When the going gets tough... a kiai shugyo

Kogan Gengei - Zen monk, student of Hakuin.

A bull fears nothing, and when he sits, he really sits; when he moves, he really moves—the ideal behavior of a Zen adept. A bull additionally stands for the mind; uncontrollably wild at first but capable of being tamed, harnessed, and eventually set free to roam contentedly wherever it pleases. 

John Stevens 'The Appreciation of Zen Art'

Some time ago I wrote about the hard training methods that developed in or were promulgated from the Meiji period (1868- ) onwards. Whether these were an authentic continuation or re-creation of the experience of bugeisha in the past is a moot point. The information I could find pointed to a strong influence from sources outside the martial tradition. 

One of the traditions I described, popularised by the Ichikukai (One-nine Society) and labelled in a general way as misogi, seems to have developed from a Shinto base and developed a fierce, Zen inspired overlay (with nods to the teaching style of Yamaoka Tesshu), involved continuous ringing of a hand bell while chanting, and which lasted for a period of several days. Tohei Koichi, the famous aikido teacher engaged in this training.

A variant, or at least, a very similar style of training is described by veteran budo practitioner Roald Knutsen in his book Rediscovering Budo from a Swordsman’s Perspective. Knutsen, whose personal experience tends to pre-date many of the current crop of writers on these kinds of things, sees this kind of training relating to Shingon mikkyo, and suggests connections through to the roots of bugei, likely renewed by individual practitioners in their personal travels and connections with esoteric teachings such as those of the yamabushi.

Much of this kind of training involves sleep deprivation, pushing trainees to the point of physical exhaustion, and fasting – mainstays of esoteric training the world over. While it is true that the founders of several ryu-ha did, indeed, withdraw to undergo shugyo in shrine precincts, emerging with new or consolidated insights and understandings of their arts, going on to found their own styles, one wonders about the extent to which these experiences were characteristic of or necessary for bugeisha as a whole.

Knutsen includes a lengthy description of a kiai shugyo similar to the ones I described conducted at the Ichikukai. It is based on the reminiscences of three budo masters of the author’s acquaintance. While there are differences – the principal one being that the chanting described in other descriptions of the misogi of the Ichikukai has been replaced by kiai – it is recognisable as essentially the same practice.

   Early on the first morning the students knelt in formal line with a few domestic dojo members behind forming the second row. Each visiting student was handed a small handbell, or ‘kane’, to hold in his left hand. they were required to throw out their arm to sound the bell and shout a loud kiai – ‘Ei – the movement timed by the slow beat of the large dojo drum. This exercise was repeated endlessly at the same measured tempo for two hours before the practise ended. That first day they had two more sessions, a total of six hours. Needless to say, their arms became very heavy and tired; their voices, too.

   They were in the dojo the next morning before dawn and the practice was the same but for one detail. Instead of kneeling they were now required to sit in the posture known…as ‘tate-hiza’ or half kneeling, with the left foot tucked underneath their buttocks. The handbells felt twice as heavy as the day before and the pain and the fatigue soon came flooding back, only to become considerably worse as the long day wore on. For most, their voices were cracking and try as they might they found it impossible to shout to the satisfaction of their superiors. At the second period, the dojo master clapped his hands and several young girls, all Kendo or Naginata students, came in and knelt behind each bell ringer, and gently with the tips of their fingers lightly tapped up and down the taught straining muscles of their necks, backs, and shoulders. On and on they rang and tried to croak out the kiai, cajoled and exhorted by the senpai, having to draw deep on their reserves of determination at least to get through to the end of the day. Finally, after almost drowning in the warmth and luxury of the temple bath-house, they sought their futon to sleep, exhausted.

   The third day was exquisite torture. By now, quite apart from their stiffened limbs – arms, legs, shoulders, backs – and the weight of those nightmare bells, they had no voices left, just raw throats that could raise, at best, a faint croak. the girls’ gentle tapping, far from relieving their tired muscles hurt like the devil, too…..

……

   The fifth morning came and most felt better for their rest although somewhat stiff. They assembled in the dojo and put on their kendo armour before continuing with the usual kiai training, but this only lasted for an hour. Then, facing them on the senior side were a number of tough-looking senior yudansha. A violent practice followed in which there was no way in their present condition they could hope to hold their own. Each of the seniors seemed to be harder than the one before … and the practices were interminable, but at last the drum called a halt. The dojo master now announced that they would all be required later to fight one-point matches, success or failure depending on the result. They were then dismissed.

Both my Kendo informants recalled the prospect of these matches as daunting and, in each case, their respective opponents looked uncompromising and hard. With little or no reserves left within them, this situation was close to facing a deadly enemy on the battlefield; desperate in the extreme. While each steadied himself for what was to come, the senpai reminded them of the teaching:

‘Don’t look with your eyes; see with your mind!’

All three masters recalled that they took standing ‘rei’ towards their opponent, they followed it with a great kiai – and the senpai at once struck the drum to signal the match was at an end!

…..

R. Knutsen: Rediscovering Budo from a Swordsman’s Perspective pp98-100

To finish with, another swordsman's perspective:

Yamaoka Tesshu – the calligraphy reads:

Asking for

The inner secrets of kenjutsu

Is like asking me

To brush an ink painting

On the sound of the wind.