Chapter 14: The Art of Concentration

Up to this point we have been discussing the art of surrendering Self 1's control and letting the body, Self 2, play the game spontaneously. The primary emphasis has been on giving practical examples of the value of letting go of judging, thinking too much, and trying too hard. But even if the reader is wholly convinced of the value of thus stilling the mind, he may find it difficult to blot out entirely these thinking processes. The quiet mind cannot be achieved by means of intellectual understanding. Only by the experience of peace in a moment when the mind is relatively still is one sufficiently encouraged to let go more completely the next time. Very gradually one begins to trust the natural processes which occur when the mind is less and less active. Even when one has experienced the practical benefits of a still mind, he usually finds it a strangely elusive state.

In spite of the fact that I deliver my most effective performance when I permit Self 2 to be the only player of the game, there is still a recurring impulse to think and to want to control my actions. I begin to theorize about how I can achieve the same good results again. I begin to want to regain command. At such moments I recognize this impulse as the seemingly indomitable ego wanting credit, wishing to be something it isn't, and in the process spawning an endless flow of distracting thoughts.

Recently I found myself able to let go of almost all conscious effort on my serve and as a result the serve just seemed to serve itself with rare consistency and power. For a period of about two weeks 90 percent of my first serves went in; I didn't serve a single double fault. Then one day my roommate, another professional, challenged me to a match. I accepted, saying half-jokingly, "But you better watch out, I've found the secret to the serve." The next day we played and I served two double faults the first game! The moment I tried to apply some "secret," Self 1 was back in the picture again, this time under the subtle guise of "trying to let go." Self 1 wanted to show off to my roommate; it wanted the credit. Even though I soon realized what had happened, the magic of the spontaneous, effortless serving didn't return in its same pure form. In short, the problem of letting go of Self 1 and its interfering activities is not easy.

A clear understanding of the problem can help, but practical demonstrations help more and practicing the process of letting go helps still more. Nevertheless, I do not believe that ultimately the mind can be controlled by the mere act of letting go—that is, by a simply passive process. To still the mind one must learn to put it somewhere. It cannot just be let go; it must be "parked." If peak performance is a function of a still mind, then we are led to the question of where and how to park it. If we achieve this, we have attained concentration.

Concentration is the act of focusing one's attention. As the mind is allowed to focus on a single object, it stills. As the mind is kept in the present, it becomes calm. Concentration means keeping the mind now and here. Concentration is the supreme art because no art can be achieved without it, while with it, anything can be achieved. One cannot reach the limit of his ability in tennis without learning it; what is even more compelling is that tennis can be a marvelous medium through which skill in concentration can be developed. By learning to concentrate while playing tennis, one develops a skill that can heighten his performance in every other aspect of his life.

All that is needed to begin practicing concentration is an appropriate object on which to focus your attention. In tennis the most convenient and practical object is the ball itself. Probably the most often repeated dictum in tennis is "Watch the ball"; yet few players see it well.

The instruction is an appeal for the player to concentrate. This does not mean to think about the ball, to consider how high it is passing over the net or what kind of spin it has; one is simply asked to watch it. Most players look at the ball, or the general area surrounding the ball, but most of the time fall far short of achieving concentration. They look at the ball, but at the same time they are thinking about how they want to hit it, or about what the score will be if they miss it, or about the people talking on the sidelines. The concentrated mind does not admit such distractions, externally or internally; it is totally engrossed in the object of concentration.

Watching the Ball

Watching the ball means to focus your attention on the sight of it. I have found that the most effective way to deepen concentration through sight is to focus on something subtle, not easily perceived. It's easy to see the ball, but not so easy to notice the exact pattern made by its seams as it spins. The practice of watching the seams produces interesting results. After a short time the player discovers that he is seeing the ball much better than when he was just "watching" it. When looking for the pattern made by the seams one naturally watches the ball all the way to one's racket and begins to focus his attention on it earlier than before. The ball should be watched from the time it leaves the opponent's racket to the time it hits yours. (Sometimes the ball even begins to appear bigger or to be moving slower. These are natural results of the concentration of one's conscious energy.)

But seeing the ball better is only a partial benefit of focusing on its seams. Because the pattern made by the spinning ball is so subtle, it tends to engross the mind more completely. The mind is so absorbed in watching the pattern that it forgets to try too hard. To the extent that the mind is preoccupied with the seams, it tends not to interfere with the natural movements of the body. Furthermore, the seams are always here and now, and if the mind is on them it is kept from wandering to the past or future. The practice of this exercise will enable the tennis player to achieve deeper and deeper states of concentration.

Most players who practice seam-watching as a discipline find it helpful almost immediately, but after a while they often discover their minds wandering again. The mind has difficulty focusing on a single object for an extended period of time. Even yogis who practice concentrating on a single external object, such as a rose or a flame, rarely succeed in stilling the mind for long; it simply loses interest and then wanders. Let's face it: as interesting as a tennis ball may be for some, it is not going to easily capture the beelike mind so habituated to flitting from flower to flower. On the other hand, the tennis ball has one quality which makes it a very good object for concentration: it is moving. The mind is attracted by objects in motion; it has been ever since birth.

The question arises: How do you increase your ability to maintain concentration on the ball for long periods of time? On this subject something can be learned from bhakti yoga. Bhakti is the yoga that aims at achieving perfect concentration of mind through devotion. Indian yogis in particular have recognized the power of love in overcoming distraction of mind. Bhakti yoga teaches that love of the object of concentration makes it possible to focus one's attention without wavering, and eventually to become one with that object.

There is a story told by holy men in the East which may make this point more memorable. A seeker after Truth sought out a yoga master and begged him to help him achieve the enlightenment of perfect union with his true self. The Master told him to go into a room and meditate on God for as long as he could. After just two hours the seeker emerged distraught, saying that he could not concentrate, since his mind kept thinking about his much-beloved bull he had left at home. The Master then told him to return to the room and meditate on his bull. This time the would-be yogi entered the room and after two days had still not emerged. Finally the Master called for him to come out. From within the seeker replied, "I cannot; my horns are too wide to fit through the door." The seeker had reached such a state of concentration that he had lost all sense of separation from his object of concentration.

As silly as it may sound, one of the most practical ways to increase concentration on the ball is to learn to love it! Get to know the tennis ball; appreciate its qualities. Look at it closely and notice the fine patterns made by the nap. Forget for a moment that it is a tennis ball and look freshly at its shape, its texture, its feel. Consider the inside of the ball and the role played by the empty middle. Allow yourself to know the ball both intellectually and through your senses. Make friends: do anything to start a relationship with it. It will help concentration immeasurably. Concentration is not staring hard at something. It is not trying to concentrate; it is not thinking hard about something. Concentration is fascination of mind. When there is love present, the mind is drawn irresistibly toward the object of love. It is effortless and relaxed, not tense and purposeful. When watching the seams of the ball, allow yourself to fall into relaxed concentration. If your eyes are squinting or straining, you are trying too hard. Let the ball attract your mind, and both it and your muscles will stay relaxed.

The tennis ball should be watched as an object in motion. Watching its seams helps focus your attention on the object itself, but it is just as important to increase your awareness of the flight of each ball as it moves toward you, and then again as it leaves your racket. My favorite focus of concentration during a point is on the particular trajectories of each shot, both mine and my opponent's. I notice the height of the ball as it passes over the net, its apparent speed, and with utmost care the angle at which it rises after bouncing. I also observe whether the ball is rising, falling or at its apex in the instant before the racket makes contact. I give the same careful attention to the trajectory of my own shot. Soon I become more and more aware of the rhythm of the alternating shots of each point, and am able to increase my sense of anticipation. It is this rhythm, both seen and heard, which holds fascination for my mind and enables it to focus for long periods of time without becoming distracted.

Listening to the Ball

It rarely occurs to a player to listen to the ball, but I have found great value in this form of concentration. When it hits your racket, it makes a distinct sound, the quality of which varies considerably, depending on its proximity to the center of the racket, the angle of the face, the distribution of your weight, and where the ball is met. If you listen closely to the sounds of one ball after another, you will soon be able to distinguish a number of different kinds and qualities of sounds. Soon it is possible to recognize the sound produced by an overspin forehand hit squarely and an underspin forehand hit slightly off center. You will come to know the sound of a flat backhand, and to distinguish it from one hit with an open face.

One day when I was practicing this form of concentration while serving, I began hitting the ball unusually well. I could hear a sharp crack instead of the usual sound at the moment of impact. It sounded terrific, and the ball had more speed and accuracy. After I realized how well I was serving, I resisted the temptation to figure out why, and simply asked my body to do whatever was necessary to reproduce that "crack." I held the sound in my memory, and to my amazement my body reproduced it time and again. Through this experience I learned how effective the remembering of certain sounds can be as a cue for the built-in computer within our brains. While one listens to the sounds of his forehand, he can hold in his memory the sound that results from solid contact; as a result, the body will tend to repeat the elements of behavior which produced that sound. This technique can be particularly useful in learning the different kinds of serves. There is a distinct difference in the sounds of a flat, slice, and twist serve. Similarly, one can learn to achieve the desired amount of spin in a second serve by listening closely to the sounds of balls hit with varying amounts of spin. Further, listening to the sound of the ball when volleying can improve both volley footwork and racket work. When a volley is met squarely at just the right moment, the action produces a wonderfully memorable sound.

Some players find the sound of the ball more mind-absorbing than watching the seams because it is something they've never done before. Actually there is no reason why both means of concentration cannot be employed on each shot, since one need listen only at the instant of contact.

I have found that the practice of listening to the ball is best used during practice. If you become sensitive to sound in practice, you will find that you will then use sound automatically during a match to encourage the repetition of solid shots. The habit will increase the number of balls hit in the center of your racket.

Feeling

When I was twelve years old, I heard my pro say of my doubles partner, "He really knows where his racket head is." I didn't know what he meant, but I intuited its importance and never forgot the remark. Few players understand the importance of concentrating attention on the feel of the racket as they are holding it. There are two things that a player must know on every shot: where the ball is and where his racket is. If he loses contact with either of these he is in trouble. Most players have learned to put visual attention on the ball, but many have only the vaguest notion about where their racket head is most of the time. The critical time to know the position of the racket is when it is behind you, and this requires concentration through the sense of feel. On the forehand your hand is about eighteen inches from the center of your racket. This means that even a tiny change in the angle of your wrist can produce a significant difference in the position of the center of the racket.

Similarly, the slightest change in the angle of the face of the racket can have a substantial effect on the trajectory of the ball. Hence, to achieve consistency and accuracy, you must become extraordinarily sensitive to feel. It would be useful for all tennis players to undergo some "sensitivity training" with their bodies. The easiest way to get such training is simply to focus your attention on your body during practice. Ideally, someone should throw balls to you, or hit them so that they bounce in approximately the same spot each time. Then, paying relatively little attention to the ball, you can experience what it feels like to hit balls the way you hit them. You should spend some time merely feeling the exact path of your racket on your backswing. The greatest attention should be placed on the feel of your arm and hand at the moment just before they swing forward to meet the ball. Also become sensitive to how the handle feels in your hand.

Are you squeezing too hard? There are many ways to increase one's awareness of muscle feel. One is to take each of your strokes in slow motion. Each can be performed as an exercise, in which all attention is placed on the feel of the moving parts of the body. Get to know the feel of every inch of your stroke, every muscle in your body. Then when you increase your stroke speed to normal and begin hitting, you may be particularly aware of certain muscles. For instance, when I hit my best backhands, I am aware that my shoulder muscle, rather than my forearm, is pulling my arm through. By remembering the feel of that muscle before hitting a backhand, I program myself to attain the full benefit of the power it generates. Similarly, on my forehand I am particularly aware of my triceps when my racket is below the ball. By becoming sensitive to the feel of that muscle, I decrease my tendency to take my racket back too high.

It is also important to become more aware of rhythm. You can greatly improve your power and timing merely by paying attention during practice to the rhythm with which you hit each of your strokes. Every player has a rhythm natural to himself. If you learn to concentrate on the sense of rhythm, it is not difficult to fall into the rhythm most natural and effective for you. Rhythm can never be achieved by being overly purposeful about it; you have to let it happen. But sensitivity to rhythm developed through concentration helps. Those who have practiced concentrating on the feel of the path of their racket usually find that without intentional effort their stroke begins to slow down and to simplify. Both the rapid jerks and the fancy stuff tend to disappear and consistency and power to increase.

Just as it is helpful to become more aware of the sound of the ball, it is also useful to practice focusing on the feel of the ball at impact. You can notice subtle and not so subtle differences in the vibration sent up your hand when the ball strikes the racket, depending on where contact is made, your distribution of weight, and the angle of the face of your racket. Again, you can program the best results by remembering as precisely as possible the feel in your hand, wrist and arm after a good solid hit. Practicing this kind of feel develops what is called "touch," and is particularly beneficial in hitting drop shots and lobs.

In short, become aware of your body. Know what it feels like to move your body into position, as well as how it feels to swing your racket. Remember: it is almost impossible to feel or see anything well if you are thinking about how you should be moving. Forget should's and experience is. In tennis there are only one or two elements to be aware of visually, but there are many things to feel. Expanding sensory knowledge of your body will greatly speed the process of developing skill.

In the last 6 pages, I have discussed ways of sharpening three of the five senses and expanding the awareness which is received through them. Practice them not as a list of tennis do's and don't's, but one at a time at your own rhythm.

(To complete the cycle, I should say something about taste and smell, but as far as I know, these senses have little or nothing to do with one's ability to play good tennis. Perhaps I've missed something. The best I can do is to pass on the advice of my coach at Harvard, Jack Barnaby, who used to tell us to attack the volley by keeping our faces near the ball. "Bite the ball!" he used to shout. It's good advice, for it helps you to hit the ball in front of you and aids in balance.)

The Theory of Concentration

The practices mentioned above can speed learning to play your best tennis. But we have come to an important point that should not be passed over quickly. After I developed by practice some small ability to concentrate my mind, I discovered that concentration was not only a means to an end, but something of tremendous value in itself. As a result, instead of using concentration to help my tennis, I now use tennis as a means to further increase concentration. For those interested, I will elaborate this point.

Whatever we experience on a tennis court is known to us by virtue of awareness—that is, by the consciousness within us. It is consciousness which makes possible awareness of the sights, sounds, feelings and thoughts which compose what we call "experience." It is self-evident that one cannot experience anything outside of consciousness. Consciousness is that which makes all things and events knowable. Without consciousness eyes could not see, ears could not hear, and mind could not think. Consciousness is like a pure light energy whose power is to make events knowable, just as an electric light makes objects visible. Consciousness could be called the light of lights because it is by its light that all other lights become visible.

In the human body the light energy of consciousness does its knowing through several limited facilities—namely, the five senses and the intellect. Through eyes, it knows sights; through ears, sounds; and through mind it knows concepts, facts and ideas. All that ever happens to us, all that we ever do, is known to us through the light energy of this awareness.

Right now your consciousness is aware through your eyes of the words in this sentence. But other things are also happening within the range of your consciousness. If you stop to listen closely to whatever your ears can hear, you will no doubt be able to hear sounds which you previously weren't aware of, even though they were going on while you were reading. If you now listen to these sounds closely, you will hear them better—that is, you will be able to know them better. Probably you were not aware of how your tongue feels in your mouth—but in all likelihood after reading the foregoing words, you now are. While you were reading or listening to the sights and sounds around you, you were not aware of the feeling of your tongue, but with the slightest suggestion, the mind directs the focus of attention from one thing to another. When attention is allowed to rest in one place, it comes to know that place because attention is focused consciousness, and consciousness is that power of knowing.

Awareness, Attention, Concentration, One-Pointed Concentration

Concentration, then, is a further focusing of conscious energy. Consider this analogy. Consciousness is similar to an electric lamp shining in a dark forest. Let's say that this lamp has the power of 1000 watts. By virtue of this light it is possible to see and know the forest within a certain radius. The closer an object is to the light, the more it will be illuminated and the greater the detail that will be visible. Objects farther away can be seen only vaguely. But if we put a reflector around one side of the lamp, preventing the light from shining there, all the light energy will be available to illuminate what is in front of it. Those objects that were seen previously will now appear with much greater clarity, while those that were previously invisible will now be knowable. This is the power of attention, or the focusing of conscious energy. Concentration is analogous to focusing all 1000 watts through an ever-decreasing aperture. When all 1000 watts are focused through one point, the light will have the maximum power. Whatever one chooses to learn can be known with the benefit of total illumination.

No shadows, no secrets; all is revealed.

There is much talk these days about higher consciousness. What is higher consciousness but seeking more of what is already there? As one's ability to focus the light energy of consciousness increases, the effective range of his vision increases. He seems to see things that are invisible, such as the thoughts of others, the so-called past or the future. Actually, he is only seeing what is already there and is now visible to him because he can focus the energy of his awareness.

The value of concentration becomes clear as we grow to understand that nothing can be enjoyed or appreciated if it cannot be known. Beauty cannot be enjoyed unless one can know it. Peace cannot be enjoyed unless it can be known. The same goes for love and truth—in fact, anything that is valued by man. By increasing the effective power of awareness, concentration allows us to throw more light on whatever we value knowing, and to that extent enables us to know and enjoy it more.

The Here and Now of the Tennis Court

Back to the tennis court. When one concentrates on the court, he focuses his awareness in two dimensions, the here and the now—that is, in space and in time. The first part of this chapter suggested several "here"s as objects of concentration. The seams focus awareness more exactly in space than merely the ball itself does, and as you add awareness of one element of the game of tennis after another, from the sound of the ball to the feel of each part of each stroke—greater knowledge is gained.

But it is also necessary to learn to focus awareness in the now. This simply means tuning into what is happening in the present. The greatest lapses in concentration come when we allow our minds to project what is about to happen or to dwell on what has already happened. How easily the mind absorbs itself in the world of "what if's." "What if I lose this point?" it thinks; "then I'll be behind 5-3 on his serve. If I don't break his serve, then I'll have lost the first set and probably the match. I wonder what Martha will say when she hears I lost to George." At this point it is not uncommon for the mind to lapse into a little fantasy about Martha's reaction to hearing the news that you have lost to George. Meanwhile, back in the now, the score is still 3-4, 30-40, and you are barely aware that you are on the court; the conscious energy you need to perform at your peak in the now has been leaking into an imagined future.

Similarly, the mind often draws one's attention into the past. "If the linesman hadn't called that last serve out, the score would be deuce and I wouldn't be in this mess. The same thing happened to me last week, and it cost me the match. It made me lose my concentration, then confidence, and now the same thing is happening again. I wonder why." One nice aspect of tennis is that before long you or your opponent is going to hit a ball, and this will summon you back to the present. But usually part of our energy is left in the thought world of past or future, so that the present is not seen with all of one's light awareness. As a result, objects look dim, the ball seems to come faster, appears smaller, and even the court seems to shrink.

Since the mind seems to have a will of its own, how can one learn to keep it in the present? By practice. There is no other way. Every time your mind starts to leak away, simply bring it gently back. Also practice being more and more present. This can be developed especially well with the volley and return of serve. I use a ball machine with a wide range in velocity, and have a simple drill which helps players experience what it means to be more in the present. I ask students to stand at net in the volley position, and then set the machine to shoot balls at three-quarter speed. From being initially casual, they suddenly become more alert.

At first the balls seem too fast for them, but soon their responses quicken. Gradually I turn the machine to faster and faster speeds, and the volleyers become more concentrated. When they are responding quickly enough to hit the top-speed balls and believe they are at the peak of their concentration, I move the machine to midcourt, fifteen feet closer than before. At this point students will often lose some concentration as a degree of fear intrudes. Their forearms tense slightly, making their movements less quick and accurate. "Relax your forearm. Relax your mind. Simply relax into the present, focus on the seams of the ball, and let it happen." Soon they are again able to meet the ball in front of them with the center of their rackets. There is no smile of self-satisfaction, merely total absorption in each moment.

Afterward some players say that the ball seemed to slow down; others remark how weird it is to hit balls when you don't have time to think about it. All who enter even a little into that state of being present will experience a calmness and a degree of ecstasy which they will want to repeat. The practical consequences to your volley of increasing your alertness are obvious. Most volleys are missed either because contact is made too far behind the player, or because they are not hit on the center of the racket. Becoming more aware of the present makes it easier to know where the ball is at all times and to react soon enough to meet it at the instant of your choice. Some people think that they are just too slow to return a hard drive when they are at net. But time is a relative thing, and it really is possible to slow it down.

Consider: there are 1000 milliseconds in every second. That's a lot of milliseconds. Alertness is a measure of how many nows you are aware of in a given period, and everyone's alertness can be heightened with the practice of concentration. The result is simple: you become more aware of what is going on as you learn to keep your attention in the now. I have found that the most direct means of increasing one's ability to concentrate is through the practice of meditation. After practicing a certain technique of meditation for several months, I was surprised to find my alertness so increased that I could completely alter the style and tactic of my return of serve. Instead of standing behind the baseline to receive a hard serve, I found it possible to receive serve standing only one foot behind the service line! Even against hard first serves I seemed to have the time needed to respond and pick up the ball just a split second after it bounced. There was no time for a backswing and no time to think about what I was doing.

There would just be a calm concentration followed by a quick movement to meet the ball—initiated even before the ball had passed over the net—a follow-through which gave direction and depth to the ball, and then in the next instant I would be at net—well before the server! The server, seeing me standing at the service line to receive his serve, would have to deal mentally with what he might take to be an insult to his serve; he would often double-fault more than once in an effort to teach me a lesson. His next problem would be hitting a volley passing shot from somewhere within no man's land.

Concentration during a Match

The reader might quite naturally think that this tactic would be impossible against a really first-rate serve. Not true. After only a few months of experimenting with this return of serve, I found it possible to use it to great advantage in tournament play. The more I used it, the quicker and more accurate my reactions became. Concentration seemed to slow time down, giving me the necessary awareness to see and place the ball. The fact that I met the ball on the rise cut off all the angle that a server usually gets on his serve after it bounces. And the fact that I could reach the net before the server gave me control of the commanding position on the court. I believe that if some top-flight amateur or pro practiced enough to perfect this technique he could start a minor revolution in the game of tennis; he could reverse the long-standing advantage of the server.

Most of the ways for developing concentration mentioned earlier are best employed during practice. In a match it is usually best to pick one object of concentration—whatever works best for you and stick with it. For example, if the seams of the ball tend to keep you centered in the here and now, there is no need to focus on sound or feel. Often the fact that you are playing a match will help you to concentrate. During the course of a point, you often find yourself in a state of relatively deep concentration in which you are only aware of what is happening at that instant. The critical time is between points! After the last shot of a rally, the mind leaves its focus on the ball and is free to wander. It is at this moment that thoughts about the score, your erratic backhand, business, the children, dinner and so forth tend to siphon your energy away from the here and now. Then it is difficult to regain the same level of concentration before the next point begins.

How to stay concentrated in the here and now between points? My own device, and one that has been effective for many of my students, is to focus attention on breathing. Some object or activity which is always present is needed. What is more here and now than one's breathing? Putting attention on breathing simply means observing my breath going in, going out, going in, going out in its natural rhythm. It does not mean intentionally controlling my breath.

Breathing is a remarkable phenomenon. Whether we intend to or not, we breathe. Awake or asleep, it is always happening. Even if we try to stop, some force will soon overpower our efforts and we will take a breath. Thus, when we focus attention on breathing we are putting our conscious energy on something closely connected to the life energy of the body. Also, breathing is a very basic rhythm. It is said that in breathing man recapitulates the rhythm of the universe. When the mind is fastened to the rhythm of breathing, it tends to become absorbed and calm. Whether on or off the court, I know of no better way to begin to deal with anxiety than to place the mind on one's breathing process. Anxiety is fear about what may happen in the future, and it occurs only when the mind is imagining what the future may bring. But when your attention is on the here and now, the actions which need to be done in the present have their best chance of being successfully accomplished, and as a result the future will become the best possible present. So after a point has ended and I'm returning to position or going to pick up a ball, I place my mind on my breathing.

The second my mind starts wondering about whether I'm going to win or lose the match, I bring it gently back to my breath and relax in its natural and basic motion. In this way, by the time the next point is ready to start, I am able to be even more concentrated than I was in the midst of the previous one. This technique is not only useful for me in stopping the mind from fretting about bad shots, but keeps me from being self-conscious about unusually good shots.

If you have never done so, you might experiment with this exercise right now. Simply focus on your breath, absorbing more and more conscious energy into the awareness of the experience of breathing. It may help to allow your hands to open as you inhale and to close as you exhale. Then ask your hands to open and close slightly less. Don't force your fingers to do this; simply ask them and let them respond. If your mind begins to wander, bring it back gently to your breathing. As your mind stills and settles into a calm state, let yourself be alert to every split second of breathing and experience as fully as you can this state of relative quiet. When this same calm alertness is maintained on the tennis court, you are ready to perform nearer the limit of your ability. When I am waiting near the service line, about to receive a powerful serve, I absorb my mind as deeply as it will go into my breath; in this way I have found I can reach my peak of alertness while remaining calm.

Breath and Strokes

Just as the breath has a twofold rhythm which echoes the ebb and flow of the tides, the rising and setting of the sun, the up and the down, the in and out, the potential and the actual, the masculine and the feminine, so too do most of the strokes in tennis repeat this rhythm. Groundstrokes have a back and a forth, a feminine and a masculine component. Without a backswing there is no follow-through. Without a follow-through, the backswing is of no use. There is a practical application of this notion. One way to achieve a natural rhythm in your groundstrokes is to allow your swing to coincide with your breathing. Inhale with your backswing and exhale with your follow-through. Match your stroke with your breathing, not your breathing with your strokes. You will find that in a short period any jerkiness and irregularity of rhythm will begin to fall away. I don't recommend this practice during a match, for the obvious reason that it is difficult to regulate your breath to the irregularities of the point, but if you practice matching stroke with breath in practice, the basic rhythm will become a part of your game. The same idea is effective with your serve. Inhale as you toss the ball up and take your racket back; this tends to cause you to rise and meet the ball at the top of your swing. Then exhale or hold your breath at the moment you swing to meet the ball.

It is perplexing to wonder why we ever leave the here and now. Here and now are the only place and time when one ever enjoys himself or accomplishes anything. Most of our suffering takes place when we allow our minds to imagine the future or mull over the past. Nonetheless, few people are ever satisfied with what is before them at the moment. Our desire that things be different from what they are pulls our minds into an unreal world, and in consequence we are less able to appreciate what the present has to offer. Our minds leave the reality of the present only when we prefer the unreality of the past or future. To begin to understand my own lapses of concentration I had to know what I was really desiring, and it soon became clear to me that there were more desires operating in me on the court than simply to play tennis. In other words, tennis was not the only game I was playing on the court. Part of the process of attaining a concentrated state of mind is to know and resolve these conflicting desires; the following chapter attempts to shed light on this process.