In 2021, my participation in All Souls Festival took on a new meaning. My mother passed away at the end of 2020 and I ordered a temporary commemorative plaque in her memory.  It was no longer merely an exercise, but something spiritual.

For many of the years that I have practiced Taoist Tai Chi, I wasn’t very interested in this Festival. Since I did not have any religious beliefs, I didn’t see the sense of participating in it or ordering a temporary commemorative plaque. I was present in Orangeville twice during the time of the Festival, but other than folding paper money, I did not participate.

Along came the pandemic.  We were given the chance to participate virtually and it was announced that we would be chanting for 4 hours. For me, it was a challenge to see if I could chant for 4 hours. I didn’t realize there would be breaks. But it was still a challenge that I managed to complete.

In 2021, my participation took on a new meaning. My mother passed away at the end of 2020 and I ordered a temporary commemorative plaque in her memory.  Thus the All Souls Festival had taken on a new meaning for me. It was no longer merely an exercise, but something spiritual.

Since that time, I have continued to reflect, especially that with the All Souls Festival, we seek to help the souls of the deceased find peace. This led me to think of my daughter’s ex-husband who passed away in 2019. He was a very troubled person who was full of anger. After my daughter divorced him, he continued to harass her by sending threatening texts, etc. He had cancer and knew he was dying. Nevertheless, he was not able to let go of his anger and bitterness. So I concluded that if ever there was a troubled soul who needed to find peace, it is his. I have ordered a temporary commemorative plaque in his honour for the 2022 All Souls Festival. By following this path, I have come to let go of my negative feelings towards him.

En 2021, ma participation au Festival de toutes les âmes a pris une nouvelle signification. Ma mère est décédée en fin de 2020 et j’ai demandé une plaque commémorative temporaire pour elle. Alors, ce n’était plus seulement un exercice, mais quelque chose de spirituel.

Au cours de mes nombreuses années de pratique du Tai Chi taoïste, je n’avais pas développé d’intérêt pour ce festival. N’ayant pas de croyances religieuses, je ne voyais pas de sens pour moi de participer au festival ou de demander une plaque commémorative temporaire.  J’ai été présente à Orangeville à  deux occasions pendant le festival mais, à part de plier de l’argent en papier, je n’ai pas participé.

Avec l’arrivée de la pandémie, on nous offre la chance de participer virtuellement et on nous annonce alors qu’on ferait du chanting pendant 4 heures.  C'était surtout pour moi un défi de pouvoir en faire pendant 4 heures.  Je ne réalisais pas qu’il y avait des pauses mais, malgré tout, ça demeurait un défi pour moi et j’ai réussi à le réaliser.

En 2021, ma participation au festival a pris une nouvelle signification. Ma mère est décédée en fin de 2020 et j’ai demandé une plaque commémorative temporaire pour elle. Alors le Festival de toutes les âmes a changé de signification pour moi : ce n’était plus seulement un exercice, mais quelque chose de spirituel.

Depuis ce temps, j’ai continué à réfléchir, surtout qu’avec le Festival de toutes les âmes on cherche à aider les défunts à se trouver en paix. Cela m’a fait penser à l’ex-mari de ma fille qui est décédé en 2019. C’était une personne très troublée et pleine de colère. Quand ma fille en avait divorcé, il avait continué à la harceler en envoyant des textos, etc.  Il avait un cancer et savait qu’il allait mourir.  Malgré ça, il n’a pas pu lâcher prise de sa colère et de sa rancœur.  Alors, j’en ai conclu que si jamais il y avait une âme troublée qui avait besoin de trouver la paix, c’était bien la sienne. J’ai demandé une plaque commémorative temporaire en son honneur pour le Festival de toutes les âmes 2022.  Avec ce cheminement, j’arrive à lâcher prise sur mes sentiments négatifs envers lui.

What I have come to appreciate more deeply over the last two years is that development as a person does not stop once we become an adult. My parents were my first trusted guides when I was a child and I developed slowly over time, as all children do. I lost them both tragically just after I reached adulthood. I had to go by their early teachings as I navigated the adult world. I was lucky to have received a good foundation from them, a good education and good genes. They all served me well and gave me confidence to carry on as a young adult.

Then ten years ago, after my own kids were grown, I started learning Taoist Tai Chi® arts. I came at first for the physical practice, but I soon realized that I was getting much more from it. Every so often, after getting involved in some new aspect of the organization, I would think ‘OK, now I understand what this is.’ But now I know that his teachings can’t be fully understood or explained in a few words. There is always more.

This practice provides stability, support and assurance to me as an adult, similar to what my family provided when I was a child. The rituals offer comfortable patterns to life, the daily physical practice improves my physical health and stability, and the encouragement from leadership to develop good habits and let go of worry provides the support needed to keep improving.

I have taken to heart the lesson to look inward at my own rough spots – places that are in need of improvement. I am assured that it takes time – one percent – and I am encouraged to go easy on myself (and on others) while having the discipline to keep at it. I am learning to look inward and trust my feelings – my heart, and I have developed more confidence. Knowing that I am OK allows me to not worry about myself and instead look outward to discover what I can do to help others.

I am grateful to have found his teachings for new guidance on the path to becoming a better adult.

Confession, from a sudden somehow shocking discovery.

Since another participant shared her “Emptying the Cup” reflection, I started feeling uncomfortable.

In fact, she has uncovered my cup, which I found so full … even overflowing!

I looked inside it.

It is largely filled with knowledge, in a very intellectual sense and not always then brought to live confrontation with reality.

And it is filled with fascinating notions, that I have tried to memorize, write down, remember by heart.

The brain taking over the heart and the practice being neglected.

Fortunately, the cup is also - even though only partially - filled with an understanding that feels good, is deeply felt and reached my heart from someone else’s heart, without the mediation of reasoning.

Something sharable, that tastes like trust.

I am happy I had the opportunity to recognize this (step “without which not”) and I make the resolution to resume constant, consistent practice and to preserve and nourish the “heart” part and make the rest less intrusive and hopefully, slowing down, chanting, practicing, listening with less demands and expectations, without afterthoughts or plans about me/myself .

Lightened by letting go of any useless opinion (whether they are mine or others’).

Making space for his teachings just to sink into me, permeate my heart, impact my experience and be ready to simply emerge.

Now or then.

With others.

Thank you all for being here listening and helping!

Why I joined?

When asked why I started Taoist Tai Chi® practice, my response was that mostly I was curious because my dad had joined a community session a couple of years before his passing. But that couldn’t explain why I’ve stayed for almost 17 years and why the arts have become such a treasured part of my life.

Why I stayed?

Recently, I’ve come to understand this connection more deeply. After my parents passed away within a few months of each other, I needed to fill a void in my life. I no longer had the forces guiding my moral compass and the wisdom of their years as my counsel. And I have come to see that the eight virtues that Master Moy encouraged us to live by are the same values with which I was raised.

The leadership of FLK and his teachings give me the path to follow. They are my guide and my compass. The organization feels like family. And now I have an eternal foundation and ancient traditions that stand in place of my personal roots. Daily practice of the eight virtues tames my heart and brings direction and meaning to my life. I am grateful for the wisdom of the Taoist Tai Chi® arts.

Filial Piety – it came naturally and without question to honour our parents. It is a gift to be able to provide for them during All Souls Festival.

Sibling Harmony – respect and caring of others was a foundation in my family, and these qualities are exemplified in the family of participants around the world – the feeling is unmistakable in all interactions and gatherings.

Dedication – honesty, hard work, and commitment with an open heart – unspoken but understood as I was growing up – it became a part of my being and I try to set an example of this for my children – the FLK leadership tirelessly demonstrates this dedication.

Trustworthiness – sincere heart and reputation for truth and honesty – lies and deceit were simply not tolerated in my family and have no place on our path.

Propriety – our life was simple, but not without strict observance of good conduct, manners and courtesy. The FLK family exemplifies this in all interactions. Disrespect is not tolerated.

Sacrifice – my parents were the reflection of selflessness – raising four children, caring for each other, working tirelessly to set an example of trust, honesty and dedication. I have opportunity now still, to continue to learn from the examples set by the FLK family.

Honour – the humble hearts of my parents touched all with whom they shared this life – co-workers, extended family, neighbors and even many they encountered only briefly. I am reminded of this humility and sincere heart in the FLK organization.

Sense of Shame – dignity in the face of trials, sincerity, and virtuous living. Life lessons taught by my parents that bring peace and balance. These lessons continue.

I remember my first retreat with Master Moy. I had only been practicing Taoist Tai Chi® arts for a few months. I approached Master Moy during a break and asked him what I should do to get better, to improve, expecting something profound. He just looked at me and then said “practice” and walked away. At the time I thought to myself “that’s not much help.” But I continued practicing his teachings.

Over the years, as I continued to practice, and from time to time reflected on what Master Moy had told me, I came to realize that I was slowly improving and that it was happening by following his teachings. I didn’t appreciate until years later just how truly profound that advice was. There were no shortcuts. Just practice.

It took me over ten years to understand how to relax in my Taoist Tai Chi® practice, and on March 18th, 2022, I was able to apply it to life. In the Rocky Mountains when the highway turned from wet to ice, I was coming over a hill on a curve. As soon as I hit the ice, my car went into a 360-degree spin, bouncing off the opposite snowbank, and back again, to hit the bank in my direction. Unknowingly, I relaxed into the car’s movements... 

The Fung Loy Kok board’s directive to do self-practice has been a boon for me during Covid – having the time and direction was motivational. After developing a daily training time, my body and mind awareness was deepened. My focus was strengthened and I cultivated a better alignment to give room for hip pain. A quote I read says it well, “Daily renewal is called making one’s virtue replete.”

On March 18th, I was involved in an accident in the Rocky Mountains, when the highway turned from wet to ice. Coming over a hill on a curve, as soon as I hit the ice, my car went into a 360-degree spin bouncing off the opposite snowbank, and back again, to hit the bank in my direction. Unknowingly, I relaxed into the car’s movements. It took me over ten years to understand how to relax in my Taoist Tai Chi® practice, and even more to be able to apply it! After stopping, I got out and assessed my car, very focused, picked up my bumper and grill to put in the car, and headed out slowly. Not only was my body trained, but my training has been teaching my mind to concentrate, and react to ‘life’ by kind of forgetting myself, looking clearly at the situation, and reacting calmly.

As I was heading out slowly on the highway shoulder, I looked into the rear-view mirror to see a truck trailer full of rocks sliding towards me sideways. I knew I had to relax for the impact, then there was a second. Time moved very slowly. There were two semi-trailer trucks, following each other, carrying fist sized rocks, who came over the hill on the curve, saw me, and put on their brakes. I’m assuming both trucks spun into 360-degree spins. The first hit my rear and flipped, the other hit the front of my car and ended up facing the opposite direction.

In the silence that followed, I checked the situation: I was breathing, but not bleeding. Slowly and carefully, I released the seat belt and looked at the car. The driver of one truck came over the snow bank, couldn’t open the doors, but looked in the back passenger window, which had no glass. I told him I could crawl out that window, which I did, a very flexible old lady in her 70’s.

The ambulance took me to the nearest town which had a hospital where I waited for three days for a ride home. I had one seatbelt bruise. During that precious time of stillness, I dealt with the pain of whiplash, relaxing many times laying on my back with a straight spine (sleeping meditation?). On the second day I did a few foundations to let my body energy move, soon I was able to do a relaxed, gentle set with a very straight spine and alignment. I thank God, the gods, and Taoist Tai Chi® practice for my survival. I am a walking, talking Taoist Tai Chi® arts promotional ad to all my family and friends.

One morning, my neighbour came up to me and said, “You have a good practice, getting stronger every day!“ I replied, “By going to synagogue every morning, you too have a good practice.” He nodded and said, “I have no choice!”

This response struck me. Initially, it seemed to me that any one of us has a choice to engage in any activity or practice. However, I thought a little more about my responsibility towards Master Moy's teachings, my family and community. The question nagged me: is there not always a choice? ...

Every day I get up early in the morning for my practice outside behind my home in the alleyway. During those early hours, I rarely see anyone. One person that I do occasionally see is a Hasidim, a practitioner of Orthodox Judaism. Dressed in a black coat, wearing his long curled bangs and beard, he walks to synagogue for morning prayers.

I live in Montreal right next to a prominent Hasidic community. Generally, there is not much exchange with the Hasidim but with this man it is different. As our paths crossed early in the morning, we greet one another and sometimes chat. One morning as I was practicing, he came up to me and said, “You have a good practice, getting stronger every day!“. I replied, “By going to synagogue every morning, you too have a good practice.” He nodded and, as he walked away, turned to me and replied, “I have no choice!”

“I have no choice!“. This response struck me. I thought about my practice and whether I have a choice. Initially, it seemed to me that any one of us has a choice to engage in any activity or practice. However, I thought a little more about my responsibility towards Master Moy and what he taught us. I thought about my responsibility towards my family and community to maintain my good health. The question nagged me: is there not always a choice?

But more recently I have been paying closer attention to the question of the feeling, not only during practice but checking in often in my day-to-day activities. How do I feel, what do I feel, what am I connected to?

What I understand today is, when the feeling is unattached, not judgmental, without too much thought and not anchored in some kind of desire or fear, it is - I’m not sure how to put it - light, free flowing, present. I sensed that going against that feeling, it would be a kind of violence against myself. In that sense, I feel I have no choice. It reminds me of something Mr. Moy once told me.

In 1988, during a workshop, he asked me out onto the floor in front of all the participants to ask me why I am being cocky about the work that I had been doing in Poland. He had me demonstrate brush knee in front of everyone. After observing me he told me that the way I am practicing I am killing myself.

For years I had not really understood what he meant. It is thanks to our reflections these past few years that I feel I understand a little more. I think back then, I was really tense, controlling, and holding on to my thoughts, analyzing, positioning. That tightness and puffiness hardening the body and mind rather than softening it. I understand that, by the way I was practicing and through my attitude, I was hurting myself. Maintaining that outlook would have led me over the years to greater harm.

It is hard for me to maintain sensitivity on a regular basis. I do have a feeling of what to look for. It requires a sense of presence while letting go. It is challenging but I get a bit better at it every day. I see it as “eyes see, hands do” of the spirit!

I am grateful for his teachings and the guidance and wisdom of the directors.

Un matin, mon voisin s'est approché de moi et m'a dit: "Tu as une bonne pratique, tu es plus fort chaque jour!" Je lui ai répondu : "En allant à la synagogue tous les matins, toi aussi tu as une bonne pratique." Il a hoché la tête et a dit: "Je n'ai pas le choix !"

Cette réponse m'a frappé. Au départ, il me semblait que chacun d'entre nous a le choix de s'engager dans n'importe quelle activité ou pratique. Cependant, j'ai réfléchi un peu plus à ma responsabilité envers les enseignements de Maître Moy, ma famille et ma communauté. La question me taraudait: n'y a-t-il pas toujours un choix? ...

Chaque jour, je me lève tôt le matin pour m'entraîner derrière chez moi, dans la ruelle. Pendant ces premières heures, je vois rarement quelqu'un. Une personne que je vois occasionnellement est un Hassidim, un pratiquant du judaïsme orthodoxe. Vêtu d'un manteau noir, portant sa longue frange bouclée et sa barbe, il se rend à la synagogue pour les prières du matin.

Je vis à Montréal, juste à côté d'une importante communauté hassidique. En général, il n'y a pas beaucoup d'échanges avec les hassidim, mais avec cet homme, c'est différent. Comme nos chemins se croisent tôt le matin, nous nous saluons et bavardons parfois.

Un matin, alors que je m'entraînais, il s'est approché de moi et m'a dit : "Tu as une bonne pratique, tu deviens plus fort chaque jour !". Je lui ai répondu : "En allant à la synagogue tous les matins, toi aussi tu as une bonne pratique". Il a hoché la tête et, alors qu'il s'éloignait, s'est tourné vers moi et m'a répondu : "Je n'ai pas le choix !".

"Je n'ai pas le choix !". Cette réponse m'a frappé. J'ai réfléchi à ma pratique et à la question de savoir si j'avais le choix. Initialement, il me semblait que chacun d'entre nous avait le choix de s'engager dans n'importe quelle activité ou pratique. Cependant, j'ai pensé un peu plus à ma responsabilité envers Maître Moy et ce qu'il nous a enseigné. J'ai pensé à ma responsabilité envers ma famille et ma communauté pour maintenir ma bonne santé. La question me taraudait : n'y a-t-il pas toujours un choix ?

Mais plus récemment, j'ai prêté plus d'attention à la question du ressenti, non seulement pendant la pratique mais pendant mes activités quotidiennes. Comment est-ce que je me sens, qu'est-ce que je ressens, à quoi suis-je connecté ?

Ce que j'ai compris aujourd'hui, c'est que lorsque le sentiment n'est pas attaché, qu'il ne porte pas de jugement, qu'il n'est pas trop réfléchi et qu'il n'est pas ancré dans une sorte de désir ou de peur, il est - je ne sais pas comment le dire - léger, fluide, présent. J'ai senti qu'aller à l'encontre de ce sentiment, ce serait une sorte de violence contre moi-même. Dans ce sens, je sens que je n'ai pas le choix.

Cela me rappelle quelque chose que M. Moy m'a dit un jour. En 1988, au cours d'un atelier, il m'a fait sortir dans la salle devant tous les participants pour me demander pourquoi je me montrais orgueilleux à propos du travail que j'avais fait en Pologne. Il m'a fait faire une démonstration du mouvement brosse genou devant tout le monde. Après m’avoir observé il m'a dit qu'en pratiquant de cette manière, je me tuais.

Pendant des années, je n'avais pas vraiment compris ce qu'il voulait dire. C'est grâce à nos réflexions de ces dernières années que j'ai l'impression de comprendre un peu mieux. Je pense qu'à l'époque, j'étais vraiment tendu, je contrôlais, je m'accrochais à mes pensées, j'analysais, je me positionnais. Cette crispation et ce gonflement durcissait le corps et l'esprit au lieu de l'adoucir. Je comprends que, par la façon dont je pratiquais et par mon attitude, je me faisais du mal. Maintenir cette attitude m'aurait conduit, au fil des ans, à la souffrance.

Il m'est difficile de maintenir ma sensibilité sur une base régulière. Je sais ce que je dois rechercher. Cela demande un sens de la présence tout en lâchant prise. C'est un défi, mais je m'y prends un peu mieux chaque jour. Je vois cela comme "les yeux voient, les mains font" de l'esprit !

Je suis reconnaissant pour ses enseignements et pour les conseils et la sagesse des directeurs.

C’est une amie du travail qui m’a amenée à la pratique Tai Chi Taoïste. Elle en faisait lorsque nous allions prendre nos pauses à l’extérieur. Elle me parlait des bienfaits qu’elle ressentait et du plaisir qu’elle avait d’aller faire des retraites taoïstes à Orangeville. À l’automne 2015 j’ai donc décidé de m’inscrire.

J’étais dans un état lamentable lorsque j’ai débuté. Depuis plus de 6 ans, mon fils avait de sérieux problèmes de consommation. À ce jour, je considère que ç'a été la plus grande épreuve de ma vie. J’étais dans une inquiétude permanente. Je réagissais à ce qui arrivait ou j’anticipais ce qui pourrait arriver. J’avais des violentes céphalées de tension plusieurs jours par semaine, des problèmes de sommeil et une irritabilité continuelle. J’étais épuisée mentalement par tous ces tourments. Je fonctionnais sur le pilote automatique, seule ma volonté d’avancer me tenait debout.

Nous étions deux nouveaux participants à tenter d’apprendre cette chorégraphie incompréhensible. Semaine après semaine, je revenais à la maison et je disais à mon conjoint comment je trouvais ça difficile et que j’avais l’impression d’apprendre le chinois avec mon corps.

Je me suis mise à regarder Maître Moy sur le site internet dans l’espoir de mémoriser l’enchaînement. Juste le regarder me faisait du bien.

Avec ma grande volonté et ma discipline personnelle, je me suis dit que je pouvais y arriver. Je me suis mise à pratiquer des petites séquences que nous avions vues pendant les séances et quelques mouvements de fondation.

Je me souviens d’un matin où je pratiquais, j’ai senti mes mains qui se parlaient. L’une savait où était l’autre.

Je recommençais à ressentir mon corps, je reprenais contact avec lui par la douceur plutôt que la douleur. Ça m’a beaucoup touchée et j’en ai parlé à mon Leader qui m’a encouragée à continuer.

Ces pratiques me demandaient beaucoup de concentration et d’attention.

Je me sentais beaucoup plus calme après.

Ces moments sont devenus un rendez-vous intime où il n’y avait que moi et la pratique Tai Chi Taoïste, un espace sacré commençait à se construire.

Petit à petit mon corps allait mieux. La fréquence et l’intensité de mes maux de tête diminuaient. Je remarquais aussi que la qualité de mon sommeil s’améliorait. J’étais maintenant capable de me reposer, de me déposer et de m’apaiser.

Ma pratique est devenue un ancrage et une source d’équilibre et d’apaisement dans le tourbillon de ma vie. Ça m’a vraiment aidé à reconstruire ma santé physique et mentale.

Mon fils, même s’il ne vivait plus à la maison, m’appelait souvent pour que je puisse le dépanner. Je l’ai aidé à de nombreuses reprises à se sortir de ses problèmes financiers. Même si je savais que ses difficultés étaient dues à sa consommation, je l’aidais quand même. J’étais incapable de lui dire non.

Après quelques années d’entraînement, j’arrivais à prendre un peu de recul et à être plus solide. Je sortais enfin de la tempête émotive que tout ça m’occasionnait. Je voyais plus clair et j’arrivais à avoir du détachement.

Cette solidité qui se construisait me permettait d’être capable de mettre mes limites et de lui dire non quand il m’appelait pour l’aider.

Petit à petit, tout ça a permis de lui faire vivre les désagréments de sa consommation. L’année dernière, il s’est décidé à faire une cure fermée et il a enfin reconnu son problème de consommation.

Il est maintenant dans un processus, il est mieux outillé pour faire face à sa dépendance.

Avec le recul, je constate que j’ai vécu un véritable processus de transformation. Je suis de plus en plus capable de dire non aux autres sans avoir à mentir ou à me justifier par peur de décevoir ; je suis capable de me choisir ; je suis capable de ne pas toujours être la gentille ; je suis capable d’être de plus en plus authentique et fidèle à moi-même ; je prends du temps pour m’entraîner sans culpabilité ; je m’absente pour aller faire des retraites taoïstes et améliorer ma compréhension des enseignements de Maître Moy ; je suis plus patiente et plus calme ; je suis capable de me désamorcer quand je perds le contrôle.

J’étais en train de m’effondrer, je me construis maintenant un temple où il fait bon vivre, où je vais à la rencontre de mes ancêtres et des déités qui m’accompagnent sur ma route.

En conclusion, je dirais que je suis venue à l’Institut de taoïsme Fung Loy Kok pour soigner mon corps et à ma grande surprise c’est mon esprit qui s’est apaisé puis mon corps s’est enfin soulagé et maintenant c’est mon cœur qui s’ouvre.

It was a friend from work who introduced me to Taoist Tai Chi® practice. She used to do it when we went outside for our breaks. She would tell me about the benefits she felt and how much she enjoyed going on Taoist retreats in Orangeville. So in the fall of 2015 I decided to sign up.

I was in terrible shape when I started. For over 6 years my son had been having serious substance abuse problems. To this day, I consider it the biggest ordeal of my life. I was in constant anxiety. I was reacting to what was happening or anticipating what might happen. I had severe tension headaches several days a week, sleeping problems and constant irritability. I was mentally exhausted by all this turmoil. I was running on automatic pilot, only my will to move forward was keeping me upright.

We were two new participants trying to learn this incomprehensible choreography. Week after week, I would come home and tell my partner how difficult I found it and how I felt like I was learning Chinese with my body.

I started watching Master Moy on the website in hopes of memorizing the sequence. Just watching him made me feel good. With my strong will and self-discipline, I thought I could do it. I started practicing little sequences that we had seen during the sessions and some foundation moves.

I remember one morning when I was practicing, I felt my hands talking to each other. One knew where the other was. I started to feel my body again, I got in touch with it through gentleness instead of pain. It touched me a lot and I talked about it to my leader in training who encouraged me to continue.

These practices required a lot of concentration and attention. I felt much calmer afterwards. These moments became an intimate rendez-vous where there was only me and the practice, a sacred space began to be built.

Little by little my body was getting better. The frequency and intensity of my headaches were decreasing. I also noticed that the quality of my sleep was improving. I was now able to rest, settle down and soothe myself.

My practice became an anchor and a source of balance and calm in the whirlwind of my life. It has really helped me rebuild my physical and mental health.

My son, even though he was no longer living at home, would often call me to help him out. I helped him out of his financial problems on many occasions. Even though I knew his difficulties were due to his consumption, I still helped him. I was unable to say no to him.

After a few years of training, I was able to take a step back and be more solid. I was finally getting out of the emotional storm that this was causing me. I was able to see more clearly and I was able to have some detachment.

This solidity that was being built allowed me to be able to set my limits and to say no when my son called me to help him.

Little by little, all of this allowed him to experience the inconveniences of his consumption. Last year, he decided to go to a closed rehab and he finally acknowledged his substance abuse problem.

He is now in a process, he is better equipped to deal with his addiction.

Looking back, I can see that I have gone through a real transformation process. I am more and more able to say no to others without having to lie or justify myself for fear of disappointing them; I am able to choose myself; I am able to not always be the nice one; I am able to be more and more authentic and true to myself; I take time to train without guilt; I take time off to go to Taoist retreats and improve my understanding of Master Moy's teachings; I am more patient and calm; I am able to defuse myself when I lose control.

I was falling apart, I am now building a temple where it is good to live, where I go to meet my ancestors and the deities who accompany me on my way.

In conclusion, I would say that I came to the Fung Loy Kok Institute of Taoism to heal my body, and to my great surprise it was my mind that calmed down. Then my body finally got some relief, and now it is my heart that opens up._

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Le sujet de ma réflexion aujourd’hui m’est venu de deux façons différentes. Tout d’abord, quand on nous demande de préparer un témoignage, on nous le demande assez d’avance pour nous donner le temps de le réfléchir, de le mûrir. À chaque fois que je l’ai fait depuis le début de la pandémie, le processus a été le même : dès qu’on me le demande, je me mets à noter des idées, des observations, du ressenti au fil des jours. Ça peut être sur ma pratique physiologique, sur les changements que j’observe en moi, ou sur comment j’apprends à être dans cette organisation.

Chaque fois qu’on me le demande, je peux ainsi concrètement observer les enseignements de Maître Moy, à savoir que toutes les actions qu’on nous demande de poser, sont autant d’occasions d’apprentissage et que le processus est aussi important que le résultat.

C’est donc de trois petits événements, qui ont été pour moi porteurs de transformation, dont je vais vous parler.

Une première observation me vient de la pratique du chanting. Je me suis rendu compte que, depuis le début - et sûrement même avant qu’on en fasse sur Zoom, je cherchais à « performer » même si je n’étais vraiment pas un expert et qu’en fait, je n’y connaissais rien. Je me suis rendu compte que je voulais toujours avoir la bonne prononciation, avoir le ton juste, garder le rythme et projeter ma voix. Les « ratés » étaient continuels, et c’était une constante source de frustration pour moi.

Bien sûr, j’ai fait de petits progrès avec le temps, mais c’est comme si je finissais la plupart du temps un peu ou beaucoup déçu de moi. Un jour, j’ai pris conscience que, d’une certaine façon, je n’écoutais pas le chanting; j’ai tout à coup réalisé que je pouvais calmer mes attentes et, plutôt que de vouloir tout réussir, que je pouvais simplement écouter et suivre, comme on nous l’apprend dès notre première présence dans un groupe de débutants… Je me suis donc mis cette fois-là à simplement écouter et me laisser entraîner par les voix que j’entendais. C’est devenu tout à coup beaucoup plus facile, agréable et les frustrations ont disparu.

Cette simple observation me faisait réaliser à quel point il m’est difficile de m’abandonner, de faire confiance et de simplement suivre… L’aspect purement physique de la pratique du chanting s’est aussi un peu transformé suite à cela. Je le pratique à genoux depuis le début, mais je n’avais jamais vraiment observé quoi que ce soit en lien avec la position. Dernièrement, lorsque je me redresse, je sens que la poussée dans les genoux est identique à celle dans les pieds et qu’elle me fait redresser jusqu’en haut de la même façon.

Ma deuxième observation, c’est en lien avec ma plus grande capacité à m’abandonner et à faire confiance, c’est la transformation de mon attitude par rapport aux tâches ou actions qu’on me demande d’accomplir pour le FLK.

J’ai maintes fois entendu que le processus est aussi important que le résultat, qu’il faut voir plus large et plus loin que le strict mandat qu’on nous confie, mais mon premier réflexe est encore souvent de vouloir trouver des réponses et des solutions avant même d’avoir commencé à accomplir la tâche en question. C’est comme si, tout au long de ma vie, j’avais vécu avec cette idée, sans trop la remettre en question et sans vraiment voir les impacts qu’elle pouvait avoir sur mon anxiété, ma crainte de décevoir ou mon sentiment de « poids sur les épaules » que je peux avoir. C’est tout un apprentissage pour moi de me défaire, petit à petit, de cette vieille croyance et d’apprendre que ce n’est qu’ensemble dans cette organisation qu’on réalise les actions, bref qu’on n’est jamais seul.

Je sens que mon attitude change peu à peu... mais avec de fréquentes rechutes. Je viens tout juste d’en vivre une encore. On nous a confié, à une autre leader et moi, le rôle de coordonner une prise d’inventaire du matériel au Centre régional. On discute, on organise, les choses avancent, des LIT viennent contribuer, bref ça démarre bien. Après deux jours, je me mets cependant à m’inquiéter de comment on va colliger les données, organiser les photos, etc. Et le hamster est parti dans ma tête : ça m’obsède, je dois trouver des solutions, je fais des essais, je me réveille la nuit et j’y réfléchis… comme si je ne voyais plus le reste. Jusqu’à ce que je discute à nouveau avec ma collègue pour me rendre compte que les problèmes que je voyais sont bien réels, mais qu’on peut y trouver des solutions simples, que ces problèmes n’ont peut-être pas la place que je leur accorde et que, surtout, je perdais de vue l’essentiel de l’exercice qui n’est pas seulement d’avoir de jolis tableaux suite à un inventaire.

La troisième observation concerne ma pratique physiologique. Dans ma pratique quotidienne, j’essaie, j’expérimente différentes choses pour simplement observer ce qui se passe de différent. Depuis quelques mois, je me suis mis à pratiquer la poussée qui vient de la « source jaillissante » dans différents mouvements. J’ai assez vite constaté que, lorsque je mettais mon attention à pousser à partir de cet endroit précis, j’avais l’impression de me redresser davantage et que ce redressement allait jusqu’en haut de la tête. J’ai donc continué à pratiquer de cette façon jusqu’à ce que récemment je m’aperçoive que, dans les toryus entre autres, mes genoux émettaient de petits craquements suspects et pas toujours agréables. Je me demandais ce qui se passait. J’essayais de modifier et de me concentrer sur différentes choses : varier la longueur du pas, tenter d’être plus détendu… mais rien ne changeait, les craquements étaient toujours là. Je me suis tout à coup aperçu que je poussais bien de la « source jaillissante » mais que je ne poussais que de là. Dès les premières poussées que j’ai tenté de faire consciemment avec tout le pied, les craquements ont cessé. Ce petit évènement m’a révélé encore une fois un autre aspect de mon caractère : je peux parfois tellement m’entêter à faire quelque chose que la constance peut se transformer en entêtement ou en rigidité si je n’y porte pas attention.

Avec ces trois événements qui, en soi, sont des choses qui peuvent paraître mineures ou banales au premier abord, je voulais simplement illustrer que les arts qu’on pratique sont des révélateurs de ce que nous sommes, si on leur porte attention. Pour moi, ils sont les porteurs et les déclencheurs de la transformation.

J’ai aussi appris que la transformation n’est pas un aboutissement, un résultat final ou un acquis, ni que les leçons apprises le seront pour toujours. J’ai l’impression que je dois repasser souvent par le même chemin pour que la transformation prenne forme, un peu comme un sentier que l’on doit marcher fréquemment afin qu’il demeure un sentier.

The subject of my reflection today came to me in two different ways. First, when we are asked to prepare a testimony, we are asked far enough in advance to give us time to think about it, to mature it. Every time I've done this since the pandemic began, the process has been the same: as soon as I'm asked, I start writing down ideas, observations, feelings as the days go by. It can be about my physiological practice, about the changes I observe in myself, or about how I learn to be in this organization.

Each time I am asked, I can concretely observe the teachings of Master Moy, that all the actions we are asked to take are learning opportunities and that the process is as important as the result.

So I'm going to talk about three small events that have been transformative for me.

The first observation comes from the practice of chanting. I realized that, from the beginning - and probably even before it was done on Zoom - I was looking to "perform" even though I was not an expert and didn't really know anything about it. I realized that I always wanted to get the pronunciation right, get the tone right, keep the rhythm right and project my voice. Of course, the "misses" were frequent and continuous, and this was a constant source of frustration for me.

I made small improvements in my practice over time, but it seemed like most of the time I ended up a little or a lot disappointed in myself. One day I realized that I was somehow not listening to the chanting; I suddenly realized that I could calm my expectations and, rather than trying to get it all right, that I could just listen and follow along, as we are taught from the first time we attend a beginners' session... So that time I started to just listen and let the voices I heard carry me along. It suddenly became much easier, more enjoyable and the frustrations disappeared.

This simple observation made me realize how difficult it is for me to let go, to trust and just follow... The purely physical aspect of chanting has also changed a bit as a result. I've been doing it on my knees since the beginning, but I never really observed anything related to the position. Lately, when I stand up, I feel that the push in my knees is the same as the one in my feet and that it makes me stand up in the same way.

My second observation is related to my increased ability to surrender and trust, and to the transformation of my attitude towards the tasks or actions I am asked to perform for FLK.

I have heard many times that the process is as important as the outcome, that we need to think larger and further than the exact task we are given, but my first instinct is still often to want to find answers and solutions before I have even started to accomplish the task itself. It's as if, throughout my life, I've lived with this idea, without questioning it too much and without really seeing the impact it could have on my anxiety, my fear of disappointing or my feeling of "weight on my shoulders". It is quite a learning process for me to get rid, little by little, of this old belief and to learn that it is only together in this organization that we carry out our actions; in short that we are never alone.

I feel that my attitude is changing little by little... but with frequent relapses. I have just experienced another one. Another leader in training and I were given the role of coordinating an inventory of materials at the regional center. We talked, we organized; things moved forward, LITs came in to help, and things got off to a good start. After two days, however, I started to worry about how we were going to collect the data, organize the photos, etc. And the hamster is going in my head: I obsess about it, I have to find solutions, I try things out, I wake up at night and think about it... as if I don't see the rest anymore. Until I talked to my colleague again and realized that the problems I was seeing are real, but that there are simple solutions, that these problems may not be as important as I thought they were, and that, most importantly, I was losing sight of the point of the exercise, which is not just to have pretty pictures after an inventory.

Another observation I made is about my physiological practice: in my daily practice, I try, I experiment with different things to simply observe what happens differently. A few months ago, I started practicing the push that comes from the "bubbling spring" in different movements. I noticed quite quickly that when I put my attention to pushing from that particular spot, I felt like I was straightening up more and that this straightening up went all the way to the top of my head. So I continued to practice this way until recently when I noticed that, in toryus and other exercises, my knees were making suspicious and not always pleasant cracking noises. I wondered what was going on. I tried to modify and concentrate on different things: vary the length of the step, try to be more relaxed... but nothing changed, the creaking was still there. I suddenly realized that I was indeed pushing from the "spring" but I was pushing only from there. As soon as I consciously tried to push with my whole foot, the cracking stopped. This little event revealed to me yet another aspect of my character: I can sometimes be so stubborn about doing something that consistency can turn into stubbornness or rigidity if I'm not careful.

With these three events, which in themselves are things that may seem minor or trivial at first, I simply wanted to illustrate that the arts we practice are revelations of who we are, if we pay attention to them. For me, they are the carriers and triggers of transformation.

I have also learned that transformation is not an outcome, an end result or a given, nor are the lessons learned forever. I feel like I have to walk the same path many times for transformation to take place, much like a trail that must be walked frequently for it to remain a trail.

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Zaráža ma, ako často ľudia vravia o poslednom období, ako o najhoršom čase, plnom neslobody a strachu. Keď naši lídri povedali, že pandémia je obdobím veľkých príležitosti a mali by sme za ňu istým spôsobom byť vďačný, bolo to akoby mi hovorili priamo z duše.

Obdobie pandémie vnímam ako úžasnú príležitosť počas ktorej s nami naši lídri zdieľajú jeho bohaté umenia prostredníctvom inšpirujúcich príbehov a čas, ktorý máme na náš individuálny tréning nám dáva možnosť objavovať samých seba na úrovniach, o ktorých sme nemali potuchy. Stačí to len vyskúšať a každý sa sám presvedčí o tom, že to skutočne funguje.

Najdôležitejším poznaním za posledné obdobie pre mňa však bolo, ako veľmi je dôležité si navzájom pomáhať. Našu organizáciu som od začiatku vnímal, že je predovšetkým o nezištnej pomoci. A v tom chcem aj do budúcna pokračovať, či už ako LIT osobne na skupinách, alebo počas online stretnutí, alebo v administratíve.

Našťastie je toľko príležitostí trénovať jeho umenia, pretože len vďaka osobnej skúsenosti môžeme byť schopní úprimne zdieľať všetko, čo sme sa naučili iným.

It amazes me how often people talk about the last period as the worst time, full of fear and lack of freedom. When our leaders said that the pandemic was a time of great opportunity and we should be grateful for it in some way, it was as if they were speaking directly from my heart.

I see the pandemic as a wonderful opportunity during which our leaders are sharing his teachings with us through inspiring stories, and the time we have for our individual training gives us the opportunity to discover ourselves at levels we have no idea about. Just try it and everyone will see for themselves that it really works.

However, the most important knowledge of recent times for me was how important it is to help each other. From the beginning, I perceived our organization that it is primarily about selfless help. And I want to continue to do so in the future, whether as leaders in training, in person or in groups, or during online meetings, or in administration.

Fortunately, there are so many opportunities to practice his teachings, because only through personal experience we can be able to sincerely share everything what we have learned.