When I first started using my book "Journey to the East - An Experiential Book" in my classes, at the recommendation of my dean, I added a prelude, to begin the book with an action-based hook. The prelude has Xia "Reb" Lee about 60 years after the experiences in the book, reflecting on her journey. There is a short fight from a challenger, and then her thoughts turn back to the past ...and the beginning of the story.
This was later removed based on feedback from readers. Being non-martial artists, they felt the closest ties to the life challenges and the philosophies of Zen/Chan and Tao. There is still plenty of action in the book, but I toned down some of the martial aspects, including replacing the martial prelude with a shorter adventure hook, which has the three Shaodai hanging from a cliff. But I still fondly remember this prelude, and thought it might be nice to share here, and also in a short vlog which I will post later this week. I also included the alternate ending following the below prelude. The book with the new prelude can be purchased here: www.amazon.com/Journey-East-Experiential-Book-Special/dp/153687891X
ALTERNATE PRELUDE
“When each individual has the courage to follow their own path, the world will be enlightened.” ~ Buddha
Courage is key to so many things in life. Facing your fears, taking risks and trying new things, even in being brave enough to be yourself – to discover who you really are beneath the conventions of society. And then to become strong enough to realize your potential and your dreams.
Life and three unusual teachers had taught Xia “Reb” Lee that inner strength is built from outer trials. So she had found in her youth, and so she taught the students of her school, the men and women from all walks of life who trained in the Martial Way, the way of courage and determination. Sifu, or “teacher” Lee, was a small and petite woman of Chinese ancestry, whose smooth skin stood at odds with the strands of silver that wound through the long braid of black hair that hung down her back, hinting at advanced age. Standing lost in thought, she listened to the steady thumping of fists and feet pounding away at a row of heavy bags, the sound bringing back memories of another time and another place. Of the land of her childhood, a world of mystic warriors and noble sages, of cruel tyrants and sacred mountains.
Earlier that day she had received a card, upon which was a hand painted stallion brushed in the Chinese style from her old friend Morgan. He, along with two other orphans, had shared her early adventures in a China that no longer existed. Folding her arms over a shimmering yellow high collared silk shirt, elaborately embroidered with black dragons swirling among stylistic clouds, she recalled the things she had learned from her mysterious teachers.
Three masters of Zen and the martial arts, paragons of the ideal of the scholar-warrior. Her thoughts went back in time, remembering the mysteries of the Tao, their battles with bandits, and the ethereal beauty of the mountains of Northern China. How fate and amazing coincidence that may have been something more brought three unusual youths into her world during a time of turmoil. She remembered fondly her close friendship with Jayana, an ebony skinned warrior in her own right, and with flashing, a black haired dark eyed Native American, whose noble spirit carried them through many hard times. And of course Morgan, fair skinned and kindhearted. All three steadfast friends who had become her family.
The bell of the timer rang out at the ten-minute mark, drawing her attention back to the young kickboxers pounding away on the heavy bags. They, like the Tai Chi students who would be arriving shortly, were all seekers of the Way, the path of self-understanding and self-mastery. A way that had all but disappeared in modern day society. The sound of repeated thumpings echoed across the dojo as fists and feet rained blow after blow upon the long leather bags hanging from the ceiling, bags that were wrapped in silver ducktape in the areas of greatest wear. Sweat glistened off of the bodies of men and women – some lean and muscular, others less fit, but all pushing themselves to their limits, working with the cool precision of minds focused on each punch, each kick.
Rocking the bags with their own powerful blows, the women kept pace with men twice their size. Their muscles strained from the impact of hitting the bag. A half-hour on the heavy bags burned more calories and developed muscles and stamina like no other exercise in the world. They pushed even harder when the final bell rang out, the red light of the timer flashing the one-minute mark.
They punched and kicked as if their life depended on it, which in a way it did. Although few competed, all had felt the effect of training in the Wu Tao, the Martial Way, on their lives. For of what she taught, kickboxing was but the smallest part, a shadow of the philosophy behind it. At the end of the round they would finish their workout with a series of stretching exercises and then spend the last few minutes of the hour wiping clean the mats in preparation for the Tai Chi class.
The delicate looking Chinese woman was an odd contrast to the muscular men and women pounding on the bags, sweat darkening their gray and white T-shirts. The pale yellow of the silk Chinese-style blouse she wore shimmered in the light with a golden hue, save where it was belted around with a burgundy silk sash. She wore loose fitting pants the same color as the sash and black kung-fu slippers upon her feet. She stood all of five feet tall.
A gentle breeze drifted through the open windows of the large room, a room that smelled faintly of sweat and other less readily identifiable odors, odors that conjured up images of the far East. Dragons and tigers painted on the walls twined in battle, amid cloudy mountains and bamboo forests. A padded mat covered most of the floor, except on the one side of the room which was occupied by a regulation sized boxing ring. An assortment of weapons hung along one wall – curved Chinese broad swords, straight swords, Japanese katana, and three-section staves, and many others. Title belts hung on the opposite wall, thick bands of leather studded with gold and silver embellishments, with large circular disks in the center that stated the name of the tournament or championship each belt represented. A dozen or so wax-wood staves stood in one corner near the water cooler. Any free space on the walls was filled with sighed photographs of karate, kickboxing and boxing champions, legendary greats like Ali, “the Jet”, and many others.
Looking around the dojo she smiled in memory of her long life, recalling the three unusual and mysterious teachers who had made such a difference in her own life and those of her three friends. She wondered how her fellow students and friends were fairing in their own quest to pass on the teachings of their mentors. The last she heard, Jaya had moved on to another reservation, setting up new wilderness programs and teaching the Way of the Eagle with the help of his family. Trying to bring new vision and renewed hope to the Indian peoples. Morgan was still at Berkley, where he was trying to pass on enlightenment in one of the worlds darkest places – academia. And Jayana, still tall dark and muscular, with hardly a hint of gray to her hair, was teaching her art in the ghettoes of Harlem, bringing new pride and discipline to an area that had long been considered beyond hope.
As for herself, Xia Lee, she had become a teacher of the Wu Tao, or “Martial Way.” Here at her dojo she taught people to achieve self-understanding and self-mastery through the martial arts, a journey of self-discovery that touched on every part of life, both in and out of the dojo. Here they learned much the same lessons she had learned in the small mountain monastery in China – to focus the mind and strengthen the will, to meet challenge head on, to learn how to push yourself a little further than what you had thought possible, and to reshape your mind and spirit in ways that helped you to reach your true potential as a human being. Lessons that were still important in the modern world, but so difficult to come by.
So few of us, she thought, sighing in memory of her friends. The Shaodai. She smiled at that memory. Although they no longer called themselves that, it reminded her of their turbulent childhood. When they had first been chosen and trained in the Way of the Fist by the last of the Shaolin monks, and one rather eccentric wandering Taoist. When they were three of the youngest masters China had ever known
Another era, and another continent. She remembered when she first saw the other three, following the boxer rebellion in China. The “foreign devils,” the other orphans had called her friends, a common term of disparagement by the Chinese for the foreign invaders who had all but taken over China.
Such a long time ago…
ALTERNATE ENDING:
“Whoever you are! Claim your own at any hazard!
These shows of the East and West are tame compared to you.
These immense meadows, the interminable rivers, you are immense and interminable as they.”
~ Walt Whitman, ‘To You’
Sifu “Reb” Lee turned from her reminiscences and gazed out the window. There she caught sight of an elderly couple leaving the house across the field from her dojo. Every night they went for their evening stroll, sometimes accompanied by their grandchildren when they were visiting. A grandfather and grandmother, Reb remembered, who had lived a good and honorable life, full of joy, and friends and family. Who could wish for anything more? Her childhood memories were no doubt far different from most people, but she was glad she had found people she could consider her family, such as Gan and Jer.
So many adventures they had before they went their separate ways, following their own paths. To have found much the same answers to life as the elderly couple who lived across from her. A lifetime to discover and become aware of what was important in life – to follow a discipline, a path that forged and perfected the spirit, to live a life of purpose and love, without a need to be hurtful or dominating in order to feel some power in one’s life.
The Johnson’s found it in creating a business working with the electronics he loved, and in raising a family and in their mutual travels and pastimes. And in this generation, with even more options for women, Mrs. Johnson, although 68, was attending classes at the local college, pursuing dreams that she could never have realized as a young woman in a society so different from today. An event encouraged by a loving and supportive husband, and her children.
Reb thought of her own upbringing and education, so different from the Johnson’s. Yet they each found the Way. A smile curled her lips as she mused at the thousands of punches and kicks, the hours of stance training and forms. Something the older couple were able to do without, finding their way merely by loving life and pursuing their dreams, finding and believing in their potentials and abilities, and pursuing what they were good at. Their passions.
She sighed and wondered if so much of her hard training and forging of the spirit was indeed necessary, if the suffering was really worth it. But then she remembered her conversations with Mr. Johnson, about his time serving and fighting in World War II, and the factory his wife toiled long hours in serving the war effort. The pride and warm memories of his comrades he served with. Although war is tragic, the Johnson’s had their own hard time of forging in a war that united a world to fight together in a common cause.
Turning to watch the last departing students bowing out after their evening training, she was glad that these young people did not have to face the horrors of war to find their own place of forging, their rite of passage. The “dojo” or “place of the Way”, was their battleground, forging their character in the fires of their will. Rather than having to face guns and killing to discover what they were made of, they could uncover their fears and weaknesses every time they pushed their limits in their training, every time they faced a new partner in sparring, or fought in a tournament. For some reason humanity seemed to need personal challenge and testing, to discover their strengths and to face and conquer their fears. Testing that would empower them to seek and fulfill a vision for their life.
Xia marveled most at those few who seemed to know from birth what their purpose was, and had the innate self-discipline to fulfill their vision. But for those whose fears, insecurities and weaknesses, their self-doubt and lack of focus made the simple way difficult, well, there was always her way, the Way of the Fist. She smiled again. So many adventures that Way had brought her and her friends. But those are other stories…
This was later removed based on feedback from readers. Being non-martial artists, they felt the closest ties to the life challenges and the philosophies of Zen/Chan and Tao. There is still plenty of action in the book, but I toned down some of the martial aspects, including replacing the martial prelude with a shorter adventure hook, which has the three Shaodai hanging from a cliff. But I still fondly remember this prelude, and thought it might be nice to share here, and also in a short vlog which I will post later this week. I also included the alternate ending following the below prelude. The book with the new prelude can be purchased here: www.amazon.com/Journey-East-Experiential-Book-Special/dp/153687891X
ALTERNATE PRELUDE
“When each individual has the courage to follow their own path, the world will be enlightened.” ~ Buddha
Courage is key to so many things in life. Facing your fears, taking risks and trying new things, even in being brave enough to be yourself – to discover who you really are beneath the conventions of society. And then to become strong enough to realize your potential and your dreams.
Life and three unusual teachers had taught Xia “Reb” Lee that inner strength is built from outer trials. So she had found in her youth, and so she taught the students of her school, the men and women from all walks of life who trained in the Martial Way, the way of courage and determination. Sifu, or “teacher” Lee, was a small and petite woman of Chinese ancestry, whose smooth skin stood at odds with the strands of silver that wound through the long braid of black hair that hung down her back, hinting at advanced age. Standing lost in thought, she listened to the steady thumping of fists and feet pounding away at a row of heavy bags, the sound bringing back memories of another time and another place. Of the land of her childhood, a world of mystic warriors and noble sages, of cruel tyrants and sacred mountains.
Earlier that day she had received a card, upon which was a hand painted stallion brushed in the Chinese style from her old friend Morgan. He, along with two other orphans, had shared her early adventures in a China that no longer existed. Folding her arms over a shimmering yellow high collared silk shirt, elaborately embroidered with black dragons swirling among stylistic clouds, she recalled the things she had learned from her mysterious teachers.
Three masters of Zen and the martial arts, paragons of the ideal of the scholar-warrior. Her thoughts went back in time, remembering the mysteries of the Tao, their battles with bandits, and the ethereal beauty of the mountains of Northern China. How fate and amazing coincidence that may have been something more brought three unusual youths into her world during a time of turmoil. She remembered fondly her close friendship with Jayana, an ebony skinned warrior in her own right, and with flashing, a black haired dark eyed Native American, whose noble spirit carried them through many hard times. And of course Morgan, fair skinned and kindhearted. All three steadfast friends who had become her family.
The bell of the timer rang out at the ten-minute mark, drawing her attention back to the young kickboxers pounding away on the heavy bags. They, like the Tai Chi students who would be arriving shortly, were all seekers of the Way, the path of self-understanding and self-mastery. A way that had all but disappeared in modern day society. The sound of repeated thumpings echoed across the dojo as fists and feet rained blow after blow upon the long leather bags hanging from the ceiling, bags that were wrapped in silver ducktape in the areas of greatest wear. Sweat glistened off of the bodies of men and women – some lean and muscular, others less fit, but all pushing themselves to their limits, working with the cool precision of minds focused on each punch, each kick.
Rocking the bags with their own powerful blows, the women kept pace with men twice their size. Their muscles strained from the impact of hitting the bag. A half-hour on the heavy bags burned more calories and developed muscles and stamina like no other exercise in the world. They pushed even harder when the final bell rang out, the red light of the timer flashing the one-minute mark.
They punched and kicked as if their life depended on it, which in a way it did. Although few competed, all had felt the effect of training in the Wu Tao, the Martial Way, on their lives. For of what she taught, kickboxing was but the smallest part, a shadow of the philosophy behind it. At the end of the round they would finish their workout with a series of stretching exercises and then spend the last few minutes of the hour wiping clean the mats in preparation for the Tai Chi class.
The delicate looking Chinese woman was an odd contrast to the muscular men and women pounding on the bags, sweat darkening their gray and white T-shirts. The pale yellow of the silk Chinese-style blouse she wore shimmered in the light with a golden hue, save where it was belted around with a burgundy silk sash. She wore loose fitting pants the same color as the sash and black kung-fu slippers upon her feet. She stood all of five feet tall.
A gentle breeze drifted through the open windows of the large room, a room that smelled faintly of sweat and other less readily identifiable odors, odors that conjured up images of the far East. Dragons and tigers painted on the walls twined in battle, amid cloudy mountains and bamboo forests. A padded mat covered most of the floor, except on the one side of the room which was occupied by a regulation sized boxing ring. An assortment of weapons hung along one wall – curved Chinese broad swords, straight swords, Japanese katana, and three-section staves, and many others. Title belts hung on the opposite wall, thick bands of leather studded with gold and silver embellishments, with large circular disks in the center that stated the name of the tournament or championship each belt represented. A dozen or so wax-wood staves stood in one corner near the water cooler. Any free space on the walls was filled with sighed photographs of karate, kickboxing and boxing champions, legendary greats like Ali, “the Jet”, and many others.
Looking around the dojo she smiled in memory of her long life, recalling the three unusual and mysterious teachers who had made such a difference in her own life and those of her three friends. She wondered how her fellow students and friends were fairing in their own quest to pass on the teachings of their mentors. The last she heard, Jaya had moved on to another reservation, setting up new wilderness programs and teaching the Way of the Eagle with the help of his family. Trying to bring new vision and renewed hope to the Indian peoples. Morgan was still at Berkley, where he was trying to pass on enlightenment in one of the worlds darkest places – academia. And Jayana, still tall dark and muscular, with hardly a hint of gray to her hair, was teaching her art in the ghettoes of Harlem, bringing new pride and discipline to an area that had long been considered beyond hope.
As for herself, Xia Lee, she had become a teacher of the Wu Tao, or “Martial Way.” Here at her dojo she taught people to achieve self-understanding and self-mastery through the martial arts, a journey of self-discovery that touched on every part of life, both in and out of the dojo. Here they learned much the same lessons she had learned in the small mountain monastery in China – to focus the mind and strengthen the will, to meet challenge head on, to learn how to push yourself a little further than what you had thought possible, and to reshape your mind and spirit in ways that helped you to reach your true potential as a human being. Lessons that were still important in the modern world, but so difficult to come by.
So few of us, she thought, sighing in memory of her friends. The Shaodai. She smiled at that memory. Although they no longer called themselves that, it reminded her of their turbulent childhood. When they had first been chosen and trained in the Way of the Fist by the last of the Shaolin monks, and one rather eccentric wandering Taoist. When they were three of the youngest masters China had ever known
Another era, and another continent. She remembered when she first saw the other three, following the boxer rebellion in China. The “foreign devils,” the other orphans had called her friends, a common term of disparagement by the Chinese for the foreign invaders who had all but taken over China.
Such a long time ago…
ALTERNATE ENDING:
“Whoever you are! Claim your own at any hazard!
These shows of the East and West are tame compared to you.
These immense meadows, the interminable rivers, you are immense and interminable as they.”
~ Walt Whitman, ‘To You’
Sifu “Reb” Lee turned from her reminiscences and gazed out the window. There she caught sight of an elderly couple leaving the house across the field from her dojo. Every night they went for their evening stroll, sometimes accompanied by their grandchildren when they were visiting. A grandfather and grandmother, Reb remembered, who had lived a good and honorable life, full of joy, and friends and family. Who could wish for anything more? Her childhood memories were no doubt far different from most people, but she was glad she had found people she could consider her family, such as Gan and Jer.
So many adventures they had before they went their separate ways, following their own paths. To have found much the same answers to life as the elderly couple who lived across from her. A lifetime to discover and become aware of what was important in life – to follow a discipline, a path that forged and perfected the spirit, to live a life of purpose and love, without a need to be hurtful or dominating in order to feel some power in one’s life.
The Johnson’s found it in creating a business working with the electronics he loved, and in raising a family and in their mutual travels and pastimes. And in this generation, with even more options for women, Mrs. Johnson, although 68, was attending classes at the local college, pursuing dreams that she could never have realized as a young woman in a society so different from today. An event encouraged by a loving and supportive husband, and her children.
Reb thought of her own upbringing and education, so different from the Johnson’s. Yet they each found the Way. A smile curled her lips as she mused at the thousands of punches and kicks, the hours of stance training and forms. Something the older couple were able to do without, finding their way merely by loving life and pursuing their dreams, finding and believing in their potentials and abilities, and pursuing what they were good at. Their passions.
She sighed and wondered if so much of her hard training and forging of the spirit was indeed necessary, if the suffering was really worth it. But then she remembered her conversations with Mr. Johnson, about his time serving and fighting in World War II, and the factory his wife toiled long hours in serving the war effort. The pride and warm memories of his comrades he served with. Although war is tragic, the Johnson’s had their own hard time of forging in a war that united a world to fight together in a common cause.
Turning to watch the last departing students bowing out after their evening training, she was glad that these young people did not have to face the horrors of war to find their own place of forging, their rite of passage. The “dojo” or “place of the Way”, was their battleground, forging their character in the fires of their will. Rather than having to face guns and killing to discover what they were made of, they could uncover their fears and weaknesses every time they pushed their limits in their training, every time they faced a new partner in sparring, or fought in a tournament. For some reason humanity seemed to need personal challenge and testing, to discover their strengths and to face and conquer their fears. Testing that would empower them to seek and fulfill a vision for their life.
Xia marveled most at those few who seemed to know from birth what their purpose was, and had the innate self-discipline to fulfill their vision. But for those whose fears, insecurities and weaknesses, their self-doubt and lack of focus made the simple way difficult, well, there was always her way, the Way of the Fist. She smiled again. So many adventures that Way had brought her and her friends. But those are other stories…
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