BASED ON AN INTERVIEW GIVEN IN THE 1970s
Have you ever heard of Tai Ji Quan? This Chinese form of
martial art has grown so popular over the past few years that more than 100
million people are said to practice it.
Up until 15 years ago hardly anyone in the West knew
anything about it. Neither was it much different in China itself. Until the
Communist revolution this ancient system of exercise was traditionally kept a
closely guarded secret within families. The knowledge was passed from father to
son and only rarely revealed to outsiders. Women were never included, or
only in extraordinary circumstances – their lives, to say nothing of their
feet, were far too restricted by custom. All this has of course changed. Feet
(and breasts) are permitted to develop naturally in Communist China and Tai Ji
has proved to be beneficial to everyone – women and all. Indeed, the Chinese
government is so convinced of its curative value that Tai Ji is installed as a
mandatory subject in public schools. At first, though, the regime had no place
for such elitist stuff. Everyone was required to spend their time usefully in
fields and factories and the old families either had to adjust as well as they
could or escape to Taiwan, Hong Kong and the West where, in order to live, they
began giving lessons.
Tai Ji, then, is a subtle, inscrutable art with many
aspects. You could say that it is a Daoist form of meditation which aims to
integrate physical, mental and spiritual disciplines, bringing improvements to
health, posture and concentration. The point is to make the body into a
competent and flexible vehicle for co-ordinating body, mind and spirit, thereby
achieving the maximum effect with the minimum effort. The emphasis on slowness
and grace of movement, on balancing the male and female aspects of our nature,
is particularly appropriate for most of us living in our masculine-oriented,
urban environments. Balance is one of the key principles. If we are not wholly
balanced, we are at a disadvantage in all that we do. The practice aims to
develop poise – that subtle quality my mother always longed for in me.
In the beginning you learn the form, a series of gentle
movements flowing one into the other, which take 10-20 minutes to perform and
which you are recommended to practise regularly morning and evening. When the
movements have been mastered and the equilibrium is stable, when the intrinsic
energy is developed, then the movements of the form can be employed for
self-defence.
Tai Ji is what is known as a soft, internal art, which means
that it makes use of interior, intrinsic energy (known in Chinese as ‘qi’) as
opposed to external, hard arts like wresting and Western boxing which rely on
muscle and force. What makes it so appropriate for women is that its essence is
strength through softness. This is illustrated perfectly by one of the many legends
as to the origins of Tau Ji. A Daoist monk is supposed to have devised the form
after watching a fight between a snake and a white crane. The snake kept
swaying its long body, yielding before the attacks of the crane, so that no
force could be applied. The bird on the other hand made itself so vulnerable,
thorough its aggression and eagerness, that the snake overcame it easily. The
principle is that by softening the self, by yielding to a situation rather than
opposing it by force, you can build up a strength as fluid, as flexible and as
relentless as a great river.
Often we find that we use force automatically through
anxiety and fear. This is where relaxation comes in. A tense body acts as a
trap for the mind and spirit and Tai Chi works to release tension and the
attitudes that cause it. Often physical rigidity is a sign of mental tension
which is reflected in holding patterns, like raised shoulders, stiff joints and
tight facial expressions. A slouched posture can indicate a negative self-image
or a feeling of being burdened. So the series of movements provides a framework
in which to monitor tension, observe weaknesses, likes and dislikes, behaviour
patterns and energy blocks. It is really a microcosm of life. In other words,
the way in which you practice the form can reveal the way you deal with life.
Over-extending, for example. If your centre of gravity extends too far forward
as you practise, this may suggest that you are inclined to over-extend yourself
in life and, like the white crane, make yourself vulnerable.
A relaxed way of living, then, is not just sitting about in
chairs doing nothing. It involves a whole adjustment of the body. By learning
to soften and relax we will be more able to let go of habitual responses, to
act spontaneously and effectively with people and situations, and to meet
aggressive actions with tranquillity. By doing the form regularly, relaxation
and concentration are improved, a sense of harmony and well-being is
established, posture is corrected, strength built up and energy unblocked (any
disturbance in our energy flow will interfere with whatever we are trying to
express). Eventually the goal is to feel every movement of the form flowing as
effortlessly as a branch blown by the wind. It is this liberation of energy
flow which is the secret of true beauty. When our energy flows freely it
becomes the inexhaustible source of vitality and inner strength. As the body
grows strong so does the character and you learn gradually to establish a solid
foundation, a solid inner core and, like a plant, develop a root so that the
soles of the feet can become like taps, the ankles like hydraulic pumps,
pumping up energy from the ground. You learn to restore energy, accumulate and
direct it.
By executing the form correctly, the conduits of the body
relax so that the blood and vitality may flow unrestricted. The frame that
supports the body is like a central beam supporting a house and as we grow
older the space between the vertebrae shortens through pressure, the spinal
cord shrinks and the posture begins to stoop. By keeping the spine erect, the
energy and circulation can flow. It is like an internal massage, pouring life
into neglected parts of the face and body, rejuvenating the spine and internal
organs.
One of the traditional rewards of practicing Tai Chi is longevity.
It is interesting that Taoism is unique among the world’s religions in its belief
that personal immortality is possible. Taoist stories abound with immortals
flying about on dragons. Certainly the longevity of Taoist masters seems
exceptional. As recently as 1930 the death of Li Ching Yuen, aged 250, is recorded.
More contemporary still was General Yang Sen who, on his 96th birthday,
went on a long hike into the mountains followed by more than 10,000 admirers. A
year or so later, in 1977, everyone was surprised and disappointed when the
general died without reaching 100.
To begin with the right teacher is important. It is a good
idea to do some research, look at classes and see if you and the teacher are in
harmony. It is not possible of course here to describe all those available but
one, Rose Li, seems to encapsulate the spirit of Tai Chi. She is one of the
rare women ever to have been admitted into a traditional martial art family
before the Communist revolution, leaving China in 1948. She started at the age
of 8, rising very morning at 5.30 to practise for an hour and a half. The
effect over the years is plain to see. Her skin is clear, her vitality sparkles
like champagne, she seems ageless and though small she gives the impression of
possessing an enormous strength which has nothing to do with muscle.
Tai Chi, she says, is the perfect hobby. She loves to do it.
It makes her happy. The more you put in, the more you get out. But it is an art
and no less complicated than any other art. A pianist learns a piece of music
and becomes technically excellent. He masters it, plays it brilliantly and
finally transcends it. So it is with Tai Chi. It is an art of living and when
you can incorporate its principles into life you will be able to cope better
with the vicissitudes of day to day existence. Then the inner tranquillity, the
nobility of character, the beauty will unfold. With movement she says, reality is
there, but without practice you can’t find out.
