There’s this old Irish archer named Finn.
His students would watch him practice and be completely confused. The man would aim at what looked like empty space—and still hit his target every single time.
One day, Cormac couldn’t take it anymore.
“Master… you’re not even aiming at the target. How are you hitting anything?”
Finn didn’t answer.
He just pointed to a rabbit darting across the field. Drew his bow, aimed, not at the rabbit, but ahead of it.
One clean shot. The rabbit dropped.
Cormac was stunned. “How did you do that?”
Finn smiled.“You’re aiming at where things are. I’m aiming at where they will be.”