idea if he remembered who I was. To my dismay, he told me he was very busy and that I should call him back in two weeks. Exactly two weeks later I called again and was told that he was still very busy and could not see me for one month. My disappointment grew. My time in Japan was limited; I wondered if I would be able to train with him at all. Exactly one month later I called back and this time was told that he could see me later in the week. He gave me instructions on how to get there and told me he would have somebody there to interpret.
It was a two-hour train ride from where I was living to Kamakura. I got off the train at the Kita-Kamakura station and walked up the steps towards the entrance of Engaku-Ji. It was mid-April and pouring rain. The ground was muddy and the air smelled of cherry blossoms. The gate keeper to the temple had obviously been warned that I would be coming. He took one look at me and said asked, "Suhara Osho?" I nodded and we both laughed nervously. He then proceeded to lead me to the kyudo dojo.
I entered the grounds of the dojo alone. Seeing no one, I walked over to the main building of the dojo and looked in. There was no one there. Thinking that I would go in and wait, I looked for a place to take my shoes off. I wanted to avoid a repeat of my entry into Chozen-Ji. Just then, I heard somebody yell "Hallooo." I looked around and saw Suhara Osho, dressed in black temple work clothes, waving his arms at me. I went over, bowed, and he motioned me into a little wooden building (I was to find out later that Mrs. Suhara runs a small concession selling tea to tourists on the grounds of the dojo and that this was where she prepared the tea).
After I entered, a Japanese woman appeared. She introduced herself in English as a kyudo student whom Suhara Osho had asked to help find an interpreter. She went on to explain that an interpreter would be coming soon. She excused herself and left me alone with Suhara Osho. He made two bowls of matcha, the type of tea used in tea ceremony. We set in silence as I watched him froth up the tea with a bamboo whisk. We drank in silence, unable to converse. After some time, the woman arrived with the interpreter, an American who was a friend of hers.
Suhara Osho and the woman very politely started asking me questions. First they wanted to know the nature of this visit. I said that it was to say "hello" and to see if it would be possible to train here. They asked where I was living. I said in Zama (which I had learned that day was two hours away by train). I was told that perhaps commuting from Zama would be too inconvenient. I told them that I did not mind the train ride. I was told there was a kyudo dojo in the city of Zama. I told them I would check but that I would still like to study in Kamakura.
The conversation went on in this vein for some time. In my view, they were doing their best to discourage me from training there. It is not uncommon for Japanese teachers to test prospective students by trying to discourage them. I hoped that was why Suhara Osho asked me to wait six weeks before agreeing to see me and why they now seemed so intent on my studying elsewhere. I decided to wait patiently until I got a clear acceptance or rejection.
At one point Suhara Osho left, leaving me alone with the woman and the interpreter. She continued to ask questions. She asked me about my experiences training at Chozen-Ji. She wanted to know if I had shot at the mato or only at the makiwara.
A makiwara is a practice target made out of bundled straw. It is shot at from a range of three to four feet, as opposed to the paper mato, or "real target", shot at from a distance of 28 metres (90 feet). In traditional kyudo training, students could spend years shooting at the makiwara before they were allowed to shoot at the mato. Most training described by Herrigel in Zen in the Art of Archery involved makiwara training. I have been told that Herrigel shot at the makiwara for four out of the five years that he spent in Japan. In contemporary Japan, makiwara training is not stressed as it once was, and students are often allowed to shoot at the mato after only a few weeks. Students, particularly Westerners, are often overly impatient to shoot at the mato.
I replied that I had shot at the mato in Hawaii. I was then told that people shoot at the makiwara for a long time at this dojo. I was given the example of a Westerner who had done so for many months. I replied that it would be fine with me.
Actually, I never expected that I would be allowed to shoot at the mato at all in Japan. While I had shot at the mato in Hawaii, makiwara training was still stressed there and I had been told this would most likely to continue if I studied with Suhara Osho. When I was told that I should expect to train only with the makiwara I was not surprised.
After the questions about the makiwara the tone of the conversation became less serious. Suhara Osho came back and told me that I was welcome to train there. I was given a tour of the dojo and my training schedule was arranged. Two days later I returned to Engaku-Ji for my first lesson with Suhara Osho. The first thing that he asked me to do was shoot at the mato. Suhara Osho suggested that I also study with Onuma Sensei at the Toshima-ku dojo in Tokyo. I was fortunate that he also accepted me as a student. He also asked me to shoot at the mato.
In retrospect it seems that the question of whether I was willing to train at the makiwara was a test of my seriousness as a student. For the contemporary kyudo student, perhaps particularly for an American, the willingness to forestall one's attraction to the mato and to concentrate on the makiwara can be an important test of whether or not he has the discipline that kyudo requires.
Written on the makiwara stand in the kyudo dojo at Chozen-Ji, in calligraphy done by Omori Sogen Rotaishi, is the Japanese phrase "Hyakuren Jitoku." Jackson Morisawa translates this saying as "Thousands of repetitions and out of one's true self perfection emerges." In explaining this saying in his book, Zen Kyudo, he writes:
To make a good sword takes repeated heating, pounding, and sharpening which require tremendous discipline in a state of order and control. If one instills this kind of discipline in repetitive, innovative, and observant training in kyudo, he will be able to taste the satisfaction of his own effort within himself.1
The placement of this saying on the makiwara stand is most appropriate, for traditionally the makiwara has been the anvil on which the kyudo student forged his technique. Because it is shot at from point blank range, the makiwara provides a way in which the student can practice the basics of kyudo without being distracted with concerns about hitting the target. Omori Rotaishi's calligraphy gives caution not to abandon the makiwara prematurely. There is no substitute for makiwara practice, just as there is no substitute for dedicated and repetitious practice of the art itself.
Kyudo training, whether shooting at the makiwara or the mato, is a formalized procedure for shooting arrows. This procedure is called "hassetsu," which is usually translated as the eight steps or stages of kyudo. The specifics of hassetsu may differ slightly across the various schools of kyudo. While there is some variation in the movements preceding the performance of hassetsu, depending on the formality of the occasion and on the specific school of kyudo, the student practices the same eight steps over and over through the years. To the uninitiated, it may seem that the techniques of kyudo are simple, for how long can it take to master a sequence of eight steps? However, nothing could be further from the truth. The techniques of hassetsu are extremely complex. Every aspect of shooting, from the distribution of the body's weight on one's feet to the rhythm of one's breathing, is standardized. The more one practices kyudo, the more one becomes aware of the subtleties of the techniques of the eight steps. It is said that it takes a minimum of thirty years to master the grip. The eight stages of kyudo are described and illustrated in the drawings at the end of this chapter (pp.19—27).
The idea of teaching an art through standardized sets of techniques is found in all of the Ways. In kyudo, there are relatively few such techniques, and those are found in hassetsu. In this regard, kyudo is similar to tea ceremony which involves the repetitive practice of the same ritual of preparing and drinking tea. Other Zen arts, particularly the martial arts, have more techniques. Judo, aikido, and kendo, for example, all have hundreds if not thousands of techniques which must be mastered by the student. A student will spend years copying and imitating the techniques he is taught by his teacher. Modification of these
