The Secret Art of Tai-Dung-Shan

 Not much to say about this one.  There are many martial art adages throughout the story, But its really just a short, fun morality tale.  If you read it, you might end up smarter.  But that's not its purpose.  It is meant merely to entertain.  

                 THE  SECRET  ART  OF  TAI-DUNG-SHAN

                                                         by Dick Morgan

            I first met the venerable Master Feng Shou Li at a martial arts tournament, where he demonstrated his fantastic art during a half-time exhibition.  The small, thin, white-bearded Chinese man did a series of breathing exercises, then explained as best he could in his broken and heavily accented English how he was building up his internal power, which he referred to as chi-kung.  He said the ancient art of Tai Dung-Chan, or Dung-Shan, as they pronounced it in the farthest northeastern corner of China, was the art of projecting one's chi, or internal energy, into the enemy.  Master Li claimed that his lifetime of training in the art of Dung-Shan empowered him to knock his opponent senseless with chi-power alone, projected from a distance of up to thirty feet.

          Master Li explained how Dung-Shan had originated in Korea, during the Silla Dynasty.  The Hwarang, or Silla warriors, had come over the mountains separating Korea from China and freely, almost contemptuously paraded the art before the Chinese peasants and provincial bureaucrats.  The Hwarang had told of hidden caves high up in the mountains, where the precepts of Dung-Shan were chiseled into the rock walls in long pictographic detail.  The Chinese had searched  the mountains and found the caves to be in fact real.  It took years for the Chinese scholars to record and translate the pictographs and decipher their meaning.  Even then, none could master the awesome power of Dung-Shan.  The Chinese had been so impressed with this body of knowledge that they did not dare to attack the Korean Hwarang for the entire duration of the Silla Dynasty, a period of peace that lasted four hundred years.

          I watched with awe as Master Li proceeded to demonstrate the art of Dung-Shan, knocking down his opponents, one after the other, without seeming to touch them.  His attackers, all wiry and agile black belt-wearing Asian fellows, ran at him full speed, kicking, punching, and swinging various weapons, only to end up flying through the air backwards in awkward summersaults, landing in a breathless and obviously painful heap.  Master Li asked for a volunteer from the audience to attack him and to feel first-hand the power of Dung-Shan.  I was bolstering my courage to volunteer just so I could experience this amazing art, but before I could stand up, a well-muscled African-American man yelled from the top of the bleachers,  "Try me, old man!" and jumped down the rows of seats four at a time.  The huge black man swaggered up to the old Chinese gentleman, towering over him, and tapped his chest with an extended finger.  Master Li suddenly bent the big man's finger sideways, flinging him backwards onto the floor.  When he tried to rise, Master Li extended a palm toward him, and from a distance of at least eight feet, pinned the black man to the floor.  The man strained every muscle to rise up, even using his spirit yell, or kihap, but could not move.  Master Li stood calmly with his palm extended outward for a full minute, then relaxed his hand to his side.  Only then could the black man rise to his feet.  The huge man did not say another word; he just bowed very low with his head down in shame, and left through the nearest exit.

          Master Li told the totally silent audience that he would be holding a five-day seminar in the art of Dung-Shan at the Uptown Athletic Club.  In this course, he would teach the basic exercises that would be the foundation of the beginning of ultimate power, or, as he called it, the secret art of Tai-Dung-Shan.  Enrollment would be extremely limited, as Master Li could only teach three or four students at one time.  And even so, mastery could not be achieved in five days.  But if one were to faithfully practice all of the exercises that would be taught in those five days, then perhaps in a year or two, one could knock over a small puppy from a distance of six feet.  At that point, Master Li laughed until he had to wipe his eyes, a spontaneous and unguarded expression of pure joy

          I hurried down to meet Master Li and to see about signing up for this powerful art.  When I reached him, he was surrounded by people, many of whom were upper level black belts I had admired from afar.  I figured there would be no chance for me to enroll, but soon, people cleared away; I found myself face to face with Master Li himself.  As Master Li's eyes swept over me, I felt a startling emanation of power and enlightenment coming from him that took my breath away.  I felt naked, even though I was wearing a suit and tie.

          "I'm David Jenkins, and I want to learn your art," I said.

          "What you do?" Master Li said to me.  I told him I owned an accounting firm which I had manipulated into becoming a subsidiary of a major electronic components company, and that I had twelve employees under me. I was embarrassed to catch myself trying to impress him.

          "You big black belty master, too?"  Master Li grinned.

          I shook my head.  I was only a brown belt after three years of practice, a veritable beginner compared to this man who had dedicated fifty years to the martial discipline of Dung-Shan.

          "Velly good, velly good, brown belt best.  No so many bad habits.  Not have to re-tlane."

          "I want very much to be your student," I said.

          "Velly hard plactice," Master Li warned  "Only one, maybe two, finish," the Master said.

          "I'll finish," I insisted.

          "Velly expensive,"  Master Li held a finger up.  "One hundred dollah each lesson."

          That set me back on my heels a moment.  Five hundred dollars was a lot of money.  But this art, this Dung-Shan, was so profound, so powerful, so unique, I just had to learn it.  And besides, hadn't I just bragged about my well-paying job?  I was determined to learn this art, and nodded my head.

          "Velly good,"  he said.  We shook hands on it, and I was amazed to find his handshake to be soft and gentle.

          That evening when I went to my usual class at Song Il Kim's Tae Kwon Do, I told my teacher, Mr. Kim, that I would be missing a week of classes.  When I told him why, he could not suppress a small, tight smile.

          "Ahh, the secret art of Tai Dung-Shan, eh?  It has been a long time since I have heard that name," Mr. Kim said.

          "Sabum-nim, what can you tell me about it?"

          "Very old secret Korean technique.  Protected Korean temples, kept the peace four hundred years."

          "But what can you tell me about the art itself?"  I insisted.

          "Do you really believe in this art?"

          "I saw it work at the tournament.  I saw what it can do.  Master Li said that with a few years of practice, it is easy to knock someone out from a distance-- even kill them."

          "Very handy,"  Mr. Kim said.  "But, you have to ask yourself… how do they practice?"

            I begged him to tell me what he could about Dung-Shan, but he crossed his arms and shook his head resolutely.

            "I think must be learned the hard way," he said.

          "What do you mean, the hard way?"

          "These kinds of art are entirely experiential," Mr. Kim said. "You must learn to become as a small child.  I could tell you all about Dung-Shan, but you would learn nothing.  Besides, it is big secret.  If I tell you, then I have to kill you." He laughed.  "But I will tell you this much; you must learn to have infinite patience.  That is the heart of all martial skill.  Remember, the journey to the temple is the temple."

          "Thanks," I said rather more sarcastically than I intended.  So much of the martial arts dialogue was full of riddles and conundrums; it was like a bad Kung-Fu episode stuck on re-run.  Have infinite patience.  What was that supposed to mean?  If one had infinite patience, then one would never arrive at the reason for having patience in the first place.

          Here I was, almost thirty, slim, fit, and divorced, the owner of a successful business, a dozen custom-tailored suits hung neatly in my closet.  I drove a gold Mercedes convertible, (my pride and joy I'd named Marilyn), and lived in the poshest condo overlooking the river that flowed through the center of town.  Yet everyone in the martial arts treated me like a wayward adolescent.  I had not gotten where I was in life by exhibiting patience and forbearance.  When I wanted something, I went after it.  I had always scrambled faster, harder, longer than others on the same path, and I always got what I wanted sooner or later.  I was focused, and I was ruthless.   I took advantages, I took shortcuts, I cut away the waste and excess baggage.  I was a lean, mean, business machine.  

          No, I had never been a patient man.  When patience was required, I simply changed the rules:  The way to the temple was to buy the property it sat on, evict the tenants, and change the locks.  There was an easier way for almost everything.  Martial arts, I was certain, would prove to be no exception.

          I had signed up for martial arts training hoping to hone my ruthlessness to a fine cutting edge.  Increased self discipline, self confidence, an imposing presence of being, the brochures had said.  I had signed up with Mr. Kim because he had the most imposing presence of being of anyone I had ever met.  I wanted that for myself, but Mr. Kim kept telling me it would take twenty years.

          "What if I practiced hard every day?"  I had asked him once.

          "Oh, then it will take you thirty years," he had laughed then too.

          After more than three years of practice and not yet a black belt, I was beginning to become restless, impatient.  I began looking around for quicker ways to become a master.  That search had fortuitously led me to Feng Shou Li and the art of Dung-Shan.  It was fate; it was my destiny, I told myself.

          On Monday, the first day of the Dung-Shan seminar, I arrived at the Uptown Health Club promptly at six, the scheduled class time. There was no one inside the room to which I was directed.  I only had to wait a few minutes before Master Li arrived. With him was the heavily muscled black man I had seen held subdued at the martial arts tournament.  The two of them walked in, heads down, apparently sharing some mutual thought.

          When Master Li saw me, he whispered something to the man, and made a hard motion for him to join me.  As the black man sat down next to me, Master Li began to speak.

          "I seem to have two students.  One is named Mister David," Master Li said, pointing to me.  "The other is Mister Avery, whose humiliation has stimulated much curiosity."  Master Li pointed at the black man.  We tipped our chins slightly toward each other.  "No!"  Master Li shouted.  "You must do full bow.  Dung-Shan requires utmost respect, utmost attention to detail!"  Avery and I performed simultaneous full seated bows toward each other.

          Master Li began to speak at length, his Chinese accent, curiously, much less apparent.  "Now you will listen," he said.  "Dung-Shan is ultimate connection to the universe, all at once.  The smaller training you receive will teach you to contain and focus this energy, and eventually to project it outward.  The larger training you will receive will teach you to survive this effort.  Just as Dung-Shan can kill an enemy from thirty feet away, this much energy within you can tear you apart, and kill yourself as well.  You cannot take this training lightly.  There is much danger, and much responsibility.  Are you committed to learning the secret art of Dung-Shan?"  Master Li's eyes were burning into me; I felt he could see my lust for the  power of this new art.  I nodded vigorously.  Avery nodded as well.

          "Very well.  Pay first, please, in case you die.  All money in cash." Master Li smiled.

          The first lesson consisted mostly of the history and philosophy of Dung-Shan.  Tai Dung-Shan was an arcane body of knowledge from an ancient lore, it's actual origins lost in antiquity.  Master Li showed photographs taken of the walls of the caves high in the Changbai Mountains that separated China from Korea.  The pictures showed ancient drawings of men standing in various poses, and strange diagrams consisting of many concentric circles, triangles, and squares.

          Master Li explained that Dung-Shan was a way to tap into the universal energy which was all around us, and inside us at the same time.  Reality consisted of three aspects: matter, energy, and awareness.  But matter and energy were actually only manifestations of a great Universal Awareness, and if we learned to expand our own awareness sufficiently to tap into this Universal Awareness, we could learn to control both matter and energy.  Ancient sages used matter and energy manipulation routinely, and could alter the forms of their bodies, become large or small, take on the forms of animals, and travel great distances with a technique called, "The Leap of the Mind."  The two of us would learn to begin the path toward all of these powers, provided we pay close attention and obey unquestioningly.

           After class, Master Li directed me to take the three of us to lunch at the Top of the Cosmo, where he and Avery both ordered steak and lobster. 

          Tuesday's class began with breathing exercises.  We were taught a form of abdominal breathing similar to the Tan-Jun breathing of Korean martial arts, but with rapid, circular hand movements, done first clockwise, then counter-clockwise, and finally, both hands moving in different directions, moving from large, slow circles, to small rapid ones. "This will build and enhance your inner chi," Master Li instructed.  "Tomorrow, we will learn how to focus it."

          We finished with a meditation consisting of producing primal sounds with the tongue held against the roof of the mouth.  Class ended with a Yoga position called Downward-Facing Dog, during which Master Li intoned our evening wisdom.  "Listen closely to the ultimate secret of Dung-Shan," he said in a voice that, in my exhausted and oxygen-enriched state, sounded like music.  "Whatever you do, do it wholeheartedly, from your Tan-Tien, your center.  When your mind, body, and feelings function together as one single reality, you become your own center of gravity, your own fount of primal energy; you begin to create your own universe."

          After practice, Master Li took us to a spa, where we all received full-body massages from three beautiful Asian women, and Master Li disappeared for a time, before our jacuzzi baths.  My visa card was charged almost two hundred dollars, but it was a marvelous experience.  Master Li told me in confidence, "The body is not like a machine at all.  It must be rewarded for its hard work, like a small child who receives good grade."  He smiled.  In my totally relaxed state, I was inclined to agree.

          On Wednesday, the third lesson began promptly at six, with seven more breathing exercises combined with circling hands.  These additional exercises were meant to awaken and charge our seven chakras, or energy centers. Each chakra represented a nexus of chi power which governed a specific region of the body.  Beginning with the first chakra at the base of the spine, we awakened the energy in our hips and loins.  Then we stimulated the second chakra further up the spine, which invigorated the liver and intestinal region, the third, further still, which  connected to the diaphragm, the fourth, connected to the heart, and so on, until we reached the seventh chakra, at the top of the head, which was the seat of the spirit.

          After this full spectrum of awakening,  I felt completely invigorated and charged with energy.  It was almost as if I was walking on a cushion of pure energy, and my feet did not touch the ground.  I was almost giddy with power.  But Master Li warned us against feeling too empowered.  "Do not be seduced by your own Godhood," the Master cautioned us.  "Enlightenment, at this stage, is an illusion."

          "Not good to keep all this power inside," Master Li told us.  "We must purge this from our systems, or our lives are all in danger.  You will both come with me now."

          That was how we ended up back at the spa with the three Asian women.  I don't remember the details very clearly after the naked massage and the third bottle of Tsingdao beer, but the next morning, I found a visa receipt for four hundred dollars.  It was to save all our lives, I told myself.

          Thursday evening, our fourth lesson began with a repetition of the seven-chakra awakening, only in a more prefunctory fashion, so as not to exhaust ourselves prematurely.  Then Master Li shared the arcane, mystic knowledge of the eighth chakra.  He explained how the seven chakras of the Ayervedic tradition were merely focus points for stimulating body systems to optimum health and vigor.  They were, in essence, only focus points for receiving universal energy inward.  The ancient sages had intuited that such a body stasis, by its very nature, implied a significant imbalance.  There had to be a nexus for expressing energy outward.  And indeed, two were found, one in each hand, just inward from the vee between the thumb and forefinger.  This spot, the eighth chakra, was known as chiang-huo, the river of fire.  We spent the rest of the evening pointing our palms at various objects, the most often at the flame of a candle.  Again, after practice, I felt invigorated and giddy, but only Master Li could actually move the flame by his will and chi-power alone. Several times, he held his thumb and finger in a vee which he called, the "serpent's mouth", pointed this vee toward  the candle, and from a distance of six feet,  the candle was instantly extinguished with a snap of his fingers.

          After practice, Master Li asked me for a ride.   As the three of us climbed into Marilyn, my gold Mercedes convertible, Master Li rubbed the polished leather seats with the palm of his hand.  "Fine car," he grinned.  Then he directed me to drive him to a men's clothing store.

          "Important presentation tomorrow, at City Council Auditorium. Very big deal.  Must look, how you say... spiffy," Master Li said.   He chose an expensive three-piece suit, three shirts, and two ties, and directed me to pay for them.  Then he asked me to also buy a jacket for Avery.  "This one has agreed to be my uke, my assisant, tomorrow.  Must look spiffy, too," Master Li said, patting Avery on the back.  Avery chose a royal blue blazer that made him look like a cruise director on the "Love Boat".  The total was nearly six hundred dollars.

          "You are very generous," Master Li said.  "Tomorrow, I will give you the ultimate secret of Dung-Shan.  You must be prepared."  I wasn't at all happy about these extra expenses, but there was only one more day of seminar.  I was learning so much from this little Chinese man, and after tomorrow, I would not have his constant flow of knowledge to nurture my physical and spiritual growth.  I could tolerate these small exploitations for one more day.

          Friday evening, our final lesson began an hour early because of Master Li's prior commitment.  We began by reviewing our seven-chakra awakening, followed by extending our palms and envisioning the Chiang-huo stream of energy emanating from them.  Master Li led us in a variety of postures he called The Five-Animal Way, said to maximize and focus the body's natural abilities.  The low stance with the legs widely spread and the hands raised upwards into claws was the Tiger Stance.  This was the stance of strength.  The one-legged stance with our hands held high over our heads was the Crane Stance, said to enhance balance.  The legs close together, knees flexed and ready to spring, arms and hands bent into hooks, the Snake Stance, meant to maximize natural speed.  Rolling on the ground and then jumping into the air with various kicks were the Monkey techniques, employing deception, becoming unpredictable.  But the most important of all was the Dragon Stance, the most spiritually stimulating, meant to increase and focus our natural inner power, our chi.  Avery and I practiced standing with our legs slightly bent, one behind the other, and our hands extended, one slightly behind the other.  We were told to hold our left hand the most forward, as this was the hand most connected to the heart.  I practiced just as Master Li directed, holding the first two fingers of my left hand at a sixty-degree angle from my thumb, and aiming my Chiang-huo point at the candle flame.

          "No good," Master Li shook his head.  "Not motivated by candle.  Must envision enemy."  But try as I might, the candle flame did not even flicker.  "Need real enemy," Master Li said.  "Mister Avery, you must strike Mister David."

          "Excuse me?" Avery said.

          "You must hit Mister David.  Hit hard enough to knock down.  Hit hard enough to knock out, first hit."  Master Li pointed at me.  "And you must not block.  Only can use Chiang-huo.  Remember to make Tan-Tien Voice, the spirit yell.  Only this can save you."

          Avery looked at me, and then at Master Li.  The Master motioned him toward me with a quick sweep of his hand.  Avery shrugged; I saw him clench his jaw and step toward me with his fist drawn back.  I was very alarmed, but I did not forget my training.  I took a breath, extended my left palm toward him, and let out a yell at the top of my lungs-- or rather, from the bottom of my lungs, using the diaphragm, as Master Li had directed me.  A terrible, deep-throated roar came out, and I felt suddenly warm all over.  Avery lurched backwards, fell flat onto his back, and lay still.  After a moment that seemed like a lifetime, he slowly sat up and rubbed his chest.

          "Damn!"  he said, his eyes wide and his mouth open.

          "Lesson over," Master Li said to me.  "You dangerous now.  Go take cold shower."

          "Yes, Master Li," I said, grinning.

          "Remember," Master Li said as I was leaving, "First time, maybe accident.  Must practice many years to make Chiang-huo on purpose.  Must have infinite patience."

          His last words were like an echo I had heard many times before, a recurrence of timeless truth.  "Thank you, Master Li.," I said, and bowed low.  "Thanks for everything."

          I was giddy with power, and sang out loud in the shower room.  I had mastered the arcane art of Dung-Shan, and knocked a man down.  Maybe it was an accident, but it had happened once; I could learn to do it again, no matter how long it took.  I gave a throaty yell from deep down inside; my powerful voice reverberated from everywhere at once, bouncing off the tile walls.  Several of the men turned their backs to me, uneasy in their nakedness.

          When I finished my shower, Master Li and Avery were gone.  And so were my car keys.  Surely the two of them would not have taken my car, would they?  My beloved Marilyn!

          I had to take a cab to the City Council.  I arrived just in time to see my beloved Marilyn hoisted up behind a tow truck, her front end caved in, her Mercedes insignia lying on the sidewalk beneath a bent signpole that said, Reserved Parking Only.  There were empty bottles and trash on her dashboard, and cigarette burn holes in her leather seats.  My pride and joy, ruined.  I was beyond angry; I was righteously pissed.  This time, Master Li had gone too far.

          I stormed inside the City Council entrance and found Master Li alone in the foyer.  I was so angry, I didn't think about what I was doing.  As I walked up to him I could see recognition in his face of my agitated state.  Master Li held up his hands, palm outstretched toward me, but before he could use his awesome power, I kicked him in the stomach as hard as I could.  Master Li crumpled like Marilyn's dented grill, and fell to the floor.  Again he held his palms toward me, but this time it was in supplication, as though to protect himself.  "Hey, man, what the hell are you doing?" he panted, all traces of accent totally gone. Somehow, that angered me even more, and I kicked him between his outstretched hands, square in the chest.

          I was going to kick him again, but Avery suddenly appeared between us.  It was only Avery, though; I knew how to handle him.  I pointed my left palm at him, my fingers held in a precise "dragon's mouth", and yelled fiercely.   Avery just laughed, picked me up by my shirt, and pinned me against the wall, my feet dangling an inch above the floor.

          "Don't you get it yet?" Avery said through his teeth. 

          "Get what?" I said, not at all sure of my position here, despite my new-found and awesome inner power.

          "The secret of Dung-Shan," he said.

          "Of course I get it," I said.  "I knocked you down, didn't I?"

          Avery laughed, and dropped me down until my feet gained purchase of the floor, but he didn't let go.  "I only fall down when I'm paid to," he said.

          "But what about this afternoon, in class?" I asked; I was confused.

          Avery let go of my shirt, smoothed the wrinkles from his royal blue blazer.   "See my new coat?" he said.

          Saturday morning, I went back to Mr. Kim's class.   Before practice, I told him about my confrontation with Master Li and Avery.  Mr. Kim laughed and shook his head.

          "Dung-Shan is like every other martial arts miracle I've seen parading down the turnpike," he said.  "But you can always get someone to fall down for you if you pay them enough money."  Mr. Kim shrugged.  "There really aren't any martial arts secrets.  There's just practice, and more practice."

          "But what about the writings in the mountain caves?" I asked.

          Mr. Kim laughed.  "The Hwarang only put them there to intimidate the Chinese, to make them think twice about invading Korea.  It worked for a few years.  Then the Chinese figured it out, and named the art Tai-Dung-Shan.  The Big Mountain of Shit."

          "You mean, there is no art of Dung-Shan?"

          "Oh, indeed there is," Mr. Kim said.  "How much did they take you for?"  I lowered my head, so that I would not have to look into his eyes.  "Old Chinese saying," he continued.  "'Don't be distracted from your art by too much ambition and too little patience, or you'll find yourself climbing Tai-Dung Shan.'  Are you ready for real practice now?"

          I nodded, and without a word, walked to the dressing room, put on my practice uniform, and tied a crisp new white belt around my waist.

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