2024 review: master-hunting
An article on the core theme of 2024. I hesitate to write it because it goes deep and personal. But hopefully it is too long for the modern attention span, so nobody will actually read it.
In 2023, I found paradise in Yuan Shifu’s fairytale school in Wudang. The practice, food, environment, rooms, music, people — all so beautiful.
Alas, I am blessed and cursed by an inability to settle for anything other than 10/10. I need to see how deep it goes. All the way. And amidst the cameras and tourists in Wudang, there was an upper limit on how deep I could go.
So, in my 2023 review I wrote a characteristically reckless plea to the universe:
‘Thank you for giving me a break this year. I needed stability and groundedness, right? But I’m settled now and we both know: I am ready for the next level.
Hit me. Please, hit me with everything you’ve got. I can take it. I can take more… I want to REALLY go there. Shake me up! Test me!’
There were times this year when I recalled this prayer and thought, ‘Oh Ben, you bloody idiot. Why do you ask for such drama?’
2024 was a hell of adventure. I could write a book on the surreal synchronicities popping off every few days.
The core story from 2024, then, was my valiant quest to find my master. I would not desist until I had satisfied my fantasy of having my personal wizard sensei in the mountains.
Goodbye, Wudang
In January, I took a silent retreat in the Jade Dragon Mountain, connecting with my inner compass and binge-reading Buddhist sutras. I sighed as I realised: I had outgrown Wudang.
I tend to hit a crescendo before departing.
I became a regional powerlifting champion, then quit weightlifting. Played through a broken jaw to win a rugby trophy before retiring. Spent six months overdosing on fun in Brazil before hanging up my party boots.
When I resigned from Goldman Sachs, I went with to deliver the news to the Commodities Sales desk. Before I could open my mouth, a Vice-President said to me, ‘I want to say a huge thank you. The document negotiation has never been as smooth as it is now. We have the perfect set-up. It is running so smoothly. You are superman.’ Ouch.
Wudang followed the pattern. In my last two weeks:
I was featured in a Chinese state TV documentary
Managed chin to toe — a flexibility feat I’d deemed impossible
Delivered a very well-received performance at Yuan Shifu’s birthday in front of a huge audience
Just before I left, Yuan Shifu said to me, 'I cannot believe how you have progressed. I lectured the entire traditional class (young students training to become professionals) about your transformation. You can help many people and be a great master.'
I felt torn. The school had given me so much. And yet, I could see what would happen if I stayed here. My ego was enjoying the minor celebrity status a little too much and I was in danger of becoming a poster boy. Too many people, too many cameras.
So, off I went. Here are the stops I took:
Xiao Yun: The Silent Alchemist
Xiao Yun was my first teacher in Wudang who had gone on to open his own school. My age, yet carrying a silent monklike energy and humility far beyond his years.
I can clearly see a rare, deep, alchemical process going on in him. He carries a rare energetic quality I have only sniffed in one other — what I can only call Buddha karma.
He taught me Tai Ji sword. Here’s the video:
And yet, while I admire Xiao Yun enormously, I just didn’t have that ‘This is It’ feeling.
Chen Shiyu: The Wudang Wizard
A woman in Yuan Shifu’s school stopped me after seeing me practice. ‘What are you doing here? You cannot be taught by the teachers here. You need the best master.’
A few hours later, I was on a video call with her and Shifu Chen Shiyu, the Wudang master whose Tai Ji videos I had watched hundreds of times. The level of refinement and inner magic had hypnotised me. But I had been unable to track him down.
I spent a week learning Tai Ji with him. Here’s the video:
As expected, I had a natural affinity to his subtle style of Tai Ji — very different from the performance-friendly low, wide stances from Yuan Shifu’s teaching. He said I have master qualities. And yet, no ‘This is it’ moment.
Iain Armstrong: The Western Shaolin Master
Next, I met Iain Armstrong, ex-world champion in Kung Fu, specialist in hard Qi Gong (brick-breaking, rolling around in ice and so on) and the calmest Westerner I have met.
We’d met a year previously in his retreat centre in Thailand. We had an unusual connection. He sensed something he had never witnessed in a Westerner. I respect him deeply.
And yet, once more, no ‘This is it’ feeling. I knew on landing in Thailand I was in the wrong country. I can’t be in a training environment with Westerners. That’s a backward step.
Ajahn Suchart: The Enlightened Theravada Monk
At this point, I had to dig deep. Darkness crept in. I had met three world-class masters. But still, no resonance.
Have I watched too many martial arts movies? Is my fantasy just that?
I went for a week of meditation in a Thai forest temple to contemplate.
The teacher, Ajahn Suchart, is widely regarded as elightened. On my first day, he delivered a talk to a hundred people or so. Before speaking, he sat in silence for ten minutes. For five of those, he stared at me. I’ll never forget it. He bored into my soul. And yet, there was nothing that was actually doing the staring. Something had died in him.
After the talk, he pointed to me and asked if I had any questions. I said, ‘For a decade I have considered becoming a monk. A year ago I got close, but chose to stay ‘in the world.’ It feels like I have had a good year, but I do wonder… Am I deluding myself? Is all of my worldly activity a noble excuse? Should I give it all up?’
I’ll never forget his uncompromising response: ‘Yes. You will lose everything you have. The only true is found in meditation. Everything else is suffering and a lies. Give it all up, become a monk and go 100% into meditation.’
Quite something to digest.
I met Ajahn Yih-Wey — twenty years a monk, former head of the temple, now meditating in solitude in caves, graveyards and abandoned temples. He happened to be visiting. Surprisingly funny, down to earth man. Here’s what he said to me:
‘Don’t listen listen to me because I am not enlightened. You need an Arahant (enlightened teacher) — nothing less. Yes, something has started to awaken in you; but you are scratching the surface. While you maintain your secular life, there is too much activity. If you let go of money, technology, clothes and so on to spend your entire life meditating, you will go infinitely deeper.’
I could see his point.
And yet, something felt out of alignment. Theravada views existence as suffering, the body a sack of blood, pus and shit. The task is to destroy all attachments and meditate your escape from this wretched world.
This accords with the raw reading of the Pali canon of Buddhist suttas, which nobody actually reads — I suppose because they are too incompatible with secular life.
I thought I was hardcore. But this went way beyond my limitations. A total annihilation of every spark of creativity or joy or excitement. ’Is this what it takes? Fuck that!’
The Theravada path demands total war against the self. No room for the joy of embodied practice or the electric aliveness and magical world of Qi I have uncovered. I simply cannot throw away my body, which I view as a vehicle for and and obstacle to awakening.
Shifu Shi Heng Zuan: The Old Master
Shifu Shi Heng Zuan was my master for three years in Europe. Meeting him changed everything, seeing the first living evidence that this whole thing isn’t a hoax. No superlative could do justice to the effect it had.
I left his group in February 2023. The container of occasional workshops in scattered locations in Europe and Thailand felt too small. I ended more.
And yet, when I said goodbye, I assumed it would be temporary. A year, perhaps.
My return would be pivotal. Would I come back? Would I have fallen behind? For the first time in years, I felt something almost like nerves.
Returning, I quickly knew I had made the right decision. Before, I was like the others — a clueless, stiff Westerner. Now after a year in China, my Qi body had awakened. I was a different beast. I had wondered if the strong reactions I received in China had been due to me being a exotic foreigner. But returning to Europe, I received similar feedback: ‘Holy shit, Ben, what happened to you? You are totally different.’
At the end of Vessakfest in Shaolin Temple Europe, I stood at the back of the Buddha hall while Shifu Shi Heng Yi gave a talk, with Shifu Shi Heng Zua sitting by his side. He saw through the crowd of a hundred and our eyes locked for ten minutes. Without exchanging a word, everything was said.
We spoke afterwards. I told him my job in China wasn’t complete. He smiled. He didn’t try to persuade me to return. He told me to go for it and that one day I could return to teach.
I had my closure.
I have no doubt that Shifu will feature in my life in the future. But this particular chapter is over.
Shaolin Temple: Warrior Monk Training
I belong in China, and that’s where I returned in August.
A week at a performance martial arts centre in Sichuan. A trial at Shifu Yanzi’s kickboxing school. Impressive discipline, but lacking in soul.
One memorable morning, I spent three hours meditating in the cave where Bodhidharma sat for nine years before introducing Zen into the lives of the Shaolin monks.
On my way down the mountain, I saw a beast of a warrior monk bounding up the stairs like a gazelle.
I bowed. He stopped. We talked.
Turned out he was Shifu Shi Yan Hao, renowned as Shaolin’s most powerful, brick-breaking monk.
My fantasy of hardcore Shaolin training materialised. A week later I was training one-on-one with him inside the temple itself.
A special experience. In particular, I relished doing my morning standing meditation in the famous Buddha halls before the doors opened and the tourists flooded in.
Yan Hao taught me with a ferocity I have never experienced. He is a ball of explosive power. It was an honour to learn from him.
And yet, once more I felt the internal component missing. And my body kicked up a fuss: first a strained hamstring, second a fractured rib. I was constantly exhausted and dealing with overtraining, with little energy for meditation and indeed anything else.
I lay in bed and reflected. I knew I had created this injury. It was the signal: ‘Ben, you’re 33, not 18. The days of six hours of hard training per day are over. Time to soften and focus only on internal arts. I grant you permission to stop punishing yourself and become a wizard.’
Wu Gulun & Shifu Wu Nanfang: The One
I had watched a video of Shifu Shi Heng Yi performing an unusual internal style of Shaolin Kung Fu that is totally different from the brick-breaking acrobatics I’d seen in movies. I was hypnotised.
I tracked down the master who taught him: Shifu Wu Nanfang, the lineage holder of Wu Gulun Kung Fu, a type of XinYiBa, which is regarded as the highest level, most complex of all Shaolin Kung Fu.
As soon as I began, I felt a deep heart resonance with the practice. ‘This is It!’
I had until then been unimpressed by the Shaolin Kung Fu I’d seen. Impressive acrobatics and physical feats, yes. But deeper internal practice? Not yet.
I resonated with Taoist Wudang practice, but always felt it was a temporary stint before an inevitable return to Zen and the Buddha. In my heart, Zen holds a quality of being the ultimate that is lacking in Taoism. And for the first time, in XinYiBa I felt this ultimate quality within a Zen martial practice.
Yes, this was the practice I’d been imagining for years. It has the soft elegance of Tai Ji but is less airy fairy. There is an ancient, dark, hidden power within each movement; a quietly, deadly quality.
I became infatuated with the spiralling, coiling movements, playing with them in all free moments to burn the energetic essence into my body at a cellular level. But let’s not get carried away. I could, and indeed intend to, write a book about this very special practice.
I managed to wangle myself a very special dynamic. For the past three months, Shifu Wu Nanfang has been teaching me one-on-one four times per week. This is unheard of, as in most schools the head Shifu is too busy to teach personally. Here are the aspects that make this situation perfect:
Foreigner-Friendly. In most places, the perception is that if you (1) didn’t train since childhood and (2) are a foreigner, you have no shot of getting good. Shifu Wu Nanfang thinks differently. He prefers teaching adult Westerners, who he says use their heart more to train than the Chinese kids, who are usually sent by their parents and would rather play video games.
Traditional Teaching. Because he spends zero energy on marketing and making a pretty school, he saves all his energy for teaching. The traditional style of teaching is from father to son, one-on-one. Shifu doesn’t leak his energy elsewhere and it feels like teaching me is the only thing going on in his life.
Integrity. I have never met someone who cares so little about money and fame. He cares only about passing on the depth of his art.
Content. He is in a constant state of contentment. His Dantien (energy centre) is full. He has no ambition. This is very healthy for me to inhale, quietening the remnants of my Western mentality.
Balance. Since starting intensive one-on-one training, I have essentially been happy every day. I’m on a golden streak. I’m laughing more, befriending strangers and feeling greater warmth to my students. After three hours of training and having tea with Shifu, I feel as much energetic disturbance as if I’d spent my time with a tree.
Energy-Giving. The training focuses on filling the Dantian rather than exhausting physical practice. I have spent a lot of time overtraining in the past few years. Now I feel my inner glow filling up. And yet, there is a powerful Yang quality to the practice, with the use of tension, that speaks to my masculinity and makes it feel complete.
Patience. I sense most other Masters looked at me as a potential marketing tool. Someone they could train to become a teacher as soon as possible. Not Shifu. He wants me to stay quiet, continuing my training for another three years at least before moving to predominantly teaching. This aligns with my sense that although to some it seems I’ve gone far, I’m only 10% of the way.
Wisdom. Our conversations are 99% about Kung Fu and Zen theory. No small talk or personal stuff. And Shifu is full of gems. For example: ‘Become as agile as the monkey, imperceptible as the dragon, quiet and ferocious as the tiger.’
Conclusion
I studied the universe enough to figure out how it works.
I knew I’d face trials. I knew I’d be tempted with 7s, 8s and 9s. I knew I’d have to dig deep and not settle. I knew I’d have to experience deep doubt.
Before finding calm stability, I’d have to tolerate its opposite. Yin and yang.
But now I have found what feels like my art form, master and home for the foreseeable future.
I learned from this quest that I do indeed mean biz. I sacrificed a lot to be here. None of the pleasant food, music, people and fairytale atmosphere of Wudang. No social media opportunities or minor celebrity status.
But let’s not lie. I did chicken out of living inside the very basic school and live in a plush hotel, with laundry and cleaning service, a delightful twenty-minute mountainside walk away. Not quite ready to let go of material comfort. Maybe next lifetime.
