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Introduction

(Synopsis)

Something tantalizing is brewing in the substratum-underworld of Tai Chi Chuan. Charles Belvedere, a long time instructor and practitioner of the ancient art-form, is summoned to the bungalow of Yang Xing for an exclusive invitation into the enigmatic underbelly of the elusive Green Society. Four other initiates (from differing backgrounds and various walks of life) have also been beckoned to the challenge of passing through the mystagogical Eight Chambers of Tai Chi Chuan; an egalitarian class, cloaked from the scrutiny of mainstream derelicts. Charles questions the cost of the society’s pricey enrollment and weighs in on whether or not he is being coaxed by vice lord henchmen or righteous pundits. He gambles on the latter, and plays his hand undertaking a semi-warranted trip to Yang’s palatial resort in Greensboro, N.C.

Charles and four other contestants are prepped and ready; competing shoulder to shoulder for the grand boon of knowledge contained in the sagacious Green Manuals of the societies Inner Chambers. The rules of engagement are clear cut, three strikes and your out; no refunds and no excuses. Which of them will survive the enlightened phases of induction into the Sanctum sanctorum, revealing the golden compass of (Yang style) Tai Chi Chuan; mapped out by the creating founders Yang Lu’chan and Yang Cheng’fu? The gauntlet has been laid down; for those who wish to trek the mazes of conscious expansion and vacuum into the black-holes of explosive Fa-Jing.

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The Invitation

(1)

Istood in my kitchen looking out my window, as the drizzling rain matured into a full fledged down-pour. The smoke from my boiling pot of Basmati rice suddenly ceased, a tell-tell sign the rice is thoroughly cooked. I took the pot off the oven top and grabbed a wooden spoon to stir my frying onions, peepers, garlic, mixed vegetables, and diced beef; and my special secret soy sauce mixed with coca-cola and a fresh mango slice. This was an obvious dieting blunder on my part; I usually only kept coca-cola in my refrigerator as a quick remedy for rare stomach sickness. It beats Pepto-Bismol by a long shot. I placed a glass lid on the frying pan and turned the heat down to low; the meat would need another five minutes of simmering.

I walked into my living room and proceeded to practice the last section of the Yang style Tai Chi Chuan form. I had been hard at practice for more than ten years, and my latest business venture (the grand opening of a new health-food and vitamin store) was turning into quite a lucrative investment. I was fortunate enough to find a nice little shop for rent on a busy street in York, Pa.It’s amazing what a big glossy poster and a flashy neon sign could do for one’s business. The exotic neon light (set-up) draws in customers like a magnetic dragnet. The water fountain and green flickering lights in the front window was my idea, along with the large placard which reads: Organic Natural Herbal Medicines, “Prevention is better than a cure!”

My stir-fried dish smelt wonderful, as I moseyed back into my kitchen and poured the hot dish on top of an ornamental plate covered with steamy rice. My saliva glands were kicked into overdrive by the pleasant aroma and presentation of the savory concoction. My wife (Rachel) was out of town for the weekend with some friends; attending a health and wellness conference. I decided to opt out; after hearing the same advices over and over again, one would think that the monotony would become an annoying agitate. Not Rachel; throw in a busy weekend in another city with her girl friends, fine dining, and a wellness workshop with some elaborate speakers, and they took these weekends as mini vacations—which don’t officially count as registered sabbaticals. It was more enjoyable for me to stay home and get some private time alone; I just need my good old dog Teddy and some peace and quiet time to unwind and let loose. My wife never allows me to make my special (greasy) sauces and lay around the house all night in a carefree state; this was my time to let go and do things which I wanted to do, without feeling, consequently, inconsiderate and selfish for it. I cherished every bite of my stir-fry; the next conference wouldn’t be for a couple of months, so I had to take full advantage of my bohemian tendencies.

Finishing off my dinner, I rinsed off the pots and plates and headed for the bathroom. Tonight I had a private meeting with a man they called, Old man Yang(Xing) in Pikesville, Maryland. I would take me a good hour or so to drive out to his address from my dwellings in York, Pa. I had joined a (Yang style) Tai Chi Chuan forum a few months ago on the internet, and last week a man named John Choo came out to my Tai Chi class (I hold on Saturday and Sunday mornings) at the local YMCA. John seemed impressed at what he saw and asked me if I would like to join a group of more advanced players from China; which held special closed door training sessions in Greensboro, North Carolina. I told him that I would consider it if I found the free time, in between work, to pursue his gratuitous invitation. Soon after, I received a mysterious post card in my mailbox; instructing me to meet Old man Yang at his residency in Maryland for a sit down meeting. This sounded a little bit too Mafioso to me; and my curiosity was further peaked by the green layout of the card which read in dark bold print: THE GREEN SOCIETY. If my wife would have seen it, she would have flipped out on me; as she is already weary of my Chinese Tai Chi Chuan affiliations. She wondered why I didn’t just lift weights and play intramural sports like the rest of the guys my age.

Rachel is from the Pilates and Step-Aerobics era of fitness. I on the other hand, used to box as a kid, with my uncle Lou and picked up Tai Chi Chuan after visiting China; the old practitioner’s fitness and energy levels I saw, left a lasting impression on me which I could not shake. There is a big difference between being eighty-five in an old folk’s home, having someone change your diaper, and spoon feeding you Metamucil; than someone who lives well past ninety—still able to ride a bike, take a walk in the park, and wipe their hind-side without intrusive assistance.

I started to run some hot water to prepare myself for a much needed therapeutic bath; grabbing a copy of Zecharia Parker’s Quills, Cabals, Book clubs & Sublime Lampoons, before climbing into the tub. It’s rare occasion for me to plop down into the tub and take my time reading something interesting; letting my defenses down and decompressing as much as humanly possible. Zecharia’s short novel was a fascinating fun little read. I often take to light hearted, good comic relief, to help me keep things in a realistic emotional perspective. I lied languidly in the bathtub and read slowly, taking in the mood and the sound of the water filling up the tub; it’s as close as one can get to nature, while still living in a contemporary townhouse complex. I accidentally dipped the cover into the water; I jolted quickly to retrieve it, before it plunged deeper into unrecoverable submersion. I rolled it in a small hand towel lying next to me, and then slide back into the warm water for a subsequent under-water silent moment. It was good that I had an oversized tub installed when I first moved in; those regulations sized tubs were for little children with bubble fantasies and floatable rubber ducks. I checked the clock on the wall and it was already eight o’clock. I needed to high tail it out of the house before nine o’clock came around. I was supposed to be at Old man Yang’s by ten o’clock on the button. I didn’t feel that it would be appropriate to wear dress clothes, but I also didn’t want to show up looking indifferent to the occasion.

I also didn’t want to show up wearing traditional Chinese clothing; as it usually appears ridiculous when western people dress up like an actor from a B-budget Kung Fu movie set. When in doubt, I always try to observe the middle-way which seems to be more inconspicuous and reserved. I put on some casual Docker Kakis, Timberland shoes, and a black Polo shirt. Simple, clean and not overbearing; which was the look I was going for. I brewed a fresh pot of Starbucks coffee, filling up my favorite thermos mug for the upcoming drive. Sitting at my computer desk, I printed up the instructions to Yang’s off of Google maps website. It was going to be a fifty-five minute drive; all I had to do was get on 83 South, and it would be a straight shot to Pikesville, MD.

The sky was darkened and the wind was picking up immensely; rain was still steadily pouring down with no signs of remission in sight. I sat my coffee cup in the coffee holder and threw the car into reverse. All I could see is a blur from the street lights, droplets of water, and my stereo LCD (liquid crystal display) lights. The station I usually choose to listen to is 580 Talk radio with Michael Savage or George Noory and the usual suspects from Coast to Coast radio. I drove slowly and cautiously; like the opening of a Tai Chi Chuan form. I was clueless to the importance of Yang’s invitation; although deep down in the pit of my stomach I knew the meeting would somehow entail the topic of monetary fees. Call it life experience, intuition, good perception, or just downright prudent logic; but I knew the motive behind my admittance into the Tai Chi underworld was linked to the expenditure of my savings.

Maybe I had it all wrong. Maybe the gathering I was being summoned to was purely philanthropic. I try to always give people the benefit of the doubt; even when suspicion is heightened with revelatory evidence. I double checked my directions and turned unto Oakwood drive; there was a long row of opulent houses which had their address numbers lit up on their mailboxes. I pulled up to number eight, and slowly pulled into the driveway. There was a carpool of other vehicles parked out front of Yang’s house. The place looked like a modern castle; complete with two pillars fixed into the patio which stood high against the front door making a decorous archway. I counted about eight cars parked in front of the ‘U’ shaped driveway, which had trees, bushes and flowers lining its periphery. I felt like an actor in a mafia movie approaching the Don’s headquarters. I rang the doorbell; knocking on the door seemed inadequate to me—considering the total square feet of what appeared to me as a plantation. An Asian woman dressed in silky traditional apparel come to the door. “Come right in Sir,” “You are here for the Tai Chi meeting, no?”

“Yes, thank you very much,” I replied.

She took my coat and led me down a long hallway to a back room; sealed with a thick double-secured wooden door.

“You must be Charles?” asked an elderly Chinese man; who I supposed was Yang.

“Nice to meet you sir, I am Charles Belvedere.”

“No relation to the famed Mr. Belvedere, the butler,” said Yang jokingly.

“Come in…Come in and sit down,” he said while introducing me to the other guests. “This is Tim Montgomery, Bob Evans, Sonya Evans, and Mike Longfield; and I think you are already familiar with John Choo.”

I shook all of their hands and proceeded to sit down at the end of a large sofa, next to Bob. I thought I was overweight; Bob must have been pushing about two-hundred and fifty pounds. He was a rather gargantuan specimen, considering the needed dexterity and balance to practice Tai Chi Chuan correctly. Yang Cheng’fu was no small man either, I recollected, while sitting back and getting comfortable. Sonya was slender, fit, dark haired and of medium height. Tim on the other hand was tall, lanky and looked slightly morbid. Mike, on the contrary, looked about six feet tall; very muscular, tanned, and vascular—he wore a tight white muscle shirt and blue jeans. His look reminded me of Jean-Claude Van Damme in No Retreat No Surrender.

I sat looking around the room and noticed the Feng Shui touch it had to it. Everything was spaced out proportionately; a few plants stood next to the few windows, on the opposite side of the room’s sofas were a large oak-wood desk with a large bookshelf behind it. On the wall in the far side of the room was an aquarium, which looked to contain salt water fish. The air in the room was heavy, and tension permeated the atmosphere; everyone seemed a little bit on edge, and nervous.

Yang sat on his oversized leather chair and put on his glasses. He seemed to be reading something which demanded deep focus. Tim and Mike looked noticeably fidgety. Bob looked content, like he had just eaten an oversized meal; and Sonya had her eyes closed—she looked to be meditating, creating serene images in her mind, to cover up her apparent air of nervous anxiety. I sat content, scanning the room in a tunnel-vision panoramic scoping; observing the nuances of the ambiance. I felt no reason to be nervous; this wasn’t the waiting room for a prostate examination –we were Tai Chi artists, people who like to exercise the far Eastern way. Yang put on a warm gentle smile, which seemed to calm the mood of the panic stricken room. I noticed that peoples breathing patterns were all over the place. Was I missing something here? Did I receive the same green post card as the rest of the guests? I was starting to think that my invitation card was missing a vital insert which proclaimed a mandatory death match was going to take place on the premises. “Lady and Gentlemen,” (he must have worded it this way because Sonya was the only woman in the room, or maybe because he missed a few grammatical lessons with his English tutor)

“I would like to welcome you here today, and invite you all to become representatives of our Green Society.”

“We are currently comprised of six members; which represent the highest standard of Yang style Tai Chi Chuan and traditional Wushu.”

“I can assure you that our Gung-Fu is tops!”

“Lilly, pour them some flavored tea.”

A servant appeared from behind us with a tray of cups and a large porcelain teapot filled with green tea. She poured tea into each one of the cups and handed them to us.

“You must be wondering why we chose you five western teachers?”

“The reason is that we wish to raise the caliber of Tai Chi Chuan in the United States, and assist you in the achievement of this endeavor.”

“I know what’s on your minds…Yes; few things in life are for free.”

“This specialized training definitely isn’t.”

“If you are offended by this, you are now free to leave the room.” “Does anyone wish to leave at this point?”

“Last chance, any takers?” “Of course, no solicitation is complete without a demonstration.”

“You are all proficient teachers; my assistant John (Choo) has visited all of your classes and verified the veracity of your abilities.

“Who would like to volunteer to join me in a little push-hands?”

I looked around the room and everyone seemed to be shy. Just when I was about to volunteer my services, Bob jumped to the chance and spoke up, “I will…I will!”

‘This was going to be interesting; a man as robust a Bob would definitely prove to be a minor problem for the old man,’ I thought to myself. I looked over at Yang to read-in on his facial-reaction and expression; but his smile seemed to intensify as Bob shuffled into the fixed step push-hands position. They crossed hands immediately and Bob’s stature seemed to dwarf Yang’s by a long shot. They stood in a ready position and rocked back and forth a few times; Bob didn’t dare attempt to uproot Yang out of respect, so I thought, then I witnessed something which I had never seen before. Yang stealthily slid into Bob’s center, in what appeared to be a gliding step (he almost appeared to be on roller-skates, he moved in so swiftly) using the ‘Press’ technique , he shot Bob back diagonally a good six feet—sending him sailing back unto his ever widening expansive backside.

‘I should have brought my video camera with me,’ I was thinking to myself reprovingly. Bob stood up in a dumbfounded stupor and nodded his head in respect, before hurryingly returning to his safer seat on the sofa.

“The Green Society represents the inner transmissions from the house of Yang Lu’chan and Yang Cheng’fu.”

“This is only a small example of the martial side of the art-form; we are offering you a lot more than this if you decided to join our society.”

“We are not a fraternity or cabal, although what we teach you, we expect you to keep under tight lips from the rift raft crowds seeking short cuts and fast tracks.”

“Our curriculum is composed of what we call the ‘Outer Four Gates.’”

“There also exist four ‘Hidden Chambers,’ and if you prove to be worthy, the ‘Green Jewels’ will be revealed to you—if you are prestigious enough in your efforts to access them.”

“This is how the system works; you pay an admission fee, and then will be housed in a special training center in Greensboro, N.C.” “You will be scheduled to stay there for sixteen days to complete your training; at the end of which, you will become an official member of our ‘Green Society.’”

“Then you will gain the privilege to bear our credentials and certificates for your private classes and prospective students.” “There is a downside to this; each ‘chamber’ has a test cycle, and you can not move on to the next one without passing the test.”

“If you fail three times, you will be sent home. No ifs ands or buts about it.”

“You can then come back next year and try it all over again, if you feel compelled to reattempt the challenge—at no additional cost.” “Do you have any questions?”

“How much money are we talking about?” asked Mike sheepishly.

“Well…for sixteen days of room and board, meals and accommodations; plus the cost for training—the total cost comes to two-thousand six-hundred dollars.”

“We only accept U.S dollars; Green backs,” Yang said convincingly.

“You all have time to think it over; I will email you’ll the registration form, and the payment is to be made no later than two weeks before the first training day.”

“You have about three months from today, till the arrival day of January 15^th.”

“If you are not interested or can’t afford it, just shoot me a short email and no questions will be asked.”

“I hope to see you all there; for now, I have some things to attend to—John will show you to the door.”

We were all escorted out of the house and formed into a little circle in front of our parked cars.

“Did you see what he did Bob?” Mike asserted enthusiastically. “That was a true display of Fa-Jing power,” declared Sonya. I started to sense a few ego’s being aroused, so I felt it was better to depart from the frivolous Pow-wow, and steer clear from any tiring over-speculation. I said my farewells and bluffed as being busy, when I was asked to join the group for a trip to a local Denny’s restaurant. I graciously declined Bob’s offer, but the other Yahoo’s seemed to be up for the extravaganza.

Pulling out of the driveway, I noticed the rain had stopped and the air was fresher than a mountain mist. I also observed Yang’s front gate, which was painted green with a golden emblem emblazoned on it (I couldn’t quite make it out.) What was it with all these little green motifs? Green gates, green rugs, green tea, (Yang was wearing a green silk shirt) the mention of greenbacks, and the training ground was in Greensboro. Talk about green fanaticism; soon I was back on route 83, making good time back to York. I arrived home just a few minutes before twelve o’clock.

Over the years, I have turned into somewhat of a night owl; with the new business running smoothly—I mostly just checked up on the workers, took inventory, computed orders, and made frequent bank stops to deposit the daily profits. My brother-in-law Dave, took care of the workers; handled their scheduling, opened the store in the morning, and closed up shop at night.

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Pre-Trip Shenanigans

(2)

I sat on my sofa thinking over what had just transpired. Twenty-six hundred dollars was a lot of money. It wouldn’t be easy to convince Rachel that this was an expense of necessity; rather than raving lunacy. Regardless of her opinion on the matter, I had some money stashed away, and I decided to tell her I was going to attend a Tai Chi retreat in North Carolina; hoping that she wouldn’t push me on the financial details. She probably wouldn’t ask me the amount, since she would think it was an insignificant thing to ask; according to the prices of the other workshops I had frequently attended in the past.

I knew she was planning on going to another conference in January, so she wouldn’t dare shoot my plans down; it had been more than five years since I had made plans to go somewhere without her for more than two nights. She was shocked when I announced to her that it was going to be for sixteen days; I informed her that it was a once in a lifetime chance, and I promised her (Boy scouts honor) this would be the last long term retreat I would attend for a long, long time. It would be strange to be away from her for such a long period of time; but they say that far distances can sometimes remind us of the intrinsic value of what is so conveniently close to us.

A few more weeks sped by and my students at the YMCA were turning into uncouth psychopaths. The class started at eight a.m. and we would go out to brunch sometimes afterwards to IHOP (International House of Pancakes.) The Tai Chi group was sometimes as big as twenty students, but recently, it had dwindled down to about eight individuals; who would usually show up in good faith on a regular basis. There were always a lot of newcomers, which usually only lasted a few weeks; then they would start to cease and desist from attending class altogether. Tai Chi Chuan was harder than most new students expected.

It was about seven thirty a.m. when I arrived at the center. The doors didn’t open to around eight, so I usually took a good half hour to stretch out and warm up in the front lawn area next to a little tree; which I was becoming more and more acquainted with as the years trudged on. My student, Bret, was the first one to show up at around five till eight.

“How are you feeling today buddy?” he said to me in an almost Californian accent.

“Hungry, I could use a few of those flapjacks and a large glass of orange juice,” I replied.

“I here you…Hey, I have been working on a new esoteric form I call the ‘Tibetan Snap-Dragon; I dreamed the whole form up a few weeks ago.”

“Do you wanna check it out?” he asked me; more energized than a bunny on Red-Bull. I am no longer amazed by the crazed imaginations displayed by my fellow human minds. Although Bret was hardly a terrestrial human being, with his display of wild and dangerous Tai Chi inventions.

“Sure, give it a go!” I said with smirk on my face.

“Keep it short though, the rest of the class will be arriving any minute now.”

The opening of his ‘charlatan dance’ appeared traditional, but after this familiarity, I recognized nothing. He spun and spun around, like a handicapped top; flailing his arms around in unexpected directions—it looked more like ‘puff the magic dragon’ than ‘the Tibetan snap-dragon.’

Soon the fit of his phantasms came to an abrupt closing; Bret looked proud of his new shamanic Tasmanian devil-dance. He appeared to me more like a circus dervish than a serious Tai Chi player. A few more of the students arrived and the front doors of the gym were finally sprung open. Ben, Sandra, Brett, Emanuel, Paula, and Josh, all entered like a line of ducklings; and all I heard from their jestings was a lot of “quack, quack, and quack.”

The joking around finally tapered off and we began to move slowly into the first section of the (Yang style) long-form. I went through the first section with them and then broke off from the line to find mistakes in their movements and make corrections accordingly. Everyone seemed to have a different problem than the others. Ben was overly anxious to move from posture to posture with great speed; almost mindlessly, and this manifested itself in the form of absolute ‘instability.’ Sandra was relaxed and slow moving, but could never seem to remember and postures past the first ‘High Pat on Horse.’ Emanuel had better memory and was very relaxed, but his postures were down right horrible. You would have thought he was plagued by an acute case of Scoliosis. Sometimes I would glance over at him and he would appear to me to be a spitting image of ‘the Hunch back of Notre Dame;’ with a severe hernia. Paula was the best of the group, but she wouldn’t listen to me when I informed her of her constant error of being ‘double-weighted.’ The weight of the body is supposed to shift from foot to foot as the form unfolds; so that the transitions are easily performed using the ‘light-foot.’ This increases flexibility and mobility, if it is practiced correctly. She was getting better, but still had a long way to go. Also, she was way too easy to uproot during ‘Tai Tui’ practice to be considered a senior student. My best two students, Rick and Laura, almost never showed up to class. I guess ego has a way of isolating people. After a good half an hour of ‘Tai Tui’ (most of us were sweating profusely) we decided it was time for us to get a bite to eat; like most over weight Americans.

The crew consisted of Ben, Paula, and Sandra. There were a few times when we packed a good twelve people into IHOP, but those days were long gone; and IHOP’s management is probably thankful that our group has dwindled down in size. As a rule of thumb with our Tai Chi breakfast circle, the more attendees, the more outrageous the shenanigans become. If you study groups and crowd psychology, you will find people do crazier things with a large audience; more than they would ever do alone, or with only a few bystanders present. Ben was the most talkative of the group, on this bleak overcast morning in York, Pa.

“I have taken a vow of monasticism; no more energy releases, I just read a book on storing up ‘sexual energy’ to convert it into ‘chi,’” said Ben.

“That’s silliness,” replied Sandra, chiming in most delightfully. “What do you think about that Charles?” asked Paula.

I took a deep breath, and reclined far back into the recesses of my seat.

“Well how’s that working for you?” I asked.

“I feel a real change in me,” he responded, quickly.

“I just have to work on vaporizing the chi up my Kundalini channel,” he informed us.

I could tell he was charged up, but maybe a little too much charged for his own good.

“I don’t subscribe to such beliefs,” I informed him nonchalantly. “Let me ask you a question. Isn’t Tai Chi Chuan based on natural principles?” I asked him.

“Yes, of course it is,” he affirmed.

“Well, do you think it’s natural to be without a wife and devoid of a good sex life?”

“Sperm only lives seventy-two some odd days before it dies anyway. So storing up sperm isn’t what some would have you believe.” “Since you’re a married man, I wouldn’t advise you follow through with your plan much longer.”

“Why torture yourself, when your form isn’t that good anyway?” asked Bret.

“And yours is?” quizzed Ben.

“Alright guys, enough of the slander. Let’s not get into a finger pointing contest,” begged Sandra.

Four large pancakes, maple syrup, and a large glass of freshly squeezed orange juice was all I was interested in. Paula stood up before finishing off her waffles, and apologized for having to leave so abruptly. She threw a few dollar bills on the table to cover the waitresses tip. I have never seen someone dart out of a food establishment so quickly.

“Where is she off to?” I asked curiously. Ben shrugged his shoulders and rolled his eyes; stuffing an immense amount of food into his mouth.

“I know where she’s going. She’s teaching a Tai Chi class in Camphill, at an exercise club,” explained Sandra.

“I heard she plans on opening up a school in the area, and she already ordered around thirty outfits, with belts, for her new grading system.”

“She hopes to host push-hands tournaments and provide trophies, plaques, and the works.”

“Outfits with belts, what does she think we are training Taijitsu? It’s a ridiculous idea,” remarked Bret.

“Non-commissioned and non-sanctioned efforts are pointless,” revealed Ben.

Sandra looked up at me, waiting to see if I was going to comment on the situation which was unfolding.

“It’s a free country,” I said, throwing back the remaining part of my orange juice.

“But do you feel she’s qualified?” asked Bret.

“Qualified or not qualified, it makes no difference to me; she is a grown woman, and if she wants to bear the burden of the responsibility, let her dig right in.”

“But you don’t feel betrayed?” Sandra asked.

“Betrayed… in what way? She comes to the ‘Y’ and practices for her own gains. Her form is rather exceptional; although her‘Tai Tui’ and ‘Dalu’ are rather weak.”

“Someone will inform her of this reality somewhere down the line; I won’t be the one to begrudge her successes.”

“Also, how do we know that she isn’t bringing in other experts to assist her? I don’t want to insinuate and assume things about her without having all the facts.”

“Well, I guess it’s about time that I open up my own school,” said Ben.

“Not with your speed-racer form,” joked Sandra.

The group exchanged a few more laughs and chuckles, before we paid the bill and headed for the exit.

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