Zen for Dummies

"You don't shoot the arrow. The arrow shoots itself."  Zen and the Art of Archery  by Eugin Herrigel

Years ago when I was a young youth director in Jasper, Alabama,  a group of my young people invited me to join them on a rope swing one Sunday afternoon at a nearby creek.  I knew about the creek, but I didn't know about the swing or a place deep enough for jumping.  When the time came for me to take the plunge, I grabbed the rope, pushed off and swung out as far as I could.  As I let go of the rope I decided to turn a back flip. Then something happened. The flip was absolutely effortless. My body flipped itself and and I fell into the water in true Olympic form.  I felt the flip as it was happening as if it was in slow-motion. When I landed in the water time sped back to normal speed. When I swam back to the bank, one of the teenagers commented on my flip. He said it was stunning, or some such teenaged equivalent.  I don't know what it was. I just know that it was as if my body was possessed by some power from beyond that flipped me without my help.

Years later, there was a golf game at Lake Lanier Islands in Gainsville, Georgia. In all the years I played golf,  this was the only game when this happened.  I played my normal golf on the front nine, but when we made the turn to the back nine, something was different.  Most would say that I was "in the zone". It was the most effortless and enjoyable golf that I ever played.  My clubs connected with the ball perfectly with every shot and the ball soared where I wanted it to go. My friend was dumbfounded.  When I tallied the pars, birdies and bogies, I scored two over par on the back nine of a very challenging course. It was by far the best nine holes I had ever played. I wasn't quite ready for the tour, but it felt really good to play that well.

But did the arrow shoot itself, and did my body flip itself, and did that golf ball really fly by itself?

All of it required effort. The arrow might have shot itself at the instant it left the fingers, but the fingers ha pulled it back and held it until that moment. I may have been in the zone during those nine holes of golf. The game may have felt effortless, but I bent and placed the ball on the tee, pulled my driver back around my body and swung it forward. The flip may have seemed to have happened all by itself, but I grabbed that rope and flung myself as far as I could swing before letting go. My effort propelled my body into its backward flip.

Seemingly effortless things require effort on our part. And yet it's the things that seem to be effortless that we enjoy the most, that bring us the most pleasure. So maybe the mystical moment is when our effort is overtaken by something beyond us, something we can't see, feel or control. We give it our best, and then let this power complete the task.

It takes effort to get out of bed, brew the coffee and begin the day. Then inertia takes over. The body that was at rest is now in motion. The day takes on a life of its own. At this point it would take effort to keep the day from fulfilling its appointed course. Why would you want to stop it?

"Go with the flow" they say. But you can't go with the flow if you're not even in the water. Grab the rope, swing as far as you can and let go of the rope. The rest will take care of itself.