Post by Ken Corbett on Dec 19, 2006 15:08:25 GMT -5
I was relaxing at home with my family when the phone rang and it was my buddy Biff.
“Hey Ken, wanna come to this real neat martial arts demonstration tonight?”
Biff and I had trained many years before in karate, and endured many spirit classes in the dojo. When he called that night, I was into semi-retirement pending my next comeback, as usual. But Biff was training with a Chinese gentleman named Ming who taught tai chi chuan, kung fu, qi gong and Chinese sword.
I myself had taken a course in tai chi from Ming, and admired his dexterity and power as a martial artist. So I took along my six-year old son, and headed over to the university for the demo.
After Ming welcomed the audience, he spoke briefly about the history of Chinese martial arts, then displayed several rhythmic sequences in various Chinese disciplines. He demonstrated techniques of self-defense against an attacker armed with a knife, showing no outward signs of exertion.
Then he brandished a Chinese sword. It was shiny bright steel, roughly four feet long and very thin with a broad blade. Ming wobbled the blade from side to side by flexing his wrist, just like a large thin metal pie plate might flex in our hands.
He held it to several members of the audience, so we would be convinced it was sharp and rigid. I touched its point very gently, and drew a pinprick of blood on my fingertip.
Then he bared his midriff and placed the sword handle-down and point-up before him, inclining it at a 45 degree angle towards a point just below his navel. After a brief moment of composition, he lowered his midriff onto the point of the sword, and leaned out on his toe-tips. He then removed his hands from the blade and spread them out as a swan, resting his whole weight on the tip.
For several moments he remained perfectly still, transfixed on the needle-sharp point of the sword. Then the sword slowly bent inwards upon itself towards the floor. When it seemed it would bend no more, sword and body froze once more for several heartbeats.
After what seemed an eternity, he brought his hands back into his centre, and onto the sword blade. Slowly he pushed off the point, and stood up straight once more.
He offered to show us the blade again, but no one needed to see it. I am certain we were all believers.
Then he introduced his senior student, and it was none either than my friend Biff.
I guess Ming needed to show his audience that he could teach this skill to his students, for he led Biff to assume a rooted stance and bare his torso to the audience. He then turned and spoke to all.
“My student is strong enough to take any punch and remain unmoved. But since you won’t believe me if I throw the punch, I’m going to invite any member of the audience to step up to my student and punch him here under his navel as hard as you can.” He pointed to the spot on Biff’s torso at his centre of gravity.
No takers.
Then he looked at me. I was standing near the front with my son, so he could see around the taller adults. He came over and smiled, introducing me to the crowd.
“This man has a black belt in karate. Step up here and punch, hard as you can,” pulling me forward gently yet firmly, until I was standing in front of Biff.
I looked at the crowd, then into Biff’s eyes. I shook my head and said, “No, it’s not right. I can’t do that.”
But then I looked back into Biff’s eyes, and decided I had to go through with it, somehow.
I positioned my left leg forward and drew back my right fist to my hip. Then I launched my right fist forward, driving from my own centre.
I couldn’t help myself. At the last moment, I pulled back on my punch, and let my fist slap noisily yet limply against Biff’s torso. He did not move.
Then, as I stepped back, I looked once more into Biff’s eyes. I could not tell his emotion … Disappointment? Betrayal? Anger? Regret?
Should I have struck as hard as I could? Of course not.
I felt I had been conned, led into a situation where I had to sacrifice the truth, my karate training, a piece of our friendship, and my principles, no matter what I chose to do. My reward was shame. I felt no anger towards Ming. I knew I must ultimately be responsible for my own actions.
All I know that I would have sacrificed everything if I had struck Biff as hard as I could … even if I didn’t harm him.
I felt bad about cheating the crowd ... and I knew too that many saw through my deceit, knew that I had weakened at the last possible moment.
Biff and I have talked about that demonstration several times over the years, and we both agree there must have been a better way. He too felt bitter about it. As for me, I resolved never to get victimized like that again.
Zen Ken
“Hey Ken, wanna come to this real neat martial arts demonstration tonight?”
Biff and I had trained many years before in karate, and endured many spirit classes in the dojo. When he called that night, I was into semi-retirement pending my next comeback, as usual. But Biff was training with a Chinese gentleman named Ming who taught tai chi chuan, kung fu, qi gong and Chinese sword.
I myself had taken a course in tai chi from Ming, and admired his dexterity and power as a martial artist. So I took along my six-year old son, and headed over to the university for the demo.
After Ming welcomed the audience, he spoke briefly about the history of Chinese martial arts, then displayed several rhythmic sequences in various Chinese disciplines. He demonstrated techniques of self-defense against an attacker armed with a knife, showing no outward signs of exertion.
Then he brandished a Chinese sword. It was shiny bright steel, roughly four feet long and very thin with a broad blade. Ming wobbled the blade from side to side by flexing his wrist, just like a large thin metal pie plate might flex in our hands.
He held it to several members of the audience, so we would be convinced it was sharp and rigid. I touched its point very gently, and drew a pinprick of blood on my fingertip.
Then he bared his midriff and placed the sword handle-down and point-up before him, inclining it at a 45 degree angle towards a point just below his navel. After a brief moment of composition, he lowered his midriff onto the point of the sword, and leaned out on his toe-tips. He then removed his hands from the blade and spread them out as a swan, resting his whole weight on the tip.
For several moments he remained perfectly still, transfixed on the needle-sharp point of the sword. Then the sword slowly bent inwards upon itself towards the floor. When it seemed it would bend no more, sword and body froze once more for several heartbeats.
After what seemed an eternity, he brought his hands back into his centre, and onto the sword blade. Slowly he pushed off the point, and stood up straight once more.
He offered to show us the blade again, but no one needed to see it. I am certain we were all believers.
Then he introduced his senior student, and it was none either than my friend Biff.
I guess Ming needed to show his audience that he could teach this skill to his students, for he led Biff to assume a rooted stance and bare his torso to the audience. He then turned and spoke to all.
“My student is strong enough to take any punch and remain unmoved. But since you won’t believe me if I throw the punch, I’m going to invite any member of the audience to step up to my student and punch him here under his navel as hard as you can.” He pointed to the spot on Biff’s torso at his centre of gravity.
No takers.
Then he looked at me. I was standing near the front with my son, so he could see around the taller adults. He came over and smiled, introducing me to the crowd.
“This man has a black belt in karate. Step up here and punch, hard as you can,” pulling me forward gently yet firmly, until I was standing in front of Biff.
I looked at the crowd, then into Biff’s eyes. I shook my head and said, “No, it’s not right. I can’t do that.”
But then I looked back into Biff’s eyes, and decided I had to go through with it, somehow.
I positioned my left leg forward and drew back my right fist to my hip. Then I launched my right fist forward, driving from my own centre.
I couldn’t help myself. At the last moment, I pulled back on my punch, and let my fist slap noisily yet limply against Biff’s torso. He did not move.
Then, as I stepped back, I looked once more into Biff’s eyes. I could not tell his emotion … Disappointment? Betrayal? Anger? Regret?
Should I have struck as hard as I could? Of course not.
I felt I had been conned, led into a situation where I had to sacrifice the truth, my karate training, a piece of our friendship, and my principles, no matter what I chose to do. My reward was shame. I felt no anger towards Ming. I knew I must ultimately be responsible for my own actions.
All I know that I would have sacrificed everything if I had struck Biff as hard as I could … even if I didn’t harm him.
I felt bad about cheating the crowd ... and I knew too that many saw through my deceit, knew that I had weakened at the last possible moment.
Biff and I have talked about that demonstration several times over the years, and we both agree there must have been a better way. He too felt bitter about it. As for me, I resolved never to get victimized like that again.
Zen Ken
