Fearless, Jet Li's movie based on the true story of Huo Juanjia (1878 - 1910), the son of a great fighter (and teacher of Chinese martial arts) who refuses to teach Huo to fight. But Huo learns on his own; and wins. With each win, the taste of victory and pride co-mingle. He grows up fueled by an unquenchable anger. His solution to appease this compulsion? To fight, and to continue to fight. And to continue to annihilate his opponents.
His closest friend Nong Jinsun asks him, "When is enough? How many people do you need to defeat?"
Voracious isn't it? Can we ever truly get enough of what we don't need?
A hunger for acknowledgment and a wounded pride make a lethal combination. After Huo kills a rival (completely out of revenge, and with no remorse) over what turns out to be a false accusation, Huo's life unravels. A disciple of this rival takes his own revenge killing Huo's mother and his young daughter.
How does one stop any cycle of violence--whether it is to others or to our selves?
Huo hits bottom, ashamed and filled with grief.
The movie downshifts, Huo spends time wandering, rescued by a grandmother and her blind granddaughter (Yueci, or "Moon"), and is nursed back to health--and to life--in their isolated village. In one poignant scene, Huo is working in the fields planting rice. He is still fueled by a need to compete with his coworkers. Still driven by a compulsion to finish first, and his work motions are manic.
The wind freshens, a breeze blows, and the tree leaves rustle.
His coworkers (in fact, all the workers in the entire village) stop what they are doing.
They stop.
They stand.
They close their eyes.
They feel the breeze on their faces.
They inhale.
They find refreshment.
For this moment, it is enough.
Huo looks at their behavior, puzzled. His pace, his requirement to win or profit at all costs blinds him to both his need and the remedy. (Like the German story about the man chopping wood with a blunt ax. He works exhausted, too tired to stop even in order to sharpen his axe.)
It is enough. The sentence rolls so easily off the tongue. And yet...
There is a scene where Huo's friend Nong attempts to dissuade him from this path of revenge. But to no avail. How easy it is to be blind. I shouldn't be surprised because I know first hand. I know what it is like to blindly "play out a script." (Written by Lord knows whom.) To go through the motions, as if your identity is imprisoned or constricted by this "false" or hungry self. And like Huo, we still haven't found what we're looking for.
In my last Sabbath Moment I mentioned being in physical pain.
The responses and well wishes and prayers humble me. Thank you. I am grateful, and the doctor's prognosis is good.
But it would be misleading if I told you that the pain isn't still at the forefront of my mind.
There is no way around it: Pain, literally, hijacks our world.
What does this have to do with Huo Juanjia?
It is easy to be consumed (to live with blinders on) in this world.
And when we live with blinders, we feel out of control.
To make matters worse; we feel at the mercy of, not sure that we even have the power to make choices.
In the 1950s, a few highly trained US Air Force Pilots were recruited for a life or death mission: to fly at altitudes higher than ever before attempted. Ordinary laws of aerodynamics no longer existed. Tom Wolfe writes that, "a plane could skid into a flat spin like a cereal bowl on a waxed Formica counter, and then start tumbling--not spinning and diving but tumbling end over end." (The Right Stuff)
In the first attempts, pilots responded instinctively, frantically working to stabilize their planes. They applied corrective measure after corrective measure. And yet, the more furiously they manipulated the controls, the wilder the ride became. Until pilot Chuck Yeager; who, from the tumbling is thrown against the cockpit and briefly knocked unconscious. His plane plummets toward earth. Seven miles later, the plane reenters the earth's denser atmosphere, where standard navigation strategies can be implemented. Yeager regains consciousness, steadies the craft and after stabilizing, lands.
Maybe that's the lesson:
Our first lifesaving response-- do nothing.
Literally. Take our hands off the controls.
It is just that letting go is counter to all instruction, and even our basic survival instinct.
Google can be dangerous. When I researched pain management, there were remedies aplenty, with varied agendas, and many of them required me to spend a good bit of money.
So I gave up on Google and learned a treasured lesson from a woman here on the island. She has been living for some time with real pain; end-of-life-pain. And yet, in her blog she speaks of living with a deep sense of peace.
Deep peace. Yes. That's exactly what I wish for. Exactly what Huo clamored for. So there must be a trick, right? Or, perhaps, like the villagers...
They stop.
They stand.
They close their eyes.
They feel the breeze on their faces.
They inhale.
They find refreshment.
And for this moment, it is enough.
Peace comes when we see the difference between doing battle with life's obstacles, adversities and bleakness; and seeing this battle as an uninterrupted struggle. (As if everyday is an ongoing antagonism that leaches the life and spirit out of you). Yes, life is difficult. Yes, obstacles are weighty and real. But if we see it only as a struggle, our mindset has capitulated to the next bigger and badder thing. And we never arrive.
Here's the deal: We are not being asked to let go of the obstacle.But we can let go of the struggle. In an odd way, our letting go is predicated on a
holding onto. Meaning that this obstacle--whether pain or fear or limitation--is wrapped around an incredible and grace-filled gift. That gift is this moment. When we stop, we can find it, see it, embrace it.
I can let go of fear because this moment is enough.
When I live like Huo Juanjia, I measure myself as a competitor. Or a consumer. As if... I require something to justify my existence; stuff, or things, or winning, or recovery, or some unprecedented experience.
As if... there is still something to prove.
As if... our strength or will-power can make up for something we lack.
As if... we can find our meaning living a life without flaw or blemish or loss.
As if... it is not enough, just to be Huo.
As if... it is not enough, just to be Terry.
When fear is the fuel, in this need to be perfect (or get even, or be somebody, or whatever), our mind is reeling only with a need to be important or strong or beautiful or successful or pain-free. Because of this foothold of fear, we choose a life contradictory to our own well-being.
Look at your own poverty
welcome it
cherish it
don't be afraid
share your death
because thus you will share your love and your life
Jean Vanier
The power of the Huo Juanjia story comes when he is able to admit that fear fuels a façade. And freedom comes when our façade is taken away.
The good news? We find deep peace and resolve in our own skin, when we have nothing left to prove.
For this moment, it is enough.
The choices are never easy.
We can nurse wounds of having been cheated in life,
or we can be grateful and joyful,
even though there seems to be little reason for it.
It is this power to choose that adds dignity to our humanity.
Gerald Sittser
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