Playlist Musashi would actually vibe to!

Описание: Miyamoto Musashi (c. 1584 – June 13, 1645), born Shinmen Takezō in the chaos of Japan's Sengoku period, entered the world as a child of war and left it as one of its quietest masters. His life was a long blade drawn across existence: sharp, unyielding, solitary, and ultimately serene.
From youth he wandered as a rōnin, undefeated in over sixty duels, some fought with wooden swords against steel, others at dawn on beaches or under cherry blossoms heavy with the promise of death. He killed without hesitation, yet the blood never seemed to stain his inner stillness. Each victory was not triumph over another man, but a clearer glimpse into the void where self and opponent dissolve. He understood early that the true enemy was never the blade opposite his own, but illusion—the clinging to form, to pride, to permanence.
He painted, sculpted, wrote poetry, and forged strategy not as separate arts but as one Way. In The Book of Five Rings (Gorin no Sho), composed in the twilight of his years, he taught that strategy is life itself: rhythm in emptiness, timing in the instant before thought arises, victory in non-contention. Yet even that grand treatise was preparation for something simpler, purer.
In his final years, the fire that once drove him to endless combat had cooled into something deeper. Afflicted by illness—likely thoracic cancer—he withdrew to Reigandō, a small spirit-cave on the slope of Mount Kinpo near Kumamoto. There, in near-total solitude, facing the sea and the sky, he meditated for months. The cave was not escape; it was completion. No more duels, no more wandering. Only the breath, the rock, the wind, and the slow unwinding of a lifetime.
One week before his death, knowing the end had arrived without drama or fear, he handed his possessions away and dictated Dokkōdō — "The Way of Walking Alone" — twenty-one spare precepts to his devoted disciple Terao Magonojō. They read like whispers from a man who has seen through every veil:
Accept everything just the way it is.
Do not seek pleasure for its own sake.
Do not, under any circumstances, depend on a partial feeling.
Think lightly of yourself and deeply of the world.
Be detached from desire your whole life long.
Do not regret what you have done.
Never be jealous.
Never let yourself be saddened by a separation.
Resentment and complaint are appropriate neither for oneself nor others.
Do not let yourself be guided by the feeling of lust or love.
In all things have no preferences.
Be indifferent to where you live.
Do not pursue the taste of good food.
Do not hold on to possessions you no longer need.
Do not act following customary beliefs.
Do not collect weapons or practice with weapons beyond what is useful.
Do not fear death.
Do not seek to possess either goods or fiefs for your old age.
Respect Buddha and the gods without counting on their help.
You may abandon your own body but you must preserve your honour.
Never stray from the Way.
These are not rules imposed from outside; they are the natural residue of a life polished to transparency. No sentimentality, no clinging, only lucid acceptance.
On June 13, 1645, Musashi died quietly in the cave or nearby, calm as a still pond at dawn. Tradition says he passed seated in meditation, facing west toward the setting sun—symbol of impermanence completing its arc. No struggle, no final words beyond what he had already given. The man who once lived by the sword died by letting go of everything, even the sword.
In that final solitude, Musashi embodied the deepest paradox of the warrior path: the greatest strength is complete surrender to what is. Fear dissolves when there is nothing left to protect. Victory is not surviving death, but seeing that death was never the adversary—only another moment in the endless flow.
He left no grave of pomp, only the cave, the precepts, and an unspoken invitation: walk alone, see clearly, accept fully. In the end, the blade rests. The mind, unburdened, returns to silence. And in that silence, an immense, wordless peace unfolds—like the sea after the storm has forgotten its name.

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