In China, there is a subtle and elegant custom when drinking tea: when someone pours tea for you, you express your thanks by gently tapping your bent index and middle fingers on the table.  This is called “Kòu ZhǐLǐ” (扣指礼), which translates roughly to the “Knocking Finger Salute.”

There is a powerful, though likely apocryphal, story that circulates about Nelson Mandela’s presidential inauguration in 1994.  It is said that among the distinguished guests, he invited three former prison guards from Robben Island, where he had spent 18 of his 27 years in captivity.  These were not friendly faces; they were men who had subjected him to hard labor, insults, and brutality.

Last week, I participated in the 10th World Kung Fu Championship at Mount Emei. It was an experience that left me with deep emotions and valuable insights, compelling me to share this heartfelt reflection.

In the US Challenge Championship in 2023 I qualified for the US Kung Fu Team giving me the opportunity to compete in the 10th World Kung Fu Championship at Emei Mountain, China in October, 2025.

Life has a beautiful way of presenting us with chances to grow, to change, and to become more of who we are meant to be.  These opportunities are like sudden, unexpected sparks in the twilight, they illuminate a path we might not have seen just moments before. 

Life often feels like climbing a steep, rocky path, one where the ground beneath us shifts unexpectedly, and our footing is never entirely secure.  In those moments, what we need most is “true grip”, not just the strength to hold on, but the wisdom to know why we are holding on, and the compassion to steady ourselves when the climb feels impossible.

Greatness is not a roar but a whisper, the kind that lingers in the spaces between movements, in the pauses between words, in the unseen hours when no one is applauding. It is not measured in trophies or titles but in the lives quietly changed, the bridges silently built, the wisdom passed on without fanfare.

Have you ever felt stuck in your own thoughts, worrying about problems that won’t let go?  There is an old Zen poem that might help, and the funny thing is, it is all about realizing there is nothing to worry about in the first place.

Parenting is the art of holding tight while learning to release, a paradox as ancient as time.  We bring children into the world, yet their souls arrive already stamped with a future we cannot inhabit.  They sleep in rooms we painted, wear clothes we chose, speak words we taught, but their dreams glow with colors from a palette we have never seen.  This is the tender ache of generational love: to nurture beings destined for worlds beyond our own.

The ancient words “Some were born great, some have greatness thrust upon them” have echoed through centuries, often evoking images of destiny and fate.  But beneath this poetic duality lies a deeper truth about courage, the force that turns potential into action, whether that potential arrives as a birthright or burden.  Courage, it seems, is both the flame we carry, and the spark stuck from life’s friction.

Within you beat three sacred rhythms, the enduring heart, the patient heart, and the faithful heart, each a quiet force that transforms struggle into wisdom, longing into light.  Together, they guide your learning, work, love, and the lifelong art of becoming.

Imagine standing at the edge of any open field at dawn, where the horizon stretches endlessly, and the air hums with quiet possibility.  This is the essence of Dàqì (大气), a Chinese concept that defies direct translation but embodies the spirit of magnanimity, grace, and an expansive heart.