Kyudo Progress

(picture found at http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ky%C5%ABd%C5%8D)

 

Tonight was another classic case of having the chance to go to night kyudo, almost opting out in order to relax at home, but going and having an excellent session. It was a day off and I spent the day with the wife out exploring our new home of Nakatsu. It was raining and I thought about just relaxing and cleaning at home, but ended up going to practice anyway and it was definitely worth it. It's funny no matter how long you practice martial arts, this tendency to opt out of practice still remains strong. I guess I recognize it when it happens better, "Ah, I feel like not going, but I know if I don't I'll regret it." It takes us back to rule number one of practicing a martial art:

Just go to training.

Anyway, I went around 6 o'clock, just before most everyone shows up and the first person I see is the head 8dan (hanshi [8 degree black belt]). I perked up right away as we greeted each other. I knew right away it was worth it to come. Such a high ranking and highly skilled kyudoka is rare and to watch him practice, and have him watch you and comment is a very special opportunity. Getting changed I was aware of him the whole time, and knew he was aware of me. It's kind of like how I feel around the other head sensei in iaido. I feel like they're always critically watching, and so I'm especially sure to be on my best behavior, not without a little healthy anxiety.

When I first told my kyudo sensei in Toyama I was moving to Nakatsu, the first thing he did was grab the official book of kyudo dojos and looked up Nakatsu. When he found that Nakatsu had a hanshi sensei, his eyes widened and he said, "When you go to Nakatsu, go there immediately and start training with him." He also said I should do my best to be on good relations with him and talk to him as much as I can, and that was also the first thing I thought of. This is only the second time I've seen him at training because I can so rarely go at night when he shows up. But like I said, just having him there put me on my toes and made me excited about training.

Anyway, going back to anxiety ... I think it's really helpful in kyudo to have. When I first started, I was shocked at the amount of times that you shoot while other people watch you. At first it's like, "Please don't watch me, it makes me nervous," but I learned quickly you can't say that, and it's just a natural part of the art. We learn from watching and being watched by others. One of the most important things about kyudo is learning to get used to people watching you shoot alone. It feels like someone watching you when you're naked. You probably don't like it at first, but in kyudo it's something you have to get used to, and it will make you a lot better. This is also why it's important to participate in tournaments and tests. It's about doing your best and shooting as you are, even when everyone is watching you, especially under the pressure of competitions and exams.

I used to hate this nervousness and fight against it, trying to relax and eat away at the nervousness so shooting alone and shooting in front of others became the same, but I don't think so anymore. In fact, that nervousness I think makes you a better archer.

I'm not sure about how to explain it in a way that is honest to the feeling. Because it's mostly just a feeling. I feel nervous, and when I do, I shoot better. I miraculously do a lot of the things I've been trying to do subconsciously and for some reason snap into some ideal budo mode where I do my noble best without caring too much about hitting the target. It's when I'm left alone and without any pressure at all that it all falls away.

So the head sensei was there watching, I was nervous, shot a lot, and did fairly well. I was ever conscious of him, waiting for a chance to talk to him. Just to run up to him and bombard with questions or ask him to watch you seems a bit much. Everyone wants his help and attention. To single yourself out and just approach him like he's another archer seems to go against some unsaid rules of protocol. But then again, he is just another archer, and if I have a question I shouldn't hesitate to ask him. I shot a lot, felt pretty good, and right when I was going to go and sit next to him and initiate some conversation I got distracted by other archers who started talking to me. We talked for about 15 minutes and then I walked over to where I thought sensei was, to find him gone. I looked around for him, but apparently he had already sneaked out and gone home when I wasn't aware.

So I'll just have to wait until next time. But no one here is in a hurry, so it's all good.

I finally feel like I'm in a good place now in kyudo. My hand is completely healed and I'm doing my best not to instigate a reinjury, which shouldn't be a big problem. In fact, it helps me focus on proper technique. I've also been going consistently lately, maybe 3 times a week (I hope to make it 4 or 5 on the average) and so I've found a consistent rythm where I'm not embarrassingly bad. I've been around long enough that I recognize most people in the dojo and am not just "the new guy", and have developed friendships with others around. This is probably the most important part of practice, getting along with others. Once you establish that, everything becomes the best it can be. After that, I think at the one of the deepest levels, the greatest part about kyudo is the relationships with others that you make. Definitely.

I've said it before, and will say it many more times in the future, if it weren't for all the incredibly genuinely nice people in kyudo, I would have quit so many times a long time ago.

But anyway, specifically about technique, my two main issues are ones that have been around for a long time:

First, the string pre-releasing. It only happened once today, and I noticed it within the glove before it could slap me. In fact, it happened just before people were about to pull the arrows out of the targets and I was the last one shooting all by myself. I noticed that the arrow had slipped out but still in my grasp. I returned to the starting position, everyone looked at me strangely and I said that it slipped out, and then I told the people to take the arrows so they didn't have to wait for me. The other people around said, "No no no, wait, he's going to do this next one!" And told me to go ahead and do it again.

Goddamn. It's very unnerving to have that happen, and to have everybody watching and waiting while I try again is a special kind of hell. I realized the best thing to do was just bear up and do my best and try again, which I did, and I hit the target to my great surprise.

That was a little lesson in kyudo. We must face our fears and shoot in the face of potential failure and humiliation. Sometimes we will fail embarrassingly in front of everyone, but sometimes we will succeed.

So anyway, I said a long time ago that I realized this problem wasn't just in the kai (draw of the bow) where the string slips out, but in dai san (a transitional period where you change positions with the bow over your head), but then thought that maybe I'll realize it starts much sooner like in uchiokoshi (where you raise the bow). Recently I realize it's earlier than that at the very first moment you grip the string and arrow (torikake). Crazy, but I'm happy I've traced the problem back to here. I had a senior student show me how to do it right, and I did it with great success. But I've forgotten exactly how it goes, and am searching to find it on my own, to some success. This is another thing in kyudo. Learning how to fix something, doing it right, then completely forgetting. It's incredibly humiliating and embarrassing for your self and spirit, but we must accept these facts and humbly move forward doing our best. Failure upon success upon failure, we keep folding over this experience until one day we can just do it.

After that, there's my tenouchi (hand that holds the bow). I have certain bad tendencies I've had from the beginning but haven't fixed completely yet. I had a senior student help me out a lot tonight, telling me things I've heard maybe a hundred times before. I know this so well, but for some reason my hand won't do it. I am grateful for his help and don't regard it with frustration, but consider it helpful advice that will definitely contribute to my future success.

But then again there is no future,

and if something isn't a success now,

it's because I won't let it.

The beautiful humble path of an archer. I've never experienced a budo like this.

I can't wait to go back tomorrow morning.

90 Year Old Kyudoka

                                                        (I have no idea who this man is.)

 

Today I met a 90 year old man who practices kyudo.

When he first came in, I could tell he was pretty old, but was lively and cheerful. He started chatting to me in English, and I was surprised at his ability. He was better than most younger Japanese people and could keep a conversation going. He said he was 90 years old and still doing kyudo ... 90 YEARS OLD AND DOING KYUDO!!! Kyudo is no soft art, and pulling a bow at that age standing up straight and straining your muscles and will is no small feat ... for anybody. That surprised me, and he walked away for a minute, and came back with some small Japanese treats for me. (I think every aged person in Japan is always carrying around sweets to hand out to foreigners, because this happens most everytime! Maybe it's a habit I'll start soon.)

So we chatted more, he left, and then came back again with a postcard with him on it and a printout in Japanese that looked like it was from a newspaper and gave it to me. He said it was from about 20 years ago when he was 70, and he looked super strong and healthy ... at 70! At that time I was in elementary school trying to hide picking my nose from other kids on the school bus. He said he was in the coastguard and liked building radios. At that time I was changing ready to head out for work so I didn't see him shoot unfortunately.

After that I went home for a minute and showed the postcard and printout to Satomi and she was super impressed. Curious as to what she found out I started reading the printout on my own.

He started kyudo when he was in middle school, which means he started kyudo about 75 years ago (though he said he's been practicing for 60 years, which probably means he took time off when he was working, not sure). That's unbelievable to me. I can't possibly imagine doing anything for that long. I suppose if I'm lucky enough, I can say that I've practiced kyudo for 60 years one day.

But then, the part that really impressed me was that he pulled a 37 kilogram bow in his prime.

37 KILOGRAMS!

If you don't practice kyudo then that probably doesn't have much context, but the strongest bow I've pulled is 17, but now I'm using a 15 (I think). A lot of perfectly skilled teachers use 20 kilogram bows. Using a 25 km bow is considered really strong. I've never met someone who could pull a 30kg bow, and now I just met this dude who used to pull a 37 kg bow. That's crazy. Apparently he's been dropping the weight as he's gotten older, but I think he pulls a 20 kg bow now at 90, which is impossible for me now at 28.

The numbers are just too much for me, I'm dumbfounded and impressed. In a way I feel like continuing is pointless because I'll probably never be able to pull a 37 kg bow like him, but then I'm also motivated because the only important thing is continuing with a genuine effort. Without that there is nothing. With that, you can do anything ... including doing kyudo for 60 years and pulling a strong bow.

My kyudo practice has resumed after a hiatus during the winter break, and my ability is pretty weak, but it is what it is, and that's perfectly fine. I'm working on humbly going when I do, enjoying it, while focusing on two specific aspects:

1.) Pulling the bow with my back, which means maintaining the stretching tension in my back and backs of my arms from the beginning to the end. When I do this things work out very well and I do great kyudo ... when I don't, it's because I'm afraid of the string slapping my face, and I break the connection somewhere ... I think in uchiokoshi when I raise the bow.

2.) Building a good tenouchi (hand posture that holds the bow in the left hand). I need to keep my and in a vertical position, and relax all of the parts that aren't necessary especially my middle and ring finger. When I do this, my kyudo is great. When I don't, it's because I'm gripping the bow too hard, and don't hold my hand vertical due to the break in tension during uchiokoshi (raising the bow). Also, I need to grip the bow better with my pinky, which locks the hand in the vertical position.

When I started, I couldn't do anything at all, but after about 5 pulls I had about 3 or 4 good shots on the makiwara, then went to the target while doing zassha (sitting ceremonial shooting) shooting two arrows and did great. My first shot was a little in front of the target, and the second hit. I was shocked and elated at the feelings I felt through the shooting. Went back to the makiwara and had about 2 good shots, then it all started unraveling and my technique deteriorated.

Why?

It's a very strange phenomenon in kyudo, and I'm not sure if it happens to everybody, but always with me. I start out well and progressively get worse throughout the day.

I think this is due to two things:

1.) Thinking too much about the specifics while forgetting about the big picture.

2.) My hand/shoulders getting tired and slacking or tensing in the wrong places.

But it's all good. I practice my best, watch myself silently, and do my best to improve for the next time.

Iaido practice is going well. I'm finding time here and there throughout the day to practice, and I think it's great. By doing it in this way, I'll really want to practice, pick up the sword and go for ten minutes, then stop and continue my day until an hour or so later I get the urge again. Each piece is very small, but each drop is pure quality curiousity and effort and all the small pieces add up to a picture much bigger in the end. I'm taking it very slowly in these early stages, we'll see how it goes.

Hope you are all starting afresh in this new year, cause it's a great time to begin.

Half Learning, More Internalization & and Meeting Sensei

It's difficult to drawn the line where one must seek teaching and where one must forge on one's own.

I'm talking about kyudo, but this is evident in other martial arts, and life as a whole.

This is evident everywhere, but it seems to be more distinct in kyudo. Receiving guidance from a teacher is so necessary in certain specific spots and times in kyudo. That line between receiving careful instruction and not is extremely thin. One day a teacher will tell you one small detail, or keep you from making one small habitual mistake and everything will change. Writing this, it is the same in other arts such as aikido, but I find that in open handed arts the line seems wider and more blurred. Of course you can't do the technique perfect in aikido at first, but you can do it to a point of sufficiency. After that, a teacher will continue to tell you these details you probably won't do immediately. You're listening to the teachers' instruction, but at the same time, when you finally are able to do that technique, it is a product of your own body finding the result. Looking back, it's really amazing.

I find kyudo to feel different. I make a mistake and can't see how to fix it. A teacher will explain it to me, but my hands just can't do it immediately, and the result is still horrible. In aikido I could do these things almost immediately, but in kyudo the time is infinitely long, impossibly long. The dissent between what a teacher does and what I do is so vast, the immiediate results so unsatisfying.

Interestingly enough one of the other members in Kyudo was helping me out and told me a couple things that revealed some inspiration. First, he said that it takes about 6 months for the things we're working on now to finally show their effects. That doesn't just mean we practice something today and it magically becomes a reality in six months time. It means that after six months of focused effort, some flowers will begin to bloom ... due to that focus and hard work is the point. Second, he tried to explain tenouchi (the left hand which holds the bow) which is a term used in lots of martial arts, but is mainly concerned with the yunde (left hand) in kyudo. We can watch each other out in the open, even give pointers to each other, but essentially the tenouchi is our own secret to unravel. Everyone's bodies are different, so what works for one will not work for another. Also, a lot of what happens goes on inside of the hand happens where nobody can see. We imitate the shape of our teachers and let our insides form according to our own evolution.

We need instruction to begin and progress, but I'm beginning to think that we learn all of this mostly on our own, and the end result reflects our individual selves. Mr. Parker over at the Mokuren Dojo (http://www.mokurendojo.com/) often talks about this and calls it "Watakushi-do", I'll take the liberty of calling it "the Way of Me".  We are studying these arts that have specific names and ways, but we are really creating our own style. In this I'm not sure that it matters so much what art we study, as long as we do our best to strive for progression, listen to those who have come before, and internalize the world to make it our own.

I met the main sensei for the first time the other day. Being a hanshi (8th dan [8th degree black belt]) he has a bit of fame in the area and is certainly considered the head of the dojo. Until now I've only had one chance to go for night practice, but I went yesterday and finally was able to meet him.

He's great:

A strange balance of what I expected and an unknown I wish to explore.

Physically, he's pretty much like a normal Japanese dude. He's a few inches shorter than me and not particularly fat or skinny or anything at all. His hands are smaller than I expected. This might be a weird thing to notice, but so much of kyudo has to do with the hands, it's hard not to apply reasons to success or failure in technique to such a physical part. My sensei in Toyama had long fingers, and the way he held the bow seemed so easy for him, where as I have smaller hands and shorter fingers. I know technique depends upon technique itself, not just our physical bodies, but for some reason it was harder to see with him. Now with this sensei in Nakatsu, I can see hands similar to mine reach success, and that gives me hope.

He certainly has a presence, but I have to say "presence" in Japan is largely affected by the surrounding people. Because he is who he is (not just his title, but his vast experience and history with all of the other people, I'm sure) people make way for him and hold him up in a certain way. Aside from that, I perceived the calm strength that usually marks an aged practitioner in budo.

He's super nice, but won't bullshit you. When I first met him, I was nervous and polite (probably two characteristics I've subconsciously been adopting in Japan! Not too much though ... enough to translate my feeling in Japan effectively, I think ...) he saw this, but also saw that I came seeking knowledge and teaching, and I think he understands me pretty well though we haven't had much time together. He was super nice and talked and joked and relaxed with everybody, while also shooting with others in zassha (sitting form), and would give advice freely about people's form.

But like he said, he also won't bullshit. I feel as though when I left Toyama and first came to Nakatsu my technique was as good as it could be, and something I'm not ashamed to show. But after a month of not practicing, and then a month of sparse training due to messing with my hand, my technique has crumbled to something I'm embarrassed of, but have to progress on nonetheless. Anyway, so I went and shot and knew he was watching me. I got worse and worse and just went straight up to him and asked him questions about my tenouchi.

This is strange in Japan, I think. For a beginner student who only just met the head sensei to walk straight up to him and ask questions. I think the mark of a good teacher is one who will take the question as if it came from anybody and answer to the best of his ability. A lesser teacher may be offended that you don't respect unsaid rules concerning a certain distance from the teacher until after a long time. I don't know. These are unsaid and unwritten rules sensed by feeling, something I will not be very good at being gaijin. Maybe I violated some kind of faux pa, or maybe it's nothing at all. Anyway, I'm gaijin, so I do have a bit of leeway with such things, because I'm not expected to know, or maybe we do things different from where I'm from ... well, both of those are correct I guess.

Regardless, sensei seemed happy to receive me and went in depth to answer my questions. He explained the basics of what one should do, and how that was different from what I was doing. This is good. How could it be better? But it's also what I've heard before, what I don't quite understand, and what I can't quite do yet.

What I was really happy about though was the attention he gave to the condition of my hand.

What has happened is that I push the bow with part of my thumb instead of the the base of it where it meets my hand, and so a blister developed. The blister didn't heal correctly so it was torn and a cut-like injury appears. I'm doing my best to hold back until it's healed completely again, but this happened in the past and instead of waiting for it to heal, I trained through it and developed scar tissue that has built up underneath the skin. It's relatively harmless and will go away with time if I practice in the proper way. But the issue is, the problem has come back (WHY IN THE LORD'S NAME I DON'T KNOW!) and the wound has reopened.

Anyway, I showed this to Sensei and he recognized it immediately and said lots of other people get this. One surrounding guy came in and showed me he had a callous as well from past mistakes. Sensei had me look at and touch his hand which had absolutley zero marks. No one needs a callous there, and if you're doing the technique right you won't have one.

From there he felt my hand and squeezed the skin as if searching for that built up scar tissue. It's as if he could see exactly everything that had happened and went straight to the source. In the past I've had discussions with this problem with my sensei in Toyama, but never got any good answers I felt. The fact that this sensei felt my hand for the scar tissue makes me feel at ease, as if he knows just what I'm going through, and whether I should continue or rest.

That's the real question. I have the image of perfect technique in my mind, but I can't do it. When my hand hurts, I certainly can't do it, but how should I progress? Should I wait a long time until it is completely healed? Train through it regardless? Wait a bit of time and accept it won't be perfect right away while progressing slowly?

These are the answers I must give myself.

In this light, it's a dark world where only I can hold the torch.

I'm impressed with sensei and will go as often as possible to night training to meet with him as well as all the other extremely talented archers.

But what to do with the mornings. Of course I will go to kyudo ... but my angst is so persistent ... should I inquire about the iaido and jodo???

Life is a mystery we unravel with our actions. Nobody knows what will happen. All we can do is quiet ourselves to better see that path which lies before us.

The weakest part in the grass.

I Still Don't Know!

How can I find something I don't know?

In kyudo I'm searching for perfect technique. I watch those better than me, I listen to sensei's advice, I have small goals, but I just don't get it.

On the one hand I'm trying to achieve something I'm not, so that I can be better. If that happens, I become an advanced person.

On the other hand, it's something inside of me that's been there all along. All I have to do is realize that power inside of me and then I'm there. But I don't know what it is. Is it not inside of me? Does it need to be placed there first so I can reveal it?

It's like I'm mining for gold in this mountain. I think I know it's there, and I'm trying to think about it intelligently so that I can better find it, but in all honesty I don't know the gold is there until I see it, feel it, be it.

The weirdest thing about kyudo is that you'll realize something and do it, and then completely forget it. It's eternally frustrating. Last week I really had confidence in my tenouchi (left hand that holds the bow). I was realizing things I had been trying for so long, all of a sudden my hand was doing things I couldn't before, then this week I can't do it at all. It's like I've been transported back in time to where I was really sucky. I realize this, and try to fix it, but I couldn't do it today.

Somehow I've lost confidence in kyudo. I don't have the confidence to hit the target like I have in the past. My eyes blink amid the shooting, and I know I'm not going to hit the target. It's just a waste of time. Before I finish the arrow I already want to go on to the next, even though I know I won't hit that one either.

It makes me want to just walk straight up to the target and stab it right in the center.

I'm mining for gold, but I really don't know what it's like.
After all this time, I still don't know. Maybe everyone is like this.

I don't know!

Hurrying doesn't help, muscling it in doesn't work ... so I'll be patient and humble, and trust that that gold is in fact below the pick and axe.

Split Your Mind in 2

I've just finished reading the amazing fantasy novel, "The Name of the Wind" by Patrick Rothfuss, and it talks about a magic technique that seems very relevant to kyudo.

The main character is a young boy learning to perform magic, "sympathy" as referred to in the book, and for particular abilities, he must split his mind into two different parts to concentrate on various phenomenon. I can't quote it directly, but I remember being duly impressed by the author's description of such a feat that boggles the logical mind, but nevertheless is a recurring theme in some martial arts and zen philosophy; particularly kyudo, which incorporates qualities of both.

In kyudo, your hands are doing completely different, but equally important jobs. Your left hand is working on the tenouchi, your grip of the bow, which is comprised of holding the bow in the proper way before you release, as well as moving the bow inside your hand in transition through the movements and during the rotation of the bow within your hand during the release. In your right hand, which is inside of a kake (glove), is placed where the arrow is knocked (clipped into the string) and the string is pulled by this hand. The hand must maintain the correct position with the back of the hand facing up (if you've read any of my posts concerning kyudo you know why!), and is responsible for the hanare, release.

Up until now, with about seven months of training, I've gone through correcting and improving a wide array of issues in kyudo form. I think first you have to get to a point where you can stand and learn to safely shoot on your own at the target while generally adhering to the basic principles. That took me about two months (the two month introductory course seemed to successfully achieve this goal.) After that, some main issues have been:

Keeping my back straight. (I had a tendency to lean my chest too far forward for many reasons.)

Turning my head far enough. (It seemed very unnatural to turn it so far at first.)

Positioning my arm and rotating my left hand so I didn't get slapped on the forearm by the string. (I see a few details of the why's concerning this issue, but the problem seriously just disappeared on it's own! Strange stuff.)

Positioning my right hand so that the string doesn't come out too early. (Nightmare. See many previous posts for more details.)

Pulling the string back far enough over your head into a full draw. (Perhaps the number one issue I've been working on recently, and the one that effects shooting the most.)

Scooping the bow in front of you. (When you raise the bow in uchiokoshi, it's not just a straight up movement, but a slightly curving one that resembles scooping up a big net full of water.)

Correct Daisan posture. (After raising the bow over you head, you move into this posture, slowly raising your hands, aligning a correct angle with the target, moving your left hand slightly before the right.)

This doesn't include a lot of smaller issues I haven't really had specific problems with, as well as all of the problems I've never even thought of.

This also includes all of the movements of etiquette that are performed before and after the shooting, like the proper movements for entering and exiting the shooting area in a demonstration, test, or competition, movements for practicing on your own in the dojo, both sitting and standing.

This also includes putting on and taking off your hakama, traditional kyudo super hero outfit, which is by far the most complicated clothing I've worn to date. Doing this by myself took way longer than any one would expect.

This also includes some simple maintenance on your arrows, like fixing deformed feathers, and fixing a fraying string on the bow.

This also includes setting and taking down the targets for shooting and cleaning the dojo.

Wow, I guess I have learned a few things.

ANYWAY! Back to the splitting the mind in two idea ...

Now my current issues are dealing with the left and right hands as mentioned earlier. These seem to be some of the most basic issues in kyudo, but also incredibly difficult facets that remain the focus of practitioners for many long years (now seemingly more so than other parts of technique). Up until now, much time has been spent on them already, but they've finally seemed to override other issues and take the spotlight.

For another explanation of what's happening with my tenouchi (left hand grip on the bow), I'm working on:

1.) Getting a proper grip in the beginning to set up the rest of the movements.

2.) Turning the bow in my tenouchi so that it doesn't break down the form (seemingly the most difficult part right now).

3.) Propelling the arrow forward with the inside base of my thumb, instead of turning my whole hand during the release.

As for my right hand inside of the kake (glove), I'm working on the form of my hanare (release). When you release with the right hand, it should release behind you, as if you're hitting a drum a foot behind you with the back of your hand. I have had a tendency to release my hand up, but instead I need to release it out more in front of me while slightly dropping my elbow.

So during practice, I keep receiving advice concerning one of these.

"Zac, be mindful of your tenouchi and do it like this." (Enter lengthy verbal descriptions and physical examples)

"OK."

"You forgot about your hanare!"

"What the hell! You told me to focus on the tenouchi!"

I don't ever say that last part, but I can't tell you how many times I've heard it howling from the inside of my head. But I also understand that when doing kyudo you have to be mindful of all of these things at the same time, or at least you can't compromise one for the other. I'm aware of the ideal, I just can't put it into practice yet. This is why budo takes so much time. One must practice all of the basics until they are ingrained so deeply in one's movements that they don't require your conscious attention.

It's funny, this phenomenon of not focusing on something that matters often relates to aiming the arrow. While practicing kyudo, I'm working on all of these various things with all of your attention, and so often I don't even aim! So many times Sensei has asked me where I was aiming, and my mind draws a blank, because I totally forgot to do so!

It's amazing, you hit the target a lot more when you consciously aim.

So ... dividing your mind in two:

It is impossible. But you can do it.

Until now I've only been able to do one at a time, but I need to do both. The concentration required is intense, and quiet. Standing there at full draw with all of the tension of the bow between you. Parts of you begin to shake. Eyes staring through the bow in straight into the target. Relaxing your core, rising from the solid trunks of your legs, to your chest and shoulders spreading impossibly outwards, extending your skeleton beyond human design. Slowly the breath is leaving you like a small gas leak, expanding from your tanden (dantien, center 2-3 inches below your navel) in reverse breathing. There in that moment, you split your mind in two, one for each hand. On your left hand you are pressing forward with the base of your left thumb in order to launch the arrow forward at the release. On your right hand, you are preparing to drop your elbow and release your hand forward.

HANARE!

That tension explodes, shooting yourself out of each hand in opposite directions, as well as up through the crown of your head. Your chest expands out, breaking from the center of your heart.

SMACK! The sound of the arrow piercing the paper (or plastic) target.

Split your mind in two while doing something else completely. It feels less like a man doing two different things, and more like God tending to everything from the sky at once. From the sky, in the middle of your mind, deep in your heart, located in your tanden, which exists nowhere, and everywhere.

Kyudo is irrational science. The result is magic.

Tenouchi: A Grip on Life

(tenouchi)

 

I want to go high places so I look up.

I want to go far places so I leave.

I want places I don't know.

If I already knew a place, I wouldn't want to go.

I want to go, and I don't know. So, I study and build a plan. In order to achieve the goal I protect the plan. A man with a plan in the world: a precarious situation indeed.

How I deal with my plan largely depends on how I fix my tenouchi (left hand grip on the bow in kyudo). As I've mentioned before, budo is often simply just putting the right things in the right places at the right times. This has very little to do with mere physical strength. Nor does it concern the kind of tenacity that blows through obstacles no matter what. It's a game of sensitivity. My teachers tell me specific points that will help me improve my technique. I listen to them and do my best to imitate, but it's not perfect. This is because I try to do what they do utilizing my strength and determination; they do it by just doing it. They utilize only what is necessary to complete the goal while I bring the whole toolbox. "But what if you need more?!" "But you don't."

"Relax" they say. "Strength will not help you."

I watch my teachers do their tenouchi close up on a small-scale and I see exactly what they mean. Their analogies make perfect sense. But, when I stand up there in front of the target, I find myself wrestling against the strength of the bow. This is the part that is hard to explain, not just for me on a blog but also teachers in the dojo.

Very mysterious stuff, this kyudo. And yet, it's all just putting the right things in the right places at the right times.

Oh yeah! I almost forgot about my apocalyptic struggle to understand life and do everything right. So, it's obvious that what isn't going to help me in life is pure strength and determination. A bit of those two things are necessary to be alive, and used in the right circumstances will greatly contribute to my growth, but beyond what I need, I don't need. Instead of blowing through life in order to protect my goal, I need to sit a bit, quietly watch, and treat my actions softly. Holding the bow in kyudo should be like just holding anything. If you're holding it, you're holding it. You don't need to squeeze it as hard as possible. If I'm living, I'm living. I don't need to live as hard as possible, or whatever. I have goals and plans rooted in my imagination, and I will continue to formulate and execute them, to much failure and suffering I imagine, but acceptance of those kinds of circumstances is paramount, just like vision to understand the situation and adapt as needed.

Fundamentally, this is the soft overcoming the hard. We are malleable entities, engaged with other various substances in the world, many of which stronger than us. We can choose to confront them with our own strength which only has two outcomes: breaking ourselves or breaking the other. Personally, I want niether of these. Perhaps we don't notice it so much when we break others (stepping on bugs, intimidating others from confronting us, our immune system fighting off viruses), so for now I'm more concerned about the possibility of me breaking under others, which is something I don't want. If I can't use strength, then I have to use something else. Here we have many options. I can creep into the cracks of the strong and break it from the inside. I could ride the strong and use it's power to my advantage. I could get out of the way of the strong and not even deal with the hassle. (Aikido analyzes this well with its geometric philosophy concerning the square, circle, and triangle.)What I am concerned with is being weak, because I am so, concerning my points of focus. I cannot break my goals like I may think I want. (Isn't it strange that initially we want to be stronger than the world and we never want to lose, and then sometimes, often subconsciously, we don't want to win, and in fact want to lose?)

Perhaps one of the biggest faults of the Hard is that it has a very warped vision of time. Either there is no time and things must happen now, or there is time and things must happen now. For the Soft, there is either no time so nothing needs to happen, or there is time and nothing needs to happen now.

"Need." What do you need? This need will make you hard and easily overcome.

We are human. We have needs. We will die because of link with need.

In order not to end on such a morbid note, I'll tell you about something interesting I learned about my kyudojo the other day.

It's a place of wonder, our small kyudojo. It's in the center of Kojo Koen, a large park that used to be the site of a castle (I'm 99% sure), and it's by far the most impressive park I've seen in Toyama Prefecture. It has a giant moat and indirect walking passages through it, some of the more notable features of it's feudal past. It's full of beatiful vegetation, some natural and some intentionally placed. There are rivers, small hills, and a few wide fields. Also, there are various centers, museums, and even a small zoo. In the very center of the park is a large shrine. Next to that shrine is our dojo. Because it's located in this kind of park next to this kind of shrine, I assumed the dojo had a very old history dating back before the modern periods of Japan, an innocent time before contact with the West. But I was very wrong. It's actually not that old of a dojo at all with respect to my deep imagination of Japanese history. It's about 40 years old, and was built from the pocket money of one man. (!!!) One of the first things I noticed about kyudo was the need for so much expensive stuff and places. The person who explained this to me told me the price, but I've already forgotten it. To be sure though, it's an unbelievable feat. After it was built, the man said that it should be a place for people who want to come to kyudo. Nobody has to do kyudo. If one comes to do kyudo, it should be based upon their own individual desire to enjoy the experience.

I will walk into the dojo from now on with that thought in mind.

(this is not Kojo Koen)