Recently, I reread, with great interest, the wonderful little book, Zen in the Art of Archery by Eugen Herrigel. My first reading, about 30 years ago, left me puzzled yet intrigued. I never forgot this work. My conversation with Bill Gough on manifestation (see the Feb. editorial) led me back to this 90 page gem.

It's the story (supposedly true), of a professor in post war Germany, who is offered the opportunity to teach philosophy at the University of Tokyo, which he happily accepted. In his off hours, Herrigel took up the avocation of archery, toward an understanding of Zen under the reluctant tutelage of Master Kenzo Awa. To make a long story short, after more than five years of earnest study, Herrigel felt as if he'd made no real progress in his archery skills. He pretty much felt like a complete failure in his study of archery. He couldn't seem to hold the bow correctly, loose the arrow in the right manner, let alone hit the target bull's eye. He just couldn't reach the high standards demanded of him by Master Awa.

Completely frustrated, Herrigel challenged the Master: "Is it at least not conceivable that after all your years of practice you involuntarily raise the bow and arrow with the certainty of a sleepwalker, so that, although you do not consciously take aim when drawing it, you must hit the target -- simply cannot fail to hit it?" Master Awa, accustomed to Herrigel's tiresome questions, responded, "I do not deny that there may be something in what you say but ... I know that seeing is not enough, decides nothing, explains nothing, for I see the goal as though I did not see it."

Herrigel, thinking that this was just more Zen Master double-speak, blurted out in response, "Then you ought to be able to hit it blindfolded." Master Awa took up his student's challenge and said, "Come to see me this evening." That evening, the Master directed Herrigel to dowse the lights that normally illuminated the target-stand. Says Herrigel, " the Master 'danced' his ceremony and his first arrow shot out into the deep night. I knew from the sound that it had hit the target. The second arrow was a hit, too. When I switched on the light in the target-stand, I discovered to my amazement that the first arrow was lodged full in the middle of the black (the bull's eye), while the second arrow had splintered the butt of the first and plowed through the shaft before embedding itself beside it." According to Herrigel, the Master carefully eyed the target and arrows and said, "The first shot was not a great feat, you will think, because after all these years I am so familiar with my target-stand that I must know even in pitch darkness where the target is. But the second arrow which hit the first -- what do you make of that?"

OK readers, now I ask you to please suspend your disbelief ... as if you are watching a movie or attending a play at the theater. If indeed this story is true, what are the implications? Obviously, the odds of an archer hitting the bull's eye with the first arrow and then splintering the same arrow with a second is nothing short of amazing. But to perform this feat in an environment with no light illuminating the target ... now that seems downright impossible. But let's assume it really happened. Again I ask, what might that mean?