Hitting. Sound tearing the fabric of space. Slicing. Chess pieces boxing one another. Shattering philosophies. Bubbling tea. The RZA. Sensai of the Wu. Do you know him? You should. If you don’t. Then I’m sorry that you suck so much for never really knowing just how deep and powerful HIP-HOP once was.
Sitting in a room. Where Roman pillars and arches twist so masterfully with ancient Chinese and Japanese deco. The place. Bled in red, gold, black. Lighted by candle flames. Hidden behind paper dragon domes.
A man brings you a plate of rice. You thank him by staring at the wall in front of you, drinking the smoke spilling cup set beside you. Don’t lose focus. Never lose focus.
You can feel a presence pierce into you from far outside. This is it you say within your head. Time has come to slow it’s motion.
Getting up from your seat. Checking to make certain that your weapon is holstered secure. You begin to walk. Your pace. Slow. Steady. Assertive. Meticulous. Calculating.
Standing beside paper sliding doors with rising columns. You gaze out into the distance of what is outside. Far beyond the jungle of brick skyscrapers and towering lampposts.
It is raining. Heavy. And almost soothing. You know what you must do. Where you must go. And you take a step into the rain. Passing the shadows of the slum alleyways. Allowing the drops to pound on your head. They will make you stronger. And you take another step. Then another. Until your steps find sync. And you no longer know when your journey began. But your beginning. Is of no importance.
This is. The power. Of RZA’s Chi Kung.