Stillness in tai chi movement

Taijiquan as a “martial art” is essentially an art of being aware of one’s self in time and moving from a place of stillness, maintaining it in the midst of movement. I understand this place of stillness as “Wuji,” which has many definitions among various philosophical sources: “state of undifferentiated (non)being,” “standing like a mountain,” “unselfconscious oneness,” “empty, yet alive, changeable, agile, quiet.”

“Taiji is born out of Wuji,” the classic states, and it returns to Wuji. Taiji is movement, wuji is empty and still. It is infinity, where one returns to one’s self. Stillness to movement to stillness…. Yin to Yang to Yin and so on. This suggests leaving and returning. Too often we leave and neglect to return. But it is possible that Taiji never leaves Wuji and Wuji is always present in every movement. This is stillness in movement. Your awareness never leaves Wuji even while your body flows in and out of Yin and Yang.

The timeless quiet of tai chi

A quiet part of us rests deep within that is aware of everything we experience. It is an ancient part of us, timeless and vast, beyond day and night, light and dark. It seems to sleep while we move through life, going places, doing things, saying things, thinking things, being things. We’ve forgotten it’s there. Taijiquan is a means of recognizing and acknowledging its movement within, of listening to it and reconnecting with it.

Life between tai chi practices

Life is something you do between tai chi practices. You might agree. In the very least, tai chi offers a chance to take a break from the usual tracking of daily affairs and distractions that fill our days. In some ways, we find solace in those distractions, whatever they might be, but sometimes we don’t. At such times, it may feel better to do tai chi.

It matters little what the issue might be—jobs, recreation, even an illness or injury in the body’s structure, or organs. Maybe heart and mind. It could be chronic or it could be acute. It could be something you ate or it could be an injury from 30 years ago. If you lapse, for whatever reason, you feel the lack in just a couple of days. That feeling of “I just don’t feel like it today,” loses its punch when you have reached a threshold of body memory, saturated by tai chi practice. I don’t know, maybe tai chi is living and life is something you do, too.

The beginner always, curated

Perpetual learner, deliberate practice, repetition without repetition, intellectual humility, openness to new ways of learning. … They don’t mention taijiquan, but in fits the bill in this BBC article.

“How a ‘beginners mindset’ can help you learn anything”

https://www.bbc.com/worklife/article/20210222-how-a-beginners-mindset-can-help-you-learn-anything?ocid=ww.social.link.email

We are not so resilient as we age

We are not so resilient as we age. Yet we try to do the same things as when we are young. Thinking it will pass. The pain and discomfort. But our older bodies don’t recuperate as they once did from the beatings we gave them. We are compelled to rethink our strategy. One thing we have at our disposal is to approach movement from new angles. To head off the damage before we do it so we have less to recuperate from in the first place. That means changing habits and habitual practices that cause pain and damage. I insist tai chi is a way to that. It doesn’t get the acceptance that it deserves. So what do you do? Or don’t do? Don’t get up in morning? Couch bomb on off days? Move differently? Eat differently? What works?

Tai Chi: Habit Killer

The old cliche of “breaking a (bad) habit” has outworn it usefulness. Instead, focus on creating a new habit. A habit has been described as a “psychological loop,” which is like a self-perpetuating pattern. Create—learn new patterns, new habits, of movement doing tai chi. This creates potential to overcome obstacles to progress along the path of learning and change, and yes, maturing beyond entrenched, unwanted habits.

Zhong Ding

Central equilibrium. This is the Chinese word I know it as—Zhong Ding. I assume readers are familiar with it.  I came to understand that central equilibrium is more than alignment.

Alignment has a linear quality that we can become aware of in our bodies. It is two-dimensional, a line between two points. Equilibrium, which we can also become aware of, is orientation in relation to our environment. It is multi-dimensional. It is how we balance ourselves in response to the pressures from outside, of which there are many.

Almost every move we make is a response to some external force in our environment. The environment could be the physical environment near us or it could be a more abstract environment — distant and foreign.

Part of the release, and the relief, of letting go of things that are not essential to our well-being, which is a tai chi practice, is distinguishing between what it’s necessary to be concerned about and what is not.

We confront the overwhelming pressure from outside with great risk. We cannot defeat it, but we can relax and let it be. We don’t have to be concerned that we must respond. Yin instead of yang. Let yang take care of itself. Focus attention on yin.

So the act, as simple as it may be, of letting something go—tension, stress, anything at all—is emancipating. Our bodies respond accordingly and become satisfied, contented, rested.

Tai chi and “quiet mind”

People perceive quiet for being still, but this is not the only way to understand “quiet.” Trying to hold still creates “quiet-but-not-moving,” which is only one kind of quiet. It can lead to tension and clenching, pain, poor balance, especially in beginners. That kind of tension can’t be held long.

“Quiet-in-movement” offers an alternative worth exploring. This kind of quiet results from the mind letting the body move according to the depth of your “listening.” Not just quiet mind, but quiet body. No anticipation, no judgment, no projecting, no hesitating, no forcing.

The mind provides the intention and the body provides the results. Quiet mind means suspending habitual thinking, or “internal dialogue.” Observe moves quietly, like scanning the distant landscape for wildlife, or the ocean for whales.

Quiet-body-in-motion means getting out of the way of the qi so it can flow through. Something must “let go.” Allow yourself to feel it. It’s as though you are seeing with a part of you that is not your eyes. Your mind’s eye perhaps. The heart perhaps.

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Paul Tim Richard studies and writes about Chinese internal martial arts and produces instructional videos of master practitioners. He also teaches fundamental principles of taijiquan and qigong. He lives in Durango, Colorado and likes to travel for study and teaching.