修行会

解説

この第145首は「つきさかき／こり靈はらふ／いずのめの／み親かしこし／神のさむはら」。ここでつきさかきは「月」ではなく撞賢木（つき‑さかき）＝「いつき（斎）＋榊」の神事用の依代で、あえて「月」を連想させる掛詞の余韻を残しています。二句のこりは垢離（こり）＝浜や川でのみそぎでありつつ、凝り（こり）＝こわばりの解（ほど）きをも響かせる掛詞。その「垢離」によって霊（れい）を祓ふ（はらふ）とつなぎ、伊豆能売（いずのめ）—イザナギの禊ぎにあらわれ、「まが」を直すはたらきを担う神—を呼び、御親（み‑おや）かしこしと根源神への畏敬で結んで、最後を神のサムハラ（創造三神と結びつけられる護符的名）で封じています。文言は祓ふ（ハ行四段）／かしこし（形容詞）など文語（祝詞）調で、サムハラをカタカナで保持する旨も注で確認されます。要するに—依代（つきさかき）→行（垢離）→直しの神（いずのめ）→御親の畏敬→サムハラという禊の文法を、一首で立ち上げているわけです。

植芝の六つのプライマーに通せば配列はこう結び直せます。プライマーの第一原理〈武＝宇宙原理〉は御親（み‑おや）とサムハラに開示された宇宙秩序への整合。プライマーの第二原理〈人との合気〉では、伊豆能売の「直し」の徳を、対人のねじれ（「凝り」）を解く関係運用へ落とす。プライマーの第三原理〈心魂一如〉は、垢離（こり）の身体行で心の「凝り」も祓う身心一致の芯。プライマーの第四原理〈和合美化〉は、祓い—直し—畏敬—護り、という順で場を美へ収める作法を基準化。プライマーの第五原理〈体＝道場、心＝修業者／修行者／学び手〉は、榊＝依代を象徴に、自分のからだ全体を「依代」として整えつつ、日々の稽古を小さな禊にする視点。プライマーの第六原理〈「至愛」の源に順う〉は、御親の畏敬にかなうかを常に点検する最上位の秤です。ページの注が示すつきさかき／こりの掛詞を、そのまま象徴（器）と行法（ほどき）の二重運転図として読むのが肝になります。

直前の三首とも自然に糸が通る。第142首は「御親の火水に合気して」と呼吸＝火水を武産の根に据え、第143首は「称え尽くせぬサムハラ—合気の道は小戸の神技」と禊そのものとして道を確定し、第144首は「神の仕組みの愛気十…八大力の神のサムハラ」と神設計＝愛気×十字×護りを図示しました。そこを受ける 第145首は、つきさかき（依代）とこり（垢離／凝り）で実際の祓いの手順を前景化し、伊豆能売—御親—サムハラの名乗りで直し・畏敬・護りを一首に封じ直す章です。言い換えれば——（第142首）火水の息にのり、（第143首）サムハラの禊に帰し、（第144首）神の仕組みに接続し、（第145首）依代と垢離で「凝り」を祓って直す。この往還が本ページの稽古指針だと読めます。

口語要約のひとこと

「斎（いつ）きの榊で垢離して霊を祓い、伊豆能売の御親は畏れ多く、神のサムハラだ。」

和歌修辞の補遺――句跨り・四句切れ・神名止め

この首でまず見落とせないのは、五七五七七の定型を崩さないまま、統語だけを句境の外へ流している点です。二句末の「祓ふ」はハ行四段活用であり、終止形と連体形がともに「祓ふ」となる。したがって、「こり霊祓ふ。」と祓いをいったん言い切る二句切れの読みと、「こり霊祓ふ伊豆能売」と三句へ掛け、〈霊を祓ふ伊豆能売〉とする句跨りの読みとが重なります。主読として前者を採っても、後者の統語的残響は消えません。さらに三句「いずのめの」は、格助詞「の」を上の句の末に残したまま四句「御親」へ渡すため、上の句／下の句の折れ目そのものが句跨りになります。したがって、ここは厳密な意味での三句切れではなく、五七五で形は折れるのに文は折れ切らない「折り返し」。この宙吊りが、垢離の行から伊豆能売—御親の神名領域へ流れを渡しているわけです。四段活用では終止形と連体形が同形になるため、この二重の読みが文法上可能になります。

これに対して、四句「み親かしこし」は、連体形「かしこき」ではなく終止形「かしこし」で閉じるため、ここには明確な四句切れが立ちます。や・かな・けりなどの切れ字は置かれていませんが、活用形そのものが切れを作る「切れ字なき切れ」です。その直後に、述語を持たない「神のサムハラ」が独立して据えられるので、結句は神名による体言止めとなる。一つの散文的な補い方をすれば、「神のサムハラなる御親はかしこし」、あるいは「御親はかしこし——これぞ神のサムハラ」となりますが、歌はその連結を明示しません。まず「かしこし」と畏敬を発し、その畏敬の源を一拍遅らせて「神のサムハラ」と名指す。この同格的後置ないし倒置と、〈これぞ／なり〉の省略によって、一首は「かしこし」の詠嘆的終止と「サムハラ」の神名止めという、二段の終止を持つことになります。体言止めは歌を強く封じながら、サムハラとは何であるかを説明し尽くさず、名そのものの余韻を残します。

下二句の音律にも対句的な均衡があります。「みおや｜かしこし」は三音＋四音、「かみの｜さむはら」も三音＋四音で、七音句がともに三・四の拍へ整えられている。四句は〈体言＋述語〉、五句は〈連体修飾＋体言〉と文法構造こそ異なりますが、耳には同じ三・四の型で落ちるため、「御親」と「神」、「かしこし」と「サムハラ」が相互に照らし合います。また、「伊豆能売の｜御親」と「神の｜サムハラ」は、いずれも〈XのY〉の構造を持つ。一方は三句から四句へ引き伸ばされ、他方は結句の内部へ圧縮されるため、最初の〈の〉が開いた神名関係を、最後の〈の〉が一息に畳み込んで封じ直す構造になっています。「伊豆能売の御親」の「の」も、単なる所有だけでなく、〈伊豆能売に連なる御親〉と〈伊豆能売たる御親〉とのあいだに関係の余白を残し、その余白を結句の「神のサムハラ」が受け止めます。

初句「撞賢木」は助詞を伴わない体言提示であり、二句頭の「こり」もまた、垢離という行を名詞のまま前景化しています。〈撞賢木を捧げて〉〈垢離をして〉〈垢離によって〉などの格関係や接続関係は明示されず、依代・行・祓いが並置される。この無助詞の列叙と省略法が、説明文ではなく祝詞のような唱えの速度を作ります。そして、歌は初句の体言「撞賢木」に始まり、結句の体言「サムハラ」に終わる。依代としての榊から、そこへ迎えられる神名へ——器から神へという首尾照応です。その内部では、撞賢木→垢離→祓い→伊豆能売→御親→サムハラと、具体的な祭具から根源的な神名へ一段ずつ位相が高まる。既存解説の示す配列は、修辞上は漸層法として働いており、行為の説明がしだいに神名の顕現へ変わっていきます。

縁語も、一対の語に限らず、首全体を覆う語群として働いています。撞賢木—神、垢離—祓ふ、霊—伊豆能売—御親—サムハラが、依代・清め・神霊・神名という同一の祭祀領域を結ぶ。狭義の王朝和歌的な縁語というより、祝詞語彙による「縁語の場」です。その中心で「こり」の垢離／凝りという掛詞が、身体や心のこわばりを水によって祓われるものへ見立てるため、ここには掛詞から生じる見立てもあります。外の垢離と内の凝りは、ただ同音で並ぶのではなく、一方の行法によって他方がほどかれる関係へ置き換えられるわけです。

さらに、二句の「はらふ」と結句の「サムハラ」には、〈はら〉の音の回帰があります。これは両語の語源的同一性を示すものではなく、あくまで歌中に生じる音韻上の反響ですが、「祓ふ」と発せられた音が、最後には「サムハラ」という神名の内部へ取り込まれて戻ってくる。祓いの動詞が神名へ封入されるような、掛詞的な音の縁です。また、「いずのめの」には神名内部の「の」と格助詞の「の」が続き、さらに「神のサムハラ」へ響くため、下半には三度の〈の〉が連なる。この同音反復が、神名から御親へ、御親からサムハラへと所属と同格の鎖を伸ばし、祝詞的な唱和の調べを作っています。

神典との関係では、これは先行する一首の詞を摂取する本歌取りというより、物語・神話・故事を典拠として背後に立ち上げる本説取りに近い神典引喩です。「撞賢木」は『日本書紀』に見える祭祀的な榊と神名表現を呼び戻し、伊豆能売は『古事記』の禊において禍を直そうとして成る神々の一柱を呼び戻す。上二句はその神を導く序詞的な働きを持ちますが、音だけで後続語を導く厳密な序詞ではなく、垢離と祓いを実際の歌意として担う「有意の導入」です。したがって「撞賢木」をこの一首における枕詞とする必要はなく、「伊豆能売」の「伊豆」も地名の伊豆を詠み込む歌枕ではありません。また、ぞ・なむ・や・か・こそがないため係り結びも成立していない。ここで主に働くのは、固定的な修辞語ではなく、神典引喩、句跨り、活用形による四句切れ、体言止め、省略、倒置、縁語、見立て、音の回帰です。「撞賢木」が『日本書紀』の神名表現に現れること、伊豆能売が『古事記』の禊と「直し」の文脈に置かれることは、それぞれの典拠からも確認できます。

要するに——この首は、定型をきっちり守りながら、二句末では終止と連体を揺らし、三句末では「の」によって上の句と下の句を縫い合わせ、四句で畏敬を言い切り、結句では神名だけを残す歌です。切れは祓いを完了させ、句跨りはその祓いを神へ渡し、体言止めはサムハラを説明ではなく現前する名として据える。技法は外から付けた飾りではなく、垢離—祓い—直し—畏敬—護りを、音と文法の順序そのものによって執行する仕組みになっています。

補遺――撞賢木の「つき」：斎き・撞き・突き・月と榊の祭祀的媒介

第145首の初句「つきさかき」は、既存の解説では、撞賢木（つきさかき）という祭祀語を第一義とし、その「つき」を斎（いつき）の意に取りながら、同音の月（つき）を掛詞的な余韻として残すものと読まれてきました。また「こり」は、垢離という水行と凝りというこわばりを同時に響かせる、より明瞭な掛詞として扱われています（Ueshiba, 2025）。 この基本線は維持されなければなりません。ただし、「つき」に潜む音と表記をさらに精密に見るなら、月だけでなく、撞き・突き・付き・憑き、さらに槻などの同音語も、それぞれ異なる強度で初句の周囲に現れます。

ここでまず区別すべきなのは、それらがすべて「一つの語が持つ多数の意味」なのではないという点です。斎き・撞き・突き・月・付き・憑き・槻は、同じ音列「つき」を共有しながら、語源・表記・品詞・用法を異にする別語です。掛詞とは、辞書にある同音語をできるだけ多く列挙する技法ではなく、一つの音列が歌の統語と意味の流れのなかで二つ以上の語義を同時に働かせる圧縮の技法です（Brower & Miner, 1961; Shirane, 2005）。したがって本補遺では、撞賢木の語義として確定できるもの、表記から立ち上がるもの、武道的文脈で耳に響くもの、詩的な余光として働くもの、そして単に辞書上存在するだけで歌中には作動しないものを、同じ水準へ置かずに読み分けます。

斎き――動かすことのできない第一義

辞書上の撞賢木（つきさかき）は、「つき」を斎（いつき）の意とし、神事に用いる榊を指す名詞です。初出例として挙げられるのは、『日本書紀』神功皇后紀において神名が告げられる場面の「撞賢木厳之御魂天疎向津媛命」です（Shōgakukan, n.d.-d）。したがって、第145首の初句を支える語彙的な地盤は、あくまで〈斎きの榊〉、すなわち神を迎えるために祭祀的に整えられた榊です。月・突き・憑きなどは、この第一義を押し退けて新しい語源となるものではありません。まして「月の榊」や「榊を突くこと」を、この語の辞書的訳として置くことはできません。

この優先順位は、掛詞の豊かさを狭めるためではなく、むしろその働きを守るために必要です。第一義が定まらなければ、第二義は何に重なるのかを失います。撞賢木がまず祭祀の榊として立つからこそ、そこへ撞きの衝撃、突きの進入、月の光、付きの結合、憑きの依りつきが、中心の周囲へ同心円のように重なりうるのです。掛詞は第一義を解体するのではなく、第一義を保ったまま、その音の周辺へ別の像と動きを呼び込みます。

撞き――表記のうちに残る「打つ・当たる・鳴らす」

撞の訓は「つく」であり、突き当たる、衝突する、あるいは物を打って鳴らすという意味を持ちます。したがって、動詞撞くの連用形として撞き（つき）を見れば、「打つこと」「当たること」「一打によって鳴らすこと」という動勢が表記の内部に見えます（Japan Kanji Aptitude Testing Foundation, n.d.-b）。月が主として耳によって呼び出されるのに対して、撞きは字を見る目によって立ち上がる。撞賢木という表記は、祭具を静止した植物として示すだけでなく、その冒頭に衝撃・接触・発音の力を潜ませているのです。

ただし、これは撞賢木の語源を「榊を打つこと」と改めるものではありません。辞書は明確に「つき」を斎の意としています。撞の字義は語義の根ではなく、伝統的表記の上に生じる字義的な重層です。本補遺ではこれを、完全な第二語義というより、表記上の字義的余韻と呼ぶのが適切でしょう。とりわけ撞には、ただ破壊的に打つだけでなく、鐘などを撞いて鳴らす意味があるため、その一打は音を始め、場に時を告げ、注意を集める働きも帯びます。第145首の発話行為論に照らせば、「つきさかき」という初声が、祭祀の場を開く一打、あるいは唱えを鳴り始めさせる一撞として聞こえる余地があります。しかしそれは詩的解釈であって、撞賢木という語の歴史的定義そのものではありません。

また、現在のページに掲げられた「Original Waka」は「つきさかき」という仮名表記であり、撞賢木は「歴史的仮名遣い（語構成を明示）」として補われています（Ueshiba, 2025）。 したがって、このページだけを根拠として、植芝自身が自筆原稿で撞の字を意図的に選んだと断言することはできません。その主張には、底本・写本・自筆資料などの別の書誌的証拠が必要です。それでも撞賢木がこの祭祀語の伝統的表記である以上、撞の字義は、語を漢字へ戻して読む際の受容史的な層としては十分に重要です。すなわち、作者の筆跡に確定できる意図としてではなく、語が歴史的表記のうちに保持してきた可視的な力として読むべきなのです。

突き――武道の耳に届く進入線

撞きと近接しながら、別に聞き分ける必要があるのが突き（つき）です。突きは動詞突くの連用形が名詞化した語であり、一般には突くことを指し、とりわけ刀や槍による刺突、剣道における喉への技などを表します（Shōgakukan, n.d.-e）。撞きが衝突や打ち鳴らしを含む広い接触の力であるのに対して、突きは一点へ向かって入り、貫き、相手との距離を直線的に閉じる力です。植芝の道歌という武道的な受容環境では、「つき」と唱えられた音が、この突きの身体記憶を呼び起こすことは十分にありえます。

しかし、突きは「こり」における垢離／凝りほど文法的に完成した掛詞ではありません。「こり霊祓ふ」では、垢離という行も、凝りというほどかれるものも、同じ統語のなかへ比較的自然に入ります。これに対して、初句を突き＋榊と分節しても、「榊を突く」「榊で突く」「突き立てた榊」など、どの格関係を採るのかは歌に明示されていません。したがって、突きは一首全体を別の文として成立させる完全な第二構文ではなく、武道的文脈が音へ加える潜在的な掛詞、あるいは武道的音響余韻とするほうが正確です。

それでも、その余韻は本歌の思想に深く関わります。突きの直線は、通常なら相手へ向けられる攻撃線です。しかし、ここではその音が斎きの榊の内部へ収められる。力は消されるのではなく、祭祀的な方向へ転じられます。相手を貫く線から、神を迎える軸へ。距離を暴力的に閉じる動きから、人と神、人と人、身体と場の関係を正しく結び直す入り身へ。撞賢木の第一義が突きを抑圧するのではなく、突きの力を清めて、その到達点を依代へ移すのです。この読みでは、初句は「攻撃を否定せよ」と言うのではなく、武の力が何に向かい、何を成立させるべきかを、語そのものの重なりによって問い直します。

月――語義ではなく、耳に残る光

月（つき）は、撞賢木の語源でも辞書的第一義でもありません。しかし、仮名で「つきさかき」と唱えれば、耳は冒頭二音を月として受け取ることができます。月は古来、詩歌において光・夜・影・満ち欠け・時間などの広い連想を担う語ですが、第145首には夜・影・空・有明・望月など、月を直接支える縁語は配置されていません（Shōgakukan, n.d.-b）。したがって、この月を王朝和歌に見られるような、二つの文脈が同時に完結する強い掛詞とみなすより、祭祀語義の表面に浮かぶ月の残像、あるいは掛詞的余光とするのが適切です。

それでも、月の余光は次句の垢離と詩的に響き合います。初句にかすかに現れた月が、浜や川の水行へ移れば、榊の葉と水面を同時に照らす像が生じる。これは歌に明記された夜景ではなく、音の連続から読者が受け取る二次的な像です。ゆえに、月の満ち欠けを禊による再生と直ちに同一視したり、月神の神学をこの歌へ導入したりすることは避けなければなりません。月は教義を追加するのではなく、斎きの榊と垢離の水とのあいだへ光を渡すだけです。

また、月には天体だけでなく時間単位としての「ひと月」の意味もありますが、この語義を支える暦・日・年・季節などの文脈は歌にありません。したがって、月光の像は潜在的に作動しても、「月＝一か月」はここでは作動しません。同じ表記・同じ音に辞書的意味が複数あることと、そのすべてが一首の掛詞になることとは別なのです。

付き・憑き――結合と依りつきの遠い反響

付き（つき）は、付着すること、付き従うこと、何かが付属すること、また接続の具合などを表します（Shōgakukan, n.d.-a）。このうち第145首に近づくのは、幸運という現代語的な「つき」ではなく、何かが何かへ付き、関係を結び、離れずに伴うという意味です。榊が人界と神域の境を標し、玉串や神籬において祀る者と祀られる神との媒介となることを考えれば、付きという音は、依代において成立する接続の像を弱く支えます。

さらに憑く（つく）は、霊的な存在が取りつく、乗り移るという意味を持ち、その連用形憑きも「つき」と響きます（Japan Kanji Aptitude Testing Foundation, n.d.-a）。祭祀における依代は神霊を迎える対象であり、神社本庁は玉串・神籬を神霊が依りつく対象であると同時に、祀る者と神を合わせる仲立ちとして説明しています（Jinja Honchō, n.d.）。したがって、「つきさかき」の音から、神霊が榊へ近づき、そこに臨むという像を連想することは、祭祀的には理解可能です。

しかし、憑きを撞賢木の隠れた語源として断定することはできません。辞書資料は第一要素を斎の意としています。また現代語の「憑く」は、悪霊・物の怪・異常な憑依を連想させやすく、神を迎える祭祀の語感とそのまま同一ではありません。したがって、この読みを採る場合も、「榊に憑依する神」と強く言い換えるより、〈神霊の来臨〉〈依りつき〉〈臨在〉という限定された祭祀的連想として扱うべきです。付きと憑きは、斎きの語義を説明するものではなく、榊が結合と来臨の場であることを、音の遠い周縁から照らす同音語なのです。

槻――もう一つの聖樹としての「つき」

槻（つき）は欅（けやき）の古名です。榊とは別の樹種ですが、古来大木となることから神聖視され、その樹下が儀礼空間とされた例があり、万葉語彙には神聖な槻を表す斎槻（ゆつき／いつき）も見えます（Shōgakukan, n.d.-c）。つまり、日本古代の語彙のなかには、つきという音そのものが、榊とは別の聖なる樹木名として存在していたのです。これは「つきさかき」に、樹木語としての遠い反響を与えます。

しかし、槻を榊の異名としたり、第145首の撞賢木を欅と同定したりすることはできません。槻は欅、榊は祭祀上の常緑樹であり、現在は通常 Cleyera japonica を指します。斎槻という語があることは、斎きと聖樹との結びつきが榊だけに閉じていなかったことを示しますが、撞賢木の植物学的同定を変更するものではありません。槻は、語義の候補ではなく、古代の聖樹語彙が「つき」という音の周囲に残した樹木的な縁語の影です。

このほか、つきには、杵で物を搗くことをいう搗き・舂き、尽きることをいう尽き、目的地へ着くことから生じる着きなど、辞書上さらに多くの同音形があります（Japan Kanji Aptitude Testing Foundation, n.d.-c, n.d.-d; Shōgakukan, n.d.-e）。けれども第145首には、穀物を搗く行、何かが尽きる終止、旅程上の到着などを支える語彙がありません。これらを掛詞として数えれば、同音語辞典をそのまま歌へ流し込むことになり、歌固有の統語と祭祀的な語場を失います。語彙として存在することと、歌のなかで作動することは同じではありません。

榊の祭祀史が「撞き」をどう制御するか

榊の歴史的役割は、撞き・突きの余韻をどの方向へ読むべきかを定めます。現在の榊は通常 Cleyera japonica を指しますが、古い「さかき」はより広く祭祀に用いられる常緑樹を表し、のちに特定の常緑小高木へ語義が収斂したとされます。榊の枝は、玉串として神前に捧げられ、紙垂を付され、装飾・祓具・神楽の採物に用いられ、また神社の建物や垣に付して神域を示す標ともなりました。語源についても、常に繁る「栄木」とする説と、聖俗の境を示す「境木」とする説があります（Inoue, n.d.）。

天岩屋戸神話では、天香山の真賢木が根から取り出され、その枝に玉・鏡・布が掛けられて、隠れた天照大御神を迎え出す祭りの中心に置かれます。ここで榊は背景の植物ではなく、神を迎えるための祭場を垂直に組み立てる軸です。後世の玉串もまた、単なる供物ではなく、神霊を迎える依代であり、祈る者の心を込めて神と人を合わせる仲立ちと説明されます（Inoue, n.d.; Jinja Honchō, n.d.）。

この歴史から見るかぎり、撞きの字義を「榊を暴力的に打つ祭式」や「榊を地面へ突き刺すこと」という歴史的定義へ直結させることはできません。参照資料が示すのは、榊を取り、飾り、立て、捧げ、依代・境界・媒介として働かせる祭祀です。したがって第145首における撞き・突きは、榊へ加えられる暴力ではなく、榊によって方向を変えられる力として読むべきでしょう。撞きの衝撃は場を破る一打ではなく、場を始める一打となる。突きの進入は相手を貫く線ではなく、聖域の軸を立て、神の来臨へ道を開く線となる。榊の祭祀史が、武の動勢を依代・境界・媒介の働きへ収め直すのです。

榊の常緑性も、単なる「枯れない生命」の象徴だけではありません。榊は境を示しますが、その境を閉ざすために立つのではない。神域と人界を区別しながら、神の来臨と人の奉献が正しく通過できる位置を作ります。したがって、境木としての榊と、突きとしての進入とは矛盾しません。無秩序な侵入は境によって止められますが、正しく整えられた来臨はその境を通される。撞賢木とは、力を失わせる木ではなく、力がどのような関係として到来すべきかを定める木なのです。

第145首における「つき」の統合

以上を踏まえると、初句「つきさかき」には、同一強度ではない複数の層が重なっています。その中心には斎きがあり、祭祀的に整えられた榊という語義を確定する。その表記には撞きがあり、衝突し、打ち鳴らし、場を開始する一打を可視化する。その音には突きがあり、武道の身体が知る直線的な入りを響かせる。さらに月が光を添え、付きが結合を、憑きが限定された意味での来臨・依りつきを連想させる。槻は、古代の別の聖樹として、より遠い樹木的な反響を残します。

その読解上の強度は、次の順序で保たれなければなりません。第一に、斎き／いつきが語彙的・歴史的な主読。第二に、撞きが伝統的表記に内在する強い字義的余韻。第三に、突きが植芝の武道的文脈によって強められる音響的な余韻。第四に、月が詩的な光として残る潜在的掛詞。第五に、付き／憑きが榊の媒介性と来臨を照らす連想的同音語。第六に、槻・搗き・尽き・着きなどが、語彙としては存在しても歌中では作動しない遠景です。この順序を崩せば、豊かな多義性は、根拠のない語呂合わせへ変わってしまいます。

初句に助詞がなく、ただ「つきさかき」と据えられることも、この重層を支えます。歌は「榊を突け」と命じるのでも、「月の榊」と描写するのでもありません。まず、撞賢木という名を祭場の中央へ置く。名が置かれると、その内部に斎き・撞き・突き・月・付き・憑きの力が、それぞれの距離を保ったまま集まる。そこから垢離が行われ、霊が祓われ、伊豆能売の直しへ渡り、御親への畏敬が起こり、神のサムハラによって封じられる。つまり、初句は多義性を見せるための言葉遊びではなく、一首の禊が起こりうる場を、多層的な音によって設営する言葉です。

六つのプライマーへ戻せば、ここで武の力は否定されていません。撞きの衝撃も、突きの進入も、斎きの働きによって方向づけられます。身体を道場として整えるとは、力を消すことではなく、その力が何に触れ、どこへ入り、何を成立させるかを正すことです。榊が境を示しながら神と人を媒介するように、身体も自己と他者を隔てる硬い殻ではなく、合気が正しく生じる境界となる。突きは相手を物として貫く線から、関係へ入り、ねじれを直し、場を和合美化する線へ変わります。ここに、撞賢木の第一義と武道的余韻とが衝突せず、一つの稽古原理として結ばれます。

要するに——「つきさかき」のつきは、まず斎きです。しかし、撞賢木という表記は撞きの一打を目に見せ、仮名の音は突きの入りと月の光を耳へ渡し、付きと憑きは依代に生じる結合と来臨を遠く響かせます。榊の祭祀史は、それらの力を無制限に拡散させず、依代・境界・奉献・媒介という方向へ収め直す。ゆえに初句の一打は、破壊の一打ではありません。祭場を開き、境を定め、神を迎え、垢離の水へ光を渡す一打です。そこで武の突きは斎きへ入り、斎きは榊を立て、榊は神と人とのあいだに道を開く。その道を通って、第145首の祓いは始まるのです。

発話行為理論

オースティン（Austin, 1962）の発話行為論（Speech Act Theory）で読むと、第145首は「意味を述べる歌」にとどまらず、唱えること自体が小さな祓いの所作になります。発話行為（locutionary）としては、つきさかき／こり靈はらふ／いずのめの／み親かしこし／神のさむはら、という五句の音声と語義の配列そのもの。撞賢木＝斎きの榊、こり＝垢離／凝り、伊豆能売＝まがを直す神、御親＝根源への畏敬、サムハラ＝造化三神と護符的名、という語群が、五七五七七の器に収まります。三句「いずのめの」は明示の切れ字ではなく、のを残したまま意味を下へ渡す句切れで、上句から下句への折り返しを起こす蝶番になります。

発話内行為（illocutionary）では、この歌は説明ではなく、祓い・直し・畏敬・護りを実際に立ち上げる唱えになります。一・二句の依代と垢離は、四句の「み親かしこし」へ折り返され、身体の祓いが御親への畏敬へ転じます。三句の「いずのめの」は、五句の「神のさむはら」へ折り返され、直しの神名が護りの神名へ封じ直されます。つき＝斎き／月、こり＝垢離／凝りの掛詞は、外の穢れを祓う語でありながら、内のこわばりをほどく語にもなる。ここに、言葉が意味を運ぶだけでなく、行を起こす力が見えてきます。

発話媒介行為（perlocutionary）としては、畏れが起こり、場が鎮まり、身心の凝りがほどけ、稽古が禊として受け直される効果が生じます。要するに——発話行為は五句の意味ある音声、発話内行為は神名を唱えて祓い・直し・畏敬・護りを成すこと、発話媒介行為は唱和の後に残る鎮まりと護りの感受です。上句から下句への折り返しは、ただの対応ではなく、行の転成。撞賢木と垢離が御親への畏敬へ、伊豆能売の名が神のサムハラへ。切れは断絶ではなく神名を通す間であり、掛詞は飾りではなく、霊と身の凝りを同時に祓う言霊の働きとして立ち上がります。

コーダ

第145首が示すのは、禊についての説明ではなく、禊が起こりうる場を言葉のうちに立て、その場で祓いを遂行する順序そのものです。初句「つきさかき」は、月や突きへ分かれる以前に、まず撞賢木（つきさかき）という一つの祭祀語として立つ。その語彙的な地盤は斎き（いつき）の榊、すなわち神を迎えるために整えられた祭祀の榊です。つづいて垢離が行われ、霊が祓われ、伊豆能売の直しへ渡り、御親への畏敬が発せられ、最後に神のサムハラが名として据えられる。したがって一首は、依代—水行—祓い—直し—畏敬—護りという禊の文法を、五句の音と統語によって実行しています。

ここで榊は、単に植物学上の一樹種を指すだけではありません。古い祭祀語彙における「さかき」は、神前へ捧げられ、神域を標し、神霊を迎える常緑樹としての働きによって成立していました。天岩屋戸の神話では、真賢木の枝が玉・鏡・布を担い、隠れた神をふたたび世界へ迎え出す祭場の軸となる。後世にも榊は、玉串・神籬・祓具・神楽の採物として、神と人、神域と人界とのあいだを媒介してきました（Inoue, n.d.; Jinja Honchō, n.d.）。榊は聖俗を永久に隔てる壁ではありません。境を示しながら、その境を越えて神の来臨と人の奉献が正しく通過できる位置を作る木です。

この祭祀的な第一義を保ったうえで、初句の「つき」は複数の余韻を開きます。ただし、それらは同じ強さで並ぶのではありません。中心にあるのは、撞賢木の語義を支える斎き／いつきです。その伝統的表記に置かれた撞は、撞き——当たり、打ち、打つことによって鳴らす一撞——を目に見せる。声に出された「つき」は、武道の身体が知る突きという直線的な進入を耳へ呼び、さらに月の光を詩的な残像として浮かべます。付きは結合を、憑きは限定された意味での神霊の依りつきや来臨を遠く響かせる。しかし、これらは撞賢木の語源を置き換えるものではなく、斎きの榊の周囲に広がる表記上・音響上・連想上の層です。槻・搗き・尽き・着きなどの同音語は辞書上存在しても、この歌の統語と祭祀的な語場によって十分に作動させられてはいません。

また、このページの原歌が仮名で「つきさかき」と掲げられ、撞賢木が語構成を示す歴史的表記として補われている以上、撞の字義を植芝自身の自筆選字として断定することはできません。それでも撞賢木がこの祭祀語の伝統的表記であるかぎり、撞きの力は、その語が歴史的な受容のなかで保持してきた可視的な余韻として読むことができます。月が耳に残す光であるなら、撞きは文字が目に残す一打であり、突きは武道的な身体記憶が声のなかに聞き取る入りです。

しかし、その撞きや突きは、榊に加えられる暴力を意味しません。榊の祭祀史が、その力の方向を制御します。撞きは場を壊す打撃ではなく、鐘を撞くように場を始め、注意を集め、唱えを鳴り始めさせる一打となる。突きは相手を物として貫く攻撃線にとどまらず、依代を立てる垂直の軸、あるいは正しい関係へ入るための入り身として読み替えられます。力は捨てられるのではなく、斎きによって方向づけられる。相手へ向かう線から、神を迎える位置へ。距離を暴力的に閉じる運動から、人と神、人と人、身体と場とのねじれを正す接触へ。撞賢木は武の力を消す木ではなく、その力がどこへ入り、何を成立させるべきかを定める木なのです。

その一打の後に「こり霊祓ふ」がつづきます。ここで第一の指示対象は、あくまで垢離という祭祀的な水行です。そのうえで凝りという同音語が、身体や心に生じたこわばりのほどけを二次的に響かせる。外なる行法と内なる感受は、同じ定義へ混同されるのではなく、一つの唱えのなかで相互に照らし合います。終止形と連体形が同形の「祓ふ」は、祓いを一度完了させながら、その働きを「伊豆能売」へ渡す。三句末の「の」は上の句を閉じず、下の句へ神名の流れを縫い合わせる蝶番となります。これに対して「み親かしこし」は終止形によって畏敬を言い切り、その後の「神のサムハラ」は体言止めとして残される。切れは祓いを遂げ、句跨りはそれを直しの神へ運び、神名止めは護りの場を封じます。

初句に助詞がなく、ただ「つきさかき」と置かれることも重要です。歌は「榊を突け」と命じるのでも、「月の榊」と描写するのでもありません。まず名を置く。その名を唱えることが、言葉のなかに依代を立てる所作となります。斎きはその場を整え、撞きはその始まりを告げ、突きはそこへ入る力を与え、月は榊の葉から垢離の水へ光を渡し、付き／憑きは神と人との接続と来臨を遠く響かせる。多義性は言葉遊びの展示ではなく、禊が始まる場所を複数の感覚によって生成する働きなのです。

六つのプライマーに戻せば、身体を道場として整えるとは、自らを文字どおり榊や神と同一視することではありません。榊の働きに倣い、身体を何かを所有する閉じた容器ではなく、呼吸・姿勢・注意・関係が正しく配置される受容の場として整えることです。榊が境を標しながら神と人を媒介するように、身体も自己と他者を遮断する硬い殻ではなく、合気が生じうる明確な境界となる。境は消されるのではなく、祓われ、直され、通路として働きます。撞きの衝撃と突きの進入も、その通路に従うとき、対人のねじれをほどき、場を和合美化し、至愛の源へ向かう武の働きへ変わります。

ゆえにこの道歌を唱えることは、意味を理解したというだけでは終わりません。まず撞賢木を名として立て、その一撞によって祭場を開き、突きの力を斎きへ入れ、垢離の水によって霊を祓い、凝りのほどけを響かせ、伊豆能売の直しへ渡り、御親への畏敬に姿勢を正し、サムハラの名によって場を封じる。二句の「祓ふ」に発した〈はら〉の音が、結句の「サムハラ」の内部へ帰ってくるとき、祓いの行は最後には神名のうちへ収められます。第142首の火水、第143首の小戸の神技、第144首の神の仕組みを受けた第145首は、それらを身体と声によって実行できる順序へ置き直します。

要するに——「つきさかき」のつきは、まず斎きです。しかし、撞賢木という文字は撞きの一打を目に見せ、その音は突きの進入と月の余光を耳へ渡し、付きと憑きは依代に生じる結合と来臨を遠く響かせる。榊の祭祀史は、それらの力を無制限な語呂合わせへ散らさず、依代・境界・奉献・媒介という一つの方向へ収め直します。そこで撞きは破壊の一打ではなく、場を開く一打となり、突きは他者を貫く線ではなく、正しい関係へ入る線となる。斎きは榊を立て、榊は神と人とのあいだに道を開き、その道を通って垢離—祓い—直し—畏敬—サムハラという一首の禊が始まります。「神のサムハラ」は、歌の結びであると同時に、撞賢木の一打によって開かれた稽古が帰ってゆく場所となるのです。

English Translation

Commentary

Dōka 145 reads: tsukisakaki / kori rei harafu / Izunome no / Mioya kashikoshi / kami no Samuhara (つきさかき／こり靈はらふ／いずのめの／み親かしこし／神のさむはら). Here, tsukisakaki does not mean “moon.” It is tsuki-sakaki (撞賢木)—a ritual yorishiro (依代), formed from itsuki (斎, “consecration”) + sakaki (榊)—while deliberately preserving the lingering resonance of a kakekotoba (掛詞) that calls the moon, tsuki (月), to mind. The kori of the second line is likewise a kakekotoba: kori (垢離), ritual ablution performed at the shore or in a river, while also sounding kori (凝り), a stiffness or constriction to be loosened. From that kori, the poem proceeds into rei o harafu (霊を祓ふ), “purifying the spirit,” and invokes Izunome (伊豆能売)—the kami who appeared through Izanagi’s misogi and bears the work of setting maga (まが), that which has gone awry, right. It then closes in reverence before the primordial kami with Mioya kashikoshi (御親かしこし), before sealing the final line with the kami’s Samuhara (神のサムハラ), an amuletic divine name associated with the three kami of creation. The diction is literary and norito-like, employing forms such as harafu (祓ふ; ハ行四段; “harafu, ha-row quadrigrade”) and kashikoshi (かしこし; adjective); the notes also confirm that Samuhara is to be retained in katakana. In sum, a whole grammar of misogi is raised within a single poem: yorishiro (tsukisakaki) → practice (kori) → kami of rectification (Izunome) → reverence before Mioya → Samuhara.

Read through Ueshiba’s Six Primers, the sequence may be joined anew in the following way. The Primer’s First Principle, Bu = Uchū genri (武＝宇宙原理), “Bu = Cosmic Principle,” is alignment with the cosmic order disclosed through Mioya and Samuhara. Under the Primer’s Second Principle, Hito to no Aiki (人との合気), “Aiki with Another/Others,” the virtue of Izunome’s “rectification” is brought down into the relational practice that releases interpersonal torsion—the poem’s kori (凝り). The Primer’s Third Principle, shinkon ichinyo (心魂一如), “Heart-Mind and Spirit, Inseparable,” is the core of body-mind unity through which the bodily practice of kori (垢離) also purifies the mind’s kori (凝り). The Primer’s Fourth Principle, Wagō Bika (和合美化), “Harmonization and Beautification,” establishes as its standard the manner by which a field is brought into beauty in the order purification → rectification → reverence → protection. The Primer’s Fifth Principle, Karada/Tai = Dōjō, Kokoro = Shūgyōsha / Shugyōsha / Manabite (体＝道場、心＝修業者／修行者／学び手), “Body = Dōjō; Heart-Mind = Practitioner / Ascetic / Learner,” takes the sakaki as the symbol of the yorishiro, ordering the whole body as a “vessel of divine approach” while treating daily practice as a small misogi. The Primer’s Sixth Principle, “Shiai” no Minamoto ni Shitagau (「至愛」の源に順う), “Follow the Source of Supreme Love,” is the highest-order scale by which all conduct is continually tested for whether it accords with reverence before Mioya. The crux lies in reading the kakekotoba of tsukisakaki and kori, identified in the page’s notes, as a twofold operating diagram: symbol or vessel on the one hand, practice or release on the other.

A thread also passes naturally through the three poems immediately preceding it. Dōka 142 says, Mioya no hi-mizu ni aiki shite (御親の火水に合気して), “joining in aiki with the Parent’s fire and water,” and places breath—fire and water—at the root of takemusu. Dōka 143 declares, tatae tsukusenu Samuhara—aiki no michi wa Odo no kamiwaza (称え尽くせぬサムハラ—合気の道は小戸の神技), “Samuhara, whose praises can never be exhausted—the way of aiki is the divine art of Odo,” and thereby establishes the way as misogi itself. Dōka 144 presents kami no shikumi no aiki-jū … hachidairiki no kami no Samuhara (神の仕組みの愛気十…八大力の神のサムハラ), “the divine design of love-ki-ten/cross … the Samuhara of the kami of the Eight Great Powers,” diagramming divine design as love-ki × ten/cross × protection. Taking up that sequence, Dōka 145 brings the actual procedure of purification to the foreground through tsukisakaki, the yorishiro, and kori, ablution/constriction, and then seals rectification, reverence, and protection within the naming of Izunome—Mioya—Samuhara. Put differently: in Dōka 142, ride upon the breath of fire and water; in Dōka 143, return to the misogi of Samuhara; in Dōka 144, connect with the design of the kami; and in Dōka 145, use the yorishiro and kori to purify and rectify the “constriction.” This cycle of passage and return may be read as the guiding principle for practice on this page.

A word of colloquial summary

“Perform kori with the consecrated sakaki and purify the spirit; the august Parent of Izunome is awe-inspiring—the kami’s Samuhara.”

Supplement on waka rhetoric: Enjambment, a fourth-line cut, and theonymic closure

What must first not be overlooked in this poem is the way its syntax flows beyond the boundaries of the lines even while the formal 5–7–5–7–7 pattern remains entirely intact. The second-line ending harafu, ha-gyō yodan (祓ふ; ハ行四段), “harafu, ha-row quadrigrade”, in which the terminal and attributive forms are both harafu. Consequently, two readings overlap. One may hear a second-line cut in kori rei harafu (こり霊祓ふ), in which the act of purification is momentarily brought to completion. At the same time, the syntax may continue into the third line as kori rei harafu Izunome (こり霊祓ふ伊豆能売), yielding “Izunome, who purifies the spirit.” Even when the former is accepted as the primary reading, the syntactic after-resonance of the latter does not disappear. Moreover, the third line, Izunome no (いずのめの), leaves the case particle no suspended at the end of the upper verse and carries it across into the fourth-line Mioya (御親). The fold between the kami-no-ku and shimo-no-ku thus becomes enjambment in its own right. Strictly speaking, this is not a third-line cut, but an orikaeshi (折り返し), a fold-back in which the form bends at 5–7–5 while the sentence does not fully break. This suspension transfers the current from the practice of kori into the divine-name domain of Izunome—Mioya. Because the terminal and attributive forms are identical in the quadrigrade conjugation, this doubled reading remains grammatically possible.

By contrast, the fourth line, Mioya kashikoshi (み親かしこし), closes with the terminal form kashikoshi (かしこし), not the attributive kashikoki (かしこき), and therefore establishes a clear fourth-line cut. No explicit kireji such as ya (や), kana (かな), or keri (けり) appears, yet the conjugated form itself produces the cut: a “cut without a cutting word.” Immediately afterward, the predicate-less kami no Samuhara (神のサムハラ) is set independently in place, making the final line a taigendome (体言止め), a nominal closure through a divine name. One prose completion might be kami no Samuhara naru Mioya wa kashikoshi (神のサムハラなる御親はかしこし), “Awe-inspiring is the Parent who is the kami’s Samuhara,” or Mioya wa kashikoshi—kore zo kami no Samuhara (御親はかしこし——これぞ神のサムハラ), “The Parent is awe-inspiring—this indeed is the kami’s Samuhara.” The poem, however, does not explicitly state that connection. It first gives voice to kashikoshi, the utterance of reverence, and only one beat later names the source of that reverence as kami no Samuhara. Through this appositional postposition or inversion, and through the omission of kore zo / nari (これぞ／なり), the poem acquires a twofold ending: the exclamatory closure of kashikoshi and the theonymic closure of Samuhara. The taigendome seals the poem with force while refusing to exhaustively explain what Samuhara is, leaving instead the after-resonance of the name itself.

The prosody of the final two lines is likewise held in parallel balance. Mioya | kashikoshi (みおや｜かしこし) divides into three morae plus four, and kami no | Samuhara (かみの｜さむはら) likewise divides into three plus four. Although the grammatical structures differ—the fourth line being noun + predicate, and the fifth attributive modifier + noun—the ear receives both through the same three-four cadence. Mioya and kami, kashikoshi and Samuhara, thereby illuminate one another. Furthermore, Izunome no | Mioya (伊豆能売の｜御親) and kami no | Samuhara (神の｜サムハラ) both take the form X-no-Y. The former is extended across the third and fourth lines, while the latter is compressed entirely within the closing line. Thus, the first no opens the divine-name relation outward, and the last no folds it inward and seals it again in a single breath. The no of Izunome no Mioya is not limited to simple possession. It leaves a relational interval between “the Mioya connected with Izunome” and “the Mioya who is Izunome,” and that interval is received by the closing kami no Samuhara.

The opening Tsukisakaki (撞賢木) is a nominal presentation without an accompanying particle, while the kori at the beginning of the second line similarly foregrounds the practice as a bare noun. Relations of case and connection—tsukisakaki o sasagete (撞賢木を捧げて), “offering the sacred sakaki”; kori o shite (垢離をして), “performing ablution”; or kori ni yotte (垢離によって), “by means of ablution”—are left unstated. The yorishiro, the practice, and the purification are placed beside one another. This particle-less enumeration and ellipsis produce the pace of a norito-like chant rather than that of expository prose. The poem begins with the noun Tsukisakaki and ends with the noun Samuhara: from the sakaki as yorishiro to the divine name invited into it, from vessel to kami—a correspondence between beginning and end. Within that frame, Tsukisakaki → kori → purification → Izunome → Mioya → Samuhara raises the level of reference one stage at a time, moving from a concrete ritual implement toward a primordial divine name. The sequence identified in the existing commentary thus operates rhetorically as a gradation or climax: the explanation of ritual action gradually becomes the manifestation of the divine name.

The associated diction, or engo (縁語), also operates not merely as a single pair of words but as a lexical field covering the entire poem. Tsukisakaki—kami, kori—harafu, and spirit—Izunome—Mioya—Samuhara link yorishiro, purification, divine presence, and divine name within a single ritual domain. Rather than engo in the narrow sense of paired diction in courtly waka, this is a “field of associated words” formed through norito vocabulary. At its center, the kakekotoba of kori as ablution/constriction produces a mitate (見立て): bodily or mental stiffness is recast as something to be purified through water. The external kori and the internal kori do not merely stand beside one another as homophones. They are placed into a relation in which the one practice loosens the other.

There is also a return of the sound hara between the second-line harafu (はらふ) and the final Samuhara (サムハラ). This does not indicate that the two words share an etymological origin. It is an acoustic reverberation generated within the poem itself. The sound first uttered through the verb of purification returns at the end, taken into and enclosed within the divine name Samuhara. It is a kakekotoba-like bond of sound, as though the verb of purification had been sealed inside the theonym. Moreover, in Izunome no (いずのめの), the no contained within the divine name and the following case particle no occur in succession, and then reverberate again in kami no Samuhara (神のサムハラ). Three instances of no therefore run through the latter half of the poem. This phonetic repetition extends a chain of belonging and apposition from the divine name to Mioya, and from Mioya to Samuhara, producing the cadence of a norito-like chant.

In relation to the divine classics, this is less a case of honkadori (本歌取り), the reworking of language from a preceding poem, than a Shintō-scriptural allusion resembling honzetsudori (本説取り), in which a narrative, myth, or traditional account rises behind the poem as its source. Tsukisakaki recalls the ritual sakaki and theonymic expressions found in the Nihon Shoki, while Izunome recalls one of the kami who came into being in the Kojiki amid the misogi and the work of setting what had gone awry right. The opening two lines have a jo (序詞)-like function in leading toward this kami. They are not, however, a strict joshi that leads into a subsequent word through sound alone, for kori and purification carry the poem’s actual meaning. They are a “meaning-bearing introduction.” There is therefore no need to treat Tsukisakaki as a makurakotoba (枕詞) within this poem, nor is the Izu (伊豆) of Izunome an utamakura (歌枕) invoking the geographical province of Izu. Because none of the binding particles zo, namu, ya, ka, or koso (ぞ・なむ・や・か・こそ) appears, no kakarimusubi (係り結び) is formed. What chiefly operates here is not a fixed formulaic epithet but scriptural allusion, enjambment, a fourth-line cut produced by conjugation, nominal closure, ellipsis, inversion, associated diction, mitate, and the return of sound. That Tsukisakaki appears in the theonymic and ritual language of the Nihon Shoki, and that Izunome is situated within the Kojiki’s context of misogi and rectification, may likewise be confirmed from their respective scriptural sources.

In sum, while keeping the fixed form exact, the poem makes the second-line ending hover between terminal and attributive force, stitches the upper and lower verses together with the no at the end of the third line, completes its utterance of reverence in the fourth, and leaves only the divine name in the final line. The cut completes the purification; the enjambment carries that purification toward the kami; the nominal closure sets Samuhara in place not as an explanation, but as a name made present. These devices are not ornaments applied from without. Through the very sequence of sound and grammar, they perform the order of kori—purification—rectification—reverence—protection.

Supplement: The tsuki of tsukisakaki: Consecration, strike, thrust, moon, and the ritual mediation of sakaki

The established commentary on Dōka 145 takes the opening tsukisakaki (つきさかき) first as the ritual term tsukisakaki (撞賢木). Its tsuki (つき) is grounded in itsuki (斎き), consecration, while the homophonous tsuki (月), the moon, remains as a lingering kakekotoba (掛詞). The following kori (こり) is treated as a clearer pivot between kori (垢離), ritual ablution, and kori (凝り), constriction or stiffness (Ueshiba, 2025). That foundation should be retained. A more exact examination of the opening sound and its written form, however, reveals that the moon is not its only secondary resonance. Tsuki (撞き), striking; tsuki (突き), thrusting; tsuki (付き), attachment; tsuki (憑き), spiritual attachment or possession; and even tsuki (槻), the ancient name of another sacred tree, gather around the opening with different degrees of force.

The first distinction to preserve is that these are not simply “many meanings of one word.” Itsuki (斎き), tsuki (撞き), tsuki (突き), tsuki (月), tsuki (付き), tsuki (憑き), and tsuki (槻) are different words, with different histories, graphs, grammatical functions, and fields of use, which happen to share a sound sequence. A kakekotoba is not formed merely by collecting every homophone listed in a dictionary. It is a compression through which one sequence of sound bears two or more lexical and syntactic currents within the poem itself (Brower & Miner, 1961; Shirane, 2005). The revised reading must therefore distinguish the attested lexical meaning of tsukisakaki, the force visible in its conventional graphing, the martial word heard through its sound, the poetic afterimage it permits, and the homophones that exist lexically but do not become active in the poem.

Itsuki: The immovable lexical ground

The dictionary entry for tsukisakaki (撞賢木) explains the first element tsuki as carrying the meaning of itsuki (斎), and defines the whole as a sakaki used in divine rites. Its earliest cited example is the divine name Tsukisakaki Itsu no Mitama Ama-sakaru Mukatsu-hime no Mikoto (撞賢木厳之御魂天疎向津媛命) in the Empress Jingū section of the Nihon Shoki (Shōgakukan, n.d.-d). The lexical ground of the opening line is therefore the consecrated sakaki: the ritual branch ordered for the reception of divine approach. Moon, thrust, striking, attachment, and indwelling do not displace that primary meaning or become competing etymologies. “Moon-sakaki” and “striking the sakaki” cannot stand as dictionary translations of the term.

This hierarchy does not diminish the richness of the wordplay. It protects it. Unless the first meaning is stable, the reader can no longer tell what the secondary meanings are being laid across. Only because tsukisakaki first stands as a ritual branch can impact, penetration, moonlight, attachment, and divine approach gather around it in widening circles. The kakekotoba does not destroy the governing meaning. It allows other images and motions to enter its sound while that meaning remains intact.

Tsuki as 撞き: Striking, colliding, and sounding through a blow

The character 撞 has the kun-reading tsuku (つく) and means to strike against, collide with, or sound something by striking it. Its continuative form tsuki (撞き) therefore makes visible a movement of impact, contact, or sounding through a stroke (Japan Kanji Aptitude Testing Foundation, n.d.-b). Whereas the moon is called primarily to the ear, the striking force of 撞 is presented to the eye. The graphing 撞賢木 does not show the ritual branch only as a stationary plant. It places impact, contact, and the beginning of sound at the head of the word.

This does not revise the etymology of tsukisakaki into “the act of striking a branch.” The dictionary explicitly grounds its tsuki in itsuki. The meaning of 撞 is therefore not the lexical root of the compound, but a semantic layer made available by its conventional written form. It is more exact to call it a graphic-semantic after-resonance than a fully independent second definition. Moreover, 撞 does not signify only a destructive blow. It can signify the stroke by which a bell or other object is made to sound. The blow may initiate sound, announce a moment, and gather attention. Read beside the existing speech-act analysis of the poem, the opening utterance tsukisakaki may therefore be felt as the sounding stroke that opens the ritual field and begins the chant. That is a poetic development of the graph, not the historical dictionary definition of the ritual term.

A textual caution is also necessary. On the current page, the “Original Waka” is printed in kana as tsukisakaki (つきさかき), while 撞賢木 appears under the historical graphing supplied to clarify the word’s construction (Ueshiba, 2025). On the evidence of this page alone, one cannot assert that Ueshiba himself deliberately selected the character 撞 in an autograph manuscript. Such an attribution would require a critical source, manuscript, or other bibliographical evidence. Yet because 撞賢木 is the conventional historical graphing of the ritual term, the meaning of 撞 remains relevant as a layer in the history of its reception. It should be presented not as an intention proven from Ueshiba’s pen, but as a visible force preserved when the inherited word is restored to kanji.

Tsuki as 突き: The entering line heard by the martial body

Near to 撞き, but not identical with it, is tsuki (突き). The noun tsuki is formed from the verb tsuku (突く), “to thrust,” and denotes the act of thrusting, including a sword or spear thrust and, in kendō, the technique directed toward the throat (Shōgakukan, n.d.-e). 撞き includes collision, impact, and sounding; 突き is more specifically the force that advances toward a point, closes distance in a line, and penetrates. Within the martial reception of a poem by Ueshiba, the spoken sound tsuki can readily awaken this bodily memory of the thrust.

Yet 突き does not form as complete a kakekotoba as the poem’s kori (垢離／凝り). Within kori rei harafu (こり霊祓ふ), ritual ablution and constriction can both enter the syntax with relative naturalness: the ablution performs purification, while constriction becomes that which is released. By contrast, when tsukisakaki is resegmented as tsuki—sakaki (突き—榊), the grammatical relation remains unstated. The poem does not specify “thrust the branch,” “thrust with the branch,” or “a branch thrust upright.” The martial word is powerfully suggested by the sound, but it does not independently complete a second sentence. It is therefore best described as a latent martial kakekotoba or a martial acoustic resonance, not as an equal lexical definition of tsukisakaki.

Its relevance is nevertheless profound. A tsuki ordinarily projects force along a line toward another body. Here, that sound is enclosed within the consecrated sakaki. The force is not abolished; it is ritually redirected. A line that would penetrate an opponent becomes an axis prepared for divine reception. A movement that violently closes distance becomes an entry into rightly ordered relation—between human and kami, person and person, body and field. The primary meaning of tsukisakaki does not repress martial force. It purifies its direction and transfers its destination to the yorishiro (依代). The opening thereby asks not whether force should exist, but toward what it should move and what kind of field its arrival should establish.

Tsuki as 月: Light remaining in the ear

The moon, tsuki (月), is neither the etymology nor the lexical definition of tsukisakaki. Once the line is recited in kana, however, the ear can receive its first two morae as the moon. In classical poetry the moon carries a broad field of associations—light, night, shadow, phases, and time—but Dōka 145 does not assemble explicit lunar engo (縁語) such as night, sky, shadow, dawn moon, or full moon around the opening (Shōgakukan, n.d.-b). It is therefore more exact to treat 月 as a lunar afterimage or residual kakekotoba laid across the primary ritual term, rather than as the kind of fully doubled construction found in more elaborately sustained courtly wordplay.

Even so, the moon’s afterlight resonates poetically with the following kori (垢離). Once the faint moon heard in tsukisakaki passes into the ablution of shore or river, an image arises in which the leaves of the branch and the water’s surface receive the same light. This is not a nocturnal scene explicitly described by the poem. It is a secondary image generated by the succession of sounds. The waxing and waning moon should therefore not be equated immediately with ritual renewal, nor should an independent lunar theology be inserted into the poem. The moon does not add a doctrine. It passes light between the consecrated branch and the water of purification.

月 can also denote a month, but the poem supplies no lexical field of calendar, days, years, seasons, or duration that would activate that meaning. The celestial body and its light remain poetically available; “month” does not. The fact that a graph or sound has several dictionary senses does not make every one of those senses operative within a given poem.

Tsuki as 付き and 憑き: Distant resonances of conjunction and indwelling

Tsuki (付き) can denote attachment, adherence, accompaniment, appurtenance, or the manner in which one thing joins another (Shōgakukan, n.d.-a). Of these meanings, the one that approaches Dōka 145 is not the colloquial sense of good fortune, but the relation by which one thing becomes joined to or accompanies another. Because sakaki marks the boundary between human and divine fields and serves in tamagushi (玉串) and himorogi (神籬) as a mediator between the worshipper and the worshipped kami, 付き can weakly reinforce the image of conjunction established at the yorishiro.

The verb tsuku (憑く) denotes a spirit taking hold of, attaching itself to, or possessing a person or thing; its continuative form tsuki (憑き) shares the sound of the opening (Japan Kanji Aptitude Testing Foundation, n.d.-a). A ritual yorishiro is an object prepared for divine approach, and the Association of Shinto Shrines describes tamagushi and himorogi both as loci to which divine presence may come and as mediators joining the one who worships with the kami who is worshipped (Jinja Honchō, n.d.). It is therefore ritually intelligible that tsukisakaki may faintly suggest a divine presence approaching or abiding at the branch.

憑き cannot, however, be asserted as a hidden etymology of 撞賢木. The lexical source identifies the first element with itsuki. Modern tsuku (憑く) also readily suggests afflictive possession by a troublesome spirit, which is not identical to the ordered reception of a kami in ritual. When this resonance is retained, it should therefore be limited to divine approach, ritual indwelling, or presence at a yorishiro, rather than translated forcefully as “a possessed sakaki.” 付き and 憑き do not define the word. They illuminate from a greater distance the branch’s work as a place of conjunction and advent.

Tsuki as 槻: Another sacred tree at the edge of the sound

Tsuki (槻) is the ancient name of the Japanese zelkova. It is not the same species as sakaki, but dictionaries note that the tree was regarded as sacred, that important rites took place beneath large specimens, and that yutsuki or itsuki (斎槻) could denote a consecrated tsuki tree (Shōgakukan, n.d.-c). Ancient Japanese vocabulary therefore contains another sacred tree whose name is itself tsuki. This gives the opening a remote arboreal echo.

That echo must not become a botanical substitution. 槻 is zelkova; 榊／賢木 is sakaki, now ordinarily identified as Cleyera japonica in ritual terminology. The existence of itsuki (斎槻) shows that the relation between consecration and sacred trees was not confined to sakaki, but it does not turn the tsukisakaki of the poem into a zelkova. 槻 is not an alternative definition. It is the shadow of another sacred-tree vocabulary falling at the far edge of the sound tsuki.

Other homophones are lexically available as well. Tsuki (搗き／舂き) may denote pounding with a pestle; tsuki (尽き) may denote exhaustion or coming to an end; and tsuki (着き) may be formed from arriving at a destination (Japan Kanji Aptitude Testing Foundation, n.d.-c, n.d.-d; Shōgakukan, n.d.-e). Nothing in Dōka 145 establishes a field of grain-pounding, depletion, cessation, or travel toward a destination. To enumerate them as active kakekotoba would be to pour a homophone dictionary directly into the poem and erase its particular syntax and ritual register. Lexical availability is not poetic activation.

How the ritual history of sakaki governs the force of the “strike”

The ritual history of sakaki determines the direction in which the resonances of 撞き and 突き should be read. Today sakaki ordinarily denotes Cleyera japonica, but the older word referred more broadly to evergreens employed in divine rites and only gradually became restricted to a particular small evergreen tree. Its branches have been presented as tamagushi, fitted with shide (紙垂), used as decorations and purification implements, carried as torimono (採物) in ritual dance, and attached to shrine buildings or fences to designate sacred space. Proposed etymologies include sakaeru-ki, the always-thriving tree, and sakai-ki, the boundary tree separating sacred and ordinary fields (Inoue, n.d.).

In the myth of the heavenly rock cave, the flourishing masakaki (真賢木) of Mount Ame-no-Kaguyama is removed by its roots and adorned with jewels, a mirror, and cloth in the rite through which Amaterasu Ōmikami is invited out from concealment. The branch is not background vegetation. It becomes the vertical axis upon which the ritual field is assembled. Later tamagushi likewise functions not simply as an offering, but as a yorishiro receiving divine presence and as a mediator through which the intention of the worshipper is carried toward the kami (Inoue, n.d.; Jinja Honchō, n.d.).

On the evidence of this history, the graphic meaning of 撞 should not be converted into a historical definition such as “a rite of violently striking the sakaki” or “a branch driven into the ground.” The sources describe taking, adorning, raising, offering, and employing the branch as yorishiro, boundary, and mediator. The striking and thrusting heard in the poem should therefore be understood not as violence inflicted upon the tree, but as force redirected by the tree. The impact of 撞き becomes a stroke that begins rather than breaks the field. The entering line of 突き becomes not a penetration of an opponent, but the raising of an axis and the opening of a passage for divine approach. The ritual history of sakaki receives martial force and reforms it as boundary, offering, and mediation.

The evergreen quality of the tree likewise signifies more than the static idea of life that does not wither. Sakaki marks a boundary, but does not stand merely to close that boundary. It distinguishes sacred and ordinary fields while establishing the point through which divine advent and human offering may pass in an ordered way. The boundary tree and the entering thrust are therefore not necessarily opposed. Disordered intrusion is halted at the boundary; rightly ordered approach is admitted through it. Tsukisakaki is not a tree that annihilates force. It is a tree that determines how force may arrive as relation.

Integrating the layers of tsuki within Dōka 145

The opening tsukisakaki thus contains several layers that must not be treated as equally strong. At its center stands itsuki, fixing the lexical meaning of the ritually consecrated branch. Within its graphing stands 撞き, making visible impact, contact, and the stroke that begins sound. Within its spoken form stands 突き, awakening the straight entering line known to the martial body. The moon, 月, adds light. 付き suggests conjunction, while 憑き, under strict limitation, suggests advent or presence at the yorishiro. 槻 preserves the more distant echo of another ancient sacred tree.

Their relative strength can therefore be stated precisely. First, 斎き／いつき is the lexical and historical governing sense. Second, 撞き is the strong semantic after-resonance contained in the traditional graphing. Third, 突き is the acoustic layer strengthened by Ueshiba’s martial context. Fourth, 月 is the latent poetic kakekotoba that remains as light. Fifth, 付き／憑き are associative homophones illuminating mediation and approach. Sixth, 槻・搗き・尽き・着き are lexically real but inactive at the poem’s far horizon. Without this hierarchy, polysemy dissolves into unsupported punning.

The lack of a particle after the opening is essential. The poem does not command sakaki o tsuke (榊を突け), “thrust the branch,” nor does it describe tsuki no sakaki (月の榊), “the moon’s sakaki.” It simply places the name tsukisakaki at the center of the field. Once the name is set there, the forces of itsuki, 撞き, 突き, 月, 付き, and 憑き gather within it while preserving their different distances from the primary meaning. From that established place, kori is undertaken, spirit is purified, the current passes into Izunome’s rectification, reverence before Mioya arises, and the sequence is sealed by the kami’s Samuhara. The opening is therefore not wordplay displayed for its own sake. Through layered sound it establishes the field within which the poem’s misogi can occur.

Returned to the Six Primers, martial force has not been denied. The impact of 撞き and the entry of 突き are ordered by itsuki. To prepare the body as dōjō is not to extinguish force, but to rectify what it touches, where it enters, and what it brings into being. Just as sakaki marks a boundary while mediating between human and divine, the body need not become a hardened shell separating self from other. It can become the clarified boundary upon which aiki arises. The thrust is transformed from a line that objectifies and penetrates the other into a line that enters relation, rectifies torsion, and brings the field toward wagō bika (和合美化), harmonization and beautification. In this way the primary ritual meaning and the martial after-resonance meet without contradiction as one principle of practice.

In sum—tsuki in tsukisakaki is first itsuki. Yet the graph 撞 makes a sounding stroke visible; the kana sound carries the entering thrust and the light of the moon to the ear; and 付き and 憑き allow conjunction and divine approach to reverberate at a greater distance. The ritual history of sakaki does not permit these forces to scatter without limit. It gathers them into yorishiro, boundary, offering, and mediation. The opening stroke is therefore not a stroke of destruction. It opens the ritual field, defines the boundary, receives the divine, and passes light into the water of kori. The martial thrust enters consecration; consecration raises the branch; and the branch opens a way between kami and human beings. Through that way, the purification of Dōka 145 begins.

Speech Act Theory

Read through Austin’s (1962) Speech Act Theory, Dōka 145 is not merely “a poem that states a meaning.” The act of reciting it becomes in itself a small gesture of purification. At the locutionary level, it consists of the ordered sounds and senses of its five lines: tsukisakaki / kori rei harafu / Izunome no / Mioya kashikoshi / kami no Samuhara (つきさかき／こり靈はらふ／いずのめの／み親かしこし／神のさむはら). Tsukisakaki is the consecrated sakaki; kori is ablution/constriction; Izunome is the kami who rectifies maga; Mioya is reverence toward the primordial source; and Samuhara is both an amuletic name and a name associated with the three kami of creation. This vocabulary is contained within the vessel of 5–7–5–7–7. The third line, Izunome no (いずのめの), does not contain an explicit kireji. By leaving no suspended and carrying the meaning downward, it becomes the hinge that produces the fold from the upper verse into the lower.

At the illocutionary level, the poem is not an explanation but a chant that actually brings purification, rectification, reverence, and protection into being. The yorishiro and kori of the first and second lines fold back into the fourth-line Mioya kashikoshi (み親かしこし), and bodily purification is transformed into reverence before Mioya. The third-line Izunome no folds back into the fifth-line kami no Samuhara (神のサムハラ), so that the name of the kami of rectification is sealed anew within the name of protection. The resonances of tsuki as consecration/moon (つき＝斎き／月) and kori as ablution/constriction (こり＝垢離／凝り) allow the language to speak of purifying external defilement while also speaking of loosening an inner rigidity. Here the power of language becomes visible not merely as the carrying of meaning, but as the setting of practice into motion.

At the perlocutionary level, the recitation produces effects: reverence arises, the field settles, the constrictions of body and mind loosen, and practice is received anew as misogi. In sum, the locutionary act is the meaningful sound of the five lines; the illocutionary act is the invocation of the divine names by which purification, rectification, reverence, and protection are performed; and the perlocutionary act is the felt stillness and protection that remain after the chant. The fold from upper verse to lower is not merely a formal correspondence, but a transformation of practice. Tsukisakaki and kori become reverence before Mioya; the name of Izunome becomes the kami’s Samuhara. The cut is not a severance, but an interval through which the divine name passes. The kakekotoba is not an ornament, but arises as the work of kotodama (言霊), purifying spirit and bodily constriction at once.

Coda

What Dōka 145 presents is not merely an explanation of misogi, but the order by which a place for misogi is raised within language and purification is performed there. Before the opening tsukisakaki (つきさかき) can be divided into moon, thrust, or any other homophone, it stands as the single ritual term tsukisakaki (撞賢木). Its lexical ground is itsuki (斎き), consecration: the sakaki ritually ordered to receive divine approach. From there the poem proceeds through kori, the purification of spirit, Izunome’s work of rectification, reverence before Mioya, and finally the placement of the kami’s Samuhara as a divine name. The poem therefore performs, through the sounds and syntax of its five lines, an entire grammar of misogi: yorishiro—water practice—purification—rectification—reverence—protection.

The sakaki in this sequence is more than the botanical designation of a species. In older ritual vocabulary, its identity arose through its function as an evergreen presented before the kami, marking sacred space and receiving divine presence. In the myth of the heavenly rock cave, the branches of the masakaki bear jewels, mirror, and cloth, becoming the vertical axis of the ritual through which the concealed deity is invited again into the world. In later practice, sakaki continues to serve as tamagushi, himorogi, a purificatory implement, and a torimono carried in sacred performance, mediating between kami and human beings, divine precinct and ordinary world (Inoue, n.d.; Jinja Honchō, n.d.). It is not a wall that permanently separates sacred from profane. It marks the boundary while establishing the place through which divine advent and human offering may rightly pass.

Once that primary ritual meaning has been secured, the opening tsuki permits several after-resonances—but they do not operate with equal force. At the center stands itsuki, the lexical basis of the consecrated sakaki. The traditional graph 撞 makes visible tsuki (撞き): contact, impact, and the stroke by which something is made to sound. The spoken tsuki awakens for the martial body the straight entering line of tsuki (突き), the thrust, while tsuki (月), the moon, remains as a poetic afterimage of light. Tsuki (付き) weakly suggests joining or attachment, and tsuki (憑き), under strict limitation, suggests divine approach or presence at a yorishiro. None of these replaces the etymology of tsukisakaki. They are graphic, acoustic, and associative layers spreading around the governing sense of consecration. Other homophones such as 槻, 搗き, 尽き, and 着き exist in the lexicon, but the poem’s syntax and ritual field do not activate them with comparable force.

A textual caution belongs within this hierarchy. On the present page the original poem is given in kana as tsukisakaki (つきさかき), while 撞賢木 is supplied as a historical graphing that clarifies the word’s construction. One therefore cannot establish from this page alone that Ueshiba deliberately selected 撞 in an autograph manuscript. Yet because 撞賢木 is the inherited graphing of the ritual term, the force of 撞 remains available as a visible layer in the history of its reception. If the moon is a light left in the ear, 撞き is a stroke left before the eye, and 突き is the entry heard within the word by a body trained in budō.

Neither the strike nor the thrust, however, means violence inflicted upon the sakaki. The ritual history of the tree governs the direction of these forces. The stroke of 撞き becomes not a blow that breaks the field, but one that begins it—as a bell stroke begins sound, announces a moment, and gathers attention. The entering line of 突き is no longer confined to an attack that penetrates and objectifies another body. It may be re-read as the vertical axis upon which the yorishiro is established, or as an irimi, an entry into rightly ordered relation. Force is not abolished; it is directed by consecration. A line projected toward an opponent is transferred toward the place of divine reception. A movement that violently closes distance becomes contact that rectifies torsion among person and kami, person and person, body and field. Tsukisakaki is not a tree that destroys martial force. It is the tree that determines where that force should enter and what its arrival should bring into being.

After this opening stroke comes kori rei harafu (こり霊祓ふ). Its primary referent remains kori (垢離), ritual ablution. Upon that ground, the homophonous kori (凝り) introduces the secondary resonance of bodily or mental constriction becoming loosened. Outer rite and inner response are not collapsed into a single definition; they illuminate one another within one chant. Because the terminal and attributive forms of harafu (祓ふ) are identical, purification can be heard as momentarily completed while its action is also carried onward toward Izunome. The suspended no (の) at the end of the third line does not allow the upper verse to close upon itself, but stitches the current of the divine name into the lower verse. By contrast, Mioya kashikoshi (み親かしこし) completes the utterance of reverence, after which kami no Samuhara (神のサムハラ) remains as a nominal, theonymic closure. The cut accomplishes purification; the enjambment carries it into rectification; the divine name seals the field of protection.

The absence of a particle after the opening is therefore essential. The poem does not command “thrust the sakaki,” nor does it describe “the moon’s sakaki.” It simply places the name tsukisakaki before the listener. To utter the name becomes the verbal equivalent of raising the yorishiro. Itsuki orders the field; 撞き announces its beginning; 突き gives force to the entry; the moon passes light from the evergreen leaves toward the water of kori; and 付き／憑き allow conjunction and divine approach to reverberate at the greater edge of the sound. The layered word is not a display of verbal cleverness. Through several senses at once, it generates the place in which the poem’s misogi can begin.

Returned to the Six Primers, ordering the body as dōjō does not mean literally identifying oneself with the sakaki or with a deity. It means following the branch’s function by preparing the body not as a sealed container that possesses something sacred, but as a receptive field in which breath, posture, attention, and relation are rightly arranged. Just as sakaki marks a boundary while mediating between human and divine, the body need not become a hardened shell dividing self from other. It can become the clarified boundary upon which aiki arises. The boundary is not erased; it is purified, rectified, and made to serve as a passage. When the impact of 撞き and the entry of 突き submit to that passage, they become martial workings that release interpersonal torsion, bring the field toward wagō bika (和合美化), harmonization and beautification, and follow the source of Supreme Love.

To recite this dōka, therefore, is not merely to demonstrate that its meaning has been understood. First raise Tsukisakaki through its name; open the ritual field with its sounding stroke; carry the force of the thrust into consecration; enter the water of kori; purify the spirit while allowing constriction to loosen; pass into Izunome’s rectification; order the posture through reverence before Mioya; and seal the field in the name Samuhara. When the sound hara, first uttered within harafu, returns inside the final Samuhara, the act of purification appears to be gathered up within the divine name. Taking up the fire and water of Dōka 142, the divine art of Odo in Dōka 143, and the divine design of Dōka 144, Dōka 145 places them anew into an order that can be enacted through the practitioner’s body and voice.

In sum—the tsuki of tsukisakaki is first itsuki, consecration. Yet the graph 撞 makes a sounding stroke visible; the spoken sound carries the entering thrust and the moon’s afterlight to the ear; and 付き and 憑き permit conjunction and divine approach to reverberate at a greater distance. The ritual history of sakaki prevents these forces from scattering into unrestricted punning. It gathers them into yorishiro, boundary, offering, and mediation. The opening stroke is therefore not a stroke of destruction, but a stroke that opens the field. The thrust is no longer a line that penetrates the other, but one that enters right relation. Consecration raises the branch; the branch opens a way between kami and human beings; and through that way begins the poem’s sequence of kori—purification—rectification—reverence—Samuhara. Kami no Samuhara is thus not only the ending of the poem. It becomes the place to which the practice opened by the stroke of Tsukisakaki returns.

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Appendix I: Change Modification Log

24 AUG 26 - Heavily reworked extremely technical commentaries, preserving Japanese nomenclature; added codas to Japanese and English commentary and added commentary covering tsukisakaki; updated codas for final Phase V version. Phase V complete.
23 AUG 26 - Updated formatting; added additional poetics analysis; translated commentary to English.
08 JUN 26 - Added Speech Act Analysis; refined citation style.
13 APR 26 - Corrected references for Nishioka (n.d.) and Stephen et al. (2012).
04 JAN 26 - Added commentary by oral teaching of O'Sensei in Samuhara reference to Takahashi (1986).
28 DEC 25 - Added links to commentary.
21 DEC 25 - Applied Phase V styling to waka.
07 DEC 25 - Cleaned up commentary; back propagated primer katakana in commentary.
04 DEC 25 - Phase V completion; commentary added.
23 NOV 25 - Phase IV preparation.
19 OCT 25 - Phase III completion.
14 APR 20 - Initial notes transferred.