Sensei Doesn't Love Me Anymore

Waah! Like a verse from an old country song, I remember when Sensei stopped loving me. Or, so I thought at first. After joining the Meishi ha Mugai Ryu group as a member of the fledgling American crew, the first of its kind, I had a sense of pride; importance. Here I was training in a 300 year old art directly from the Headmaster. I had been to Japan twice, Canada once, and California once all in the first year to train in the art. We were welcomed with open arms. Gosoke was the opposite of all the images in my head of the prototypical Grandmaster. He was kind, always smiling, and always helpful when it came to our development. His attention to detail was overwhelming, his technique flawless. I was finally learning the intricacies of something phenomenal; beyond me. After my second visit to the Honbu Dojo in Tokyo, I realized that I was missing some things. We were always accommodated when issues of culture or the language barrier hindered our learning. I learned from my western brothers who lived and trained there that we got a "get out of jail free" card. If we made an error in etiquette, protocol, or language, we were immediately forgiven and corrected. I first realized the importance of addressing the language issue when I was training in the dojo and I kept being corrected. The broken English wasn't quite getting through my thick skull and finally Soke said, "Good," with his thumbs up and that addictive smile. I knew immediately it was NOT good and that he was simply tired of trying to explain it to me. Thus, I started to try to expand my linguistics a bit. One thing I have learned is try to speak the language whenever possible, even if you think you will be laughed at. Ultimately, most Japanese martial arts students and teachers enjoy the fact that we try and will help. I certainly got laughed at(still do) but was helped all the same. As I studied and learned, some of the cultural nuances and etiquette protocols I had been missing became more and more obvious. I worked hard to try to become "a little more Japanese" than I was. During one trip to Japan, I arrived at the dojo unannounced and peeked my head in. "Shitsureishimasu!" "Hai," came a voice from the other room. I walked in and Gosoke smiled. But the person with him did not. If you saw the dojo, you would see that the dojo office area and the dojo training area is separated by a piece of wood trim on the floor. Although I was in the office area, right next to the shoe shelf, I had not taken my shoes off. My senpai, or senior, the gentleman who looked at me as if I had just pissed on the floor, pointed at my shoes. "Oh," I said feeling like a complete idiot. So, I don't know to take off my shoes in a dojo? Embarrassing. So I started to take my shoes off when the embarrassment intensified. "Iie," senpai said, as he grabbed my arm and led me to the shoe rack. "Ko." Got it. Don't take shoes off in front of Gosoke or others, go back to the shelf, off the floor, take shoes off, place in shelf, return to Sensei... completely mortified. We talked a bit, me in my broken Japanese, Sensei in broken English. We worked out the particulars of training that evening and I was off to the hotel. At the hotel, I reflected on how this screw up (I had never been reprimanded like that before in the presence of Gosoke and could only imagine the displeasure he had for my insolence) was going to affect the rest of my trip. "He doesn't like me anymore," I lamented. So, I set forth to earn my way back into his graces. I would train harder and mind my etiquette a little closer for the duration. It was of course a great trip, but I couldn't help notice that the more I tried to use my new cultural skills, the more standoff-ish Sensei would be. Not in a rude way, but just not in the ultra-attentive way I was accustomed to. It wasn't until a couple years later I started to realize what was happening. In my efforts to become more like a Japanese martial arts student, I had become just that. Gosoke took my study and dedication for what it was. I wanted to REALLY learn the art. And if that was to happen, he was obligated to teach me in a more REAL way. I started to recognize and respect the way he would NOT single me out in training, correct me, or speak English to me. He had become serious with me, which I realized is what I truly wanted but was not alert enough at first to comprehend the implications. Despite what Black Belt Magazine or YouTube will have you believe about the martial arts, the arts, especially koryu disciplines, are about the propagation of the art. Just as the sword is my tool in learning, I am a tool for the ryu to continue into the future. The ryu does not care about me, have sympathy for me, or want me to succeed. The ryu must simply survive and maintain its traditions into the future. The benefits I receive as a member of the ryu are secondary to the benefits the ryu gains by my dedication to it. The by-product of all of this is the relationships we as members of the ryu develop as we travel on our chosen path. In that, because the ryu will continue and because I am becoming a better person by being a part of it, I know that all of us are bound in this unconditional love of something outside of ourselves.