Every day arrows fly and appear to stick to events: what occurred yesterday—hit!, what to eat—hit!, what time is it—hit!, what to wear—hit!, …
Sitting in za, arrow flies forward, nothing to strike,
Breath, a thought and then another, a body sensation, but nothing solid to strike, and nothing to do.
Anytime and all the time, it is like this; nothing solid for arrow to hit.
Especially in za, there is this landscape where this reality can be actualized and then perhaps carried forward to flower into the everyday.