Once, in the presence of my friend Robert, I told a Japanese friend that I thought tai-chi wasn’t really a martial art. Robert’s eyes widened and he forced me to utilize my defense tacics to parry his verbal blows. Robert teaches tai-chi in California and knows there’s much more to this ancient art than the slow rhythmic movements that most people are exposed to.
For my part, I wasn’t just referring to second-hand knowledge. I had spent many weeks in America “grasping the sparrow’s tail” (the one move I still remember) and trying to gain fluidity, grace, and tune into the mysterious Chinese concept of “chi.” My sensei never even implied that I would ever be able to ward off an attacker or spar successfully with a Thai kick boxer, as I later saw Robert do. It all depends on your brand of tai-chi, and your teacher.
The comparatively recently developed Yang style tai-chi places the emphasis on slow, fluid movements to enhance the flow of chi, heal the body, and sharpen the mind. Practitioners are encouraged to relax, a key element of Yang style. For a beginner, it’s hard to shake cynical tendancies, the feeling that the moves are utterly ordinary–and for the biginner they probably are. One friend parodies tai-chi moves by doing it while snatching glances at his watch. But when you watch an accomplished teacher–like Kyoto’s Muranaka-sensei–gracefully flow through the movements, you know there’s profound learning for those willing to stay with the art.
Muranaka-sensei teaches Chen-style tai-chi. Chen-style, which is also referred to as “big style,” places more emphasis on stability, stretching and extending. Muranaka-sensei explains that the practice is not about copying movemnts, but about cultivating energy. Each person necessarily has a different experience and a different result.
Unlike many martial arts where practitioners seek the physical power and technique to defeat opponents, tai-chi is not about defeating your opponent, nor is it even about developing physical power. Tai-chi legend holds that about 800 years ago Zhang San Feng saw a magpie fight a snake. He marvelled at the fluidity and sofness that the animals displayed and, after retreating to a hermitage to experiement with forms, developed tai-chi chuan after several years. Thus, a modern tai-chi axiom states, “Use four ounces to deflect 1,000 pounds.” One should attack through yielding and use your opponent’s momentum and change its direction.
For those with a bent towards Eastern philosophy, there’s a treasury of profound thinking in this tradition. Chi, also known as prana, or in Japanese ki, is the primal force of the universe that is said to pervade everything. An advanced practitioner strives to cultivate the three treasure of Chi-kung: jing, chi and shen. Jing is the base energy, crudely stated as sperm or ovary energy. The advanced practitioner draws jing overflow up the spine, transforming it into chi. The transformative process peaks (but continues as a cycle, replenishing jing) when chi transforms into shen. Shen is intent, or divine energy, which brings the practitioners to another level of awareness. The practice of tai-chi, for the serious prationer, is not limited to the movements, but pervades every aspect of life.
To start, one plants one’s feet firmly on the ground, and breathes deep…
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