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Gulongzhong Trip – Rebuffed by Myth and History

Lately everyone here has been feeling a bit worn down. It has been a long, hot, difficult summer of training. The end, though in sight, still seems dauntingly distant.

So, as a rare treat, Master canceled Wednesday performance and took a group of us to a scenic spot in nearby Xiangyang, a park called Gulongzhong. Gulongzhong is on the map because it was the home, 1900 years ago, of a man who 14th century literature would place right in the heart of the Chinese imagination, a man named Zhugeliang.

Personally, this was an exciting trip for me because I used to live across the street from Gulongzhong, on the campus of Xiangfan University, where I taught English for a year in 2008-2009. I spent a fair amount of time wandering the beautiful grounds of the park, but I never felt that I really knew much about Zhugeliang and the history of the place. I thought that, as well as a chance to visit my old stomping grounds, this trip might teach me some of the history I was missing.

Unfortunately, that wasn’t really the case. We had an endearingly struggling tour guide who managed to translate a few bits of information for us, but these were merely recitations of fairly common knowledge I had picked up just living nearby. Zhugeliang lived on the mountain for 10 years, from the age of 17 through 27. He studied philosophy and military strategy, invented practical devices such as an improved flour mill, and generally stayed in quiet seclusion. His meditations ended when Liu Bei, the leader of one of the three groups consolidating power after the fall of the Han Dynasty, approached him and requested his help. Twice Liu Bei asked, and twice Zhugeliang declined, but on the third invitation, Zhugeliang accepted and took his place in history as the wisest man to shape the Three Kingdoms Period of Chinese history.

Trying to penetrate past this superficial layer of culture has been daunting for me on many subjects, not just Zhugeliang. When I ask friends, or that tour guide, to explain his significance, there seems to be a disconnect in the conversation. Why is he important, why do you like him? Well, he…(see above). Yes, but can you tell me more? Why was he considered so wise? Such a great man? Here the conversation stalls. It is as if his significance is self-evident to everyone but me. I can sense that he resonates deeply in my Chinese friends, but though I agree he is a cool guy, I can’t summon the same emotional reaction I see in them.

My only theory as to why I have this difficulty is that Zhugeliang, even his whole era, exists in the Chinese imagination as a complex of myth, history, cultural and national identity, and modern pop culture. Much of his story comes not from historical record but from a historical novel written more than 1000 years after his death. But this story has been retold so often, most recently in film and television, that legend and fact have blended to make their subjects into cultural giants. As an outsider, someone who has only paddled in the shallows of the deep sea of Chinese culture (And, admittedly, has not read even a translation of Romance of the Three Kingdoms), Zhugeliang’s story might never resonate with me. I imagine it might be like trying to explain George Washington or Abraham Lincoln to a Chinese person. You can tell the story, but the way these men and their stories thread their way through our cultural and national identity, tied into our very system of values, is difficult for a cultural outsider to ever grasp.

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My Younger Older Brothers

As you may have seen in movies, the Kungfu community here has a family and generational structure. Our master would be the father figure (Shifu), his master is the grandfather figure (Shiye), anyone who studied under our master’s master would be our aunt or uncle (Shushu), and anyone who studies under our master is our brother or sister. Brothers are further divided into older and younger, those who started studying before you (Shixiong), or those who started after (Shidi). Respect flows up this structure, as you might expect. So in my bumbling foreign way, I try to show respect to those above me and do what they say.

I am becoming more and more aware of the strange ways this structure juxtaposes with other issues in my life here, specifically in my interactions with my older kungfu brothers who are younger than me in age. I owe them respect, both because of tradition and because they are very skillful teachers. Further, they are at home in this culture and I look to them for guidance in how I conduct myself. So I frequently find myself imitating them almost unconsciously. Oh, that’s how I should do that stance. Oh, that’s what I do when Shiye visits.

Seeing them as role models in these ways sometimes blinds me as to their actual age, and I find myself imitating pretty immature behavior. Because in addition to kungfu teachers and Chinese natives, they are also 15-18 year old kids going through all the same bewildering stuff I went through not all that long ago. They are learning what professionalism means, what accountability means, learning about relationships, and learning about the world beyond the walls of the kungfu school and beyond the borders of China.

So I find myself in the strange situation of having to sometimes be a role model for my role models. It is difficult, because one frequently forgets if one should be learning or teaching at a given moment. Two people teaching each other at the same instant tends to devolve into an argument, and sometimes two learners becomes a case of the blind leading the blind. In truth, more often than not we all fall down and all behave like children, but I hope that in some ways I am having a good impact on them even as I learn from them.

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Pain and Injury as Part of Training Life

It has been my observation that the practice of martial arts revolves around the question of balancing training with injury. For the most practical, combative training, one probably wants to spar a lot. One adds rules to the sparring, because otherwise people get badly hurt. Even with rules, people get hurt sooner or later, so instead of hitting one another, martial artists often hit targets. This is important because one can not progress if one’s training is constantly interrupted recovering from injury. Safer still would be hitting only air, but I can tell you even Taiji can hurt your joints pretty badly while you are learning to coordinate your movements. So it seems to me that every martial artist confronts this question every time they approach training: How am I going to do this today and still be able to do it tomorrow?

Class two students practicing body hardening

This is on my mind these days, because we have been training pretty hard and I am consequently in a bit of pain. We are expected to train if we are able, and none of my injuries are serious enough to demand that I miss training, but they are all painful and they create mental stress. This in itself is a form of training, of course; maintaining emotional calm when every movement hurts.

The conclusion people come to, I think, is that there are two kinds of pain, good pain and bad pain, and both are valuable sources of information about what is going on in your body.  Specific pains can be a wealth of information about the balance of strength in different tendons and muscles. Good pain tells you that you are going beyond your current limits and improving. Bad pain tells you that if you keep going, you will do such damage that your training will have to be interrupted by recovery. One wants to push the line that divides the two as far as one can, so that though training is difficult, it can remain continuous.

As for the injuries that do inevitably occur when training hard, I am not a doctor but my experience has shown me that rest is not the best cure. Rest is necessary, but attentive light exercise will stimulate circulation, help the metabolism deliver energy and nutrients to the damaged area, and reduce recovery time. At least that is what I hope will happen, because my ribs are really sore…:-)

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4th of July Safety

The Fourth of July is rolling around again. This is a great time to celebrate with friends, have a cookout, and be patriotic in general. But before the festivities begin, it is important to know how to make sure they are safe.  This post includes information on fireworks, barbecues, boating, pool parties, and the sun. It’s only fun until someone gets hurt, so lets try to make sure the fun lasts all through the day injury-free.

Fireworks

The first area of safety concern is the obvious: fireworks. Fireworks are beautiful, fun, and patriotic displays, so we should learn how to incorporate them into our celebrations safely. Here are some things you should not do : Continue reading “4th of July Safety”

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Internal Self Defense

A small shrine near Five Dragon Temple

What does it mean to practice Martial Arts in your daily interactions? The uninitiated might imagine this as fearsome, like a businessman using The Art of War to overwhelm rivals. Myself — years ago when I had only been training long enough to develop some arrogance and little else — I had to give a speech in front of a large group of people. I was nervous, so I drew confidence from my imagined superiority. They might not like my speech, but I could beat them up. Ha.

Aikido was my first experience of how martial arts could be applied positively when dealing with strangers, friends, and loved ones. Aikido’s philosophy separates the intent to do harm from the art of defending oneself. The goal is to use sensitivity to neutralize the conflict without harming either attacker or defender. While the principles of block and counter-attack would only do harm if manifested verbally in an argument with a loved one, Aikido’s methodology provides a healthier model for conflict resolution.

I found myself reflecting on these things this week after listening to an impromptu lecture from my master. I paraphrase, but he was discussing external self-defense versus internal self-defense. Imagine a punch to your nose. You block — you break the attacker’s arm. An effective defense, no? But what if the attack is verbal? Words that wound, that make you sad, or angry. Words that keep bubbling up in you, and each time make you sadder and angrier. That same attacker has now given you a festering wound that will take longer to heal than a bloody nose.

To take this seriously, you must accept that emotions have power. Negative emotions do violence to the heart and mind. Chinese medicine also links emotion to the health of the major organs. So an unusual mood might be a symptom of a developing illness, or conversely, learning to calm the emotions might bring better health. But I think what makes negative emotions so dangerous is the way they influence behavior. If they lead to self destruction, no one else can help you, and you yourself are already out of control and not well prepared to protect yourself. Internal self-defense means keeping calm and choosing happiness in every event. The more I train, the more important this seems.

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Tacos in Wudang

The rare Wudang Taco little resembles it's Southwestern cousin, except in spirit

As I am settling back into the rhythm of life in Wudangshan, I thought I would write down one of my biggest impressions from my winter at home.

There’s truly no place like home. As much fun and excitement as maneuvering intercultural waters can be, the smallest tasks become significant undertakings. Example: yesterday I made tacos for my brother, Gao, who likes my cooking and missed it while I was gone. At home, I could complete a taco dinner, from conceiving the idea to plates hitting the table, in a few hours. There are grocery stores, organized in a way I understand. Ingredients are fairly consistently available, and I can ask questions comfortably and trust that the context in which I mean them will be understood.The conveniences of modern kitchens are not to be underrated.

Here, I shop at an outdoor market 20 minutes walk from our school. Crowded stalls separate my shopping into dry goods, fresh vegetables, and meat, tripling the amount of haggling to be done while I  dodge the piles of rotting refuse that the shopkeepers throw into the center aisle. Yesterday, I had to search high and low at three different markets to find cilantro, which normally would be easily available at any of the shops (I eventually found a rather wilted handful that worked well enough, though I think it was the last cilantro in all of Wudang). The meat is sold hanging on a hook in an outdoor stall. Logically, the seller does not take it out in the heat of the day, so if I want to buy meat I have to schedule my shopping for early morning or late afternoon. When I went to buy the bread I use to substitute for a tortilla, the vendor tried to tell me I couldn’t have the ones I wanted. I started to walk away, and his wife grabbed me and tried to direct my attention to some other, very nice, un-tortilla like bread. I said no thank you, and started to walk away again, and they thrust the tortilla bread at me, at which point I realized the price had gone up while I was away by 50%. Then I got home and realized why they had not wanted to sell it to me in the first place — stale, very stale. Then I had to use the kitchen. I tried to use one wok, and realized the wood fire beneath it from earlier had already died. I then switched to a coal brick burner, which cooked the food very nicely although I was choking on the coal fumes the whole while. Not bad tacos though, if I do say 🙂

I suspect that a Chinese person would feel as perplexed trying to prepare familiar foods in my local supermarket as I feel trying to cook here in China. It reminds me that no matter how widely I travel, no place will ever put me so at ease as the good old U.S.A.