A good find.
This is an AI enhanced video of photos used by Cheng Man Ching promoting his "simplified" 37 form in a newspaper.
Ten thousand flowers in spring, the moon in autumn, a cool breeze in summer, snow in winter. If your mind isn't clouded by unnecessary things, this is the best season of your life.
~ Wu-men ~
This is an AI enhanced video of photos used by Cheng Man Ching promoting his "simplified" 37 form in a newspaper.
It is my opinion that if you're bored in your practice, then you're not doing it right.
I’ve actually never really understood why people ask about if Tai Chi is boring. You know – doing the form, practicing the same exercises over and over again. No, I’ve never found it boring. There’s just too much going on to be bored. Just keeping to adjust your own alignment and keeping relaxed as you you move, and as the balance keep changing, is not as simple as it could seem. Perfecting something seemingly simple is not something you do just by repeating movements. You need to be aware, practice with awareness, or as the Chinese say: “use heart“.
Well, you really need to put your heart in what you do. If not, well, frankly said – it would become boring. But if you do put your heart into the practice, I don’t think form practice could become boring. I find the opposite to be truth – not that I am excited every time I practice, but opposite to time moving slowly, I find the time moving fast. If I practice a whole Yang form, slowly and focused, the time just flies away and after the session I wonder where the time went.
But here is the thing with time: it is something psychological. If you don’t like what you do, or if you do something you don’t want to do and just wait for the time to pass, then the time will pass slowly. And that goes for everything you do.
You need to fill the time with meaning. Which means that you have to like what you do, because only if you like something you do it doesn’t become boring. So to answer if Tai Chi is boring, I would first ask if you like the practice or not, and if you find it rewarding.
And here is something I want to be honest about – I don’t believe that Tai Chi is for everyone. In the long-term specifically, I think you need to be of a certain personality, or rather – have a sort of mind-set to stay a Tai Chi practitioner. It demands a certain kind of view on reality and yourself. I say this because I have seen practitioners suddenly stop and give up their Tai Chi after even 30 or 40 years of practice. Some people just made a full stop, while others drifted towards other internal arts as bagua, harder styles as White Crane, and yet others towards arts as Yoga or similar.
Below is an excerpt from a post that appeared recently at Thoughts on Tai Chi. The full post may be read here.
So, what is the Dantian in Tai Chi, and why is it important? Although this blog is now well over ten years old, I have never actually written a post dedicated to defining it. Sure, I’ve touched on the subject of the Dantian and offered brief explanations in various posts, but I’ve never given it a focused treatment of its own.
To be honest, I never intended this blog to cater to beginners. When I post something, I generally assume that most readers already have some familiarity with the basic concepts. Still, I believe the Dantian deserves special attention—and here’s why: it’s a concept that needs to be understood on multiple levels. So, let’s try to explain it in a simple and accessible way, without shying away from its inherent complexity.
The main challenge with the Dantian as a concept is that the term has come to be used for things it was never meant to describe. Or rather, it has been adapted in ways that stray from its original meaning and applied to ideas outside its traditional scope. Unsurprisingly, conflicting interpretations lead to endless, unproductive debates—which is exactly why I’ve been hesitant to write about it at length.
By now, the confusion surrounding the term has reached a point where it feels futile to tell people they are wrong or that they have misunderstood what the Dantian really is. Not only would that hinder communication, but it would also reinforce the very problem—because although different explanations may seem completely at odds, the traditional and modern understandings do, in fact, overlap to some degree.
First, it’s important to recognize that when most people talk about “the” Dantian, what they actually mean is the lower Dantian. The concept originates from old Daoist tradition, and more specifically, from the theory developed within Neidan (internal alchemy) philosophy and practice. In that tradition, there is not just one Dantian, but three:
The exact locations of these points cannot be measured objectively, as they are experienced individually. The lower Dantian is something you learn to feel through relaxation. And while some claim the upper Dantian corresponds to the “third eye,” traditional classical Neidan literature simply describes it as being somewhere in the head.
A key aspect of the traditional understanding is that these three cannot be separated; they must be worked with together. In very simplified terms, we can reduce them to the triad of breath, qi, and spirit. As an old Tai Chi saying goes: “The qi sinks, the spirit raises.” Qi circulates through the breath, and the spirit calms down through breath regulation.
However, when the term is used in a Tai Chi context, people often use “Dantian” to refer to something else—namely, the body’s center, or a focal point from which movement is directed. It is frequently used in much the same way as the Japanese term Hara. Some practitioners use the Dantian concept and awareness of that area to develop fuller breathing, while others practice isolating it from the body, as seen in certain Chen-style philosophies on “Dantian rotation.”
So, when people casually refer to “the” Dantian in Tai Chi as if there were only one, they are expressing a very simplified view—one that covers only a narrow and specific aspect of the physical side of the lower Dantian.
What exactly does it mean with a lineage in Tai Chi? And does training within a lineage mean to learn a more complete art, and does it lead to a fuller understanding of Tai Chi Chuan?
Ideally, it should. A lineage means that all of the knowledge in the same style, have been preserved and standardized by the founder of the lineage (or by the founder of a branch of a larger, older lineage). Thus, lineage is something style-specific, and this is maybe my main critique of “lineages”, that is cements the idea that there are “styles” in Tai Chi, something I personally disagree with on a fundamental level, even though I accept that “style” is generally accepted in the Tai Chi community.
What is positive and on the pro side with a lineage, is that you, can study an at least somewhat complete curriculum, and that the standard of what is taught in the schools of the lineage is the same and regulated. With other words – you can usually expect some kind of standard.
However, what is taught through lineages is not always as complete as claimed. All schools, styles and branches have their own limitations, though “lineage” might be the best example of a real problem of modern Tai Chi teaching, though their teachers often claim that what they teach is the superior school of Tai Chi. Why?
First, let me paraphrase something a martial artist said. Someone I have great respect for expressed himself very well when he said, well, I think it was something like this:
When you are looking at a performance of a high-level martial artist, you are only watching the results of that person’s, training. You are not seeing the training, how the person got to that level.
It sounds very simple and obvious, but there’s something important to learn here. Namely – that you don’t know exactly how a person achieved a certain skill just by looking at him or her. So what does this mean? Well, the problem is that when people associate a person with a style or lineage, they are mostly making assumptions based on simplifications, a simplified view on how to reach a certain point of development and achieve skills.
You could take a look at many practitioners, teachers and masters and and examine their backgrounds to understand better what I men. Let’s simplify the problem with taking myself as an example. So now, if you know how a typical Yang style Tai Chi curriculum usually looks like, and I said that I was a Yang Style practitioner, you would associate the skills that I myself can show and demonstrate, were developed by studying Yang Tai Chi and doing the typical training in this style. So, here immediately, you would do a mistake if you thought that I have achieved all of my skill only through typical Yang style practice.
By assuming I am mainly a Yang style practitioner, you woudn’t take the full extent of my background in consideration. You would not take into account such things as that I have learned things from other styles, or through cross-training in different internal arts, or by meeting up with different practitioners from various styles and schools. And you would not take into account that I’ve read tons of martial arts books and adapted methods and techniques from other schools into my own Tai Chi.
The real poetry in Tai Chi is in its simplicity. The problem is that it’s nothing you can show to others, it’s something invisible.
All high arts strive towards simplicity. Why? Because you can judge all high art forms by the perfection in its details. And here is the thing: The more simple something is, the harder it is to perfect.
There are so many more examples that would make the same point. But it is also the same in martial arts. Even though I am not a fan of Japanese martial arts in general, I still think they often do a better job at this than in the Chinese. Just look at Kendo, Iaido or Japanese bow arts – they are all about perfecting one single strike, one single shot. Endless repetition of something seemingly simple.
Even a seemingly crude and unsophisticated style as Karate, compared to Chinese martial arts, does something very well. It only has a few types of kicks and punches that are repeated and perfected. Here is something I really respect, the philosophy that less is more. Or like Bruse Lee famously said: “I don’t fear someone who has trained ten thousand kicks once, but someone who as trained one kick ten thousand times.” This is a generalization of course, but it certainly makes a good point.
And I believe that this type of mind-set is also something that separates great Tai Chi practitioners from the mediocre ones. The mediocre ones are always obsessed about visual appearance. They like to train in Chinese traditional clothes, they like a ceremony around the practice and in class, and everything around the art. And obviously – they like collecting forms, both empty handed and weapon forms.
And the worst Tai Chi practitioners do everything out of own vanity and ego, they want to feel they know something “special” and look pretty while practicing. Some are lost cases. How much they train, they can never understand Tai Chi, because they are not interested in the art itself, but they use it as a tool to feel superior to others.
And on the other side of the spectrum, there are those who only focus on the perfection of every single movement they do. Just to raise hands, or turn to the right, becomes something very difficult, something they spend years and years to perfect. They practice on how to feel how the balance and weight distribution in their own body changes by every little small shift and movement. They study years and years to embody the simple Tai Chi principles in every movement and all of the time.
Poetry means to cut away everything unnecessary, and to strive for the most simple and clear expression possible. You can show poetry through words and sounds. But when you achieve it in Tai Chi, it looks like “nothing”. Because you can’t see it.
If you tense up because your opponent is strong, you will break your own structure even before he does anything.
Everything starts in the mind. But as Tai Chi is doing, we can say that when you perform or apply Tai Chi, it starts in the body.
The mind-set, or the natural state of just being, could be understood as Wuji, or non-differential But as soon as there is the intent of action, there is Taiji. Here I mean the philosophical concept “Tai Chi” where Yin and Yang has separated and work together through the movement of opposites. Here I separate the philosophical term from the shorter form of Tai Chi Chuan through the spelling. It’s not something recommended to do, but I think it’s a pedagogical thing to do and this is not an academic paper.
But the mind-state must be be correct for the movement and structure to be correct. The mind-state that is developed and deepened over time, is called “Wuxin” or “No Mind”. This is when the heart and mind is still and kept empty, calm and relaxed. It’s called “No Mind” because the heart is kept still, when neither unwanted thoughts or emotions can arise.
But here is the krux – to feel and know if your mind is tense or not, might be hard to understand. Why do we never talk about a tense mind? Worries, thoughts, and things we need to figure out or deal with, can make our mind tense. And then we get stuck in this state of tension though we don’t recognize it as such. It gets a habit just like tensing the shoulders or neck, or keeping the breath high can become a habit.
But again, we rarely talk about a tense mind. We should. So we can learn to relax better. Not only to relax the mind, but the body. The body’s tension and level of relaxation is directly dependent on the level of calmness of the mind.
Because if you can’t relax your mind, the breath will rise, and you will become “top heavy” and unstable, so your root will “float”.
Understanding and controlling this relationship of mind, body and breath, is obviously especially important when you are against an opponent, friendly or not.
Whatever you do, you need to first mind the integrity of your own structure and balance, and always keep it intact. In whatever you do, how small or big the thing you do – or if you stand or move, you need to keep your balance and structural integrity first and always. Structure in Tai Chi is relaxed, it is something that needs to be taken care of by itself. The body must stack itself naturally by itself, from the ground and up, naturally and without you trying to interfere.
This is something hard, something you need to practice a lot and learn how to feel. But you will lose it all if you tense up your mind.
"I saw the angel in the marble and carved until I set him free." - Michelangelo
Most people assume that aging means gradual loss: less strength, less speed, less range, less ambition.
Taiji and Kyūdō quietly disagree. They do not promise to keep the body young.
They promise something more durable: integrity without excess. Aging Reveals, It Does Not Automatically Weaken.
In external systems, youth is an advantage. Speed forgives errors. Strength covers imbalance. Endurance masks inefficiency.
But aging removes these buffers. What remains is structure, timing, and honesty. Taiji and Kyūdō are not practices that compensate for aging. They are practices that age well because they remove what aging cannot support.
Taiji: When Less Effort Becomes Necessary
Wu Taiji is often misunderstood as “small” or “gentle.” In reality, it is economical. As the body ages: Excess muscular tension becomes costly Overcorrection leads to injury Forcing posture creates fatigue instead of stability
Wu standing and movement strip practice down to essentials: Vertical alignment Ground connection Continuous expansion without strain.
Nothing in Wu requires speed, depth, or amplitude. What it demands instead is accuracy. And accuracy improves with age, if ego steps aside.
Kyūdō: The Shot That Cannot Be Forced
Kyūdō offers no advantage to youth once form is learned.
Strength does not improve release. Speed does not improve timing. Desire does not improve accuracy. In fact, these often make it worse.
As practitioners age, Kyūdō naturally refines itself:
Draw becomes quieter Kai becomes deeper Hanare becomes less dramatic and more inevitable. The body learns what the mind cannot command.
This is not decline. This is distillation.
The Shared Principle: Non-Interference
Both Taiji and Kyūdō are built on the same foundation:
Remove what obstructs natural organization.
Aging supports this process by making interference expensive.
Excess tension hurts,
Poor alignment fatigues quickly,
Emotional forcing destabilizes balance. Youth can ignore these signals. Age cannot, and does not need to.
In Tai Chi Chuan, as well as in several other Chinese martial arts, the concept of being “natural” (ziran, 自然) or of performing “natural movement” is frequently mentioned.
It is therefore surprising that even some well-known teachers question this term, or appear unfamiliar with its actual meaning. Some of these teachers are highly prolific and often speak at length about concepts such as “qi,” yet their dismissal of naturalness suggests a fundamental misunderstanding of what ziran refers to in classical Chinese traditions.
Statements such as “nothing we do in Tai Chi is natural,” “everything is unnatural,” or “if Tai Chi were natural, it would be easy to perform” are commonly heard. Such remarks reveal a lack of understanding of the classical meaning of ziran and of what is considered “natural” within internal martial arts, Daoist body practices, and related Chinese traditions.
At its most basic and simplified level, “natural” or ziran refers to what is originally inherent to the human body – movement and organization as it is meant to function when it is not disturbed or overridden by artificial or forced control.
The crucial point is that most of us are not natural in the classical sense. The way we move and use our bodies is largely learned rather than inherent.
Most people walk, sit, and perform everyday tasks while carrying unnecessary tension in the body: a stiff neck, elevated and shallow breathing, and a tense, restless mind. Movements are often clumsy, and awareness of one’s own body is limited.
When people walk, they frequently hold themselves upright through tension in the upper body, maintaining balance by constantly shifting weight across small, unstable points in the feet, rather than allowing the body’s structure to support itself. Speech is often strained and high-pitched, and movement lacks coordination and ease.
Much of the day is then spent sitting, often without awareness of how these habitual patterns of tension reinforce themselves, gradually making movement even more restricted and inefficient. In this sense, what we commonly regard as normal human behavior is in fact artificial: tense, fragmented, and far removed from naturalness.
These patterns are not innate; they are learned behaviors that run counter to what is natural for the human body.
My late Chinese teacher often pointed out that small children are energetic, resilient, and rarely seem to tire. Over time, however, social conditioning teaches children that much of what they do is wrong: how they sit, move, walk, or behave. In schools, they are expected to sit still, remain quiet, and suppress spontaneous movement.
According to my teacher, this process gradually replaces natural movement with artificial patterns. He emphasized that this observation is not new but reflects insights that have existed in Chinese thought for thousands of years. Animals move with smoothness and ease, and young children do as well. Adult humans, in contrast, often do not.
My own teacher, Stephen Hwa, Ph.D., did seminars for Jou Tsung-Hwa's students and he told me in an email that Jou Tsung-Hwa was “…someone who was in search of the truth in Tai Chi, and I would like to meet him…”. Master Jou was the author of The Tao of Tai-Chi Chuan. He used the analogy of a film to explain the movement of Tai Chi. He stated that when viewed as individual, static poses, the movements make no sense. The proper motion and meaning are only perceived when the "frames" are put together and performed fluidly as a continuous sequence. The "Film" analogy teaches several core concepts of Tai Chi practice that can aptly be applied to Classical Tai Chi.
In the numerous styles, there is really only one that has a “round” form and a “square” (fang) form. The Wu Style, with all its own derivatives, often surprises people with the direct opposite requirement between Square and Round.
The direct opposite requirement is not unique, however:
I am echoing Master Hwa as I relate my own experience. Just think how one learns the art of calligraphy. My own teacher echoes this in the video link. My own experience had me learning Chinese Calligraphy, how to write in print form (brush and ink, of course). Then I studied a smidgen of cursive calligraphy. The differences between these two writing forms are analogous to the differences between those two Tai Chi Forms.
Square Form is analogous to the block printing of (pinyin) Kai Style, or what is called “Kai Shu”. The round form is analogous to Tsao Style or "Tsao Shu/Cao Shu" or the cursive script.
In Square Form, as in calligraphy, movements occur along relatively straight lines between points (the start and end points of inflection). The Round Form, with its curves, has the curves passing through those points. The Square Form is like a template for the Round Form. As you see, the curves go through the points where the lines meet.
Again, merely echoing my teacher, who was a Ph.D. engineer and scientist at Xerox Corporation. Like the Calculus of Mathematics; however, I would point out that the Round Form is like the calculus, which integrates a tiny segment of a curved motion as a straight line to form the curved motion. A Square Form is like taking one of the small straight lines and expanding it into a straight movement. The way of the universe uses principles that govern everything that appears unrelated.
Tai Chi Chuan is a completely non-violent martial art. There, I said it!
What? How can a martial art be non-violent?
Well, that’s a good question – so please let me explain. If a skilled Tai Chi practitioner is attacked, he or she does not acknowledge aggression or violence.
We don’t acknowledge aggressive manners or words. We don’t respond to them. We keep both mind and heart empty, not allowing another person’s violence to attach itself to us.
And – if we are attacked physically, we don’t perceive it as a weapon or a threat. Instead, we see the attacker’s movement as nothing more than a physical action – harmless in itself – and we simply move through space, adjusting to the motion.
If I stand still in the path of a fist, yes, Tai Chi becomes violent – because I allow you to hurt me. That is violence. So Tai Chi cannot be passive, because passivity invites violence. Instead, a skilled practitioner – regardless of the type of attack – will not meet the attack head-on. So, I will not meet a punch with my face, but at the same time, I will not try to block the force or stop the direction of the punch.
Regardless of the attack, a good Tai Chi practitioner will follow and guide the moving body.
Pay close attention here. Notice my wording: I did not say “follow and guide the attack,” or “follow and guide the punch.” I mean exactly what I wrote – follow and guide the moving body. This means the whole body. When someone attacks, we connect to their balance and their center. But again – without ever meeting force directly.
Tai Chi is about following, guiding, entering, finding the gaps, and mirroring the opponent’s movements. All of it is non-violent.
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Small circle Tai Chi minimizes arm movement, keeps shoulders down, and generates power from the core. The large Circle style has excessive arm moves, movement at the shoulders, and power from the legs. In contrast, the Classical Tai Chi taught by Master Stephen Hwa and certified teachers, emphasizes internal discipline. Every movement originates from the core of the body, specifically the abdomen and back, and the Yin/Yang Junction in the Core, a point where yin and yang energies meet, is located within the torso, not at the limbs.
Here is a brief guide to the different styles of Tai Chi Chuan. There are five main styles, five big ones and then there are also a whole bunch of several lesser popular arts. Some of the smaller ones have quite a big amount of followers as well. Here I will list 8 of those smaller Tai Chi schools that are reasonable enough to call individual styles. This means that a total of 13 (!) different Tai Chi styles will be discussed here.
Off springs and variations that belong mainly to any of the larger schools as Cheng Man Ching’s Yang and Dan Docherty’s Wudang Practical Tai Chi Chuan (Wudang PTTC) are not considered. here. But if we were to actually add every school with decent popularity, we would probably get a list of well more than 20 schools.
(Also: Please, don’t get offended by my intentional ironic and disrespectful tone in this post.)
The five big traditional styles are:
The Tai Chi styles of Chen, Yang, Wu, Wu (Has) and Sun are all recognized, well known and has many practitioners throughout China and the whole World.
Chen style is said by Chen stylists to be the oldest of the modern Tai Chi styles found today or the original art of Tai Chi, something that is usually accepted by Yang stylists as Yang style creator Yang Luchan admitted that he had studied with the Chen family. In the first half of the 20th century it was suddenly decided by the government that Chen Wangting (1580-1660) should be regarded as the inventor of the whole art of Tai Chi Chuan, a person suddenly discovered, that no Chen Tai Chi master knew anything about and no one had mentioned anytime before in any text about Tai Chi Chuan. Chen style was later popularised in the 20th century by Chen Fake (1887-1957) who was very upset and got revengeful when other Tai Chi masters told him that what he was doing was Shaolin and not Tai Chi.
Chen style has both slow and fast movements, often performed with sudden outbursts of “fajin”. It also has Shaolin movements not found in any other of the five main styles so that other stylists often says that Chen Style is just Yang Style with Shaolin stuff infused.
The main idea of body mechanics in Chen style is summarized into “spiraling silk reeling” where spiral movements are initiated from the belly area and connected throughout the whole body.
There are several big popular formal and informal lineages and traditions in Chen, As “the Village style” represented by Chen Xiaowang, “the Beijing style” represented by people as Chen Yu and Chen Practical Method lead by Chen Zhonghua. And “Chen Small Frame” is usually practiced in other lesser well known lineages.
Pros
Maybe the easiest style for development of strength and power.
Cons
Might be harder to and take longer time to develop calmness and deep relaxation compared to the other five big ones.
Chen Style Taijiquan is recommended for:
Anyone who wants to keep fit and healthy and everyone who wants to study a smart and very powerful martial art.
When people think about Yang style Tai Chi, they mostly think about slow, large movements performed in an even pace. Large frame Yang Style was created by “The Invincible” Yang Luchan (1799-1872) who killed a younger female relative with his spear when practicing. This style was wildly popularised as a health exercise by his illiterate grandson Yang Chengfu (1883-1836) who sold his name to a ghost writer for a book and got really obese and died young by eating way too much.
Yang Style is the most popular Tai Chi style, widespread “all over the globe” (citing Flateartherners expression of the popularity of their own movement), much due to several lightweight watered down versions with shorter and less demanding forms. Those are taught rather fast with little attention to detail. In the middle of the nineties for instance, going to Beijing to learn the 24 form in a few weeks and teach it in the west was rather popular. But fortunately the traditional Yang long form variations are very popular as well, and many practice it as a complete martial art.
Don’t be fooled by the calm, harmonious movements. Yang Stylists can be pretty good fighters and like to toss their opponents far away rather than offering a good punch, something that is mostly given to and restricted for the stupid ones who tries to attack them again.
There are also several off-springs and sub-styles of Yang Style as Cheng Manching’s version and Dong Style, sometimes recognised as an individual Tai Chi styles. A school as Erle Montaigue’s Tai Chi organisation claim that they do the “Old Yang style” from Yang Luchan.
Pros
Quite easy to find somewhat good traditional teachers and very easy to find teachers from various health only variations.
Cons
Hard to find people who teach anything similar to power generation for
punches and other finishing methods necessary in any complete martial
art.
Yang Style Taijiquan is recommended for:
Anyone and everyone on this planet without exceptions.
Wu style is characterized by large movements performed with whole body leaning, something many Yang stylists say is wrong and contradicts basic Tai Chi principles. Wu Quanyou (1834-1902) was one of Yang Luchan’s students but became a disciple of Yang Banhou, and Wu Jianquan was his son and taught it publicly. Wu Jianquan was also one of those guys who popularized Tai Chi for the big masses together with Yang Chengfu.
One modern branch is called Wudang Practical Tai Chi Chuan created by Dan Docherty and focuses a lot on no-nonsense combat and realistic self-defence applications.
Cons
You’ll be hearing all of the time from people from other styles about how wrong you do things.
Pro
Has everything that Yang Style has, is seldom as watered down as much, and much easier to find good traditional teachers.
This has been my approach. I don't try to practice the form slowly. I don't pay attention to the speed at all. What I do is to try to feel everything that is going on. The result, or rather the side effect is that I practice the form slowly.
An excerpt is below. The full post may be read here.
I've included more info on this, and there is a certain serendipity in Wu’s “ox plow” postures and one of my original articles at Cook Dings Kitchen.
ɪ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴋɴᴏᴡɴ ʀɪᴄᴋ ᴏꜰ ᴄᴏᴏᴋ ᴅɪɴɢ’ꜱ ᴋɪᴛᴄʜᴇɴ ꜰᴏʀ ᴍᴀɴʏ ʏᴇᴀʀꜱ. ɪ ᴛʜɪɴᴋ ɪ ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴᴇᴅ ᴘʀᴇᴠɪᴏᴜꜱʟʏ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʜᴇ ᴡʀɪᴛᴇꜱ ᴏɴ ᴠᴀʀɪᴏᴜꜱ ᴍᴀʀᴛɪᴀʟ ᴀʀᴛꜱ. ɪ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴛᴀʟᴋᴇᴅ ʙᴇꜰᴏʀᴇ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴇɴᴛᴀɴɢʟᴇᴍᴇɴᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴍɪɴᴅ ᴀɴᴅ ʙᴏᴅʏ ɪɴ ᴘʀᴀᴄᴛɪᴄɪɴɢ ꜱᴇᴠᴇʀᴀʟ ᴍᴀʀᴛɪᴀʟ ᴀʀᴛꜱ. ɪ ᴡᴀꜱ ᴀ ꜱᴇɴɪᴏʀ ꜱᴛᴜᴅᴇɴᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴇᴅᴅɪᴇ ᴡᴜ, ᴀɴᴅ ɪ ᴀᴍ ᴀ ꜱᴇɴɪᴏʀ ꜱᴛᴜᴅᴇɴᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀ ʜᴡᴀ. ᴇᴅᴅɪᴇ ᴛᴏʟᴅ ᴍᴇ ᴛᴏ ɢɪᴠᴇ ᴜᴘ ᴍʏ ᴛᴀᴇ ᴋᴡᴏɴ ᴅᴏ ᴀɴᴅ ʜᴜɴɢ ɢᴀʀ. ɪ ꜰɪɢᴜʀᴀᴛɪᴠᴇʟʏ ɢᴀᴠᴇ ᴛʜᴇᴍ ᴜᴘ ʙᴜᴛ ꜱᴜʙᴄᴏɴꜱᴄɪᴏᴜꜱʟʏ ᴄᴏᴜʟᴅ ɴᴏᴛ. ʜɪɢʜ ᴋɪᴄᴋꜱ ᴄᴀᴍᴇ ᴏᴜᴛ ᴡʜᴇɴ ɪ ᴅɪᴅ ɴᴏᴛ ᴇxᴘᴇᴄᴛ ᴛʜᴇᴍ ᴛᴏ. ɪᴛ'ꜱ ɴᴏᴛ ᴠᴇʀʏ ᴇᴄᴏɴᴏᴍɪᴄᴀʟ, ᴛʜᴏꜱᴇ ʜɪɢʜ ᴋɪᴄᴋꜱ! ᴄʟᴀꜱꜱɪᴄᴀʟ ᴛᴀɪ ᴄʜɪ ɪꜱ ᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘɪɴɴᴀᴄʟᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ɪᴛ ᴍᴇᴀɴꜱ ᴛᴏ ᴇᴄᴏɴᴏᴍɪᴢᴇ ᴏɴᴇ'ꜱ ᴍᴏᴠᴇᴍᴇɴᴛꜱ. ʜᴇɴᴄᴇ, ᴏx ᴘʟᴏᴡ, ʙᴜᴛ ᴀ ꜱᴍᴀʟʟ ᴄɪʀᴄʟᴇ!
Ox Plow Posture
Master Stephen Hwa and I have taught weightlifters, ballet dancers, karate practitioners, etc. Some seem to grasp "Yi" martial intent, and some do not. Master Hwa taught for years at a Karate school. For most, I saw that “Yi” was not easy to get, and "intentions" to do something else with the movement usually began to show early on.
The dancers would not keep their heel down on the back foot and would rise on the toe, with "flourish" movements in their hands. The weight lifters were incredibly stiff and inflexible around the upper chest and shoulders; the internal discipline of the core would elude them.
Karate people seemed to be stuck on a permanent type of staccato movement; making movements continuously seemed to elude them. I recall conversations with one long-time Karate practitioner who said in so many words that he could not understand why anyone called Tai Chi a martial art. He implies that only Karate (or at least "his" Karate) could be a martial art.
Cook Ding, also known as Cook Ting, is a character from the Zhuangzi, a text foundational to Taoism. He is renowned for his skill in butchering oxen, which he performs with such precision and care that his knife remains sharp for nineteen years, only needing to be sharpened once a year because he cuts rather than hacks. His technique is described as being in perfect rhythm, akin to performing a dance or keeping time to music.
The story of Cook Ding is often interpreted as a metaphor for Tai Chi, emphasizing fluid, natural movements and the harmonization of body and mind. Tai Chi and Cook Ding's butchery highlight the importance of following the natural flow and structure of the activity at hand, allowing for effortless and efficient performance.
The ox plow posture, also known as the Wu Plow Oxen stance, is specific to Wu-style Tai Chi. It is characterized by an inclined posture that appears slanted externally but maintains a straight line from the crown of the head to the heels internally, ensuring the spine remains erect and allowing chi to flow freely.