No Greater Excuse

By Sissi Liu

Sissi Liu is the Yoga instructor and a Level 5 (Blue) student at Wu Dao

For my practice in asana-oriented yoga, primarily Ashtanga Yoga, I have taken classes at different studios and with various teachers. While I find inspiration in regular practice, through reading, and learning from my teachers, sometimes other students of a variety of types (see my categorization of the Western, modern "yogis" at the end of the blog) have served as my inspiration as well. When I hit a plateau in my practice, watching others with fascinated admiration helps me to believe that one day, with practice, I could do “that,” too.

One such moment came recently during a Mysore style Ashtanga Yoga class (practitioners do their own practice with the teacher coming around to make individual adjustments). While focused in the performance of a Sun Salutation, I heard the footsteps of someone passing in front of me—soft steps interrupted by low thump

s. I wondered if the person had a bad hip issue. Noticing my thoughts wandering, I tried to concentrate. The woman laid down her mat next to mine, near the corner of the studio room and proceeded to begin her practice.

It did not take me long to realize with unfeigned shock that a prosthetic foot peaked out of one of her pant legs, the foot flexing with her movements into upward dog and downward dog. Again, I tried to concentrate, but I could not help peering over from time to time. During some portions of the practice, she unbound the entire leg just so she could perform the postures. Each vinyasa (the flows that connect each posture) was performed by jumping back from a posture and then jumping through from downward dog into the next posture, without shortcuts. Towards the end of the series, she practiced her backbends just as the series prescribed. With the aid of the instructor who treated her no differently than any other student, she reached back to the floor from standing and came back up to standing again. She was by no means young or a natural. She did not have the typical yogi physique. And she did not use practice straps, blocks, or training implements.

Witnessing this and reflecting afterwards, I felt ashamed of my lack of consistency over the years. For a couple of years at a time since I began exploring yoga, I allowed myself to skip practice with excuses such as I’ve got too much to do, I’m tired, or my back’s sore, etc. My progress therefore suffered. If someone with only one leg could achieve what she has with the potential of achieving much more in the future, what better excuse could I come up with for not practicing?

We all tend to find rationale to let go of our training—in yoga, Kung Fu, Tai Chi, or fill in the blank—and blame the pressures of life, family, or work. We watch with awe at someone else's advancement and lament that given our lack of natural ability or hours in the day that we could never get there. Ultimately, for whatever reason we choose a practice, there is only one thing that will stop our progress—lack of consistency. We make a choice when we start something new and we have to commit to making the choice to stay with it. So, the formula is simple: to be good at anything, you just need to have faith in yourself and not let the next great excuse, even if you only have one leg, stop you!

Iron Palm Kung Fu

Retold by Sissi Liu

The following is a folk tale told by Shifu Shi De Cheng during his Summer 2008 trip to Wu Dao. It is stories like these that inspired him to train in Kung Fu as a child.

Long long ago, there was a young man who was weak and thin. He was constantly being picked on by other young men of his village. One day, after hearing stories about the mystical Kung Fu warrior monk in the mountain, he decided to set out to learn Kung Fu from the monk. With few belongings, he hiked far far away and into the mountain where the monks lived.

Upon arriving at the temple, he discovered the old monk. After several days, he got up the courage to approach the monk, and asked, "Shifu, will you accept me as your disciple?" The monk rejected.

The young man did not give up. Over the course of months, he voluntarily performed chores and begged the monk to accept him. The monk finally did.

The young man was ecstatic. He asked the monk, " Shifu, what will you teach me today? The other young men in the village are constantly hassling me. I need skills to protect myself."

The monk replied, "You see that boulder by the tree? Just gently pat it with the front and back of the hands."

The young man was in utter disbelief. However, he accepted Shifu's instructions and began patting the boulder.

The young man persisted day after day to pat the boulder. A month went by, he became impatient, and reasoned to himself, "I came all this way just to pat a boulder?"

He went to the monk and urged, "Shifu, I have been patting the boulder for a month. When are you going to teach me some real Kung Fu?"

Shifu said, "Be patient. You need to pat the boulder."

The young man went back to his boulder.

A year passed, the young man got up the courage to ask Shifu again, "Shifu, don't you think I'm ready to learn Kung Fu?"

Shifu replied, "You have to go pat the boulder some more."

Another two years went by, the young man decided that it was time to press his case again. He pleaded with the monk, "Shifu, please, teach me some Kung Fu."

Shifu turned to him and said, "It's time for you to leave now. You better go."

Confounded by the response, the young man, despaired. He wrapped up his belongings and descended the mountain.

Upon returning to the village, the villagers came to meet the returning "Kung Fu master." They said, "You have returned! We heard you found a great Kung Fu monk as your master. You must show us some of your skills!"

The young man, feeling total embarrassment, replied, "In all honesty, I did find a master but I didn't learn anything."

The villagers were incredulous. "You were gone for years. How can you say that you didn't learn anything? You are just being modest. You must be hiding your Kung Fu skills."

All the villagers became convinced that the young man had acquired Kung Fu secrets. The news spread. More and more people came from near and far to meet this young Kung Fu master whose skills were inconceivably powerful that they certainly could not be demonstrated.

Being hassled by such constant inquiries, the young man became truly frustrated with his utter lack of skills and others' impression of him. One day, he returned home, pursued by a mob of villagers and visitors. He sat down at the dining room table, surrounded by the crowd of people, pressing him to show them his skills. No longer able to contain his frustration, he stood up and exclaimed, "I really didn't learn anything!" and slammed his palms down on the thick solid wood table. There was a loud "crash" as the table broke in half and fell to the floor.

Everyone was silent. The young man had in fact conditioned his palms into iron weapons.

Form Over Substance?

By Sissi Liu
Sissi Liu is the Yoga instructor and a Level 5 (Green) student at Wu Dao

Many students of traditional martial arts either adore or despise the study and practice of forms (Tao-Lu in Chinese). There are also those who feel that forms are simply a part of traditional martial arts practice and are therefore resigned to learning them. The rationale for the learning forms is unclear to many. To make the matter worse, it seems that forms have been relegated to the status of a performing art, accompanied by flashy costuming, flimsy weapons, musical accompaniments, with acrobatic moves and sometimes even stage effects to entertain the audience. One is therefore forced to question, “Is there perhaps too much form over substance when it comes to forms training in traditional martial arts?”

To address this question, it is helpful to examine the origin of forms. Chinese martial arts extend greatly in terms of style. Each style was created with an embedded philosophy on gaining the advantage in a fight. Through hands-on practice and real-life battles, discoveries about body mechanics and strategies were made, and specializations were thus formed. Contrast Praying Mantis and Choy Lay Fut Kung Fu, which are both taught at Wu Dao: Praying Mantis exhibits quick strikes and hook grabs, with the intent to turn defense into offense; Choy Lay Fut features aggressive and powerful techniques that are better suited for continuous offensive attacks. Contrast these with Yang Style Tai Chi, which is founded on the idea of redirection of force and energy. Shui-jiao, or throwing, represents yet another ancient branch of Chinese martial arts that may be unfamiliar to most Americans. Expand this further, Chinese martial arts is also comprised of Chin-Na techniques, weapons use, internal styles, and beyond.

Forms most likely became a common way for creators and practitioners of each style to anthologize the essential techniques of their system for the ease of memorization, practice, and documentation. While many Shaolin forms were documented in text, in the absence of literacy, forms, transmitted as an oral tradition, became the means for passing down coveted martial arts knowledge. It was also a method for protecting intellectual property of a particular martial artist or lineage. For example, from Chinese mnemonic rhymes, we get vivid technique names such as "monkey grabs the peaches." These rhymes enabled generations of idea accumulation and refinement to survive through the millennia, carrying with them the wisdom of the teachers who came before us.

The process of learning through forms may therefore seem counter-intuitive. Traditional teaching methods put much of the burden on the student. Instead of being taught the applications of techniques within a form, one studies the form over a long period of time. Through many iterations of practice, combined with personal trials and analysis, one begins to appreciate the effectiveness and the variety of applications of each technique and combination as well as the overall structure of a form. Just as one gains profound insight through the rereading of a great classic, one's understanding of techniques and the advantages and disadvantages of a particular style may change and deepen with the knowledge and growth of the practitioner. The goal is to extract the essence of the style from a form and be able to comfortably and sometimes creatively apply the techniques in a physical conflict.

During his visit to Wu Dao last summer, I asked Shifu Shi De Cheng, a Shaolin Warrior Monk, how many forms his Shaolin master knew. He named a few but emphasized that his master was particularly skilled at two forms, one of which was Xiao Hong Quan (Little Hong Style Fist) a form typically taught to beginners but one that encompasses many fundamental Shaolin techniques and a plethora of applications.

Ultimately, forms training is a means to an end. It has an important place in traditional martial arts practice but its place must be well understood and not corrupted by an enthusiasm for its entertainment value. As a martial arts student, the objective of learning forms should not be to collect them, but to perfect and internalize the skills and techniques that they seek to teach. With this in mind, consistent training in forms can yield intellectual stimulation and personal growth.