Most travelers visit Hiroshima to witness the scars of history—an essential pilgrimage for anyone visiting Japan. Walking through the city is an experience beyond “emotional”; it is difficult to pin down a single feeling when the mood shifts like a tide. Yet, as a practitioner of Budo, I found that a single day here offers something deeper: a profound lesson in Resilience (see my post on Fudōshin) and the evolution from the “Sword that Kills” to the “Sword that Gives Life.” If you have 24 hours in this rebuilt metropolis, here is how to navigate its complex emotional and historical layers.
If you have 24 hours in this rebuilt metropolis, here is how to navigate the emotional and historical layers of Hiroshima.
1. The Genbaku Dome: A Frozen Moment in Time
I started my journey at the A-Bomb Dome. It is a heavy, visceral sight. This structure—the former Prefectural Industrial Promotion Hall—was nearly at the epicenter of the 1945 explosion. Though the rest of Hiroshima was flattened, these columns refused to fall. Eighty years later, the Dome remains frozen in time: a stark reminder of total destruction and an icon of human resilience.
My Tip: Arrive early (before 8:30 AM). The morning light hitting the exposed red bricks against the quiet flow of the Motoyasu River creates a space for silent contemplation before the crowds arrive.
2. The Peace Memorial Park: The Heart of Remembrance
Crossing the bridge from the Dome, you enter the Peace Memorial Park. This isn’t just a park; it’s a sacred space designed by the legendary architect Kenzo Tange.
The Cenotaph and the Flame of Peace
I spent a long time at the Cenotaph for the A-Bomb Victims. Its saddle-like shape is designed to shield the souls of the deceased. If you stand at the center, you can look through the arch to see the Flame of Peace.
The Vow: This flame will burn until every nuclear weapon on earth has been dismantled.
As a martial artist, this site resonates with the concept of Katsujinken (活人剣)—the “Life-Giving Sword.” It reminds us that the ultimate goal of mastery is not conflict, but the preservation of peace.
3. Lunch: Hiroshima-style Okonomiyaki
You cannot visit Hiroshima without trying their soul food. Unlike the Osaka version, Hiroshima Okonomiyaki is layered, featuring noodles (soba or udon) and a generous portion of cabbage.
My Tip: Head to Okonomimura (Okonomi Village), a building with three floors of small stalls. It’s the perfect “Ha” (break) in your day to refuel.
4. Hiroshima Castle: The Return of the Carp
After the emotional weight of the morning, I walked 15 minutes north to Hiroshima Castle (Rijō or “Carp Castle”).
Originally built in 1589, the castle was a total loss in 1945. However, its 1958 reconstruction is a stunning tribute to the city’s samurai origins.
What to Look For:
The Survival Trees (A-Bombed Trees): Inside the castle walls, look for the Eucalyptus and Willow trees. Despite being charred by the heat of the blast, they survived and continue to grow today. They are living symbols of the samurai spirit—unyielding and rooted.
The Museum: The interior of the keep houses an excellent collection of Edo-period armor and katanas. For an Iaidoka, seeing the local craftsmanship and the history of the Asano clan is a must.
The View: Climb to the 5th floor for a panoramic view of the city. Seeing the modern skyline from a traditional fortress gives you a true sense of Japan’s ability to honor the past while embracing the future.
Practical Information for Your Visit
Location
Suggested Time
Entry Fee
Genbaku Dome
30 mins
Free
Peace Museum
2 hours
200 JPY
Hiroshima Castle
1.5 hours
370 JPY
How to get around: Use the Hiroden (the iconic streetcars). They are a living piece of history—some of the trams running today actually survived the 1945 bombing and were back on the tracks just three days later.
My day in Hiroshima followed the rhythm of Jo-Ha-Kyū:
Jo (Begin): The somber, slow realization at the Dome.
Ha (Break): The movement through the park and the vibrant energy of the city streets.
Kyū (Fast/End): The ascent to the top of the Castle, looking out over a city that refused to die.
If you are intreseted in the Budo Jo Ha Kyū concept, please have a look on my dedicated post.
Hiroshima is more than a tragic history; it is a vibrant, green, and welcoming city that embodies the very essence of Budo: the strength to remain calm and kind, no matter what storms have passed.
In the history of Japanese martial traditions (budō, 武道), few figures embody the union of swordsmanship and Zen Buddhism as completely as Tsuji Gettan Sukemochi (辻月丹資茂, 1648–1728), founder of Mugai-ryū (無外流).
Gettan’s life traces a rare and profound arc:
from samurai swordsman to Zen monk, from technical mastery (waza, 技) to realization of emptiness (mu, 無). His school is not merely a system of combat, but a physical expression of Zen insight, where the sword becomes a vehicle for awakening.
Edo Period and the Way of the Sword
Tsuji Gettan was born in 1648, early in the Edo period (江戸時代), a time of peace under the Tokugawa shogunate. With warfare largely absent, the samurai class faced an existential shift:
What is the purpose of the sword in an age without war?
This question gave rise to a new understanding of martial practice:
Swordsmanship as self-cultivation (shugyō, 修行)
Combat as a path toward ethical refinement
The integration of Zen (禅), Confucianism (儒教), and martial discipline
It was within this atmosphere that Gettan’s transformation became possible.
Early Life and Martial Training (武芸修行)
Tsuji Gettan Sukemochi was born into a samurai family (侍). From a young age, he was trained in classical sword arts (kenjutsu, 剣術), eventually studying several established schools, including:
Sekiguchi-ryū (関口流)
Yamaguchi-ryū (山口流)
These traditions emphasized:
Correct posture (shisei, 姿勢)
Efficient body mechanics
Decisive, realistic technique
Gettan sensei gained a reputation for calmness and precision rather than brute force. Yet even as his skill deepened, a realization emerged: technical excellence alone was incomplete.
The Inner Conflict: Technique Without Awakening
Like many elite swordsmen of his time, Gettan reached a point where further refinement of technique failed to bring clarity.
Questions arose:
What remains when technique disappears?
Who cuts when there is no thought?
Can the sword reveal ultimate truth (shinri, 真理)?
In Zen terms, Gettan faced the limit of form (kata, 形) without essence (ri, 理). This inner conflict pushed him beyond martial schools and toward Zen practice.
Encounter with Zen Buddhism (禅)
Tsuji Gettan became a disciple of the Rinzai Zen monk Sekitō Kisen (石頭希遷系臨済禅). Under his guidance, Gettan undertook severe spiritual training, including:
Zazen (坐禅) — seated meditation
Kōan practice (公案) — paradoxical Zen questions
Monastic discipline designed to exhaust ego and attachment
Through this process, Gettan confronted the root of fear, identity, and duality. Eventually, he attained satori (悟り), a direct realization of reality beyond conceptual thought.
Upon awakening, he received the Buddhist name Gettan (月丹):
月 (getsu / tsuki) — moon
丹 (tan) — cinnabar, elixir, essence
The name evokes the moon reflected in still water — pure awareness, unattached, illuminating without effort.
Ginkaku-ji (Kyoto) – Photo Liomugai
The Birth of Mugai-ryū (無外流)
After his Zen realization, Gettan returned to swordsmanship with transformed perception. From this union of Zen insight and martial experience, he founded Mugai-ryū.
The name of the school is profoundly philosophical: 無 (mu) — nothingness, emptiness, non-being
外 (gai) — outside, beyond
Mugai may be understood as: “That which exists beyond emptiness.” This does not imply nihilism, but freedom from duality — beyond self and other, life and death, victory and defeat.
Mugai-ryū specializes in iaijutsu (居合術), the art of drawing the sword and cutting in a single, decisive action.
Key characteristics include:
Simplicity (簡素, kanso) — no unnecessary movement
Directness (直截, chokusetu) — immediate resolution
Stillness of mind (静心, seishin) — action arising from silence
One cut, one life (一刀一命, ittō ichimei)
The kata are minimalistic, but unforgiving. They demand:
Perfect timing (hyōshi, 拍子)
Complete presence (zanshin, 残心)
Absence of ego (muga, 無我)
Teaching Beyond Technique: The Sword as a Zen Koan
As a teacher in Edo, Gettan attracted both samurai and scholars. However, he did not view Mugai-ryū merely as a fighting system.
For him:
Kata were moving kōan
Training was Zen practice in armor
The opponent was a mirror of the self
He emphasized key Zen-martial principles:
無心 (Mushin) — no-mind
不動心 (Fudōshin) — immovable mind
平常心 (Heijōshin) — everyday mind
True victory, Gettan taught, was victory over delusion.
In his later life, Tsuji Gettan increasingly withdrew from worldly ambition, focusing on teaching and Zen practice. He passed away in 1728, leaving behind:
Mugai-ryū Iaijutsu
A lineage of Zen-infused swordsmanship
A model of martial enlightenment
Mugai-ryū continues to thrive globally as a living expression of Zen. Speaking from experience, practicing it daily is more than just training; it is a vital asset for navigating the stresses of modern life.
In the past days I had the opportunity to get enough time to follow Tokugawa Ieyasu legacy starting from Shizuoka to Nagoya. It was an important historical deep dive considering Tokugawa’s impact is huge in Japanese history with the end of war period and the start of a long peace period known as the ‘Edo period’ .
Tokugawa Ieyasu (1543-16116)
Tokugawa Ieyasu was not merely a conqueror; he was the architect of a social and political order that redefined the DNA of Japanese civilization for over two and a half centuries.
By securing victory at the Battle of Sekigahara in 1600, Ieyasu ended the chaotic “Warring States” period and established the Tokugawa Shogunate, a feat achieved through a masterful blend of strategic patience and ruthless political engineering. His greatest impact lay in the creation of the Bakuhan system, which balanced the power of the central Shogunate (Bakufu) with local lords (Daimyo), and the implementation of the Sankin-kōtai (alternate attendance) system. This policy forced lords to live in Edo every other year, effectively draining their wealth to prevent rebellion while inadvertently creating a massive national infrastructure of roads and commerce. Under his legacy, Japan transitioned from a culture of constant military mobilization to one of “Great Peace,” allowing for a flourish of urban culture, the rise of the merchant class, and a sophisticated internal economy. By choosing Edo—a swampy village at the time—as his seat of power, he shifted the heart of Japan away from the ancient imperial capital of Kyoto, laying the literal and figurative foundations for what would eventually become the world’s largest metropolis, Tokyo.
Sunpu Castle in Shizuoka
While Edo (Tokyo) was the seat of the Shogunate’s power, Sunpu Castle in Shizuoka was the true heart of the Tokugawa empire during the early 17th century. It was here that Tokugawa Ieyasu, the founder of the dynasty, spent his childhood as a hostage and his final years as the “Ogosho” (Retired Shogun), effectively ruling Japan from behind the scenes.
Tokugawa first lived here as a young hostage of the Imagawa clan, learning the arts of war and diplomacy. After unifying Japan and establishing the Shogunate in Edo, he chose to return to Sunpu for his retirement in 1607.
Today, the site is known as Sunpu Castle Park. While the original wooden keep was unfortunately lost to fire in 1635, the meticulous reconstruction of the gates and towers allows visitors to experience the sheer scale of Ieyasu’s vision.
In the center of the park stands the famous bronze statue of Tokugawa Ieyasu. He is depicted in his later years, holding a hawk—a nod to his lifelong passion for falconry.
Tokugawa Statue in Sunpu Park (Shizuoka)
The Hidden Jewel of Shizuoka: Kunōzan Tōshō-gū
While most travelers flock to the famous shrines of Nikkō, the true heart of the Tokugawa legacy lies tucked away on a rugged cliffside overlooking Suruga Bay. Kunōzan Tōshō-gū is the original final resting place of Tokugawa Ieyasu, and it remains one of the most historically significant sites in all of Japan. Built to honor the man who finally unified a nation torn by civil war, the shrine is a breathtaking masterpiece of architecture, color, and symbolism.
For those seeking the “authentic” experience, the journey begins at the base of the mountain. You must ascend a winding stone staircase of 1,159 steps. This climb isn’t just for exercise; it was designed to represent the long, patient, and often grueling path Ieyasu took to achieve peace. As you climb, the views of the Pacific Ocean open up behind you, offering a sense of the scale and grandeur that Ieyasu loved about this region. Once at the top, you are greeted by the stunning Gongen-zukuri architectural style—a explosion of brilliant vermillion lacquer, intricate gold leaf, and vibrant carvings. Look closely at the artwork; you’ll see mythical creatures and peaceful floral patterns that serve as a visual prayer for a world without war.
At the highest point of the sanctuary sits the Okumiya, a solemn bronze stupa where Ieyasu was interred immediately after his death in 1616.
Unlike the crowded tourist paths elsewhere, Kunōzan retains a deep sense of quietude. Here, between the ancient cedar trees and the sea breeze, you can truly feel the presence of the Shogun who chose this specific mountain to watch over his legacy for eternity.
Tokugawa Ieyasu bronze stupa
Nagoya Castle : The Golden Fortress of the Owari
Constructed in 1610 under the orders of Tokugawa Ieyasu, Nagoya Castle was built to serve as a strategic fortress on the Tōkaidō road and as the headquarters for the Owari branch of the Tokugawa family—the most important of the three “successor” lines.
Ieyasu spared no expense, ordering twenty former enemy feudal lords to contribute to its construction. This was a brilliant political move: by forcing them to fund the massive stone walls and labor, he depleted their resources, ensuring they had neither the money nor the men to stage a rebellion.
The castle’s most recognizable feature is the Kinshachi—two golden tiger-headed carp that sit at either end of the main roof. Cast in solid gold (later replaced with gold-plated copper), these creatures were believed to have the power to summon water to extinguish fires. Today, they remain the proud symbol of Nagoya City, representing the wealth and authority of the Edo period.
While many visitors focus on the stone tower, the true “soul” of Nagoya Castle is the Hommaru Palace. Recently reconstructed over a decade using traditional materials and techniques, it is widely considered the finest example of Shoin-zukuri (residential) architecture in Japan.
Inside Hommaru Palace every room, every corridor is beautiful.
My take away from this historical trip
Even if we all know Tokugawa Ieyasu history, following his steps and discovering where he lived is something super emotional.
I’ve been really touched by the atmosphere surrounding Kunōzan Tōshō-gū and I can completely understand the faith of Japanese people for the Annual Festival on April 17 (the anniversary of Ieyasu’s death) to pay tribute to the first Shogun of Edo period.
In the world of Japanese martial arts, few schools embody the profound connection between Zen philosophy and the blade as deeply as Mugai-ryū Iaihyōdō. At the very heart of this ancient swordsmanship tradition lies a powerful poem, or kanshi, penned by its founder, Tsuji Gettan Sukemochi. This isn’t just a piece of poetry; it’s a spiritual blueprint, an articulation of enlightenment that continues to guide practitioners today.
Tsuji Getttan
The Founder’s Journey to “Nothing Outside”
Tsuji Gettan Sukemochi (1649–1728) was a master swordsman in his own right, but he felt there was something missing – a deeper understanding beyond mere technique. He sought this through intense Zen training under Zen Master Sekitan Zenshi at Kyūkō-ji Temple.
It was during this period of rigorous meditation that Gettan achieved satori (enlightenment). The realization he gained profoundly impacted his martial art. He named his school “Mugai-ryū,” which translates to “Nothing Outside” or “No Other.” This name, and the poem he composed, encapsulates the Zen concept that true understanding and power come from within, not from external forces or superficial forms.
The Poem: A Glimpse into Enlightenment
The most famous and widely quoted lines of Tsuji Gettan’s enlightenment poem are:
一法実無外 (Ippō jitsu mugai) 乾坤得一貞 (Kenkon toku ittei) 明頭乗萬機 (Meitō manki ni jōzu) 活物示全身 (Kappatsu zenshin o shimesu)
A common translation brings its profound meaning to light:
“One Truth, nothing outside.”“Heaven and Earth obtain this one uprightness.”“With an enlightened mind, ride upon all phenomena.”“A living being reveals its whole body.”
A more poetic translation (I personally prefer this one) :
“The quest for Oneness is the sole gateway to the path of Truth. Throughout the vast cosmos, and across the infinite reach of time, stands the Just—timeless and unshakeable. By the absolute power of this Unity, the breath born within the heart bestows the might of the blade upon a single hair, transforming even the smallest stir into a surging fountain of light.“
Kakejiku embedding the Poem in Tenshinkai Dojo in Cologne (Germany)
Breaking Down the Core Philosophy
Let’s deep into each line of this poem:
“One Truth, nothing outside.” (Ippō jitsu mugai): This is the core of Mugai-ryū. It speaks to the unity of all things and the absence of any external “other” to fear or contend with. The ultimate truth is found within oneself. When facing an opponent, this means seeing them not as a separate entity, but as part of the same interconnected reality.
“Heaven and Earth obtain this one uprightness.” (Kenkon toku ittei): This line emphasizes the universal principle of harmony and integrity. It suggests that when one aligns with this “One Truth,” their posture, mind, and spirit become perfectly upright and unwavering, mirroring the natural order of the universe.
“With an enlightened mind, ride upon all phenomena.” (Meitō manki ni jōzu): This is where Zen meets the sword in action. “Riding upon all phenomena” implies a state of fluid, effortless adaptability. An enlightened mind isn’t disturbed by external events; instead, it moves with them, anticipating and responding instinctively without hesitation or attachment.
“A living being reveals its whole body.” (Kappatsu zenshin o shimesu): This final line speaks to spontaneous, total commitment. When one truly embodies the “One Truth,” their entire being—mind, body, and spirit—moves as a single, unified force. There is no partiality, no hesitation; the practitioner acts with complete authenticity and presence, revealing their “whole body” in every movement.