SPENCER CALLAGHAN : The Fight for Heaven and Earth

by Ryan Conway

  After settling in their rooms and exploring the amenities, they reassembled in the main hall, wherefrom Spencer and Tom climbed back up the stairs to return to the main level of the temple.

  On the main level, they headed to a lounge for some rest and relaxation. Spencer and Tom sat snugly secure within the secret Shanzenian quarters hidden away inside Wudang Mountain. Tom started working a TV remote, flipping through channels before settling on CNN after trying unsuccessfully to find any history or archaeology programs. It wasn't long before a segment about the incident in Chinatown ran. Spencer felt strange to see and hear the incomplete reporting and speculation about the circumstances of what had really happened. Witnesses and reporters suspected gang violence and theorized the involvement of the Chinese Triad simply because of the locale. Why this was such a big deal neither of them knew; it must be a slow news week, Spencer figured.

  Tom changed the channel to another network, and found it was covering the same story from a somewhat different perspective. The reporting and theorizing was far from accurate, but twice as belligerent as before. "It's interesting." Spencer proclaimed. "I'm watching the news, and this time I feel like I've actually got the inside scoop on the story of the day. But none of the news agencies have the slightest clue about what they're reporting on."

  On the second station, a loud-mouthed pundit associated the incident in Chinatown with a flaw in the country's legal and immigration systems. He ranted about undocumented laborers in Chinatown as part of a more widespread immigration issue. Then his theorizing took a more sinister twist as he casually linked the Hong Kong Triad to the growing threat. He then insinuated that Mr. Wong's restaurant itself was an “obvious” front for international criminal activity, and should be investigated more intensely. "After all, in relation to this lack of oversight, human trafficking has frequently been a reoccurring problem," he declared, undoubtedly to arouse fears and incite negative public opinion. Unsurprisingly the channel, Tom had just unintentionally changed the station to, was Uncle George’s network of choice.

  Spencer felt the onset of a headache, and lowered his head into his hands. This again, he thought. Noticing his friend's reaction, Tom changed the channel, saying, "That's enough of that for now." Then he reached over, patting Spencer on the shoulder before settling on an old Star Trek rerun. As Kirk and Spock saved the universe once again, with a little help from Dr. McCoy, Spencer reached into his pocket and pulled out the package of tablets he'd been prescribed at West Augusta General Hospital. Once the headaches arrived, escaping the trigger only kept them from getting worse; the pain was slow to fade. He used a gulp of water from the canteen in his backpack to wash down the pill; they were too bitter to swallow dry.

  He waited a moment for the pill to take effect, but his headache wasn't subsiding. Not that it was horrible, just lingering.

  Tom couldn't stand to see his best friend holding his head in pain. "Let me see your hand," he said firmly.

  "Why?"

  "I'd like to try something."

  Shrugging, Spencer held out his left hand. "This is the first time I've tried the tablets," he said.

  "Is that your prescription medication?"

  "Yeah, it's rizatriptan for migraines. It's supposed to work just as well as pethidine, without the adverse effects." Spencer kept holding his head with one hand as he allowed Tom to take the other; somehow, holding his head and massaging his temples made it feel better. Maybe it was the pressure, or maybe it helped to relax his cranial muscles or something. Meanwhile, Tom held Spencer's hand out straight, palm down, and pinched between the thumb and forefinger. He held his own thumb and index finger on either side of Spencer's hand for a moment as he waited for a reaction. Spencer slowly released his forehead and raised his head. "It's better," he noted.

  "It doesn't eradicate the root cause," Tom said, "but it's at least a good temporary relief for now. You'll see. There's a lot more to learn around here than this little pressure-point trick."

  After Master Yan's meeting with Sean, the big blond man rejoined Spencer and Thomas in the lounge. By then, Spencer's headache had faded, so they took Master Yan up on his offer to show them the grounds. They walked up the stone staircase and resurfaced in Master Yan's office in the Purple Cloud Temple complex, then passed through the main hall of the temple, toward the open front doors leading to the courtyard.

  Once outdoors, Spencer was intrigued by the many monks they encountered wearing orange and saffron robes. Some of them sat in focused meditation, while others performed slow, smooth qigong and tai chi moves. Some executed seemingly superhuman feats of flexibility and balance. The ages of some of the people amazed him even more; they were much older than his grandparents would have been, had they all still been alive. Some individuals did back flips on solid surfaces with their hands behind their backs, landing smoothly on their feet; others performed complex katas with remarkable reflexes and swiftness. Still others did handstands on their fingertips and posed for long periods of time in seemingly exhausting positions.

  Master Yan joined them at the temple steps. "I trust you are well-rested?" he asked. They all nodded. He gestured at the people exercising in the plaza. "This is the main courtyard, which you passed through earlier. You can observe the tranquil and serene practices of tai chi and qigong performed by both masters and students alike."

  "This is amazing!" Spencer exclaimed. "How are they able to do all this?"

  "For most, it's the result of years of dedication and practice," Master Yan responded. "But in many ways, the will of the mind can accomplish what the body seems incapable of. They exert little effort, it seems, but the health benefits are great. It's just like life, generally speaking. To practice non-ado enables everything else to fall into place."

  "Does that mean to not do anything?" Spencer questioned.

  "Not quite. Non-ado is not to do nothing; it's to do without fretting, much like plants, flowers, and trees do. Trees and plants grow and flowers bloom, to our wonder, without worry or fret. They just do so. Such is non-ado."

  "Something like Taoism," Sean said helpfully.

  Spencer glanced at him. "I've heard the term, but I'm not actually sure what Taoism is, or what Tao means."

  "Tao translates literally as Way or Path," Master Yan explained. "Some translate it also as Law, and others even go so far as to translate the Eternal Tao to mean God. The very first verse of the Tao Te Ching says, 'The Tao which can be named is not the Eternal Tao. The name which it is called is not the Eternal Name.' As the origin from which both Heaven and Earth come, you see, it remains nameless. Only as the mother of all creations can it be named."

  "I recognize that," Spencer said. "Mr. Wong gave me an English translation of the Tao Te Ching, and I read a good bit on the plane. So, the Tao is God, or is created by God, like a kind of law?"

  Master Yan smiled slyly. "Truly, no amount of words can fathom it. The Tao is to the world what a great ocean or river is to streams and brooks. I would say that if it gives rise to everything in existence and resides within everything, then it is all of existence and beyond." Master Yan cocked his head and looked Spencer in the eyes. "What is God to you?" he asked rhetorically. "That's what each individual must ask him or herself, and I am not certain there is any specific answer."

  Master Yan gestured to Spencer. "Now, Brother Callaghan, please accompany me this way. Gentlemen, please enjoy yourselves on the grounds. We will return soon." Sean and Tom just looked at each other and shrugged.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Knowing Heaven and Earth

  S ilently, Master Yan and Spencer climbed up another long flight of stairs curving around the side of Wudang Mountain. The old man led Spencer through a row of small temple structures that continued winding their way upward around the peak. Eventually they reached a section of the mountainside that opened outward into the clouds. As they passed an opening on their right, Spencer saw an elaborately engraved pillar made to look like a dragon protruding from the opening over a high
cliff, about a meter outward. At the end of the pillar smooth, white curls of smoke rose up out of a small metal caldron of burning incense. Spencer paused for a moment to take in the marvelous view. Master Yan halted and stood beside him, peering out at the mountainous horizon. "Magnificent, isn't it?" he commented after a moment.

  "It's incredible," Spencer responded. They both stood for a moment in absolute silence, peering out through clouds and over the mountain tops.

  "Many come just to appreciate the heavenly scenery and feel some sense of mysticism," Master Yan said, "but very few actually understand the serenity of Wudang. I think you may be one of them." Master Yan stood behind Spencer with his right hand on his left shoulder. "I understand you have migraines," he said.

  "They come and go, mostly when I hear repeated lies or specious arguments," he answered, not elaborating further.

  "Yes, so Master Xin told me. Well, there are many methods for dealing with headaches and migraines. Maybe we can find one that works for you. Please, follow me further." Spencer glanced one last time over the scenic world of clouds and mountaintops, inhaled one long, deep breath of fresh mountain air, and exhaled before turning to follow Master Yan.

  They trudged upward toward the summit of Wudang. When they finally reached the top at the end of their long climb, Spencer felt warmly welcomed by a magnificent structure gleaming in the sun. It was a small building with a golden roof. Ridges stuck up from the roof, and an awning protruded outward beyond the walls of the building. Multiple complexes surrounded the shimmering structure, but it stood out among the rest. The crests of the temple were adorned with small golden figures at the corners, resembling illustrations he'd seen of the Ark of the Covenant. "This is the Golden Temple of Wudang," Master Yan stated.

  They entered a larger but less brilliant temple structure than the Purple Cloud Temple, where Taoist monks sat in meditation. Some were dressed in yellow garments, others were dressed in white, and a few wore orange. Several held strings of beads in their hands, sliding the beads around individually with their thumbs. Other monks just sat with their wrists resting on their knees. Many were chanting quiet, monotone sutras while others sat in tranquil silence. Master Yan and Spencer found an unoccupied area with two cushions, located away from the monks along the inner temple wall; the Master chose a spot and sat first. "Spencer, would you like to try meditation?" he asked, as his young follower sat.

  When Spencer nodded, Master Yan began by guiding him through his meditation. "Close your eyes, inhale through your nose, and hold." After about ten seconds, Master Yan continued: "Exhale. Now imagine something, anything, that makes you feel warm and comfortable, and hold that image or place in your head. See yourself in that place, and don't forget your breathing."

  Following the Master's instructions, Spencer imagined himself in a hot, steamy bath with a warm shower raining down on his head. The vision was vivid enough to initiate a domino effect of tingling sensations across his body, starting from the middle of his spine and radiating outward. The sensation caused goosebumps to rise on his arms and a strangely warm sensation to develop in the pit of his stomach. He even imagined using a brush on his back when he started to feel an itch. The uncanny thing was that the itch eventually dissipated, strictly due to the power of his mind.

  As Master Yan and Spencer finished their meditation session, Spencer realized he was starting to lose his concentration. Nonetheless, Master Yan seemed impressed with his first guided meditation. "You've done very well for your first time in actual meditation, Brother Callaghan. Just remember, you can do this whenever you feel the need, and I encourage you to do so. Nobody can take this away from you, no matter where you are or what they do to you." But he also had a warning for Spencer regarding the practice. "Negative and positive thoughts work exactly the same way," he noted solemnly. "With mind over matter, one can harness the power of positive thoughts and bring them to fruition; but it's just as important to know that negative thoughts can have as much of an impact on a person and the various aspects of his or her life."

  After their meditation session, Spencer followed Master Yan into another region of the temple complex. Eventually they arrived at a chamber where a man sat in a chair with his eyes closed, while another man walked around him, pressing on various parts of his neck and upper back with one and two fingers at a time. The acupressurist began conversing with the individual in the chair in Mandarin. Master Yan interpreted what was happening for Spencer. "The monk asked him if he felt any difference, and the man in the chair said he did, but he still felt a slight headache."

  Spencer smiled curiously and walked closer for a better look at the practice. Up until that day, Spencer had only ever seen acupressure performed on TV and in movies; he’d never experienced it in person until Tom had performed it on him inside the temple. The monk took the patient's hand and raised his arm loosely up to the side. Then he pinched the space between the man's thumb and forefinger, as Tom had done to Spencer's hand earlier, and held for about twenty seconds. The man grinned, opened his eyes, looked up at the monk, and uttered something in Mandarin. "It's gone," Master Yan interpreted, reflecting the patient's joy.

  "That's what Tom did to me earlier!" Spencer exclaimed.

  "And it worked for you?"

  "Absolutely. I was amazed. But I think it's only a temporary fix for something that's been reoccurring throughout my life."

  Master Yan's face bore a look of assurance. "I believe the root cause of your migraines shall be discovered before long, Spencer."

  "How can he do that?" Spencer inquired. "Is it just pressure on the nerve endings?"

  "Perhaps nerves are connected in some instances," Master Yan said, "But manipulating the nerves alone cannot heal inner body ailments."

  "So what is it? How does it work? Why does it work?"

  "It has to do with the flow of an energy called chi." Master Yan said, pronouncing the word "chee."

  "I've heard of that. Chi is supposed to be a life force energy… but is it really more like electricity?" Spencer asked.

  "Not really. Electricity is energy, and the body does produce it in tiny amounts as a result of synapses firing in the brain, and chemical reactions in the cells. But even what you would consider a very small amount of everyday electricity could kill a person, depending on the circumstances. It's believed that chi moves more like sound waves and at about the same speed, rather than as fast as electromagnetic energy radio waves or electricity." Master Yan paused for a moment before adding, "But harnessing chi does not occur only through intentional exercises like qigong and tai chi. The body's absorption of chi from its surroundings is automatic, and life would not be possible without it."

  "So everyone absorbs chi all the time, then?" Spencer inquired, a bit skeptical. Master Yan's teachings went against anything he'd been taught before.

  "Without fail. To lose that connection means death."

  "Then why are there exercises that harness chi?"

  "Ah, you've answered your own question," Master Yan said, smiling faintly. "We absorb chi, and its use is automatic—normally. But one can harness it with the proper techniques. Practices like tai chi and qigong are for maximizing and improving one's ability to absorb and use chi. Everyone has muscles and everyone has a brain, but our physical and mental abilities are not all the same. It's only through physical training or through learning that these attributes can be strengthened and improved. But no matter how little one does, muscles enable the body to move, and the brain enables one to process information. So is it with harnessing chi. It's flowing through you and everyone else all the time, but some people learn to maximize that energy.

  "Sounds like the Force from Star Wars," Spencer joked.

  "Where do you think George Lucas got the idea?" the older man replied, deadpan. "The midichlorians, sadly, he made up."

  Not knowing how to reply to that, Spencer just looked at Master Yan, who winked at him impishly before turning away.

  “Master Yan, before I forget, I’
ve got a question,” Spencer said.

  He peaked Master Yan’s interest, who looked Spencer with raised eyebrows. “Sure, Brother Callaghan, what’s on your mind?”

  “I don’t suppose you heard about our otherworldly ordeal on the way here,” Spencer said, hoping for a response.

  “Yes, it was brought to my attention,” Master Yan responded.

  “Since this new adventure in my life started a few days ago, I’ve been hearing a lot about Tiandihui, the Heaven and Earth Society. First I heard about them from Mr. Wong in Chinatown, but I’ve heard about them from Mr. Galloway and Tom too. I understand it’s got both good and evil members today, but my main question now is, what is their true origin and would its evil members be able to conjure forces like that?”

  “Tiandihui truly finds its origins at Mount Song, where the Shaolin Monastery stands.” Master Yan said.

  “So, that’s not just a myth then?”

  “No… the Qing Emperor at that time employed the Shaolin monks to battle against a foreign army invading China. The monks were successful in defeating the invaders. Thereafter the Qing Emperor wanted to employ them permanently, but that would go against their monastic ways and they turned down the offer. So, the emperor invaded the monastery with his forces and killed most of the monks, except for a few. Eighteen of them escaped.” Spencer vaguely remembered hearing this story before, probably from TV shows or historical documentaries, but Master Yan’s retelling of the story delved a little deeper into the reality behind the legends. “Now it can’t be said here in the open, but I believe you know what is meant when I say ‘Our civilization’ has always had a close connection with Shaolin, as well as many other wisdom traditions from around the surface world. We helped Shaolin create Tiandihui at that time. The surface world changed it and ran with it in different directions during the colonial period. the Other civilization has quite a bit to do with those negative changes in the surface world, but Tiandihui is predominantly a society for good with a benevolent and profound beginning. I too am a member of Tiandihui and do my part to preserve its roots through Our civilization.”