Gathering Chi
Breathe and clear the mind. Open the Grand Terminus.
My first experience with Tai Chi was when my Purdue U Introduction to Theater prof brought a Chinese expert, a Shi-fu, to class and had us lie on the floor and relax each part of our bodies, starting with toes and fingers and moving inward. He then had us perform some loosening-up exercises that I later learned were qi-gong, or ‘energy practices.’ It was weird, but it all felt good. The Theatre prof. was trying to get us to be more aware of our bodies in order to look more natural on stage. The Shi-fu was giving us a taste of Tao. I liked what I tasted but was not given more than that.
Bring up the chi. Two birds in flight. Stroke the bird’s tail, right side.
One afternoon years later, some college students saw me in mid-form and asked if I would show them how to do it. The old adage held true: you never know something so well as when you try to teach it to others. I had mastered this art, this dance, this core of Kung-Fu, the internal chi. This began a three-decade activity as Scott Shi-fu, though I did not initially realize what had happened to me. I had become a “master!” (making no claim to be better than any other Shi-fu).
Stroke the bird’s tail, left side. Part the wild horse’s mane. Turn and hold the ball. The stork cools its wing.
Eight years after my initial encounter in that theatre class, atop a hill next to the Armory Bldg., on the campus of the U of Kentucky, I stumbled into a Tai Chi class. I was agog—having never seen a complete Tai Chi form. Mr. Chen Wong, a visiting tech-sciences prof, led a mixed group of twenty people through parts of a Yang-family short form of Tai Chi Chuan. He demonstrated segments as the group tried to mirror his movements. After the chopped-up practice, he took the more advanced members through the whole routine of roughly thirty-eight postures. He spoke of breathing technique, ebb and flow, yin and yang. The group looked like they were performing a synchronized swimming routine, on land and in the currents of air. They became a unity, a synergy, a graceful ballet.
Brush-knee-push step twice. Fair lady plays the lute. Repulse the monkey four times. Sweep arms horizontally and hold the ball.
The name Tai Chi Chuan is not simple to translate. Out of wu chi, or no polarity, perhaps chaos, comes differentiation, the dual state of great polarity, perhaps order. Add the “Chuan” or fist, and you have the martial practice of alternating or oscillating chi. This is also represented by the pinyin version: Taijiquan. I joined the class, meeting twice weekly for one-to-two hours each session. I continued as a student for nine months. At first it was just mechanical memorization. In time, I internalized it to the extent that I did not need the group or teacher to do the form. I could even do it all in my mind (like certain scenes in Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon).
Wave hands like clouds six times. Make single whip. Step forward into an apparent close-up. Turn, collapse, and carry the tiger to the mountain.
It is a no-impact aerobic exercise practiced by millions of Chinese people daily. In addition to the Yang family style, there are Chen, Wu/Hao, Sun, and Wu. They have different emphases, but are more alike than different. Most who learn to ‘play tai chi’ are tied up in the mechanics. But when lower abdominal breathing (dan t’ian) is added, and one learns to clear the mind, the true power of the art can be felt, deeply. Knowing that the people around you are experiencing that peace and clarity makes us hopeful and positively aware of each other. Ubuntu happens—'I am because you are.’
Snake creeps down right side. Golden Rooster stands on left leg. Snake creeps down left side. Golden Rooster stands on right leg. Fair lady works at shuttle.
When I could do the form without consciously thinking about it, the sky opened, and I felt an indescribable exhilaration. I have reached a point in my practice now that when conditions are good, I will finish the form and not remember if I had done it. It is a fallow zone state, where one is open to all that is around—all of the sensory impressions—but none that distract from the flow of the tai chi form. The mind goes on vacation and is not caught up in the myriad big and little things (squirrel!) that we tend to worry about incessantly. In tai chi, we cease this wheel-spinning consciousness. We enter a null state, the pause between notes in a piece of life's music, the silence in movement just as important as the loud notes. It is empowering to let go of the ten-thousand things. They will all be there when we are done with the form, but they now do not control us—we are in control again.
Eagle searches for needle at ocean bottom. Turn and shoot the demon. Turn, block, chop opponent with fist. Apparent close-up.
When the tai chi player completes the form, there is warmth in the gut, due to the internal massage from the breathing and the movement. One becomes relaxed yet energized, having engaged in gentle stretching. The mind is clear, and doubts have been set aside. All the lights are on and everybody is home. Time to step from our spheres of possession and return to our world, ready to act, ready to share our chi with others.
Turn and rake the sky. Cross arms low, uncross high. Close the Grand Terminus.
At the end of the form, the feeling is best described by a line from James Agee, which I paraphrase as: ‘standing up into your sphere of possession.’