Preparing for Photographing During the Shen Yun Tour
In mid-October 2025, I received the Shen Yun performance schedule to cover from the NTD coordinating practitioner. As a photographer, I needed to travel with a full set of photography equipment. Considering the transportation and protection of the equipment, I decided to drive myself for the entire tour.
My previous car had been in service for 10 years. To better support the upcoming Shen Yun tour, I purchased a Tesla equipped with autopilot. Had I bought it a month earlier, I would have qualified for a $7,500 federal tax credit. Even though I missed that opportunity, I did not hesitate to replace my old car.
I jokingly nicknamed the car “Beloved Horse.” Riding in my “Beloved Horse” on the road assisting Master in Fa-rectification filled me with happiness. By the end of the tour, I had driven more than 18,000 miles. Of course, the journey was far from smooth.
A Test That Exposed My Attachments
During the Shen Yun tour, I frequently drove back and forth between different states. On one occasion, I drove for more than 20 hours straight before finally arriving in the city where Shen Yun would perform. When I checked into the hotel, the front desk informed me that no rooms would be available until 4:00 p.m.
The hotel used a multi-level indoor parking garage in a separate building. Every time I needed to move my luggage, I had to go back and forth between the garage and the hotel, making the process quite inconvenient. Fortunately, a hotel employee was able to arrange an early check-in for me. I felt relieved and grateful, thinking that I could finally bring my luggage upstairs, take a shower, and get some much-needed rest.
No sooner had I entered my room, before I had even unpacked, I received a call from an Epoch Times reporter. She asked whether I had arrived and if I could pick her up from the airport. I replied, “Sure. Just send me the time and the airport address. I’ll take a quick shower, rest a little, and then head over.”
I had barely finished my shower and hadn’t even changed into fresh clothes when she called again. She said she’d spoken with a practitioner in the kitchen, and asked me to quickly pick up a boxed meal because the practitioner was waiting for me. I returned to my room with the meal, but almost immediately she called again, saying she had already arrived at the airport and wanted me to pick her up right away.
I felt uneasy. I had already asked her to send me the airport information together with the pickup time, but she hadn’t done so. Had I received the information earlier, I could have picked up the meal, waited nearby, and then gone directly to the airport, avoiding unnecessary trips back and forth.
Unfamiliar with the local airport, I found it difficult to find her despite its small size. I drove around the airport several times looking for the correct pickup location. During this time, she called repeatedly asking where I was and whether I had gone the wrong way. Eventually she said, “If I’d known this, I might as well have taken a taxi.”
At that moment, I wanted to turn around and leave. But I restrained myself and continued searching until I finally found her. I suppressed the frustration in my heart and outwardly remained calm.
As soon as she got into the car, she began telling me that she had left home at 9 o’clock that morning, had taken a connecting flight, and had been traveling all day. She wanted me to know how exhausting her journey had been.
Then she suddenly paused and asked, “How long have you been driving to get here?” Suppressing my unhappiness, I replied calmly that it had been more than 20 hours. She fell silent for a moment before saying, “You’ve worked hard.”
I simply responded, “Enduring hardship eliminates karma and increases gong.” Inwardly however, I thought, “You don’t seem to care what others have gone through. As long as you’re comfortable, that’s all that matters.”
When we arrived at the hotel, we carried her luggage from the parking garage to the front desk together. Just as we were about to go upstairs, she suddenly remembered that she needed purified water for a steam iron. She asked if I had bottled water in my car. I said, “Yes, but let’s get it tomorrow.” She replied that she’d need it the next morning and was afraid there wouldn’t be enough time. She then launched into an explanation of why steam irons should use purified water.
I interrupted her and said, “I don’t need to learn about that. As long as you know it, that’s enough. Please don’t force your knowledge onto me.” She seemed to notice the tone in my voice. I looked at her and said, “You take your luggage upstairs. I’ll go get the water.” As I headed back toward the parking garage, I couldn’t help thinking, “Why didn’t she mention this while we were still in the garage? We had just finished carrying everything up, and now I have to make another trip.”
Driving for over 20 hours hadn’t made me feel tired. After all, supporting the Shen Yun tour was my responsibility. What truly upset me was not the driving itself, but the way everything unfolded. Her manner of speaking made me feel that all my efforts had been taken for granted, as though everything I was doing was simply expected of me. My heart immediately became unbalanced, and the more I thought about it, the more wronged I felt. A thought suddenly surfaced: “This is my personal car. I’m not anyone’s full-time chauffeur.”
Situations like this were not uncommon during the Shen Yun tour. On the surface, it appeared that I was complaining about a fellow practitioner. In reality, what was being exposed were my attachments.
At first, I always wanted to help everyone as much as possible and save transportation costs for the project. Gradually, however, I found myself becoming increasingly exhausted and more prone to resentment.
I began looking inward. Why did I feel wronged? Why did I want others to understand and appreciate me? Why could a single remark from someone else affect my emotions so easily? I gradually realized that although I appeared to be helping other practitioners, deep down I still had attachments to being acknowledged and understood. When others failed to respond in the way I expected, my resentment and sense of grievance immediately surfaced.
Later, I gradually adjusted my thinking. I was there to fulfill my responsibility as the photographer, not to act as a full-time chauffeur. Whenever it was convenient, I was happy to help practitioners. However, it should not interfere with the responsibilities I had been entrusted with. From then on, I began informing others of my departure times in advance. If our schedules matched, we could travel together. If not, they could make other transportation arrangements. Once I corrected this understanding, I felt much more at ease.
Through these experiences, I also came to recognize several deeply hidden attachments within myself: resentment, feeling wronged, and the desire for recognition.
Insights Into the Importance of One Body After an Injury
It happened to be Chinese New Year’s Eve. An Epoch Times reporter and I were traveling from one city to another when we stopped at a charging station for my car.As we walked past a group of young service members, I instinctively turned to glance back at them. At that very moment, it felt as though something caught my foot, and I fell heavily to the ground. My left hand instinctively extended onto the ground to support my body and absorbed most of the impact. The practitioner immediately asked if I was all right. “I’m fine,” I replied.
An older veteran standing nearby seemed to notice that I had injured my hand. He walked over and asked, “Is your left hand okay?”
“I’m fine,” I said. Meanwhile, I silently repeated in my heart, “Falun Dafa is good, Truthfulness-Compassion-Forbearance is good.”
When I entered the restroom inside the store and looked in the mirror, I noticed that my face had turned pale. After returning to the car, I could no longer raise my left arm normally, and my fingers were gradually losing their mobility.
Two hours later, we arrived at the hotel. I did my best to remain calm and not let the other practitioner notice that anything was wrong. Since everyone understands things differently, I did not want my condition to become an additional concern for others.That evening, while doing the exercises, I felt as if my injured arm was surrounded by a field of energy. Surprisingly, it did not hurt at all. Instead, it felt very comfortable. I studied the Fa late into the night, hoping to recover as quickly as possible.
The next morning, I instinctively checked my left hand—it had become noticeably swollen. My fingers could barely move, and even the slightest pressure caused pain. Yet I remained calm and unafraid. I continued studying the Fa and doing the exercises as usual. I didn’t tell other practitioners about my injury, and tried my best to keep it hidden. Since it was winter and everyone was wearing long sleeves and jackets, it was relatively easy to conceal.
When I arrived at the theater the next day to prepare for filming, I truly realized how important it is for both hands to work together. Setting up the backdrop, lights, tripods, and cameras normally requires the coordination of both hands. Tasks that had always seemed routine suddenly became extremely difficult with an injured hand. Many pieces of equipment require both hands to assemble, but my left hand was nearly unusable. I had to improvise, using my feet whenever possible and relying on the equipment itself for support, as I slowly completed each step. Whenever I needed help the most, a practitioner would always step forward and lend a hand.
On one occasion, a male practitioner who was serving on the security team came over to help me hold up the backdrop frame. Everyone was busy with their own responsibilities, and no one even realized that I had been doing all of this work with only one hand.
This experience reminded me of the importance of working together as one body.We often say that Dafa disciples form one body. When one part of the physical body is injured, the whole body is affected. Likewise, when one part of a project encounters difficulties, the entire project is impacted.
This experience also helped me realize that every practitioner within the one body is playing an important role. Whenever I genuinely needed help, a fellow practitioner would always appear at just the right moment. Through this experience, I deeply felt that Master had already arranged everything. The process itself was more about tempering me, helping me become calmer and strengthening my faith in Master and the Fa.
Looking Inward When Equipment Failed
During one interview, the interviewee was describing the Chinese Communist Party’s persecution of Falun Gong when the audio suddenly malfunctioned halfway through the recording. The two most important sentences were barely audible, while everything before and after was recorded normally.
After the interview, the reporter asked me, “Can you make sure this never happens again?”
“I can do my best to prevent it,” I replied, “but I can’t guarantee it will never happen. The equipment worked normally at the beginning, failed only in the middle, and then worked normally again.” Although that was my answer, I still felt deeply guilty. If there was a problem with the recording, it was ultimately the photographer’s responsibility. Later, I kept asking myself how I could prevent something like this from happening again.
Starting the very next day, after setting up all my equipment, I began reciting “On Dafa” with my “team”—the backdrop, lights, and camera. Doing so not only helped eliminate interference, but also allowed the equipment to remain powered on longer, giving me more time to verify that everything was functioning properly.
At first, I recited it twice. Later I increased it to three or four times. Whenever time permitted, I would recite it many more times. From that point on, the same problem never occurred again.
A Few Thoughts on Photography
Before the Shen Yun tour began, the coordinating practitioners organized photography training and experience-sharing sessions. Some recommended equipment that they believed produced excellent results.
After listening to their recommendations, I purchased some of the suggested equipment. However, after putting it to practical use, I realized that in the unique environment of Shen Yun interviews, the most important consideration was not whether the equipment was the most advanced, but whether it was practical and suited to the actual needs of the job. As I continued to study and gain experience, I developed a better understanding of lighting techniques. Gradually, I simplified what had originally been a rather complicated lighting setup into a single-light solution.
This made the equipment lighter and much faster to set up. More importantly, the lighting became more even, producing a consistent color throughout the image. This simplified setup proved especially practical in theaters with limited space.
This experience taught me that solving a problem is often not about adding more equipment, but about finding the method that best suits one’s needs through continual learning and practice. I remember that when I first joined Shen Yun media coverage and met practitioners in a new city, I would introduce myself by saying, “I’m with NTD. I’m here to do photography.” Now I can calmly and confidently say, “I’m an NTD photographer.”
Conclusion
Looking back on the entire Shen Yun tour, I realized that whether it was the resentment, sense of grievance, and desire to be understood that surfaced while working with other practitioners; the deeper appreciation I gained for the importance of working together as one body after my injury, or the habit of looking inward whenever problems arose, I was able to see many shortcomings in my cultivation. I also saw how easily my emotions could still be stirred.
(Presented at the 2026 Florida Falun Dafa Cultivation Experience Sharing Conference in the United States.)
