Free Sensei by John Donohue Page B

martial arts community was buzzing about it. I imagined that the senior sensei would be deeply concerned, but Yamashita's reaction to my involvement was odd. It involved a hard narrowing of the eyes and a set of the mouth that told me I had displeased him in some way I couldn't fathom.
    But when I followed him upstairs, he didn't say much right away. I sat down and waited while that little bullet of a man fussed in the kitchen making coffee. Oddly enough, Yamashita is a coffee fanatic. A while ago, someone signed him up for one of those gourmet mail services for what they insist on calling "kaffe" and it was all over for Sensei. Every time he tries to cancel, they offer him some free item to continue, and he does. His kitchen is cluttered with mugs with the company logo, a coffee maker with the brand name on it, and, his latest addition, a little white ceramic canister to hold his gourmet grounds.
    Then, surrounded by the rich aroma of coffee harvested in one of those African countries whose name has changed about eight times since 1960, we sat and I filled him in on the Ronin case. He listened attentively, with the very intense focus he brings to things in general. But once again, I picked up a sense of agitation and displeasure from him. It was subtle and fleeting from a Western point of view, yet there nonetheless.
    He nodded when I was done talking, blinked, and said, "Now, Burke. This morning showed something you need to pay attention to. The need for initiative and follow-through."
    "Sensei," I protested, "Sam knew that I got him."
    He sipped appreciatively at his mug, then grinned tightly. "No. YOU knew that you got him. Sam did not."
    I started to reply and he held up an open hand in admonition. "Burke. I understand that you are at a point when you can anticipate what would happen and do not feel the need to follow through. Like a chess player, yes?"
    I nodded.
    "You must remember," he went on, "that, in fighting, TWO people are involved. Both are very sure that they are the best. Each thinks he will win.
    "It is a delusion, of course," he went on merrily, "but a necessary one for a warrior."
    His eyes locked on me, even as he sipped from his mug.
    "But in a real contest, you must shatter the others confidence. You must project your spirit in such a way as to let the other one know he is defeated. You cannot wait for him to act. You must take the initiative."
    "I know that, Sensei, but in training ..."
    "You think you are being benevolent. Permitting the other person to develop skills. I understand. But you are really holding back, letting the other person exist in a type of delusion.
    "Look." He walked to the table where his katana was nestled in a polished wooden holder. The long sword was elegantly simple, an arc of steel with minimal decoration that said something about the refinement and seriousness of purpose of its owner. "I know you have seen this." The sword came off the rack.
    Yamashita pointed to the tsuba, or hand guard. On some swords, this is a highly ornamented spot. For a real swordsman, however, the tsuba is reduced to its functional essence. The only ornament on Yamashita's weapon was a character, etched in the surface of the hand guard that faced the owner when the sword was held in the ready posture. The character was jin, which means "benevolence."
    "This is to remind me of my duty," Yamashita said, indicating the character. "The warrior's way includes an awareness of when to be merciful. But, Burke...," he turned the sword around, "... look and see that my opponent cannot see the character when I hold the sword. Only the blade. That is as it should be."
    "I understand, Sensei."
    "Do you?" he paused as if considering just how far he wanted to push this. Candor and something almost like urgency won out. "You must commit to things, Burke. Otherwise you run the risk of not only deluding others, but deluding yourself too."
    Yamashita believes that tact is an impediment to serious training.
    I am sure