It strikes me that in tai chi, a central theme has to do with working with two aspects at once. And these two aspects are polar opposites of a spectrum.
The first polarity would be the sense that you are an amoeba. You have no real form, but you definitely are in space and flowing as you want to flow. You fill here, you empty there. You explore here, you dip there. It is easy, unforced, undirected, open. In fact, the lack of force or effort or even too much intention allows you to be flowing and easy.
Then there is the fact that you are definitely moving through a very very specific shape with a specific purpose. It reminds me of the perfection of a freeway system. To get the traffic to flow in a meaningful way, we create channels that form the turns of the freeway so that the cars can accommodate the freeway and the other cars. The specificity of the channel gives order and meaning to the flow of the cars. It perfectly accommodates the situation in order to get you where you need to go. The curves are elegant. They are specific, fixed, smooth, well defined. I’ve often admired the clover like shape of two intersecting freeways. Once you enter into the correct pathway, you zoom in the right direction, adjusting your speed as needed, always accommodating other cars and the sides of the curving pathway.
Tai chi is, of course, a martial art. The tai chi form has a shape with well defined curves and vectors. Yet the way the entire operation moves is from the perspective of an amoeba. The practice, the challenge, is to find the specificity of the shape and flow from within the easy, relaxed, open, directionless feel of the amoeba. The form is the intersection of both qualities. If it looks, from the outside, too much like an amoeba, lacking form or direction, then it lacks the specificity of the martial art. It becomes fuzzy. If it starts to look like slo-mo Karate, then it has lost the open, relaxed, exploratory feel of an amoeba. That’s the edge. It’s neither and it’s both.
Even more, the pathway and the flowing amoeba like quality are actually one. If the freeway is the channel, the pathway, the amoeba quality itself is the fuel that creates that freeway. It fulfills itself as the pathway. So the pathway itself can easily change as the amoeba flow (chi) changes. Another way to think of this is that air itself simply flows around aimlessly, but air can also be a tornado which has a real strength and direction and force and path. The air in the tornado eventually returns to its aimless air-like state of being. Yet another example is water in the ocean. Water molecules are mostly free floating, aimless and flowing, until they become a wave of force, power, direction… and then again relax into a quiet random flow.
As a martial art, both ends work to make tai chi functional. Yet another challenge! If your perfect shape cannot accommodate some force that invades this perfect shape, then you are relying on shape itself, and you will clash with this incoming force. The strongest will “win”. But we say in tai chi “the soft overcomes the hard”. The amoeba quality is there to allow an infinite amount of variation in responding to a force. You are not trapped in your shape. It holds you but you hold it.
On the other hand, if a force invades your shape and you don’t have skill for redirecting that vector force off your center (neutralizing) and then turning it around so that your new shape maximally returns that force back to the attacker, you merely crumble from the attack. Just like that freeway system, you have to be able to find the correct path to redirect that force. Out of this, you then need to find the curve that allows you to return that force right back to the perpetrator. This is very high level skill. This is where your sense of shape comes into play. You need to understand the right shape that will deliver the right results. You momentarily dissolve your old shape (the one that has been attacked) and then regroup so that this force is being redirected back to the attacker.
The form trains you to be sensitive to the forming and dissolving and reforming of various martial arts shapes in a manner similar to an amoeba. Push hands trains you to functionally do the same thing when presented with an actual force. These qualities of flow and shape give you an experience of your body that is hard to find in other disciplines. The matter at hand (you, air, amoeba) has the ability to change and flow and change and flow and ….. endlessly.
Tai chi is a superb method to explore this area and to find shapes that maximize the potential for holding energy (chi, air) and use it efficiently to accomplish your goals.
The mind that is aware of all of this also benefits in similar fashion.
Saturday, September 19, 2009
Thursday, September 10, 2009
The Tai Chi Habit
The Tai Chi Habit.
Well, not so fast. Let’s look at habits in general....
I was at the Zendo some time ago and I saw something that has stuck in my mind. There was this male sitting in Zen meditation and, along with all of us, he was at it for roughly an hour with a kin-kin walking meditation in the middle. But unlike the rest of the group, his torso was not vertically upright. He held it leaning back, perhaps at a 20 degree angle off the vertical. This was not someone with a disability. He was merely in the habit of leaning back while sitting zazen. In order to do this, he had to be holding muscles tightly to maintain the angle for an hour. Looking at him made my back ache, but I'd guess this felt normal to him. I don’t know where he learned sitting meditation and I suspect he doesn’t have a teacher. But generally, one is taught to sit erect in order to find a line of balance that is comfortable. Just like in tai chi.
So here was a good example of someone with a poor habit, at least in terms of a comfortable posture. Perhaps his habit gave him a sense that what he was doing was comfortable. His muscle holding pattern had been sufficiently developed so that what would hurt the average person felt OK as far as he was concerned. And if you corrected him, the new posture would feel uncomfortable to him. Such are the ways of habit. What’s “wrong” feels right and what’s “right” feels wrong.
In a way, of course, we are all like my example here. The only difference is that our patterns may not be as visible or dramatic. We are in a somewhat correct place, but still, there are uncomfortable holding patterns that are hard to see, and even more difficult to feel, because we have become accustomed to the position. What feels normal is not correct, but merely a habit that blinds us to what would be truly comfortable. There are 656 to 850 muscles in the body (depending on which expert you consult) and to arrange them properly is a science and an art.
In tai chi we are aiming for perfect relaxation so that precisely the muscles that are needed in any given movement are free to do the job exactly as required. Improper muscle usage blocks freedom of movement. This is why the study of tai chi requires great attention. It is very difficult to discern habit and improper use of muscles, tendons, ligaments and joints, from relaxation and proper muscular tonus.
Holding a posture for a long time can be a double edged sword. Often it will reveal that you are tensing some muscle improperly. But habit can also hide poor muscular usage and actually make the habit itself WORSE. We unconsciously tell ourselves, “I am right because it feels right." But it is the habit that makes it feel right. The mind assumes that what you are doing is correct and this will override the actual experience in the body.
Answers? Here are a few but I can’t claim this is a complete list.
1. A good teacher. (In addition to tai chi, The Alexander Technique is a superb method to focus on recognizing and changing habits.)
2. Aim for comfort. Since comfort may in fact be habit, search for deeper comfort than the level you currently inhabit.
3. Try it different ways to experiment.
4. Aim for the whole picture, not just the isolated area of concern.
5. Do the posture as if you are a marionette and see if you can find a way let the structure fall into place.
6. Use non-doing as a guide.
7. Let the body fill from the inside out and see if you can find a feeling of releasing into space and ground.
8. Balance the top of your head with the bottom of your feet with the right and the left and front and back of the room and the four corners. Be balanced in space so you can let your body relax but in a round way.
9. It may be helpful from time to time to look at a mirror and see if what you think you are doing IS what you are doing. It is not a good idea to rely on mirrors, however.
I haven’t bothered here to note habitual ways of THINKING. That is yet another level.
The tai chi habit is to practice on a regular basis, and to examine again and again any habitual patterns (mind and body) that may be interfering with relaxation. We need to play with our structure and test it out.
Let go of being right. Let go of being wrong.
Get in the habit of trying something new.
That’s the tai chi habit!
Well, not so fast. Let’s look at habits in general....
I was at the Zendo some time ago and I saw something that has stuck in my mind. There was this male sitting in Zen meditation and, along with all of us, he was at it for roughly an hour with a kin-kin walking meditation in the middle. But unlike the rest of the group, his torso was not vertically upright. He held it leaning back, perhaps at a 20 degree angle off the vertical. This was not someone with a disability. He was merely in the habit of leaning back while sitting zazen. In order to do this, he had to be holding muscles tightly to maintain the angle for an hour. Looking at him made my back ache, but I'd guess this felt normal to him. I don’t know where he learned sitting meditation and I suspect he doesn’t have a teacher. But generally, one is taught to sit erect in order to find a line of balance that is comfortable. Just like in tai chi.
So here was a good example of someone with a poor habit, at least in terms of a comfortable posture. Perhaps his habit gave him a sense that what he was doing was comfortable. His muscle holding pattern had been sufficiently developed so that what would hurt the average person felt OK as far as he was concerned. And if you corrected him, the new posture would feel uncomfortable to him. Such are the ways of habit. What’s “wrong” feels right and what’s “right” feels wrong.
In a way, of course, we are all like my example here. The only difference is that our patterns may not be as visible or dramatic. We are in a somewhat correct place, but still, there are uncomfortable holding patterns that are hard to see, and even more difficult to feel, because we have become accustomed to the position. What feels normal is not correct, but merely a habit that blinds us to what would be truly comfortable. There are 656 to 850 muscles in the body (depending on which expert you consult) and to arrange them properly is a science and an art.
In tai chi we are aiming for perfect relaxation so that precisely the muscles that are needed in any given movement are free to do the job exactly as required. Improper muscle usage blocks freedom of movement. This is why the study of tai chi requires great attention. It is very difficult to discern habit and improper use of muscles, tendons, ligaments and joints, from relaxation and proper muscular tonus.
Holding a posture for a long time can be a double edged sword. Often it will reveal that you are tensing some muscle improperly. But habit can also hide poor muscular usage and actually make the habit itself WORSE. We unconsciously tell ourselves, “I am right because it feels right." But it is the habit that makes it feel right. The mind assumes that what you are doing is correct and this will override the actual experience in the body.
Answers? Here are a few but I can’t claim this is a complete list.
1. A good teacher. (In addition to tai chi, The Alexander Technique is a superb method to focus on recognizing and changing habits.)
2. Aim for comfort. Since comfort may in fact be habit, search for deeper comfort than the level you currently inhabit.
3. Try it different ways to experiment.
4. Aim for the whole picture, not just the isolated area of concern.
5. Do the posture as if you are a marionette and see if you can find a way let the structure fall into place.
6. Use non-doing as a guide.
7. Let the body fill from the inside out and see if you can find a feeling of releasing into space and ground.
8. Balance the top of your head with the bottom of your feet with the right and the left and front and back of the room and the four corners. Be balanced in space so you can let your body relax but in a round way.
9. It may be helpful from time to time to look at a mirror and see if what you think you are doing IS what you are doing. It is not a good idea to rely on mirrors, however.
I haven’t bothered here to note habitual ways of THINKING. That is yet another level.
The tai chi habit is to practice on a regular basis, and to examine again and again any habitual patterns (mind and body) that may be interfering with relaxation. We need to play with our structure and test it out.
Let go of being right. Let go of being wrong.
Get in the habit of trying something new.
That’s the tai chi habit!
Friday, August 28, 2009
Investing in Loss (in tai chi)
In tai chi, investing in loss usually refers to absolutely refusing to use strength during push hands. How do you push someone using four ounces of strength? When you give up using strength, you tend to lose the game for a long time... Then a new understanding appears in that empty space where once you used strength. Something new appears.
Here is some verse to think upon.
Investing in Loss.
8/28/09
Investing in loss is
the tough choice
of choosing
to give up
something you want
to see what happens
when you don't get it.
It is an action
you choose
to do
then feel
then experience...
Then you decide
if what you lose
is worth the price
of what you gain
or if what you gained
is worth the price
of what you lose
Invest in loss is
blood guts sweat and tears
shame and pride.
Your body must do it
as does the mind.
It may be MIRACULOUS, too.
It may open doors
unseen before and locked
Now they swing wide open.
So choose carefully,
wring the towel dry
of all hope of getting something
in return
(because pretty words will never get you there,
no matter how inspiring...)
Here is some verse to think upon.
Investing in Loss.
8/28/09
Investing in loss is
the tough choice
of choosing
to give up
something you want
to see what happens
when you don't get it.
It is an action
you choose
to do
then feel
then experience...
Then you decide
if what you lose
is worth the price
of what you gain
or if what you gained
is worth the price
of what you lose
Invest in loss is
blood guts sweat and tears
shame and pride.
Your body must do it
as does the mind.
It may be MIRACULOUS, too.
It may open doors
unseen before and locked
Now they swing wide open.
So choose carefully,
wring the towel dry
of all hope of getting something
in return
(because pretty words will never get you there,
no matter how inspiring...)
Friday, June 12, 2009
Tai Chi Push Hands, a journey from small to BIG Mind
Tai Chi Push Hands, a journey from small to BIG Mind
For a long time we work on sticking, relaxing, yielding, structure, connection to the ground, connection to the partner, connecting the partner to the ground and so on. But what is the end game? Here’s one thought. Once you have ironed out the major questions of structure, relaxation, yielding and ground, then the mind can be free to feel the large circle. The large circle is the circle that surrounds the two of you. When the error of a partner is noticed, the large circle – the mind – can now work with “solving” the question that the error presents. This awareness of the whole is aligned with “being”. It is aligned with being in real time, not delayed time. By this I mean that their move is your move instead of your move is a reaction to their move.
Let’s look at push hands from a different perspective. When we push each other, essentially we are finding an error with our partner and thus an opportunity presents itself. The error creates a question in our push hands dialogue. The answer to the question is the push and the question can be several things. It can be, are you too tense? It can be, how can you respond to my action? It could ask, is your neutralization in sync with what I am doing? There is a conversation here.
When I am pushed, this is because of something I did or did not do. It is our job to NOT get pushed. We are responsible for preventing getting pushed. It is our job to answer the question of the pusher such that we remain comfortable and responsive. Of course, there are partners who are greedy and will take advantage of your inexperience in push hands, or some handicap for which you may have no solution. A good push hands partner will match your level and then the two of you can progress to the next level. I don’t have to take advantage of every opportunity. A good push hands partner is asking questions (with the body.)
When you begin push hands, there are so many questions that responding to anything seems impossible. There are too many places your partner can catch you. You are multiple knots and the partner keeps pointing them out. This is what push hands is: a method to show you where you are stuck.
The game that I am describing above assumes that the errors of form are errors that are localized: A tense shoulder, a stuck hip joint, not hearing the direction of the push, lack of relaxation in the chest and so on. Your mind is attentive to the small problems contained in your body. It’s a small mind game. It is a first step and this can last for a long time. I am pushed because I am tense, I need to learn how to relax that area within the context of the game of push hands, that is, within a context that is continually changing. We are solving our problems together and ridding ourselves of limitations.
When we are solving the small problems, we tend to have a mind that is focused on the small problems. This is like having a flashlight that scans the body looking for places that are not relaxed or responsive or.… The limited freedom you have is to address a finite point. Your mind is solving the small problems. In this sense, your mind is also narrow because it has a narrow area of focus. You have little agility of mind.
But what if all those small problems are no longer a problem? The game changes. Now we are talking about the agility and freedom of the mind. The flashlight now becomes like one of those huge grand opening lights that beams up into the sky. This light beams on the two of you. It reveals an interlocking puzzle where two bodies perfectly match each other. Each half is the answer/solution to the other half. The two of you are one complete circle. It is your job to match the other half of the circle like two sides of a coin. This is in real time, not delayed time.
From this perspective, the push comes out of a "crack" in the perfect interlocking circle. Perhaps you accidentally create this crack in the circle by mistake, or you initiate one to test your partner's ability to perceive and answer the question. The crack is a question. One answer is a push. Another answer is to not get pushed. For example: I accidentally violate the circle (I disrupt the perfection), he/she responds by pushing me out. This is the perfect answer to the question of the whole. I may test my partner by presenting a question (violating the circle), and my partner may miss it. Then I push my partner out (the answer). He/she didn’t hear me clearly enough, so the push is one of “are you paying attention?” In another situation, I may test my partner by presenting a question, and my partner may hear it loud and clear. Then the partner answers by pushing me out. A new question gets created which demands a new answer.
By doing so, we are now working on the next level, the mind’s agility to see and respond. Try this just for fun: go slow and forget the small game of hands and elbows. Let the mind see the whole of both of you and allow it to surround all of you. Keep your mind on this large circle. Keep the push-hands form going for a while and see what you notice. Then go ahead and push or respond to a push, but don’t solve the small problem of the tense shoulder. Be the big solution of the observing mind. Be spontaneous.
The push hands form is a beautiful arrangement of mechanics. I adore them. They fascinate me. They are important. But if you think of push hands as a collection of mechanics, the power of the practice is gone. You are solving small problems and the mind shrinks accordingly. Yes, you need to solve these small problems but they are not the whole, nor the big solution. Mechanics can get in the way of the chi/energy. The mechanics serve the integrity of the whole, but they themselves are not the whole. The whole is greater than the sum of its parts.
A metaphor comes to mind, perhaps not as accurate as my fantasy suggests, but here goes. If you are in the jungle in a battle, the enemy is hard to see. He/she may be behind a tree, in a ditch, around the bend, over the hill. You don’t see him until he is right in front of you. But if you are in a helicopter above it all, the battle will be much clearer. The enemy is visible and you can direct your troupes accordingly. The whole that I’m looking at is like being in that helicopter taking in a large view of the situation.
I have played with some who have a good sense of the whole, but lack proper mechanics. Here a certain physical flexibility is lost. They are limited by this lack and get into trouble when the game heads in the direction of their physical limitations. They are forced to play a game that avoids their physical limitation. The vocabulary is limited.
I have played with some who have good mechanics, but do not have their mind on the whole. Spontaneity is lost as well as early detection of a valid solution. Often, force is needed to make these mechanics work and the potential of chi is blocked. Often they see one answer to all questions and miss other options. They rely on strategy.
Then there are those who have both. I am thinking of two such individuals. Try as I might, and I mean try with ALL my might, I can’t get my hands on them. They are perpetually out of reach and they do this in a flash. Suddenly, they are in my space and I am pushed.
At the very least, awareness of the whole will most likely clarify the smaller problems and make them more visible. At the very best, you will have developed a mind that is agile and responsive. The end game may be a good place to start with from time to time while you solve those small problems.
For a long time we work on sticking, relaxing, yielding, structure, connection to the ground, connection to the partner, connecting the partner to the ground and so on. But what is the end game? Here’s one thought. Once you have ironed out the major questions of structure, relaxation, yielding and ground, then the mind can be free to feel the large circle. The large circle is the circle that surrounds the two of you. When the error of a partner is noticed, the large circle – the mind – can now work with “solving” the question that the error presents. This awareness of the whole is aligned with “being”. It is aligned with being in real time, not delayed time. By this I mean that their move is your move instead of your move is a reaction to their move.
Let’s look at push hands from a different perspective. When we push each other, essentially we are finding an error with our partner and thus an opportunity presents itself. The error creates a question in our push hands dialogue. The answer to the question is the push and the question can be several things. It can be, are you too tense? It can be, how can you respond to my action? It could ask, is your neutralization in sync with what I am doing? There is a conversation here.
When I am pushed, this is because of something I did or did not do. It is our job to NOT get pushed. We are responsible for preventing getting pushed. It is our job to answer the question of the pusher such that we remain comfortable and responsive. Of course, there are partners who are greedy and will take advantage of your inexperience in push hands, or some handicap for which you may have no solution. A good push hands partner will match your level and then the two of you can progress to the next level. I don’t have to take advantage of every opportunity. A good push hands partner is asking questions (with the body.)
When you begin push hands, there are so many questions that responding to anything seems impossible. There are too many places your partner can catch you. You are multiple knots and the partner keeps pointing them out. This is what push hands is: a method to show you where you are stuck.
The game that I am describing above assumes that the errors of form are errors that are localized: A tense shoulder, a stuck hip joint, not hearing the direction of the push, lack of relaxation in the chest and so on. Your mind is attentive to the small problems contained in your body. It’s a small mind game. It is a first step and this can last for a long time. I am pushed because I am tense, I need to learn how to relax that area within the context of the game of push hands, that is, within a context that is continually changing. We are solving our problems together and ridding ourselves of limitations.
When we are solving the small problems, we tend to have a mind that is focused on the small problems. This is like having a flashlight that scans the body looking for places that are not relaxed or responsive or.… The limited freedom you have is to address a finite point. Your mind is solving the small problems. In this sense, your mind is also narrow because it has a narrow area of focus. You have little agility of mind.
But what if all those small problems are no longer a problem? The game changes. Now we are talking about the agility and freedom of the mind. The flashlight now becomes like one of those huge grand opening lights that beams up into the sky. This light beams on the two of you. It reveals an interlocking puzzle where two bodies perfectly match each other. Each half is the answer/solution to the other half. The two of you are one complete circle. It is your job to match the other half of the circle like two sides of a coin. This is in real time, not delayed time.
From this perspective, the push comes out of a "crack" in the perfect interlocking circle. Perhaps you accidentally create this crack in the circle by mistake, or you initiate one to test your partner's ability to perceive and answer the question. The crack is a question. One answer is a push. Another answer is to not get pushed. For example: I accidentally violate the circle (I disrupt the perfection), he/she responds by pushing me out. This is the perfect answer to the question of the whole. I may test my partner by presenting a question (violating the circle), and my partner may miss it. Then I push my partner out (the answer). He/she didn’t hear me clearly enough, so the push is one of “are you paying attention?” In another situation, I may test my partner by presenting a question, and my partner may hear it loud and clear. Then the partner answers by pushing me out. A new question gets created which demands a new answer.
By doing so, we are now working on the next level, the mind’s agility to see and respond. Try this just for fun: go slow and forget the small game of hands and elbows. Let the mind see the whole of both of you and allow it to surround all of you. Keep your mind on this large circle. Keep the push-hands form going for a while and see what you notice. Then go ahead and push or respond to a push, but don’t solve the small problem of the tense shoulder. Be the big solution of the observing mind. Be spontaneous.
The push hands form is a beautiful arrangement of mechanics. I adore them. They fascinate me. They are important. But if you think of push hands as a collection of mechanics, the power of the practice is gone. You are solving small problems and the mind shrinks accordingly. Yes, you need to solve these small problems but they are not the whole, nor the big solution. Mechanics can get in the way of the chi/energy. The mechanics serve the integrity of the whole, but they themselves are not the whole. The whole is greater than the sum of its parts.
A metaphor comes to mind, perhaps not as accurate as my fantasy suggests, but here goes. If you are in the jungle in a battle, the enemy is hard to see. He/she may be behind a tree, in a ditch, around the bend, over the hill. You don’t see him until he is right in front of you. But if you are in a helicopter above it all, the battle will be much clearer. The enemy is visible and you can direct your troupes accordingly. The whole that I’m looking at is like being in that helicopter taking in a large view of the situation.
I have played with some who have a good sense of the whole, but lack proper mechanics. Here a certain physical flexibility is lost. They are limited by this lack and get into trouble when the game heads in the direction of their physical limitations. They are forced to play a game that avoids their physical limitation. The vocabulary is limited.
I have played with some who have good mechanics, but do not have their mind on the whole. Spontaneity is lost as well as early detection of a valid solution. Often, force is needed to make these mechanics work and the potential of chi is blocked. Often they see one answer to all questions and miss other options. They rely on strategy.
Then there are those who have both. I am thinking of two such individuals. Try as I might, and I mean try with ALL my might, I can’t get my hands on them. They are perpetually out of reach and they do this in a flash. Suddenly, they are in my space and I am pushed.
At the very least, awareness of the whole will most likely clarify the smaller problems and make them more visible. At the very best, you will have developed a mind that is agile and responsive. The end game may be a good place to start with from time to time while you solve those small problems.
Monday, May 25, 2009
Tai Chi is a sensory path to sanity
In the documentary, Taxi to the Dark Side, it is reported from a Canadian researcher that to put a human being in goggles, ear muffs and gloves has the following effect: within 24 hours that person will have hallucinations and within 48 hours that person will have a mental breakdown. The CIA grabbed this information and made use of it on terror suspects. In other words, the goal here is sensory deprivation. Our sanity is grounded in our sensory experience, at least on one level. This appears to be very primal. To me, this is amazing.
In tai chi, we are doing the exact opposite of sensory deprivation. We are becoming more and more involved with our sensory apparatus. We use sight and physical feeling to ground us. The air is used as if it were water – “swimming on land”. The hands are used as if they are listening to the air. We are directed to be aware of the real sounds around us. This is one reason that you don’t have to have a particularly quiet or isolated place to practice. The feet feel the ground and the weight of the body on that ground. The head is suspended as if from above and this is again a feeling. We notice the structure of the body, the parts in relationship to each other. There is also the awareness of your body in space, along with awareness of the space you are in. While we are not actively looking around, the eyes are open and letting the scenery come to you – a soft focus (not to be confused with making your own eyes blurry.) This reminds me of fish in a fish tank, aware of all that is surrounding us, sort of floating in the space itself.
In tai chi, we are actively using the senses to connect us to our bodies and the surroundings. Many of us have jobs, or mental habits, that disconnect us from our bodies and the surroundings. Have you ever mulled over a problem in your mind only to discover that you didn’t hear the phone ring? Or that you are holding the object that you are looking for? Or the time passes and you didn’t realize you were late for your next activity? Or you missed your subway stop? Or any number of results whereby you are momentarily separated from what is immediately in front of you. We all have!
Tai chi training is about being here now (just like many meditation practices.) The way that tai chi does this is through physical grounding. I suspect those of us who like our physical experience tend to like tai chi, in contrast to our mental or emotional worlds.
Regardless – the tai chi experience uses sensory awareness to connect us to the immediate. The added benefit here is that it is a moving awareness so that it not only adds to your awareness of body and space, but you are moving with your body through space. Your body itself is changing as you move, so there is much to be aware of, and connect to. This level of sensory awareness and movement makes for a challenging and enjoyable experience, one that will carry itself forward into your every day life. I believe this is one reason those of us who love tai chi enjoy it so much: physical awareness feels good.
In tai chi, we are doing the exact opposite of sensory deprivation. We are becoming more and more involved with our sensory apparatus. We use sight and physical feeling to ground us. The air is used as if it were water – “swimming on land”. The hands are used as if they are listening to the air. We are directed to be aware of the real sounds around us. This is one reason that you don’t have to have a particularly quiet or isolated place to practice. The feet feel the ground and the weight of the body on that ground. The head is suspended as if from above and this is again a feeling. We notice the structure of the body, the parts in relationship to each other. There is also the awareness of your body in space, along with awareness of the space you are in. While we are not actively looking around, the eyes are open and letting the scenery come to you – a soft focus (not to be confused with making your own eyes blurry.) This reminds me of fish in a fish tank, aware of all that is surrounding us, sort of floating in the space itself.
In tai chi, we are actively using the senses to connect us to our bodies and the surroundings. Many of us have jobs, or mental habits, that disconnect us from our bodies and the surroundings. Have you ever mulled over a problem in your mind only to discover that you didn’t hear the phone ring? Or that you are holding the object that you are looking for? Or the time passes and you didn’t realize you were late for your next activity? Or you missed your subway stop? Or any number of results whereby you are momentarily separated from what is immediately in front of you. We all have!
Tai chi training is about being here now (just like many meditation practices.) The way that tai chi does this is through physical grounding. I suspect those of us who like our physical experience tend to like tai chi, in contrast to our mental or emotional worlds.
Regardless – the tai chi experience uses sensory awareness to connect us to the immediate. The added benefit here is that it is a moving awareness so that it not only adds to your awareness of body and space, but you are moving with your body through space. Your body itself is changing as you move, so there is much to be aware of, and connect to. This level of sensory awareness and movement makes for a challenging and enjoyable experience, one that will carry itself forward into your every day life. I believe this is one reason those of us who love tai chi enjoy it so much: physical awareness feels good.
Saturday, May 9, 2009
Tai Chi, Stress and Struggle – NOT!
Our world, our lives, at many times, involves stress and struggle. It is one of those things that actually creates growth and innovation. Tai chi has a great deal to teach us regarding stress and struggle. While we are programmed for fight or flight, there is an alternative.
There is stress, and then there is STRESS!!!!! And depending on our conditioning, this is either a good thing or a bad thing. We all know of that individual (perhaps you?) that actually finds the challenge of overcoming stress to be enjoyable. There are those of us who want nothing more than to avoid it. It’s too uncomfortable. We avoid it to the extent that when we can’t, we have stress on top of stress. I often see stress as “good” stress or “bad” stress. One motivates, the other defeats! That boundary, the shift from good to bad varies with each individual.
Learning tai chi for most beginners is a challenge. We are asked to be very specific in what we are doing with the hands and feet and pelvis and torso and head and the “center” (tan t’ien). The effort to be correct is anything but relaxing, yet we are encouraged to be correct, and then relax. Or more perplexing, relax and this will correct you. Of course both are true, but underneath all of this is a stressful situation. It is inherent in the learning process. In this way, tai chi replicates life.
I recall my own beginning. I was sort of good at putting the hands and feet in the right place. Then my teacher noted, “You work very hard…. TOO hard!” Man, you can’t win! I thought. But that is the teaching of tai chi – there are layers and looking correct is not necessarily correct. To be in the right shape, but not hold the shape, to relax the shape, to allow the shape to emerge from the movement, from the ground, from the air, from the center – all of this is going on. We tend to put ourselves in a vise, to squeeze ourselves into what we think is correct.
So to begin tai chi is to volunteer to work with something that looks easy, but in fact is not. This is dealing with stress in a good way, a playful way. Beginners need to pick at it bit by bit and enjoy the small victories until the day when it finally falls, more or less, into place. It is a pleasurable process. This is one reason that we learn it so slowly. We can’t be overwhelmed by the process in order to learn. We deal with enough stress to learn, but we do this slowly so that eventually there is some ease and relaxation too. Sometimes you just have to hang in there with the discomfort before grace falls from above.
My teacher, Maggie Newman, is always looking for a way to make it more comfortable. That may seem trivial, but in fact it is essential. Consider what Laurence Gonzales in Deep Survival, Who Lives, Who Dies, and Why has to say about children aged 6 and under. This group has one of the highest survival rates when caught in a disastrous situation, better than experienced hunters, physically fit hikers, former members of the military or skilled sailors. One aspect is that they try to make themselves comfortable, and staying comfortable helps keep them alive.
It is hard to say what will create real relaxation and comfort – each of us responds to something different, though each of us must maintain some level of effort to continue on. For some, this can take quite a while. This can feel like a struggle. Yet, stay with it long enough and it will happen. I have never seen anyone not make progress in their work on tai chi.
But wait! It gets worse! Now you have to be all of that, and let someone attack you. A new stress and a very complicated struggle. How on earth can relaxation lead to a martial art? Put two bodies together – any two bodies – and you have a struggle. In fact you have two layers of struggle: the first is within your own body, which now refuses to maintain all the hard won relaxation (mysteriously vanished!) and the second struggle is between two bodies as you try to deal with your partner’s attack.
Here, again, the wonder of tai chi gives you a new challenge. I often work with advanced form students who think that because they have skill in the form that this will automatically translate into good push-hands. They don’t realize that they have to take what skill they have and add to it. The only way to add to it is to practice push-hands with a partner. Because push-hands is complex, this requires great attention and time. The more you practice, the more you learn and the more interesting it becomes. But at first, it is usually a mystery (and a frustrating one at that!)
Of course, you have been practicing some of these skills while learning the form, but this context is very different. Now you have to adjust to an outside force that is moving at you. What are these new skills? Fundamentally, you need to stick and follow the direction of your partner. You have to play THEIR tune, and this requires listening with your physical body. You intentionally create harmony. You become as easy to move as a helium balloon, but as grounded as the Empire State Building. Stick, follow, listen… stick, follow, listen. AND keep connecting them into your feet. Make the two of you one big ball. You are only half of the equation at this point, no longer the whole ball that you were when doing the form. Don’t disturb their pathway. Again, find a way to make this comfortable. This becomes YOUR responsibility. If a pressure presents itself, be sure it connects to your rooted foot. These are rather new skills that you add to your relaxed, structurally sound, whole body movement from the form. One teacher told a push hands class to NOT STRUGGLE. Give up struggling. How? That is part of the struggle, discovering how to give up struggling. Again, there is intentionality at play here, and new skills to be learned.
So in a special way, tai chi replicates stress and struggle in life, but simultaneously offers you solutions to that very stress and struggle. Tai chi is about solving that problem. What a wonderful problem to solve!
There is stress, and then there is STRESS!!!!! And depending on our conditioning, this is either a good thing or a bad thing. We all know of that individual (perhaps you?) that actually finds the challenge of overcoming stress to be enjoyable. There are those of us who want nothing more than to avoid it. It’s too uncomfortable. We avoid it to the extent that when we can’t, we have stress on top of stress. I often see stress as “good” stress or “bad” stress. One motivates, the other defeats! That boundary, the shift from good to bad varies with each individual.
Learning tai chi for most beginners is a challenge. We are asked to be very specific in what we are doing with the hands and feet and pelvis and torso and head and the “center” (tan t’ien). The effort to be correct is anything but relaxing, yet we are encouraged to be correct, and then relax. Or more perplexing, relax and this will correct you. Of course both are true, but underneath all of this is a stressful situation. It is inherent in the learning process. In this way, tai chi replicates life.
I recall my own beginning. I was sort of good at putting the hands and feet in the right place. Then my teacher noted, “You work very hard…. TOO hard!” Man, you can’t win! I thought. But that is the teaching of tai chi – there are layers and looking correct is not necessarily correct. To be in the right shape, but not hold the shape, to relax the shape, to allow the shape to emerge from the movement, from the ground, from the air, from the center – all of this is going on. We tend to put ourselves in a vise, to squeeze ourselves into what we think is correct.
So to begin tai chi is to volunteer to work with something that looks easy, but in fact is not. This is dealing with stress in a good way, a playful way. Beginners need to pick at it bit by bit and enjoy the small victories until the day when it finally falls, more or less, into place. It is a pleasurable process. This is one reason that we learn it so slowly. We can’t be overwhelmed by the process in order to learn. We deal with enough stress to learn, but we do this slowly so that eventually there is some ease and relaxation too. Sometimes you just have to hang in there with the discomfort before grace falls from above.
My teacher, Maggie Newman, is always looking for a way to make it more comfortable. That may seem trivial, but in fact it is essential. Consider what Laurence Gonzales in Deep Survival, Who Lives, Who Dies, and Why has to say about children aged 6 and under. This group has one of the highest survival rates when caught in a disastrous situation, better than experienced hunters, physically fit hikers, former members of the military or skilled sailors. One aspect is that they try to make themselves comfortable, and staying comfortable helps keep them alive.
It is hard to say what will create real relaxation and comfort – each of us responds to something different, though each of us must maintain some level of effort to continue on. For some, this can take quite a while. This can feel like a struggle. Yet, stay with it long enough and it will happen. I have never seen anyone not make progress in their work on tai chi.
But wait! It gets worse! Now you have to be all of that, and let someone attack you. A new stress and a very complicated struggle. How on earth can relaxation lead to a martial art? Put two bodies together – any two bodies – and you have a struggle. In fact you have two layers of struggle: the first is within your own body, which now refuses to maintain all the hard won relaxation (mysteriously vanished!) and the second struggle is between two bodies as you try to deal with your partner’s attack.
Here, again, the wonder of tai chi gives you a new challenge. I often work with advanced form students who think that because they have skill in the form that this will automatically translate into good push-hands. They don’t realize that they have to take what skill they have and add to it. The only way to add to it is to practice push-hands with a partner. Because push-hands is complex, this requires great attention and time. The more you practice, the more you learn and the more interesting it becomes. But at first, it is usually a mystery (and a frustrating one at that!)
Of course, you have been practicing some of these skills while learning the form, but this context is very different. Now you have to adjust to an outside force that is moving at you. What are these new skills? Fundamentally, you need to stick and follow the direction of your partner. You have to play THEIR tune, and this requires listening with your physical body. You intentionally create harmony. You become as easy to move as a helium balloon, but as grounded as the Empire State Building. Stick, follow, listen… stick, follow, listen. AND keep connecting them into your feet. Make the two of you one big ball. You are only half of the equation at this point, no longer the whole ball that you were when doing the form. Don’t disturb their pathway. Again, find a way to make this comfortable. This becomes YOUR responsibility. If a pressure presents itself, be sure it connects to your rooted foot. These are rather new skills that you add to your relaxed, structurally sound, whole body movement from the form. One teacher told a push hands class to NOT STRUGGLE. Give up struggling. How? That is part of the struggle, discovering how to give up struggling. Again, there is intentionality at play here, and new skills to be learned.
So in a special way, tai chi replicates stress and struggle in life, but simultaneously offers you solutions to that very stress and struggle. Tai chi is about solving that problem. What a wonderful problem to solve!
Friday, May 1, 2009
New York Times editorial: Slow practice may be the stuff of genius.
We emphasize slow practice in tai chi. This editorial notes just how important slow deliberate practice can be. Tom
May 1, 2009
Op-Ed Columnist
Genius: The Modern View
By DAVID BROOKS
Some people live in romantic ages. They tend to believe that genius is the product of a divine spark. They believe that there have been, throughout the ages, certain paragons of greatness — Dante, Mozart, Einstein — whose talents far exceeded normal comprehension, who had an other-worldly access to transcendent truth, and who are best approached with reverential awe.
We, of course, live in a scientific age, and modern research pierces hocus-pocus. In the view that is now dominant, even Mozart’s early abilities were not the product of some innate spiritual gift. His early compositions were nothing special. They were pastiches of other people’s work. Mozart was a good musician at an early age, but he would not stand out among today’s top child-performers.
What Mozart had, we now believe, was the same thing Tiger Woods had — the ability to focus for long periods of time and a father intent on improving his skills. Mozart played a lot of piano at a very young age, so he got his 10,000 hours of practice in early and then he built from there.
The latest research suggests a more prosaic, democratic, even puritanical view of the world. The key factor separating geniuses from the merely accomplished is not a divine spark. It’s not I.Q., a generally bad predictor of success, even in realms like chess. Instead, it’s deliberate practice. Top performers spend more hours (many more hours) rigorously practicing their craft.
The recent research has been conducted by people like K. Anders Ericsson, the late Benjamin Bloom and others. It’s been summarized in two enjoyable new books: “The Talent Code” by Daniel Coyle; and “Talent Is Overrated” by Geoff Colvin.
If you wanted to picture how a typical genius might develop, you’d take a girl who possessed a slightly above average verbal ability. It wouldn’t have to be a big talent, just enough so that she might gain some sense of distinction. Then you would want her to meet, say, a novelist, who coincidentally shared some similar biographical traits. Maybe the writer was from the same town, had the same ethnic background, or, shared the same birthday — anything to create a sense of affinity.
This contact would give the girl a vision of her future self. It would, Coyle emphasizes, give her a glimpse of an enchanted circle she might someday join. It would also help if one of her parents died when she was 12, infusing her with a profound sense of insecurity and fueling a desperate need for success.
Armed with this ambition, she would read novels and literary biographies without end. This would give her a core knowledge of her field. She’d be able to chunk Victorian novelists into one group, Magical Realists in another group and Renaissance poets into another. This ability to place information into patterns, or chunks, vastly improves memory skills. She’d be able to see new writing in deeper ways and quickly perceive its inner workings.
Then she would practice writing. Her practice would be slow, painstaking and error-focused. According to Colvin, Ben Franklin would take essays from The Spectator magazine and translate them into verse. Then he’d translate his verse back into prose and examine, sentence by sentence, where his essay was inferior to The Spectator’s original.
Coyle describes a tennis academy in Russia where they enact rallies without a ball. The aim is to focus meticulously on technique. (Try to slow down your golf swing so it takes 90 seconds to finish. See how many errors you detect.)
By practicing in this way, performers delay the automatizing process. The mind wants to turn deliberate, newly learned skills into unconscious, automatically performed skills. But the mind is sloppy and will settle for good enough. By practicing slowly, by breaking skills down into tiny parts and repeating, the strenuous student forces the brain to internalize a better pattern of performance.
Then our young writer would find a mentor who would provide a constant stream of feedback, viewing her performance from the outside, correcting the smallest errors, pushing her to take on tougher challenges. By now she is redoing problems — how do I get characters into a room — dozens and dozens of times. She is ingraining habits of thought she can call upon in order to understand or solve future problems.
The primary trait she possesses is not some mysterious genius. It’s the ability to develop a deliberate, strenuous and boring practice routine.
Coyle and Colvin describe dozens of experiments fleshing out this process. This research takes some of the magic out of great achievement. But it underlines a fact that is often neglected. Public discussion is smitten by genetics and what we’re “hard-wired” to do. And it’s true that genes place a leash on our capacities. But the brain is also phenomenally plastic. We construct ourselves through behavior. As Coyle observes, it’s not who you are, it’s what you do.
May 1, 2009
Op-Ed Columnist
Genius: The Modern View
By DAVID BROOKS
Some people live in romantic ages. They tend to believe that genius is the product of a divine spark. They believe that there have been, throughout the ages, certain paragons of greatness — Dante, Mozart, Einstein — whose talents far exceeded normal comprehension, who had an other-worldly access to transcendent truth, and who are best approached with reverential awe.
We, of course, live in a scientific age, and modern research pierces hocus-pocus. In the view that is now dominant, even Mozart’s early abilities were not the product of some innate spiritual gift. His early compositions were nothing special. They were pastiches of other people’s work. Mozart was a good musician at an early age, but he would not stand out among today’s top child-performers.
What Mozart had, we now believe, was the same thing Tiger Woods had — the ability to focus for long periods of time and a father intent on improving his skills. Mozart played a lot of piano at a very young age, so he got his 10,000 hours of practice in early and then he built from there.
The latest research suggests a more prosaic, democratic, even puritanical view of the world. The key factor separating geniuses from the merely accomplished is not a divine spark. It’s not I.Q., a generally bad predictor of success, even in realms like chess. Instead, it’s deliberate practice. Top performers spend more hours (many more hours) rigorously practicing their craft.
The recent research has been conducted by people like K. Anders Ericsson, the late Benjamin Bloom and others. It’s been summarized in two enjoyable new books: “The Talent Code” by Daniel Coyle; and “Talent Is Overrated” by Geoff Colvin.
If you wanted to picture how a typical genius might develop, you’d take a girl who possessed a slightly above average verbal ability. It wouldn’t have to be a big talent, just enough so that she might gain some sense of distinction. Then you would want her to meet, say, a novelist, who coincidentally shared some similar biographical traits. Maybe the writer was from the same town, had the same ethnic background, or, shared the same birthday — anything to create a sense of affinity.
This contact would give the girl a vision of her future self. It would, Coyle emphasizes, give her a glimpse of an enchanted circle she might someday join. It would also help if one of her parents died when she was 12, infusing her with a profound sense of insecurity and fueling a desperate need for success.
Armed with this ambition, she would read novels and literary biographies without end. This would give her a core knowledge of her field. She’d be able to chunk Victorian novelists into one group, Magical Realists in another group and Renaissance poets into another. This ability to place information into patterns, or chunks, vastly improves memory skills. She’d be able to see new writing in deeper ways and quickly perceive its inner workings.
Then she would practice writing. Her practice would be slow, painstaking and error-focused. According to Colvin, Ben Franklin would take essays from The Spectator magazine and translate them into verse. Then he’d translate his verse back into prose and examine, sentence by sentence, where his essay was inferior to The Spectator’s original.
Coyle describes a tennis academy in Russia where they enact rallies without a ball. The aim is to focus meticulously on technique. (Try to slow down your golf swing so it takes 90 seconds to finish. See how many errors you detect.)
By practicing in this way, performers delay the automatizing process. The mind wants to turn deliberate, newly learned skills into unconscious, automatically performed skills. But the mind is sloppy and will settle for good enough. By practicing slowly, by breaking skills down into tiny parts and repeating, the strenuous student forces the brain to internalize a better pattern of performance.
Then our young writer would find a mentor who would provide a constant stream of feedback, viewing her performance from the outside, correcting the smallest errors, pushing her to take on tougher challenges. By now she is redoing problems — how do I get characters into a room — dozens and dozens of times. She is ingraining habits of thought she can call upon in order to understand or solve future problems.
The primary trait she possesses is not some mysterious genius. It’s the ability to develop a deliberate, strenuous and boring practice routine.
Coyle and Colvin describe dozens of experiments fleshing out this process. This research takes some of the magic out of great achievement. But it underlines a fact that is often neglected. Public discussion is smitten by genetics and what we’re “hard-wired” to do. And it’s true that genes place a leash on our capacities. But the brain is also phenomenally plastic. We construct ourselves through behavior. As Coyle observes, it’s not who you are, it’s what you do.
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