kneeling position, you have the momentum of an upward mobility from your total body springing up for the lightning attack.

You have less than a blink of your eyes to fully draw the blade out and complete it with your eyes firmly focused on the opponent. And if the first draw, one arm only, was not enough, you have to pull back and grap it with both hands, lift over head in straight line, and complete the kill in one big swoop. Not too much, not too little. It has to be just right.
Too much and the sword could trace the floor. Too little and your swing wouldn't be powerful and swift enough for its purpose. All the time, your eyes have to remain focused, never follow your own sword movement as instinct might tell you to.

How amazingly smooth and swift she was in her first draw! I felt a little dizzy 'cos I didn't expect the draw to be that smooth, that perfect. So different from the old heavy practice sword sensei trained me with in the earlier month. So this must be when old Zen sword masters say, "Your body becomes one with the sword." It was a remark not to be taken lightly, for it really felt like the sword was the extension of your arm that you can move freely and it would follow your thought.

I couldn't help but thinking about the moment Harry Potter tried his first wand. So this is the feeling one is supposed to feel. One. Completed. Liberated.

# posted by nash : 3:21 PM