This morning I found myself staring out of the window looking for inspiration, it has been months since I last posted my thoughts on Taiji. As I gaze outside beyond the window, in my typical day dreaming way, I can see the trees beginning to echo with the gold and bronze hues that herald the onset of autumn. I find myself drawn to the streaks of raindrops gathering and gliding down the window. Then the words of Guo Gu begin to whisper their thoughts from the pages of the book before me,
“Our true nature is like the nature of water – whether the water is clear or muddled, the nature of wetness is unchanged.” - Guo GU, The Essence of Chan
Within everything there exists a pure nature, a nature that can not be corrupted or altered because it is its purest most natural form. Through Taiji, Qigong, meditation and a thousand other expressions of self-refinement we learn to find our own true nature. How we connect with it or find it is not important, that we search for it and then recognise its truth is. No matter what form water takes it will always remain wet, just like no matter what form we take we will always be human.
Recently, I met with a student of Taiji from another local school. She was interested to find out how Taiji is taught differently in her area. She described her experiences of partner work or Tui Shou - a training system used in what are often referred to as ‘the internal Chinese martial arts.’ In this exercise the practitioners are encouraged to develop an understanding of the four energies of listening, adhering, neutralising and explosiveness. The two practitioners work together to express these energies by testing each other’s weaknesses as they take it in turns to blend with and explore their partners expressions of energy. It is a fantastic tool and can be a wonderful way to experience the subtle hidden treasures of Taiji practice. However, I think it is safe to say she could not have found a more polar opposite approach to this most beautiful and subtle art than the one she experienced with me. During the class I encouraged both her and my other students to look closely at themselves through the use of the Wuji stance. Step by step I encouraged the class to smooth and round the hidden corners of tension within their bodies. We then continued this process by using Ba Duan Jin and its gentle movements and breath work. The process is deeply personal, gentle and potentially profound. Then we moved back into the realm of meditation by using some Xing Yi standing pole exercises to continue the process of ‘smoothing’ the corners of tension. First in the body and then in the mind. Eventually this process and sequence of exercises will transcend the physical and offer a glimpse into the depths of the spirit. This last sequence of exercises marked the half way point of my lesson, provided a water break for everyone and also the opportunity for my visitor to depart. It is a shame that she could not stay as we were just getting started, it was now time to ‘play’ with Taiji. Which brings me to my thoughts for today, is there a right way or a wrong way to approach learning Taiji and what is its true nature?
You could ask a thousand different practitioners these same two questions and probably get completely different answers from each one. My personal take is that the only ‘wrong way’ is the one that is insisted upon as being the correct and the only way. The nature of Taiji cannot be changed by anyone because at its heart is the nothingness and formlessness that can only be found when everything else has been forgotten. Taiji begins with shape and movement, eventually both the body and the mind learn to accept their natural form, they let go of their hold, and then something deeper and less easily seen takes control. Taiji is no longer a sequence of movements, it is an expression of our nature. Stillness pervades as the natural flow and harmony of our nature reveals itself. Taiji can be found in a walk along the beach, a moments peace in a room full of strangers, a boxing ring, a painting and in doing nothing. Humility, patience and your own breath are your most helpful guides. Recognising your nature is your journey. Stillness is your destination. Everything else is merely the dust and stones beneath your feet.
To the lady that joined my class, know that you inspired me to examine my perspective and question my stance. To the person reading this, enjoy your classes, keep practicing and I hope that you find your stillness.
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