Kung fu. It means, “supreme skill from hard work.” A great poet has reached kung fu. The painter, the calligrapher, they can be said to have kung fu. Even the cook, the one who sweeps steps or a masterful servant can have kung fu. Practice. Preparation. Endless repetition. Until your mind is weary, and your bones ache. Until you’re too tired to sweat, too wasted to breathe. That is the way, the only way one acquires kung fu.
The monks of Wudang spend their lives trying to achieve true emptiness. For only when the sage can overcome the self does he enter into the Tao. That is a dark mystery beyond all mysteries, and a gift you gave to me. Blind? I now see the world with one hundred eyes.
There is only one Supreme Executioner. And those who try to take his place are like children trying to carve wood as a master carpenter. Most will injure their own hands.