Kung Fu Parables
The Tale of the Tortoise and Kung Fu
by Master Zhou
One day in the month of the Fox, the young novice approached the old kung fu master.
"Master," he cried, "Why do you suffer those touched by the Tortoise to be your students? They are not fast like the Crane, or strong like the Bear, or fierce like the Tiger. They are slow, and seem to care little for fighting. They spend all their days in study, or repeating basic kata. What is their use?"
The master called over one of the novices that was touched by the Tortoise, and he gave instructions to both:
"On the day of the next new moon, you," he said, pointing to the Tortoise, "go to the top of the northern mountain that overlooks our dojo, and you," pointing at the young novice, "go to the top of the southern mountain. Spend the night there, contemplate your path, and return to me and tell me what you have learned."
The two novices bowed to their Master, and did as they were told.
When the young novice returned, the next day, he was battered and bloody, and looked exhausted from his ordeal. He met the master in the dojo, where the Tortoise student already awaited, looking calm and composed.
"Now," the old master said, "spar, and tell me what you learned."
The young novice groaned but did as the master said. Weary as he was, his strikes were sloppy, even wild.
"Master," he panted, "I tried to do what you ask. It took hours, but I found my way to the top of the mountain, although I was hit by falling rocks several times. The night was so cold, though, I had to build a fire, and the prickly thorns of the shrubs bit into my arms as I gathered them. And once the fire was lit, I was beset by wolves! I barely fended them off until dawn, when they left, and then I scrambled my way back down here."
The Tortoise continued his well-executed set of parries and blocks, and, after a nod from the master, began:
"From the task you set for us, I surmised that perhaps you wanted us to understand the benefit of preparation. Knowing that the mountaintop could be a perilous environment, I spoke to the local woodsmen about the dangers there. They advised me that wolves were frequent at this time of year, and that they would be drawn to fire, especially in the cold."
The Tortoise-touched student blocked another wild swing from the young novice.
"I recalled reading in the monastery's library of a pool a few hours to the east that had stones which glowed with a light like moonshine. I journeyed there on our rest day, and gathered some of these stones.
"When I journeyed to the mountaintop, I made sure to have warm clothes and find a spot of relative shelter, and set up a few of the glowing stones at the perimeter of my camp, so that I could see anything that approached. Although I heard wolves howling, they were not drawn to my camp. I stayed guard through the night, and then returned here."
The old master nodded, and watched the novices spar more.
"Sloppy!" he cried at the young novice's blows. "Why can you not strike with more accuracy?"
"I am sorry, Master," the young one replied. "I am weary from my ordeal, and my limbs will not move as I wish them to."
"And you?" the master asked the Tortoise. "Why do your strikes seem to be accurate? Did you sleep before coming here?"
"No, Master. I admit I am also tired. But I have drilled the moves so frequently that my muscles know the arc even though I am weary."
"Very well, then. Show the novice what else you have learned."
"His attacks favor the right, but he does not guard his left side," replied the Tortoise student, as he struck a final solid blow, knocking the young novice down.
As the kung fu master leaned over the young novice, he asked "Now do you see the benefit of the Tortoise as a practitioner of kung fu?"
"Yes, Master," the young novice groaned, as he slid into unconsciousness.
And thus was the young novice englightened.
The Tale of the Bear and Kung Fu
by Master Zhou
One day the Kung Fu Master was in quiet contemplation in the garden of his dojo, when the novice approached him, irritation on his face, a question upon his lips.
"Master, I do not understand! How can one touched by the Bear ever truly know kung fu? Yes, they are tough, but do they not realize that kung fu is not about _taking_ blows, but about _delivering_ them? And they are so slow to learn! It seems to take them forever before they make progress. Why is it that you teach them?"
The Master, who had often said that the Golden Question which leads to Enlightenment must be asked even if the Fires of Heaven were falling down upon you, did not frown at the buzzing that had interrupted his own thought. Instead, he simply flicked his eyes over to the novice, not even turning his head, and said:
"One has to learn patience."
The hasty novice opened his mouth again to speak, but then stopped, considering that perhaps the Master's words which seemed not to answer him at all would become more clear with time. The Master was often making such offhand comments that did not, at the time, seem to make much sense at all to the novice, but later became more clear. The novice closed his mouth and bowed to the Master, and went away to consider the Master's words.
The novice waited a week before he returned to question the Master again. Again, the Master sat in quiet contemplation in his garden, and again, the novice approached him, his look of irritation turned into a deeper confusion that he was, perhaps, missing something.
"Master, I have thought long about the question I asked you regarding those touched by the Bear, but still I do not understand. Yes, the Bear is strong, but he does not balance it with any grace. Would not he be a better soldier in the Army, guarding one of the Great Walls, than being a practitioner of the Art?"
This time the Master turned his head to look upon the novice and take his measure. He raised his hand, in a signal of firmness that gave the novice pause, and said:
"One has to learn Patience."
The novice, sure that he was missing something, bowed and left, the furrow in his brow even deeper than before.
He waited a whole month before returning to confront the Master again.
This time, when the novice found the Master in deep contemplation, his words spilled forth like a babbling brook.
"Master, I do not understand! I have watched and watched those students touched by the Bear, and it is still as I say! They never take the initiative, they never have the quickness they need to truly strike, they never..."
The Master let the novice's rant proceed, gave the briefest sigh of resignation, and took in a breath that seemed to cause him to expand and sit up more straight.
"One has not Learned Patience."
And with this the Master turned the full weight of his attention on the novice, and with a single motion stood to his full height and drew back his hand. No longer a gesture of restraint, his hand was now a fist that seemed chiseled from stone, rooted deep within the earth, with all the inevitability of a mountain and all the force of an avalanche.
When fist made contact with chest, the sound of a great crack was followed by a rising wind and a sullen thud. The novice had flown until his back had struck the far wall of the garden. As the novice slid down to the ground, he noticed that the Master had returned to sitting, all signs of irritation, or even exertion, gone. As his sight darkened and wavered, he thought that the Master had returned to the exact same position of quiet contemplation that he was in before the novice had entered the garden.
"That is the Way of the Bear."
And thus the novice, just before he slipped into unconsciousness, was enlightened.
