One of the elements that undoubtedly captures the curiosity of those who are unfamiliar with Aikido is the possibility of approaching a cross-disciplinary study that includes exercises with the sword, the staff, and the knife (strictly made of wood and, in order: bokken, jo, and tanto).

Years of public demonstrations have taught us that making a katana flash in front of passers-by makes them stop and watch. It is not merely an evocation connected to the imagery of movies and the iconography of the samurai. This visual anchor allows us to attract people of all kinds, place a bokken or a tanto in their hands, and help them understand that anyone can learn to handle them.

Even in its more physical expressions, Aikido conveys a message of harmony to the general audience. It almost seems as though weapons training is in contrast with the more common and widespread practice of empty-hand techniques.

In reality, the opposite is true.

Weapons in Aikido are not a folkloric addition, nor are they a tribute to the traditions of feudal Japan. They are a key to understanding. An accelerator of comprehension. And, above all, one of the pillars upon which authentic practice is built.

Before falling into easy misunderstandings and the resentment that can come with them, it is important to clarify two aspects. The first concerns the historical and educational reasons why many branches of Aikido have greatly reduced, if not completely abandoned, the study of weapons. Many teaching lineages have drawn from Japanese sword schools, above all the kenjutsu of Kashima Shinto Ryu and Tenshin Shoden Katori Shinto Ryu. For staff training, some schools have looked toward Jodo. Some teachers have developed their own movements, considered functional to their teaching systems.

Other teaching lineages have considered it coherent, both historically and pedagogically, to base their practice on the codification of the Founder of Aikido’s work during the years he lived in Iwama, a period in which transmission remained more continuous with some of his students, including Morihiro Saito.

The second aspect concerns the particular nature of this discipline, which is able to call itself Aikido despite -or perhaps precisely because of- the many ways in which it is expressed. The goal of any discipline is the complete development of the individual in every aspect. Wherever a teaching method, whatever it may be, achieves this purpose, it holds exactly the same dignity as any other.

We are not speaking here of one path being better than another. We are affirming a principle that is as obvious as it is difficult to accept: the body does not lie.

And if movement does not lie, we must acknowledge that we can make an empty-hand technique “work” by compensating with strength, speed, or experience.

With a bokken, no. The sword is brutally honest.

If the center of gravity is misaligned, the technique loses effectiveness (whether it is a strike or a cut, it makes no difference). If the hands guide the movement instead of the center, everything becomes heavy. If the timing is wrong, it is immediately evident.

The bokken does not judge. It reveals.

And this is precisely its strength: it makes visible mistakes that, in empty-hand practice, may go unnoticed for years. Or even be denied, hidden and, with a certain amount of manipulation, presented as functional adjustments.

The study of weapons, buki waza, leads the practitioner to discover an uncomfortable truth very early: they are not learning how to use a sword, a staff, or a knife. They are learning how to move.

Every suburi becomes an exercise in posture. Every kata becomes a lesson in balance and spatial awareness. Every partner exercise becomes a search for perfect timing, correct distance, and mental presence.

The weapon becomes a mirror. The mirror does its job: it reflects the weapon being used and, attached to it, the practitioner.

Although relatively young, Aikido did not emerge from nothing. Its roots reach deep into the ancient Japanese Martial Arts, where armed and unarmed combat were two expressions of the same principle.

For the Founder, Morihei Ueshiba, the difference between holding a sword and performing an empty-hand technique was not so much in the tool itself, but in the quality of movement. The object changed, but the principle remained the same.

This is why those who seriously practice buki waza inevitably improve their taijutsu as well: the body learns to move in a more natural, economical, and effective way.

If the bokken teaches clarity, the jo teaches something even more difficult: continuity.

A staff longer than one meter does not allow fragmented movements. Every rotation involves the entire body. Every change of direction requires coordination between the feet, hips, torso, and hands. In such conditions, one cannot rely on arm strength. Slowly, one learns to make the center work.

And this is where the true power of Aikido emerges: not from muscular tension, but from the integration of movement. From that particular connection with oneself that is essential before beginning to explore the connection with one’s training partner.

These are details that completely change one’s perspective. Many practitioners discover the value of buki waza only after years of training. Suddenly, a technique that once seemed complicated becomes simple. A throw gains naturalness. The hands stop “doing” and simply begin to follow the body.

It is not magic.

It is the result of hundreds, thousands of cuts, thrusts, and movements repeated with awareness: weapons teach what techniques alone cannot explain.

The more one progresses through repetition and the more one learns to use weapons… The less one thinks about weapons. It is a paradox that reveals the truth. At a certain point, the bokken stops being a sword. The jo stops being a staff. They become tools for understanding distance, intention, balance, and harmony.

They become Aikido.

This is why we believe that the study of weapons should accompany practitioners from the very beginning -children, teenagers, or adults- while respecting their physical and mental condition. In our experience, we have witnessed and continue to witness results that are both educationally and pedagogically remarkable.

Indeed, it is precisely within the study of weapons that some of the most important lessons of our discipline are hidden: managing distance, precision, timing, centering, and continuity of movement. These are the same principles found in every empty-hand technique.

There are not two Aikidos: one with weapons and one without. There is only one Aikido, expressed through different tools.

Because the true goal is not to learn how to hold a sword, spin a staff, or make a knife flash.

It is rather to learn to move the body with such naturalness that, in the end, the weapon becomes invisible… And only the principle remains.