The Blind Swordsman
Long before I ever set foot in Japan, Japan had already entered my life.
I must have been twelve or thirteen years old when a Japanese film came to the little town of Kuala Terengganu. Its central character was Zatoichi, the blind swordsman.
I knew nothing about Zen. I knew very little about Japanese culture. Miyamoto Musashi, Hokusai, Bashō and all the other names that would eventually become familiar to me were still somewhere beyond the horizon.
But I fell in love with Zatoichi.
There was something about this blind wandering swordsman that captured my imagination. He appeared almost ordinary, even vulnerable, yet beneath that appearance was an extraordinary sensitivity and mastery. He listened. He waited. He seemed to know when to move and, perhaps more importantly, when not to move.
Looking back from where I am now, I can see that perhaps the fascination wasn't really with the sword.
It was with the mystery behind the sword.
What kind of mind could remain so still?
What does a person see when ordinary sight is no longer enough?
What is strength when it doesn't need to announce itself?
I had no words for these questions when I was thirteen. I simply watched the films and was fascinated.
Years later, I would encounter Hokusai, Miyamoto Musashi and eventually Zen through Alan Watts. Later still, I would discover the great masters of Zen, Taoism and Buddhism.
But the first door had already opened.
It opened in a small cinema in Kuala Terengganu, through the exploits of a fictional blind swordsman.
I could never have imagined then that one day I would actually live in Japan.
Perhaps the seeds of our lives are planted long before we understand what they are.
Some lie dormant for decades.
Then, one day, something happens and we suddenly realize:
Ah... I have been walking toward this for a very long time
Long before I ever set foot in Japan, Japan had already entered my life.
I must have been twelve or thirteen years old when a Japanese film came to the little town of Kuala Terengganu. Its central character was Zatoichi, the blind swordsman.
I knew nothing about Zen. I knew very little about Japanese culture. Miyamoto Musashi, Hokusai, Bashō and all the other names that would eventually become familiar to me were still somewhere beyond the horizon.
But I fell in love with Zatoichi.
There was something about this blind wandering swordsman that captured my imagination. He appeared almost ordinary, even vulnerable, yet beneath that appearance was an extraordinary sensitivity and mastery. He listened. He waited. He seemed to know when to move and, perhaps more importantly, when not to move.
Looking back from where I am now, I can see that perhaps the fascination wasn't really with the sword.
It was with the mystery behind the sword.
What kind of mind could remain so still?
What does a person see when ordinary sight is no longer enough?
What is strength when it doesn't need to announce itself?
I had no words for these questions when I was thirteen. I simply watched the films and was fascinated.
Years later, I would encounter Hokusai, Miyamoto Musashi and eventually Zen through Alan Watts. Later still, I would discover the great masters of Zen, Taoism and Buddhism.
But the first door had already opened.
It opened in a small cinema in Kuala Terengganu, through the exploits of a fictional blind swordsman.
I could never have imagined then that one day I would actually live in Japan.
Perhaps the seeds of our lives are planted long before we understand what they are.
Some lie dormant for decades.
Then, one day, something happens and we suddenly realize:
Ah... I have been walking toward this for a very long time.
#Japan #Zen #Zatoichi #Hokusai #Basho #TheWay
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