Historic Discovery

I was delighted that Emlyn found these photos after reading my post on Daoist Shoes. There is no evidence that they were used by Daoists in ritual. But the more orthodox the ritual, the more private it is, so we will never know. But the shoes are used in theater and were widely worn by Manchu women.

They were understood to do at least two things: One, they gave a feeling of potency to the wearer. Two, they were an imitation of Han (Chinese) womens' esthetics, namely bound feet.

Bound feet, and the reason(s) behind them, is one of the most fascinating and disturbing pieces of Chinese culture. Manchu women were forbidden by the Manchu government (1650~1905) from binding their feet. The government was never happy about Han women doing it, but it was out of their control. Some scholars now say that foot binding was an act of female agency. Men showed their acceptance of subjugation to the Manchu rulers by wearing their hair in a cue (shaving the front and leaving a thin braid in the back). Han woman showed their disdain en mass for this act of subordination by binding their feet. This act conveyed stored potency, as if to say, "We will act at a later date! (This did in fact happen in 1911 when women whose feet were not bound were slaughtered.) (Hat tip to Alan Baumler at Frog in a Well, also scroll down the comments section where some heavy scholars go at it. )

The problem with this explanation is that binding ones feet seems to us like torture, perhaps it is even self-mortification for the misdeeds that led to being conquered by the Manchu. To understand foot binding as an act of potency one has to understand the difference between, what we call in Taijiquan, jin and shi.

Jin is power which manifests through the balls of the feet (peng & ji) or through the heels (lu & an). Shi is potential power which is stored up and does not manifest. It is the power of being able to manipulate the spin of a battlefield simply by ones position. It is not overwhelming force or shock troops. To develop shi, one must not use power from the balls of the feet or the heels.  The more common type of jin must be discarded to develop the "higher level" shi.



Thus, by pure accident I discovered that these shoes were actually meant to convey shi (potential power). I was using my memory/dream of them to convey something not well understood about taijiquan and stumbled on the debate about foot binding.

Here is the poem from Frog in a Well:

Get a carpenter’s adze to make the shoe-bottoms
Get a carpenter to make the outside of the shoes
Use a card of yarn
Eight lengths of fine cloth
Altogether it will take three years
To make a pair of embroidered shoes
Call a girl to try the shoes

Whether short or long
The girl stretches her foot
to fit the embroidered shoes
The shoe small the foot large
Constrained and uncomfortable
Awkwardly and crookedly to the back wall

The left foot crushing eight tigers
The right foot crushing nine wolves

Wow, I hope this is taught in the schools some day. (Perhaps they'll even mention my famous blog.)
The best book on foot binding to date seems to be Cinderella's Sisters. I haven't read it yet, I did read Dorothy Ko's earlier book on Chinese women and recommend it for those with a scholarly appetite.

http://www.footwearhistory.com/lotusconstruction.shtml

http://www.shoeblog.com/blog/friday-shoe-history-corner-2/
--For an alternate view of why these shoes convey potency, that may give a little bit of wiggle room to anyone caught with their pants down, read this.

Red or White?

George Xu used to tell us stories about the Wild East. Often he was a character in these stories, and honestly I think they were true stories, but more often than not he seemed to be the cowboy with the white hat. (He was the good guy in morality tales that may or may not have been so black and white.)

One story he told us took place during the Cultural Revolution when he was on "The Farm" (forced re-education camp with inadequate food and shelter). Nearby "The Farm" there was a black-marketeer who dealt in cigarettes and alcohol and, among other nasty things, happened to be a rapist. He was a bad dude, with some kind of back up, and a tough-guy-name like "Black Face."

After some particularly cruel machinations by Black Face, George broke down his door looked him in the eye and said, "Which do you want red or white?"

Dropping his box of contraband cigarettes and shaking in his chair, Black Face asked indignantly, "What do you mean Red or White?"

George replied, "Red, I stop when I see blood. White...Death"

From that day forward Black Face was no longer a problem for the locals, (I think he chose red.)

We're in the News

The article I have copied at the bottom of this post is from the Wall Street Journal. It is about the battle between Wushu and Shaolin, which is a "fairly artificial" battle as Gene Ching of Tai Chi Kung Fu Magazine puts it. Wushu is the Communist version of the Republican Era (1906-1948) idea of Guoshu.

Wushu means "martial arts," Guoshu means "national art." The idea of a national art was that a strong country is made up of physically strong and healthy individuals. This was meant to counter the Japanese propaganda that China was "the sick man of Asia," and to do it with "non-Western" exercise. (Really I kind of Chavanism, but one which has had a positive effect on world culture.)

Before the Cultural Revolution (1967-1977) Wushu was exclusively a performing art for kids and a health practice for young adults. No sparing competitions. I would say that martial arts were illegal during the Cultural Revolution, but that would imply there was actually a legal system. During the Cultural Revolution anyone practicing or even thinking anything "traditional" was a target for public torture.

The claims made in the article about Shaolin should be taken with a grain of salt. I think the actual Buddhist lineages of Shaolin fled China around 1900. The 12 or so people who were occupying the Temple at the end of the Cultural Revolution are a question mark.

The eclectic nature of Shaolin Zen is an interesting topic I hope to learn more about some day, but Gongfu or (Kungfu if you prefer) did not come from Shaolin. Gongfu means "meritorious action," and it has been part of the religious life of China for a very long time, certainly for a thousand years, probably more than two thousand. Gongfu has always been a public demonstration of dedication to a larger body (family, village, state), it has always had a fighting implication, and it has always been practiced with wide variation and local innovation. It has alway been part of ritual procession and festivities, which by their nature include some troops and exclude others. Why should the Olympics be different?

Shaolin Temple had gongfu. Perhaps it had some very good gongfu too. What was unique about it is that you didn't have to be born in the Temple to learn it. You could shave your head take the vows, carry water and scrub floors for a couple of years and then they would teach you! Normally one had to be born (married or adopted) in a Village in order to learn a local style(s) of gongfu. But gongfu was everywhere.

Kung Fu Monks Don't Get a Kick Out of Fighting  (if you get the WSJ)


Read the whole article by clicking below: 

	Kung Fu Monks Don't Get a Kick Out of Fighting Famous Temple Spurns Beijing Games, Sparking Trash Talk From Rivals By GEOFFREY A. FOWLER and JULIET YE December 14, 2007; Page A1 Kung fu master Shi Dechao can swing his 22-pound "monk's spade," an ancient Chinese shovel, like a majorette twirling a baton. His lightning punches, in a style the ancients called Iron Fist, generate a thunk! straight out of kung fu movie sound effects. A powerful grunt punctuates his routine. But Dechao, and most of the other martial monks at the 1,500-year-old Shaolin Temple in China's central Henan province, decline to join in one of the biggest kung fu battles of modern times -- a competition to be staged in tandem with next year's Olympic Games in Beijing. Clad in saffron Buddhist robes, Dechao insists that real kung fu monks don't fight. They meditate and practice kung fu to reach enlightenment. "Every fist contains my love," says the 39-year-old Dechao, also known as Big Beard. The Shaolin Temple's decision to stay out of the competition, to be held at the same time as the Olympics and passing out medals of its own, made headlines in China. And it has rekindled a disagreement familiar from the movies: Is kung fu a form of devotion, a style of fighting or both? Zen Buddhism and kung fu have long made an unlikely pair. As legend has it, Zen's founder, an Indian missionary to China named Bodhidharma, worried that too much seated meditation would make monks flabby. So he taught the monks in Shaolin a set of 18 exercises codified as "Yi Jin Jing," or "Muscle Change Instruction," many of them based on animal movements.   WSJ's Geoffrey Fowler reports that the Chinese government wants to promote kung fu as a sport in the Olympics. But, the famous monks of the Shaolin Temple refuse to fight. "Kung fu is Zen practice in motion," says Shi Yongxin, the abbot of Shaolin, sitting in his office next to a sculpture of a meditating Buddha. When he moved to the temple from a devoutly Buddhist family in 1981, Yongxin learned to add kung fu moves to his meditation. Over the centuries, the otherwise peaceful monks have occasionally used their physical prowess in battle to defend the temple and its allies. But they didn't always like it. In lore, the monks went to battle only when they were facing a life-or-death crisis and had no alternative. Now, a debate over the Olympics has transported the classic kung fu monk's fight-or-pray dilemma to the 21st century. For the Games, the Chinese have backed a committee-regulated version of kung fu split into two competitions. One, dubbed taolu, is a sort of rhythmic gymnastics in fast-forward. Individual athletes are scored on the "power, harmony, rhythm, style and musical accompaniment" of their routines, which have names such as Lotus Kick and Dragon's Dive to the Ground. A second form of kung fu competition, called sanshou, involves fighting -- and a fair amount of protective padding. Kung fu itself is also known as wushu. Justin Guariglia Today, kung fu is practiced by more than 60 million Chinese and millions more around the world. At the International Wushu Federation's Ninth World Wushu Championships in Beijing last month, fighter Zhang Yong entered the ring to chants of "Go for it, China!" He won the gold medal in the 65-kilogram (143-pound) combat competition by striking his Russian opponent with a fierce combination of kicks and punches, at one point flipping the Russian into the air. "Sometimes I get hurt during the training," says the 24-year-old Mr. Zhang, a Muslim, pointing to a scab on his right eyebrow. Yet "wushu is something that starts with fighting and ends with spirit," he says. "This spirit isn't a religious concept, but rather love to the nation." To the monk Dechao, the spirit, or qi, in Shaolin Buddhism is embodied in breathing, not force. "I can practice kung fu internally while drinking tea quietly with my friends," he says. After the abbot publicly distanced Shaolin from the Olympics in October, Chinese bloggers and athletes began to suggest the monks are just scared they wouldn't win. At the competition, athletes said their sport was simply not comparable to Shaolin meditation. "We are the best wushu competitors," says Ma Lingjuan, the 21-year-old Chinese world champion in taolu. She has been practicing spinning and jabbing a spear since she was 10. "Our goal is the medal," she says. "The monks in the temple do it as a hobby." Yongxin, the abbot, says monks practice kung fu "with an understanding of Zen Buddhism and love of the temple. On the other hand, the athletes use wushu as a way to find honor. It is easy to tell which one is more sustainable and deep." Whether with blows or rhetoric, it seems, everybody is kung fu fighting. Controlling Kung Fu The government's efforts to standardize the diverse practice of kung fu were also designed to control it. After China's 1949 revolution, the Communist Party at first promoted martial arts but eventually grew leery of kung fu as a subversive self-defense practice. Fighters at Wushu championship in Beijing in November, and monk Shi Dechao (inset) During the Cultural Revolution of the '60s and '70s, the Red Guards attacked the Shaolin Temple and other religious orders. By the early 1980s, after centuries of unbroken master-to-student lineage, only a dozen or so monks lived at Shaolin. Outside the temple, though, traditional kung fu schools, not all of them associated with Buddhism, thrived. 'Chopsocky' TV In the 1970s and 1980s, a blizzard of "chopsocky" TV shows and films, such as the 1982 Jet Li film "Shaolin Temple," helped to sear the Buddhist legends into the popular imagination, both in China and abroad. The 1970s American TV show "Kung Fu" featured David Carradine as Kwai Chang Caine, a Shaolin monk who travels through the Old West armed only with his kung fu. In flashback scenes to the temple, his master teaches him to "avoid rather than check. Check rather than hurt. Hurt rather than maim. Maim rather than kill." Today, kung fu is practiced by more than 60 million Chinese and millions more around the world -- and its purpose remains a topic of debate. "The Shaolin Temple is only a building," says Kang Gewu, the secretary general of the Chinese Wushu Association. He points out that martial arts had existed in China for centuries before the Shaolin temple began practicing kung fu. He adds: "In our mind, wushu is a sport, not a religious practice." It can be both. The town around Shaolin is home to dozens of wushu schools, some employing monks from the temple who accept as students both the spiritually and competitively inclined. Meeting Place of Paradox "Shaolin is a meeting place of paradox -- tourism, Zen, military, sports, communism, martial arts, history," says Gene Ching, the associate publisher of Kung Fu Tai Chi magazine in California. He thinks the debate between the monks and the athletes over spiritual affairs is "fairly artificial." For the temple, maintaining its image as the capital of kung fu is about both expanding its reach and paying its bills. Yongxin, who has been dubbed the "CEO abbot" in the press, has installed a spectacle of his own: a one-hour stage show featuring music by "Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon" composer Tan Dun and the kung fu skills of hundreds of back-flipping students. Tickets cost $32. Even as he distances himself from Olympic competition, "the abbot keeps this stereotype alive that kung fu is about fighting," says Justin Guariglia, a photographer who spent several years getting to know the monks and recently published a book, "Shaolin: Temple of Zen." The "real monks," he notes, are kept far away from the tourists. The abbot, periodically checking his cellphone during an interview, said the temple doesn't actually make that much money from the tourist activities. "What we have done is spread Buddhism and its spirit of universal love," he said. Another monk at Shaolin, named Bodhidharma after the Indian missionary, dismisses suggestions that the monks don't want to play because they are afraid they would lose. "Oh, lord," laughs Bodhidharma, who lives in Malaysia and visits the temple to meditate from time to time. "Monks have a very kind and patient heart. We could win that. But we don't want to hurt anybody." --Sue Feng contributed to this article. Write to Geoffrey A. Fowler at geoffrey.fowler@wsj.com and Juliet Ye at juliet.ye@wsj.com

Jiajiang Martial Dance Troops

I've been reading about trance and possession in Taiwan and I've been thinking a lot about new ways to explain the religious roots of Chinese martial arts. Real fighting is usually about going into trance. There are many reasons for this, one being that humans are simply in trance a lot of time. (Thus the success of Youtube.)
Another reason is that it changes a persons relationship to pain. (Self-Mortification Video)
Another is that trance can be used to stop you from having second thoughts or changing your mind in the middle of battle.

Trance and possession can be used to instill fear in others, which has all sorts of uses in fighting.

But just getting your opponent to space out for a split second is often enough to run them through. For some reason, perhaps it is the spooky music or the strange distortions-- this video gave me a fright. I don't know what is happening. I've watched a bunch of these and often the movements of the dance and the clothing or head-dresses cause me to space out for a second.

Method or Theory?

Is Taijiquan a method or a theory?

On the theory side of things there are the 5 Taijiquan Classics. To understand these short texts requires some cosmological background informed by Confucian thought and Daoist classics, most notably the Huainanzi.
But the Taijiquan Classics are mostly just lists of what to do or what not to do to achieve a somewhat elusive set of goals. Sure, to understand these lists you need to flush out the various metaphors used: Landscape, purification, water, pearls, coins on a string, a scale, following a compass, etc. But still, we are in essence dealing with a list of do's and don'ts, more indicative of a method than a theory.

After all, what's the goal again? To be weak? To be the greatest fighter on this side of the Golden Gate Bridge? To make clear commitments? To feel beautiful? To be so sensitive and intimate with your opponents that you know them deeply, but they can never know you? That's some weird stuff.

Oh yeah, and long life. Sounds good, but there isn't much theory there.

Some might argue that wuwei, non-aggression, is the theory. But I would say this: Taijiquan is an information storage system. It is a whole bunch of ideas, some of which fit well together, and some of which strain the boundaries of what can even be communicated between two people. For the most part these ideas are experiments which are meant to have some discrete result (which may or may not be part of a larger idea). So? Do the experiments and see if they are true. If they don't workout, discard them or, if you are a lineage holder, put them back in storage. That is the formula pure and simple. That's the only way it works.
Taijiquan is an experiment you do, on your own time! People who just go to a Taijiquan class a few times a week never actually learn. It is not something that can be spoon fed.

Milieu

I've been reading the book Qigong Fever, it's good, but I'm not ready to review it yet. However, part of the methodology of the book is to investigate the milieu which inspired the invention, expression, and propagation of qigong as a "movement."

I like this kind of thinking. When I was in high school I was in a School of the Arts and I did a lot of ceramics. I got really interested in Sung Dynasty (900-1200 CE) Chinese ceramics. Then I went to Australia where I had a ceramics teacher who was also totally into Sung Dynasty glazes and was trying to replicate the way they made them with natural local minerals (like ash from near by forest fires) and at the same time adding some scientific analysis.

I also got way into dance, dance history, and improvisation. What these two things have in common is milieu. Modern dance, for instance, came out of a very specific cultural milieu and I think it started to stagnate when that milieu ended. Sung Dynasty ceramics had huge cooperative workshops with dragon kilns that burn once a year up the side of a mountain. Each group got the right to fire its huge kiln from the imperial court which held regular competitions for its patronage. If your kiln won the competition, you supplied the entire royal family for a year or so until they had a new competition. This created a really competitive environment where everyone was making imperial quality work, but only one "kiln" was getting to sell it to the royal family so there was literally tons of extraordinary art work floating around. This milieu created the worlds first antique markets.

So when I was in my early twenties and studying gongfu 6 hours a day it occurred to me that neither my gongfu teachers, nor their teachers had lived in a milieu that was capable of inspiring the creation gongfu as I knew it (Shaolin, Taijiquan, Xingyi, Bagua).

I held and thought about that question for many years.  I was still asking that question when I really started getting into Daoist Religion.  (Daoism isn't directly responsible for the creation of gongfu, but it is in the mix.)

My point is this: The main reason I have been writing this blog for the last six months is to both explain what I have learned over the years about the milieu which inspired Chinese Martial Arts generations ago, and to create a new milieu which will re-inspire the arts.

Henri Maspero, Wilhelm Reich & Katherine Dunham

Wow, it was fun putting those three names together.

Actually they don't fit so well together, but what they have in common is that they all crossed metaphorical bridges that make this blog possible.

Henri Maspero was the first sinologist to recognized the scope of Daoism as a religion. Of course there were a bunch of sinologists that preceded him, but I think he was the first to think about Daoism outside of a Christian framework. He was murdered by the Nazi's at Buchenwald in 1945. Scholars of comparable depth didn't surface again until the 1970's, mostly in France (probably do to his influence there), and not until the 1990's in English.

Wilhelm Reich was a student of Sigmund Freud. He is such a weird character in history that most people are reluctant to credit him as a significant force in the development of ideas. But he is also hard to dismiss. He was the first scholar to try to prove that sex is good for you. Perhaps I should be crediting Oscar Wilde instead, or someone else who said such things but used humor as a cover. But Reich was the first person to use the expression body armor (and character armor) as a metaphor for explaining physical tension. He was the first person in Western Civilization to say that emotion can be stored in the body as tension.

Reich is also extraordinary because he was probably the first to say that Nazi's and Communists are the same. His reason was also way ahead of his time: They both used the same repressive physicality to perpetuate fear of self-awareness; a fear which makes people want to be told what to do.

Most people agree that when Reich came to America he went off the deep end. His coolest invention in that regard was the Cloudbuster. But when you read his writings on Orgone Energy you are going to think, "Oh, he means Qi." I believe it is highly likely that Reich was reading some kind of Chinese cosmology. So in that regard he represents the very worst part of Modernity; the habit of an taking an idea from another culture and pretending like you invented it!

Katherine Dunham was the great antidote to that lame habit of Modernity. She invented Dance Anthropology (or Ethnology if you prefer). She made the serious study of movement and physicality both central and indispensable to the process of understanding culture. Because of Katherine Dunham we can laugh at all the scholarship by stiffs who think that they understand something because they saw it or even read about it, and at the same time we can treasure the voices of those who actually join the dance.

I don't know much about the earliest film documents of martial arts, but 1936 was pretty early. Dunham caught some great stuff!

Daoist Shoes

I've been looking for information on Daoist ritual shoes. I was sure that somewhere I'd seen special Daoist ritual shoes which are 3 inch high stilts. These shoes make it impossible to put weight on the toes or the heel since the stilt post goes down from the center of the foot. Since the base the the stilt is thicker at the bottom, kind of like a mushroom, there is a plenty of space to balance. The problem is I have been unable to find these shoes (so no picture). Did I dream them? How embarrassing.

Dream or not, these shoes represent ultimate shamanic power. The symbolic steps Daoists take in ritual cover huge distances. They circumambulate the empire, the world, and they traverse the distances between stars in the sky.

It gets confusing. Daoists are not shaman, but there is a part of Daoist ritual in which they take on the role or the position, or more accurately, the qi of all shaman. This is done by taking on the physicality of the Chinese prehistory shaman the Great Yu, and acting out key parts of his life. The difference between normative shamanic power and a Daoist embodying the Great Yu is the difference between power and potential power.

There is a direct parallel with taijiquan and other internal arts. First a taijiquan student develops the ability to clearly and unambiguously demonstrate and replicate peng jin , lu jin, an jin, and ji jin (ward-off, rollback, etc...). To get these types of power one must know exactly which part of the foot to use. Then he or she strings peng-ji-lu-an seamlessly together so that these types of power are part of a continuous circle. To achieve this one must be continuously shifting from the ball of the foot to the heel. Once this jin level is achieved the student then moves on to the shi level. Shi roughly means potential, it implies a strategic position, a drawn bow, and having ones hand on a lever.
The jin level is like shamanic power. The shi level leaves power unexpressed, unused.

Shaman get power through covenants with spirits, deities, or even natural forces. The physical "fear and trembling" necessary for summoning shamanic power requires engaging the "pushing and pulling muscles" of the legs which involves pressure in the balls of our feet or in our heels. With these Daoist ritual shoes on, our legs would easily stay in a weak potential state. At the shi level of taijiquan we do not push from the balls of the feet or the heels. Our power remains potential.

UPDATE 12/21/07: Here is a picture of the shoe, it's called a Manchu Shoe. I have now written more on this subject!

Daoist Art at Brown University

The website for the Haffenreffer Museum at Brown University is beautiful. They have a collection of Daoist Alter Paintings and some interesting things to say about them.

"The Marshals are guardians positioned at each wing of the altar. Their duty is to bar the way to demons and unclean malevolent influences. Marshal Chao Yuan-Shuai guards the left and Marshal Teng Yuan-Shuai guards the right. The red inscription at the top right of the painting of Marshal Teng reads “Five Thunders Flashing Lightning (lit. Electricity)�. Mien priests use the summoning of the Five Thunders magic in exorcism ceremonies. The Marshals are six in number: Marshal Ma and Marshal Chang are the two smaller figures below Marshal Chao, and Marshal K’ang and Marshal Hsin are the two figures below Marshal Teng."

Bowing

There is a Daoist precept against subordination. In fact there is a precept (one of the 180 of Lord Lao) that says, "Do not serve in the military. If you must serve in the military do not serve in a subordinate position." I take this to mean join as an officer and be in a position to make decisions about life and death.

I think people living as we do in a commercial society find the idea of not being subordinate both appealing and at times unworkable.

(Currently I feel subordinate to my web hosting service and my ISP which are never able to solve all the weird intermittent and indeterminate problems I have in my daily struggle/walk-in-the-sun to publish my blog. 2 hours on the phone, zero results. If you occasionally get a “Yahoo 404 Error� or a "500 error" when you try to read my blog, I’d love to hear from you.)

What is the purpose of bowing? A traditional class has at least three bows. The first bow is done upon entering the space. Why bow to the space? This tradition comes out of the shamanic practice of subordinating oneself to allies (gods, spirits, ancestors) in exchange for power. The power one gets through subordination is then used to exorcise, scare away, or subordinate all other beings in a given space. It is often called "purification." (Today at the farmer’s market I watched a large man attempt a rather weak version of purification while swinging a bible and shouting in a horse voice about revelation.)



The Japanese term Dojo means Hall of the Dao. It most likely comes from Sung Dynasty (900-1200 CE) Daoism. Clan halls, trade halls, and halls associated with the mega-deity-category "Earth," were used as community centers, places for everything (Dao). When you entered one of these halls to practice gongfu (meritorious martial training) it was important to clear the space of spirits that might try to possess you--dangerous spirits are particularly attracted to weapons and those who wield them.

When a shaman purifies a space, she uses her acquired strength to forcibly evict all the ghosts and spirits that have taken up residence there. Since Daoists did not practice subordination to other entities and they were weak by precept and commitment, they didn’t actually purify the space immediately. Instead they bowed. The act of bowing is a declaration that human beings are going to temporarily use the space for meritorious actions. Bowing doesn’t scare away ghosts, or banish them. Bowing is a way of asking spirits to temporarily clear out. It is a declaration that the practice about to be performed will not be of any interest to ghosts. A ghost is an entity defined by weak, deficient, or lingering commitments.

The second bow is usually to the teacher. The teacher joins this bow because the bow is not to the person but to the teaching itself. It is as if all the teacher’s teachers are standing behind him and he ducks so that the bow of the students will fly over his head to be received by all of the ancestors of the teaching itself.

(In many schools, before and after working with a partner people will bow to each other as equals. This bow again represents a declaration to practice only acts of merit.)

The third bow is to give up the space to who ever or what ever is going to use it next. It cautiously invites the spirits back. After doing this ritual in a space for several years the spirits attracted to dangerous behavior or people with weak commitments will have had time to find another place and will have moved on. Through this continual demonstration of acts of merit (gongfu) some spirits will have found the strength to complete themselves and become one with Dao. Thus we call this place a Dojo, a hall of the Dao.