One Arrow, One Life. Kenneth Kushner

at daybreak"³ the kyudoka (practitioner of kyudo⁴ ) positions the bow so that the area of the bow directly on top of the grip blocks the center of the target from the kyudoka's vision. Since that part of the bow is wrapped with thin pieces of cord, it is possible to count, or estimate, the number of wraps one sees below the center of the target when one hits the target. Through trial and error the kyudoka can find a sighting point on the wrappings which is likely to produce accurate shots, just as one adjusts the cross-hairs on a rifle sight. However, to rely on this technique has certain limitations. First, the level of wrapping used for sighting will vary from bow to bow depending on the thickness of the wrappings. Second, the thrust of a bow varies with the temperature and humidity. Thus, different sighting points would have to be established in accord with different climatic factors. Similarly, the speed and the direction of the wind can also affect the arrow's trajectory and thus would also have to be taken into account. Finally, to say that one can actually establish an exact sighting point is an oversimplification of what actually happens. No kyudoka, regardless of his level of proficiency, can hold the bow and arrow perfectly still. This is more true in Japanese than in Western archery due to the mechanical differences between modern Western bows and the traditional Japanese bow. Even with a kyudo master, at full draw one will notice that the tip of the arrow oscillates. While the range of the oscillations is slight, it is enough to mean the difference between hitting and missing the target. The kyudoka must somehow "decide" at what point in the cycle of oscillations to release the arrow. It is not possible to describe adequately how this is done, for it is done by feel, by intuition. Any technique, such as the moon at daybreak method of sighting, is only an approximation of what occurs in a proper shot. Such a technique can only bring a kyudoka to a certain point. After that, his intuition must take over. When done properly, the specific techniques of shooting are transcended as the kyudoka transcends ji and acts in accordance with ri. In the Ways, ji connotes skill and ri connotes inspiration. When one sees into the underlying principles, one's performance becomes inspired.

      Understanding the principles underlying a Zen art is not based on cognitive or intellectual understanding. Rather, it is based on an intuitive awareness of the underlying principles of the Universe as they apply to that particular art. It is a form of Zen insight as it applies to that particular activity. For that reason, Leggett describes the Ways as "fractional expressions of Zen in limited fields."⁵

      Because they are formless, the underlying principles of an art cannot be fully described nor directly taught. The philosophy of teaching in the Zen arts is to teach underlying principles through the repetitive practice of techniques. The techniques of the arts represent formalizations of the masters' understandings of the principles. They can be seen as approximations of the underlying principles. Thus, hassetsu is a set of techniques that are at best approximations of the naturally correct way to shoot an arrow. These techniques can only bring the student to a certain point. Each student ultimately must see into those underlying principles by himself. This can only be done by endless repetition of the eight stages of kyudo. This leads to a deeper explanation of the saying "thousands of repetitions and out of one's true self perfection emerges." In kyudo, as in the other Ways, Zen understanding—discovery of one's true self—comes only through disciplined, repetitious practice.

      HASSETSU

       (The Eight Stages of Kyudo)

      CHAPTER 2

       Breathing, Posture, and Concentration

      Zen without realization of the body is empty speculation.

      Omori Sogen Rotaishi

      During my first week at Chozen-Ji, Tanouye Roshi gave a special lecture to the four of us who were live-in students. The topic of the lecture was the principles of zazen. It was then that I first heard the above quote of Omori Sogen Rotaishi. It is a fundamental reality of Zen and a corner stone of the philosophy of training at Chozen-Ji. The statement emphasizes that Zen is not just a philosophy or an intellectual system; Zen realization is physical as well as mental. This is a difficult concept for many Westerners, especially those exposed to Zen by books only. In fact, it is common for books on Zen to begin with caveats about overemphasizing the value of words. Unlike some of the other sects of Buddhism and other religions, Zen does not stress the study of written scriptures. Direct experience and action are the important things to the Zen student. The Zen student is not asked to accept to doctrine on faith. Rather, he is asked to train so that he might have personal experience of the Oneness of the Universe. The key to this experience is the discipline known as zazen. Zen training has no real significance without it.

      The process of zazen has been traditionally divided into three aspects: regulation of posture, regulation of breathing, and regulation of mental activity (concentration). Actually this division is only a convenience for the sake of explanation. In practice zazen is the unification of breathing, posture and concentration. Each aspect affects and is affected by the other two. In the Ways, one finds these principles of breathing, posture, and concentration applied to specific activities.

      I will now discuss in turn the three component processes of breathing, posture and concentration.

      BREATHING

      The importance of proper breathing in Zen cannot be overstated, yet the concept that breathing can be a key to spirituality is still a foreign one to most Westerners. While Western people may accept the importance of breathing in athletic endeavors or in relaxation exercises, they do not generally see breath control as a prerequisite for a spiritual experience.

      The major differences between breathing in Zen and what most people would consider "normal" breathing is that in Zen it is much slower and is controlled by the muscles of the lower abdomen, not those of the chest. The average person breathes at a rate of approximately 18 respirations per minute. Zen masters have been found to breathe at a rate of 4 respirations per minute or less during zazen.

      In order to understand the nature of abdominal breathing in zazen, it would be helpful for me introduce two important Japanese terms that are generally unknown to Westerners. The first is hara. Physically, hara refers to the entire lower abdomen, the part below the navel. The second term is the tanden, which is the point approximately one and one half inches below the naval and is the center of the hara. In the Zen tradition, the tanden is seen to be the center of the person, both physically and psychologically. Physically, it is the person's center of gravity. Psychologically, it is seen as the center of the personality.

      To say that breathing in Zen is abdominal is to say that it is controlled by the muscles of the hara. Inhalation is accomplished by relaxing the muscles of the hara. This automatically relaxes the diaphragm and air is effortlessly brought into the lungs, just as relaxing the bulb of a medicine dropper draws water up the pipette. The result is that the lower abdomen protrudes. Once the lungs are full, the person bears down on the muscles of the hara and begins the exhalation. This initial bearing down at the beginning of an exhalation is referred to as "setting" the hara. The exhalation lasts considerably longer than the inhalation. The feeling is that the air is being forced directly downward into the hara. Actually, the