ur company looked forward to this training like no other before. We came early. The sports hall was open. Some guys,
having changed, began to warm up. Sensei stood aside and talked with enthusiasm to a gangly old man who was so skinny that his kimono was hanging on him like on a coat-hanger. Not far from them, together with a group of men, stood Dumpling. By the expression on his face, one could see that he didn’t hear the funny jokes of his fellow company. It seemed like his ears had turned into a radar that was picking up the slightest sound coming from Sensei and the old man. “Gosh!” I thought with indignation, “He is here again!”
Following us, a couple of guys from our dojo loudly walked in, in an elated mood. They were accompanied by a proudly walking, untidy looking man, about forty years old, with a week’s worth of old bristle on his face. The guys greeted Sensei and announced with evident pleasure:
“We have just met a very interesting man, very sensitive... His name is Vitaliy Yakovlevich.”
At these words, the disheveled man made a ceremonious bow with his head and again put on his selfsatisfied air.
“He possesses extraordinary abilities, and he politely agreed to demonstrate them to our group…”
Sensei made a polite bow in reply and said, “It would be very interesting to see.”
“And very edifying,” added Vitaliy Yakovlevich meaningfully, raising up his forefinger.
Our huge curious crowd began to gather around him. Meanwhile “the sensitive one,” with an air of great expertise, took out of his jacket’s torn pocket a dozen of common kitchen spoons wrapped in a piece of dirty rag.
“What do you think,” Kostya quietly whispered to Andrew. “Where has this Neanderthal man got these goods of human civilization?”
“I think he has stolen them from somewhere, probably,” replied Andrew.
“I wonder, does he even know how to use them?” Kostya asked, smiling.
Meanwhile, Vitaliy Yakovlevich, in an emphatic manner, undressed down to his waist and, having uncovered his wrinkled fat stomach, began to diligently stick the back sides of spoons to his chest. Our guys burst out laughing, and Kostya added:
“Wow! That’s why they say that equipment in the hands of a savage is just a pile of metal!”
A slight wave of amazement ran through the crowd. Spoons got really stuck, and “the sensitive one” was now grandly walking with a puffed out chest as if it were covered with medals of honour.
One of the guys asked, “How are you doing this? How can you explain it?”
It seemed like this was the question Vitaliy Yakovlevich was waiting for. With obvious pleasure, he started to talk instructively about bioenergy and informational fields, biological human magnetism, its phenomenal manifestation only through chosen people, and its all-powerful influence. His speech finally reached its culmination. Walking in front of the astonished crowd with his naked torso covered with the hanging spoons and convincingly gesticulating, “the sensitive one” was passionately declaiming, “…this powerful, pulsating emanation born from the Power of the World’s Universal Reason embodies the last step to the perfect spirit. It is able to surround the human mind with the power of its aura. And not only to separate itself from the human body but also to exist out of the body together with the soul. I would say, existence beyond the border is quite conscious. Having accumulated the energy of this cosmic emanation, I have discovered a fantastic super power in myself. I got an invaluable gift of magnetism, clairvoyance, and healing. I have the power to heal miraculously all diseases. I cure through an all-penetrating, omnipresent double flow of emanation, which appears to be an initial cause of all energy and informational fields of the great Universe. With my positive pole I restore power, body, and human aura and also take away the evil eye…”
I noticed that, even though this peculiar lecture was not quite clear to me, my thoughts started to search for the ways of a possible cure in it. “Maybe he will be able to heal me?! Although, of course, it’s very hard to believe, but maybe…” Encouraged by the elusive hope, I started to listen much more diligently to the convincing speech of “the sensitive one,” already not paying any attention to his appearance.
“… My might, as I was perfecting it, became immense…Here, as you can see, this is one of its manifestations,” and he pointed out the stuck spoons.
It looked quite strange. Making circles around the listening crowd, he stuck his stomach out further and further and slightly leaned back, like a penguin. I looked at Sensei. He stood, with hands crossed on his chest and a slightly lowered head, probably already tired of listening. He was smiling ironically.
“…I achieved this perfection due to some mysterious knowledge that is not known to anyone on Earth except the chosen ones. On the basis of that secret information, I developed my own system of spiritual development. But it’s not available to every mortal. Even that one, who due to the hardest work and through the atonement of sins and privations will reach the tenth level of my system of perfection, won’t be able to realize by himself the great mystery of this teaching. Because it reveals itself only to best of the chosen ones. Only people like me who are able to unite the perishable body with the great spirit, the spirit of Universal Reason, possess the all-mighty of God!”
It seemed like those words were the last drop on Sensei’s nerves. Judging by his light wave of movements, it seemed to me that he would lose his temper and punch this man with so much force that even the so-called power of this “alien” wouldn’t be able to save him. But despite my forecast, Sensei, clearly enunciating every word, said:
“Mister, isn’t it too much responsibility to take on yourself? So far, you haven’t demonstrated to us anything that would have proved your words.”
“What do you mean, haven’t demonstrated?!” Vitaliy Yakovlevich demanded angrily. “Don’t you see this?!”
“All this is rubbish,” continued Sensei. “Anybody can do it. And there is nothing extraordinary or special in it. You simply need to wash yourself more often.”
The whole crowd rolled with laughter. Kostya, hitting himself on the forehead, said in excitement, “Of course! I remember I’ve read about this trick. He just has a sticky and wet body; that’s why the spoons got stuck.”
The self-proclaimed Ruler of the Universe and the whole Earth became even more furious and shouted across the sports hall towards Sensei, “What? You are too young to make judgements about such great knowledge! What else can you do except flap your legs?”
Sensei gazed at him seriously. Then he came up and easily took one of the spoons that were slipping away. Everybody around them froze. The Teacher stretched out his hand, holding the thin end of the spoon, and started to make a series of breathing exercises, working on deep breathing. In a minute, his face relaxed and his emotions disappeared. His eyes changed, and it seemed to me they became fathomless. He froze for a split second, fixing his eyes on the spoon. His figure seemed to look like a great sculpture. And at that moment the spoon started to bend fast like a soft fading flower, as if it weren’t made from tough metal but from some plastic material. I couldn’t believe my eyes. Impossible, but it’s a fact!
Sensei regained his usual appearance in a few seconds and calmly said to the shocked Vitaliy Yakovlevich as he returned the bent spoon, “When you can demonstrate for us at least this simple trick, then we will listen to you with great pleasure.”
And quickly turning to the crowd Sensei added, “I would like to inform those that haven’t changed yet that the training will start in two minutes. The ones who don’t make it in time will have to do the push-up penalty.”
Having heard these words, we rushed to the changing rooms, outrunning each other, missing the most interesting part: how this newly born God-like bum recovered from his stupor.
“Senior sempai! Why are there strangers inside?!” We heard the voice of Sensei behind us.
During the warm-up I revised my thoughts: “How could I even allow the thought that this bum is able to help me somehow?! Well… But on the other side, in my desperate situation, all I can do is believe in miracles and hope for the best. Here you grasp at any straw just to survive. That’s why these silly thoughts arise, because of an internal, almost panic level of fear. No. I should control myself. Anyway, I will find a saving loophole. I’ll try to survive. I shouldn’t lose hope, and I will fight to the very end!” The most amazing thing was that my firm belief was based on some deep, subconscious feeling, on that something I was looking for so hard. But all this became apparent in vague guesses.
Meanwhile, the warm-up ended up and we started to exercise the bases under the supervision of the senior sempai. Sensei was sitting on a bench discussing something with the gangly old man. “I wish I could hear what they are talking about,” I thought to myself. But evidently those curious thoughts were present not only in my head. During the training, despite the fact he was a man with grey hair, Dumpling was always trying, as if by accident, to take a place closer to the Teacher. And with each try he caused in me an indescribable feeling of envy and jealousy. And judging by the accusing gazes of our guys, I was not the only one who felt it.
During the noisy and monotone basic exercises and loudly announced commands, I again got deep into my thoughts. “How did Sensei manage to bend the spoon? And why did he call that phenomenon simply a trick? If that was a trick, then, in my understanding, it should have been thoroughly prepared. But he just took the spoon and bent it with his gaze alone.”
I could say that I believed and disbelieved it at the same time. I believed because somewhere I’ve read about people who possessed such abilities. I recalled that there were described people-magnets. But any objects, regardless what material they were made of wood, metal, plastic - would stick to them. I remember that I was amazed most of all by the weight those people could hold up: more than ten kilos!
It was a paradox, but I didn’t believe that I had seen all that with my own eyes, as they say, “live.” Or rather, this disbelief was caused by my reluctance to realize that this fact itself was real. Everything seemed so mysterious. I would have understood if our crowd had been hypnotized, had had it explained to use beforehand what we would see. But Sensei just took it in silence and did it. How?!
Nevertheless, the fact that it was possible was very important for me. It was some kind of, not yet known to me, firm platform formed by Sensei’s knowledge. And my subconscious was intensively grasping it in every way possible, resisting those antagonistic thoughts. I don’t know why, but I started to trust that interesting man. At least, he obviously knew where there is truth and where there is fiction.
After the basics, finally came the moment long expected by our company. This part of the training we used to call “the free style program” because people, having split up into pairs, were exercising old techniques or some peculiar techniques from the previous trainings. Andrew picked up his nunchaku and being followed by our curious glances came up to the Teacher.
“Is it possible to do something against nunchaku?”
“And do you know how to use them?” Sensei replied with a smile.
“Of course!” bragged Andrew self-satisfied. “I haven’t put them down for four years. One could say, I eat and sleep with them.”
Andrew demonstrated a couple of, in our opinion, complex movements.
“Not bad,” Sensei said.
“And still, is it possible to do something against nunchaku?” Andrew repeated his question, obviously provoking the Teacher.
“Of course… For every Vijai there is a Rajah.”
“What?” Andrew asked again, not understanding the last phrase.
“I mean, for every power there is a counter-power. Nunchaku is not an exception.”
“Can you show me?”
“I can, but then it will not be fair, you with nunchaku against me… Take somebody else with you.”
We looked at each other with astonishment. Nevertheless Andrew went along to look for a partner, and our company to look for the second weapon. To our regret there were no more nunchaku. Instead of that, we found a lot of two-meter-long poles in the sports equipment room.
But although we found weapons fairly easily, finding a partner for Andrew was more difficult. Senior guys flatly refused the proposal to take part in this fight and laughed: “No, thanks, guy. You’d better do it alone.”
Finally, Andrew managed to convince a man among the newcomers. Meanwhile, Sensei was peacefully chattering with that skinny old man in the white kimono.
“Here, I found one!” Andrew happily announced to the Teacher.
“You have found one, great. Let senior sempai second us. At his clap, start to attack with full contact. Is that clear?”
That was all Andrew was waiting for. He nodded with obvious pleasure. Sensei walked out into the middle. Andrew stood facing Sensei, and the man with the pole chose a position from the rear right of Sensei. It came to a thrilling moment. All participants were battle-ready, except Sensei. He was standing relaxed, thinking about something and slightly playing with the tips of his black belt, embroidered with gold hieroglyphs.
At the senior sempai’s clap, Andrew zealously rushed into a frontal attack, spinning his nunchaku with the speed of the blades of a working propeller. Meanwhile, the other man jumped up quickly and started striking with the pole. What happened next happened in an instant. Sensei hadn’t changed his position from the moment the attack was begun but rather kept standing in a deeply thoughtful pose. As soon as his opponents achieved a critical distance with regards to his body, he, without changing his stance, quickly threw his hand forward... if “threw” is the right word because in reality his hand shot out like an attacking snake. The nunchaku folded, spun on it, and flew towards the second fighter. The Teacher accompanied them with a twist of his wrist, slightly changing the trajectory of the flight. The nunchaku made half a turn in the air, aligned, and like the butt-end of a stick, hit the exact middle of the forehead of the man attacking from behind. The second nunchaku’s stick, continuing its flight, hit the pole. And the pole, correspondingly changing its trajectory of movement, hit Andrew right in the head. As a result, two unsuccessful fighters clumsily fell down to the floor, not even realizing what happened. And Sensei continued to stand thoughtfully, as if all the turmoil around had clearly nothing to do with him. And then, having come to himself, he asked his “opponents” carefully:
“How are you, guys? Did you get hurt badly?”
“No,” Andrew answered confused, intensively massaging a puffed out bump on his forehead. “It’s all right.”
The other man also nodded.
“I am sorry, I miscalculated a bit,” apologized Sensei. Coming up to his previous interlocutor, he said, as if nothing had happened, “You know, I have a great idea! What if…”
Meanwhile, observing the fight, the crowd buzzed in discussion with noises of laughter and amazement about such a quick fight. And one of the senior guys whom Andrew had asked to help said with laughter, “Yeah right, Sensei miscalculated, aha! Don’t worry, guys, that’s all right. We went through such ‘miscalculations’ already many times, and all due to our own stupidity.”
When Andrew realized what had happened, he simply tormented Kostya and Slava with the same question: “How can that be? One movement… not even a strike?!” Kostya perplexedly answered, “How can we know? Sensei is over there, ask him.”
But the Teacher was always busy until the end of the training, first demonstrating new techniques, then showing complicated strikes to the senior guys, then answering endless questions, and at the end of the training talking to the old man. However, Andrew made up his mind to clear that up right then, no matter how.
We got that chance only when the supplementary training was over. We quickly changed and waited at the exit, like guards, as we decided to get what we wanted. But it turned out that Igor Mikhailovich and his guys were going towards the same tram stop. On the way, we started our interrogations.
“How did you manage to best two armed opponents with only one movement?” Andrew asked his sore question.
“Well, weapons have nothing to do with it. This is the technique of using the opponent’s force. By the way, it is used in many other styles, for example, Aikido, JiuJutsu, Wing Chun, and others. You need only to catch a moment and use it right away.”
“In general it’s clear, but in this case, what style did you use?”
“Nothing special,” cunningly answered Sensei, shrugging his shoulders, “a little bit of everything.”
“But still?” queried Andrew.
“Well, here all you have to know is the physical law of acceleration, distribution of the gravity center in biomechanics, and a little bit of the Snake style.”
“Oho!” whistled Andrew.
“And what did you think? All great things are ridiculously simple, but it takes a lot of hard work to master them.”
While Andrew was thinking over that phrase, Slava quickly asked, “Is it possible to explain that case with the spoon?”
“Of course, it is possible,” Sensei said with a smile. “There is nothing concealed that will not be disclosed, or hidden that will not be made known.”
“So, what was that?”
“Ah, just trifles. There is nothing special in ordinary Qigong, or rather one of its modifications.”
“And what is ‘Qigong’?” Now it was my turn to ask a question.
“I’ve read somewhere that it is just a breathing technique,” Kostya added.
“Yes, many people think so,” replied Igor Mikhailovich. “But in reality, Qigong is a meditative and breathing system that allows a person to master his hidden psycho-physical potential. Though in fact it is one of the simplest types of spiritual practices.”
That phrase roused the interest of our company and something trembled inside of me after these words. But as soon as I opened my mouth to ask about how we could learn it, Kostya squeezed in with his favorite manner of verbiage: “Well, ’If but a friendly hint be thrown / 'Tis easier than to feel one's way.’”
“Oh, you like Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, do you?” demanded Igor Mikhailovich. “Then, if you’ve read carefully, he also said the following: ‘Now of the wise man's words I learn the sense: / Unlock'd the spiritworld is lying, / Thy sense is shut, thy heart is dead! / Up scholar, lave, with zeal undying, / Thine earthly breast in the morning-red!”
At that moment, you should have seen the surprise on Kostya’s face. He was so much impressed by these words that he wasn’t able to immediately find the right answer. That was the first person in his life (except his parents, of course) who talked to him at his ‘high intellectual’ level. “It serves him right,” I gloated in my thoughts. “He used to pose as the only man of great erudition in this world.”
“I’ve read quite a lot of books,” our ‘Philosopher’ started to defend himself, more trying to uphold his pride rather carrying on the topic of the discussion. “And it was written there that the spiritual world is only a fairy tale for kids.”
“Who knows,” Sensei said indifferently, continuing to quote Goethe, “’Parchment, is that the sacred fount whence roll / Waters, he thirsteth not who once hath quaffed? / Oh, if it gush not from thine inmost soul, / Thou has not won the life-restoring draught.’” “Hmm! It’s easy to say ‘the life-restoring draught,’” puffed Kostya. Keeping silent for a while, he added, “As Moliere said, ‘Not all things that are talked of turn to facts; / The road is long, sometimes, from plans to acts.’”
“What do I hear?” Sensei joked, “’If we are too wise, we may be equally to blame. / Good sense avoids all extremes, and requires us to be soberly rational.’”
“It sounds familiar…”
“That is from Poquelin, his expression from ‘The Misanthrope’.”
“Who is that?”
“Well, Jean-Baptiste Moliere. Poquelin is his real surname.”
Even in the dim light of street lamps, we could see how Kostya turned red in the face.
“But… but… Eastern wisdom says that a really wise man foresees the end before starting any doing.”
“Absolutely right. In other words, it means that a human being possesses mind, and his real power is in his thoughts. Even in the modern world, to put it in scientific terms, you may find, for example, the confirmation of it in the saying of Tsiolkovsky, ’A thought precedes an action, a fantasy precedes a precise calculation.’ As you see, in human society nothing has changed throughout the ages. And why? Because, as Valentin Sidorov correctly emphasized, ’The nature of your thought is your own nature. / Master your thought and you will know yourself. / And you will be the ruler of your own.’ The real power is the power of mind.”
“Yes,” uttered Kostya, concluding, “’A head without mind is like a flashlight without a light bulb.’”
“Wonderful words of Leo Tolstoy,” agreed Igor Mikhailovich to the complete surprise of the ‘Philosopher’. “If you remember, he also has this beautiful saying, ’Thought is the beginning of all. And you can rule your thoughts. That is why the most important thing in self-perfection is to work with your thoughts.’”
Kostya nodded uncertainly. It seemed to hurt his pride even more. So, for the next twenty minutes we witnessed a grand battle with aphorisms, quotes, sayings of native and foreign writers, poets, philosophers, scientists, and I didn’t even know most of their names. Meanwhile, I was trying hard to join this dialogue with my essential question, and I was impatient to ask it. But Sensei’s polemics with our ‘Philosopher’ flew uninterrupted, gradually reaching its culmination. I have already got completely angry with Kostya that he took such priceless time just to satisfy his mania of brilliant erudition. But he was so possessed by the discussion that it seemed nothing else in the world existed for him.
At the very end, already coming to the tram stop, after probably going through all his memory, he recited his favorite expression. “Well, as Villon said, ‘I know all, save myself.’”
“So, ‘You gaze today, while You are You — how then tomorrow, when You shall be You no more?’”
“And who is that?” Kostya almost screamed, completely losing his temper.
“Oh,” drawled Sensei with pleasure, “that was Omar Khayyam, a famous Persian poet and philosopher, and a great scientist who was considerably ahead of his time. His full name is Ghiyath al-Din Abu’l-Fath Omar ibn Ibrahim Al-Nisaburi Khayyami. He lived in the eleventh century. His wisdom was highly esteemed even by the Seldjuk rulers of Iran, though he was from Khorasan, a small village near Nishapur. He had very interesting philosophical thoughts. According to his views, the Soul is eternal. It came from the Nowhere into the human body and will return to the Nowhere after death. This world is a strange land for it.”
“I wonder,” said Tatyana, joining the conversation, “where is the soul located inside of the human body? Just like this philosopher thinks, in the heart, or not?”
“No, he thought that the heart was born on the earth and it is only a part of mortal human flesh, although it’s the best and the most ‘spiritual’ part. Through the heart in particular speaks the soul. But the heart, in his opinion, knows only this world and existence… He has the following interesting lines, when the heart asks the soul about the mysteries of the Nowhere.”
Sensei reflected on it for a bit and said, ”’I sent my Soul through the Invisible, / Some letter of that Afterlife to spell: / And by and by my Soul return'd to me, / And answer'd "I Myself am Heav'n and Hell.’" “And what is that ‘letter’?”
“It is believed to be ‘Aleph’ “a first letter in his native language; it’s also the number one. As he thought, it is a symbol of the One Existing, a symbol of the Universal Unity.” Having looked at Kostya, Sensei ironically added, “What else can be argued about?!”
Kostya was completely confused, not knowing what more to say. I hastened to use that opportunity and exclaimed in a single breath, “How can we learn that system of techniques to master the hidden psychophysical potential?”
“It’s very easy. There is no secret at all. The most important thing is, as they say, to have a great desire, and the chance will come soon.”
“So, can we learn it from you?”
“Of course.”
“And when can we start?” asked Andrew, apparently thinking the same way as me.
“Well, if you are so interested in it, you are welcome to join. I devote an hour and a half for these exercises, twice a week.”
“How much does it cost?” asked Slava.
“Do you think it’s possible to evaluate spiritual knowledge with money?” said Sensei, surprised. “You guys pay too much attention to this ‘paper’. We train just for ourselves, for our own spiritual development. If you want to train, come and train.”
Our company fixed in detail a date and a time of the next meeting.
“Eugene will show you the way,” added the Teacher. Eugene turned out to be a tall, lightly-haired, athletically built guy, one of those ‘speedy’ guys always with Sensei.
“We certainly will come,” Andrew answered for all of us.
At that stage we said goodbye to each other. I was beside myself with joy. Finally I got close to what I had been looking for for so long. It seemed I needed to make just one step and maybe I would be able to cross over this abyss and climb out to the solid surface of Existence. I felt that intuitively, with a sort of sixth sense. Although my mind didn’t see any real chance to survive. Despite that, as they say, the Soul was singing.
All the way, the guys passionately discussed today’s training and what awaited us the day after tomorrow at the spiritual training. Enthusiasm overfilled everyone but Kostya. He was puffed, like a turkey, with gloomily knitted eyebrows.
“Kostya, will you come?” asked Andrew, clapping him on the back.
“I’m not sure, maybe we shouldn’t go,” mumbled the dissatisfied ‘Philosopher’. “We’re not the circus clowns to learn those tricks. We’ll just waste our time for nothing there.”
“Are you stupid, man?” Andrew retorted ’politely’. “Where have you seen a circus clown who can bend spoons just by looking at them?”
“And who teaches others to do it for free,” Slava added his strong argument.
“That’s what I’m saying. You must be insane! That distresses me!”
“And yet I understand “most kindly would you be,” our discontented ‘Philosopher’ sarcastically replied.
“All right, guys, don’t quarrel,” said Tatyana. “You should better advise me how to convince my parents to let me go to this training.”
“How?” answered Andrew. “Like in this joke, ’A daughter came back home late and her father asks her, What would you call that? The girl replies, I don’t know what it’s called, but from now on, it will be my favorite hobby.”
Everybody laughed. Having agreed upon a new meeting, we went home.
