The Still Point of Kyudo

One of the things I have always liked about Kyudo as a Budo, is the stillness and settling which takes place before the shot. It's almost as if the shot is a side effect of the stillness.

In Chinese martial arts, there is a very deep practice of zhan zhuang, which is "just standing," which seems somewhat related to the stillness of kyudo.

At Zen's Sekai, the author, who has a background in both Japanese and Chinese martial arts, discussed this very phenomenon. An excerpt is below. The full post may be read here.

Wu Standing and Kyūdō: One Shot, No Arrow

Before discussing Kyūdō, it helps to clarify one term that may be unfamiliar: Wu standing.

What Is Wu Standing?

Wu standing (站樁, zhan zhuang) is a foundational practice in Wu-style Taiji. At first glance, it looks like simply standing still. In reality, it is a precise form of internal alignment and continuous expansion, practiced without visible movement.

There is:

No deliberate breath control No visualization No muscle-driven effort

The practitioner stands upright, relaxed, and structurally aligned, allowing the body to organize itself through gravity, balance, and awareness. The work is not to do something, but to stop interfering with how the body naturally supports itself.

Unlike seated meditation, Wu standing is trained fully embodied, under load, and in relationship to the ground. It is not about endurance or stillness for its own sake, but about discovering the point where effort drops away and posture sustains itself.

This is why Wu standing pairs so naturally with Kyūdō.

Wu Standing as the Complete Kyūdō Shot

In Kyūdō, the shot does not begin when the arrow is nocked.

In Wu standing, movement does not begin when the body moves.

Both practices train something far quieter and far more demanding:

Right placement before intention.

When viewed this way, Wu standing is not a meditation about stillness. It is Kyūdō before the bow appears.

Warrior Monks of Japan

Zen's Sekai thought this  link would be of interest. It's at article that appeared at BudoJapan about the history of the storied warrior monks. An excerpt is below. The full post may be read here.

Introduction

Esoteric Buddhism, known as “Mikkyo” in Japanese, had a profound influence on the development of Japanese martial arts. Infusing ritual and philosophy into warrior culture, Mikkyo created a fusion where spiritual practices and martial training became intertwined. This integration gave rise to a paradox: warrior monks caught between Buddhist precepts of nonviolence and the brutal realities of feudal Japan. In this article, we explore Mikkyo’s esoteric practices and how they shaped the evolution of sohei (warrior monks), samurai, kobudo (traditional martial arts), and ninjutsu.

Part 1: The Rise of Mikkyo and the Warrior Monks

The roots of Mikkyo trace back to the Shingon and Tendai sects of Buddhism. Shingon was brought to Japan by Kukai in 806 CE, following his studies in China under the esoteric master Huiguo. After receiving full transmission and authorization to teach, Kukai returned with sacred texts, mandalas, and ritual implements, eventually founding Japan’s first Shingon temple, Kongobu-ji, on Mt. Koya.

Around the same time, Saicho returned from China with the teachings of the Tendai school and established Enryaku-ji Temple on Mt. Hiei. Situated near Kyoto, the temple was favored by the Imperial Court, which helped it expand into a sprawling complex of nearly 3,000 buildings. Together, these mountaintop temples of Shingon and Tendai have remained influential monastic centers for over a thousand years.

However, the generous court donations that Enryaku-ji received came with strings attached. The Imperial Court felt this gave them the right to appoint the temple’s next leader. When Enryaku-ji’s monks refused a court-appointed zasu (abbot), samurai troops were sent in to enforce their decision. The temple yielded, but resentment simmered.

Tension over court appointments continued to rise until the year 970, when Ryogen—Enryaku-ji’s leader—made the decision to create a fighting force to protect its interests. This act contradicted a policy Ryogen had issued earlier that same year, forbidding monks from carrying weapons or engaging in violence. His reversal of policy is made clear in the Sanka Yoki Senryaku (Abridged Records of Mount Hiei), which quotes Ryogen as saying: “On Mount Hiei, in order to guard the true Dharma, to secure oil for lamps, and to defend the temple lands, warrior practitioners are needed. Therefore, monks who are foolish and have the least amount of talent should be assigned to that role.” So when the sohei system first began, it was the monks least suited to quiet monastic life who were chosen to become warrior monks.

The next time the Imperial Court attempted to appoint someone they didn’t like, Enryaku-ji’s warrior monks marched into Kyoto to protest. The Court called in samurai troops for support and a bloody battle began—but this time, it was the monks who were victorious. A document known as the “Taiheiki” captures their defiance: “When tyrants disturb the land, we borrow divine power to drive them back.”

Among these warrior monks, the most legendary was Benkei—a figure woven from both fact and folklore. He began his training at Enryaku-ji Temple but was eventually expelled for misconduct. After wandering the mountains, he took up residence in an old, abandoned shrine that lacked a temple bell. Known for his size and strength, Benkei is said to have stolen a massive bell from Miidera Temple—Enryaku-ji’s main rival. According to legend, he dragged the bell across the mountains to his new home. But when he rang the bell, it would only make a strange sound, as if moaning to return to Miidera.

During the Edo period (1603-1868), theater performances became popular and Benkei came to be portrayed as both fierce and funny. The idea eventually emerged that Benkei had a weak spot—his shin, a spot so tender that even Benkei would cry if struck there. This sensitive area was called “Benkei-no-nakidokoro” (Benkei’s crying spot) and the term is still used today whenever someone happens to hit their shin.

In contrast to Enryaku-ji, Mt. Koya’s Shingon temple was less politically active and never developed warrior monks. However, the Shingon sect’s Shingi branch developed its own militant force at Negoro-ji Temple. Around 1560, the Jesuit missionary Gaspor Vilela visited the temple and described what he saw in his travel diaries: “Their swords cut through armor like tender meat. Their training was intense and the death of one of their members during practice was met without emotion.”

 

 

 

 

The Aging Martial Artist

At Zen's Sekai, the author recently posted his thoughts regarding his Taijiquan and Kyudo practice in the context of aging. An excerpt is below. The full post may be read here.

"I saw the angel in the marble and carved until I set him free." - Michelangelo

Most people assume that aging means gradual loss: less strength, less speed, less range, less ambition.

Taiji and Kyūdō quietly disagree. They do not promise to keep the body young.

They promise something more durable: integrity without excess. Aging Reveals, It Does Not Automatically Weaken.

In external systems, youth is an advantage. Speed forgives errors. Strength covers imbalance. Endurance masks inefficiency.

But aging removes these buffers. What remains is structure, timing, and honesty. Taiji and Kyūdō are not practices that compensate for aging. They are practices that age well because they remove what aging cannot support.

Taiji: When Less Effort Becomes Necessary

Wu Taiji is often misunderstood as “small” or “gentle.” In reality, it is economical. As the body ages: Excess muscular tension becomes costly Overcorrection leads to injury Forcing posture creates fatigue instead of stability

Wu standing and movement strip practice down to essentials: Vertical alignment Ground connection Continuous expansion without strain.

Nothing in Wu requires speed, depth, or amplitude. What it demands instead is accuracy. And accuracy improves with age, if ego steps aside.

Kyūdō: The Shot That Cannot Be Forced

Kyūdō offers no advantage to youth once form is learned.

Strength does not improve release. Speed does not improve timing. Desire does not improve accuracy. In fact, these often make it worse.

As practitioners age, Kyūdō naturally refines itself:

Draw becomes quieter Kai becomes deeper Hanare becomes less dramatic and more inevitable. The body learns what the mind cannot command.

This is not decline. This is distillation.

The Shared Principle: Non-Interference

Both Taiji and Kyūdō are built on the same foundation:

Remove what obstructs natural organization.

Aging supports this process by making interference expensive.

Excess tension hurts,

Poor alignment fatigues quickly,

Emotional forcing destabilizes balance. Youth can ignore these signals. Age cannot, and does not need to.

 

 

Martial Arts and Aging

As I grow older (I'll be 68 in a couple of month), this topic becomes more and more important to me.

Below is an excerpt from a post that appeard at  Zen's Sekai - Japan 2 @ 70. The author has a deep and broad martial arts background and has shared some thoughts. The full post may be read here.

 

䷹ – Hexagram 61: Inner Truth (Zhōng Fú)a

Theme: Harmony between heart and action. True strength flows from sincerity, not force.

“When the heart is open and the mind clear, even the smallest effort carries great weight.”

Evolving the Way : Zen, Martial Arts, and Age

Trying to train at seventy-five as if you were thirty-five…or even fifty-five…is not only unwise, it is a quiet rejection of the very teachings we claim to follow. In Zen, we speak of impermanence. In martial arts, we speak of timing. Both point to the same truth: all things change, and to resist that change is to create unnecessary suffering.

But impermanence is not an excuse to stop. It is an invitation to evolve.

Youth and Power

In youth, practice is often a celebration of raw strength and boundless energy. We want to push our limits, to test what the body can endure. Whether in the dojo, on the archery range, or walking the circle in Ba Gua, every session is a chance to go faster, strike harder, or hold a stance longer. These are valuable years, building a foundation of skill, resilience, and discipline.

Maturity and Refinement

By middle age, we begin to see the art beneath the effort. Movements that once relied on muscle now draw on structure and timing. In Kyudo, the draw is no longer just about power, but about the settling of the breath and the stillness of the mind. In Tai Chi or Hsing Yi, our strikes and steps carry the weight of accumulated awareness, and we learn that conservation of energy can be as effective as explosive release.

The Gift of Age

At seventy-five, the practice changes again. The goal is no longer to prove what we can do, but to express what we have become. Breath becomes our ally, economy of movement our strategy, and patience our greatest strength. A shorter training session, done with full awareness, can be more profound than a day of youthful exertion.

 

 

Water and Martial Arts

Below is an excerpt from a post at The Okinawan Empty Hand blog on water as a metaphor in martial arts (and beyond). The full post may be read here.

Mizu no tetsugaku [水の哲学] by CEJames & Alfonz Ingram

Here are some quotes related to the concept of water:

1. Bruce Lee on Adaptability:

“Empty your mind, be formless, shapeless—like water. You put water into a cup, it becomes the cup. You put water into a bottle, it becomes the bottle. You put it into a teapot, it becomes the teapot. Now, water can flow or it can crash. Be water, my friend.”

2. Laozi on Softness and Strength (Dao De Jing, Chapter 78):

“Nothing in the world is as soft and yielding as water. Yet for dissolving the hard and inflexible, nothing can surpass it.”

3. Miyamoto Musashi on Strategy and Fluidity:

“With water as the basis, the spirit becomes like water. Water adopts the shape of its receptacle; it is sometimes a trickle and sometimes a wild sea.” (The Book of Five Rings)

4. Okinawan Karate and Muchimi:

“Like water, muchimi allows fluid yet weighted movement. Heavy, yet light; firm, yet soft. One moment yielding, the next crashing with force.”

5. The Zen Mind and Flow:

“When the mind is still, it reflects like a calm pond. When disturbed, it is like a rushing river—thoughts tumbling endlessly. Mastery is finding peace in both.”

6. Wu De and Water’s Ethics:

“A virtuous fighter flows like water—seeking the low ground, never contesting strength with strength, yet always finding a path.”

7. Seijaku and the Depths of Water:

“Stillness is not the absence of movement but the depth of water before the wave rises.”

8. Shibui and Water’s Aesthetic:

“Like the quiet stream that carves mountains, true refinement in karate is deep, unpretentious, and effortlessly effective.”

Each of these quotes ties into your exploration of martial arts, philosophy, and self-defense, using water as a metaphor for adaptability, softness, power, and depth.

Here are more quotes reflecting the philosophy of water in relation to martial arts, self-defense, and life:

9. Chuang Tzu on Water and the Mind:

“The perfect man employs his mind as a mirror. It grasps nothing; it refuses nothing. It receives but does not keep. Thus, he can overcome all things without harm.”

10. Issai Chozanshi on Martial Arts and Flow:

“Water, though weak, is never broken. It does not resist; it moves around obstacles and yet wears down mountains over time.”

11. Bodhidharma on Stillness and Flow:

“A disturbed mind is like turbulent water—unclear and chaotic. Let it settle, and clarity returns.”

12. On Ma (Interval) and Water’s Flow:

“Water does not force its way; it moves at its own rhythm. The space between attacks is not empty but flowing like the current of a river.”

13. Fudōshin (Immovable Mind) and the Ocean:

“The ocean is unshaken by the wind; its depths remain still though the surface rages. In battle, be as the ocean—calm in the storm.”

14. Chinkuchi and the Compression of Water:

“Like a crashing wave, the true strike comes not from mere motion but from compression, release, and flow.”

15. Gamaku and the Swell of the Tide:

“Power rises from the waist like the swell of the tide—subtle, fluid, and overwhelming when unleashed.”

16. Shugyō and Water’s Persistence:

“A single drop of water seems weak, but given time, it will carve stone. So too does relentless training shape the martial artist.”

17. The Dragon as Water Incarnate:

“The dragon moves like water—twisting, coiling, flowing without resistance. Its power is hidden, yet immeasurable.”

18. Mushin and the Nature of Water:

“Water does not think; it simply moves. Do not be bound by form, nor by thought—just act, as water does.”

19. Zandaka and Water Retained:

“A cup filled to the brim spills with the slightest touch; true balance is found in leaving space, like a reservoir that never overflows.”

20. Improvisation in Self-Defense and Water’s Nature:

“Water never hesitates—it finds a path instantly, whether trickling through cracks or flooding over obstacles. Adapt like water, and you will never be trapped.”

Each of these speaks to a different aspect of martial philosophy—fluidity, adaptability, stillness, power, and persistence—making water one of the most profound metaphors in martial arts and life.

 

 

Heart - Mind

At Isshindo blog, there was a post about Kokoro - Heart/Mind. An excerpt is below. The full post may be read here.

If I had not “become” a Marine these words would have had little effect, yet, because I am a “Marine” this does, has and always will hold a special place in my heart, my mind and in my spirit.

Those who study the system of “Isshinryu [心]” will recognize the character of kokoro being the same as in Isshin [一心] The following provides additional insight into what Tatsuo-san was thinking when he created his system.

Kokoro (心) is a Japanese term that carries profound significance, often translating as "heart," "mind," or "spirit." However, these translations only scratch the surface, as *kokoro* encompasses a broader and more integrated concept in Japanese culture and philosophy.

Etymology and Meaning

At its core, kokoro represents the center of one’s being, merging emotions, intellect, and willpower into one. Unlike the Western division between mind and body, the Japanese concept of kokoro views these elements as interconnected and inseparable. It refers not only to a person’s thoughts but also to their emotions, consciousness, and inner essence.

- Heart: Kokoro is often associated with one’s emotions or spirit, similar to how "heart" is used in English to describe the seat of feeling and compassion.

- Mind: It also encompasses the intellectual and reasoning part of the self, linking it with thoughts and awareness.

- Spirit: As kokoro pertains to the spirit, it touches upon the essence of character, inner strength, and moral fiber.

In martial arts and other disciplines, the use of kokoro frequently emphasizes a unified mind, body, and spirit.

Kokoro in Martial Arts

In martial arts such as Karate and Aikido, kokoro is an essential concept linked to mental strength, emotional regulation, and spiritual growth. Warriors are encouraged to develop a resilient kokoro to face challenges with both courage and humility.

- Mental strength: A strong kokoro represents the mental resilience necessary to overcome fear, pressure, and adversities in combat and life.

- Humility and Compassion: At the same time, kokoro is tied to humility, empathy, and the deep emotional connection to others, stressing the importance of moral character in martial practice.

For example, in Samurai traditions, a balanced kokoro was seen as the foundation for proper decision-making, ensuring that actions align with virtue rather than being driven by impulsiveness.

Kokoro in Zen and Japanese Philosophy

In Zen Buddhism, kokoro is integral to understanding the nature of self and achieving mindfulness or enlightenment. The term aligns with the Zen idea of a quiet, focused mind that is free from distractions and attachments. The unification of mind and heart is crucial in achieving Mushin no Shin (mind of no mind), a state where one reacts effortlessly and harmoniously without conscious thought.

Zen teachings suggest that a calm kokoro is necessary to attain Satori (enlightenment). This idea can be linked to the broader philosophical notion of kokoro as the essence of balance and harmony in life.

 

Stoked to Practice

Sometimes our daily practice becomes drudgery. It's sometimes difficult to be enthusiastic about our practice every day, and yet it is essential that we do. 

Below is an excerpt that appeared at Zen Habits, while not specifically speaking of martial arts practice, talks precisely about what it is we need to do to maintain our enthusiasm. The full post may be read here.

 

 

Cultivating Stokedness

By Leo Babauta

How many days do you wake up excited for life, stoked to be alive and take on the day’s challenges?

If your answer is “often,” then congratulations! That’s an amazing way to live life — but you’re in the minority.

Most people are unenthusiastic about their lives, not looking forward to what the day has in store. That’s not a bad thing — if that’s how you’re feeling, it’s just how you’re feeling. There isn’t a “right” way to be.

That said, if you’d like to be more stoked about life, then there are ways to cultivate that. We’ll explore some of those ways in this post.

Living a Life of Stokedness

What would it be like if you felt more excited by life each day? Or by what you were taking on at work, in your relationships, in your workouts?

Life is incredible, and we are immensely privileged to be alive in this miraculous world. We don’t always appreciate it — and that’s OK, to not always be grateful or excited — but there is the possibility of feeling more awe and wonder in our days.

Let’s say you wake up and you have a bunch of work to do (in addition to other things going on in your life). You could feel a sense of burden, overwhelm, and anxiety about all of it … or you could feel really excited by the meaningful things you’re taking on. It’s not that one approach is right and the other is wrong, but they are entirely different approaches and experiences. We have a choice.

What if you took on each thing with a sense of wonder, and an open heart? What if each act of your day were an expression of your love?

What Gets in the Way

All of that sounds good, but there are things that get in the way of living life this way:

• A default of not being enthusiastic about life. This comes from years of having our enthusiasm dampened, from feeling disappointment over and over, from learning to be jaded.
• A sense of pointlessness that comes when we feel like we’ve failed at things over and over, or that people have let us down over and over.
• Built-up pain from things that have hurt us, to the point where little things can agitate the wounds in our hearts, easily causing frustration, anger, explosions of outrage.
• Built-up fear from things that have gone wrong, leading to a general sense of anxiety and overwhelm, and worrying about everything.
• Built-up resentment and anger from injustices and offenses, large and small.
• Built-up self-judgment from all the things we think we’re doing wrong, failing at, etc.
• Built-up sadness from many losses, both large and small, so that the world and people around us can easily trigger sadness.

This isn’t a comprehensive list, but I hope you can get a sense of what gets in the way of our enthusiasm and stokedness about life. Our hearts are closed more than open.

There is nothing wrong with any of this — it’s a natural consequence of life! We build up conditioning from lots of things that happen to us, from grief and loss to hurt and anger and fear. It builds up, and we lose the open-heartedness with the world.

Releasing the Blockers

If all of the above represents blockers in our hearts, then wouldn’t it be freeing to be able to release these blockers?

The process to release the built-up blockers is simple but not necessarily easy:

• When the world triggers a conditioned blocker (anger, resentment, fear, sadness, hurt, overwhelm, anxiety, jealousy, grief, etc.) … notice that it’s there, and decide to release it.
• Sit still for a few minutes, and let yourself feel whatever you feel. Relax, and allow the feeling as fully as you can. Surrender to it, allow it to just be an experience of energy in the moment.
• Know that you’ll be OK. It’s just energy, and if you relax instead of resisting the energy, it will just pass through you. That said … only do it if the intensity is a 7 out of 10 or lower. You don’t need to work with a 10/10 intensity, unless you have a therapist working with you.
• After it passes, give yourself some gratitude and love. You have released some of your blockage.

It might take a number of these kinds of releasing sessions to actually release a blocker, but the more you’re able to surrender and feel it, letting it pass through you, the less it will remain in you. You’ll be freed.

Everyday Training of the Samurai

At Ichijoji, Christopher Hellman, the author of The Samurai Mind, posted an article about the everyday training of the samurai through the ages. An excerpt is below. The full post may be read here. Below the excerpt is a video featuring Omori Sogen.

It is sometimes tempting to think of the practice and training of martial arts in pre-modern times in monolithic terms, as if there was an ideal model, perhaps followed by a master in retreat at some secluded temple or shrine. On closer inspection, this seems unlikely as social conditions and the role of the warrior changed as the times moved from a period of perpetual war to one of relative peace, not to mention the varying requirements dictated by different roles and relative professional positions, even within the warrior class in Japan.

Having given that caveat, it must be conceded that traditions of martial practice in Japan enjoyed far greater continuity than those of Western Europe, even if it is generally acknowledged that the techniques that have reached us today are very likely not the same as those practiced by the founders of those traditions. One aspect that must have been of great concern at all periods was how to develop and refine skill.

 

There was, of course, the demanding, often repetitive physical training that must have formed the basis of most trainees’ experience. This is likely to have been intense, and yet quite unlike the military style drill common in some more modern disciplines, a development that seems to have gone hand-in-hand with the rise of militarism in the early 20th century.  

There were other sides to practice, too. Omori Sogen (1904-1994), a 20th century Zen priest and practitioner of the Jikishinkage ryu who had clearly put plenty of time and energy into his physical practice (this was a style which includes strong elements of both kata and sparring (in the style of kendo) in its curriculum), spoke of his approach to the practice of kendo in his younger years. He explained that he developed the attitude that life itself was a perpetual series of contests. Every encounter or situation in life could be seen as a clash with an opponent in which any negative reactions he felt meant the situation had scored a point over him.

 

As he matured, he saw the mind that could be developed during kendo practice as being the same as that developed by the practice of Zen:

 “For example, a person who practices Kendo holds his bamboo sword and faces his opponent. If he forgets his opponent and his ego, enters samadhi, and truly experiences this state, then even when he puts his bamboo sword down, he must be able to maintain this frame of mind. Usually, however, it is a different world when he puts his bamboo sword down.”

(Omori Sogen: The Art of a Zen Master by Hosokawa Dogen)

 

This might be seen as typical of the Zen inspired approach of the later C19th and early C20th, a time when a measure of social freedom combined with the idea that personal efforts could reshape the world (efforts that were often centered around violence, it must be said). It seemed to have a particular appeal to young men, and was a direct factor in Japan’s road to war, both with the wave of assassinations that removed some of the less militaristic politicians from office in the 1920’s and 30’s, as well as the precipitating event in the invasion of China. It must also be said that Sogen was closely involved with groups advocating such methods, (to the point of being hunted for by the police) although his own account stresses that he felt the time was not right for assassination. (He also attempted to persuade Prince Konoe to appoint a less hawkish minister of war, so it is difficult to categorize him in political terms).

This approach, to life as well as martial arts, stresses the power of intention and the strength of will over technique. To be sure, this is always a major factor in confrontation, but one that has inherent weaknesses (exemplified in aspects of Japanese military doctrine in WWII, not to mention the unfortunate tendency to veer towards extremism). Older martial disciplines were shaped by the greater range of resources, technical, psychological and social, from which they drew the elements of their curricula.

 

While Sogen pursued mastery in Zen, swordsmanship and calligraphy, seeing commonalities in them all, Matsura Seizan (1760-1841), writing some 150 years earlier, presents an interesting contrast. A man of wide learning, he is known principally for his literary accomplishments, in particular his multiple volume collection of essays, Kasshi Yawa (Nighttime Tales of The Year of the Rat). He came from a very different social background – he was the daimyo of Hirado, a small island just off the coast of northwest Kyushu (where the English sailor, Will Adams, landed) – and although he retired at the age of 46, prior to that he set up a school for academic and martial studies, the Ishinkan, and a library that eventually had some 10,000 volumes (Rakusaikan Bunko). He was also a noted swordsman and author of several works on that topic.

It is clear from his writings that he considered sword use far more broadly than Sogen did, which is unsurprising, as swords were routinely carried by bushi until 1876. What may be more significant is that he stresses care and attention to surroundings rather than Sogen’s emphasis on single-minded determination, as a key to understanding the deeper teachings of the art, a reflection both of the more complex demands of Seizan’s social position, as well as the perspective of swordsmanship as training for use (in protection and for ceremonial uses as well as, potentially, for war), rather than primarily for personal and spiritual development. (It may added that it is entirely possible that Sogen did not receive the deeper teachings of his style – Sogen says his teacher did not consider any of his students to be his successor.) The flavor of his writing may be seen here:

“…for those who are recommended to accompany their father, older brother, or master, it is necessary to be familiar with etiquette. Because this spirit of etiquette stems from the spirit of vigilance, if you perform this duty well, it will carry over to the heart of swordsmanship. Those who feel they cannot understand this roundabout explanation do not have the real spirit of swordsmanship. But when it is time to impart the himitsu ken (lit. the secret sword) from the inner teachings of our school, those who have resolved to maintain this excellent spirit of caution in daily life will already have the necessary attitude and approach.” 

(From Joseishi Kendan in The Samurai Mind by Christopher Hellman, p.54)