A Samurai’s Story

Years ago, I became acquainted with this story and recall its rudiments. I always found it to be so moving and am now sharing my rendition with all of you…

A Samurai’s Story

In Japan, in the days of old, there lived an elderly samurai named Watsunabi-san. In his day, he was renowned throughout Japan as a great and fearsome samurai. He has served his master with rigor and aplomb. He had fulfilled his duty well.

In all this, though, he had not found peace. This had eluded him. And, as the ending of his life approached, as it necessarily would, he very much wanted to experience a deep spiritual transformation, an unwavering peace…

He knew intuitively that this was the greatest accomplishment to be found in this life, irrespective of the magnitude of the “success”that had been evidenced in his own life.

For many years he had heard about a great spiritual being, a master, who lived in northern Japan. His whereabouts were uncertain but his spiritual power had become legendary.

So, Watsunabi decided to find this great being. Perhaps he could help him in this pursuit of transformation and inner peace.

Watsunabi set off on his pilgrimage. He dressed very simply and brought along only the bare essential. He was travelling by foot, a part of the austerity in such a pilgrimage.

For many weeks, he walked. And here and there people would help with directions.

Even nature seemed to guide and protect him in his quest. Birds flying overhead would offer hints to the direction that needed to be taken. The very trees and flowers would seem to whisper a sweet encouragement.

It was, indeed, a rigorous pilgrimage…

Finally, he found himself at the foot of a great mountain. It was now winter and very chilly. With great determination, he started his climb. Days went by as the rocky path became steeper and more difficult.

He eventually sensed he was getting closer. He could feel the power of this temple, this place, this great being, as he walked on. It was in the air. It was palpable.

Finally, one late snowy afternoon, as he came around a bend in the path, there it was. A simple temple, bathed in dusk light, presented itself behind a closed gate.

He strode up to the gate, now invigorated, and rang the bell outside the gate. Clang, clang, clang sang the bell as he stood tall and proud. He had made it!

A little time later, a short, disheveled, and utterly unimpressive-looking fellow came shuffling out of the side entrance to the temple and walked toward him. Wearily and with little interest, he asked what the samurai wanted. Well, to see the master, the samurai answered. “Wasn’t it obvious,” he thought to himself.

The fellow responded with, “Wait here.” And disappeared into the temple once again. Minutes went by. Then, an hour. Then, two.

The samurai was beyond incensed. He was a proud fellow and not use to being treated this way. He rang the bell again, this time louder. Again, the fellow shuffled out. Again, he was told to wait.

The samurai, by then, was dejected and weary, too tired to protest. As night set in, he accepted his fate for the time being, and made do with the cold ground as a bed…

The next morning, he awoke as the sun was rising. Standing there, over him, was the same fellow, now beckoning him to come with a sudden, great urgency. Groaning and stumbling, he made his way up and followed the fellow.

Finally, the gate had opened! He was told to stand in front of the large oak doors to the temple and wait for further instruction.

Standing there alone, a few minutes passed and he suddenly heard a loud booming voice saying he could enter. He pushed against the heavy, oak doors and found himself in a dimly lit, cavernous room. There in the near distance sat a figure on a chair.

Approaching with a steady gait, he peered through the dim light. As he came closer, he was then shocked to discover it was the same fellow that had met him at the gate! But now he looked so different; regal, powerful, and he glowed with a beautiful light.

As he came closer, the master started yelling at him, calling him a fool, an undisciplined, lazy fool. He hurled upon him such cutting verbiage, loudly and without restraint.

The samurai was utterly shocked by this sudden terrible reception and a burning anger started arising - traveling from his feet all the way to the top of his head. As he neared the figure, he instinctively grabbed his sword in its scabbard and held it up high. A red, hot anger coursed through his veins.

Suddenly the figure paused in his diatribe and said ever so gently - “That is hell.”

The samurai stood stock still. In that moment, he understood a powerful teaching had been transmitted. That it was his own great anger, his rage, that had kept him from the peace he sought. He also recognized that the master had put himself in a terrible, great danger to impart this teaching. This was the samurai’s first experience of unconditional love, that someone would risk thusly, perhaps even their own life, for his sake.

He dropped his sword allowing it clang to the ground as an ambrosial gratitude filled his being to the brim. Tears running down his face, he dropped to his knees suffused with the deep tranquility of this pure and fearless love that had been shone upon him.

The doors of peace started to creak open…

And, as his forehead touched the cool stone floor, he now heard softly from above, “And that, my son, is heaven.”

Annie Kiyonaga