Our greatest glory is not in never falling, but in rising every time we fall. -Confucius
An apropos quote, for if you do Kyudo long enough, you are going to eventually fall. Be it literately, having your feet slide out from under you or stepping on your hakama, to any number of other mistakes that all of us have made or will make. Some mistakes are apparent in pronounced ways, like dropping your arrow. Others are more obscure. As the Japanese say, “Even the monkey falls from the tree.”
It is quite a revelation when we finally see our mistakes. Sometimes awareness just clicks in our mind. Sometimes it takes an actual photograph or mirror to see ourselves. Blackwell Sensei had been telling me from the beginning, “too much tension in the right hand”, “relax harder”. A common mistake for beginners, but there comes a time when you have to let it go and move on to move up.
At the IKYF seminar this past April in Japan, I had three of Japan’s top sensei surrounding me all at one time, making numerous corrections to my form. No English, just moving my body into different positions. Due to the language barriers, I wasn’t sure why they were making all of these changes. After describing the scene to Sensei, it became evident they were correcting the faults he had been pointing out all along. I logically knew they were all right. I logically knew what I needed to do to fix it. Sensei taught me that. Still, I just couldn’t get it. I couldn’t see my way through it. I couldn’t make it happen.
Politicians are always campaigning on the “change” platform. Sometimes they even make claims as to what they are going to change. After being shown a picture of my right hand versus Sensei’s right hand at kai, I could not deny that change was needed. No politics involved, just fact. Along with a change in form, I had to replace my worn yugake as well. Everything was turned upside down, nothing familiar anymore.
I forced myself to come to practice most days, even if I only shot minimally. I didn’t want to shoot. There were many days where the arrow never left the bow by reaching kai and hanare, or anywhere near it. Somewhere between daisan and kai, it went! I whacked myself with the string every time. Often my spring-loaded eyeglass frames went flying farther than the arrow. I became conditioned to the likelihood, that I was going to fail. This only created more tension, causing more failure. I could bear the physical pain, it was the inner pain of failure that was eating me up. Shooting was no longer a joy. Fear crept in.
The Kyohon clearly states on page 70:
The full draw (Kai) is, psychologically speaking, the continuity of an imperturbable spirit. Removing attachments, desire, and worldly thoughts towards the target, at full draw you must wipe away negativity like doubt, anxiety, faintheartedness, fear and self-depreciation and make the effort to fulfill the spirit with self-control, composure, endurance, and determination, founded on the right belief. This disciplining of oneself in this very precious way is connected to Shasoku-Jinsei-Shooting is Life.
Symanski Sensei summed it up nicely at our seminar when he told us that we must have confidence in our shooting at kai. His only advise for my particular situation was, “You have to just keep shooting and work through it.”
I would like to say that I am on the other side of this mountain. I may be and I may not be. Shooting is much better. I still take a good beating at my own hand with the string attacking me from time to time. I work hard to keep my mind from giving in to the fear.
While I may never understand the all of the “whys” in this life, I have learned to accept that things happen for a reason. Sometimes it takes failure to force change.
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