A dojo is not a place. Although a dojo occupies space, it is not defined by its architecture or its address. A dojo begins beneath the feet of one person and persists when a community develops around shared practice under sincere and selfless guidance. Nothing about modern life is setup to make this convenient or easy, and in some ways it's a miracle that serious dojos offering authentic training manage to survive at all.

In traditional Japanese martial arts, people often speak of omote (表) and ura (裏), which can mean outside and inside, or front and rear, respectively. Often this distinction is literal, but as with many important concepts in the dojo, there are additional philosophical layers or metaphorical meanings for these words.

When manipulating the sword, the interface between the tsuka and hands is of utmost importance. Not only is this the critical juncture where power is transferred between the body and the blade, but it’s also a conduit for information: Pressure, proprioception, and other sensitive signals travel from the sword back to the body. When discussing this interface, we generally use two terms: tsukanigiri (柄握り) and tenouchi (手の内).

You can pursue Japanese sword arts much like a sports hobby such as darts or archery, but sword arts can end up being more complex due to their cultural and combative roots. This complexity inspires numerous reasons to study them, but how much one needs to practice depends upon the answer to one central question and a few follow up ones.

There are still tōshō making swords of appropriate quality for iai-batto practice, but their number has declined over the past 70 years. Meanwhile Covid, American tariffs, and recent events in other countries – particularly China – have reduced the number of factories producing high-quality, Japanese-style swords. The question at hand is whether swords of appropriate quality will be available and affordable in the future.

As I prepared for my latest exam I was reminded of something Michael sensei asked me before an earlier grading. He said, “Jerome, before you agree to take the exam, I want you to consider what would it mean if you don’t pass. What would failing change for you?”

In the immediate post-COVID (mid-COVID? Are we still mid-COVID?) era, I had grown a bit more sedentary than usual. Working in software (and being an avid gamer), I was already spending large swaths of time sitting at a computer, but now I no longer had a commute to and from an office to at least attempt to balance out my lifestyle. As lockdowns lifted, I figured it would be good to get into some sort of activity for the sake of my slowly atrophying physical fitness.

僕は８年間抜刀道を練習したり、５年間、日本語も勉強したりする。よく、日本人に「なぜ日本語を勉強していますか」と聞かれる。数年前、日本語初級の時、僕は「居合道」を練習したいと答えると、日本人には無表情があった。「てっきり、日本人が居合道というのを知っているだろう」と考えてしまったからだ。

I’ve been studying Battodo for about eight years, and the Japanese language for five of those years. Often, Japanese people have asked me (in Japanese) why I study the language. When I was earlier in my studies, I would explain that I practiced iaido and wanted to better connect with my teachers in Japan, but that would always lead to blank stares. Surely, I thought, native Japanese speakers would recognize a Japanese word like iaido, no? Clearly, I had a lot to learn about language.

In iaidō and battōdō, there is a dichotomy, two prevailing and seemingly contradictory philosophies as to how Japanese sword arts should be practiced, often referred to as jissen budō and seishin shugyō budō, or simply as shugyō budō. Jissen budō is the easier of the two to define as jissen is commonly translated as “actual combat” or “realistic fighting.” By contrast, shugyō has a variety of translations including “austere training,” “cultivating conduct,” “repeatedly training,” “conducting oneself in a way that inspires mastery,” and “deep mind-body training.”

At its most superficial the question can be posed as: do kenshi train with their swords as tools of combat, or as sacred tokens to aid them in their maturation as individuals? And going a little further, when iaidō is a metaphysical pursuit, is it still a budo?

It’s the time of New Year’s resolutions and people all over are joining gyms and going on diets. You’re a little different and you’ve decided that instead of a gym, you want to learn the art of the Japanese sword. Believe it or not, within three hours of New York City there are over a dozen dojos that teach battodo, the art of drawing the sword.

Even if you have been practicing the martial arts for a while; even if you have a decent amount of proprioception, once there's a weapon in your hand, the game changes.

Battojutsu (抜刀術) is a legitimate term for Japanese sword arts, and the way they are portrayed throughout Rurouni Kenshin is not wholly inaccurate compared to what I’ve learned in my battodo classes. So, for this article I would like to explain the portrayal of battojutsu in a scene from the series.

On the evening of June 24th, 2024, Zentokan Dojo was honored to present a demonstration of Toyama Ryu Battodo at The Metropolitan Museum of Art. How do form and function unite in the Japanese sword? What makes it such a beautiful and effective weapon? How does the Japanese sword really work as a bladed weapon? How does that influence the practice of swordsmanship today? And why is it valuable to practice such an anachronistic art in the first place?

In a wide-ranging two part interview with the prolific blog Martial Arts of Yesterday, Today, and Tomorrow, Zach Biesenz, the founder of Zentokan Dojo, and Michael Shane, current Chief Instructor, offered a look at their individual and shared budo journeys, the history of the dojo, teaching philosophy, and more.

Tsukanigiri and tenouchi refer to how to properly grip the sword. As with most budo concepts, there is an omote definition and a deeper ura aspect for these terms.