The Three Bows
by Mimi Kuo-Deemer (she/her)
The first memory of taking three bows was at my grandfather’s funeral. A modern Chinese historian, he passed away the day after he wrote the last sentence of his final book. I was three years old at the time, and remember feeling scared by the sombre atmosphere and my father’s sadness. Shaping my hands together, I did as my father asked and folded my torso slowly forward in unison with my family. Most other details of that day have faded from my memory, but I clearly remember that with my third bow, fear left my body and mind. As my father lifted me up to my yeye’s thin, colourless face, I summoned the courage to kiss my grandfather goodbye.
Bowing three times in Chinese culture is way of showing respect to Heaven, Earth and all life. It is a gesture that humbles us to the mystery and power of what is vast and unspeakable. For me, it has become a sacred, living tradition, where my ego momentarily gives way to a liminal space that lies beyond words.
I never asked my father what bowing meant to him, or what he thought or felt when he bowed his final bow to his father. Did he lower himself to Heaven, Earth and all life, as generations of his ancestors have honoured with their bows? Did he believe in the all-pervasive yet ineffable and nameless presence of Dao? An engineer by training, he was like many in his generation of Chinese who shunned China’s feudal, superstitious past. And, like many, he believed the answer to many of China’s modern-day troubles, were enshrined in Western science and Enlightenment principles. Yet as he grew older, he often recalled that when his father died, he could not accept that his father was simply gone. His spirit lived on, animated by a force that he could not name. Once, I asked him what he thought this might be, to which he answered, ‘I would never be so arrogant as to think I could know’.
Unbeknownst to most everyone in my little village of Stonesfield, I bow three times every day. I do this at the end of my practices, as well as to a beautiful community from around the world whom I have the honour of seeing in the Zoom classes I teach. This moving, silent prayer has evolved from the classical three bows taken by my ancestors to reflect what I believe my father valued most: to give respect to those who support us; to appreciate those we admire and love; and to honour the source of life, which can never be known.
Thank you, Ba, for passing on this gift. Wherever your spirit may be, I hope that this small gesture that was embedded in the presence of your father’s passing, will make you proud.
My three, daily bows:
To my friends in practice – particularly my brothers and sisters in the 6th generation of my lineage of the internal martial art of Baguazhang.
To my teachers, past present and future: Shifu (Liu Xuyang), Martin Aylward, Donna Farhi and Erich Schiffmann.
To myself, and in bowing to myself, I bow to all those who have given me life: baba, mama (father, mother), yeye, nainai (paternal grandfather and grandmother), gonggong, laolao (maternal grandfather and grandmother), shang bei (all my ancestors), and Dao (the Source that is One).
