One Movement

From 2005 Tai Chi Magazine’s tribute to Madame Gao Fu
(edited)

Each time I stood in front of Madame Gao Fu for a lesson, any Tai Chi poise I thought I might have had, vanished. “Stop,” she would say, after just a fraction of movement, and proceed to correct the most subtle of finger shapes before allowing me to continue. 

I wondered if I would ever make it through the form at all. Even after the two years it took to learn the basic 24 movements our lessons in form correction often stopped at the first movement and stayed there for the duration of my hour with her. There were times I was extremely frustrated, and she knew it. “Do you want to learn quickly and on the surface?” “Or do you want to learn slowly and understand?” she said politely. 

The truth is I wanted to learn quickly. I had been seduced by the swift explosive movements of Chen style and I yearned for my body to illustrate that knowledge. The deeper meaning of the “energies” took back seat to my desire for flash! Yet behind this elegant grandma with her deep ocean eyes and silky soft skin was a strong taskmaster – I wasn’t going anywhere near flash – I was going to stand there and harmonize the internal with the external. 

It is said that Chen Style Taijiquan is both the original Taijiquan and the most difficult to learn. Circles and spirals, expansion and contraction, rise and sink are difficult concepts to grasp mentally, much less embody. Perhaps I was not the only student of this art who thought, “Why bother!” And the truth is that if Madame Gao was not such a compelling force of nature I might have quit. 

I contemplated the many other available approaches to learning Tai Chi, especially those that would yield me copious numbers of showy forms. Yet even in the midst of those thoughts I did not want to miss my lessons with Gao Fu. And for years at 7:30 am I did show up, raise and lower my arms, and hear her say, “stop.” 

“I don’t understand,” I finally said one day, midpoint in another excruciating lesson of stopping. I was holding back tears when she stepped closer to me and placed my hands on the middle of her belly. She then laid her own gentle hand on top of mine. We stood there still for a moment, waiting for me to calm down. 

Madame Gao began to turn her dantien. At first there was no physical movement, there was simply the feeling of my hand following a path down into the earth. As I felt the sinking, I felt my own body relax and settle. Soon, I was aware of a vast deep well, a sensation until now, unknown to me. From this place a subtle, clear vibration began to emerge as though as conductor in the orchestra pit had just raised his stick and signaled the musicians to tune their instruments. The hum of the musicians faded, then a silence and a settling. 

I waited. I felt the beginnings of a new rhythm. I recognized a few notes as harmonics evolved. There was a rising. “Is this peng?” I wondered. And then a settling. “Song?” I mused, “Or is that shu?” Then “kai’ as the space within her expanded and opened and “he” as the space closed back to an inaudible center. Within a moment, a grander melody began to take shape. It included more notes that I could recognize, yet at the core, the theme was constant. Then an unexpected symphonic crescendo of alternating circles and sinuous spirals released mightily from her body. As she continued dynamically weaving measure into measure of powerful muscle, skin, energy and blood, my senses breathed in her complex score. 

Many lessons followed over the next several years. I doubt I ever mastered them as well as my teacher would have hoped for me, but somehow I did learn several more forms. Along the way I lost my desire to express them in flamboyant ways, preferring instead to go deeper within and listen. 

Even now, in the days of practicing without Madame Gao, I can hear her stay, “stop.” My frustration still shows up at times but rather than wanting to quit or learn differently, I remember laughing with Gao Fu after we heard an obvious clash of notes in my form while trying to achieve perfect pitch. 

As with me, every person who had the great fortune of experiencing Madame Gao Fu’s treasure trove of skill and big-hearted personality tells a tale of touching her. The experience of feeling the lessons within her body, along with her sweet, joyful spirit might be what kept us practicing. Madame Gao Fu left us all with scores of lessons to follow for as long as we have the patience. As for me, I hope someday I might make just one movement infused with the perfect musical score I felt that day. In the meantime, it’s the scales.

---

Practical Applications

“The eye goes blind when it only wants to see, “why?””

— Rumi

The centuries old Laojia Yilu (Old Frame, First Road) is the fundamental training set in our Chen Taijiquan system. Its 75 movement (plus or minus depending on how one counts the movements) progression systematically takes the learner through the rules of the art:  alignment, relaxation, stances, footwork, waist/dantien movements, angles, energies, and so on. Each stage of the form is logically designed to provide both an opportunity for study of these rules and to gradually integrate them. Traditionally, a student would not move on until a basic level of comprehension was achieved at each level, and once achieved, one reworks the new levels of understanding into the previous stages. Over years of focused systematic study in this way, one’s skill definitely improves. There are multiple forms and application possibilities within the system and once the basics are mastered, these other more complex methods are much more accessible. It is a magnificent physical and mental educational system!

Often a new Taijiquan student will ask if I have or know of a list of associated applications for the various movements within the Laojia Yilu. It’s a fair question from a curious mind. And there are lists and YouTubes that show sincere and skilled teachers demonstrating applications for this and that move. Depending on the class we ourselves demonstrate possible applications. It can be somewhat helpful to see and experience these training options in what can be a challenging art to penetrate. Ironically though, the founding family of one of the most powerful martial arts in history does not focus on applications in this way at all.  We’ve all experienced our teacher Chen Xiao Xing’s response when we become too fixated on what something “means.” He’ll playfully whack us or give us “the look” and stay “never mind!” And back to the basics we go. 

Indeed focusing exclusively on a specific technique for a specific movement can be limiting and even dangerous to our progress. When we emphasize A movement with A application, B with B and so on, we may end up with a very large cache of memorized movements, but what happens when there is something outside of that list? No matter the length and breadth of any list, in a martial art there will always be the unpredictable. There will always be something we don’t expect. So how do we train for that? The answer is right in front of us. It is not to memorize more; it is not to attempt to conceive of more as yet unimagined scenarios and their possible responses. Instead we go back to the basics. We train relaxation, alignment, footwork. We grind out the simplest of patterns. We eliminate anything superfluous. And we do it over and over and over again. The discipline in learning anything complex is to stop fantasizing and keep practicing the basics.  Training in the basics over and over again reveals the possibilites of our art. We do not train for the myriad “I knows,” we train to be able to deal with the circumstances we do not know.

Right now, for me, in the midst of our global pandemic, my practices and how my teachers have trained me to think about them have never meant more to me. We are indeed right in the middle of no scenario we could have ever imagined. There is no A=A, no B=B.  In fact, the alphabet is not even written in recognizable script. How then to navigate the world? The only way I know is to go back to the basics. So every day I set up my living room practice hall. Every day I turn on the Zoom app and my screen lights up with students who similarly situate themselves. Over our online month together I have seen living rooms and bedrooms and patios all over the world become personal practice halls and every day we practice together, right in the middle of having no idea. We breathe in and breathe out, we shift right, we shift left. 

This time is the real test of our training systems. Perhaps better stated, it is the test of how we ourselves train within them. The attacks are coming faster and at much different angles than we have learned responses for. As learners and teachers, we are searching our collective knowledge base on how to deal with this. We are coming up confused, unclear and adrift. We find there is no application. Instead, there are big glitches and few answers. Many systems and people within them have no idea how to work with the current circumstances; they cannot think beyond A=A, B=B. Because of this lack of flexibility, because of this trained historical rigidity, there are big losses and great suffering. Yet at the same time all over the world, there are glimpses of great training. There are profoundly flexible, experimental and creative responses. Here we see the body and mind’s capacity to pivot, shift and change while we navigate this overwhelmingly unfamiliar time. Yes, this time is the real test of our training. Do we flail around locked up, losing our balance because what we know, no longer even exists? Or do we, like our Taijiquan and Qigong training teaches us, demonstrate the most essential and useful application we have in our cache of techniques: our capacity to change, to move flexibly and pliantly within the unexpected. I posit if we practice the latter, even just a little bit, we stand a better chance of coming through this and offering something of value to the future. 

As Grandmaster Chen Xiao Wang says, “the most important thing is to make the mind like a Taiji Ball.”

***

Additional edit, December 21, 2023 - this morning a student sent me a link to this blog I had long since forgotten. It has been 3 years and 8 months since it’s writing. It’s hard to wrap my mind around that, so much has happened we didn’t see coming, personally, in our country and in our world. Most of it very difficult.

Since it’s writing we’ve kept practicing. We’ve kept a continuous presence online, even moving out of my home and opening a dedicated “Zoomjo.” We were fully online (with a few park classes) for almost a year. Then, we re-started a few in-person classes, fully masked, windows open. It was cold then; we taught and practiced in masks and puff coats during that time. Masks became optional in late 2022. This year, 2023 we settled into a rhythm of “normal” in-person and online. This week I finally closed the streaming studio and with the exception of a couple of classes again from home, we are back in person. Forty four months later. My head spins.

At the beginning of the pandemic I had one goal in mind: to do everything I could to show up in these circumstances we never saw coming. And when it was over, I wanted to look back and know that I had done everything I could to keep people on the floor, in their bodies and practicing. I wanted to look back and know I did that one thing.

It’s not over, it's just changed but I do look back over these past 3.8 years and know I did what I set out to do. It wasn’t just me though, we all kept each other going, my students and I. And by doing so I know we kept our larger community going too.

We passed our test and continue to pass. We keep ourselves flexible and like a taiji ball. Yin change to yang change to yin. Breathe in, breathe out, flow through.

Day Three

Many of you readers are long-time practitioners of your art who have multiple experiences of long trainings. Sesshins (long meditation sits), writing retreats, athletic trainings, Taijiquan trainings and so on. I go to Chenjiagou to retreat and study with my teacher for no fewer than 10 days, for example. These longer trainings give us enough time to settle into the experience and to really explore ourselves. To change. To change our techniques, our perspectives, ourselves. If you’ve ever had this type of an experience, you know this time we are in right now is one of these long trainings.

All of us who have experienced a training’s long ticking metronome knows within it there is a “Day Three.” Day Three is when we start to crack. It is the day where we are drawn down, broken down. The day we grab for all our survival techniques, but all we capture is our failings, our shortcomings. Everything we knew about how to keep ourself level does not serve us in Day Three. Day Three is painful: physically, mentally, psychically, emotionally, spiritually. We desperately want it to be different. We want to leave. We wonder why we even bothered at all entering into the experience. It is the day that tests our mettle. It is the day we come up short.

We feel our dearth in Day Three in ways we never have before. And that's the point. Day three strips us down below the bone, leaves us in a heap, turns and walks away.  We dig into that rubble with all the resources we have and never knew we had. And though it’s not enough, we still dig.  Finally we surrender. We surrender to our inadequacies, we surrender to the fact there is no way out of them. We are thousands of miles away, we are glued to the cushion. We are in the middle of a global pandemic. There is no way out.

I woke today to the silence around me. I looked at my phone and saw the editor of the "36-Hours" travel column in the NY Times is suspending it for now. I missed my mother, with whom I travelled the world. I missed China, my spiritual home. My personal world has become contained in a way I recognize from my trainings, my home has become my training hall: the living room a dojo, a bed to sleep in, a toilet, a shower and a kitchen, a couple of sets of clothes. Though it’s comfortable, it’s all I need, and I’m certainly more fortunate than most, there is no way out of it right now. My cat wanted me to get up but I laid there for a bit longer. I listened more to the stillness. I felt such broad grief. I reflected on my recent therapy session with Genjo, a long standing Zen Roshi here in Seattle, where I said, "I feel like we are not yet even at Day Three of this."

And yet as I laid there this morning, with my mother, gone, the flights to China, gone, my world contained in ways I could have never before imagined, I felt it. I felt Day Three is coming soon now.

No, our resources are not enough for this forthcoming demanding, brutal Day Three. It is clear we are historically inadequate for the tasks at hand. We must surrender to this fact. However, we also must dig in more deeply and consciously use the tools we do have in more ferocious and intentional ways than ever before. We have to keep breathing, keep practicing, we have to stay grounded. We must keep our heart/minds open, our bodies healthy. It is crucial we stay kind and keep our families safe. We must support our front-line people in ways we never before have thought about. Most essentially we must stay put. Right on our cushion, right in our training hall. Stay calm and present.  And we have to surrender any resistance to feeling what is happening.

Covid-19 has thrown us into our training in ways we have never experienced before. Though our collective Day Three is on the horizon, there is a Day Four. We do emerge a new. And as we begin to travel through Day Five and Six and beyond, we will recognize Day Three as that moment of critical alchemical transformation of the past, the release and composting of everything that no longer worked for us. It was brutal, but essential.

Staying

Every year my first teacher closed the dojo over the winter holidays for 2 weeks. During that time we cleaned the space down to the bone. One year he discovered termites on the floor under the mats. He was old school all the way so decided we, the students, would replace the floor. It was a disaster. Despite our best efforts, the floor was not even close to level. We ripped it out, we tried again. We struggled and failed over and over again. We all wondered why he didn’t just hire it done. On the contrary, he took the opportunity to do further remodeling, more repairs, new paint and so on. 

After five tries, the floor was level. Our new mats arrived: gorgeous green tatami ordered and delivered from France.  We had a new tile floor in the back room where all the exercise equipment was, and our teacher even purchased a couple of new pieces of equipment for us. There was not a nail hole or crack that remained unfilled, sanded and painted. In fact, there was new paint throughout, the main practice room was a beautiful calming blue. It looked amazing! The dojo had been closed for a total of 3 months. 

During that time about 1/2 of us students came to the dojo during regular class times (and more as we could). Of course, we didn't practice Judo. Instead we worked on the dojo. 1/2 of the other students took off and rented a place to practice Judo, but never helped with the dojo work. I had not been a student for long, only a couple years and I was worried my technique would have certainly deteriorated. My sensei, a man of few words said, "don't worry, just wait and see." When the dojo re-opened, everyone came back. We put on our uniforms and let it rip. To my utter surprise, my technique had improved exponentially. So it also was for each of us who worked on the dojo for those three months. You guessed it by now I'm certain. Those who trained but didn't work on the dojo themselves had deteriorated considerably. After a few weeks they left. 

I have been thinking a lot about this experience over these past couple of weeks of teaching classes online. Like the termites did, this virus stopped our familiar patterns and ways of being in it tracks.  In an instant our practice life, our entire life, is different. And yet, from my living room to yours, we are staying in our dojo and working. We are not "waiting" for “it” to be over and “go back to normal.”  What we learn from making this conscious choice to stay with it, is profound. We learn how quickly we adapt and adjust. We find ways of continuing. We find how meaningful our practice and our practice friends are to us. We find the true dojo is not attached to a physical space. It is in us. 

We are certainly learning this lesson throughout our lives right now. For us personally, in our communities and throughout our world we have this same choice. To adapt and stay or to leave and wait for “it” to be over. The benefit of adapting is immense creativity is unleashed. We learn about ourselves, each other and the world in ways we never saw coming. These are experiences that will stay with us, give us skills and benefit us and the world long past the time this pandemic has been written about in the history books. The problem with waiting is this: the dojo, our world, our life will never be the same. It will be completely transformed. When we return after “it” is over, looking for what was, it won’t be there. The new will already be in place. The remodeling this virus is forcing was not our choice, but here it is.  If we stay on the training floor through it, wherever and whatever that training floor is to each of us, our skills will increase exponentially in ways we cannot yet know. 

The Test

My first martial arts teacher told me, “you always have to be ready for a test.” I was in my 20’s and life was free and easy. I thought he simply meant I should always be ready to be tested for my next belt rank, it could happen anytime. In fact, my Black Belt test was a surprise. I walked into the dojo, changed into my uniform and began practicing as usual.  Before I knew it, he was putting me through my paces in much more rigorous ways than the usual sweaty class rituals of throws and tumbles. In the midst of it all I realized, “this is my black belt test.” 

I passed that test and this subtle and often undetected lesson has stayed with me throughout my life. I, like all of us, encounter multiple tests along our way. Sometimes every day has more than I can bear. Sometimes it seems years go by where life just ticks along in regular ways with no testing required. When they come, sometimes like with my black belt I recognize them as such, sometimes I do not. Sometimes I pass them, sometimes I do not. 

You do not need me to spell out this metaphor for you. This is a test. This is our big test, likely the biggest one of our collective lifetime. No one told us it was coming now, but here we are, here it is. We are all on the mat having circumstances flung at us in unpredictable and unprecedented ways. There will be and are already multiple passes and fails along the way. When class is over, when the test is over, what will our rank be? 

And more essentially what is our test right now? It is definitely different for each of us. For the health care workers, for the musicians, for the grocery store stockers, for the UPS drivers, for the politicians, for the tai chi teachers, for those already suffering from illness, abuse, loneliness, it is different. It is easy to feel we have no power to pass or even to fail or to even take this test. It is so far out of our training. What does pass or fail even mean right now? 

It is not for me to define what this test is. What is mine to know is that while I recognize the part of my humanity that is freaked out, scared, and overwhelmed with anxiety, I also recognize those feelings as my examination. Do I want to live there? Are those the feelings I want to take into battle with me? No. Then, what does my training tell me? My training tells me, correct! I do not know what the future holds. My training actually reminds me I never did know. My training teaches me to not ignore my feelings and the circumstances, but to intentionally find ways to move with them. To look for options and possibilities within the current situation. I’m sure I’m not the only one who has thought about this Chinese term: 危機, Crisis/Opportunity. 

My training also tells me to keep my heart/mind and body flexible. To keep looking at both sides of the present moment coin. So, every day, I allow my humanity its yin and its yang. I feel my feelings, I pay attention to the circumstances, but I also keep moving. I keep sharing. And I intentionally look for beauty. I intentionally look for ways of supporting others. I intentionally allow other people’s generosity and love to support me. Is this my test? Yes, I believe it is. 

When history is written about this time, what will our rank be? By doing what we can to support our own and others’ health and well-being, by simply connecting with each other, by staying or becoming kind, by committing to or going deeper into our practices of grounding and adaptability, perhaps we will at the very least stay on the mat. Perhaps if we breathe in and breathe out we will remember we are human and indeed, we may actually have all the skills we need to not only survive this test, but to even thrive from it, once the history of it is written. 

Sai Weng Lost His Horse 塞翁失馬

The old man Sai Weng 塞翁 had a horse. One day his horse was gone. His neighbors came to see him and were very sad, “Oh poor Sai Weng, you lost your horse!” Sai Weng replied, “I don’t know if losing my horse is good or bad, I just know I lost my horse.”

The next day the lost horse came back with a Qian Li Ma 千里馬, (a thousand-miles horse, one who can travel 1000 miles with one step). The neighbors came again, offering him their congratulations.  “You must be so happy to have your horse back and now you have a famous Qian Li Ma!” The old man replied, “I don’t know if having my horse back and having a Qian Li Ma is a good thing or a bad thing, all I know is I have two horses now.”

The next day the old man’s son wanted to ride on the Qian Li Ma. The Qian Li Ma was too fast though and the son fell off and broke his leg. The neighbors came again and offered their condolences. Sai Weng replied, “I don’t know if my son falling down and breaking his leg is a good thing or a bad thing, all I know is he fell down and broke his leg.”

Soon the war started. Every young man had to go to war, except the son of Sai Weng, who was exempt, and who’s life was spared, because of his broken his leg. 

***

Sai Weng Lost His Horse is one of the more famous Chinese children’s fables. It is told to teach us not to pre-judge things. During these recent weeks I have been thinking a lot about this story. Deaths, stock market crashes, stripped grocery store shelves, hands raw from alcohol sprays, trips cancelled, social distancing, quarantines, health care collapses; we are overwhelmed. Our entire world has changed in an instant, and not just for a few, but for us all.

Because we are in the early stages of our global pandemic, it is quite difficult to reach out from our fear of the unknown and imagine what might be good about it all. We just do not know. We cannot yet know. Moreover, to require our minds at this time to assess good or bad is an exercise in futility. It’s just simply too big for us to fathom or control or define. All we know is we have a virus.

We are not used to having no idea on such a large scale are we? We are not used to having the brakes of our lives slam on so quickly. We are not used to chaos and ambiguity ripping the fabric of our control so precisely. What are we asked to do with it all? We are asked to simply stop. Stop doing all of the activities we have built our lives and society on. Just stop. Is this a good thing or a bad thing?

I do find it fascinating how quickly we, as a species, are adapting. Our human spirit is grabbing the flame of this crisis and running with it. We are complying with rules. Voluntarily. For the good of not just ourselves, but for us all. Also, within a week, there are global options for streaming Opera, Symphonies, Library Collections, all for free. Disney is releasing Frozen 2 for streaming 3 months ahead of schedule. People in my profession are creating online classes and videos to keep people active. People are volunteering at food banks. Cities are giving out free lunches while schools are shut down. Breweries are turning their waste into hand sanitizer and giving it away. Professional athletes are donating their millions to keep stadium workers paid. Billionaires are funding free testing sites. The once highly competitive global Immunology and Virology fields are all working together at breakneck speed.  With every story about the horrendous virus, there is another that exemplifies what is the most magnificent in us all.

We will all suffer tremendously. Yet we will all become more resilient than we have ever known ourselves to be. How can I be so sure? Because we are already rising to the occasion. And lest we not forget, it IS what we do, given the chance. We are seeing through the Escher painting down to the most minute of our connections to each other and we are rising to the occasion. Our world will never be the same. And to be frank, I hope it is not. We needed to change, and we did not know how to do it. So, nature is doing it for us. Is this good or bad? We do not know. All we know is we have a virus. And each other.

***

Thank you to Jan Silberstorff for sharing with me his translation of Sai Weng Lost His Horse 塞翁失馬 in his recent Seattle seminar. He also shared with me one of his students years ago, upon hearing this story said of the “good or bad” koan, “Only the horse knows!” 

“Never forget the Thousand Year View
- Zen Saying”

Compost

I ordered four yards of compost for my garden last week.  I had been debating my spring ritual for a few days: money is tighter, the fall dressing still looked pretty good. Still, the lure of laying out the rich, pungent material to awaken the season, knowing how my garden would look with some pleasurable effort, was too strong. I gladly succumbed and called Saw Dust Supply. Looking at the delivered mound with anticipation I pumped air into my wheelbarrow’s tire and got my favorite shovel out of the garage. I put on my Airpods, turned on my “What Moves Me” playlist and began shoveling, hauling and spreading. Antje Duvekot, Alicia Keys, Jay-Z, Jackson Brown and Bonnie Raitt sang to me. I joined Bonnie and sang Streetlights so loud my neighbors walking their dogs turned and looked. We laughed, all happy to take a break from this current news cycle. 

Van Morrison’s Burning Ground had just begun when I realized my wheelbarrow’s wheel was not holding air.  I didn’t feel like messing with it, so I began to fill five-gallon buckets, toting them two by two through my garden gate and into my landscape I have worked so hard on for the past six years. Still singing I gleefully realized I would be getting all the exercise I needed today. When I needed a break from the carrying, I got down on my hands and knees and spread the loom with my hands, old-school.  I thought about getting the hard rake, and how much easier and quicker that would be, but opted for dirty nails, a small act of defiance in our collective era of “20 seconds and don’t forget your thumbs” relentless hand washing. I shoveled, hauled and spread until sundown and my Airpods stopped in the middle of Krishna Das.  

The Full Moon in Virgo rose over my landscape a couple days later.  I could see my work reflected by its bright, naked magnificence and felt satisfied as I turned in to bed. The cloudless sky kept the moon shining through my windows as it travelled all night from east to west. I wandered through sleeping and waking. I thought about China and was sad I wouldn’t be going this year to train with my teacher and friends. Fragments of dreams were interrupted by my cat walking around the bed, himself a bit restless. Dawn finally came. The open night sky had dropped a light frost on the garden. Laughing Buddhas, Kuan Yins, Flying Pigs sat in the compost frozen in a timeless, still crust. I drank my tea and looked on while I listened to the news.

I scanned my body. I looked for any signs of illness. I checked on my stress level. I wondered if I have been getting enough sleep and water. I dried my hair and put on make-up while reports of more outbreaks, and stomach-churning stock market descents droned on.  I thought how odd it is that I, an extremely robust 62 year old, am considered in a risk group. I took my supplements and ate two eggs, hoping I was getting enough nourishment in these days of no appetite. I got my computer ready and checked the online class links, so grateful for what I do and all the conscious, loving people I know. I got into my car and drove to work where almost full classes would practice and laugh and learn. I know some how we’ll all get through it, though we don’t know what it will all look like when we do. 

Our world does need to change. This is not the first wake-up call we have gotten, we just have not been listening well enough. We hear the ring but we wait for someone else to answer. The calls are becoming more frequent are they not? They herald the calls of Fires, Famines, Tsunamis and Viruses. Their rings are louder and louder. We ignore them only to finally learn we are, in fact, not immune. Do they have our attention now? I asked a friend of mine who lives in Columbia how they were doing. She said, “we have outbreaks all the time from mosquito borne illnesses. Our brothers die all the time from violence. This is nothing.” I consider myself a person who “gets it,” but her comment made me realize perhaps not enough. The playing field is becoming more and more level now. And our cracks are showing. 

Our cracks are showing in our preparedness, our empathy and especially in our vision of global interconnectedness. Our cracks are showing in how we perceive life and also death. Our collective fear of death is cowering us at the feet of the Grim Reaper. We feel his scythe looming large and we hoard hand sanitizer, bleach, toilet paper. We irrationally feel these things will protect us from the inevitable. It is inevitable. We will die. It may be quick and painless, but probably not. The body does not give up that easily. It took my mother 2 years and 6 weeks to die from lung cancer. I saw the Herculean effort of a dying body grasping for air. And here we are. We are terrified.

What can we do before the inevitable happens? Breathe in breathe out. Move. Rest. Eat. Sleep. Keep our bodies healthy and our minds calm. Wash our hands yes, but don’t forget to get them dirty too. Keep smart distance, but don’t isolate our compassion. And for goodness sake, we can stop hoarding and start expanding our thinking to our bigger world. To our entire world. This can be an amazing opportunity to answer the call as this phone loudly rings. This can be the chance of our lifetime to compost our fear and lay out our hearts. Everything changes and this will too but let us not forget the lessons we are learning. 

“Think about it, there must be higher love
Down in the heart or hidden in the stars above
Without it, life is wasted time
Look inside your heart, I’ll look inside mine”

— Stevie Winwood, "Higher Love"

Riding a Bike

On my recent walk through a local park I passed a little girl of around 5 years old straddling her bike. Her posture was upright, full of energy, almost defiant. The bike was shiny and new. I thought she probably got it for Christmas. Even with her taught posture, open face and wide eyes that reflected the bright sun, she was wailing at the top of her lungs. Her broad eyes were beet red, snot ran down her face, lips swollen and purple. Her heaving cries echoed around the soccer field.

I stopped and looked around. About 100 meters away I saw her father and young brother riding around in circles with ease, laughing, clearly enjoying themselves on this gorgeous winter day. I looked at them. I looked at the wailing girl. Part of me was irritated at the father & brother for just leaving her there like that, so utterly distressed and forlorn. I also knew they were not going to come and get her.

I said to the young girl, "Go! You do it. Put your feet on the pedals and GO. You CAN DO THIS." She looked at me, I said again, "GO!" and pointed to her father & brother. "I know you can do it! Go get them!" Before I could say anything else, her feet were on those pedals and she took off like a flash, powering down the sidewalk.

She was still wailing at the top of her lungs. I was in awe of her power to press on so determinedly, those sobs still echoing around the field. I coached her as she flew towards her family, "You GO girl! You GO." She reached her father & brother. Her dad gave me a big smile & thumbs up. Her sobbing stopped.

I continued walking around the park thinking, I know exactly what she felt like. Standing there alone, the world going by, not at all sure I can catch up. Feeling afraid no one will come and get me. I know what that wailing is like. I also thought I can access my deep determination and like this young girl did, put my feet on my pedals and GO. I may remain sobbing all the while, but I can get myself moving.

I think we all can relate to what that little girl felt like. And those of us who have a practice also know it can be our motivational coach during the wailing times. When we decide to not just take a class but instead own a practice, during the times we don't think we can possibly move, possibly see something different, we are able to draw upon our cultivated inner resources and support structure. Practice sustains us and keeps us moving even in the bleakest times. Even if we are wailing all the way.

The older I become the less I am inclined to glaze over the realities of life. Life is fun, hilarious, full of joy. It is also painful, unexpected and emotionally brutal. We must find substantial ways to both celebrate the highs, and also keep moving through the lows. Practice gives us those tools.

So Happy New Year everyone and even during those times when it's not happy, when your wails echo through the field, remember, having a practice gives you the capacity and the strength to set your feet firmly on those pedals and with fierce determination, push yourself forward down your life's path.

Spirit Trail

Just a few minutes’ walk outside of Harrison Hotsprings, B.C. there is a short trail called “Spirit Trail.”  Over the years a local artist has created and installed clay masks up on the tall Cedars that line the kilometer or so path. Cedar and mask watch over hikers wandering through the lush mushroom & fern inhabited forest. They reveal powerful archetypes: the potent crone, the contemplative sage, the terrifying demon, the compassionate angel. The joyous singer, the grieving unspoken, the dead and the reborn. At the center of the loop trail there is a circle of a dozen or so trees with their placed masks. They surround an open space where the locals have placed a bench. I stopped here and gazed at the masks looking out over the forest. They looked into the trees and also somewhere beyond, their gaze beyond time, beyond this space. I breathed in and out. I slowly raised and lowered my arms, gathering in the thick moist air, the spirit of these masks, and allowed the feeling of it all to wash through my body. I turned to the four directions and begun my Tai Chi practice. 

I came up to Harrison over the holiday break to take intentional time to process some recent unexpected events in my life. Perhaps what I really mean to say is I needed quiet time to feel these events. During the busy month of December, I had not had time to simply slow down, be present with myself and feel. The environment here, while bustling with holiday makers, gave me the reflective time I was looking for. Each day I soaked, got bodywork, hiked in the surrounding forest and walked around the lake. I practiced my forms in quiet uninhabited spaces surrounded by the magnificent Lillooet Mountain range.   I allowed all the mental activity stimulated by this unexpected turn in my life – the confusion, beliefs, narratives, fears and future projections that arise naturally when one is shocked, to soften down into the forest floor, to dissolve in the mineral water. And I practiced. 

I thought how grateful I am for the power of my practice to sustain me during this unsteady time. My practices have been with me over 2/3 of my life and have kept me ashore through many of life’s unexpected tidal waves: sudden deaths, relationships ending, moves from familiar places, financial crises, health crashes. During those times it’s not always easy to show up for myself on the floor, but each time I do I come back into my body where I breathe and feel the earth beneath my feet.  

Many people mistake the point of learning something like Tai Chi or Qigong as to simply learn a physical form, “Qi exercises” as it were. Whereas there is nothing wrong with this approach, one can gain much sustenance this way, there is more available to us if we allow it. Practice makes us strong. Strong feet and legs, powerful glutes, core and arms. Robust eyes and ears. Vigorous insight and perception. The benefits are obvious. We are compelled to continue. But practice also makes us brave. We encounter what is new with a valiant spirit: new moves, new thoughts, new approaches. We meet the unexpected with fearlessness: awkwardness, trouble remembering, shaky thighs. And even when it is hard and we are unsure, we keep showing up.

By their nature, Taijiquan and Qigong engage us in a fluid process, a process of learning to become resilient, malleable and tenacious. Yet, when we sign up for a class we might not understand this. We may not expect these simple rather innocuous methods served up in a 12-week session to give us a chance to look inside of ourselves, below our masks as it were, and see what deeper essence is there. To test what we are actually make of. When we meet ourselves over and over again in our practice we create physical, mental and emotional muscle. We learn to preserver. If we allow it, we learn to apply lessons learned and discoveries made to our whole life. 

As I practiced amidst the masks of Spirit Trail I remembered my pilgrimage last year along the ancient Kumano Kodo. Much in my life had changed that year too. My mother died unexpectedly, I decided to release my school location of 15 years. I remembered hiking along the difficult trails in the driving rain feeling I was very much out of my physical and emotional depth. But there was no where to turn back, only the forging ahead. Buddhist Statues lined the path. They reminded me for a thousand years many pilgrims struggled this path too, surely feeling as I did. Somehow, we all made it, one nimble footfall after the other. One breath after the other. 

After I finished my practice along Spirit Trail, I bowed to my forest training hall. I remembered Grandmaster Chen Xiao Wang saying years ago, “the most important thing is to make the heart/mind like a Taiji ball.” We talked into the night about the real point of Taijiquan. It is not to just learn form or technique, but to become pliant and flexible, to gain the ability to be agile when meeting unforeseen circumstances. To not become rigid and hold on but to change with grace. This is the real art. The truth, the only truth really, is that everything changes. How we meet that fact is where the emotional, mental and spiritual rubber meets the road.

Before I left to return to the Springs I turned one more time to look at the masks. The demon and angel, the silent and singer, the crone, the sage, the shrouded and the newly borne looked off into the distance. I followed their gaze and looked out towards the unknown future, confident in my capacities to meet whatever that is with the resilience my practices give me. 

The Method

We are a full two weeks into a robust fall session at the school. I’m really enjoying being back into my routine – meeting many new folks and reconnecting with our devoted ongoing student population, many of whom have been with their practice and the school for well over ten years. Our youngest student on the floor this session is 21, our eldest, well, why bother with that number! What a privilege to practice together! I feel quite grounded and settled after two years of strong changes in my life and career and am happy the risks I took during this time appear to have been the correct ones. 

When I was sweating it out on my recent training trip in China last month, along with absorbing and learning, I thought a great deal about how I wanted to teach when I started up again this month. As with all long-standing careers, I have explored and experimented with different ideas for conveying the material in my charge.  I’m the proudest that over the years I have, with the help of my students and teachers, developed skill to be able to give most people, regardless of age, health or fitness something useful, whether they stay on the floor for a day or decades. Yet I always feel I could do better, be clearer in my demonstrations and explanations. 

Each time I work with my teacher Chen Xiao Xing I of course practice hard but I also study how he teaches. He also has a wide range of students, different ages, genders, nationalities, interests. No matter who he teaches, no matter what floor he is on, he teaches exactly the same. Naturally he addresses variations in fitness, but the method of imparting the information is always the same. Demonstrate, succinctly explain and clarify the logic, correct with hands on, let the student find it for themselves. Correct, and repeat. Over and over again. I thought, really, this is it, there is only one way to teach Tai Chi & Qigong: without flourish, without interpretation, without trying to find metaphors or ways of explaining things so hopefully people will “get it,” the only real way to teach is to simply teach the method. 

As with teaching, when we practice, it is also the same. We need to simply find and do our best to replicate what we are taught. As students, though the method is clear: relax, sit the hips, concentrate on the center of gravity, keep upright posture, and so on, we often spend a lot of time looking around for alternatives. We keep trying different things to find the way into to our art, some other exercise, some other way of looking at it, when the way in is right in front of us.  All we have to do is follow what has been set out by many generations in front of us. Why is this so hard?   

I think perhaps because the rules not only teach us our art but as we attempt to find and follow them, we encounter ourselves. We find we are often far, far away from the instruction. We have poor posture, our muscles are weak, our hips our tight. We are not relaxed. So rather than simply be with that experience and continue to practice what we are taught until something changes, we try to find another experience that will assuage these uncomfortable truths. It’s a cat and mouse game for sure!  And yet, finally we must accept, return to and keep focused on the method as we encounter it, part by part, moment by moment, over and over again. The truth is there is no easy way. And there is no hard way either. There is simply the way. 

My practice this evening was really focused on the rule of relaxation.  Even to the exclusion of “doing” “perfect” technique, I kept looking to let go of tension, especially in my shoulders, over and over again. As I finished my practice I stayed in the garden and pulled some weeds. The autumn evening sun felt warm and comforting on my body. I saw the sun’s rays long on the orange leaves. I definitely felt more at ease in my body and being. I thought about my practice and recognized I am not just practicing so that I might improve my Tai Chi, but by simply following the method, I vastly improve my overall quality of life.  It’s a tremendous gift that those who came before us left. We have a map to follow. One that is set up clearly for centuries, tried and proven by our teachers and ancestors. All we have to do is follow it, stay focused on it. Our Tai Chi skill, and our life reap tremendous rewards.  

The Goodness of People

Just a few hours before she died my mother said with her characteristic fierceness, “keep traveling.” She had grown up in a time with few opportunities for women. She married the wrong men, had a child, me, too early and raised me in essence as a single mother. She shelved her goals for higher education, financial independence and love over and over again. I do remember her traveling as often as she could though. From the time I could be sent off to camp, she got on a plane and headed for Europe, Africa and China. She did all that as a single American woman during the times it was not so easy to do.

She also taught herself how to travel. By trial and error she learned how to meet and engage with people from all over the world even when she didn’t know their language or customs. She was kind and generous to them and in turn, they to her. By the time she died, she had enduring friendships with people from all over the globe. She threw me into the world as quickly as she could and with little economic means or family support to do it. She knew she wanted a freer life for me, an easier one than she had to fight to give herself. She knew travel was a key. And so I have lived and traveled in the world too. 

I think about my mother every time I travel. We had a habit of making an “airport call” each time we caught a plane, even if it was only from Seattle to Denver to visit one another. Now I make sure I call her beloved to keep up the tradition. I thought about her a lot this trip because traveling in China is especially stressful and this time I leapt out of my comfort zone more than I have for a few years. Every time I would feel an edge of anxiety or irritation well up, I would say, “what would my mother do”? And I would calm down, find a way through. Make a new friend.

On the airplane from Kunming to Shanghai I sat next to a mother and her 7 year old daughter. The daughter jabbered away in English with a fluency that stunned me. I learned in her own words, not only her name, and that she had 2 of them, but how old she was, where her home was and also that she was here in Shanghai for a piano competition. She had been playing since she was 2 and her mother gets angry when she doesn’t practice. Her syntax and cadence were perfect as was her accent and confidence. She asked me about myself, my name, my home and if I liked coffee. When the flight attendance came by, she asked me if I wanted coffee and told the flight attendant I didn’t want any, I wanted plum juice instead. 

Her mother, about 33 or so, was also quite fluent albeit a bit haltingly. We spoke of the tremendous changes China has been through since the days of her mother and grandmother. How her daughter has all the opportunities in the world. I said to the daughter, don’t get angry at your mother, she loves you (I said in Chinese) and someday you will have all the freedom to live your life any way you want to.  Both mother and daughter understood what I was saying. I thought about my own mother and how all mothers only want this for their daughters. To grow up free and with unlimited opportunities, more than they themselves could envision. 

I’m thinking about this exchange, my mother, my time in the Village and in Kunming while tucked into my hotel room in Shanghai. Lightening cracks over the Bund, thunder rolls. Colored Neon pops. It looks just as I imagined it would since I was a young woman and knew I wanted to see this famous site. And here I am.  It’s a privilege to be able to say, “I want to do that, see that,” and then go do it. But there is a price to pay. One must travel well. One must reach out from one’s heart over and over again, even in the face of fatigue and the uncomfortable and unfamiliar. One must smile and be present when eyes stare. One must say Hello and dissolve barriers one didn’t even know were inside. One must be an ambassador of humanity. My mother left that legacy. I trust I am following her lead as best I can.

A long finger of lightening cracks and pierces the grey sky. I see it and think about Grandmaster’s lesson, “Sudden Realization.” I think about our eyes connecting on the training floor, reaching across time and history, ours and the world’s, to awaken each other. I think about the people I met over these past few weeks, on the training floor, the cable car, the tea house, the demonstration, the eating table. How our lives will forever be changed and enriched for our time together. How in the midst of this insane world our efforts to reach into one another’s hearts does really mean something. I think about people I have know for a long time and how we could say “I love you, thank you,” when we parted for our homes. I think about China and how many lessons I learn here in this generous place, from these generous people. I think the most important one, not just in China, but in everyday life, is to simply surrender to the goodness of people. 

13 Pieces of Wood

The crescendo of Cicadas envelope me one more time while I Stand on the black and white speckled floor in the training hall. They sound like ten thousand small metal flags shimmering against each other as a gentle breeze blows. I think about their seven year gestation cycle. I think about my own Taijiquan gestation cycle and how it’s much longer than that. I think about my teacher and China and the ancient tradition from which they come, more than the cicadas or my training. Our lives and history, so different, and yet here we are, right now, each other’s companions in this room.

The fans overhead cool me as sweat pours down my face and legs, one more time. Outside in the quad spears shake, feet stomp, kids shout their timing signals, perfectly syncing their forms. The cement mixer hums pouring more concrete for the new dorms.  Grandmaster approaches behind me and sinks me down one more time. He presses my shoulders down too. My legs shake. I imagine surrendering myself down to the Well of this place and endure it. Can I endure it? For one or two minutes of counting? Just one more time. 

Ten days ago we arrived here. A lifetime ago, a moment ago. By day three’s end it seemed few would return. Now everyone’s conversations include, “the next time....”  If I were to read back at my training blogs I’m fairly certain I say at the end of each training, it was, this one was, the hardest. This is the one I dissolved the most, this is the one I became disassembled completely, this is the one it will take me the rest of my life to digest.  I’m sure I have said it before many times. Again, I say it now: this training was the hardest, this is the one I dissolved the most, this is the one I became disassembled completely. This is the one it will take me the rest of my life to digest. 

I am happy in Chenjiagou. The conditions and training are rugged, it breaks one down, it’s quite hard on the ego, but it suits my temperament in ways little else in my life does. This training was punishing for me in a way, not physically, though it was certainly rigorous, but mentally, conceptually. It is not as though I haven’t seen all of what Grandmaster showed many times before and yet it was like I never had. I worked hard to see through my own veils to what I could see lay beneath in my teacher’s movement. I felt fragmented much of the time, clumsy at best. But today, during the last hour, much came together for me. I do see the next way forward. I am very grateful to my teacher for giving me everything I can take and then more.

At the entrance to the old street right before the school two large frames flank the gate. One displays weapons, the other thirteen pieces of wood that are the Rules for Learning Quan, (Fist). Tomes have been written about each element, but in essence these pieces of wood shown in the photo above say, (from left to right):

1. Requirements for learning Quan 

2. If you want to learn Quan, first you need to understand the law: Be civilized, Be polite, Be righteous. Take care of one another.

3. Understand Technology, Physics, Physiology

4. Understand Leverage, Spiraling Energy, Physical Strength, Empty and Full, Blood and Qi Circulation

5. Strengthen your body constitution. Know the skill.

6. Be reasonable. Seek a good teacher. If the teacher is not good enough he or she will delay the student. 

7. When a teacher is teaching and talking, pay attention and remember the teaching. When a teacher is demonstrating, watch carefully 

8. From sense to sensibility, Think and practice often.

9. Stick to it. Follow the rules. Seek progress but don’t be in a hurry.

10. Before you know it your Kung fu will increase gradually. 

11. Learning also requires good friends to learn Quan together. You will help each other. 

12. Experiment often. Discuss in detail. Then right and wrong will become very clear. 

13. Taijiquan

We all scatter tomorrow to various locations: Doug & I to Kunming, Meg to Shanghai, Lisa to visit family in China, Shiuwen to Taiwan to study with her tea teachers. John and Matt have a couple more days in China too and Greg heads back to the States. We are packed. Chen Zi Qiang and Cui Bing took our group out for dinner one more time tonight. Our bus leaves before first light tomorrow. Chen Xiao Xing’s parting words to us today were: “Have fun!” And I’ll take that advice to heart. Because soon the real work begins: to go home and work and re-work the teachings, one more time, and be ready for the next time in Chenjiagou.

***

First foremost we all Shiuwen Tai a debt of gratitude for her generous and fearless translation throughout this training. Grandmaster, Shiuwen and I have 16 years of history together and it shows in the serious but playful nature we all share together on the floor. I also owe my friend so much for helping me with all the questions and ‘interviews’ I conducted with Grandmaster and others in the Village. I could have never achieved the depths of communication without her.

Our group was wonderful and absolutely harmonized. Doug, Meg, Shiuwen, John, Matt, Lisa, and Greg never missed a beat one time throughout this training. I was proud to be here with them. Grandmaster’s Wife was extremely generous and kind to us. As always Chen Zi Qiang and his wife Cui Bing went out of their way, always treating us like family. To the Demo team and Yi Mei, who made us feel an even deeper connection to our home school. And to the people of Chenjiagou, my debt of gratitude for not just allowing me to train and learn here in your home but to share our open hearts together. Thank you, too, to all who took the time to read this training journey and share in my process. 

在陈家沟见！See you in Chenjiagou again! 

One’s Whole Life

“Your father taught you, your brother taught you, but you had many years on your own,” I asked Chen Xiao Xing toward the end of our morning session. “How did you learn to know how to feel when it was right?” “下功夫,” he replied, “You need to work hard and try.” He continued, with a quiet fierocity, “I wanted to figure it out.” He used the term 拚命 meaning “I threw my whole life into it.” This term means much more than simply to practice a lot, it means to throw one’s whole life, one’s entire being, into the quest. “At first my mind and my body were not connected but gradually through hard practice I felt what was right.” He gestured by moving his hands down across his entire body. “It’s like anything, it can’t just be the teacher teaching you something,” he stated clearly. “The student must go get the books and study and learn and figure it out. It can only happen through endless practice. “You have to think!” Chen Xiao Xing exclaimed vigorously. “What are they teaching you?” “For example, at first, they say, ‘everything has to go together.’ And yet you can’t do it, so ask yourself, what does that mean? You have to take what your teachers teach you and figure it out for yourself.” 

“Yesterday you talked about “Gradual Realization” I said. “What about “頓悟 - Sudden Realization?” I pointed to the words on the blackboard. He smiled and said, “You practice what you learn, what your teacher teaches, over and over and then one day.....” Chen Xiao Xing widened his eyes and exclaimed, “AH!” “It’s the light bulb going off!” I eagerly added, putting my hands over my head, and poofing my fingers wide to mimic a light turning on. He did not need Shiuwen to translate. “对, Duì“ -“Right!!” He said. “But then it goes out again.” I further mused. “Turn it back on!” We all laughed. Our group’s bulbs have certainly flickered on and off and on again this trip!

Chen Xiao Xing’s wife, 譚莹, has been on the floor with us this training, leading the repetitions after our teacher instructs. She is helping our newest student Lisa a great deal and is very kind to all of us. “The looser the better!” She says somewhat demurely as she describes the hips, and then melts into a low stance elegantly, naturally, I’ve been on the floor with her before - she has been studying in Chenjiagou for seven years, but this is the first time we made a connection. Her form has become beautiful and strong and Grandmaster corrects her unflinchingly. I asked her after class yesterday, “How can you take those corrections???” “Endurance!” She replied without hesitation.  

She told us her story. “I was in a car accident over 11 years ago.” She began. “I was in and out of the hospital for six months in that first year after.” She continued to describe that she could not walk upright due to a serious back injury. The doctors told her she would likely be crippled when she was older and Taijiquan might help. She began learning in Yunnan where she lived. After three years she could walk up right again. She knew then if she could become skilled at Taijiquan it wouldn’t just help her but she might be able to help others. After another year she left for Chenjiagou to find Chen Xiao Xing. She didn’t think he would take her as a student but she wanted to try. He was teaching overseas when she arrived so she waited a month for him to return and practiced. “When other people were chatting,” I just practiced. “If they did it one time, I did it ten times.” When Chen Xiao Xing arrived back he did take her as a student. The rest she said, referring to them becoming husband and wife, “Was Karma!” 

Yi Mei invited her teacher, Chen Zi Qiang, his wife Cui Bing and several of the other family members and me out for dinner for her last night in Chenjiagou. We went to the nice restaurant down the road, just outside of the main area. It was an evening of great food and family, with the smallest kids running around playing hide and seek behind the thick pleated curtains in our private eating room. Plates of food kept coming while we all chatted easily with one another in English and Chinese. Chen Xiao Xing’s oldest Grandson who we met in Slovenia last year speaks perfect English. He is an exhubarent 17 year old now who leaves for a University in Beijing next month.

This got Cui Bing, Yi Mei and me into a conversation about the cost of living. It’s about $3300 a year for him to attend University there. They were all shocked when I quoted figures for US education. We compared health care costs and the cost of housing in our respective countries too. And then I could not help but whisper to Yi Mei, “so what ARE they saying in your country about the hot political topic between our countries?” She smiled, “some say its crazy, some say well....!” “Yep! The same for us!” We both laughed at the absurdities we live in and took some more mouthwatering chicken. Yi Mei’s Taijiquan is beautiful and powerful too. Over the week she has shared with me some of her life experiences, both personal as well as living in Russia during the break up of the Soviet Union.  “It was a very difficult time” she said introspectively, “but we survived.”

It is a mistake to believe the high level of Taijiquan we see in many of the people we encounter here in Chenjiagou is because one must be lucky, or “borne into it.” Or started young, or any number of other things we tell ourselves about others who have skill that appears unattainable to we “normal people.” Of course, one naturally has certain inclinations or advantages based on one’s life circumstances, but in the end skill progression is not that. Believing it is simply one of the ways we keep ourselves separated from our own potential. Perhaps adversity actually fuels the progress, or perhaps better stated, the fuel is in the choices one makes in how to deal with with the cards one is dealt. In the end, the truth, and one every day of this training has spoken to me, is that all answers are found in practice and also are found in the courage to throw one’s life into it, whatever that means to each of us.

A rooster crows. Soon the cook will arrive. Day ten ensues. 

漸悟 Gradual Realization

A cool breeze moves lightly over my skin as I walk down the road after dinner to buy water and milk. It feels comforting after a hard day of training and I’m grateful the rains over the past few days have brought the temperature down. The air is clean too; the setting sun brushes pink and lavender across a canvas of white clouds and blue sky. The moon rises. An old woman sits on a stool in front of her home and slowly fans herself. A man meanders with his shirt rolled half way up his chest unabashedly showing his tan belly. This is a common site in the more rural parts of China, I learned this phenomenon has a nickname, “Beijing Bikini.” A scooters beeps, politely signaling for me to step aside. The driver is carrying a baby cradled in one arm while he steers with the other. Beep! Another scooter passes, it’s rider is looking down at his cell phone. 晚安, Wan An, I say to familiar faces along the path. “Good night!” It’s not quite the right phrase for exchanging pleasantries on an evening stroll, but they understand my efforts. “Hello!” They reply in turn. It’s dark by the time I turn right onto the main street towards the shop. The moon shines bright. Bats fly overhead. 

“Move naturally!” Chen Xiao Xing said today in class, his eyes gleaming. Along with all the other corrections: sink, shift, relax, close, open, etc., it all comes down to this. We were working on a sequence I have always found particularly difficult, Qian Zhao, Hou Zhao, Yie Ma Fen Zhong, Front and Back Dodging and Parting Horse’s Mane. I remember the first time Chen Xiao Wang taught it to me; I could not come close to comprehending it. After many attempts he simply sat down and waited quietly while I struggled through it. I was completely undone and utterly intimidated to be so naked in my ignorance in front of the most famous Chen. My energy scattered. He said, “Calm Down.” I burst into tears. That was 16 years ago. It’s still hard but I don’t cry any more - well on the outside at least! 

“I have studied this form over 15 years,” I said to my teacher. “Is it natural for me to now feel I don’t know it at all?” I was not joking. During this particular training, I truly feel I may not know the Laojia, the fundamental frame, at all. Without pause, Chen Xiao Xing looked at the blackboard at the back of his room and pointed at the Chinese characters written upon it. He began reading; Shiuwen translated. 漸悟 Gradual Realization. “Keep learning, keep repeating, keep practicing and you will learn new things.” Chen Xiao Xing stated. 溫故知新 “Review what you learned before, reflect, and you will learn new things.” 熟能生巧 “Practice and practice so much, and eventually everything fits together perfectly.” 順其自然 Fundamentally, let it be natural. 

As both teacher and student I know if we stick with something long enough we are bound to feel the bottom drop out from time to time. We wonder if we have really made progress, really understood. This experience is unnerving, it is a dangerous time in one’s study cycle - if the ego bites into it too hard, one may loose hope. And yet, it is natural part of the cycle too. Learning always folds into itself. It can never be that we haven’t learned, it is that we are always learning new things. One simply keeps going. To have a teacher one can be utterly transparent in front of, to have as witness when making the same mistakes over and over again, to listen to the same questions as yet again, to continue to guide you through the potholes of ego and ignorance, to point you further down the road, is the greatest gift. I feel very fortunate. 

There is a palpable kindness here in the teaching methodology. During day three a small group of people from Zheng Zhou joined us - a father, son, and uncle. The group was clearly new to Taijiquan - the fidgeting level was high, especially with the son! It was a bit annoying but whenever I felt myself start to become agitated I checked it. It’s not my floor, everyone is a beginner, I reminded myself. And I am here for my work. This is my grinding stone. Over the course of the next few days Chen Xiao Xing corrected each person in accordance with the methodology. Gradually the group began to get it and even the son began to calm down. 

During one of our breaks I noticed he was in the corner with headphones on listening to music or watching a show. I decided to practice my Chinese and approached him. “Where are you from?” I asked in slow deliberate words, trying to make my tones correct. To my delight he answered in English, “My home is in Zheng Zhou.” I had noticed his father was gone today so I continued in Chinese, “Where is your father?” “On a business trip,” he said in perfect English. We were both utterly delighted at this playful banter. We volleyed back and forth. “How old are you?” “Thirteen!” “Do you like Taijiquan?” “Yes!” “What is your name?” I asked. “Fun” he replied.  This time I had to have Shiuwen help me.  She couldn’t quite make the character out when he finger wrote it in her palm but indeed his first name is “Fun.” “Very nice to meet you!” I continued in Chinese. “You too!” He said.  I make it a point to encourage him now In Standing and to share laughter at our thigh pain during our breaks.

Cui Bing, Chen Zi Qiang’s wife brought her oldest daughter over last night to have John Howe work with her on her English. They like John a great deal; it was a beautiful site to see him helping her with her reading and speaking. Here in the Gou, hard work, generosity, patience, kindness across generations and culture are on full display.  From the pigtailed toddler to the blue silk clad elder to the gangly thirteen year old to the confused American asking the same questions once again, humanity is open here. It is natural. There is no reason to treat each other poorly, to become irritated by someone else’s beginning level of anything, to loose hope in our own progress as learners.  What type of world might we have if we were as hard working as the students here are? As patient as the teachers? As kind? As generous? 

The roosters and bustling of the cook tells me Day Nine ensues. 

The Work

The sound of rain wakes me again this morning at about 3:45 am. I try to fake sleeping for another hour or so while I listen to the large drops hit the metal roof outside our dorm room. It’s a bit before 5 when I finally get up, gather my tea and Ipad and head downstairs to the large room where we eat. A small lizard scampers under my feet at the bottom of the stairs. This room is the only place I can sit to write; there are no desks or chairs in the sleeping room save for one short round stool in the corner.  The dorms in Chenjiagou are not designed for sitting!  I love my morning routine here, I’m never sure who reads my blogs or what they might mean to people save for a unique travel story, but they help me to decompress and reflect from the day before. I’m still sometimes surprised I have spent an entire lifetime involved in martial arts; sometimes I think I might do something else, but no, there is nothing else for me. It is not just the athleticism I enjoy, it is more, this has always been my path for deep contemplation of the inner and outer worlds. 

This particular trip has been more social than my other visits. I think part of this is Summer. It’s an expansive time generally. Also I’ve been here enough now that many of us, students, shop owners, teachers, have a shared history that spans well over a decade. Too, I think the social aspect as also been fueled my renewed efforts to learn Chinese. I frankly didn’t think 2 months of daily practice using apps would make much of a difference, but it has.  I can’t have deep conversations but I can ask where people are from, answer where I am from, talk about the weather, make sure I understand time and food and the best - tell people they look beautiful. I can even make a couple of jokes. It makes a difference! Although, with the tones one must be vigilant! I tripped over one the other day and ended up saying the F word to one of the shop owners. Thankfully everyone started laughing knowing this silly American was just being clumsy. 

Everyone is getting stronger and bodies are holding up. Doug and I are the oldest in our group at almost 62. Lisa at 33 is the youngest. Everyone else ranges from the mid thirties to late fifties. It is a lot to put the body/mind though, one that is not used to this pace and depth of training, but we are all doing fine. Our group is harmonized and I’m really proud of everyone’s training ethic, especially Lisa, who has only nine months of experience with Taijiquan. Even though she is Chinese, has travelled all over the world a great deal and is a fierce woman by anyone’s standards, she has never having encountered herself in this way before. She is representing! We did take a much needed half-day break yesterday. We spent time in the Taijiquan park, wandering through the Temple, the statues of the 13 Energies, the Graves and the museum.  It was hot as heck and sparsely touristed so we could be a little more goofy, with the exception of course while Posturing in front of Chen Wang Ting. 

Doug and I visited Chen Bing, saw the beginnings of his new school and had some tea. He is really busy with the school and travel and does not teach group classes here anymore, just private lessons and special event workshops. We talked about the changes of Chenjiagou; more and more I hear what a mixed bag it is for the long time folks here and their preference might have been for the Gou to have remained a Farming & Taijiquan Village. “It was easier to keep a quiet mind then,” Chen Bing said. I also feel a bit of the challenge of keeping a quieter mind this trip. Part of it is certainly the fact that I am with people I have known a long time and it is quite simply fun to be with them.  Yet it is undeniable there is a energy of the place that has shifted. 

Within the training hall however, the work is to have all distractions dissolve. How the Gou has changed, what else I might have or have not done with my life, how many flies are landing on my sweat as it runs down my face.  This job of deep focus, no matter what is going on on the outside, lays firmly on each person. This place is still a pressure cooker for that work. I credit this fact to Grandmaster Chen Xiao Xing’s continued efforts to hold an unflappable center, no matter what is going on in the Gou or in the World. More and more I see this strength of his mind and how he, both as a Taijiquan Grandmaster and a human being, has been able to stay steady throughout the course of his life. Every day I walk into the school and see the students training, see how the school has grown through the time I have known it, see how he himself, both his sons, Chen Zi Qiang and Chen Zi Jun, his nephew Chen Bing, have been able to work so hard here in China and by traveling all over the world to teach authentic Taijiquan, as well, to help all of us who also teach others have grown, I know it stems from this man’s steady root planted deeply here, in the Gou. 

In one of our conversations I asked my teacher, “How did you and your family figure all this out?” Referencing the depth of Taijiquan. I was worried he would take it as one of my silly questions, but it was gnawing on me so I risked having Shiuwen translate it for me. He answered directly and sincerely, “It’s the mind.” “Many people have failed,” he continued, “a few have succeeded, but it is nothing compared to the mind of the Ancestor (referring to Chen Wang Ting) who originally figured it out.” I did not fully comprehend all this thirteen years ago when I became a disciple of Chen Xiao Wang but the mind element of my training is becoming more clear. One must truly work to open the mind, not attach to anything specific and yet rigorously adhere to certain rules. It is the most challenging paradox. One must embrace it fully, and then one must practice and practice and practice. And wait.

This trip, the second this year, comes at a good time for me after two years of huge changes in my life: the sudden death of my mother, turning 60, deciding to change my school location and more, it has all been very hard and admittedly has distracted me from the level of training I want for myself. But being here again, receiving the level of corrections and training and insight I am given, I see again I am very much a part of this specific tradition. It’s good to drink again from that well, dig again into that root and to reaffirm again my commitment to my physical practice and especially to my mental training. 

The morning light is opening, the roosters call. The cooks are peeling and chopping. Someone is humming. Day eight ensues.

Eat Sleep Train

The daily routine is well established now. Eat, sleep, train. Two days of travel and the +15 hour time change is a hard bump to get over, but after a few days the new rhythms settle in. Cicadas, sweat and lots of laughter around the eating table become the norm. Grandmaster’s corrections are something to crave more than fear and everyone is more comfortable asking questions -especially the ones we all think we “should” know. For me, I consider coming at least once a year for as long as I can a mandatory part of my work, especially since my teacher does not travel outside of China anymore. I have to check in with him not just on my form, but on my understanding of how I am training myself and what I am teaching others. As we all know, the mind is a trickster and will convince us we are correct when perhaps we are in fact way off the rails. 

Coming here as often as I can is also a part of my soul; there is no place like it on earth. From the entrance gate, down the path through the quad to Grandmaster’s room there are many students training. They train the entire system: form, weapons, and interaction. Some are in structured classes, some with individual coaches, some on their own. There are the school kids I see year after year, growing strong and robust, their young bodies ripped with muscle and spunk.  (It’s quite a contrast to the obesity epidemic we have in America.) There are also quite a few mainland Chinese that come for their holiday this time of year to train. As I mentioned in earlier blogs, I see many more elders training, which is so deeply inspiring to me. One sees the truth of how powerful Taijiquan is for the aging process. And this is not “Tai Chi Lite.” This is depth charge Taijiquan and it is very evident that if one stays the course, then one can have Taijiquan as a companion through the ages. “You see, you can still teach when you are 85!” Chen Zi Qiang said to me over tea one day. This school is a very special hub that contains and expresses a wide range through all generations of what I love. Who wouldn’t want to come here as often as possible?

“This is the only place I can truly rest, mind, body and heart,” Chen Yi Mei said on one of our walks to class after breakfast. Chen Yi Mei, aka Svetlana, is from Russia; I know her from Facebook and another time in the Village when we crossed paths for only two days.  She is a disciple of Chen Zi Qiang and an outstanding practitioner who also works very hard to promote Taijiquan in her region. CZQ gave her the name, Yi Mei, meaning “first blooming winter plum flower.”  She comes for a month every year and this time I have the pleasure of her being here during the entirety of our group’s stay. We were comparing notes last night returning from dinner. Me saying, I’m here only 10 days and it’s not nearly enough. She saying her month here is not nearly enough. Perhaps at first visit or even at the tenth visit one could not imagine staying for an extended period of time, perhaps even for years, but this time I actually could envision that, if life put that direction in front of me. 

I think the reason it can be so restful here is how different the environment is than home. It is a simple Village with simple food and a simple room. One really just has one job to do: Train. No matter how much money or what type of profession or what grace you live or vice you have to atone for, training is the great equalizer. The petty machinations of the mind - those we think are so important back at home, those created by the culture we are in and firmly believe are The Truth, fade quickly here into sweat and the feeling of your feet on the ground. We are able to live into a different truth then. For me I am discovering how attached I am to order. I’ve always known this about myself and living in the US my structured life and its ordered rhythms is easy to maintain. In China one cannot hold onto that at all. Everything changes so quickly, there are so many people and so many variables, one really has to adapt and be flexible to survive it. I feel the body holds a lot of tension trying to hold on to order, to hold on to beliefs gleaned from thinking our experiences mean something specific. In China generally and in this Village specifically, there is an opportunity to let this rigidity soften and even at times, dissolve. 

At the same time, it is not all idillic here by any means. The Village has changed a lot. There is a much more commercial feel to it since the Government took Taijiquan to heart not just as a cultural jewel but as also a way to profit. That’s not all bad. Taijiquan has become so much more popular all over the world so more people benefit. Yet, all of us who have been here over the years note the effects of this intention. There is a great deal of construction, more schools are opening up with any number of random people teaching. Though our school continues to operate in a very traditional way, eschewing the profit motive in favor of adherence to the old ways, I did hear of one famous teacher in a neighboring school charging the equivalent of $3000USD/hour. We had a visit with Chen Bing who, when asked how he felt about all the changes said, “It was easier to keep a quiet mind when it was a simple farming and Taijiquan village.”

I also feel the Government overlay more than in years past. Cameras are a part of the landscape, there are new rules about getting into the Cultural Heritage sites we used to just wander through. There is a “vibe” here that feels a bit stricter than earlier visits. This type of shift is happening all over the world, is it not? With all of our diverse backgrounds, Chinese, Taiwanese, Russian and American we have wandered into political conversations around the eating table. It doesn’t last too long though because no one really wants to spend time in that reality right now. Here, there are many more interesting things to talk about. We share stories and photos of our home and family and talk about matters of the heart. And then we walk to the training hall for one more day. 

The Rooster calls, the cook has arrived. Day Seven ensues. 

有意無形

The sound of rain, not jet lag, wakes me up this morning. Along with the wind it sounds like laundry in a washing machine. I listen for a while. My mind begins to work to reconcile the incongruent image, an electric washing machine at 4:00 am in a small rural village in China. Finally I realize it’s raining and am glad I tossed in my travel rain boots at the last minute. The electric a/c begins to whir, I’m fully awake now and begin to muse on yesterday’s events in the Gou.  

“You’ve been to Asia so many times, do you ever forget you look like a foreigner?” Lisa asked me on the way to WenXian. We were driving along the streets out of the Village along a good road for about 15 minutes to Wenxian, a bustling town of about 500,000 with great food. I remembered this road was all dirt and potholes in 2006, my first trip to the village. We stayed in WenXian then because Grandmaster Chen Xiao Wang was concerned the Village facilities were not going to be comfortable for us. Though we all might have preferred to stay in the Village, we did enjoy WenXian despite the 90 minutes round trip we did twice a day in big busses that lumbered along muddy roads. Now we always only stay in the Village. Our digs are modernized and quite comfortable and our excursions out are along new roads in an open air electric mini-van, passing lush peach orchards, peanut fields and food stalls along the way. The van goes only about 30 miles an hour so views are unencumbered and spectacular. We all sat back and chatted exhubarently, excited for our outing and for the forthcoming great meal. As we drove, the cool evening breeze blew across our faces and bodies, still sweaty from the afternoon practice.

I answered Lisa’s question: “Yes! I do forget.” Actually I had been thinking about this earlier today at the live TV show where we were part of the demo team. I knew Doug and Matt with their beards and me with my blonde highlighted hair must have looked so different in the midst of it all. And yet, I couldn’t quite reconcile it. I lived in Japan for a year and between my travels in South East Asia and China have at least another year total under my belt on this side of the world. Asia has always been my affinity since I can remember and I would always choose to travel here first, of all the places on the planet. And so, even when our eyes, the Chinese and mine meet and we see different features, even though our language bases and thinking development could not be any different, I forget I am a foreigner. 

Lisa, herself borne in China and then moved with her family to Leeds, England before Seattle, Shiuwen, borne and raised in Taiwan, who lived in Spain before the US and I began talking about racism. I realized I have never felt I have been the subject of racism during my travels, but I also was ashamed to realize I have never thought about the fact that Lisa and Shiuwen might, as long time US residents, have. I’ve known Shiuwen for over 15 years and consider her one of my dearest friends in the world. “Have you experienced racism in the US?” I asked her, embarrassed I had never even considered asking her before now. “Not much, no, but yes, some after Trump was elected.” We continued our conversation with Lisa sharing some of her experiences. I’ve been disturbed by this conversation all night, realizing with all my trips abroad, doing my utmost to be a good global citizen, I may very well have fallen asleep in my upper middle class whiteness, looking at the world through privileged eyes. I trust my eyes will stay more open now and I will do a better job with this awareness. 

At yet forgetting one is a foreigner is also a good thing, I believe, because in the end, we are not foreign. We are unique in our shared humanity and each of us very much a part of our global community. One of the privileges of training here is to connect to the heart of this reality, to connect this reality to the heart of Taijiquan. I have always felt and found martial arts is for this purpose: to join ourselves with each other and to strive together for a better world.  

There is term that has come up over and over again in Grandmaster’s instruction: 有意無形, in essence “Use Intention, No Shape,” or “Use your intention but don’t show it.” Over and over again his corrections point to this. Don’t do anything unusual to the joints, don’t think about what application is or is not, don’t try to make a shape with your body. Simply sink straight down, you know when the time is right, change weight, use your whole body together. It seems so easy! And yet after yesterday’s session, his deepest yet with his signature hands on during each sequence, the exquisite vice grip of the Master, directly transmitting the depth of the art, I wondered if I have ever experienced the Laojia Yilu before. How incredibly difficult it is to “do nothing” and in doing that, allow what is natural to emerge and guide one forth.  

Taijiquan does not exist in isolation from the rest of life, of the Tao. I’m sure there must be a way to use 有意無形, then when we encounter one another. To not work so hard to make ourselves into the shape, the identity of a Chinese or an American or a Russian, to let go of all the tension that lives so deeply in our bodies because of that effort, and to simply relax deeply, and allow ourselves to be human together. What type of world might we create then? 

I was deeply saddened to learn Amnesty International has issued a warning about traveling to the United States because of our gun violence. To learn of another warning too: our global food supply is a the highest risk yet due to global warming. I can’t ignore this reality and yet as the world spins on, here we are, dissolving our individual shapes and training with each other, meeting new friends, deepening long time relationships.

The rains have stopped. The Rooster calls. Day six ensues shortly. It goes fast from here. 

Endure

Fans whirl inside of Grandmaster’s room.  One’s cadence is a bit out of sync with the other two, it’s beat sounds like a horse drawn carriage rolling down a cobble road, the clump clump clump of the horse’s shoes finding purchase on the uneven stone surface.  My mind wanders. I find myself on a movie set in Tombstone, Arizona dressed in period garb, sitting in the coach exploring the new world.  I wander further back in time and consider what life would be like as Claire in the Outlander novels, touching the Stone and being catapulted back several hundred years into old Scotland. The roaring of the cicadas brings me back to the room, to one of a dozen students Standing. Grandmaster puts his hands on my hips and lowers me straight down. My thighs let me know I’m in no movie set now. He puts his hands softly on my shoulders and I feel myself settle into the thousands year old earth beneath the black and white speckled floor.

Most of us are used to the Chen family’s signature 30 minute Standings. Well, one never gets “used” to them, but we embrace them as part of the practice, as part of what is required within the training. We know the corrections we receive then are precious metal for our Taijiquan development, but that certainly doesn’t mean they become any easier as the years go on. Somewhere in the past three days the notion of a 40 minute Standing emerged - basically, get to class early and start. So of course we all take up that challenge, just to add a little spice to an already challenging environment. “Why is it so painful?” Shiuwen asked Chen Xiao Xing at a break, “I can only stand after you correct me for 2 minutes!” Chen Xiao Xing chuckled, his face opening into his mischievous smile. “Probably only one minute!” He laughed.  Shiuwen and I decided during the afternoon session we were going to count after our correction and see how long we actually can bear it. And who says Taijiquan people aren’t competitive!

“The reason I have you Standing for that long,” Chen Xiao Xing said, “is not just for the physical correction.” “It is to train the mind to come into the body.” “Most people cannot stand it,” he continued. “When you practice Taijiquan you think you can correct yourself, make the proper adjustments, the mind says I want to do it, but the mind and the body are not in sync, so the body can’t do it. The training of 30 minutes is to train this coordination.” Chen Xiao Xing mimicked the common deviations, head out, rump up and pushed back, shoulders tense. “When you focus on one thing too hard, then other things deviate.” 

I had never heard my teacher explain this phenomenon so clearly. “If you can train the mind to continue to receive and endure it in Standing, there will be a moment where the body and mind can work together. At that time, the mind is in the body and you can self correct.” “So all problems are because the mind is not in the body?” I asked my teacher. “Yes.” “Is it because we are lazy?” I continued. He chuckled. “But lazy is not the root problem. The root problem is the mind and the body are not working together. You have to fight for it, endure it, only then can you reach the next stage and improve.” 

Chen Xiao Xing continued, “Most people do Taijiquan at about 30%. “It’s good exercise, good for the body,” he stated, “but to really improve, one must pass over this 30% - learn to endure more. Then one has a chance to self-correct and improve. “How do we accomplish this then, if it is so difficult?” Shiuwen asked. “Every body is different, every mind is different,” Chen Xiao Xing mused. After afternoon Standing Shiuwen and I compared notes. For me, after the first correction I was able to endure a bit beyond the two minutes, though I noted my mind drifted at about 1.20 and I had to bring it back. After the second correction, the deeper one, I lasted a little over a minute before my body had to adjust itself and try to find it again.

Many long term students fight not just to endure the physical experience, but also fight the question, “I’ve been doing this so long, why aren’t I better?” This inquiry is definitely coming up during this training trip, which has put us all right smack back at the beginning. Each session: 40 minute Standing, sixty minutes of Silk Reeling and one hour of form. At day three, we are “only” at the third Buddha’s attendant. More brutal than enduring the Standing is finding the humility to recognize one’s true place in the learning curve. At the beginning, again. I said to Meg, “It’s just a narrative the mind uses, the why aren’t I better?”  It is another way the mind, the ego, pulls itself out of the body. We have to fight to overcome that too. 

Yesterday was day three, a notorious threshold in these types of trainings. We passed through. There was no rehearsal and it was great to have the extra space in our day. We all said we had the best afternoon naps we have ever had, ever! Our entire group packed into the Village stores after dinner and, along with the locals, enjoyed the cool evening air. We even saw the moon and stars. We even found popsicles. 

The roosters have been up for a while now, the morning light is breaking. The cook has arrived. Day four begins. 

Rehearsal

“I think I may be getting to old for this,” I said to Shiuwen, wincing as I drug my body out of bed and to the bathroom, “but don’t tell anyone!” We both laughed and she told me a story of a conversation in a store with some teenagers. She used the Taiwanese term for “trash bags” and the elder shop owner didn’t understand her. The kids however did and helped her with a different term. Think the difference between “trash bags” and “garbage bags.” She and the kids struck up a conversation about practicing Taijiquan. (One can safely assume 99% of people here practice it). She asked if they feel pain, and swatted her thighs. No. They don’t feel pain. “NO PAIN???” Not even in the first year? Shiuwen exclaimed. The kids laughed, “a little sore, but you get over it!” We both laughed again.

It’s 4:30 am at the time of this writing and at least I slept straight through the night, utterly exhausted from the extra training for the demonstration plus the regular classes. Yesterday we also had the dress rehearsal and drove another hour each way to the venue and spent about 5 hours there rehearsing and watching the other groups mark their spots on the stage and go through their performances. It looks to be some regional competition - not a martial arts competition, but more like a talent showcase for regional artists - singing, dancing, reciting what seemed to be a National Pride narrative. We even stood for their National Anthem, people looking at us making sure we understood the protocol. It was quite the cultural experience! The performance itself is in 2 more days. 

I’ll be looking forward to it and to it being over. Training for this and giving my all to the time with my teacher is a challenge for me physically, but also mentally. One of the reasons I come here is to slip into an altered state - one of watching, learning, and hours of repetition. It’s not something I can get at home and it’s worth coming here for it. Training for performance is not just a physical extra but it also forces me to use different parts of my brain. I have to shift from concentrating only on my internal world, taking my time with the sensations there, following the flows, releasing blocks and misalignments in my own time, to concentrating on my rhythm within our group. In performance one’s postures have to be big and showy and perfectly synced within the entire group. One has to follow the direction of the coach with no hesitation and change in an instant per those instructions. I actually really like doing it and also love being a part of the team. Its fun and very much an honor to be there, it is simply a different type of training mind than long slow personal depth practice. Part of this trip for me will be gaining skill at flipping between the two. 

I tried to decompress by going for a walk alone last night in the light cooling rain. The temperature dropped considerably and the misty drops felt so good. Some of the food stalls along the street were playing loud music and even in the rain people were sitting on plastic tables outside laughing, eating and having a beer. I thought about a beer but instead found some shops to peruse, still looking for some cooler wear and contemplative time. Instead I found store owners other patrons quite curious about this foreigner. One cannot ignore other’s curiosity about oneself when traveling. Even when one is desperate to be alone, one must engage fully and with open hearted kindness and enthusiasm. I consider it very much my job to be the best cultural emissary I can be generally speaking when traveling, especially here in Chenjiagou as a foreign Taijiquan practitioner with Chen Xiao Xing as my teacher, especially in this hot political climate. So strike up conversations I did, using my terrible Chinese and the translation apps we all have now. I even performed once more for a husband and wife teaching team, from “Mao’s home town” they said with pride when I asked them where they were from.

When people ask me where I am from I am acutely aware of feeling uncomfortable answering. Someone said, “You are from England?” And I almost said, “yes,” and let it go. It is the first time in all my years of travel that I am a bit ashamed of being an American. The horrible gun violence in our country and this arrogant, narcissistic idiot in chief we have at the helm who understands absolutely nothing about how to have relationships with his own people much less the Chinese makes me feel, well I don’t even know fully how I feel. Sad, enraged, desperate. These words don’t even come close.  And yet I know in my soul that being here right now, in the now of it all, the one thing I can do is represent well, in the demo, on the training floor, in the shops at night. It’s the only power I have really, and I have to believe somewhere in the long line of life, when everything does change, it is enough. 

One or two more cups of tea. Rehearsal starts at 8:00, class at 9:00. Day three ensues shortly.

Grandmaster’s Room

Our class positions itself on the black and white speckled tile floor. Our feet stand in unison perfectly along the the straight squares, each toe end touching just up to the tile’s line, but not over it.  The distance between each of us is enough to open our arms for Standing, enough to feel the other next to us, but not so close as to be distracted by their breathing. We sit down in our hips, bend our knees and soften our chest. We feel our weight sink into our thighs and feet and already do our best to clear our minds of the dread for what is to come. We draw our head back and do our best to let our back soften and tuck our rumps. The roar of cicadas rises and falls. Chen Xiao Xing enters the room and begins to correct each of us. Legs shake. Breathing deepens. Rivers of sweat pour down our face, back and legs. Xiao He barks. The cicadas crescendo. We do our best to clear our minds.

I remember the first time I saw Chen Xiao Xing’s private classroom. It was during my second trip to the Village; I was alone and wandering through the quad. When I entered  the room I felt like an interloper of history. A place that carried muscle, sweat and deep lineage, of which I was now a part and yet I couldn’t quite fully grasp. Back then I was still an outsider in a way, and now for the first time in all my visits, I am actually training here, on the inside of the room and the family. And yet now it’s not anything mysterious, per se, it is simply a pragmatic choice. It’s the one training room in the Village with fans. Still, as I stand and learn here, the blackboard behind me with many rich sayings, I feel the depth of the place. I am, we are one of many who stand here, in this room, in Taijiquan itself, shaking and sweating, adding our efforts to what has come before and what will endure hence.  Gradual and Immediate Realization.

This is the smallest Village training I have experienced so far. We have our group of eight and a few other of Chen Xiao Xing’s ongoing students. It feels a bit like the Seattle floor with our intimate group, people for the most part whom I have known for a long time.  We are studying the Laojia Yilu, “old frame first road.” I love learning it here, at the source school, and each time the lessons, though very familiar to me, add both a depth to what I know and open me to new possibilities. I am asking questions less about the “how do you do” and more about the paradoxical elements of the practice - which is basically the practice of Taijiquan itself! Unlike in times past when Chen Xiao Xing simply laughs and swats me, saying, 没关系 méiguānxi- it doesn’t matter, he is answering me in great detail. Even so, the answers always come back to the same mantra: “relax, use your intention, if you can see it, it’s too much.”  

Taijiquan’s pedagogy is so challenging. We are asked to keep our mind free of the grasping for knowing, to keep our body relaxed but attentive. To change weight at the right time. To wait. “You’ll know it when the time is right,” Chen Xiao Xing answers the question, “when?” Many people wonder why we devotees keep studying the same thing over and over again, year after year, decade after decade. “Haven’t you learned it yet?” is a question many of my students tell me their curious friends ask when they sign up for as yet another session. Yes, at every moment. No, not yet. Perhaps never. Perhaps the question is why learning with a goal to achieve “having learned it” is more important than simply learning. 

In the midst of settling into our five hour training flow, Doug, Matt and I are also joining the school in rehearsals for a demo a few days from now. The demo is in a larger town some distance from here - I’m not exactly sure what its for. I think its going to be televised. There is always a lot going on in the Village to promote Taijiquan. It’s quite impressive to see here at the source, how much work goes into pushing great Taijiquan into the world. Chen Zi Qiang seemed delighted to have, as he said, some “white faces” to join in. And we are doing our best to represent. 

We are all doing well but a bit tired from jet lag and over stimulation. We are working to stay hydrated. The heat is not too bad - it’s probably in the high 80s, but the humidity is about 80% I believe. I feel like a human sponge when Chen Xiao Xing corrects me, the slightest compression into my body squeezes rivers of sweat and salt out I didn’t even know I had in me. So far the mosquitoes and flies aren’t too bad; the fans in Chen Xiao Xing’s room keeps them at bay. We are given a lot of watermelon throughout the day, a welcome source of electrolytes. 

I hear a rooster in the distance. Time for tea and stretching. Day 2 ensues shortly.