Why Hit the Target?

(I have no idea who this guy is, but I think he knows what I'm talking about. Pic found at http://afreefaith.com/2011/08/19/the-shinto-way/)

Because it's cool!

This is by far the best reason ever to hit the target in kyudo.

Hitting the target does not mean you're:

-right

-strong

-better

-or even that good.

It also doesn't necessarily make you all that cool, but if you want to hit the target because it's cool, I think you're on the right track.

In kyudo we're doing a lot more than just trying to hit the target, so accomplishing that goal is only just a small part of the whole practice. Hitting the target isn't bad, in fact it's great. It's just that it's not the only thing we're doing in kyudo, so focusing only on that will make you ignore all of the other aspects and then what you're doing is not really kyudo, but just shooting an arrow at a target. Just shooting an arrow at a target is also not a bad thing, it's just not all we're doing in kyudo.

Technically, we do things with the body to create results that lead to better shooting which allow us to shoot the arrow straight to the target, increasing our ability of hitting the target. The techniques are difficult enough to take a long time to cultivate, so we must work on them often and consistently. The techniques are so many we cannot possibly think of them all at the same time consciously and do them effectively. A teacher cannot just say, "OK, do this and this and this and this, and that is all the technique of kyudo and you'll hit the target." The mind cannot possibly think of all these things at the same time. Can the mind even successfully think of two things at the same time?! We practice little by little and eventually we'll hit the target more and more without even trying, though we're also putting all of our effort into the practice.

Through our great effort, we hit the target effortlessly.

But then that's only technique for hitting the target, which is still such a small part of the practice of kyudo.

After that there's etiquette: relating to other people, the equipment, and yourself.

There's also maintenance of equipment and facilities.

There's also ceremony.

As a culmination of all the different facets there is the soul practicing that we so often hear of with kyudo. Kyudo is not just shooting an arrow at a target, but an entire realm of life.

It's kind of like studying the world. We can take a class, look at a map and some pictures, and read descriptions of places. In doing that we can create images and meanings to places. I think people (me included!) do this with kyudo. I remember meeting a young guy who practiced kendo and aikido and when he heard that I practiced kyudo he said, "Oh kyudo's about the ritual, right?" Well, that's a part of it, but there's also actually hitting the target, I thought. But now in this writing I'm trying to convey that kyudo is not just hitting the target. When we talk about kyudo, we are talking about ideas, and we can use those ideas to balance out our over-emphasized impressions. We use words and ideas to balance our training though they are not completely accurate.

So you can study the entire world, even visit lots of different countries and say that you know the world, but until you've completely indulged in one place until you forget about everthing else can you really know,

I think.

In kyudo you have practices working only on ceremony where you completely forget about shooting and you think it's stupid because it becomes something that has nothing to do with shooting. Then you practice only shooting and hitting the target for a while until you think that's all there is, and then have to work on something else, like fixing your bow and then you realize how narrow and close-minded just trying to hit the target is. You see others trying their best though not hitting the target, and that is much more beautiful than those focusing only on hitting the target and being satisfied with just that.

Kyudo is an entire realm of it's own, in which hitting the target is a small part. What to do with that small part which seems to be the focus of it all? How do we focus on it? Why do we focus on it?

Because it's cool!

We have a lot of other things to worry about. Shooting an arrow into a target is really not so important.

Just do it because it's fun and you think it's cool.

Release the Pressure

Like overworked machines we combust all of this hot pressure, condensing the furious fumes inside of our constricting bodies, shaking increases speed and sharp high pitched sounds slowly spike until one giant very unsatisfying explosion occurs. Before you realize it, the pressure has already begun to build again.

We need to release the pressure before all of this happens.

We need to just relax and not care so much, and the magic will just happen.

I used to read and hear stuff like that and consider it bullshit, or something you can do after you've acquired the skill that you want. I used to say, "Ha, that's nice but bullshit, tell me exactly how to acquire the physical technique and I'll do it." Perhaps a lot of other people feel the same way. If that's how you feel though, I'm guessing you haven't spent much time practicing budo.

I think it's essentially an issue of power, strength and desire. These are all things that are utilized in budo, but in very specific instances, like little slivers of toothpicks inside of a clay mold. The rest is basically putting our bodies and selves into the right shapes, which doesn't necessarily require strength and power. We think it does, and in order to find the shape at first we use excessive strength to get there, but more than often it just gets in the way.

We want so badly, so anything less than what we want is considered failure and not tolerated. Effort and concentration is used to isolate problems and overcome them, but in budo we're dealing with a lot of factors of sensitivity beyond our seeing eye. We're dealing with our bodies which are far more complicated than understanding through logic in a moment, so we have to intuitively feel out the movements and differences of our bodies instead of just thinking. We're also dealing with pieces of equipment that are not us and completely foreign to our bodies. We're working on goals based on the works of masters, that cannot possibly be acquired by beginners. And yet we still strive to be perfect on the very first day.

I remember one of the best days I ever had in kyudo was when I was sufficiently hungover. I went into the dojo, sensei said I stunk like alcohol, I said I went to a farewell party the night before, and then started getting ready. I wasn't thinking about kyudo at all, because that function of my body was hindered incredibly by the hangover, so I just picked up the equipment and shot. For some reason it felt great and I hit the target twice as much as usual. It was uncanny. It was because I didn't care, and just subconsciously went through the motions ...　albeit it was a little sloppy.

Hail drunken kyudo!

It makes me think of the rest of the time I live a sober clean life where I do my best in everything. There are many benefits to that, but I can feel it when I go to kyudo, that I expect it all to be perfect. I appear "relaxed" and tell myself so because it's what I "should" be, but it's largely because I want to please myself and everyone around me. There, there is already pressure building. I pull the bow staring so clearly and focused on the problems that they are all I see. I don't do it perfect so frustration builds, concentration focuses, and then other problems start arising because of my tunnel vision and tension of muscles. Everything is a waste of time, and all you're doing is hurrying so you can try again and maybe get it right, but that rush already compounds it all, and you've already started your next shitty shot in your head.

Why?

I'm doing my best?

I didn't drink last night and am living healthily?

I'm nice to people and pay all of my bills on time. Kyudo is about having a correct spirit. I'm doing everything else perfect, why can't I do kyudo right?

This is how I felt today. Remarkably I hit the target 50% of the time, which is ridiculous because I used failing technique the whole time. I was either really lucky, subconsciously adjusting to my faults, or my desire to hit the target overrides my crappy technique. I'm not proud of any of those, and focusing on any of them I think will just breed worse kyudo. Today was a practice. Perhaps it's not my favorite, but I went, did my best, will go on to reflect, and it is a very important chink in my kyudo chain.

There is an obsession of sobriety that is incredibly dangerous.

We must release the pressure.

We must breath big and consistently. We must not care if we fail. We must accept our imperfections. We must see with our belly.

Who are you pullling the bow for anybody?

There's nobody else there. There's no riches to be made. You will die and be forgotten.

Why are you trying so hard?

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.

Still Not My Day: Chaos

I went in with all of my new revelations and still am losing against the bow, or myself, but I'm not sure exactly what that means.

New revelation: I didn't wait long enough to let my hand heal. I felt a tiny fragment of success, but my hand wore away and began to tear. I didn't take it to the point that I have before, so I'm glad I stopped when I did. I'm going to wait longer now, and see if it's not just about waiting long enough for the hand to heal and starting afresh.

So now, I'm going to go ponder more about failure and perserverence, and wait for my next day to hold the bow again.

Below is the piece I wrote the other night, maybe it has some relevance.

 

 

(art found at http://hontor.deviantart.com/art/Wolf-and-deer-plays-418130465)

It's so often we forget the demons ... that beast.

There is a chaos that moves our bodies and minds and spirits that disgusts form. It says "NO" and moves according to it's own tribe. Inside of there is a voice that belongs only to that particular dying shell, with echoes that will never be forgotten in the bearer's ears.

It spits and curses and pisses and screams.

It may just sit.

But in that it doesn't care.

That chaos will eat all of the form. That form may be utterly destroyed and used at the same time.

Abused. Utilized.

There is a sword, you pick it up and swing.

Kill or be killed, or just die.

Or live forever in the fire.

Have you ever been to the woods? Alone?

There alone, in those woods, a lone child can play. They can find old houses and rotten stumps, bugs that sting and birds that fly. There in that lone time, lonliness and embarrassment do not exist. They can go to the woods. We can go to the woods.

Have you ever been to the woods?

 

(Art found at http://hontor.deviantart.com/art/Wolf-and-deer-plays-418130465)

 

I promise there won't be any wolves. Your friends have killed them all. The TVs killed them all, your friends, I mean.

There is none but the beast and the world, all the other minions, and that beautiful scene as one.

Slaves to form: Don't forget the beast, and the world that will utterly consume you. Hungry bloody beautiful jaws,

No one gets out alive.

P.S.

It's OK though, you don't have to die.

You can cry if you like.

Or laugh.

But when you look at the rain, alone there behind the glass, what do you see?

You can cry if you like.

(Art found at http://chaosfissure.deviantart.com/art/Half-and-Half-418201857)

I Figured Out That I'm Still Afraid of Kyudo

 

(picture found at http://www.gundermann-berlin.de/tenouchi.html)

So this is part of a double revelation that happened in the past 24 hours considering my falterings in Kyudo. Total out of the blue flashes of enlightenment light-bulbs, it's moments like these one can see the magic in life and budo.

As I've mentioned a lot lately, I went through a huge phase of injuring my hand a few months ago, got over it, took a break from kyudo, and it's come back, seemingly impossible to fix. There are a LOT of factors to this equation. These details are what make kyudo so difficult, and at the same time so intriguing. I won't go through all of them here, but there is one major ... probably THE major reason why I have been injuring myself, and that is because I'm gripping the bow too hard with my left hand. Our hands are so important in kyudo, they are each delicate minds that communicate with the bow and arrow. Our hands must fit the right shape so as to act as the proper tools to allow superior technique to flow, but they must be as soft as possible so as to get out of the way of that superior technique.

I have been told this numerous times: "Zac, you need to relax your hands more."

"Easier said than done!"

This is the difficult truth. Our hands must fit the right shape, and in order to do so at first we will inevitably insert tension into our hands. We must graduate from this as soon as possible. Why I haven't done so initially is a whole 'nother question, but now I see that I am definitely hurting my hand because I'm gripping the bow too hard in my left hand.

This is what I realized while soaking in an onsen yesterday. Submerged up to my nose in steaming sulfur water, this realization blasted me with light and I felt like jumping out of the pool and telling everybody around. (I wonder how many people get these kinds of epiphanies in the hot springs? Like the toilet, I think it's quite the convenient spot for grand realizations.)

I need to keep my thumb straight and extended (that is where my tension should go), I need to keep the connection between my middle finger and thumb through the daisan posture (one reason why I haven't been able to relax my hand), and I should curl my pinky around the bottom of the bow (but I haven't been able to do that well so far, and I don't think it's causing too much problems with my injury). Other than that, my hand needs to be soft, and merely act as a shaft in which the bow turns. There is no other tension I can put in my hand that will help the technique.

I must relax my hand or I will continue to injure myself.

The second realization came today, but I can't remember when exactly. (Maybe when I was eating oyakodon for lunch in a small cafe?) Basically, I realized that I wasn't overcoming this problem due to the fear of further injuring my thumb.

Until now I have made blisters and torn through them, keeping me from practicing kyudo. So I wait for them to heal as calluses and go back, only to tear through them again. Why does this happen? Basically because I won't relax my hand, but more specifically, because I'm afraid of reinjuring my hand. Because of this subconscious fear I focus ALL of my attention on my hand in daisan, which is too much, and do small strange things to avoid it's injury, instead of not worrying and just relaxing my hand. This is not a fear I am fully conscious of which has made it hard to detect.

I've never practiced a martial art which has delt with fear in the way kyudo has. Fear has been directly related to all three painful experiences I've had in kyudo.

First was when the string would slap my arm at the release. This made me afraid of the release and I would flinch just before, making my hanare (release) shit. Next was the string slapping my face during the draw, which made my hikiwake (draw) shit. Now I have the injury of my thumb which makes my daisan (transition after lifting the bow above you and before the draw) shit.

It's so strange that my injuries occur earlier and earlier on in the form. Perhaps I'm getting closer to the core of the technique (as everything stems from the movement earlier). That's really interesting. I wonder if my next injury will happen in uchiokoshi (raising the bow), or in simply just standing there. It sounds silly, but I never would have guessed that kyudo would go like this for me.

Well, just like it was when I got over getting slapped in the face, generally, I'm plain sick of it happening and am going to not let it happen anymore. Specifically, I'm going to relax my hand.

I'm sick of this bullshit, I'm going to get past this and progress in this art. This is the strength of endurance and perserverance in the martial arts, and it's a little different than blind bull-headed wall smashing charging (although it is kind of like that though, I guess).

My hand has healed sufficiently, I've understood why I'm causing an injury, and I'm ready to get past it. Wish me luck.

Pray to the gods, but don't rely on their help.

Tomorrow is a big day on the budo path.

Our Goals and a New Book: "Illuminated Spirit: Conversations with a Kyudo Master"

We make these goals and call them God's decree. These goals construct our fate which becomes painful chains. Over our hearts, our minds, our eyes ... all of the world's phenomenon becomes filtered through the domineering vigilance of our goals, our fate. They are both synonymous with decay, as well as success. In such fine lines, like clouds or the wind across sand, Form appears in the world, revealing its existence. We are captivated by this contradiction to chaos, but it is not such a thing. In fact, the goals we make are no different than that "chaos". Though, Form isn't nearly the same as our "goals", our plots. Upon the lines of thought we can measure and we can see a chance to graduate from our stations. We manipulate the lines to make a ladder with which we can crawl over the pile of life we deem waste. Waste. Does such a thing exist? Our goals, what should we do with them? Perhaps we can't live without them, and so perhaps we are cursed. Or perhaps we can hold them at a distance. Maybe we can live in honor of the world and all of its beauty, holding such filtered lies apart, but still confidently approaching an imminent death. The goal is a tool, and without that tool I still live. I, live.

I've got a new book about Kyudo, "Illuminated Spirit: Conversations with a Kyudo Master" by Dan and Jackie Deprospero. I've read only the first ten pages and I'm already brimming with reflections. I think it's going to be good. It already is. Of the other books on Kyudo I've read, it was another written by Dan and Jackie Deprospero that I consider the most interesting, "Kyudo: The Essence and Practice of Japanese Archery." These books are written with a respect for the tradition that kyudo is, and the life it mirrors, while also writing from an experience rooted in long practice and skill. Or at least that's what I feel. But anyway, without further ado, I'll just get to the point and quote a section that discusses the idea of having a goal, while also discussing another topic that's been on my mind (and on the blog) recently, the balance of learning from a teacher and learning on your own:

"Kyudo, perhaps more than any other martial art, is considered to be an excellent spritual discipline when practiced under the tutelage of an inspirational teacher. It would be hard to imagine a teacher more inspirational than Onuma Sensei. He repeatedly told us that if we practiced diligently and made a real effort, kyudo could help us change our lives for the better. We once asked him if the practice of kyudo could also help rid the world of evil, or at least change it for the better. As silly and naive as our question must have sounded, he did take the time to answer that great philosophers have tried, for thousands of years, to address the question of good and evil, and that human beings have been trying to change the world from the first day of their existence - and yet humanity still struggles with the same questions.

"Many people, deep down, are waiting for someone else to take charge of their lives and hand over a prescription for what to do or say in a given situation. Onuma Sensei always stressed that his intention was simply to teach us kyudo, not to teach us how to change the world. He also made it quite clear that neither was he trying to change us, adding that on one has the power to effect real change in others.

"For Onuma Sensei, kyudo was a means of observing, understanding and changing his own life. He worked only on himself, believing that each of us is totally and completely responsible for improving his own character. Sensei had faith that if every human being were to approach life this way, the result would be smoother relationships, a more caring society and, ultimately, a better world to live in.

"Can it really be so simple? The cynic will say that Onuma Sensei sounds like a man who would have students isolate themselves from other people's problems in order to better themselves. But this is far from what he meant, as can be seen in one of his favorite analogies, of two people climbing a mountain:

"The mountain looms equally high before us all. And the goal and the struggle we face is the same. The only difference between us lies in the fact that I started climbing long before you. Now when you look ahead you see me in a place where you, too, would like to be. If I allow myself to look back then I can see that in comparison with you I have came a long way. But I don't like to look back because that hinders my own progress. Just like you, I'm always looking ahead toward the top of the mountain. But this doesn't mean that I ignore others as I climb. I must always be ready to help those who follow. There is a great difference between looking back to compare yourself with the progress of others and looking back to guide others as they climb.

"The point he is making is that one should follow a virtuous path simply because it is a good and proper thing to do, not from any expectation of compensation, glory or praise for our efforts. The reward lies in the act itself, and in the knowledge that having traveled that path we can then act as a guide to the others who will surely follow."

-Dan and Jackie Deprospero, "Illuminated Spirit: Conversations with a Kyudo Master", pgs 1-3.

What do you think?

I think it's an excellent story about the challenges in finding the right balance of goals and interaction with others.

In kyudo we set goals to enhance our technique, not change the world.

We seek to answer the questions, and so that answer is a goal, but though humans have endeavored such since our first moments, we still question for that answer.

We proceed under the tutelage of a teacher, but it is not that teacher's sole occupation to enlighten us, just as it is not our job to be such for others.

We should not look to others for the answers to our own personal hidden questions.

We exist in this world, and talk about bow techniques, and climb mountains ... all else, is well something else indeed.

...

It's natural that we feel we stray from the path. We start doing things we're not supposed to, believed we never would before, and things that hinder our virtuous growth. Perhaps that is a helpful part to our growth as well. Maybe not. I don't know. But I've sown malicious plots in kyudo and reaped no desirable fruits. Twisted up, I move to untangle the knots, and daily replan my approach to my life and my experience with budo. I've begun a new journey with iaido and jodo. This will affect my relationship to kyudo. I think it will improve my experience. Taking my mind away from goals of success, I'll introduce new characters to change my relationships to the ones that have been here before.

In kyudo I make things harder than they are. I regress to past fumbles when there isn't much of a problem at all. I create demons that pull the bow instead of me.

I have one specific problem that may fix all else: I grip the bow too tightly. I grab the bow and demand my success trying to push and pull it to where I want. I only injure myself and stray from good technique.

I can see this now.

My hand is almost healed and I'm ready to go back to kyudo, and relax. I'll use my hand as a tool to work together with the bow and experience the world that is kyudo instead of demanding deadlines.

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.

Kyushu Bike Explorations & the "Raiki-Shagi"

On this Sunday day-off I did what I haven't done in what feels like years, just ride the mountain bike into the unknown. Over the past couple years, bike rides have been dominated by great plans in search of high mountains leaving the apartment early in the morning. That is good, and usually where you find the really epic spots. But on this Sunday I took advantage of being in a completely new place and the jewels that are revealed in merely cruising around with no plan.

I rode west to the neighboring town of Buzen and then headed towards the hills where I thought I may find temples, hidden roads, and onsen. As you can tell by the pictures it was a dreary day. Partly rainy on this morning, the clouds hung low and it was cold enough to warrant a coat and hat with readied gloves and scarf in the bag. On this first of December, the shape of winter is almost completely upon us, with the last of the autumn colors hanging on before their eminent fall. These days are quiet. Many complain or stay indoors. However, this is where I thrive.

These days are quiet. When I ride, I feel isolated in the mist. The people are all indoors and the mountains are hidden behind thick veils of white and grey. Nothing but me and my thoughts, and those small treasures in the mud I normally wouldn't recognize. A big part of the move to Kyushu was about simplifying a lot of things in my life, and being able to marshal all of my concentration into the few things I decided to keep. That's the image, and it's a peaceful one for me: quiet, clean, focused. But the reality has felt a little more hectic, getting the new apartment together, getting adjusted to the new environment, trying to get in a routine with kyudo. Looking at it, I have all the right parts, but there's been a chaotic sky over it all. Why? Why does it still feel like the apocalypse? Why do I still feel failure and urgency grating beneath my skin?

Let's take a look at Kyudo.

I'm ready to focus all of my energy into this physical art, but have been plagued with blisters opening on my left hand. First I got a blister, the next day I tore it, took three days off and went back, wasn't enough time so it tore open again, I took a week off to make it heal, it was barely enough but I still kept doing the same things that make the blister in the first place and it tore open again. The good thing is, I finally talked to someone who told me why this was happening and what I need to do to make sure it doesn't happen again. I think I've got it and I'm dying to get back. I finally have a Monday off and want to go at night when most people practice, but the blister isn't completely healed and I'm afraid it will just tear open again if it's not 100%. I'm still not sure if I'm just going to go anyway tonight, or wait until it's 100%.

Point is, my experience in kyudo here hasn't been settled yet, and is usually just leaving me infuriated. With this time away from the dojo, I've been revisiting the "Kyuu-hon" official Kyudo Manual. It's main sections are posted in all kyudo dojos everywhere, in written tests they take questions from which all practical answers can be found in its contents, and it's the one thing all teachers will ask you if you have and tell you to read it over and over again. I received a copy from a friend last year and read through it fairly quickly.

The thing with kyudo books, is that they're not so easy to read cover to cover. One could divide most kyudo books into these sections:

-Introductions written by authors which can be often be subjective and superfluous.

-Descriptions of ettiquete and movements unrelated to shooting, which are just stone-dead boring and useless without physical instruction.

-Descriptions of technique which are good, but also worthless without physical experience or direct help from a teacher.

-Short sections of interviews or classic texts written by the masters, which are the gold gems of these books.

Wow, the descriptions of those first three sections were really negative. I guess that's the impression left with me from the few kyudo books I've read. On the good side, those subjective introductions can entice people to the art of kyudo, which is largely misunderstood. As to the technical descriptions, I suppose they should be referenced when one has a specific question. For example, if you can't remember exactly what angle or when to bow in a certain procedure, or how to properly pick up an arrow dropped mid-shooting, it can be a helpful reference. As for shooting technique, things can get very complicated and confusing after a long time of practice, and by returning the the texts you can be reminded of the essential basics involved.

Generally, I suppose a kyudo book should be bought and read cover to cover at first to get as much information as possible to help your practice, though it will probably require a large amount of discipline and intoxicating drinks. After that, they should be put away and picked up again for reference when stumped by a question.

But what I really want to talk about today, is the very first section of the "Kyuu-hon" (Kyudo Manual) and one of the main texts (sayings, documents, ?) the Raiki-Shagi, "Record of Etiquette-Truth of Shooting."

This is one of those super-important sections written by the masters that should be revisited from time to time to remind oneself of what may be at the core of the art as a whole. It's one of those texts that both beginners and masters can read and benefit from, though what each individual finds may be completely different from others.

So without further ado, the Raiki-Shagi:

"The shooting, with the round of moving forward or backward can never be without courtesy and propriety (Rei).

"After having acquired the right inner intention and correctness in the outward appearance, the bow and arrow can be handled resolutely.

"To shoot in this way is to perform the shooting with success, and through this shooting virtue will be evident.

"Kyudo is the way of perfect virtue. In the shooting, one must search for rightness in oneself. With the rightness of self, shooting can be realized.

"At the time when shooting fails, there should be no resentment towards those who win. On the contrary, this is an occasion to search for oneself."

What do you think?

When I first started Kyudo I was drawn to its spiritual emphasis. However, I had just been training in aikido with a teacher who was most concerned with technique: once you have technique you can start experimenting with the more abstract phenomenon of the art. With that, I was very concerned about quickly learning the physical basics of the art. Here and there I've enjoyed the more nebulous sides of Kyudo, but for the most part of been concerned with the physical technique.

In the move I had about a month off from Kyudo and have been reacquainting myself with the artistic expression of shooting the bow, and have been very excited to get back to the art and see how I can express myself better through the practice.

However, when I came back I started doing really weird things with my hands, and realize that I had forgotten how to do a lot of it. I'm revisiting old injuries and failures, ones that I supposedly overcame a long time ago. How is it that all of these old problems are coming back to haunt me? Why do I need to learn these things again?

When I first went back to kyudo I think it was alright, but after few days the techinique crumbled considerably, and the last day kind of went like this: I went in using the stronger bow I've been using lately, but my left hand won't let the bow rotate properly in the hand, which causes injury and bad technique. I start focusing entirely on this and forget the other hand or anything else I should be doing. I can't do what I need to do with my left hand, so I start making small "cheating" adjustments to fit to the form. In those small cheating adjustments, I change the technique making it weak. I can't do it perfectly on the makiwara (practice haybail), and go to the target anyway with a weaker bow. I try my best at first to breath, relax, and understand it won't be perfect, but I enter the malformed technique and have a horrible shot. I become angry with myself and kyudo, and start focusing only on the target. In that thought it's like if I just hit the target it will be OK, but I don't. I start rushing through the movements, which makes even worse technique. My body gets hurt by the mistakes in the technique. And I start to resent or envy the others around who are "succeeding" and not telling me what to do. I leave the dojo early and am propelled into the world with great confusion and frustration.

I believe there are two parts to this:

First is a matter of physics. I need to do what I need to do correctly in my left hand. If I can't do it I need to ask for help. Then, I can fix the technique and resume proper kyudo. Also, I need to not practice if I'm injured, because even if I do correct technique with an injured hand, it will continue to get worse.

Second is a matter of spirt. This is finally where the "Raiki-Shagi" comes into play.

I began with good intentions, but somewhere along the way dirt has gathered where I can't see, and demons have been breeding while my attention has been away. All of a sudden I've found myself obsessed with things outside of myself: success and stuff. I've been following bread-crumb trails left by society that have pulled me so far off center that Kyudo is no longer a practice of life, but a tool I use to assert my ego in the world. I use kyudo to dominate others and legitimize myself as a success in the universe. Perhaps that plays a part, but it is not the whole. It is the failure of technology in man, a tragedy because the intentions were good.

I don't know.

Knowledge is the gift of practice.

But before that practice, before the knowledge, we still exist. We exist, and must choose to live right in order the complete the world. Though I'm lacking, I still live, and must stand up straight and accept it all with the grace and composure of the Gods.

Shooting with perfect virtue for me is doing your very best while accepting your own mortality.

Going over all of these thoughts, the frustration returns and I want to quit and find another budo. But I know if I do I'm running away from this puzzle. There are small bits of sunshine hope through the clouds, and I know I must go on. I've wanted to quit so many times before, but in continuing I've reached new levels in this art of Kyudo. I know that if I continue I will succeed, but there is a fear that doesn't believe the equation and just wants it all to end.

If we continue something will happen.

If we quit, there is nothing.

I don't know.

Benefits of Fear

Fear sucks, but it's often said that it can help you improve.

How?

I'll give you a few reasons here stemming from one example: the string pre-releasing in Kyudo.

First you raise the bow in front and above yourself in uchiokoshi.

 

(Dude, I think I know this guy! I found it off a website from Oyabe which is in Toyama. I'm 99% sure I've seen this guy at tournaments. Pictures found at http://oyabekyudoukai.web.fc2.com/shaho.html)

 



Then you pull a third of the draw moving into daisan.

 

From there you perform the draw, hikiwake, and settle into the full draw, kai, in which you stretch yourself out in both directions for about 8 seconds.

It's usually in the drawing process (hikiwake or kai) that the string can slip out of your grip and slap you in the face. I went through a phase of chronic pre-slipping, and it still lingers everytime I pull in the guise of fear. When the string slips, it either completely ruins the technique or most likely slaps you in the face which really hurts, is a huge shock, and is incredibly embarrassing. This sucks. The prospect of this happening sucks. There is fear, and that initially sucks.

However, that fear can help us improve in two important ways.

First, the fear makes us smarter.

When I enter the draw, I know that if the string slips it's a direct result of bad technique, specifically, not turning my right hand inwards enough to hold the string. When that fear flushes my mind, I know that I must turn my hand to the right degree. So, I do so and my technique is improved by the fear. I have overcome the fear with reasoning and can rest easy with my manipulation of physics in the draw.

Second, it gives us courage.

It's often said that we cannot be brave without fear. I'm not sure if it's exactly that simple, but in this case, that fear does in fact directly give us courage.

After understanding that the string slips out because of mis-applied technique, I should be able to rest easy knowing that the string will not slip out as long as I adhere to the fundamentals. However, that fear still slips into my being. Even though we know that what we fear will not come to pass, we are still afraid. We can overcome this fear with faith: trusting with complete confidence that that string will not pre-release. To take it a step further, we must pull the string with the faith that it will not release even though we don't know for sure if it will release for some reason or not. At that point we must realize that anything can happen and accept that no matter what happens we will be OK. If you're not OK with any potential mistakes, then maybe you shouldn't be doing Kyudo in the first place, or whatever it is you're doing that induces fear.

I've overcome my chronic sting pre-releasing, but still fear it, and so I often go into the draw with the string a few inches in front of my face and then after I have entered the full draw I bring it to touch my cheek, which is definitely not good technique. Instead, I need to make sure my hand is turned sufficiently, and then pull the string back in a straight diagonal line from the daisan to the kai.

Fear can make us smarter and give us courage, but that's only if we're willing to take the time to analyze it and prepare to make our stand against the pain.

Interestingly enough, we could be talking about "failure" and it's the same dark Sensei that threatens our success.

Be brave and smart! That's what budo is trying to teach us.

My Two Halves and the "Shaho Kun"

I live in two halves.

One half does this so the other doesn't have to.

One half does this so the other can do the opposite.

Even if this side dies, the other lives on.

If one side dies, another will grow according to that other existing half.

If both sides disappear, it's over.

...

Because one half isn't doing it, I'm not doing it at all.

But if both halves are spreading equally in opposite directions, there can be one purpose in the center.

So, as a whole, I am fully doing this.

...

In kyudo we stand firm deep into the ground while also stretching our spine like an ivory tower through the clouds. Our hands must be so supple as to handle towels and flowers and babies, must have the intelligence to know exactly where to be, and must be strong enough to hold the position for all else to bloom. Though those hands have extreme similarities in shape: tightly curled pinky fingers, straight extending thumbs, connection between the thumb and middle finger, they have just as many differences: spiraling in different directions from the arms, one perpendicular to the ground while the other is parallel, connected to the back and elbows one hand is pushing will the other is pulling ... or maybe it's all just pushing.

So much of the time in shooting technique is slow calculated movements of not releasing the arrow. Yet, at the very climax and arrow-head purpose of it all, there is that electric snapping release where finally that shooting action is experienced.

Before you shoot, you sit, before that you walk, before that you bow, before that you enter, before that you practice.

All of these opposites, both equal and not. For what? All for the physical purpose of shooting an arrow. All for the spiritual purpose of perfection. All for the plain existence of us with the universe.

I practice kyudo because it is a way of expressing myself that utilizes civilization. I use my conscious mind and will to practice this one thing over and over again which I learn from others who have done the same. It is cultivation in the purest sense. It is the development of human society. But I also don't practice kyudo in case it's all just a false dream. I put everything into kyudo, and then take it all out. Like blood flowing in and out of the limbs in varying degrees. I do this because one is not enough. Maybe I'm lost.

I step too far mentioning and purposes and such. It's funny that we build a practice around a purpose, when really the purpose may be the last thing we understand.

For more credible wisdom I present below the Shaho-Kun, "Principles of Shooting", written by Master Junsei Yoshimi which is contained within the Kyuhon, official Kyudo Manual. I'll talk more in the future about the Kyuhon, but for now, we'll begin with the Shaho-Kun.

"The way is not with the bow, but with the bone, which is of the greatest importance in shooting.

"Placing Spirit (Kokoro) in the centre of the whole body, with two-thirds of the Yunde (left arm) push the string, and with one-third of the Mete (right arm) pull the bow. Spirit settled, this becomes harmonious unity.

"From the centre line of the chest, divide the left and right equally into release.

"It is written, that the collision of iron and stone will release sudden sparks; and thus there is the golden body, shining white, and the half moon positioned in the west."

-Master Junsei Yoshimi

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.

Aikido Ikkyu Test: The Change

(not-at-school.blogspot.com )

 

The Change ... but not the one you probably expect.

A great change has occured, one that has been slowly churning, a pace not unlike that by which the continents move. Underground, out of sight, these primal forces have been metamorphosing and recently they have cracked to the surface. The change is one I never expected, and one perhaps I never wished to believe. But it has happened, and I see now it has been long in the making.

I mentioned the last kyudo tournament I went to, and that I didn't do so well though it was a great experience. I also wrote about going to kyudo on my day off and how I felt about that. The posts on this blog have been largely about kyudo, and discussions on aikido have become quite the rarity. My kyudo sensei keeps pounding on me, forging my technique, chiseling away at the frivolous excess. I keep falling down and getting up, each time redifined and more aligned with the target.

This is all not the result of outer success but inner turmoil. When I started kyudo it was just a flimsy trial. As I continued I never really gave it much credit. After receiving the shodan, it could all end and I would be fine. No matter the abstract reflections, my body and spirit have been there everyday toiling in the soil that blooms love. Something of a flower has budded.

(life-engineering.com )

 

Since the great change two years ago causing me to switch jobs and locations, taking aikido training from three to four times a week, to three to four times a month, aikido has been hiding in the dark. On those tired nights I pilgrimmage to the dojo in the east and move, each time like a flicker in the shadows. Clumsily, forgettfully. Each is a great dream I can't seem to hold on to. In the past two years, parts of my aikido have naturally progressed, but it's overshadowed by a great slowing in the internal progress of my sinews.

I took my ikkyu test (one before the shodan [blackbelt]) and passed. I did well in many ways, I think. I did all of the techniques that were asked of me. I did particularly well in the jo and ken work ... parts that I have been able to hone and remember alone in my apartment. I actually felt best about the jiyu waza at the end where partners come at me doing one attack (for me it was katate-ryotedori [partner grabs one of your arms with both of his hands]) and I think something of my overall aikido-budo nature came out. But I could list endless details on small things that could have, should have been better.

After the test I went to talk to the two teachers, the main sensei and then the number two, Ueno-san, for their opinions about my test. First I went to the main sensei.

His words didn't come easily.

"You did it, but something is missing. I know you're busy with work, but honestly you haven't changed much since your nikkyu (last test) test. You're good, but there's something missing. It's in the small mistakes, like when you started so-and-so technique earlier and I told you to fix it like this. You fixed it immediately, and you can correct things quickly, but those necessary details are not internalized yet. Of course it takes time, and you had a good ikkyu test, but ..."

I understand completely what he said, and could have said the same things myself before hearing him. I can do the techniques as I'm asked, I try hard, and I learn fast, but this is not at the core of aikido. What is deep in the bottom is heavily rooted natural technique that adheres to the principles. There is no fast way to do this, it just requires simple time and effort. I don't have the time, so I double the effort, and what comes out has no effect on that deep core of aikido.

I knew this from the start, but I've been trying to trick myself out of it. "Yes, I can do it!" What? Like I don't need time? As if I could just decide for time not to be the core factor? That is magic. That is defying physics and the world. That does in fact play a part in budo sometimes, but equally the most important part of budo is realizing the nature of the world that cannot be changed. This nature cannot be transcended. I cannot fly to the top of the mountain. It requires each step to be made by my own two feet, and it will take as much time as it takes.

This is all completely related to my future move to Kyushu. For various reasons the move has continually been pushed forward since May. Now, it looks like it will happen in November at the very earliest, probably December, possibly later. A huge part of this has kept me crazy about aikido.

Can I get the shodan (black belt ) before I leave?

Can I leave before I get the shodan?

Which will I regret more? Leaving before I finally achieve my number one goal here in Toyama, or staying months more just for the sake of this possession?

A great factor on this decision is what sensei and Ueno-san the dojo think. Until now, the plan was just take the ikkyu test, see how it goes, and then start the discussion.

I thought maybe if my test went phenomenally well, like it could have been the shodan test, I would've been happy, then something could happen and I could do magic and just get the shodan before I leave whenever somehow. But that is not how I felt, in fact it was exactly what I feared, a test I passed according to the qualifications, but not magical acquisition of aikido skill.

I talked with Ueno-san who is a huge reason for my love is the dojo. She is a woman in here forties who has been doing aikido with sensei for about twenty years and is a godan (fifth degree blackbelt). She lives in Toyama City as well so she usually gives me a ride home after training. During the rides we've had countless discussions that have been so important to my growth as an aikido-ka, and more importantly a person on Planet Earth.

We talked about the test and she said it was something to be happy about. Of course it wasn't perfect, but for an ikkyu test is was great. I told her how I felt about coming to practice as infrequently as I do and it's affect on real aikido ability. She quietly agreed, but also silently assured me that that's not so important. What is important is just enjoying the practice. She didn't say this, though she has before, and I know it well.

This is my greatest problem with leaving the dojo before I get my black belt: I love the practice I have with the people in this dojo. I also love aikido. It may be my favorite kind of budo I've ever experienced, but that's due to the people I've been training with. If I were to do aikido with anyone less, I'd do something else.

I do aikido with these people because I love to do so. I'm heartbroken about all of this because I can't train as much as I want.

Why don't I get a job during the day that allows me to go to aikido practice more?

Because there's no job available that I want.

Why don't I just stay in Toyama forever and continue to build myself with this dojo?

Because I want to go somewhere new.

Why do I need to get a shodan in Toyama?

I guess I don't.

The discussion about my departure to Kyushu lasted the whole hour car ride, and could have gone on for much longer.

A big part of the discussion had already been made a couple weeks earlier on the topic of earning rank. Ueno-san lamented on the phenomenon of people training until the shodan and then immediately quitting. All of that work put into the person and their technique to finally reach a level as fun and interesting as shodan, where you can really start developing deeper skill, to just have them leave. This also happens after other various tests. Someone takes a test and then disappears for a while. To teachers I think this must be very frustrating. But to many people it's natural.

It's what I will do in this case.

What could that mean for the big shodan?

It feels cheap. Underneath my skin it's like worms. Only going to practice to achieve the rank. Forgetting the true worth of training with the people you're with in that moment. Sacrificing time and essentially your life for the duration for this goal. Using your sensei just to get rank and then leave forever. Thank you, sayonara.

To ask for such a thing is beyond me. To quietly plot this until the end and then leave is equally impossible.

After all this time and finally bringing up the topic with Ueno-san, I realize it's something real. I consulted with her to hear her opinion because I didn't know. I don't know, so I ask. Isn't that natural?

But actually I did know.

All of this: the test, the practice, the discussions, they really are just one giant mirror for me to look back at myself. I brought up the topic because it's real, and because it's happening. It's not a matter of going or not, because I am. It is a dream that has simmered for so long and finally come to an unstoppable boil.

I cannot wait through another winter to just barely get my shodan in the spring and then leave. I cannot wait because I won't steal the belt like that, and I don't want to waste those months when what I want, what I truly want is departure to a new world.

I love my aikido, but it has grown small and dark. It breaks my heart, but that flower has been withering all the while through this fall. All along it has been such, now I look and see.

Then I turn to the sun, and see my kyudo bloom. It's unstoppable. It's so strong, alive, young, I'm in the spring of my kyudo here.

This is the great change:

(www.elfwood.com )

 

Now I am more kyudo than aikido.

It's funny how both tragedy and happiness can bring us to tears.

 

The conversation I had with Ueno-san was one I didn't want to have, but one I had to. I'm happy now though in my understanding. Yet I still have one very difficult conversation to have, and that's with the head honcho himself, Sensei. He is an honest man, which comes off harsh sometimes, but that honesty also provides kindness and love abound. The experiences I've had with him sweating and being thrown over the past few years is a giant well of friendship. This isn't a conversation I can just have for a few minutes after practice, so I'm going to call him and see if I can meet with him for a couple hours to talk.

He's a buddhist priest which gives him free time in the mornings of strange days during the week, just like me. Hopefully I'll meet with him next week and have this giant nasty ball of a talk before I go home.

I asked for all of this. It's really what I wanted. I just didn't realize it.

Change.

 



 (woodgatesview.com )