Febuary Newsletter 2016.pages
Transcription
Febuary Newsletter 2016.pages
VOL 2 NO 1 February 15, 2016 WEST WIND NEWS Welcome to the Year of the FIRE MONKEY Celebrating New Belts White Mr. Goffin - Hua Mr. O’Brien - Hua Mr. Yabusaki - Hua Ms. Montes - Dahal Ms. Pineda - Michel Mr. Ignacio - Dahal Yellow Mr. Jack MacIntyre - Wong Mr. Almsaid, A - Dahal Mr. Almsaid, M - Dahal Mr. Bonta - Dahal Mr. Blackman - Dahal Ms. Cohen - Michel Ms. Grant - Thomas Mr. Nguyen, Nam - Dahal Mr. Vigay - Michel Ms. Xu - Dahal “LET IT GO OR BE DRAGGED” zen proverb It is time to clear the clutter in your physical and mental lives, grab a banana and start swinging! Don’t look back, don't look down, just use momentum to take you where you need to be. It will be good to keep a sense of humor this year as monkey’s are playful. Number 9 plays a significant role this year , also the colors ; blue, gold and white. Orange Mr. Ramos - Leon Blue Mr. Arnold, Asher - Baker West Wind News 1 VOL 2 NO 1 February 15, 2016 Preparation for West Wind’s New WEBSITE Last year at this time we launched our new APP. That was an exciting step forward for our previous ‘old school’ style , so keep checking because we will revamp the APP soon to make it more direct plus easy to Mrs. Thompson returns to the mat Who is Mrs. Thompson and why do we care? She’s not just ‘the wife of’ Mr. Thompson, West Wind’s Chief, she is a Black Belt and former Instructor who rose through the ranks fast over 20 years ago, steel headed a path for woman and families and continues to work incredibly hard behind the scenes to train the top Instructors and push like a gale wind the business into modern times while upholding the fundamental beliefs of Mr. Lee, the Founder of West Wind and her sole inspiration. use. We hope you’ve downloaded it, enjoyed it, and find it fun! This year we are even more excited to finally and officially have a new website, with thanks and gratitude to Mr. Fukunaga, a student of Mr. Olaes from Alameda who wholeheartedly offered to create this for West Wind. It will be ready to view for the Lunar New Year, simply go to westwindschools.com and enjoy scrolling through to see the magic. Whats compelling here is that she will now be seen back on the mat sporting her Black Belt uniform or sometimes her business wear or her party regalia, and even her stretchy clothes to come put some Yin in West Wind’s Yang. She has a series of group classes she wants to introduce and offers private training in what she calls “health for happiness “ a one to one training on balancing your life . The first group class will be offered starting March 2016, it will be a Qi Gong class called “The 8 Brocades” . The cost is 20$ per class and I’m sure you will enjoy her teaching, especially if you seek calm in your life. West Wind News 2 VOL 2 NO 1 February 15, 2016 As Mr. Baker demonstrates pure form, his strong sets punch a hole in the wall. Gotta love this teacher! Below you’ll find him in his relaxed fly guy state of mind, what a super-man! West Wind News 3 VOL 2 NO 1 February 15, 2016 President’s Message For the Year of the Monkey President’s message, I will share a part of West-Wind history that has been kept a closely guarded secret taught only to our elite Instructor’s Training Candidates for four decades: Master Lee’s Special-Squad Shaolin story. This epic tale chronicles the journey of a poor farm boy as he travels to the Shaolin Temple and trains to become a Shaolin Monk. Master Lee used this tale to inspire our Red Belts to persevere through the grueling Red Belt Program. I first heard this story from my Sifu Master Flint in 1985, when I was a White Belt attending Instructor’s Training. I’ve finally put their inspirational tale into writing, for all students to learn from and enjoy. We’ll share a chapter or two every month, until the journey is complete! I hope you enjoy this tale as much as I did when I was a White Belt thirty years ago. SHAOLIN Chapter One: Two Times Down, Three Times Up Long ago, in a poor village in ancient China, a young peasant boy was hard at work in his family’s field. He was so intent on breaking the clods of dirt with his father’s worn-out spade that he didn’t notice the intruders until their shadow fell across the dusty earth at his feet. Looking up, he wiped the sweat from his brow and squinted in the bright sunlight at six rough-looking men smirking down at him. “Hey!” the meanest and toughest looking of the strangers shouted at the frightened boy, “Is that your farmhouse over there? We’re hungry! Maybe your father or older brothers can spare something to eat!” “My father died two years ago,” the honest boy said, “And I don’t have any brothers. It’s just my mother, little sister and me.” As soon as the peasant boy said these words he regretted it. The leader of the group’s smirk grew even wider, and an evil gleam entered his eyes. “So you’re the big man of the house?” the scruffy stranger laughed and turned to his filthy gang. “If only every farmhouse was as easy to knock over as this, we’d be rich as the emperor by now!” The little boy’s knees turned weak as he realized he was dealing with bandits, one of the many cruel wandering gangs plaguing the valleys and fields of China to take what West Wind News 4 VOL 2 NO 1 February 15, 2016 they wanted from the weak and poor. Even though he was only eleven years old, the boy was tough and lean from his two year’s hard labor since his father’s death. Making a decision he knew was probably suicide, the little boy tightened his grip on the dull spade and walked in front of the gang’s leader, blocking the path to his family home. “You are not welcome here!” The boy tried to sound tough, but his raspy adolescent voice cracked, sounding more like a squeaky mouse than a real man. The bandits laughed, and their big leader slowly walked up to the boy. “Here’s what’s going to happen next,” the bandit whispered, “I’m going to take that dirty shovel from you, beat you into the dirt with it, and you’re going to lie down like the worm you are with your face in the mud until I’m done here!” The boy gulped down the lump in his throat, spread his feet apart and with all the might in his wiry frame, without warning, slashed the edge of the spade straight at the gang leader’s skull. The next thing the boy knew he was face down in the dirt, his head ringing and blood stinging his eyes from a gash on his forehead. The bandit was too strong, too fast and too cunning for the honest farm boy to fight. In the blink of an eye the villain had disarmed the boy, smashed him in the head and, as promised, beat the child into the mud. The little boy never stood a chance. “Don’t bother getting up, worm,” the bandit snarled, “I won’t be as nice next time!” The boy huddled in the dirt and mud, blinking as the cut continued bleeding down his face. He wanted to just curl up in a ball and hide. He wished his father were still alive. He wished he were bigger and stronger. The gang of bandits walked past the boy, some spitting on him, some laughing, some kicking him playfully as they passed. The peasant boy imagined them bursting through the flimsy door of his poor playfully as they passed. The peasant boy imagined them bursting through the flimsy door of his poor farmhouse. He pictured his terrified little sister crying as they robbed the house. His mother being beaten... or worse. Suddenly, the little boy felt a hot flame rise in his chest. Without thinking, he sprang to his feet and jumped like a wild animal on the leader’s back, scratching, biting and clawing like a demon. “Ow! Get this kid off me! He’s crazy!” The muscular leader grabbed the scrawny boy and easily slammed him to the ground. As the boy peered up though cloud of dust he West Wind News 5 VOL 2 NO 1 February 15, 2016 saw the leader drag a rusty broadsword from a scabbard on his back. “Last chance, kid!” the bandit shouted, “Stay down, or I’ll chop your flea-bitten head off!” The farm boy knew he was beaten. He should just cower in the dirt, crying helplessly until the bandits took everything from his family and moved on to their next victim. But something in him refused to listen to reason. He wiped the blood from his eyes and defiantly jumped to his feet again. The gang of bandits doubled over with laughter as the child walked in front of their leader, firmly blocking the path. The leader was not amused. The little boy looked into the thief’s eyes and saw violence, greed and evil he had not known existed before. “You...” the little boy wheezed, still trying to fill his lungs with air after being slammed into the earth, “Are not...welcome here!” The leader drew his rusty sword back to strike as the little boy bared his teeth and crouched like a dangerous cornered beast, ready to fight to the bitter end. Just as the two unfairly matched opponents were poised for their battle to the death, a calm deep voice rang out from the roadside. “Two times down, three times up! That’s a good start!” Chapter Two: The Teacher Appears The little boy wrenched his eyes away from his enemy and spied a lean, smiling Buddhist monk, head shaved and orange robe billowing, calmly striding down the road with a heavy walking staff thumping the ground. It was impossible to say how old the monk was; his serene face seemed ageless, filled with youthful vitality and ancient wisdom at the same time. “Leave us, monk!” the ringleader hissed, sword still poised like a cobra, ready to attack. “This doesn’t concern you!” The monk smiled as the other five ruffians fanned out, surrounding the holy man on all sides. “It concerns me greatly,” the monk shrugged his loose robe off and revealed a lean, hard frame. The boy was shocked to see deep brands scarring the insides of the holy man’s forearms, one in the shape of a snarling tiger, the other showing the outline of a fierce dragon. The monk slowly folded his robe and set it carefully in the dust by his walking staff. “That’s my disciple you’re threatening,” the monk said. “He has a long journey ahead of him, and no more time to waste with the likes of you.” West Wind News 6 VOL 2 NO 1 February 15, 2016 The boy thought the priest must have mistaken him for someone else. He was just an ignorant farm boy, not a Buddhist disciple. The gang leader noticed the boy’s confusion, and turned to confront the monk. “You’re lying,” the leader spat, “Why bother protecting some worthless dirty peasant?” The monk took a deep breath and closed his eyes. “The wise Boddhidharma teaches: ‘The secret to lasting success is this: Two times down, three times up.’ This boy already knows, in his heart, the most valuable lesson of all. Boddhidharma further informs us: ‘When the student is ready the teacher appears.’ My student is ready. And so I have appeared!” The bandit ringleader’s brow furrowed in bewilderment as his sword arm started trembling. “I’ve heard of you Zen priests! You spend half the day sitting on your butt humming, and the other half dancing around like monkeys and tigers, pretending to be warriors! Who ever heard of a warrior monk?” The leader grinned like a wolf while his gang surrounded the calm monk and slowly drew hidden daggers and cudgels from their shabby jackets. The thief turned his back on the boy and pointed the rusty blade inches from the monk’s face. “Do ‘warrior monks’ drink dry water in the summer,” the bandit sneered, “and make cold fires in the winter?” The gang laughed at the oxymoronic idea of a man of peace and enlightenment who could instantly transform into a god of death and war. They drew closer as the air filled with the electric current of violence. The little boy knew this was his only chance to run away, while the gang was distracted as they beat the monk senseless, or worse, killed the holy man. He rose to his feet, took one cautious step back and prepared to turn on his heel and flee. Then the serene Zen priest’s eyes slowly opened. Looking past the circle of men surrounding him, the holy man locked eyes with the farm boy. The little boy remembered the monk’s words: “When the student is ready, the teacher appears.” The monk’s serene smile grew even wider. His calm gaze seemed to say: “You don’t ever have to be scared or helpless or left in the dirt again.” The farm boy smiled back, no longer afraid. The boy balled his fists up, grit his teeth and made a decision that farm boy smiled back, no longer afraid. The boy balled his fists up, grit his teeth and made a decision that would forever change his life. He took a step toward his teacher. West Wind News 7 VOL 2 NO 1 February 15, 2016 Just then the gang leader gave a small nod. Like a crashing wave all six bandits surged toward the monk, rusty sword swinging, daggers stabbing, clubs swishing through the air. The next few moments passed like a blur, seeming like an impossible dream to the simple boy. The monk flickered through the air, leaping, twisting, kicks flying, fingers slashing, fists striking. In two seconds the six bandits lay in the dirt, howling in pain. One bandit was clutching a stump of bone protruding from his fractured knee. Another was screaming as he pawed insanely at bloody eye sockets. One was thrashing in the dirt, clutching his collapsed windpipe. One was retching in the dust doubled over with the pain of ruptured testicles. The fifth gang member wasn’t moving at all, the side of his skull caved in. The monk was crouched over the gang leader, gripping the thug’s head in iron-hard claws, twisting the bandit’s neck painfully to the side. The boy was reminded of the golden hawks that swooped down to snatch helpless rabbits from his fields. “You have been a very bad man,” the monk whispered in the bandit’s ear. “But the Buddha teaches us forgiveness. In all of us there awaits the chance for redemption.” The bandit watched as his gang member with the crushed trachea twitched in his death throes. He looked at his surviving band of thieves, sobbing and bleeding in the dirt. “Please, spare me master!” the bandit sobbed, knowing death hovered above him. “I will give you a choice,” the monk whispered. “Your old life is over. You may die clinging to your former selfish ways. Or, you may choose a new life, starting from this moment.” “I don’t want to die!” the thief whimpered. “Then you may live here, on this farm, using your great strength and cunning to work these fields as an honest man while my student embarks on a great journey.” “Y-Yes, whatever you say!” the thief whimpered. “This is the only life I offer you.” The monk released his victim, and kindly brought the shaking man to his feet. “If you break our agreement to choose the wrong path again, I will never rest until I find you and end your evil ways.” The bandit watched in horror as the man with the compound fracture slowly bled out from his ruptured femoral artery, dark blood staining the dry soil. “I will obey,” the bandit said, bowing until he knelt in the dirt at the monk’s feet. The monk picked up his orange robe and staff, and handed them to the boy. West Wind News 8 VOL 2 NO 1 February 15, 2016 “Say goodbye to your mother and sister,” the monk said. “From this moment on I am your teacher and you are my student. Even when it seems I am miles away or years apart, I will always be guiding you. Today you begin your training as a Shaolin Monk!” “Shaolin? Little Forest?” the boy asked, dumbstruck by the morning’s bizarre events. “Where’s Shaolin?” The monk’s kind eyes crinkled up as he bellowed out a rich laugh. “Finding the temple? That’s a good start!” End of First Installment: Check in next month as the farm boy’s journey to the Shaolin Temple continues! Mr. Hua found the temple West Wind News 9