Feet Do Your Thing

The Chinese acupressure point, Yongquan, or gushing or bubbling spring, is on the soul of the foot, in the depression found about a third of the way along a line from the second and third toes to the heel. In Qigong, breath forces the Qi from the Baihui (top of the head) down through the Dantian (center of balance) and down the Yang Chaio Mo, or positive leg channel to the Yongquan, filling the body with Qi energy. In the Tai Chi Classic by Chang San-feng (Zhang Sanfeng, Chang Chun Pao, Chang Sam Bong, etc.) he says:

The internal energy, c’hi, roots at the feet, then transfers through the legs and is controlled from the waist, moving eventually through the back to the arms and fingertips. (Waysun Liao translation)
So we can see that the feet are very important in Tai Chi and in Qigong. Some texts talk about flattening the instep to the ground. Others, like William Chen, speak of rooting with the “three nails,” the big toe, ball of the foot and the heel. In rooting, the energy must feel as if it extends deep into the ground, not merely attached to the surface.

Early on in my study of the Tai Chi form I became aware of my instability, especially during movements that involved balancing on one foot or kicking. I blamed this on weak ankles (I never could ice skate well.) So I began a search for the perfect pair of shoes which, I was sure, would propel me toward mastery of the art. It made sense to have a “special” pair reserved only for Tai Chi. At any rate, most of the venues where classes were taught didn’t allow street shoes on their nice polished floors.

I have stubby little high-arched feet and have trouble finding shoes that fit properly. Running shoes are made with arch support and soles designed for high impact. I tried these but the waffle patterned soles were definitely overkill for the “Chinese Dance.” I was looking for lightness and found a pair of wrestling shoes at a discount store. They were light. They fit perfectly. But they had no flat soles and contributed to my instability more than being barefooted would have. So I tried bare foot Tai Chi. Again, no support. I was to find bare footed Tai Chi on SAND had great possibilities at a later time, but on the beach, not in New Mexico among the Choja buds!

My solution for shoes were a succession of skateboarding shoes. These are like what we used to call “deck shoes” but have more support and nice flat soles which wear quickly to a shine and become excellent for turns. They are a little heavier, though.  I also experimented with  Nike Airs which come in an extra wide size.
The grand ultimate shoe of choice for me now is a pair of Chinese slippers with rubber soles I got from Karate Depot or somewhere on line. They have no arch support but are better than bare feet because of the flat soles. They allow you to feel how your feet are rooting to the ground (and below), which is the real secret of balance, stability and energy transfer in Tai Chi, not good shoes.

You say "Qi," I say "Chi"

It can be very frustrating reading different articles on Tai Chi when one author uses the term, “Qi,” and another uses “Chi.” The problem comes from trying to represent Chinese words in European languages that don’t use Chinese characters. There are more than a few systems in use and like most things in China, they are diverse and coexistent.

Wade-Giles is a Romanization system for the Mandarin language developed from a system created by Thomas Wade during the19th century. Pinyin is another Romanization system which was introduced in China in the 1950s and is now the standard in the People’s Republic of China. Articles in English about Tai Chi Chuan can use either or both systems intermittently and can be very confusing for those of us who are not Chinese scholars. Some equivalent examples might be useful along with a brief definition of the terms. For this task I have turned to a very useful book by Masters Liang Shou-Yu and Wu Wen-Ching called Tai Chi Chuan, 24 and 48 Postures. I won’t attempt to comment on how to pronounce these terms, but the reader may wish to examine the Wikipedia entry on Wade-Giles at http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wade%E2%80%93Giles.

The Pinyin, “Qi” is “Chi” in Wade-Giles and translates roughly as “Intrinsic substance of all things” or “energy.” I have written about Chi elsewhere as it is a concept that is both mysterious and difficult or impossible to prove, yet fundamental to the understanding of Tai Chi and Chinese medicine. “Tajiquan” is Pinyin for the Wade-Giles, “Tai Chi Cuan,” and translates as the “Grand Ultimate Fist.” “Qigong’” (Pinyin) is “Chi Kung” (Wade-Giles) and means “energy study or drill and training.”

Another source of confusion is the use of apostrophes to indicate certain pronunciations. I sometimes see T’ai Chi or T’ai Chi C’uan and use these spellings when referring to the work of a specific author.  Then there is the Dantian, Dan Tien or Tan T’ien, literally "cinnabar or red field." It can be translated as "elixir field" and refers to one of three acupuncture areas on the body. In Tai Chi the important Dantian is the middle one, located a few inches below the navel, as this is the center of balance of the body and the place to which you “sink your Qi.”

On a completely unrelated note, I attended another William C. C. Chen workshop last weekend. Grandmaster Chen stood and talked for three straight hours during the morning. There was more lecturing in the afternoon and two hours of sword practice. This man is ten years older than I am. How does he do it? Indeed Tai Chi must have curative powers! My favorite quote from this session came when someone asked, “How do you know when you’re doing it correctly?” (Laughter from the class.) Grandmaster Chen grinned and replied, “Get into a bunch of fights and if you don’t get beat up, then you’ll know you’re doing it correctly.”

Monkeys and Tigers and Bears, Oh My!
Animals in Tai Chi and the Martial Arts

There is a legend about a Taoist monk who came upon a tiger while walking in the woods. He tamed the tiger by staring him down and then climbed on the tiger’s back and road away. “Riding the Tiger” has many implications. Certainly, the safest place to be is on the tiger’s back. Getting off is the problem. The expression is used as a metaphor for bravery and danger and also relates to Tai Chi Chuan. Near the end of the Yang Chengfu long form is a movement called “Retreat Astride Tiger.” It comes before the “Lotus Sweep” and “Bend Bow to Shoot Tiger.” Poor tiger!

The movement of “Retreat Astride Tiger” is similar to that of “White Crane Spreads its Wings.” The right hand is raised and protects the forehead while the left guards the groin. It is single weighted. It leads into a spin that precedes the kick of the “Lotus Sweep.” Yang says, “Although my opponent may be fierce as a tiger, with but the slightest turning motion he will be under my control.”

The Taoist priest, Chang San-feng, Sung Dynasty (960-1279), was said to have originated Tai Chi Chuan after observing a fight between a snake and a white crane. When the bird attacked the snake's head, the snake yielded at his head and struck with his tail. When the bird attacked the snake's tail, the snake yielded at his tail and attacked with his head. When the bird attacked the snake's belly the snake yielded at the belly and attacked with both his head and his tail. In the end the bird gave up and flew away. Chang San-feng was able to see Yin and Yang in the snake’s yielding and attack. This led him to embody these principles in Tai Chi Chuan.

Anyway, it’s a good story. We westerners think of Chinese culture as nothing if not poetic: indeed the elite of the dynastic eras were scholars and wrote poetry. It was natural that their legends and stories related to nature, and consequently, to animal nature. The Taoists developed many “exercises” with martial arts applications and meditative properties. One tradition is the Five Animal Fun (or Frolics) in which the Crane, Monkey, Deer and Tiger contribute their natural movements to this Qigong form.

In spite of the terms “Fun” or “Frolics,” this is serious business. The Five Animal Frolics, Wu Qin Xi, were created by Hua Tuo, (died c. 208) a renowned Chinese physician. The Five Animals are the Tiger for power and improvement of the lung, the Bear for strength and support of the kidneys, the Deer for grace and care of the liver, the Crane for relaxation and maintaining the heart, and the Monkey for flexibility and aid to the stomach. The movements of the Frolics mimic those of the specific animals.

The Five Animal Martial Arts (not to be confused with the Five Animal Frolics), developed at the Shaolin Temple during the Tang Dynasty (618–907), utilized images and movements of the Tiger, Crane, Leopard, Snake and Dragon. These styles have been popularized in the recent animated film, Kung Fu Panda, although slightly different animals are featured. In a review of the movie in Kung Fu Magazine, Craig Reid observes:

Although from a historical sense it might have been more nostalgic to model the Fearless Five from Shaolin's original five animal arts (tiger, snake, leopard, white crane, dragon) as created by Jue Yuen, Li Sou and Bai Yu-feng during the 1200's, the filmmakers opted to make the leopard evil, use the dragon as the statuesque holder of the ultimate secret of martial arts, and replace them with two of the more recently created popular animals styles: monkey kung fu (late 1800's by Kou Zi) and praying mantis kung fu (mid-1600's by Wang Lang).

In Tai Chi, of course, the list of references to animal movements is long. Repulse Monkey, or Monkey Retreat, looks very similar to the movement in the Five Animal Frolic Monkey Form. The agility of the monkey swinging hand over hand through the trees is mimicked in an application in which stepping back displaces the grip and energy of the opponent. In the Sword Form animal imagery abounds:

Swallow Beats the Water
Bee Enters the Cave
Alert Cat Catches the Mouse
Dragonfly Strikes the Water
Swallow Returns to the Nest
Phoenix Spreads Both Wings
Black Dragon Wags His Tail
Lion Shakes His Head
Horse Leaps Over the Stream
The Swallow Holds Mud In His Mouth
The Rhino Gazes At The Moon
The White Ape Offers Fruit
A Fish Leaps Over the Gate of The Dragon


And so forth.

Metaphor or magic, animal nature was important to the development of Tai Chi and other Martial Arts. Whether descriptive of the movement, the attitude or the strength of the animal, names and images were used in the creation of the Form and still function for us today to add richness and understanding of the history and the purpose of Tai Chi Chuan.

His Vorpal Blade Went Snicker-Snack

One, two! One, two! And through and through
The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with its head
  He went galumphing back.

   --Lewis Carroll

The health center in Elkhorn has a mirrored room that is usually vacant early in the afternoon. I like to use it to practice the Long Form, Short Form, Sun 73 Form and Sword. I only bring my wooden sword, reserving the metal one for class and backyard use where I won’t freak anyone out. The other day I was warming up on the tread mill, the sword on the floor beside me as I don’t like to leave it unattended. I felt a more or less hostile presence trying to get my attention: perhaps one of the health club staff that are supposed to be available but are often AWOL.

“What’s that?” he said, pointing to my sword. “It’s a sword.” My obvious response gave him a few seconds of bewildered pause, then: “What’s it for?” I answered, “I use it for Tai Chi practice,” waving my arms in the air. “Oh? You go into the room over there?” (pointing to the mirrored practice room.) “Yes,” I replied. “OK, then,” said he. He disappeared, leaving me with the kind of feeling you used to get as a child when a police car drove by even though you weren’t doing anything wrong.

Of course, I don’t think of the sword as a weapon. The movements of the sword form, like other single form Taijiquan are designed to move and balance the Qi. Like the Tai Chi solo form, the sword movements are a reflection of actual combat techniques but are distinctly “internal” in function. Where the solo form expresses Qi through the finger tips, the sword form expresses it through the tip of the blade. The sword is both an extension of the body and an entity all to itself with its own weight and its own Qi. Moving it through the air requires balance and timing, “rooting” and energizing.

Similar to the solo form the sword movements have their applications. Engaging the opponent’s weapon, “sticking” to it, deflecting it, and “riding down the whirlwind” to strike the opponent’s wrist have relationships to Tajiquan ward-off, roll-back, press, push, and shoulder strike. Other sword movements seem to mimic Yang form: turning toward The Divinity Points the Way is like Brush Knee; The Phoenix Spreads Both Wings is like Single Whip. There is even a Fair Lady Weaves at the Shuttle in both.

And like the solo forms, the sword form can be seen as the ultimate exercise. Why not exercise at the Health Club? It’s probably not as dangerous as dropping a weight on your foot or stepping off the tread mill at the wrong time. After all, they have organized Dodge Ball and Kick Boxing. Just so I don’t make anybody nervous, I have purchased a sword bag to carry my “weapon” into the Club. Now it looks more like I have a rifle slung over my shoulder! Oh well.

`Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
  Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
  And the mome raths outgrabe.

     ---Lewis Carroll

Workshop with Grandmaster William C. C. Chen

The weekend of August (Friday the) 13th saw me in Davenport, Iowa attending Grandmaster Chen’s three day workshop. I arrived Friday night just as a monsoon level rain storm descended upon the Quad Cities. The workshop was held in a large “multi-purpose room” at the YMCA, which was reached by following strategically placed directional signs along a labyrinth path up stairs and through narrow corridors filled with the smell of chlorine and heavy with humidity. Luckily, the room was nicely air-conditioned, bright and even had some wall mirrors. About forty or fifty people were present, at times swinging swords but extremely friendly and welcoming to the three of us from Wisconsin.

Grandmaster Chen, now 75, was born in China and became the youngest student of Professor Cheng Man-Ching. He has taught in Asia and the US since 1952 and established his own school in New York City in 1965. He has many devotees and his certified instructors include my sword teacher, Jody Curley. His ease of movement through the form suggests a much younger man. It is easy to feel the inspiration he imparts to his followers.

“You do like this… not like this,” he says, demonstrating a turn or a move. The distinction between the ‘this” and the “not this” is so subtle that I’m not sure what I’m supposed to be seeing. After a few more demos I begin to understand that this is an internal transfer of energy rather than one of muscle force. His descriptions are poetic: “like a bird about to take flight,”  ” go to sleep… wake up.” During a run through of the Short Form I am privileged to have a couple of corrections from the master.  I’ve brought the baggage of eight years of practice with a straight back and bent legs rather than a bend at the hips. “Not pushing from the legs… wake up!”  There is much to learn here.

He talks about connections between the fingers, the toes and the inside thigh muscles. The thighs don’t work alone during a turn: the fingers direct (index finger yang, pinky finger yin) and the toes implement. He shows us the design he has made for next year’s tee shirt. It includes a Tai Chi symbol (yin yang circle) with two foot prints superimposed. The feet illustrate the “three nails,” which are the contact points that root the body to the earth. They are the big toe, the ball and heel.  In his treatise, “The Mechanics of the Three Nails,” Master Chen says:

My studies of body mechanics indicate that the three active nails actually control the thigh, which controls the body. In the early 1960's, I sensed the turning of the waist was controlled by the thigh muscles. At that time, I thought the thigh was in command. As I practiced the slow movements, it appears that the thigh muscles helped make possible the turns and moves. Not until in middle 1980’s that I began to realize that the thigh itself has no ability to make any moves or turns without the help of the foot which is rooted firmly on the ground. Therefore, the rooted foot, and specifically the “three active nails” are in control and energized; the fingers to move palms and fists, and body follows.

How different to have instruction with analysis based in personal research! Most of us can only parrot what we have read or been taught to think. To feel what works and then to articulate it is a high form of learning we can only strive for. Like Jung’s “bringing the unconscious into the conscious,” it requires practice and awareness. To learn the form exactly as Cheng Man Ching did it, or as one of the fifty different versions taught by his many students, means nothing by itself. There must come a point when the student becomes the teacher for him/herself. But for now, I am the student and William C. C. Chen and his student, Jody Curley, are my teachers.

When he wants to make a point he stops us and goes to a student who has come close to performing some movement correctly. He puts the student through the movement, modifying the shifting of their weight or the turning of their foot. I am not receiving any corrections now that we are in the second half of the form. Obviously, I am not close enough to the correct form to offer him a chance to demonstrate with me. Later in the sword session I get a correction: I am not grasping the sword with my ring and pinky fingers at the second “three rings around the moon.” How he even sees this at fifteen feet away is amazing.

There is a session in Tai Chi Sword Fencing. This is my first experience with Tai Chi fencing. All the locals have put away their metal swords and are pulling out their wooden ones, putting on heavy gloves and safety glasses. Oops! Will they even let me participate with my carbon steel Adam Hsu Cas Hanwei? Jody and Mark and I are the other non-woodies. It goes well, though, and I even get to fence for a few minutes with Grandmaster Chen. Tai Chi fencing is sort of like push hands with swords. We try to “stick” to each other’s sword with wrist movements similar to “dragonfly strikes the water” in the Sword Form. The others are wearing gloves because in sparring, the goal is to make a strike at the sword hand.  Unlike European style foil fencing, there is not a lot of padding.

It has been quite an experience: one I will remember and absorb into my quest for the perfect form.

What the Wind Taught Me

We love the stories. Yang Jian-Hou (1842 – 1917) was said to be able to keep a sparrow from flying off his hand because he could feel the pressure of the bird’s feet as it tried to push off and then neutralize it so perfectly that the bird couldn’t leap into the air. Recently, in a Facebook group called Tai Chi Martial Artists, a discussion was started around the following:

Many years ago, I was training in the Carolina mountains and a most remarkable event occurred. I was standing in a low horse stance, throwing triple punch combinations in rapid succession. After about two hundred punches, upon completion of one of my strikes, I noticed a butterfly had landed on my fist. The butterfly remained there and was not disturbed. I wish to share you this message that this butterfly taught me: "The soft overcomes the hard. In your movements, rise and lower with unpredictable intention. Most importantly, leave no room for fear". My friends, no matter what style of Tai Chi you practice, I encourage you to follow the example of the butterfly. –Sifu Trick.

My own story took place when I was practicing the Long Form in the yard on a very windy day. At the first one footed stance the wind blew me over. I thought about this and realized I was not well “rooted” as I try to be during push hands. So I then began to sink as if my feet were indeed under ground like the roots of a tree while my spine remained as straight as possible and my head was elevated as if hung by a thread (as they say.) When I began the form again in a “rooted” posture, the wind could no longer interrupt my balance. My form improved immensely. Sometimes the best teachers are your experiences!

The story goes that Sun Lutang, founder of Sun style Tai Chi, went to study the martial art of Xing Yi Quan with master Li Kui Yuan. Li had him practice standing posture and wouldn’t teach him anything else. After a year of practice, Sun was good enough that when his master came behind him and struck him, he was unmoved. Li then taught him the rest of the form.

Most of us dislike standing. We complain: “I’ve been standing up all day and my feet hurt!” We don’t like standing in lines (which seems to be the way of life these days in grocery stores, airports, schools, etc.) We walk slumped over, staring at the ground (OK, so I do that not to trip!) Sun Luntang has a lot to say about standing.and Wu Ji:

Wu Ji is the natural state occurring before one begins to practice the martial arts. The mind is without thought; the intent is without motion; the eyes are without focus; the body makes no movement….

Master Sun says to stand as if on sand, without the toes griping or the heels pressing down. One of the most pleasurable times practicing the form for me was on the beach. I would practice on sand always if I could. On sand, “one stands and flows with what naturally occurs.” There is potential rather than movement. The “sinking the Qi to the Dan Tien” is done through intention rather than force.

Standing in stillness (li ding shi), says Yang Chenfu, is the taijiquan posture for preparing to move. While it may seem obvious that stillness comes before movement, the cultivation of correct stillness is crucial to the practice of Tai Chi. In most Tai Chi classes the beginning posture is explained as a period of relaxing the body but the mind must also be emptied. Concentration is on the Lower Dan Tien, the center of the body, its balance point. From the earliest writings of unknown masters called the Tai Chi Classics we find:

Relax the neck and suspend the head from the crown point.

The eyes should focus and concentrate on the direction in which the ch’I flows.

Relax the chest and arch the back.

Drop and relax the shoulders, drop and relax the elbows.

The wrist should be set comfortably while the finger tips stretch outward.

The entire body must be vertical and balanced.

The coccyx must be pulled forward and upward with the mind.

Relax the waist and the juncture of the thighs and pelvis.

The knees should stay between relaxed and non-relaxed.

The sole of the foot should sink and attack comfortably to the ground.

The real secret of Tai Chi lies in bringing the essentials of this stillness through into movement. To clearly separate the “substantial and the insubstantial” means to maintain balance in movement as if you are still.

If You Believe in Qi, Clap Your Hands!

Qi, or Chi (sometimes spelled Ch’i), is variously defined as internal energy, life force, intrinsic universal substance, eternal power, vibration, breath, blood and spirit. Although the Tao Te Ching of Lao Tzu does not refer to it as Qi, it speaks similarly of the Tao as:

It flows through all things
Inside and outside, and returns
To the origin of all things

Western science (particularly Western medicine) tends to be skeptical about the existence of Qi. As my ninth grade science teacher used to say, “If we can’t explain it, then it doesn’t exist.” Perhaps, but we can’t see the wind yet we can watch its movement through the trees. Many cultures (including Western ones) have concepts like Qi. Polynesian cultures have mana, a spiritual force existing in the universe, sometimes a vital life force flowing through the body. There is prana, related to breath in yoga and many other life/energy concepts such as awen (Welsh), asha (Iran), ka (Eqypt), ashe (Yoruba), orenda (Native American), ichor (Greek), and ki (Japan). Their commonality is in being an unseen, unknowable force underlying all things (even European Alchemists had the aether) which can be cultivated and used to obtain some goal, such as long life, spiritual awareness or cosmic balance. (Trust the Force, Luke!)

They say we are chock full of Qi as babies and begin to slowly lose it as we grow older. Qi isn’t static, it is always in motion, giving rise to the concepts of Yin and Yang (positive/negative, creative/destructive, etc.) According to Waysun Liao, writing in his chapter on Ch’i in his translation of the Tai Chi Classics, as Ch’i changes from one form to another it is called Yin Ch’i or Yang Ch’i. This constant balancing of Yin and Yang is the origin and nature of the universe.

We try to visualize Qi as a “thing” not blood nor breath, not electrical nerve energy nor kinetic muscle energy, but related to all these, which can be “moved” thereby balancing us in time and space. Qi is connected to the physical, but is set in motion by thought. Tai Chi masters talk about using intention rather than action. Again, from the Tao Te Ching:

The gentlest thing in the world
Overcomes the hardest thing in the world.
That which has no substance
Enters where there is no space.
This shows the value of non-action.

And from Waysun Liao:

Ch’i is not an element of any kind, but rather it is the origin of everything. Ch’I does not even create itself because, being immune to the laws of creation and destruction, it merely continues to exist.

Is Qi just another poetic Chinese metaphor? If we refuse to believe in it will it go away? Can we say that the health benefits from Tai Chi are do to muscle exercise and slow breath aerobics rather than the cultivation of Qi? Conversely, can we become so enamored with the mysticism of Qi that we indulge in false hopes that it is an elixir of life? Awareness of Qi and its cultivation through relaxation, breathing excercises. Qigong, Taijiquan, and meditation does seem to contribute to health and well being.