From the Journals of Matsu Chinojo
I have often heard of the enigmatic nature of Dragons, but now I know there is truth in saying that no path can be understood until it is walked.
I was in the dojo of my sensei when first I saw him. The doors were open, and a warm wind was spilling through. He stepped up to the door, removed his shoes, bowed and entered. My sensei stood, turned from his students and met him with a bow lower than any I have seen him give any Lion. Kind words passed between them – kind, genuine words, I should say. (I do not wish to insinuate my sensei has the tongue of a Scorpion.)
Then, my sensei turned to me. “This is Mirumoto Hatsu,” he said. “I could never teach you what he will teach you today, even if I had one hundred years to do it.”
I felt a pang of uncertainty fill my belly, but I sent it away with a thought. Fill your belly with bushido…
I remained kneeling and bowed to my instructor-for-the-day. He bowed as well. Then he motioned for me to stand and we began.
“Show me your stance,” he told me.
I took a deep breath and fell into position.
He nodded and walked toward me, eyeing my bearing. He walked all the way around, his judicious gaze never leaving me. Then, he stood next to my sensei and called “Matte!” and I relaxed as he commanded.
He nodded and turned to my sensei. “He knows discipline.” My sensei nodded. Then, the Dragon said, “Show me your stance.”
I nodded and fell into…
… and I fell to the floor with my lip broken. The Dragon stood over me, his katana half pulled from its saya. I was so concerned with falling into proper position that I never saw him move. He put his katana back into its saya and I leapt to my feet. “Your pride put you on the floor,” he said. “I am glad it does not keep you there.”
I looked at my sensei and saw something flash in his eye. Perhaps it was recognition, I do not know. Perhaps he had been where I was just then, on the floor with a broken lip and a bruised sense of prid. I looked back at the Dragon and said nothing.
“Your mistake was in showing me something you had shown me before,” he said. “Never show your opponent the same thing twice. If you do, you are lost.”
I nodded and bowed to him, and for some reason, he bowed lower to me. “May glory follow your footsteps, young Lion.” He turned and walked to the door. Then, he paused without turning and said, “I will warn my students about you.”
He was gone, and my sensei was smiling.
I will warn my students about you.
I guess it was a kind of compliment. The closest thing a Dragon can come to a compliment, perhaps.
Perhaps…
I was in the dojo of my sensei when first I saw him. The doors were open, and a warm wind was spilling through. He stepped up to the door, removed his shoes, bowed and entered. My sensei stood, turned from his students and met him with a bow lower than any I have seen him give any Lion. Kind words passed between them – kind, genuine words, I should say. (I do not wish to insinuate my sensei has the tongue of a Scorpion.)
Then, my sensei turned to me. “This is Mirumoto Hatsu,” he said. “I could never teach you what he will teach you today, even if I had one hundred years to do it.”
I felt a pang of uncertainty fill my belly, but I sent it away with a thought. Fill your belly with bushido…
I remained kneeling and bowed to my instructor-for-the-day. He bowed as well. Then he motioned for me to stand and we began.
“Show me your stance,” he told me.
I took a deep breath and fell into position.
He nodded and walked toward me, eyeing my bearing. He walked all the way around, his judicious gaze never leaving me. Then, he stood next to my sensei and called “Matte!” and I relaxed as he commanded.
He nodded and turned to my sensei. “He knows discipline.” My sensei nodded. Then, the Dragon said, “Show me your stance.”
I nodded and fell into…
… and I fell to the floor with my lip broken. The Dragon stood over me, his katana half pulled from its saya. I was so concerned with falling into proper position that I never saw him move. He put his katana back into its saya and I leapt to my feet. “Your pride put you on the floor,” he said. “I am glad it does not keep you there.”
I looked at my sensei and saw something flash in his eye. Perhaps it was recognition, I do not know. Perhaps he had been where I was just then, on the floor with a broken lip and a bruised sense of prid. I looked back at the Dragon and said nothing.
“Your mistake was in showing me something you had shown me before,” he said. “Never show your opponent the same thing twice. If you do, you are lost.”
I nodded and bowed to him, and for some reason, he bowed lower to me. “May glory follow your footsteps, young Lion.” He turned and walked to the door. Then, he paused without turning and said, “I will warn my students about you.”
He was gone, and my sensei was smiling.
I will warn my students about you.
I guess it was a kind of compliment. The closest thing a Dragon can come to a compliment, perhaps.
Perhaps…
