This story is offered by Robert C. Ellal of Mystic, CT.
A heron, bluish-gray and about four feet tall, stalks fish and frogs in the reeds on the other side of the pond behind my house. Deliberately it raises a reed-colored leg and carefully places it into the water a foot ahead of its other leg, barely disturbing the placid surface in the process. After many minutes of standing motionless it will raise the other leg and repeat the process.
Sooner or later a fish or a frog will mistake one of these legs for a reed and the eight-inch beak will pluck it from the water and effortlessly gulp it down its S-shaped neck. Then it will carefully move its other leg…
Patience. Forbearance. The qualities one needs to beat recurrent cancer. To survive my relapse, I would have to emulate the qualities of the crane. I had to realize that every time I beat a relapse, I was one step closer to being cured.
In research labs worldwide Ph.D.’s are working on cancer cures. These men and women are not motivated by financial gain; mere money doesn’t drive them. They work out of enlightened self-interest; they want to help people survive and they want recognition for it. They want to be the ones who find cures; they want their faces on postage stamps, like Jonas Salk.
If you can hang in there long enough, one of these brilliant researchers will find the cure.
That night I dreamt of the Middle East, of arid deserts and lush oasis flourishing with fig trees and green palms. Of Jerusalem, of the massive stone foundation of the Temple and the Wailing Wall, of penitents bowing repeatedly, whispering their prayers until the words no longer made sense and were just a collection of sounds . . . mantras—a true form of meditation.
It was disturbing—I’d never been to the Middle East, knew no one from that region, and had never dreamt of it before. Or since.
The next day a friend handed me a flyer announcing a qigong seminar by Ramel Rones, Dr. Yang’s top disciple, to be held in a nearby Connecticut town. Rami’s bio stated that he was born in Israel and had served in a Special Forces unit before immigrating to America to study various forms of kung fu and qigong with Dr. Yang.
Synchronicity? I thought of the crane—Rami’s kung fu background was based in White Crane kung fu. I thought about my dream of the Middle East, and realized the universe was telling me something. I had to attend the seminar, and convince Rami to teach me the secrets of qigong. Rami was the key.
The Test
Six feet tall, dark and lean, Rami moved with the fluidity of a panther. I had practiced martial arts for years in my teens and early twenties; I knew enough about it to recognize someone who was a superior artist. I read from his bio that he had won gold medals for forms and fighting in North America, Europe and even China.
But the die was cast—I had to become his student to survive. I approached him after the seminar and hit him head on: “I know you’ve won gold medals in competition as a martial artist. Do you want to take on a bigger challenge—and help me beat cancer?”
He looked me in the eye, paused, and said, “Okay—let me show you a few things. You practice them tomorrow, and meet me at 4:30 Monday afternoon in North Stonington. I have a tai chi class that starts at 5:00.”
Only later did he tell me that he didn’t expect me to show up. In true Chinese martial arts tradition, he was testing me to see if I had the resolve to be his student.
I passed the test. I began meeting him regularly. Because I didn’t have the money to pay him for a full hour of instruction, we would have half-hour classes. That wasn’t much time, so he taught me in a traditional Chinese fashion: Show me a few movements and leave it to me to practice them intensively. And I did. Because I wanted to live to see my children grow up.
Being on disability, I couldn’t afford to pay Rami every week. He would tell me: “That’s okay—come a few minutes before the tai chi chuan class and I’ll check your progress.”
That few minutes would expand into a half-hour or more, and he would have a senior student start the class. He didn’t have to do that, but he did. I’ve never forgotten his kindness at a time when the odds were so stacked against me.
