lørdag 11. august 2012

Half a year gone by

The last time I wrote an actual story about what is happening in my life up here, I was living in my masters house training my ass off. That is now more than half a year ago. The events that have transpired since then are too numerous to recount in specifics, but I will try to give you the gist of it. Also, I have some cool news at the end.

Around the beginning of December last year, my master came into my room and told me that I would have to move into the other school. The reason for this is something I had known about, but assumed would work itself out in a less drastic way, the local police’s obstinate unwillingness to let foreigners stay in the locals residencies for extended periods of time. At the time, I’d been living in my masters house for approximately two months, and I was both enjoying and having severe difficulties living with him. I think I can honestly say they were the two most challenging months of my adult life. So, my reaction to having to move out was rather mixed. First, I felt rejected as a student and disciple, I didn’t really believe that the police was the only reason he was sending me to the other school (which he has almost no relation with now). I felt like he couldn’t really be bothered to teach me, and after training like a lunatic for the two months I was there, and following all of his directions, it hurt quite a bit. Part of the hurt was also, I’m sure, coming from a bruised ego. Wasn’t I supposed to be his disciple? Was I being degraded to an average lowly foreigner? Didn’t I have sparkly eyes, and rainbows shooting out of my ass? 

Writing this now, I notice I don’t much care for the part of my ego which enjoys elevating myself above others, and attaches so much of my self-worth to my position.

After the initial surprise at the prospect of a sudden change in environment, I also felt a sense of freedom. The thought of moving away from his constant scrutinizing supervision brought with it a palpable relief. 

When I’d finished moving into my new room in the school, kindly gifted to me by Krishna, I realized how much pressure I’d been under for the past months. I was never sure, after all, when my master would barge through the unlocked door to my room and command me to walk Bagua circles for an hour, or punch out candles until I could punch no more. With the pressure lightened, the impressions started to crystallize into tangible thoughts, and I noticed that much of the enjoyment I used to get from training, now was not present like it used to be. After about a week of settling into my new environment at the school, I decided, for my mental well-being, that I needed to get away for a while. So I worked up the nerve to ask my master for some time off, went over to his house, and asked him if I could go to Thailand and meet some friends who lived there. His reply was simply, “Yes.” 

When I came back from Thailand our relationship had somehow completely changed, and everything went a lot easier. I was training on my own every day, and went to him in the afternoons every other day to get corrections and ask questions about Daoism. This arrangement wasn’t without it’s challenges, training on my own every day, kicking myself out of bed early every morning without much threat of detection if I chose to sleep in, and pushing myself to train harder really put my self-discipline to the test. I improved a lot over that time, I think due to being given space to listen to my own body, and pushing myself as hard as I felt it was capable of going without injury. 

In March this year a group of students from Vestoppland Folkehøyskole (folk high-school) came to China for their yearly study trip through the cooperation of one of the teachers there, Viviann Alexandra Knutsen, and me. I planned the whole itinerary with Viviann, and I made all the bookings of hotels and drivers, and thus it was my first experience as a tour operator and tour guide. I was with them for two weeks, translating and guiding them through China as best I could. The high point on the trip for many was an eight day stay on Wudang Mountain where they learnt the 18 postures Wudang Taijiquan from my master. Here is a video they made of the trip.

The group of students from Norway,

 and as you can see, I have a ways to go with my strict-Kungfu-master smile

Three months ago a master called Yang Qunli arrived at the school I was living in. He is a 63 year old man who has a considerable wealth of knowledge about martial arts. After seeing me practice on my own one day he said I should join the competition coming up in a months time. I was at first hesitant to join since I don’t enjoy competitions, but after about a week of relentlessly trying to convince me and waving my entry fee, I reluctantly agreed to join. When I spoke to my master about the competition, he said that this time I had to win a gold medal (he didn’t add the cliché “or else,” but it was implied), since last time I attended a competition I only managed to get bronze. 

When the group from the school turned up at the competition we sat down on the benches in the arena and waited. The competition was a little late starting off, but I was supposed to be one of the first on. After the competition began, I started to get worried I might miss my slot, and asked Pan Kedi (one of the teachers in the foreigners class), if she could check which arena I was supposed to be on, and when I should be there. We ended up running back and forth for the next half-hour or so until I decided to go outside and warm up, just in case. Three minutes later she ran outside looking rather frantic, and shouted at me, “You’re next!”. I had hardly managed to get warm at all, but I ran inside, passed shamefully along the side of the arena with hundreds of faces looking at me. I saw the guy who’s on the mat performing before me (doing an impressive spear form), and took my place at the side of the performance area with all sorts of thoughts flying through my head. After applauding the guy performing the spear form, and some last minute words of encouragement from the guys I’m with, I strode onto the mat, bowed to the judges and started the Eight Immortals Staff form. Even if I wasn’t really warm it went quite well, and I was in the flow. That was until I did one of the kicks and the athletes pass I was wearing around my neck hit me square in my face, “shit, in the rush I forgot to take it off.” Knowing that this wasn’t exactly the best of times to take it off, I refocused and forged on, trying my best to perform well without getting a second hit in the face from my unsuitable neck attire. I finished with a high, well executed kick, and bowed to the judges. I walked off to applause of the crowd, and I was happy that it’s over. By the time of my second performance the foreigners from the school had arrived, and my buddy Frode took this video from where he was seated.

Me looking very pleased with myself after the competition

At the end of the day I found out that I won a gold medal in both of the categories I competed in. Later on that evening I went out for dinner to celebrate with the guys who came to the competition to support me. During dinner my master calls me on my cell.

“Hello master,” I answered 
“How did it go?”
“I won two gold medals!” I said, quite happily.
“Good, good. See you tomorrow.” *click*

My master can be a man of few words as you see from the exchange above, and the next day I received the best direct compliment I’d ever had from him, “Two gold medals, that’s not bad!”

After the competition the master of the Chinese groups kung fu class, who also joined us to the competition and helped me correcting my posture, invited me to join his class for free, as long as I performed for them at exhibitions and such. I was really exited about the idea, as I had been training alone for a good eight months, and the prospect of training with a group of able practitioners sounded fantastic. When I asked my master about it, he said no, to my disappointment, but I would soon discover the reason for it. 

A couple of weeks after the competition, my master called me over to his house. We sat down and he made the preparations to drink tea as he normally does, washing the cups, pots, and strainer, before pouring boiling water over the Oolong tea to wash it before brewing it. “I have decided to open up a school,” he told me. “I have rented a building close to Purple Heaven Temple, and in a few weeks I will start to receive students there. I want you to move there and start working as a part time instructor and translator.” I started smiling as he was speaking, this is exactly what I had been hoping he would do, and I was honored that he was inviting me to teach there. He then went on to explain what kind of school he wanted to create, which included lessons in Daoism, Chinese massage, and medicine. He also felt that people could benefit from a stricter environment then they have at other schools, which I agreed with. Many of the schools on the mountain have been getting laxer with the discipline over the last years. He also said he wanted to make school where people are taught deeply, not just a superficial form. And last, but definitely not least, he said that the school should have proper and good food, which I of course said HELL YES to (in my head, not out loud). 

While I’m typing this I’m sitting in my masters new school on Wudang listening to 15 kids who are here on summer camp getting ready to go to bed. I’ll leave you with some photos of life here at the school.

Evening practice in the temple

Everyone gathered in my room listening to Chinese songs.
My master teaching the kids in yard

View from outside my room in the morning

Bringing water from the well when the water and power was out.

If you wish to study at Master Zhong Xueyong's new school, introductions to him happen through me. Feel free to send me an e-mail at bjarte@taiji.no to enquire about conditions and curriculum.

Writing a blog about what has been going on here has been weighing on my mind for quite some time, It feels great to have finally finished it! Thanks for reading!

From Wudang with love

tirsdag 31. juli 2012

Some reason about excuses

It's been a long time since I've written anything here. I haven't really felt like it, and if I'm going to be honest about it, one of the reasons I haven't written anything is because I've been afraid. Afraid that what I write will be of poor quality, afraid I'll be judged, and afraid of letting myself down. But it doesn't take a genius to see that these are symptoms of deeper rooted issues.
One of the facts of life (for most of us poor unenlightened saps anyway), are that we all judge one another, and usually the person we dole out the harshest judgement to is ourselves. We get trapped in an everlasting cycle of attempting to do something, and telling ourselves we're rubbish if we decide that we haven't made a satisfactory performance judged by our, or other peoples standards. It is true, sometimes we may actually have done a sub-par job, but, for me, this is often when I have been afraid of investing myself fully in it. The reason for this is usually played out on a subtle, not fully conscious level for me when I sabotage myself during a process in different ways ranging from telling myself I can't do it, to procrastinating until I don't have time left to complete the task in a proper way. The main reason I do this is so I can later tell myself that I could have done it well if it only wasn't for *insert excuse here*.
In many ways it is comfortable to live with these excuses, it enables us to live our lives without risking uncomfortable showdowns with our egos. If we fail to live up to our own or someone else’s standards, we can always brush it off by saying, “oh, I could have done better if I really tried.” Usually this comment is our own little secret, well kept in our own minds, and we turn up our noses when we hear someone voice those excuses aloud. It annoys us. When I’m teaching a class and someone I’m giving correction to drops out of the posture and says, “oh, my shoulders are aching so much from sitting on the computer all day, I can’t do it,” it irks me ever so slightly. “Yes, that’s why your standing in this posture, so you can teach your shoulders how to relax.” The reason it piques a nerve in me is because it reminds me of the excuses I tell myself when I’m struggling to maintain focus in training. Only I don’t voice these excuses to my master in the same way (If I did I would regret it).
What I’m finding about myself is that when I decide to do something, I tend to go all in, investing myself fully in the project. For this reason I have a strong aversion to taking on new responsibilities, because I either do it, and do it well, investing a considerable amount of energy in it, or I let it sit there and take up space in my mind, and slowly sap my energy by not working on it. There is also the very remote possibility that I have a lazy streak wreaking havoc on some of my projects (like this blog).
This tendency to go all into something can be a good ego practice when things don’t go as well as they should. This is especially true here in Wudang with my master who doesn’t hesitate to tell me if he thinks I’m crap at something. For example after practicing particularly hard at Baguazhang for a month, I ran through the whole form in front of his house, trying my best to perform well. After I finished he stands with his arms crossed with a look of distaste spreading across his face, lips curved down at the sides. “Very ugly!” he says while I stand there, out of breath, waiting for another comment when he repeats, “hmph, very, very ugly,” turns around and walks away, leaving me thinking, “it’s moments like this that make it worth all the hardship!” with a small tear escaping the corner of my eye. Obviously I’m joking (maybe not about the tear...), the harsh rejection felt very bad indeed. I had poured so much time and energy into making my form better, and after all the hard work I got such an overwhelmingly negative response. 
If you’ve been following my blog you’re probably not particularly surprised by the caustic retort from my master, and neither was I. But the rejection hurt nevertheless. It was hard not to take it personally when I by my own judgement had put all of my effort into it. In the end I’m happy that he tells me like it is. It allows for me to grow a thicker hide, and he’s not dithering about expressing what he really thinks. I still haven’t heard of any redeeming qualities in my Baguazhang, except for my circle walking which apparently is “not bad”. The Chinese way of encouraging takes on many forms, the most common of which is encouraging by pointing out how badly one does something. It can sometimes be a bit too much for delicate Western minds to hear the brutal truth about oneself, but at least it’s honest.
What I am currently trying to incorporate into my life, is that instead of offering myself and others excuses, I offer reasons. For example after my Baguazhang performance in front of my master, instead of blaming myself for not training hard enough, or my master for being too strict, I look for the reason I have not yet achieved the desired result, and figure out how I should train for that result to manifest. And If I’m late for an appointment, and I was just sitting around playing solitaire on my computer, instead of saying, “Yeah, traffic was bad,” I could say, “I managed my time badly, and I attached more importance to seeing all of those cards finally come bouncing out of the screen than showing up on time to see you.” Being honest about what happened opens up for a possibility to look at why that was more important. Was it just my winner instinct gone wild, or was it social angst that delayed me?
From Wudang with love

tirsdag 20. desember 2011

Self mastery

Life seems to be a series of moments in which I can decide to live up to my highest potential, or scrape along providing myself with excuses for performing at my absolute minimum. The liberating thing about time being manifest as consecutive moments, is that I can choose where I want life to go next when I become conscious of it. In times of extreme physical or mental hardship the equilibrium of my apparently solid determination is prone to upset, and that is when unconsciousness around my own emotions and negative thought patterns can result in a downward spiral into self-pity, and numbing myself to what I’m really feeling. Consciousness around times of intense emotion and stress is one of the hardest and most important practices I’m struggling to cultivate right now. When my mind is at it’s weakest and most vulnerable and I feel like numbing out, is also when I need to pay most careful attention to what I want from life. The desire for relief can sometimes get in the way of my mission, and once I start down that path it can take a while before I snap out of it. I’m present to the fact that there will inevitably be fluctuations. 
There often seems to be a notion, especially in new age communities, that in order for our path to be successful we should be happy and loving all the time. If you are truly seeking truth on a spiritual path, I don’t think that is natural. The masters that we exalt and revere are seen as examples of how successful we can be. They are seemingly perfectly in balance, immune to emotional disturbance, and in possession of unattainable skills. I have been guilty of putting them on a pedestal many times. This illusion of them being somehow ‘better’ than us isn’t serving their egos, and it is definitely not serving us. They likely have their own flaws and weaknesses that we are not seeing. Masters should be seen for who they are, unique individuals, just like you and me, who have come a long way, but have their own issues to deal with. Rather than prostrating ourselves in front of them and praying and hoping that just possibly, one day, we might be just like them, we should be standing with them and exploring life with their wisdom and experience guiding us. A master may be extraordinary, but it is possible that someday, if you work hard, you may surpass them. In the beginning it will often seem unattainable, but I like to remember a famous quote: “Go as far as you can see; when you get there you’ll be able to see farther.”
To be clear, I’m not advocating disrespect for masters, but a perspective where instead of distancing ourselves from them, we are getting closer to them. Not through fake worship, or exalted adoration, but through a realization of our shared humanity and kinship.

Love from Wudang

onsdag 14. desember 2011

Sharing without telling

The unexpected twists and turns of life are testing my mettle. What am I really made of? What kind of man am I? Do I deserve to be in the position I am in? Is my life headed in the direction I want it to? I am in a space now that I didn’t think possible when I left Norway two months ago. My heart and mind is cracking open and it is taking me to places that are both beautiful and starkly revealing. I’m at a crossroad on my journey and at this point in time I am still not sure on which path I will continue to stride. Now I’m letting things crystallize and settle into place before any judgements are made as to where fate will guide me. What I am learning is that I am human, and so is my master. I create my own fate, but life will continue happening to me. What matters is how I handle the undulations that will inevitably come. Do I buckle, or do I stand firm? Do I wallow in despair, or do I use the potential and soar? Do I learn my lessons, or do I continue along the well-worn track of previous ones unlearned? I am uncovering a man that I didn’t see quite so clearly before, but the little boy inside is still afraid of letting go and stepping fully into what he will become. I sense a transformation on the horizon, and it’s both terrifying and exciting. 
With love, peace and a fair amount of ambiguity,

mandag 28. november 2011

Dealing with exhaustion

Hi guys,
I’ve been here in Wudang for five weeks now, and I’m slowly starting to settle in and find my place in the family (which means I’m at the bottom of the hierarchy symbolized by serving rice and doing the dishes after dinner). I’m making progress with my training, and I’m adjusting to life under what feels like constant supervision by my master. 

Here's a video of my practice for those of you who are not on my facebook.

The first month here was more than anything hard on my psyche. The training was unrelenting, and by the end of the first month I felt like I was running on fumes. My mood was unpredictable, and thoughts of leaving and going back to a more comfortable life started appearing in my mind with increasing frequency. I started questioning if this really was what I wanted to do. What I think was the prime contributor to my feeling down, is that I was told I wouldn’t be allowed a day off. I had three months of nonstop training to look forward to before the spring-festival, and I felt trapped. I was questioning the physical soundness of training that intensively without any time to recover.
Close to the end of my first month back on the mountain, Hallgrim Hansegård, who founded the dance company Frikar, arrived in Wudang to continue working on his collaborative dance project involving a group of Chinese Wudang Kungfu students. We decided to meet up and have a chat while he was here on the mountain. I worked up my nerve and asked my master if I could have the day off to climb to the top, the Golden Summit, together with Hallgrim, and lo and behold he answered “yes” (albeit I would have to do early morning and evening practice). Now climbing a few thousand stairs might not fit your definition of a day off when you’ve been kicking, running, and standing in horse stance for the better part of a month, but I was ecstatic about the prospect of no kicks for an entire day! Master Zhong left the day after to go to his home town for three days to take care of some business, leaving his wife, the friendly Daoist, my master’s three-month-old baby, and me to take care of the house. The next day I met Hallgrim and brought him to the house of Master Zhong. He was invited to stay for lunch and when I during our meal told Master Zhong’s wife, Xia Lingfan that he was a professional “laus” dancer, she immediately asked to see a performance. After dinner her wish was granted when Hallgrim put on some traditional Norwegian mouth harp music and gave them a performance they won’t soon forget, spinning, yipping, doing acrobatics and topping off the act by kicking a hat off a bamboo staff I was holding up high. It was truly a surreal sight to see such an amazing display of traditional Norwegian culture, in the middle of the setting I had been kicking and sweating, to the sound of my master commanding me to speed my lazy ass up.

Speaking of Norwegian culture: this is Master Zhong's daughter
wearing a Norwegian hat knitted by my friend Hilde Barstad
The day after our walk up to the top I felt reinvigorated. I had enjoyed good conversation and speaking Norwegian again. My energy was replenished, and I was enthusiastic about going back to my practice. I told Dong the friendly Daoist what an amazing effect that single day off had had on me, and he agreed that it is wise to have a day off at least once a week. "Otherwise the pressure becomes too great." “If only Master Zhong felt the same,” I said. “Hmmm, I’ll have a word with him,” he said and winked. If it wouldn’t have been hugely inappropriate I would have hugged him and professed my ever lasting love to the man right then and there. 
On the one month anniversary of my arrival in Wudang I got my first whole day off. It was a misty day, so I decided to use it for catching up on old e-mails I hadn’t replied to, and reading a book. At lunch time Master Zhong told me I had to leave the house and do something, or he wouldn’t give me a day off again. So, not wanting to tempt fate, I promptly left the house and went for walk up to the temple, muttering to myself about how unfair it was that I couldn’t even decide what to do with my own time on my day off.

I think most of my master's behaviour results from him wanting me to develop my "yi", which means my mind/will. I'm realising how much of this is just based on that. Without pushing myself and developing my yi, my Kungfu won't be going anywhere.
Ultimately, I realize how blessed I am to be in this situation, and I’m often reminded of that when I’m down by my friends. I know there will be ups and downs during my time here, and my discipline and willpower will be put to the ultimate test, but when I'm down and feel like I've just been thrown out of a vehicle moving full speed, I take comfort in the fact that the only constant here in life is change. 
Love and miss you guys,
Bjarte Ling Yuan Hiley

søndag 13. november 2011


Hi guys,

These last few weeks have been tough! I knew this would be hard, but... I guess you’ll just have to hear the story. 

A few days into my training I started to get anxious about when I would get a day off. He still hadn’t mentioned anything about a break, and wasn’t giving any sign of letting up on the pressure. Going for my morning run was a thoroughly unrewarding experience. I could hardly lift my legs off the ground as I was trotting, clumsy-hippo style, along the road at the pace of a turtle. On the sixth day my body felt like it had been through a meat grinder, and I couldn’t restrain myself any longer. I asked as deferentially as I could, “Master Zhong, when do I get a day off?” To this he simply replied, “Day off? You don’t get a day off! If you’re too tired you rest.” Implied in this was that I shouldn’t take a rest unless I really, really needed it. The mention of him bringing out the staff still fresh in my mind.

The weather had been foggy and humid since I got here, so the clothes I’d washed the day I arrived were still not dry. That led to me having to wear them dry, which after nine days straight of hard training inevitably led to me getting a cold. Luckily Master Zhong wasn’t completely without sympathy towards the sufferings of his new disciple, so he let me sleep and rest until I was better. On day two I recovered from the cold, and my legs no longer felt like divorcing themselves from my body due to assault and battery. After being on the receiving end of a string of insults about how appallingly out of shape I was, I started training again, regularly raising the number of kicks and extending the duration of the mabu. I was making progress with my stretching (my forehead is about 5 cm. away from my toes while my leg is straight), and I was starting to feel like this could be handled. 

Yesterday Master Zhong came up to me and said, “I haven’t given you a rest since you came here, why don’t you join us up to Five Dragons Temple for a walk.” I jumped at the opportunity to have a much needed break, and joined him up there with another Daoist who is living in the house with us, and we took some photos of the Daoist while he was meditating. This morning my master invited me along to do some work in his garden, we weeded it and harvested some sweet potatoes. “Whew, this is nice, finally a break!” I thought foolishly. Apparently he was just resting me up so he could break me back down.

A few pictures from a temple by Five Dragon Temple

This afternoon I started my training again after a 24 hour break (except for my morning run and taiji). This afternoon is when training really started. After running three kilometers down the mountain, and three back up I came back to a little surprise, today Master Zhong was going to supervise the whole thing and increase the amount of kicks to 1500 kicks which should be completed in half an hour. After 1500 kicks while I was trying my best to keep my composure, avoid fainting, throwing up, and burst into tears all at the same time, while my master was shouting at me from the side, I completed the kicks in 40 minutes. I did not harvest any compliments for my apparently horrendously subpar performance, and was told to walk around for a bit and gather myself. Still woozy, I continued on to pushups, mabu, frog-jumps, pushup-jumps, and other “fun” exercises. After two hours of what felt like pure torture, I was told that I could rest, and I scampered into my room feeling completely - excuse my French - shit and demotivated. After I had a shower, we all had some food together, Master Zhong, his wife, the visiting Daoist, and me. The Daoist (who is a hilarious man), told a funny joke, and we all went off into peals of laughter. Master Zhong was even holding his sides because he was hurting from laughing so hard! It’s moments like those that make all the hard work worth it. I am starting to realize what I have embarked on. It will not be an easy two years, that’s for sure. Xuanwu, give me strength!

Ok, I feel like I should polish this a bit, but I’m just going to post it as is, off to sleeeeeep for a few hours. There's so much going on, and I wish I could post about it all, but I just don't have the energy. Thinking about you guys back home!

Oh, and I've shaved my beard!

Lots of love!

torsdag 27. oktober 2011

Getting started as a Wudang 16th generation disciple

Hi folks!
I hope you enjoyed yesterdays little story. I know, two blog posts within the first week of arriving in Wudang Mountain, I’m on a roll here. 
I’m not sure where to start telling this story, so I better just start at the beginning. 
Sitting on the bus on my way up the mountain I am struck by how natural it feels to be here, slowly climbing the winding roads of the Wudang Mountain chain. My thoughts go back to when I arrived back in Norway last Christmas after becoming Master Zhong’s disciple. I felt like I was separate from the rest of society, I saw how foolish we all were, stressing around, grumpily trying to find gifts for everyone we cared for while they were fretting over the same thing. It did not feel natural. And here I am again in Wudang, almost one year later, riding the same bus up the friendly mountain to see my master, and it’s as if I never left.
Beautiful Wudang

Super-comfy wooden-mattress bed
I arrive at his home as he instructed me to. I don’t know what he has planned for me, all I know is that he has prepared a room somewhere for me. I get to his place before him and wait for him to come back from some business he had to take care of. When he returns he greets me with a smile and tells me to bring my luggage into his house. He places my staffs up against the wall and suddenly asks me how tall I am, I’m probably looking a bit flustered by the abrupt question so he stands next to me and compares our heights. I’m only slightly taller than him. “The bed will be just right for you,” he says and points to the bed in the room, “I used to sleep in it too. You’ll stay here at least until next year, we’ll see then.”  Then he walks off to let me settle in. I’m letting the fact that I’ll be staying in the same house as my master sink in, and start mentally preparing myself for what is to come. 
I wake up the next morning relatively well rested, the reason I write relatively is because I’m basically sleeping on a wooden floor with a blanket underneath me... It takes some getting used to. Breakfast is prepared by my master, as was yesterdays dinner. I’m starting to get used to eating in silence with him, since every time I tried asking him a question while eating I get shut down by a slightly irritated yes or no answer. The training begins by him telling me that these first months until next year I’ll be practicing basics, starting with 900 kicks a day, working up towards 5000. I start stretching and he says that by next year I should also be able to reach the tip of my toes with my mouth while holding my leg straight. I stare at him in disbelief and say “Really? I’m nowhere near being able to do that.” “You will have to work hard,” he replies sternly.
My basic-training space and tea house in the background
After my first training session and lunch we sit down in his tea house to drink tea and relax for a bit, and he goes on to tell me what his requirements from me as his disciple here are. “You should prepare to ‘eat bitter’ (in Chinese this means “endure hardship”), I will not always be here to make you train, so you will have to train on your own some of the time. If you don’t practice while I’m not here, I will know, and I will bring out the staff. You have committed yourself to train here for two years, so you have to remain here for the entirety of those two years.” “I understand and accept this,” I say, while what’s really spinning in the back of my mind is, “Oh shit! What have I gotten myself into?” The rest of our talk is about more pleasant topics, like what he wants to teach me during these two years. He wants me to become a true Wudang disciple, so I should not only learn the martial aspect, I should also begin to study the culture, meditation, Cha Dao (the art of tea), calligraphy, massage, Chinese medicine, and literature. “Prowess in martial arts is not the highest achievement, do you know what is?” He asks. After a short while I offer a tentative reply, “Dao?” “That is correct!" He exclaims happily, "Martial arts is only a small aspect of Dao, as is calligraphy, Chinese medicine, meditation, and Cha Dao, together they create the whole. I want you to treasure every moment you have here, and always make the most of it so you will not have any regrets.” To this I nod and agree wholeheartedly. I vow to not take this opportunity for granted, and truly value the precious time I will spend here.
After an hour or two an old Daoist doctor who is going down to town with Master Zhong comes by. I sit and have a talk with him before they leave while Master Zhong makes preparations for his short trip. He is a friendly old man with a big wispy beard protruding from his chin, I contemplate complimenting him on his beard, but decide not to. It turns out he came here for the first time some 30 years ago, and hasn’t been here since until this week. So I ask him what he thinks about the change on Wudang Mountain with the tourism blossoming and the renovation of all the temples. He simply replies “Tian Di Zi Ran”, which I think means something like “everything between heaven and earth is as it is”.
When Master Zhong is ready to leave I say farewell to the friendly Daoist, and get some last instructions from Master Zhong on what to do while he’s gone. He gives me the keys to the house, tells me that I can eat whatever food is there, and he tells me what to train (which is pretty much just kicks and horse stance). He leaves and says he will be back tomorrow. 
Master Zhongs front gate

I stand in Master Zhong’s front yard alone letting everything sink in, and am not sure if all of this really happened or not. I look myself in the mirror in the courtyard and say to myself “You lucky bastard!” With a huge grin on my face. “Now get training before he grabs his staff and beats you.”