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At last, the sacred gates of Shaolin; all is quiet, before the day's mass of tourists have arrived.
Life-size sculpture of Dharma.
One (of two) guardians outside the entrance to the temple.
The Shaolin welcoming committee shares a photo op with master Cheung and the seniors of the wing chun group (Cheung's two sons, James and Andrew are with us, front right).
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Wing chun kung-fu grandmaster, William Cheung, along with a group of 35 students, instructors, family and friends, visited the Shaolin Temple in Henan Province, China.
At the invitation of the head abbott, grandmaster Shi Yong Xin, Cheung and his group were at the temple morning, noon and night for a week-long training session and information exchange.
The event (the first of its kind) had quite an impact on the group and the Temple, and even made the Henan newspapers as an unprecedented historical event. (And, it was very hot...)
The sun began to appear over the ancient mountaintops, as its rays poked through the aged trees that flanked us on both sides. Though barely light out, the temperature was already climbing rapidly.
To our right was a glimpse of a collection of pagodas that much resembled a stone forest. One of the most legendary monasteries in the world stood directly in front of us.
An unspoken excitement ran through the group of weary but enthusiastic students gathered near the back entrance to the Temple complex. I wiped the final layer of sleep from my eyes as a senior shaolin monk stepped in front of us.
The master was probably somewhere in his 40s, though it was very hard to tell, and he seemed in excellent physical condition. He stood firm, rooted and confident. Yet there was an undeniable ease about him. A deep calm seemed to saturate his presence.
He didn't speak; rather he simply stood quietly in front of the band of martial arts enthusiasts, stoically sizing us up. Never before had a group from the West done what we were about to do. We were a ragged band of pioneers, about to write our little chapter of martial arts history. He didn't quite seem to know what to do with us, yet obviously had resigned to the fact that he was going to try.
We quickly centered our focus on the monk and became silent. He smiled gently and began to speak, in Mandarin. An interpreter, standing at the monk's side, translated.
The master briefly welcomed us and stated how glad he was that we had traveled so far to join him and the other monks at the Temple. He was grateful that we in the West were able to appreciate their ancient traditions and methods. And with that, we began the exercises.
As he moved, he described his actions at a pace that barely allowed the interpreter time to follow his thoughts. The words slowly fell away, however, as I immersed myself entirely into his movement. It was powerful, yet graceful and elegant. Everything else tuned out as I focused my concentration on the warrior/priest in front of me. After 20 years of dreams, my chi was dancing at the gates of Shaolin.
Then suddenly, a sound of a cell phone broke the morning's martial tranquility. A cell phone! At the sacred gates of Shaolin! I could scarcely believe it! I scanned the crowd-who was it? Everyone looked suspiciously back and forth to each other, while the senior monk looked on, visibly embarrassed...
And it kept ringing and ringing, like fingernails down the proverbial chalkboard.
Finally, the master reached into his robes and pulled out the ringing phone-and answered it! He quietly ducked his head, turned and walked away to have his conversation.
A sign of the times, I suppose; progress, but with a price. This moment seemed to set the tone for the week-long experience on which we were about to embark. Little did I know, this was one of two Shaolins I was about to encounter.
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