This is the tenth year of blogging about taijiquan and its mysteries. Nearly 400 posts read by readers in 74 countries. Amazing. The first post on December 5, 2011 was entitled “What is Tai Chi?” Of course, tai chi is many things to many people and articulating that from the perspective of my experience has been an engaging practice. I almost quit, but I haven’t. The urge to write just happens. Like with tai chi, through the mind clutter comes insight. Like tai chi, writing extends awareness beyond self and allows you to reap knowledge sowed by efforts to learn.
By practicing taijiquan, if you wish to exceed limitations, you learn to eschew cliché and convention. Similarly, word-crafting helps to clarify the view and helps others discover and organize their own views. In my case, taijiquan and qigong have been the focal point; but it could also be other forms, such as yoga, dance, and athletics, like running, skiing, swimming, bicycling, and so on.
When you’re at your best, you’re in nearly perfect yin and yang balance, the essential dynamic of taijiquan. Without perceiving these two points of taiji, you’re wouldn’t quite be doing taiji—the supreme ultimate expression of anything. In my mind, the greatest yogi is doing taiji—expressing the ultimate expression, manifesting it, giving it form and substance. As is the most masterful practitioner of internal martial arts that originated in China.
Five years ago, I shared an invocation, which I revised and share again here.
In your practice, you have to be ready to see
something you’ve never seen before,
to do something you’ve never done before,
to feel something you’ve never felt before,
to not get too surprised or overwhelmed
by whatever may knock you off your course,
or cause you to lose the concentration
that got you where you are. You have to be
ready for what you want; what you do this for.