My Daoist Journey: Bruce Frantzis

This is part 4 of a multipart series.

In the late 20th century, ancient Chinese teachings that had largely been closed off from the West gradually began opening up, to the point where it is now possible to get training in a variety of internal Daoist arts in a Western setting. Historically, martial arts and related qigong practices were closely guarded secrets, passed on only through direct lineage, typically from father to son. There was good reason for this. Martial arts practitioners of the past were employed as guards, and life-and-death fighting was a regular part of their vocation. The quality and utility of the techniques that a particular practitioner used affected both employment prospects and life expectancy, and as such, sharing them freely would not make for good business.

In the 19th and 20th centuries, when there was more and more cross-pollination between the cultures of East and West, these esoteric teachings were also commonly withheld from Westerners. This was in part due to simple prejudice, but there were other reasons for this as well. The West was seen in the East - quite rightly - as an invading and subjugating force. And the cultural differences between East and West were sometimes so great that there would seem an impossible barrier of transmission.

Things began to open up in part due to some practitioners of these arts moving to the West, and looking for a way to make a living. And there was also a flow in the other direction: students from the West heading East to learn this techniques.

The earliest transmissions of this kind were in external martial arts such as karate and gongfu. These were perhaps the easiest kinds of arts to transmit over the cultural divide, and the arts with the least reason for guarded secrecy. And being more commonplace, more immigrants from the East to the West were in a position to share them here. But dedicated students, looking for the most effective practices, would soon start to discover there was something they were missing.

Bruce Frantzis was one such student. The introduction to his book, Opening the Energy Gates of Your Body, provides a thorough account of his Daoist journey, and is excerpted in full on the Energy Arts website. It’s an interesting read. I will provide only the briefest summary needed to tell the story I am telling here.

Originally a student of Japanese martial arts such as jiu-jitsu and aikido in New York City, Bruce traveled to the East to study martial arts more deeply. He spent 16 years there in total, during which time he learned ancient healing arts such as tui-na and acupuncture, internal martial arts such as hsing-i, bagua zhang, and taiji chuan, Daoist meditation, and qigong. Through his diligence, hard work, and sincerity, he was able to break through many of the cultural barriers that made these arts so inaccessible to Westerners.

Bruce’s biography also recounts some tremendous difficulties that he overcame, such as a life-threatening bout of hepatitis, and a car accident that broke multiple vertebrae in his spine. He refused the spinal fusion recommended to him by his Western doctors, because he knew it would severely limit his qi flow. He instead treated his own injury with qigong in a long and agonizing process.

When I read these accounts, I can’t help but think about how I would have fared in his shoes. I would not have been able to refuse whatever treatment the doctors recommended. I would do whatever it took to relieve the pain, as quickly as possible. Even just spending a couple of weeks in China in the early 2000’s was extremely difficult for me. I got sick twice, and often had difficulty finding any food that I could stomach. And I was with family. Bruce spent 16 years in the East, on his own! This only begins to demonstrate what an extraordinary person Bruce is.

Bruce Kumar Frantzis

But the most important part of Bruce’s story, in my opinion, was that he came back to the West to share all the knowledge and skill he had gained in the East. He has taught tens of thousands of students, and hundreds of instructors, in these arts. He has diligently spent years developing what he learned into a system that would be most accessible to practitioners in the West. He is not the only person to bring these kinds of practices to the West, but I don’t think anybody has done so at the kind of scale, and level of depth, as he has.

Bruce taught these practices to my first teacher, Bill, as well as to all the other teachers I studied with at Brookline Tai Chi. I would have never been in a position to learn these arts - to truly learn Daoism - if it were not for Bruce, and for that, I am forever grateful. Bruce plays an essential role in the ongoing process of the introduction of Daoism to the West, and of course, this benefits much more than just myself, and even more than just his students and teachers, and his teachers’ students. Daoism is poised to be an essential part of the solution to multiple crises we are now facing here in the West.

Over the years of studying at Brookline Tai Chi, I had multiple opportunities to study with Bruce. Brookline Tai Chi was, I believe, the largest taiji and giqong school in the West at that time, with hundreds of students, and as such, an excellent place for Bruce to visit and teach his arts. He would come once or twice a year, and held week-long seminars, weekend seminars, and shorter classes in the evenings. Unfortunately, I squandered my opportunity to study deeply with him. Over the years, as I recollect, I went to one evening class, and two weekend seminars.

At that time, Bruce was a difficult person for me to accept as a teacher and a master, despite his obvious mastery of these arts that I was so drawn to. I was extremely distrustful of authority figures of any kind at that time, and Bruce somehow came off to me as an authority figure. The contrast between Bruce and Bill was strong. Where Bruce was hefty, Bill was as thin as a healthy man could be. Bruce was a martial arts master, whereas Bill practiced and shared these arts primarily for their health and spiritual benefits. Bill’s courses were affordable, with student discounts. Bruce’s seminars were expensive. Where Bill was soft-spoken, gentle and kind, Bruce came across from a distance as severe and strong-minded. Bruce had the characteristics of the stern father figure that I shied away from, whereas Bill was like the wise, gentle, caring uncle that I imagined my own mother’s brother to be.

Bill always encouraged me to go to Bruce’s seminars, but I was obstinate. I was always scared that I would be shown out as a poor student, that something wouldn’t go well, that Bruce would reprimand me, and I wouldn’t be able to complete a week seminar, so I only ever opted for the shorter classes. I recall a particular weekend seminar that I attended there in the early 2000’s. Bill was really making an effort to get Bruce and I to meet, and to establish some sort of relationship. I had not previously talked with Bruce, and had an opportunity to speak with him briefly then, in relative private. He mentioned that I was “certainly very aware,” and he asked how I was enjoying the seminar. I told him I was enjoying it, and quite disrespectfully, asked him how the seminar was going for him. His response is etched in my memory. He said, offhandedly, “Oh, you know, onwards and sidewards.”

A little later, I overheard from a distance (my hearing was remarkably good back then) Bill asking Bruce about our conversation. Bruce told Bill about how I had asked him how the seminar was going for him, and Bill let out a wordless, incredulous exclamation. A little something in my relationship with Bill broke at that moment, although I am sure he has long since let it go or forgotten about it. He had tried so hard to help me out by finding a way to get me comfortable in Bruce’s presence, and I spurned his efforts with an arrogant, off-handed comment.

In any event, it was my loss. Even though Bruce came off as a bit gruff in those days, I could tell that underneath, he was a kind and gentle soul. If I had just opened myself up a bit, and accepted Bruce for who he was, I could have learned so much from him. Bruce, if you are reading this, and have even the slightest recollection of me, I am truly sorry for my disrespect, and for not allowing you the opportunity to share your deep intimacy with the internal arts with me. And Bill, I am sorry to you too. You went out of your way, probably at some cost, to get me and Bruce to connect, and I rebuffed you.

Bruce still teaches seminars at his school in Colorado, and I do hope to attend one of these years. But ever since I’ve allowed myself to open up and accept Bruce for who he truly is, getting away from my family for a one or two week seminar is a serious challenge. As my kids grow older, things get easier, and hopefully the opportunity will arise.

Bruce mastered the internal martial arts, and brought them back to the West to share with us. This is a tremendous gift to the world, and Bruce endured and persevered through countless challenges to accomplish this. I often think back to the words he spoke to me: “onwards and sidewards.” On the one hand, they speak to the tremendous challenges Bruce overcame, and a difficult journey filled with setbacks and switchbacks. On the other hand, they speak to the utter humanity of the master. Such accomplishments are made by human beings that are, by nature, no more godlike or superhuman than any of the rest of us. They accomplish great things through great skill, but more so through years of concerted effort, discipline, and determination. It is the humanity of the accomplished teacher that is most inspiring, because in such a teacher, we have not just a model that we can emulate, but an example of the fully realized potential of a human being.