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The
Spirit of Shaolin By Misha Goussev, September 2001 |
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Statures of Shaolin Monks near the entrance to the
Shaolin monks in a still greeting posture
A young monk performing elements of Shaolin yoga
A young female student performing a wushu form at
the competition
Young kung fu students at one of the many schools in
the vicinity of the Shaolin Temple |
There are many legends
associated with the Shaolin Order that originated from one of most famous
temples in China and perhaps in the world over 1,500 years ago: The Shaolin
Temple. The superhuman kung fu powers of the Shaolin monks are shrouded in
mystery, particularly in light of the non-violent nature of their Buddhist
philosophy. The temple is one of the few remnants of the rich past that still
exists and functions in the present day, feeding the imaginations of the millions
of kung fu practitioners. However, it is unclear as to whether the same can be
said about its spirit and tradition. My personal connection with Shaolin goes as far
back as when I was a teenager in Moscow (who knows; maybe even farther, if
you believe in reincarnation). I always had a limited passion for organized
sports, and for the most part, my participation in them achieved very limited
success—I simply never seemed to do the right thing. This changed when I
started to practice karate[i].
I was one of the most dedicated students in my karate dojo. I still vividly
remember the exhausting classes and the long-awaited closing meditations. Perspiration
drenched, on the brink of fainting from exhaustion, and with closed eyes, I
was absorbed in my teacher’s slow paced voice narrating stories about Shaolin
and its traditions, which felt so far away, but so familiar in some
unexplainable way. Hence, a visit to the Shaolin
temple was at the very top of my to-do list; however, my actual decision to
finally make that trip was fueled by a recent performance of the Shaolin
Warriors at Penn Camps in Philadelphia. Dressed in their bright orange
uniforms, the monks appeared as semi-Gods performing a magical dance of
vitality, grace, and power. It was truly, as the playbill phrased it, “a
celebration of life itself.” Despite the worldwide
popularity of Shaolin kung fu, few people are aware of the true historical
significance of the Shaolin temple—the birthplace of Zen Buddhism. The sect was
essentially born when an Indian Buddhist monk named Bodhi Dharma visited the temple
in the sixth century and taught the concepts of Zen. In reality, Bodhi Dharma
was initially refused entrance to the temple and sought refuge in a nearby
cave up on a mountain. Strikingly, it was not until nine years later that he
was finally permitted to enter. [ii]
“There are many roads that
lead to the Way, but these contain but two common features: recognition and
practice,” taught Bodhi Dharma. The term “recognition” is used to indicate
that “all living things share a common nature, concealed by the veils of
illusion.” Furthermore, the “many roads” indicate that self-realization is
reached by different souls in different ways through “practice,” which may
include the various seated and moving meditations, yoga, kung fu, sudden
self-realization, etc. However, all of the possible routes share the common
theme of the recognition of the fact that all life is connected spiritually, and
this recognition is essential to reaching self-awareness”[iii]. On a hot and sunny day in
June 2001, I arrived at the entrance of the Shaolin temple. I was greeted by
a huge statue of a Shaolin monk with his palms locked in front of him in the kung
fu greeting. The change of environment beyond the entrance was quite dramatic;
the atmosphere was somewhat reminiscent of the opening scene of the film Crouching
Tiger, Hidden Dragon. The hundreds of people dressed in timeless clothes
or monastic robes of different colors (primarily bright orange or gray) conjured
an image of medieval China. However, I was quickly brought back to the twenty-first
century when I confronted the reality that I needed to buy a fairly expensive
and contemporary looking ticket before I could continue any further. Moreover,
the herds of tourists reminded me that this was the modern day China
nevertheless. Jumping right to the end
of my story, I would like to say that I have restricted my narration to just
a few episodes and observations in the interest of saving space. It is also worth
mentioning that I did not have a plan for the visit; rather, I intended to be
spontaneous and in the flow. Everything in this town
screamed kung fu. The air was filled with the simultaneous yells of young
monks practicing their art on virtually every open space. Various shops on
both sides of the main road were selling martial arts gear and suspicious
looking food, while countless non-kung fu looking people approached me to offer
me training that would make me the next Bruce Lee in a week’s time. Despite
all this, for some reason, I felt very comfortable. My first personal contact
with the Shaolin monks occurred a few minutes after my arrival. In a state of
hazy elation, for kung fu practice, I started to punch a sand bag hanging on
the side of the road. I remained absorbed in the exercise until I noticed
that I was surrounded by a few dozen young monks who were watching me
curiously. Their shaved heads and similar robes made them look very much
alike, and certainly made me look very different. However, their smiling
faces radiated warmth and friendliness from this curiosity, which facilitated
our initial communication despite the language barrier. I was up for an adventure,
as I mentioned earlier, and I did not have to wait too long. Instead of
following the path of a normal tourist, the next day, I found myself in the dark basement of one of the temple’s buildings
(Shifung Monastery). I am still unsure as to how I ended up there; nevertheless,
without hesitation, I stepped into the complete darkness using my camcorder’s
night vision to navigate. What I saw covered my skin with goose bumps. The
entire room was filled with statues of various monsters, each about nine feet
tall, the likes of which could be seen in any Hollywood horror movie. Even
now, the significance of those figures is not clear to me. I spent quite a
bit of time inside the room battling the desire to get the hell (literally)
out of there. That place had a lot of strange power and energy. Having visited what I
would call a Shaolin underground world, my natural desire was to move in the
opposite direction, which I did—I decided to climb the sacred mountain where
Bodhi Dharma spent nine years in the cave. The trip appeared particularly
attractive because climbing this mountain meant passing a women’s monastery.
In reality, the monastery housed only two elderly nuns. I did remember,
however, that one of the deadliest Shaolin kung fu styles, Shaolin Wing Chun,
was developed by a young nun, reminding us that the role of women in martial
arts should not be underestimated. I was very particular about paying the
proper respects. Once I made it to the cave, I understood immediately why
Bodhi Dharma had chosen it as his residence—the view from the top of the
mountain was breathtaking. Unfortunately, my time
enjoying the view was short. The peaceful picture was invaded by a group of
western looking visitors struggling, albeit not all successfully, to make it
to the top. Since a few of them did not make it, I had the opportunity to
chat with them only on my way back down. I quickly discovered that the group
was on a mission to make a movie about life at the Shaolin temple in the old
days. What happened next was beyond my imagination. The producer of the
future blockbuster, a tall Austrian man in his forties, for some strange
reason liked me almost immediately, and within ten minutes, asked me to work
with them on the production of Shaolin shows around the world. He also made a
phone call (I wonder if Bodhi Dharma would have traded his telepathic
abilities for the wonders of mobile technology) to introduce me to the dean
of the second-largest Shaolin kung fu school so that I could take lessons in qigong2, since I expressed this wish. Still experiencing
some disbelief, I decided to follow the invisible hand of the Spirit backed
up by my gut feeling (probably the same thing) and meet with the dean the next
morning. Shaolin kung fu (often
referred to as wushu) emphasizes real combat ability and implies the mastery
of various weapons combined with astonishing control of the chi (or qi)—the
life force energy. There is a brief saying that captures some of its essence:
“Shaolin monks are like virgins in defense and like tigers in the offence.”
The exceptional combat skills played a key role in promoting the status of
the Order. During the early years of the Tang dynasty Shaolin monks helped defeat
rebel troops during a key Battle of Hulao in 621[iv].
As a reward, Shaolin Shaolin enjoyed the royal patronage of the Tang. The morning after my
strange encounter on the sacred mountain, I proceeded to the kung fu school.
I would like to take this opportunity to state that no words can capture the
extraordinary complexity of my travels in rural China. For the most part, I
had to rely on a few handwritten Chinese characters inscribed for me by some
kind Chinese soul (I met a few; enough to survive). The rest was pure magic:
I would show the precious piece of paper to a taxi driver or a conductor and
they would know exactly what to do; it was only a matter of price. Later on,
I became more sophisticated and learned how to count and negotiate in
Chinese, which made me very proud. I did have to resort to a more traditional
method of using fingers as a back-up after an episode where my
misunderstanding resulted in me having to pay 40 instead of 4 Chinese Yuan. Upon my arrival at the
school, the magic continued. As I was expected, I was met personally by the dean
and an English interpreter. To make the short story long, the dean personally
selected a qigong teacher with a personal interpreter for me and refused to
take any money. I must say that as nice as it sounds, I do not think that it
was done from a purely charitable point of view. The Austrian producer seemed
to have a lot of clout here, since Shaolin shows provided a steady flow of
hard currency. Judging from the amount of
attention that I received from the second I arrived, I think I was regarded
as a celebrity, but when everybody witnessed the attention that I was
receiving from the dean, I was immediately promoted to the rank of bodhisattva[v], or something similar. However, this did not prevent my teacher, a
young and handsome monk, from treating me as if I was a first grader. He only
asked me once whether I really wanted to learn qigong, to which I answered
“yes.” Apparently, this was equal to a written consent form waiving any
liabilities and transferring full control over my body, mind, and spirit to
my new teacher. Speaking of which, with his tall, thin frame, he did remind
me of myself in my teens and of my dreams of being born as a Shaolin monk.
Who knows how this reincarnation thing works… The training at the temple
was severe and continued for many long years, during which the ability of
each monk to retain and guard the order’s secrets and knowledge was tested before
more refined skills were taught. Shaolin temples (there were a few in
different parts of China, with the main one located in Henan) were, in a way,
analogous to contemporary universities. Rigorous studies in philosophy,
medicine, music, poetry and writing, history, calligraphy, math, natural and
other sciences were at the heart of Shaolin training and focused on the monks’
achievement of their utmost human and spiritual potential. Just like in
contemporary universities, each student had to pass proficiency exams on all
subjects in order to graduate from the temple with the title of Master. Young Shaolin monks train
from 5 AM to 9 PM with a few hours for a break; compared to this, my training
was a vacation. I only trained from 8 AM to 6 PM with a 3-hour lunch break. I
suspect that the whole thing probably looked very exotic—a tall foreigner
dressed in a white silk tai chi uniform accompanied by a young monk in an
orange robe with a long wooden stick and an interpreter (he was an English
teacher at the school, but his English still needed some work). Once in a
while, my “coach” Feng Min would use his stick on my legs to ensure that I
performed the exercises properly. I will save the details of
my training for another occasion and say only that each day there for me felt
like winning a battle with myself. I had to perform the qigong form for a
group of other coaches in order to “graduate” and was greeted with applause
at the end. It appeared as though I had passed. Throughout my short stay
at the Shaolin temple, I had witnessed many of the young monks’ feats that
they demonstrated to countless visiting tourists. Most Shaolin qigong
demonstrations would start with a few smooth but very powerful hand and body
movements resembling a some form of magical passes. Various demonstrations,
which followed such preparations, included breaking a solid metal or wooden
stick over the monk’s head or other parts of the body. More graceful
exercises included bending the other end of a spear that pierced a monk’s
throat to the ground. However, to me, the most impressive demonstration was that
of a monk’s ability to penetrate a glass with a needle thrown from a short
distance. The needle went straight through the glass, making a tiny hole. A sober spectator might
ask what the point is of practicing for many years just to be able to survive
this self-torture or demonstrate magical feats. I view this as a simple
demonstration of the innate abilities of humans to harness the chi and
transcend the limitations of the physical body that are very powerful and
still not accepted by the West. Physical superpowers were the key to survival
in a battle in ancient times. This is, of course, no longer the case. One of
the most powerful applications of qigong today is the ability to heal the self
and others. The last exam for the
Master’s degree could easily cost a student his life. According to legend,
each Master candidate must defend himself while passing through a tunnel
filled with mechanical dolls and various traps. The mechanical dolls are
designed to deliver brutal blows from a variety of angles, similar to the
Star Wars battles against robots. Only one thing separated those who made it
to the end from graduation—a gate with an iron ball in front of it sitting over
a fire. The ball had two engravings on opposite sides—a dragon and a tiger.
To open the gate, the monk had to lift up the ball using his forearms. The dragon
and tiger would then become branded on each arm, forever marking the new
Shaolin Master, who often had to simply raise his arms and reveal the signs to
make his enemies flee in fear. Things had changed a bit since 500 AD, so my
departure from the temple was less dramatic. Upon the completion of my
training, I had an official parting ceremony with my teacher and the dean.
Nobody was going to brand or even tattoo anything on my forearms, but I was
given an official red-covered diploma with the dean’s signature, which I
intended to show to my enemies when the need arose. Thus, the question remains
as to whether the spirit of Shaolin is it still alive and well in the hectic
pace of contemporary and rapidly commercializing China, and we all must answer
it individually. Bodhi Dharma, and Buddhism in general, teach that the nature
of the Buddha is eternal and within all of us, which means that each of us
has access to it if we choose to discover it. I think that just like in any
great tradition, the Shaolin spirit has to come from within, transcending
time and space. It is there if you need it. Go and see for yourself. ▪ |
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