I Studied the Blade
What's the deal with swords?
Swords have always held a totemic power for me. I'm not alone in this. Could there be a more archetypal image of a lone warrior standing with nothing between him and death but a sharpened blade? There is a primal resonance that has been expressed across cultures throughout history, from the literal veneration of the blade by samurai culture to the ubiquity of magical swords in mythic, fantasy, and science fiction literature. Excalibur, Durandal, Grass Cutter, Stormbringer, Light Sabers, Green Destiny, Sting, Terminus Est, The Sword of Omens. The list is loing.
Freudians no doubt have a pretty clear interpretation of the symbolism, and there is an element of truth to that.
I prefer to think of the sword as an extension of the rational mind. Swords cut to the heart of the matter. To me, they represent power and intellect. Their sharp edge seperates truth from lies.
As a huge nerd, I am not immune to a fascination with swords. In fact, I'm more prone than most and it would come as no surprise to anyone who has spoken with me for more than ten minutes that I have a long and storied history of being way too into swords, including owning several and training in various forms of sword technique (though never sticking with it long enough to progress beyond being a dabbler).
My first sword was a foot-long piece of cheap iron with a fleur de lys style crossguard. My dad bought it for me at Medieval Times in 1986. It had "Sir Sean" etched on the blade, which must have cost my father a premium. I was maybe 7 or 8 at the time, and it was a gift. I was high on my first exposure to medieval combat and I wouldn;t let us leave until I had a blade in my hand, just like the noble green knight, whose cause I had championed that evening. I played with that sword for years, and it disintegrated over time because it was not meant for the level of enthusiasm an 8 year old brings to hacking down imaginary monsters in his backyard. You could question the wisdom of giving a young child a sword as a plaything, even if it was cheap and barely sharpened but I think Terry Pratchett said it best:
My second sword was a katana. Not a complete wall-hanger, it had been forged for actual use. It held up to drawing and cutting. I purchased it from a martial arts supply store in Chicago while I was on a trip to the national qualifier karate tournament for the junior olympics. My parents had given me $100 for the entire trip, and I spent every penny on the katana, choosing to bum snacks and meals off the other kids on the trip. I even named it, the type of formidable named blade that would strike fear into the hearts of my enemies: ShadowDeathLifeTakerEternalBloodyVengeance
Such was my desire for a blade of my own. I had started training in an actual sword-based martial art by that point. I literally studied the blade. I did not make it particularly far down the path, as less than a year into my training I shifted focus to football and wrestling. was consigned to a place of honor on my wall, in between a framed copy of X-Men #1 and the foldout poster of the CD booklet for Pearljam's album Ten.
When I was in undergrad, I bought a claymore during a summer eurotrip while I was in Scotland. I felt connected to the blade of my people and Braveheart had been one of my all time favorite films. It was comically large. It hung in a place of honor on my bedroom wall until my girlfriend moved in a few years before becoming my wife and altered my decorating philosophy to be more beachy and shabby chic than "giant fucking sword hung up with two nails." Into the garage with the claymore.
The next sword was another katana. This one was a cheap reproduction. It was offered as the prize for first place at a grappling tournament I entered in Miami in 2006. There was only one other person in my weight class/skill level division, and they more or less defeated themselves by slipping and falling straight down within the first 15 seconds of the match. I just had to fall on top of them and slide in a choke. It was less taking his back, and more receiving it when it had been offered freely. On the winner stand, they handed me the blade. I gave it no name.
Sometime later, I got interested in HEMA. (Historical European Martial Arts, basically a system of sword fighting that attempts to be closer to the way swords were originally used in combat as opposed to the more formal and stylistic sport of fencing.) I stopped and started a few times, and never progressed very far in my training, even though it was pretty fun. I obtained a plastic training long sword.
Just recently, I got myself a reproduction of a gladius. This is recreation of the military sword used by roman legionaries. I upped the frequency of times I think about the roman empire since I now look at it every time I enter my study. I have no plans to learn how to use it, which is just as well as it is nasty and efficient. A short blade meant for soldiers and not for playing.
As I get older, I ask myself if I am getting any wiser. My enthusiasm for many of the things that I obsessed over in my younger days has waned. I read less. I play fewer video games. I couldn't tell you the last time that I brewed my own batch of beer. But the fascination with the sword feels eternal.