I practice Kendo. When somebody ask, I say that I practice japanese fencing. The name kendo, though, means “the way of the sword”. The idea, as far as I have come to understand it, is that kendo leads you, or helps you, towards a road of personal improvement. So maybe the goal it is not to learn how to strike, cut or stab a person with a sword (we learn that too) but to understand ourselves, and so understand our opponents and then perhaps understand our fellow humans better. Once I saw an interview to the top kendo practitioner from few years back, after having won a match against his closest opponent. When asked how did he win, his answer was “I thought that my oponent allowed me to express myself better than other times”.
One of the things that I begin to understand from kendo is the relevance of standing my own ground. Mechanically speaking it is fairly straightforward: from the start they tell you that your sword needs to be centered, because once it is, you can attack your opponent from the center. The problem is that your opponent will be trying the same. So you and your opponent will be striving for dominating the center. When one looses it, even if for a second, the other strikes. Or so the theory.
Interesting for me is that plenty of my relations with others can be described in similar ways. I certainly am a person that believes it has lots (and lots) to say. So I talk, a lot, from my own center, I talk about the things that I consider important and relevant. Which is all good if my purpose in life would be to speechify for ever. But it isn’t. As much as anybody else, I do want to hear others, out of curiosity, out of love, or out of self interest. Many people is just interesting, and many people know lots of stuff that I don’t, and I want to learn. And to learn, I need to leave the center. I need to invite the other to take it, I need to create the possibility for the other to express him- or herself.
Kendo is a martial art originated in Japan. We are told, again and again, that kendo has an element missing from most western sports: we are meant to deeply respect our opponent, since our opponent is the one teaching us. Without an opponent we could not progress. And that is the thing of standing our ground. If both of us would perfectly and seamlessly stand our ground and keep our center, there would be no fencing possible. It is like one of those maddeningly simple zen riddle. If you loose your center, you loose. But if you and your opponent perfectly keep it, nothing happens, there is no progress, no learning. So I believe that it is all in the dynamic of each encounter, in how much and for how long you help your opponent to express, and when you express yourself. You stand your ground indeed, but if you are to learn something, you will be continuously shifting it, changing it, adapting it to your opponent. And learning in the process.
Which I think is a nice description of.. life?