his heart beating a rapid rhythm, the image fast in his mind. That image had been part of him for over a year, it was impossible to forget and all too easy to recall. Shifu had made for him, again as every Taiji had, a small medallion with the representation of an image upon it.
He focused upon it. Bringing each shape and contour to the forefront of his mind. Creating it in exact detail. The effort of concentration numbing the pain in his limbs and joints. Focused upon the task, his body took over, pushing him up the steep stair case.
He was still aware. The pain had not gone. The trembling was not forgotten. It was all still there in his mind, but the image took all of his concentration to maintain, his thoughts could not be distracted by the discomforts of the body. On and on he pushed and the shape in his mind never wavered. He moved it around in his mind, examining it from every angle. It was perfect and it hurt. It always did. A small price to pay for everything that had been done.
“Let it go.” Shifu’s voice penetrated his thoughts. He pushed it aside. Nothing could distract his focus.
“Haung,” the voice again and he let it drift from his conscious thought. The image demanded his full attention.
There was a dull pain in his head, but the image would not let him go.
“Wake up.” The voice was insistent and Haung could sense the urgency in it. He tried to listen more closely, but again his attention was dragged back to the image.
“Now,” and Haung felt a burning pain in his nose. His arms collapsed under him and his chin struck the stone floor sending sparks and stars spinning through his head. The vision shattered, leaving him lost and bereft.
“You have to learn to let it go,” Shifu’s voice said. “Go and rest. Come back later tonight.”
Haung lay on the floor, gasping for breath, the remnants of the smelling salts, acrid in his nostrils, and blood from the cut on his chin dripping onto the top step.
* * *
Haung sat on the thin mat. His legs were crossed and his arms rested comfortably on his knees. His cupped hands held the object of his focus. In the four corners of the breezeless room, tall candles sent forth a steady, soft yellow glow. The rest of the room was bare of furniture.
Breathing in through his nose and out through his mouth, he concentrated on crafting the mental image.
“No, no,” Shifu said. “It should not be an effort.”
Haung opened his eyes and stared at the grey haired man sat, in similar pose, opposite him. “How could it not be an effort?”
“Haung, you chose it.” Shifu gave a slight smile.
“So?”
“So it is yours. Once chosen it cannot be changed. It is yours forever. You were told to think of something that you could bring to mind without effort. Something you could see every time you closed your eyes. Something that has meaning. Such a thing should not be an effort to recall.”
“But Shifu, you are asking more than that.”
“Of course I am. Haung, being a Taiji is not easy. There are many challenges to overcome. Surely you are not afraid of a little effort?”
“No, Shifu.”
“Good, then try again. Create the image in your mind. Examine it from all sides. Make sure that it is flawless. You are finding it hard to let go of an imperfect image. The test of the stairs showed that. You must learn to create and destroy the picture you create, and do so without hesitation. Now, try again.”
Haung stilled his breathing and listened to the beat of his heart, its steady rhythm marking time. When he could feel each pulse of blood race through his body he began to create the image. The hardest part was the beginning. His mind must be empty of all thought. Every time he felt that he was getting to the stage when he could begin, a stray thought would cross his mind. An image of Jiao, of his boy, a memory of the day, or just the thought that he was finally ready to begin.
“The exertion of the tests, the mindless repetition of physical
He focused upon it. Bringing each shape and contour to the forefront of his mind. Creating it in exact detail. The effort of concentration numbing the pain in his limbs and joints. Focused upon the task, his body took over, pushing him up the steep stair case.
He was still aware. The pain had not gone. The trembling was not forgotten. It was all still there in his mind, but the image took all of his concentration to maintain, his thoughts could not be distracted by the discomforts of the body. On and on he pushed and the shape in his mind never wavered. He moved it around in his mind, examining it from every angle. It was perfect and it hurt. It always did. A small price to pay for everything that had been done.
“Let it go.” Shifu’s voice penetrated his thoughts. He pushed it aside. Nothing could distract his focus.
“Haung,” the voice again and he let it drift from his conscious thought. The image demanded his full attention.
There was a dull pain in his head, but the image would not let him go.
“Wake up.” The voice was insistent and Haung could sense the urgency in it. He tried to listen more closely, but again his attention was dragged back to the image.
“Now,” and Haung felt a burning pain in his nose. His arms collapsed under him and his chin struck the stone floor sending sparks and stars spinning through his head. The vision shattered, leaving him lost and bereft.
“You have to learn to let it go,” Shifu’s voice said. “Go and rest. Come back later tonight.”
Haung lay on the floor, gasping for breath, the remnants of the smelling salts, acrid in his nostrils, and blood from the cut on his chin dripping onto the top step.
* * *
Haung sat on the thin mat. His legs were crossed and his arms rested comfortably on his knees. His cupped hands held the object of his focus. In the four corners of the breezeless room, tall candles sent forth a steady, soft yellow glow. The rest of the room was bare of furniture.
Breathing in through his nose and out through his mouth, he concentrated on crafting the mental image.
“No, no,” Shifu said. “It should not be an effort.”
Haung opened his eyes and stared at the grey haired man sat, in similar pose, opposite him. “How could it not be an effort?”
“Haung, you chose it.” Shifu gave a slight smile.
“So?”
“So it is yours. Once chosen it cannot be changed. It is yours forever. You were told to think of something that you could bring to mind without effort. Something you could see every time you closed your eyes. Something that has meaning. Such a thing should not be an effort to recall.”
“But Shifu, you are asking more than that.”
“Of course I am. Haung, being a Taiji is not easy. There are many challenges to overcome. Surely you are not afraid of a little effort?”
“No, Shifu.”
“Good, then try again. Create the image in your mind. Examine it from all sides. Make sure that it is flawless. You are finding it hard to let go of an imperfect image. The test of the stairs showed that. You must learn to create and destroy the picture you create, and do so without hesitation. Now, try again.”
Haung stilled his breathing and listened to the beat of his heart, its steady rhythm marking time. When he could feel each pulse of blood race through his body he began to create the image. The hardest part was the beginning. His mind must be empty of all thought. Every time he felt that he was getting to the stage when he could begin, a stray thought would cross his mind. An image of Jiao, of his boy, a memory of the day, or just the thought that he was finally ready to begin.
“The exertion of the tests, the mindless repetition of physical
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