Zen in the Art of Archery - Eugen Herrigel [9]
The Master was evidently less horrified by my failure than I myself. Did he know from experience that it would come to this? “Don't think of what you have to do, don't consider how to carry it out!” he exclaimed. “The shot will only go smoothly when it takes the archer himself by surprise. It must be as if the bowstring suddenly cut through the thumb that held it. You mustn't open the right hand on purpose.”
There followed weeks and months of fruitless practice I could take my standard again and again from the way the Master shot, see with my own eyes the nature of the correct loose; but not a single one succeeded. If, waiting in vain for the shot, I gave way to the tension because it began to be unendurable, then my hands were slowly pulled together, and the shot came to nothing. If I grimly resisted the tension 'til I was gasping for breath, I could only do so by calling on the arm and shoulder muscles for aid. I then stood there immobilized—like a statue, mocked the Master — but tense, and my relaxedness was gone. Perhaps it was chance, perhaps it was deliberately arranged by the Master, that we one day found ourselves together over a cup of tea. I seized on this opportunity for a discussion and poured my heart out.
“I understand well enough”, I said, “that the hand mustn't be opened with a jerk if the shot is not to be spoiled. But however I set about it, it always goes wrong. If I clench my hand as tightly as possible, I can't stop it shaking when I open my fingers. If, on the other hand, I try to keep it relaxed, the bowstring is torn from my grasp before the full stretch is reached—unexpectedly, it is true, but still too early. I am caught between these two kinds of failure and see no way of escape.” “You must hold the drawn bowstring”, answered the Master, “like a little child holding the proffered finger. It grips it so firmly that one marvels at the strength of the tiny fist. And when it lets the finger go, there is not the slightest jerk. Do you know why? Because a child doesn't think: “I will now let go of the finger in order to grasp this other thing.” Completely unselfconsciously, without purpose, it turns from one to the other, and we would say that it was playing with the things, were it not equally true that the things are playing with the child.”
“Maybe I understand what you are hinting at with this comparison,” I remarked. “But am I not in an entirely different situation? When I have drawn the bow, the moment comes when I feel: unless the shot comes at once I shan't be able to endure the tension. And what happens then? Merely that I get out of breath. So I must loose the shot whether I want to or not, because I can't wait for it any longer.” “You have described only too well”, replied the Master, “where the difficulty lies. Do you know why you cannot wait for the shot and why you get out of breath before it has come? The right shot at the right moment does not come because you do not let go of yourself. You do not wait for fulfillment, but brace yourself for failure. So long as that is so, you have no choice but to call forth some thing yourself that ought to happen independently of you, and so long as you call it forth your hand will not open in the right way — like the hand of a child: it does not burst open like the skin of a ripe fruit.”
I had to admit to the Master that this interpretation made me more confused than ever. “For ultimately”, I said, “I draw the bow and loose the shot in order to hit the target. The drawing is thus a means