Forget The Master. Why Can't I Learn Kung Fu From A DVD?

Good question. The Old Master (Lao Tzu) would tell you, "If you do not change direction, you may end up where you are heading." It's just the kind of blatantly-self-evident-yet-infuriatingly-useless remark that you would expect from a water-buffalo-riding Taoist. Unhelpful, that is, until you realize that you really have no clue where you are heading. Most of us don't. We keep being assaulted by the most surprising difficulties and winding up in situations we never even remotely desired - all without ever looking down to see that our feet are still hopping merrily along toward that dreadful house three blocks over and four miles south of the one we wanted to enter in the first place.

A master, on the other hand, - or teacher or mentor or friend or whatever you'd like to call them - can see exactly where we are headed. What is completely beyond our perception is perfectly obvious to him or her. And a good master can give you the courage to wake up, see what is happening, and make those terrifying course corrections that take you where you want to be instead of where your feet are going. This is just as true in kung fu as it is in any other area of life. You simply cannot make significant progress as a martial artist (or sometimes even know what progress is) without the experienced and keen eyesight of someone who has successfully navigated that stretch of road before and who also isn't blinded by the enchanting spell of your own life story - those crazy tales you've created about what is not possible.

Consider Chueh Min. As an orphaned beggar, watching street performers show off their martial skill was his sole escape from the daily humiliation and pain of either going without food or eating someone else's leftovers. So he would sit for hours, mesmerized by the effortless dance of spear tassels and flashing swords. He used to thrill at the matchless skill of the rope dart master who could weave his body in and around his weapon with the ease of a snake and still strike at impossible angles with the accuracy and power of an eagle. Some days he felt so inspired by their performance that he would sneak quietly off to the side and courageously begin reenacting their tremendous feats - usually with rather painful and embarrassing results.

One performer took interest in the boy's exuberant (if unskilled) attempts and finally called him over.

"Do you really want to learn martial arts?" he asked.

"Yes, sir. Very much!"

"Then forget about us. Go to Shaolin Temple."

A look of despair instinctively crossed the boy's face as he considered the vast distance between him and the Temple, to say nothing of the mountains, the treacherous roads, and the money needed to get there.

"But it's so far.""Is it?" came the reply. And with that, the man smiled, turned on his heel, and walked away.

Chueh Min was dumbfounded. Instead of a long-desired lesson, he got an annoying two-word question. And he stood there a long time before finally realizing that the only real obstacles in his path were not made of miles or mountains or dirt or gold, but of fear and hesitation and uncertainty. That thought brought a smile to his face, and then he, too, turned on his heel and began walking.

Without that single piece of clear-sighted guidance from a street-performer-turned-teacher, not to mention the ensuing years of careful instruction from his Shaolin master, Chueh Min might never have become the smiling monk who overcame an army with two pairs of chopsticks. Not because he lacked the capacity, but because he couldn't see where he was going.

None of us can. Not all the time, anyway. And a DVD doesn't have eyes. So find a teacher - one you can trust. We need teachers, if for no other reason than to respond with an "is it?" to our "but it's so far."

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