A Promise to All

Copyright © 2012 by Peter G. Anderson

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ISBN: 978-1-4759-3372-7 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4759-3374-1 (e)

ISBN: 978-1-4759-3373-4 (dj)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2012910873

iUniverse rev. date: 7/10/2012

Contents

Acknowledgments

Master Wong

Introduction

A New Beginning: Letting Go of the Old

Chapter One: A Promise to All

Chapter Two: Changing Your Viewpoint.

Chapter Three: Real Change

Chapter Four: The Beginning

Chapter Five: The Blueprint

Chapter Six: The Life of the Little Child

Chapter Seven: The Belief in More—Shame and Abuse

Chapter Eight: Tribalism and Winning

Chapter Nine: Human Reality and Choice

Chapter Ten: The Quest for Self

Chapter Eleven: The Recognition of Insanity

Chapter Twelve: And Then It Is

Chapter Thirteen: The Identity

Conclusion: The Promise to All

Addendum

References

This is a story of my life, but it is also a story of guides and a very wise and wonderful man, a man whose orbit joined mine along the way, and who guided me to the wisdom of All That Is. I hope that with this book, I can pass some of that learning along so that those who read it will have a better understanding of humanity, why it is on this earth, and why the earth is in its present state of turmoil. It is my intention to show that it doesn’t have to be this way and that there are ways of changing it. Perhaps from this, it will be realized that my story is actually everyone’s story.

Acknowledgments

I thank everyone who has appeared in my life for his or her help in writing this book. Each one has left a story, a tidbit that has contributed to this work. And so this is a book written by humanity for humanity and its connection with All That Is. From this and works like this, I hope you will come to realize All That Is.

And I must also thank the editors at IUniverse, who taught me some good lessons about writing a book. They reminded me often of the idea that even if it is your own work, and you believe that you are completely familiar with it, it’s a good idea to have someone else look it over. It’s amazing how much stuff you can miss, no matter how many times you’ve read it.

Master Wong

As I finish writing this book, Master Wong (whose name has been changed due to his own humility) is in his one hundred and fifth year, yet he is as supple as a child, his mind as clear as a twenty-year-old. He is very active with his powerful and loving counseling, and of course his tai chi, something that he practices three times a day. I began this book when he was ninety-five years old; it has taken this long for it to be realized.

It is often said that anyone who assumes the honorary title Master is being arrogant, that it is a display of supercilious ego—but this was not the case with Master Wong. We only began to call him Master in the late 1960s, despite much resistance from him. I am only a guide, he would often say. I do not require titles or special status. We decided to call him that anyway, and it eventually stuck. He won’t use the title himself, even though as a master of the martial arts, he is entitled to it.

He would never allow his guidance to be used publicly, either for profit or to aggrandize anyone. He refused anyone who showed a hint of mercenary behavior and frowned on anything that spoke of a cult, religion, or the like. His guidance was, and is, to help humanity to grow, to raise awareness, and to teach people about themselves. Through his own direct participation, and the participation of those who have been fortunate enough to have been touched by him that is exactly what has happened.

After many discussions with Master Wong, his wife, and a close friend from the martial arts community, it was decided that I should incorporate some of the written materials and guidance accumulated over the years into this book. It was to be a recognition of the realization that mankind has reached a crossroads, that powerful universal guidance is present, and that an awakening is upon us even if many are not yet ready to greet it.

I dedicate this book to him, the powerful love that he is, and to Paradise, our home, if we could only realize it.

Introduction

I sat back from my computer, watching the typed messages scroll by in the window on the screen. I was in the midst of another chat, the Tuesday night meeting of our soul group on the Internet, and it was going strong. They were all there, and our guide, Master Wong, was in good form.

I thought of the many years that had passed since I’d met this man. He was ninety-five years old and yet strong, dominating, and so very aware of everything. He was a man who could make one’s knees buckle with a glance, and yet he could bring one to tears with a kind comment or touch. It had been a tough road for me, and it still was, but despite my resistance, I had learned a lot from him. My mind drifted back to our first meeting …

***

I had started judo at nine years of age, an attempt on the part of my aunt to toughen me up and teach me self-defense against the bullies in the neighborhood who seemed to take special pleasure in sending me home bruised and bleeding each day. She took me to a judo academy in downtown Montreal, a place that was the training school for the Montreal police. So started my participation in the martial arts. At the time I thought that this was all there was to it.

I had a good friend, Bill, who lived in the same apartment building as I did. He was Chinese, and his father was a teacher of kung fu. Through our friendship, I started to practice with him, and shortly thereafter his father included me in their training sessions. That began my kung fu training. It was hard for me, the dedication and discipline being the major obstacles, but I soon caught on, more for the fact that I started to establish a reputation in the neighborhood than anything else. I began to walk a little taller, and it seemed as if the bullies had decided that discretion was the better part of valor. Now I was getting respect, and I became the leader of our local gang. Everyone soon knew that I was studying this Chinese dirty fighting.

The years passed, and I became proficient in judo and kung fu. By the time I was sixteen, Bill’s father decided that he had gone as far as possible with both of us, so he made the necessary arrangements for us to join a special club, a secret society of Chinese martial artists who carefully guarded and controlled the activities of their club and its members. I was the only Caucasian allowed in, something that baffled me at the time. Sure, my teacher highly recommended me, but the real reason would remain obscure until years later.

Here I was, my first time meeting with the Master, and I was scared to death. I had heard of his reputation: a very ominous person, a man who could down you with his eyes closed, barely having to lift a finger. I was allowed into the club and walked downstairs to the training area. What was I going to say to him? Was he going to ask me to put on a demonstration, or was it going to be the indoctrination ritual that many have to go through before being accepted by a master? My knees were shaking, my throat was dry, and I could feel my chest tensing up.

I entered the training room, and there he was. He was about five feet ten inches tall and about two hundred pounds, but he reminded me of an immoveable mountain. He noticed me immediately and stopped the class he was teaching. I was still dressed in street clothes and so could not join the class. He commanded me to immediately change and return, not saying another word, and the class resumed.

I gulped, left the room, and found the locker area so I could change as he had directed. This was going to be something! I hadn’t planned to train today, but I guess that I was going to, like it or not. After changing, I went back to the training room and bowed, joining the class at the back. He noticed this and commanded me to move to the front, right in front of where he was standing. I felt his gaze, and it seemed to heat my body, much like the sun on a hot summer afternoon. I felt his eyes probing the inside of my skull, and I somehow knew that there was nothing in this world that I could hide from this man.

I started to train at his direction, and I had to work all the harder to catch up to the class. I spent the first two months there without exchanging a word with him, other than hellos and good-byes and his commands to do this and that. My impression was that I would never have a personal conversation with him because he was too distant, seemingly not interested in anything that I did other than training properly.

I had never enjoyed this type of discipline—the hard workouts lasting three or more hours, sometimes seven days a week. Although I put on my front, I gradually started to tire of it. My motivation came entirely from what I thought was me, and the discipline was slowly breaking it down. This didn’t escape the watchful eye of Master Wong, and one night after a workout, which didn’t stop until past midnight, he was waiting for me as I left the locker room.

I stopped dead when I saw him in the doorway, wondering what he was up to. For a couple of moments, he did nothing to enlighten me. I tried to meet his gaze but couldn’t, and without knowing what was going on, I suddenly felt overwhelmed with emotion. He said nothing and instead beckoned me to follow him; we went into a small room that had been designated as his office, a ten-by-ten room with a desk, a filing cabinet, and two straight-backed chairs.

He motioned for me to sit down, and then he brought his own chair from behind the desk to sit beside me. He sat, and we stayed that way for at least another two minutes before he said, Let us explore this lesson together.

The incredible kindness in his voice moved me to tears, and I spent the next hour doing that and only that, exploring emotion that came from the depths of my being, wracking my body and shaking me to my soul. It had been a long time since I had cried. I had kept a lot inside, something with which Master Wong seemed very much in tune. It took me a long time to realize why I had responded this way, the real reason only becoming clear in later years.

We talked until almost four o’clock in the morning, and then he put his arm on my shoulder and bade me good night. He said that we had much to discuss, but It cannot be accomplished in one night. I was exhausted, totally drained, and went home to sleep the sleep of the dead.

From that day on we became closer, and the image of terror that I had experienced on first seeing this man began to change. Yes, he was physically powerful, more powerful than anyone I had seen in my life, notwithstanding the heavy weightlifters and the many large and powerful men I had met in judo, but one soon put this image aside because it was his other power, his mind power, that surpassed everything. He possessed wisdom that seemed inhuman, as if all of the knowledge of the world and beyond was contained in that brain. He saw everything, felt everything, and knew everything—something that in a normal man would have brought resentment from those around him, but because of Master Wong’s incredible kindness and humanness, it was respected without question.

And so my life began to change.

I had grown up in an alcoholic home with parents who fought often. They viewed their children as a nuisance, interfering with their drunken parties and the orgies they became. There would be drunken friends lying everywhere, fighting, and cursing—an overall irresponsibility toward everyone and everything. The children were expected to keep out of the way. I grew up living in terror, on guard, and always trying to keep the peace in the house, feeling as if I was responsible for everything that went on and never finding peace myself. I began to look outside of the house and often would spend weekends, and extended stays, with relatives or friends; it was the only way I knew to calm the terror that staying at home would bring.

I entered my teenage years with a sense of values that was completely irrational and entirely inadequate to cope with life, and soon I found myself wondering why I was alive. Workouts at the club provided some release for the powerful anger inside and the feelings of injustice I felt due to life at home, but they didn’t resolve anything; they were just a safety valve. In short, I didn’t know where I was going. To my mind, the only way out was suicide—something my sister eventually accomplished, after having failed on two previous attempts.

I was sixteen years old, was unable to cope, and had no direction, no goals, and no one to guide me. I was proficient in kung fu but little else, with nowhere to go. I had many discussions with Master Wong, sometimes lasting well into the night, and I heard great wisdom that I thought was very nice to know and all that … but it was for other people, not me. And what right did this man, however kind he was, have to judge me, to tell me about myself and what he saw in me? None at all, I thought. Despite our new friendship and his wisdom, I resisted him. I felt I knew what life was all about, and no one was going to tell me differently. Besides, I had been taught to keep everything to myself; it wasn’t to be shared with anyone, especially the secret of my family.

I progressed well in kung fu and advanced to become a senior student and then an instructor. I was very strong and had seemingly unlimited endurance. But inside, life was hell. The talks with Master Wong went on, and despite my resistance some of it started to sink in.

I made it through college—something I would never have accomplished without his guidance—and during that period I took on several jobs, from pumping gas to working in construction. All of it just kept me busy. The workouts continued to drain off the excess energy, but still nothing was being resolved. I was twenty-one and lost, still very much a child compared to others I knew, except in kung fu, which I now began to teach privately in addition to regular workouts at the club.

I tried psychiatric counseling, psychological therapy, reading books about psychology, talking to people about psychology, taking tranquilizers, and joining a cult (which shall remain nameless, but which promised to clear my brain of its shackles and many other things). The search for answers was well under way, but new awareness was difficult to find. I dreamed of a miracle, something that would provide me with instant awareness and solve all of my problems.

Through it all, Master Wong guided me, teaching me many new words and concepts, but I had yet to connect much of it to my life. It all sounded good, but it didn’t answer what was going on in my mind—such as why I became depressed, or why I had such fits of anger, or why I felt so inferior to other people. My mind was a merry-go-round of confusion, shifting from one subject to another without resolution. Would I ever find peace?

I read many self-help books and learned more concepts, some of which I could use in my life, but they too were limited. I was looking for deeper answers, and the books barely seemed to skim the surface.

Work was difficult because I had never related well to people, or at least what I thought was relating. I had many thoughts that I felt were aberrated, and I was sure that I was just an irrational fool who needed to spend many years on a psychiatric couch, with only a slim chance of resolving anything. It never occurred to me, until much later, that perhaps some of what I was thinking was coming from a greater awareness, something that had been with me from birth but which had been totally suppressed by my upbringing and those in my life. I grew up believing that my thoughts were wrong and that I knew little about life and people. After all, I couldn’t relate to them very well, so how could I know anything about them? It was my problem.

As I approached thirty, I experienced physical symptoms, most which were tension related, and the usual manifestation of this was headaches. I loved Kung Fu training because it was the only time when I could relax. It was at that time, after a hard workout, that I could sit outside in the night air with my beloved German shepherd, Rickey, and simply feel. Many thoughts would pass through my head, and I soon discovered that no matter where my thinking was, it always seemed to return to something that Master Wong had said to me.

I met Rickey in the mid 1960s, shortly after I had lost another German shepherd. I had been referred to a particular kennel and had started to take my former shepherd there for training, but she contracted a fatal disease and soon died. My grief was enormous, and one day I went back to this kennel, thinking that perhaps I would purchase another puppy. The owner, who was a professional dog trainer from Austria, seemed to understand my need better than I did, and on my next visit, he asked me if I wanted to learn to train dogs properly, as he referred to it.

I had always had animals in my life but had never dreamed of doing something like this. I thought that he meant that I would learn the basics of obedience training for my new puppy.

One evening shortly afterward, I arrived at the kennel, and he pointed out several dogs that were tied up near one of the holding areas on the property. You’ll be working with them tonight. They’ve all had some training and just need to be worked a bit.

That was fine with me; they probably knew more about obedience training than I did. I marched over and started to put them through their paces. There was one dog in the group who refused to stand properly, and I found myself having to correct him repeatedly. The kennel owner