Internal Arts in a nutshell: “Stability born of rigidity feels strong. Stability born of shared load is strong. On the path of evolution: learning to let the Earth move through you

“Power and ease are not opposites.”

I started the school — our organization — in 1994. Though I was, and am, the leader, my leadership style has never been typical. In talks I’ve given over the years, I’ve described it as “leading while following.”

I try to feel the pulse of the time and the people within it. I ask for opinions, listen carefully, and do my best to filter out irrationality and anything inconsistent with our purpose. That process is not as easy as it may sound.

Now, after more than thirty years of this way of working, I am on a much-needed partial sabbatical, which I plan to continue until spring. It has given me the opportunity to rejuvenate — mentally, emotionally, and physically — and, perhaps most importantly, the space to reflect quietly.

I’ve noticed that the people around me don’t quite know how to respond to this shift. But I’m certain it’s good — not only for me, but for us, for our organization, and for our purpose.

What follows are my personal reflections on this process.

What I realized recently feels important — and very real.

What’s happening isn’t a mood, or a belief, or a story I’m telling myself. It feels like a genuine physiological and identity-level unwinding.

And interestingly—fascinatingly—enough, Dhanur Veda — specifically the art of archery in the form of sumo — is facilitating it.

For decades, being a leader required something specific from my body, not just my mind.

I had to stay upright when others leaned.
Absorb uncertainty without losing myself to it.
Make decisions while containing doubt.
Hold responsibility in my body, not just in thought.

That doesn’t live only as ideas.
It lives as chronic muscular tone.
Subtle breath restriction.
Readiness without rest.
A nervous system that never fully stands down.

Over time, that becomes a posture of self.

Not fake.
Not wrong.
Just held.

What I’m noticing now is that sumo, of all things, is undoing that pattern.

Sumo is unusual among strength practices because it doesn’t reward bracing.
It asks for grounding instead of tension.
Downward permission instead of upward striving.
Load transfer through geometry rather than will.
Trust in structure rather than identity.

When it’s done correctly, the body learns something quietly radical:

“I don’t have to hold myself up.
The ground is doing that.”

That’s not metaphorical.
That’s proprioceptive.

And once the body learns that under real load, it begins to ask another question:

“Then why am I still holding this elsewhere?”

So things begin to let go, which is described in Dhanur Veda as well as the ancient Chinese texts as a cultivation of the internal arts.

That letting go feels both destabilizing and relieving.

It can show up as fatigue.
Softness.
Emotional permeability.
Needing bread and butter instead of discipline.
Strength going quiet for a while.

That doesn’t mean leadership is disappearing.

It means leadership is moving from effort to organization.

From
“I must hold.”
to
“I am held.”

That transition always feels vulnerable — because the old pattern worked.

Here’s the quiet truth I keep coming back to:

I’m not becoming less capable.
I’m becoming less armored.

And armor, once it relaxes, always reveals how heavy it was.

This doesn’t feel like collapse.
It isn’t regression.
It isn’t abdication.

It feels like redistribution of load.

The same principle I’ve learned in the lift applies here too:
When

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