I’ve been thinking a bit about pain, particularly after my last post (“Sitting”). While experiencing pain is unpleasant, it can also be useful for the attentive taiko drummer. I think what we have to do is determine what kind of pain we are feeling and most importantly, decide whether that pain is signaling danger or physical fatigue. Since I am not a medical practitioner, I will not be dispensing advice. Instead let me share a couple of stories.
Many years ago, Soh Daiko was training for its performance season and Sandy Ikeda was the practice leader for the month. At each rehearsal, Sandy instructed us, as a group, to perform loud rolls in the odaiko stance for an ever-increasing amount of time. We made our way up to five minutes, ten minutes, and then at the last rehearsal, Sandy surprised us all by keeping us rolling for thirty minutes.
The memory of this experience has faded a bit, but I recall going through various kinds of pain and fatigue. At times, I tried to retreat into my breath, blocking out the pain coming from my arms and shoulders; at other times, I think my frustration, pride, and anger took over and propelled me through the pain. But every once in a while, the pain would simply recede and I was able to continue rolling with a renewed spirit. While it seems banal to write, the diminishment of pain felt like a moment of clarity. Once the exercise was over, we were exhausted but we were smiling—somehow we had made it through the experience together. We have never repeated this exercise, but I am happy to have gone through the pain and it taught me that my body could do more than I had previously thought.
Around the same time, Soh Daiko traveled to Sado Island to visit Kodo and attend their annual Earth Celebration. After the festivities, Kodo invited us to their “village” to eat, drink, and perform for them. This was rather frightening for us, but everyone was in high spirits and, moreover, we didn’t have a choice in the matter. We decided to perform “Hachidan Uchi,” an arrangement by Jenny Wada and Peter Wong of “Yodan Uchi,” as taught by Sensei Seiichi Tanaka to Soh Daiko. The members of Kodo helped us set up the drums in a grassy area and, since we were all in street clothes, we decided to perform barefoot.
By this time, it was early evening and we couldn’t clearly see the ground. We started the piece and midway through, during one of the jumping sections, I landed right on top of a sharp rock. It embedded itself into the underside of my foot and there was nothing I could do. I was in a holding pose and it would have been obvious if I had removed the rock with my hands. Instead I slowly tried to dislodge the rock by shaking my foot while keeping my toes on the ground. Eventually this worked, but we still had to finish the piece with a final jumping section.
I made it through the performance and afterwards, my friend Hideaki helped me to the bathroom. One of the Kodo members retrieved some crazy medicine (in my memory, a kind of super hydrogen-peroxide) and Hideaki stared right at me and smiled as he poured the medicine on my foot. I was a bit puzzled by his smile and stare, but a second later, the pain hit me, my eyes widened, and we both started laughing hysterically.
In certain situations, when you have no choice but to deal with the pain, your body and mind detaches from the unpleasantness of the experience. It is a relief, and a pleasant one at that, to let go of the pain. Kushner (see previous post) talks about his struggles with zazen meditation and ultimately describes a miraculous detachment from the pain. Soon afterwards, he summarizes the whole experience as a fight against the pain. But detachment is not precisely the same as confrontation. I may be wrong, but I interpret this passage as a description of his past experience (as a fight against pain) and his present solution (as detachment from the pain). No doubt, Buddhists would see this pain as a manifestation of suffering and would simply point us towards the Four Noble Truths.
To clarify, pain is sometimes a signal that you are doing something wrong with your body. Perhaps you are using your wrists incorrectly, your knee is misaligned with your leg, or your lower back is unprotected. In these cases, you should immediately stop what you are doing and determine (with help from others) the cause of the pain.
At other times (and this needs to be carefully judged), pain can be the physical realization of life-as-suffering. You must continue rolling despite the pain. You must continue playing despite the pain. You must continue living despite the pain. In these cases, all you can do—and the best thing to do—is to detach yourself from the pain. Let it go, relax and move on, smile, laugh.
PS I don’t consider myself a hard-core Buddhist and I certainly don’t mean to proselytize. But when it comes to pain and suffering, let’s face it, the Buddhists are the experts.
