Musashi - Eiji Yoshikawa [522]
Before the great deity,
The leaves of the sakaki tree
Grow in profuse abundance,
Grow in profuse abundance.
The tempo of the drums picked up and other instruments joined in. Soon song and dance melded in a lively, syncopated rhythm.
Whence came this spear?
It is the spear of the sacred dwelling
Of the Princess Toyooka who is in Heaven—
The spear of the sacred dwelling.
Musashi knew some of the songs. As a child, he had sung them and donned a mask and taken part in the dancing at Sanumo Shrine.
The sword that protects the people,
The people of all lands.
Let’s hang it festively before the deity,
Hang it festively before the deity.
The revelation struck like lightning. Musashi had been watching the hands of one of the drummers, wielding two short, club-shaped drumsticks. He sucked in his breath and fairly shouted, “That’s it! Two swords!”
Startled by the voice, Iori took his eyes away from the stage just long enough to look down and say, “Oh, there you are.”
Musashi didn’t even glance up. He stared straight ahead, not in dreamy rapture like the others but with a look of almost frightening penetration.
“Two swords,” he repeated. “It’s the same principle. Two drumsticks, but only one sound.” He folded his arms more tightly and scrutinized the drummer’s every movement.
From one point of view, it was simplicity itself. People were born with two hands; why not use both of them? As it was, swordsmen fought with only one sword, and often one hand. This made sense, so long as everybody followed the same practice. But if one combatant were to employ two swords at once, what chance would an opponent using only one have of winning?
Against the Yoshioka School at Ichijōji, Musashi had discovered his long sword in his right hand, his short sword in his left. He had grasped both weapons instinctively, unconsciously, each arm involved to the utmost in protecting him. In a life-and-death struggle, he had reacted in an unorthodox fashion, Now, all of a sudden, the rationale seemed natural, if not inevitable.
If two armies were facing each other in battle, it would be unthinkable under the rules of the Art of War for either to make use of one flank while allowing the other to stand idle. Was there not a principle here that the lone swordsman could not afford to ignore? Ever since Ichijōji, it had seemed to Musashi that to use both hands and both swords was the normal, human way. Only custom, followed unquestioningly over the centuries, had made it seem abnormal. He felt he had arrived at an undeniable truth: custom had made the unnatural appear natural, and vice versa.
While custom was bred by daily experience, being on the boundary between life and death was something that occurred only a few times during a lifetime. Yet the ultimate aim of the Way of the Sword was to be able to stand on the brink of death at any time: facing death squarely, unflinchingly, should be as familiar as all other daily experiences. And the process had to be a conscious one, though movement should be as free as if it were purely reflexive.
The two-sword style had to be of this nature—conscious but at the same time as automatic as a reflex, completely free of the restrictions inherent in conscious action. Musashi had been trying for some time to unite in a valid principle what he knew instinctively with what he had learned by intellectual means. Now he was close to formulating it in words, and it would make him famous throughout the country for generations to come.
Two drumsticks, one sound. The drummer was conscious of left and right, right and left, but at the same time unconscious of them. Here, before his eyes, was the Buddhist sphere of free interpenetration. Musashi felt enlightened, fulfilled.
The five sacred dances, having begun with the song of the master of the dance, continued with performances by the dancers. There was the broad, sweeping Dance of Iwato, then the Dance of Ara Mikoto no Hoko. The melodies of the flutes quickened; bells rang in lively rhythm.
Musashi looked up