William holds out his hand as the black and yellow striped butterfly lifts off from the bush near where he sits and lands on his open palm.

My mask is my sword, he says to the small creature.

William asks the butterfly a question.

Have you ever seen a samurai enter battle without a weapon honed so sharp that it slices bamboo with no force behind the cut?

The butterfly remains still.

Like swords, masks are weapons, William says. We must prepare for battle with knowledge.

William sits in an average room-sized sized Zen garden he created in the weed-covered backyard behind his apartment building. Nobody ever goes there so he mapped out a peace and stillness zone where he welcomes all life. A cracked stone Buddha sits on a flat rock by the scraggly shrub he carefully trimmed like a bonsai tree. He sweeps the area around his altar daily with a well-used broom.

Kneeling in seiza, the traditional Japanese sitting posture, William focusses on his center. Feeling his body weight press down on his ankles, he adjusts and settles into the same posture in which he sits zazen, the Zen Buddhist meditation he has practiced for several years. Few people know he trains in the arts of life and death. Few know he sits zazen, swings a sword and craves peace more than war.

Pondering the encroaching chaos of the pandemic world, William understands how self-defense, societal and otherwise, includes facing an enemy. The coronavirus is an enemy that attacks without malice or favor. Germs have no mind and take the battlefield as the ultimate Zen warriors. All human fighters who respect the planet must train for the maelstrom in which the world now finds itself.

Holding the razor-sharp katana in front of him with one hand, William dabs clove oil on a soft cotton cloth. He wipes the lubricant up and down both sides of the blade. Next he powders the blade on both sides, leaving small white puffs with each tap. While cleaning his sword after each iaijutsu practice, he ponders the quick-draw art of drawing and cutting that dates back centuries, sharpened in combat with the harsh legacy of death. During years of practice William took his art to the next level. Iaido is the way of the sword that surpassed the deadly combat applications of iaijutsu. Having learned the difference between butterflies and battle, he knows the way, the “do” (pronounced doe, as in female deer) is more important that the jutsu.

Death-giving swords ended countless lives.

Life-giving swords are far harder to come by.

Medical experts recently announced another 100,000 people will die of COVID-19 in America by sometime in September. Eight hundred to 1,000 people will to die each day. We have already lost about 113,000 people to the disease, mostly senior citizens and African-Americans with underlying health factors. In a few short months, cold-hearted Americans have already written off their neighbors. They will write off many more as long as they themselves do not fall prey to the increasing body count.

William slowly inhales.

Oblivious know-it-alls walk among us, refusing to wear masks, heading unarmed into battle more vulnerable to sickness and death than they realize. Risking their own health and posing a severe infection threat to others, they crave a return to “normal.” Newly infected victims, good, decent people, do not deserve fatal contamination by fools who attack with the friendly fire of ignorance.

In this fight, the virus carries an edge.

Too often the virus wins.

William exhales.

Shooting gross offenders with paintballs won’t help. Killing them with real bullets won’t help. Confronting them with public shame only adds to mass confrontation that destroys wisdom in an increasingly bitter and divided place.

Divide and rule is now the law of our land.

William refuses to acknowledge people on the street who will not wear masks. Even if they nod, wave or speak to him, he looks away or ignores the greeting. People who do not take the plague seriously need to know the evil of their ways. We must defend ourselves against those who abandon civilization.

Ultimately the universe decides. Mother Nature always rules. But how can William protect the defenseless? How will he safeguard those who need an ally and a friend? This dilemma shapes his personal koan, his Zen puzzle that challenges his every move.

Masks, social distancing and avoiding non-essential contact with people can help humanity win. Opening bars, restaurants, gyms, hair salons and other small businesses too soon adds to the confusion and profusion of the sickness. William will never return to the dojo. As he was born alone and will die alone, he now must train alone. Each person who practices his art must find his or her own way. The essence of training exists in walking that path.

Training together during the pandemic would be like joining the other side, comforting the enemy. Nobody would wear masks. Risk can only be minimized with a vaccine or by adhering to strict discipline to which most people will never abide. Despite the supposed protection of his youth, William has no guarantee, no shield that protects him, older students or teachers. If the elders are wise, they, too, will stay home.

Pitting practitioners of any rank against each other in a dojo for even an hour increases the odds of attack and defeat. Honoring honor with recklessness is not the way of the warrior. Training for life amid the germs of death makes no sense. The disease is the enemy. The people with whom William trains are his friends. Why endanger people about whom he cares?

Each day William distances himself farther from carelessness, entering deeper into the spiritual realm of introspection, unravelling the unwritten rules of the cosmos and the unseen vital life forces that have no beginning and no end.

William is at peace.

A tear rolls down William’s cheek as the butterfly lifts off and rides a gentle breeze that carries the insect beyond his sight.

Fly, William says.

Fly.