The Taste of Banzo’s Sword Zen Story
- Dec 11, 2025
- 3 min read
Today we enter… The Taste of Banzo’s Sword. A story that looks like training, discipline, apprenticeship —but underneath, it is about something far more dangerous:
the ego that wants mastery faster than it wants truth.
This one cuts. Step in carefully.
Let the Story Unfold
A young man named Matajuro sought out the great swordsman Banzo.
He bowed and declared:
I want to become the finest swordsman in the land. How long will it take if I train under you?
Banzo replied:
With your eagerness, maybe ten years.
Matajuro protested:
Ten years? But I must master it faster than that. If I work very hard, how long will it take?
Banzo considered him.
Thirty years.
Matajuro was stunned.
Why thirty? If I dedicate every minute to training, what then?
Banzo shook his head.
Seventy years.
Desperate and confused, Matajuro begged to begin anyway.
Banzo agreed — but did not teach him sword play. Instead, he put Matajuro to work doing chores, day after day, month after month, with no instruction at all.
Then one morning, without warning, Banzo struck him with a wooden sword.
The next day, Banzo struck him again. And again. And again.
Matajuro lived in constant alertness, never knowing when the blow would come.
His reactions sharpened. His awareness became effortless. His body learned what his ambition could not grasp.
One night, when Banzo attacked, Matajuro dodged without thinking and caught Banzo’s arm mid-strike.
Banzo smiled.
Now you have begun.
Sit With the Meaning
This story isn’t about swordsmanship.
It is about the ego’s hunger to accelerate transformation and the painful truth Zen reveals:
The harder you strain toward mastery, the further away it moves.
Matajuro wanted greatness. He wanted speed. He wanted shortcuts. He wanted arrival without surrender.
Banzo saw the real obstacle immediately:
Ambition is not the path. Ambition is the veil.
The more Matajuro pushed, the more blind he became. The more he “tried,” the less he could actually perceive.
So Banzo did not give him a technique. He gave him a life that stripped away:
the illusion of control
the fantasy of speed
the arrogance of self-management
the belief that mastery can be willed into existence
Under sudden blows, something else awakened:
a mind that does not anticipate a body that does not overthink a self no longer trying to become anything
What Matajuro thought he needed was skill. What he actually needed was emptiness.
True mastery is not learned. It is revealed when the self that wants to master dissolves.
Banzo was not teaching swordplay. He was teaching surrender.
Turn Inward With Your Parts
Is there a part of you that believes progress must come quickly or it doesn’t count?
What protector pushes you to “arrive” faster than your system is ready?
When effort intensifies, which younger part fears falling behind, disappointing, or being overlooked?What happens inside when you imagine growth that unfolds at its own pace, not your ambition’s pace?
Let Expression Rise
Choose the doorway that feels open.
IFS Journaling
Write from the voice of the part that wants rapid mastery. Ask it what it fears will happen if growth is slow, quiet, or uncertain.
IFS Parts Art
Draw the difference between forced progress and natural unfolding.
One image tight, tense, reaching. The other open, grounded, awakened.
Somatic IFS
Stand with your muscles tight, jaw set, breath held — the posture of “I must get there now.”
Hold for 5–10 seconds.
Then release your whole body: shoulders drop, belly softens, breath widens.
Feel the shift between effort and presence.
And if none of this feels right… simply sit with the story. Let the quiet do the teaching.
Stay here with your parts as long as you like,and we’ll meet again in the next story.
Continue Exploring the Zen Stories
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