Under the Dust

The week has finally come to an end, and I feel as tired as I ever have here. Body, mind, spirit — all of it feels worn down. Not injured, just deeply worked. The kind of tired that comes from sustained effort rather than any single blow.

I know this feeling well enough to trust it. It’s the residue of hard training, the kind that only reveals its value later. Still, in the moment, it carries a hollow edge — like reaching a well after a long crossing and finding it dry.

The weekend offers some relief. A chance to recover. Today, at least, I decided to head into town with a practical idea in mind: finding a short sword I could use when the rain crowds everyone into too little space. It might look ridiculous. I don’t really care. Progress matters more than appearances.

I don’t know if it will work, but it feels worth trying. If it helps get the form deeper into my body, even slightly, it’s enough.

After practice, I went into town for lunch and coffee. The rain eased for a while, and the break felt welcome. I spent some time with an American who has recently arrived at the school. He seemed pleasant enough, though his attention felt fixed on things that no longer interest me. He’ll be gone soon. That made the interaction easy to let pass.

At the weapons shop, the idea of the short sword almost fell apart. The shelves held nothing usable — until the owner opened a hidden door and led me into a back room. Dusty stock. Forgotten pieces. After some rummaging, he pulled out exactly what I’d been hoping for.

A short sword. Beautiful. Balanced. Unused for a long time. The blade was sharp, though, which made it impractical. He told me he could fix that.

For twenty minutes, I watched him work. With calm precision, he dulled the edge, reshaping the blade without diminishing it. In his hands, the sword felt revived — no longer a relic, but something ready again. It was a quiet pleasure to witness.

It made me think about how many things are written off too early. How often value lies just beneath a layer of dust, waiting for the right conditions to be seen again. I couldn’t help including myself in that thought.

The week feels finished — mostly. I still don’t know if tomorrow brings rest or more training. Part of me welcomes the break. Another part knows the sword form is far from settled. The weather hasn’t helped, but that isn’t the whole story. This form resists me more than the others. The pieces appear, disappear, and refuse to line up cleanly.

Maybe I rushed it.
Maybe it just needs more time.

All I can do is keep showing up. Keep working. Trust that, eventually, it will solidify. And when it does, the real work can begin — learning how to let it move well.

As always, there’s a long way to go.