The Beginning
There comes a day where the resistance to change becomes impossible. Where the excitement of what may be can no longer be denied. Join me as I step through the gates of The Mind Monastery and enter a realm where the echoes of possibility hold the promise of your future.
Doors
There is a coffee shop I visit often. The coffee is far from remarkable, yet the ritual feels sacred. To reach it, I wander through narrow alleyways—lanes heavy with the scent of forgotten dreams and in-earthed potential, the faint perfume of lunch frying and incense drifting from unseen shrines. Dogs bark lazily, and somewhere, always, a wooden door creaks on its hinge. These alleys are an intoxicating mix of the ordinary and the exquisite. For me, they are the textures that make life so very rich.
One morning, I stopped in the middle of one such alley. I stood still, letting the silence swell, watching as my eyes drifted from one doorway to the next. A slow smile rose as I understood what kept drawing me back.
It was the doors.
The plain ones, nothing more than practical wood. The elegant ones, painted with a quiet pride. The aged and weathered doors, grooved with the fingerprints of time. The polished, immaculate ones that revealed nothing but suggested everything.
They captivated me. Not as timber and nails, but as metaphors—each one like a heart, capable of shutting out or opening wide. Doors that conceal sorrows, doors that guard joy, doors that hint at secrets too delicate to name. I walk in silence, photographing them one by one, knowing each holds a story I will never be told. And yet it comforts me, simply knowing the stories exist.
Wudang is a place of extraordinary beauty, steeped in Kung Fu and history, layered with calm. But for me, it is also a place of doors—quiet sentinels that remind me of the hidden chambers within us all. Behind them lies the pain we conceal, the love we protect, and the untold stories we carry, waiting for the day we might find the courage to open them.
The place I have come to call home is a sleepy little town in the heart of China. Eccentric by nature, its rhythms seem to revolve around Martial Arts alone, as if the rest of life were just background music for the deeper peace found in practice. Despite the toil of what sometimes seems like endless hours of training, there’s a softness here, an ease of living that feels a lifetime adrift from the rush of what most would call normal.
By China’s measure, Wudang is a small town, seemingly sleeping, tucked beneath steep, merciless mountains. Their stone shoulders rise like guardians, unforgiving to the eye yet quietly holding a promise—a connection you cannot see but cannot help but feel. Far above the gentle ebb and flow of Wudang, the world slides blindly past on smooth highways, electric cars humming into silence. Down here, in the valley of Wudang, the pace softens into one of the most peaceful places I have ever known.
I Have Been
I have lived a rich and diverse life, seemingly made up of many different existences. I have been a poor boy raised by a single mother, an average student to patient teachers, a failed tradesman to a frustrated employer, a budding opinionated filmmaker and out of his depth, a lacklustre husband to an exceptional wife, a missing father to a yearning daughter and finally, an internationally acclaimed Director and Photographer, a threat I never saw forming on the horizon.
Now I am empty awaiting the wonders of what is to come.
A Few of my Favourite Memories
For the past few months, I have had the privilege of training as a Shaolin Warrior Monk. (I don’t regard myself as one, that's just what they call it). Anyway, it was an extradition experience full of physical and emotional highs and lows. These photos are just a few from a small shoot I did with my fellow students.
As soon as I saw this abandoned fun fair I knew exactly what I wanted to do. The brief was simple, come as a warrior and bring a personal possession that helped you through your journey.; and as always the students went all out.
High Above
After seven relentless hours of ascent, I perched at the summit, enveloped in an unparalleled silence, surveying the unattainable beauty before me. In that moment, time ceased its march, and my ego surrendered to the boundless expanse of emptiness before me. Then, a revelation as profound as the first light of dawn washed over me.
To become all I desire, I need to accept all I am.
Standing Alone
Standing alone and facing your impermanence has lost its appeal in favour of alluring shared experiences that help reassure you of your place upon ever-shifting ground. Yet I find that when the group support fades with the last light of day, you are once again left alone, in solitude, just you and your thoughts.
It may feel uncomfortable, euphoric, or confusing. Whatever the sensation, its transient nature becomes inconsequential with dawn's arrival.
Rather than resisting the tide of emotions surging within, invite them in, embrace them as companions, and heed the messages your consciousness endeavours to impart.
Friendship
People drift through this school I call home the way seasons slip unnoticed across an unwatched calendar. They come like rain, sudden and cleansing. They go like autumn, leaving behind a beauty that aches. Some pass through with laughter that lingers long after their footsteps fade. Others leave only the quiet shadow of regret.
The reasons hardly matter. Everyone here carries a hidden story, often spoken not in words but through the language of practice. Each form, each gesture, presses itself like a fingerprint against the soul.
Fabio was one such imprint. A stubborn, unyielding man from Italy, his presence filled the room like stone—solid, unmoving. We did not share a language, yet tradition and training became our translator. In silence we discovered a language older than words, a dialogue of effort, of patience, of bruised bodies and unspoken respect. From that silence, a friendship took root—one I know will not wither with time.
We mocked our aches, laughed at our clumsy moments, but most of all we learned to share stillness. To sit within silence and know we were understood. That was the gift: proof that words are pale beside the honesty of action.
I call myself lucky. My friends are few, but each one reminds me of the fragile beauty of living. My coach—always my elder Kung Fu brother guides me with a bond deeper than teaching. A twelve-year-old boy greets me with nothing more than a grin and a passing high-five, yet in that simple act I see the purity of friendship, the innocence of not needing. There are friends I revisit only in memory, their absence still teaching me. And I believe there are friends yet to be discovered, waiting like unopened chapters in the story of my life.
Friendship, I’ve come to see, is fleeting. Each one a moment that cannot be held, only cherished before it slips forward like the hands of a clock no one is watching. And so life whispers its lesson: live in the present, live with friends, for nothing endures except the moments we share.
These thoughts pass like wind, unseen yet felt. They are the hidden texture of life, reminding me that what we share in friendship matters more than the rushing world will ever admit.
The things we overlooked were real. The unnoticed moments were seen. The friendships others may never understand are the one I hold closest to my heart.
Goodbye, my friend. But only for now.
Here are some photos from a typical Saturday night in the Wudang Mountains. Oh how times have changed.
Masks
The masks I wear protect me from the things I fear.
Yet the masks I wear repeal the desires of my heart.
Can I be brave enough to forgo what no longer serves me?
To walk naked, free from the ego that brought me here?
Can I bear my soul, accept my past and walk boldly into an unknown future?
Solitude
There was a time not so long ago when my inner voice feared one thing above all else.
Solitude.
My mind would spiral dangerously, like a hard drive on the brink of failure. It would seize control, concoct stories, and grant me the false justification to make a series of reckless decisions.
Time and again, this would occur, leading inevitably to misadventures that ended in pain. I had convinced myself that I feared solitude and would do anything to avoid the quiet moments that forced me to confront my thoughts.
It took me a very long time to make peace with my mind and stop running from the messages it was desperately trying to convey. The process felt like agony as I clung to what no longer served me until, one day, I simply ran out of energy, ran out of fight, and surrendered to a quiet moment. It didn't kill me; in fact, it was the beginning of what I now consider a profoundly beautiful relationship.
The bond between myself and my need for solitude has become a precious sanctuary I now not only look forward to but crave. I feel blessed to have run out of energy and fight. As I reflect on this journey through the rose-colored glasses of hindsight, I have nothing but empathy for the man who felt the need to resist. Be assured, at that moment, he knew no other way.
Time
The unyielding progression of time is an unstoppable force, often challenging to reconcile as we fixate on the horizon, longing for a brighter tomorrow, discarding the past like a discarded relic.
Yet within this relentless march lies a tapestry woven with invaluable moments and profound experiences, each a fleeting and elusive gem of wisdom. These fragments of existence need to be acknowledged, thanked, and released.
Don’t regret the journey travelled nor the life unfolding before you; they constitute your genuine riches, a treasure longing to be liberated, shared, and embraced by all who cross your path.
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"I DON’T KNOW!"
It's a profound admission, echoing with raw honesty. Imagine hearing this declaration frequently throughout the day—it signifies openness to listen, to explore, to evolve.
"I DON’T KNOW," whispered with a hint of curiosity, carries the weight of potential. It's a brave admission of uncertainty, yet a bold declaration of willingness—to seek, to learn, to understand.
"I DON’T KNOW," a humble refrain, punctuated with a fervent desire—to unravel, to uncover, to grasp.
"I DON’T KNOW," a simple phrase with profound implications—beckoning us to venture into the unknown, to embrace the journey of discovery.
Adventure
The adventure of this existence can not be framed by a single moment in time. It can not be regretted, just as it can not be held onto.
Every experience, the good, the bad and the indifferent, is a lesson for the soul. Like a school child learning math, we may not like the lesson, but I can assure you, it is a lesson that has emerged from deep within you. A lesson of compassion, a lesson of love, from you to you.
Listen to your heart and your soul, especially when you feel uncomfortable. The feeling will pass, yet the lesson will last a lifetime if you let it.
Nerves Excitement Unknown
It could be nerves, excitement, or the looming abyss of the unknown that makes me feel like prey stalked by an unseen predator. It’s an ever-present visceral feeling that drives me forward as if willingly fleeing from the ghost of who I have become.
Yet, in the greater scheme, the reasons and feelings are irrelevant; they are mere signals, a primal warning system alerting me that what lies ahead is far beyond my comfort zone.
I relish and understand that these feelings, this electrifying anticipation pulsing through every fibre of my being, are fleeting and impermanent. Life as I know it is about to radically transform at the hands of the Master Shaolin Warrior Monks in China.
I am willingly about to strip myself bare, cast aside everything I believe, everything I have embodied and believe I know, for the opportunity to slowly evolve towards the essence of my potential.
The destination is a mystery; there are no markers guiding me to a defined and acceptable end. Yet, this path has been calling me for longer than I dare to admit.
The nerves, the excitement, and the unknown are merely fragments of a shadowed larger picture - an image that will gradually unveil itself with the passing days, weeks, and months.
Am I ready for what comes next?
It doesn’t matter. It’s time to go.
Waiting For The Worst
A heartbeat ago, a curious revelation struck me in the face like a baseball bat: maybe, just maybe, I had spent a lifetime bracing for disaster, expecting the worst to arrive in all aspects of life.
Better late than never.
Why did I develop this habit? Perhaps it was a learned behaviour, a comforting story embedded into my very being. The origins are unclear, but I'm sure countless others have their theories.
Thankfully, I'm not one of them.
For me, it's crucial to recognise and understand this behaviour, but I have no need to dig through the past for some long-buried skeleton that no-longer serves me.
Rather than dwelling on an unchangeable past, I choose to focus my energy and actions on what will make this habit a distant memory in the rearview mirror of life.
So, what does this personal realisation really mean?
It might mean very little. But let's face it: If I spend my life expecting the worst, how can I ever welcome the best?
So as I move forward, with a multitude of questions swirling around in my mind, I find myself in the position of having no choice but to surrender to the simple concept that the belief that once held me back is gone, replaced by an exhilarating new belief that the best is always unfolding for me.
I don't see this shift as a universal teaching or a cosmic lesson. Instead I view it as a long-coming personal realisation that has enabled a moment of self-truth, inspiring a simple change of perspective. A fresh perspective that has been hovering, unacknowledged, for as long as I have walked this earth. A perspective I stubbornly ignored until the time was right to embrace it.
Tough Day at The Office
Today seemed more challenging than most, and the truth is that I almost succumbed to the doubts that were racing through my mind.
The first moment happened during a power stretching session. I was lying on my back with my legs in the air while two fellow students, one on each leg, pulled me sideways towards the floor.
It hurt. I wanted it to stop. My mind was screaming that I could not take anymore. But the reality was that I could. I just had to breathe through the pain and try to relax, and before I knew it, I had stretched further than last week. It's still not a lot, but I am focused on small steps that just may lead to great rewards.
The second moment occurred during the afternoon session when we were practising form. Our teacher showed us the next steps in the form we were learning, and I looked on in shock, instantly convincing myself that there was no way I could do the four-kick combination while spinning 720 degrees in a squat position.
Again, I wanted to run away, tap out, and I almost convinced myself that there was no way I could do that. But then I tried, and I was right; I could not do it. So I tried again and again until I could just about do it. Trust me, the move didn't look good. Hell, it might even look to an onlooker like a totally different move. But I kept at it.
I acknowledged my doubts and discarded them. Ultimately, I tried, and I am so pleased I did.
Both of the moments tested me, and with a deep breath and a focused mind, I was able to tackle something that just a week ago may have defeated me. Small wins on a journey into the unknown.
Life is so very rich.