Picture yourself with a bow in hand, an arrow nocked, your gaze riveted on a distant target. You breathe in, focus, and let the arrow fly. The trajectory is straight, true, and hits the bull's-eye—only, the victory feels hollow. Eugen Herrigel, in his book, Zen and the Art of Archery, would tell you that you've missed the point entirely if you're basking in the glory of hitting the target. Much like Jack Kerouac's elusive 'It,' Zen is not something you find but something you feel, beating in the very marrow of your bones. The real art lies in dissolving the boundary between the archer and the arrow, between the surfer and the wave, between the mentor and the mentee.
"Put the thought of hitting right out of your mind! You can be a Master even if every shot does not hit. The hits on the target is only an outward proof and confirmation of your purposelessness at its highest, of your egolessness, your self-abandonment, or whatever you like to call this state. There are different grades of mastery, and only when you have made the last grade will you be sure of not missing the goal.” [Herrigel]
There's something ineffable about standing on the edge of human experience and peering into the abyss—whether that edge is a surfer confronting a towering wall of water or a spiritual coach whispering to a soul in turmoil. Hunter S. Thompson once said, "The edge... there is no honest way to explain it because the only people who really know where it is are the ones who have gone over." The line between mastery and disaster is perilously thin, but that's where the Zen is. That's where you touch something beyond the mere mechanics of action—you touch essence. It's the space where questions about life, death, and identity are not merely contemplated but felt in every sinew and cell.
Do we not all seek this in some form or another? Those who have never surfed a wave or loosed an arrow may find their edge in a deeply moving piece of literature or in the cadence of a beautifully spun podcast episode. The medium may differ, but the essence remains the same: the pursuit of a moment that stretches the boundaries of our 'self,' that gives us a glimpse of the eternal within the ephemeral.
"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.”
Yet, let's be honest, this pursuit is often marginalized in today's fast-paced society. We live in a world of quick fixes, of hacks that promise to make us better, smarter, faster. But where is the space for soul work in a world obsessed with superficial metrics of success? Zen masters and surfers alike would scoff at the notion that faster is better, that accumulation is the aim. They understand something that many of us have forgotten: The journey itself is the reward, and the real mastery is in becoming one with the act, whether it’s riding a wave, shooting an arrow, or guiding a soul.
"What stands in your way is that you have a much too willful will. You think that what you do not do yourself does not happen.”
Perhaps then, the next time you find yourself engaged in an activity you're passionate about—be it writing, podcasting, or conversing over a cup of tea—pause for a moment. Are you focused solely on the end product, the accolades it might bring, the metrics it might achieve? Or are you present in the act, feeling the pulse of life in the very tips of your fingers, coursing through you, transforming you in small yet infinitely significant ways?
Miyamoto Musashi said, "Do nothing which is of no use." It's an invitation to trim away the inessential and focus on what truly matters. In doing so, we come closer to answering the Zen koan that our existence poses—by stretching the boundaries of self until they dissolve, leaving us in a state of unity with the act, and perhaps, the universe itself.
"You must learn to wait properly... By letting go of yourself, leaving yourself and everything yours behind you so decisively that nothing more is left of you but a purposeless tension”
As you draw back the bowstring of life, poised to release yet another arrow toward whatever target you've set your sights on, consider this: Is it the bull's-eye you're truly after, or is it the exquisite tension between your fingers and the string, the weight of the bow in your hand, the whispering wind in your ears? In that moment of perfect concentration, the target becomes irrelevant; it's the pure act of shooting that brings us closest to the art of living. That's where the Zen is. That's where you'll find the cosmic dance, not just in hitting the mark but in becoming the bow, the string, the arrow--each a seamless extension of your true self.
So, what's your wave? What's your arrow or whispering soul? Where do you find the Zen in your life? And when you do, will you recognize it for the cosmic dance that it is?
