Carlos and His Kyudo: Carlos Bows First

The rain had not made up its mind. Sometimes it fell in thin grey-blue lines. Sometimes it paused, as if waiting on the town breathe. Carlos hurried along the garden path with his practice bag bumping against his hip and his thoughts already inside the dojo.

Near the gate, a wet branch leaned low next to the path. Its leaves were heavy with rain. Carlos almost ducked underneath it without stopping, but a sparrow tucked beneath the leaves chirped once, very softly.

Carlos paused. A drop slid from the branch and fell into a puddle. Then another. When enough water had let go, the branch rose a little, not proudly, not suddenly, but with quiet relief.

“You bowed to the rain,” Carlos whispered.

At the dojo entrance, Carlos reached for the door as his shoes stopped squeaking. Obaasan Emi stood nearby with a folded umbrella and a bamboo broom. She did not block him. She only looked at the threshold, then at Carlos.

“What have you encountered already today?” she asked.

Carlos looked behind him. He had met the rain by complaining about it in his head. He had seen the puddles by stepping over them, mostly. He had come to the door trying to open it quickly.

“I think,” Carlos said, “I mostly hurried past everything.”

Obaasan Emi smiled. “Then perhaps practice has already begun.”

Carlos stood very straight. He knew how to stand now. He knew not to be a soldier or a noodle. He remembered bamboo, clouds, snow, maple leaves, and pond rings. He felt ready to learn so he bowed.

He bowed so quickly that his practice bag swung forward and bumped his knee.

Carlos winced.

“Was that a bow?” Obaasan Emi asked.

Carlos tried again. This time he bent so deeply and so carefully that his practice bag slid up toward his shoulder, his scarf slipped over one eye, and he almost forgot to breathe.

Obaasan Emi waited until he stood upright. “Was that bow for recognition of you,” she asked, “or for noticing something else beyond ‘self’?”

Carlos looked at the doorway. He looked at the line of shoes. He looked at the wooden floor beyond the threshold and the bows resting in their places. He had been trying to make his bow correct. He had not been noticing very much around him.

Outside, another drop fell from the branch. The branch rose a little more. It had not bowed to impress the rain.

Carlos reset his mind. He set his practice bag down. He placed his wet shoes neatly beside the others. Then he stood at the threshold and let his eyes soften. The door. The floor. The bows. Obaasan Emi. The rain behind him. The quiet inside the dojo.

This time, Carlos bowed without hurrying and without seeking to show the bow to anyone. He bowed to recognize.

When he lifted his head, the dojo seemed different. Not brighter exactly. Not bigger. Just more present, as if it had been waiting for Carlos’ anticipations to settle all the way.

Inside, practice began with small things. Carlos bowed to the bow before touching it. He bowed to Kenji-senpai before asking a question. He bowed before stepping onto the line to shoot. None of the bows were large. None of them asked to be admired. Each one helped him notice where he was and who was with him. These small efforts to calm him held back his usual internal whirlwinds.

Once, he forgot. He reached for the bow too quickly after fetching arrows from the mata, and his fingers stopped just before touching it. Obaasan Emi did not speak. Carlos smiled a little, stepped back, and bowed first.

The bow felt different after that. Not because it had changed, but because Carlos had.

At the end of practice, Carlos left through the garden. The rain had slowed to a mist. The branch that had bowed low now lifted above the path, lightened of its drops. The sparrow shook itself beneath the hanging leaves, then hopped out into the open.

Carlos stopped beneath the branch. He did not bow because anyone was watching. He bowed because he had passed this place without greeting it before.

On the way home, his shoes still squeaked. His bag still bumped his hip. But Carlos did not rush past every puddle. He noticed the rain. He noticed the branch. He noticed the little quiet that came before touching, speaking, stepping, or beginning again after a pause.

Practice, Carlos thought, could begin with a bow. But maybe a bow began even earlier, in the moment you take notice.

At home, Carlos paused before opening the gate. The latch was wet and cold beneath his fingers. Usually he pushed it quickly and let it clack behind him. This time he waited long enough to hear the rain tapping the wall and to see one drop slide down the metal.

Then he opened the gate gently. It made almost no sound at all. He assisted it closed with intention, as Carlos would strive to have intention is his life for those who he cared about.