Originally published in the Kilohana Chronicles, Volume 2 Issue 1, 2001.

I walked into the dojo the first time with the eyes of a child. I looked at and smelled and felt every possible thing. Unlike the child, I had left my expectations of what was to be experi­enced behind me, somewhere between the car and the door to the dojo. In the schools that I had attended earlier for other arts, there was often a feeling of potential, of energy barely con­tained, of pending com­bat. Yet this school was very different.

My coming into this school was like being on a glassy-calm sea under the full moon. The sense of deliberate action taken in very deliberate steps ema­nated from the other people and permeated the dojo. There was the dif­ference between night and day in this hall. A gentle­man walked up to my chil­dren and I; there was a presence about him that contained both promise and deliverance of the promise at the same mo­ment. Bob introduced himself and we were wel­comed to the first class.

It seemed just a few mo­ments later that the day came to meet Shihan and be introduced to the bow. The day had arrived with hopes and fears present in equal measure. Prior to this meeting my life had altered signifi­cantly, causing me to invest great amounts of energy in tension, stress, anger, and other ill-conceived actions that held me in check. Re­moving my shoes at the door I took conscious effort to take these weights from my mind and body, to leave them outside the door where they could await my attention later. I recalled all that I could about centering and self and no-mind, I struggled to release the influence of this ego that sought to exert control in a time where no control was needed. It was in the realization of this paradox that I was able to find a brief glimpse of why I was here in this building to meet this teacher. I found that I was here not to study Kyodo but to be with myself, to explore, experi­ence, live without the ego that sought to contain chaos and call the superimposed order "my life."

My shoes slipped off into the same orderly arrangement as those al­ready at the door. As I stepped to the threshold I took the time to drop another item at the door, my ego. Bob had taken great pleasure in our ear­lier meetings at how easy it had been to adjust, cor­rect, and move my body into a semblance of form for the function to follow. I took a breath and en­tered the dojo as I had that first day with the same eyes of a child and the open mind of what I felt "zanshin" might be. The seminar moved forward with exquisite slowness, the ego that waited out­side paced eagerly just beyond the door, mark­ing the moments for my return. Inside I sat pa­tiently awaiting my meet­ing with the man who had come thousands of miles to meet me, to help me be in the world again.

Shihan moved from student to student, all treated equally despite apparent signs of rank or standing within the dojo. All received a soft cor­rection, comments delivered in a gentle voice that instructed without the influence of criticism. His gloved hands moved to areas in each person where energy was holding back the "chi." Each took the adjustments and comments with the same grace and spirit in which they were given. How different from other hard arts that strove to build competitiveness and strength of body. This spoke to the soul, to the divine essence of spirit within each of us. Within me.

Others moved through their slow, gentle ap­proaches to the target. Their motions often flowing like the waters of a deep river, slow and unstoppable, deep, natural. I felt a tendril of ego slip under the door and wrap around my spirit, a fear crept into my mind muttering that it would be the worst of all karma to be the only one standing before the targets. To be exposed before all these incredible beings, be found wanting and unworthy of instruction; ego was chattering incessantly and gaining a hold on the sprit again. I rose from a kneeling position, approached the target, bowed, chose a line that was just left of center while turning into my stance.. .and froze. The space between the far wall and myself was void of all but Shihan and his translator/student. Tension. Even more than waited beyond the door in front of me.

My attention shifted to my breathing, I heard the hiss of incoming air as my lungs filled with air that was rich in something that was name­less and new to me. It calmed, soothed, and let me bring something closer to balance into my center. The motions I had been taught, but was so new as to be foreign, moved my limbs and began to settle my being. Shihan removed his gloves and my life began.

The bow and the string sang softly in a duet of perfect harmony as I drew down on the tar­get, the arrow floated above my hands, and flashed from beside my face to magically im­bed itself in the target. The spirit that was within was suddenly without, and placing his hands upon my chest and waist he told of what he had seen. The voice I heard spoke to some­thing deep inside where meaning lives. I did not understand a word of the language I had heard but the meaning was clear and the gentle pressure of the ungloved hands conveyed such presence that I felt the lesson being taught.

Shihan had stepped away pulling his gloves back on those remarkable hands and the spirit within, the translator had told me what the words had been, and it was over all too soon.

The next shot brought further correction and suggestions from Shihan, the ungloved touch pressed upon my chest where my breath was stop­ping. A soft push to my tantien where the energy was still being held in check. The last comment telling me that I stood upon the ground without being a part of the earth. There were more les­sons about being alive and living in this one night than I had ability to understand or even appreci­ate. Those I had labeled as masters had been guided and adjusted just as I had been. Each being within these walls was a student, even Shihan, and we all had lessons to learn and perfect just a little more today than yesterday.

The day had drawn to a close and night had crept softy into the hall. There was time for re­flection and introspection, to turn my vision in­ward and relive the essence of the day. My meeting with Shihan had come and left the gift of it's being with me, the bow had whispered it's song in my ear, the arrow had flown home and been welcomed into the target.

My ego had leapt upon me the moment I had exited the dojo bringing with it the baggage of my divorce, my job, and the longing for my chil­dren. Only it was different now. The volume was down, the restraints were less binding, and my attitude was less limited.

The world did not change, but I had. My jour­ney had only just begun and I already sensed my goal, to hold to the spirit of my beginning no matter where I am on the path of life.