The Taiji Wisdom of the Morning Prayer

The following is one of the morning prayers in the Jewish prayer book. In Jewish tradition this prayer is generally said after using the toilet. It is a prayer of thankfulness that a person’s morning needs have been successfully met.

'Blessed are You, Lord, our God, King of the universe, Who fashioned mankind with wisdom and created within him (us) many openings (orifices) and many cavities (hollows). It is obvious and known before Your Throne of Glory that if but one of them were to be ruptured or one of them were to be blocked it would be impossible to exist and stand before You. Blessed are You, Lord, Who heals all flesh and acts wondrously.'

This prayer also imparts a profound wisdom about who we are as human beings both physically and spiritually. The words, ‘fashioned man with wisdom,’ indicate that human beings were not merely created but were ‘formed’ with thought and logic. In fact the human body represents a finely-tuned design, requiring harmony and balance for it to function efficiently and painlessly. If one part is open that should be closed or one part closed that should be open, that person will soon be in serious need of immediate medical attention.
Recently I was informed that I had a leaking heart valve. Over time this malfunction could become life-threatening and I was advised to have it repaired (not replaced) sooner rather than later. I followed the advice of my physicians and the operation was successful. A few years ago a friend of mine experienced chest pains. He was rushed to the hospital where the doctors discovered a blockage. The blockage was broken up and a stint put in to keep the artery open. Both examples show how modern medicine can help to restore the body to its natural working order.
Chinese tradition understood the meaning of this prayer somewhat differently. It supplemented the physical with the idea of Qi. Qi (Ch’i), pronounced ‘chee,’ literally means ‘breath’ or ‘air.’ According to Chinese medical theory, Qi is the life force that pervades and enlivens all things. In human beings Qi is accumulated in the Dan Tien, which is located two or three fingers below the navel. The quality of Qi and its flow in the body determines the level of one’s health and strength.
Qi flows through a series of meridians or pathways that run throughout the body and link the various organs and body parts together. The meridians, which can be understood as ‘cavities,’ unify the body like rivers link cities and people together. For optimum health it is crucial that these meridians remain open and unclogged. If there is a blockage, illness will appear in some form. The goal of acupuncture, massage and Taiji is to keep the meridians open and to regulate the Qi so that the energy flow remains balanced. The Chinese say that the body is like the water of a stream. If, for some reason, the stream becomes blocked, the water will stagnate and become a breeding ground for disease. It will soon be undrinkable for people.
One way to understand the words, ‘Who fashioned mankind with wisdom,’ is that God was wise in the way He created human beings. Another way, which does not contradict the first, is that God imbued us with the wisdom to care of both our bodies and our spiritual direction. In other words, we have the wisdom to keep open what should be opened and closed what should be closed. This wisdom does not apply only to our internal hollows such as arteries or Qi meridians. ‘Openings’ (nikavim) can be defined as our orifices; our mouths, eyes and ears. We must nurture the discerning wisdom of knowing when to open our mouths and when to keep them closed; when to speak and when to be silent; how much to eat and when to stop; what to look at and what not to see; when to listen and when not to hear.
The morning prayer is both a prayer of thankfulness and a reminder that our bodies and our souls require balance and harmony in order to be healthy. If you understand and practice this, you are doing Taiji par excellence.

My Worst-Best Moment in Taiji

The musical intonation of the Chinese language easily lends itself to varied interpretations of words and ideas. The Supreme Ultimate, The Great Pivot are only a few of the many ways Taiji has been translated into English. Getting down to basics, Taiji is the path of balance and harmony. According to Chinese medicine, when a person is in harmony, within and without, he or she will enjoy good health. One Chinese physician advised: ‘Find your center and you will be healed.’
In the western world, Taiji has gotten good press. There are often articles in the health section of newspapers. Seniors magazines have devoted articles to the value of Taiji. A recent study at Emory University showed that Taiji improves the balance of the elderly. Taiji is also beneficial for seniors by virtue of its slow and gentle movements.
‘Normal’ aging means a gradual weakening of our mental and physical capabilities. In contrast to ‘normal’ aging, Taiji promotes ‘successful’ aging by strengthening the body, improving alignment and calming the mind. Taiji is a brake that allows us to slow down the aging process. It prevents our health from spiraling out of control. Instead of a steep decline in our physical and mental powers, we age ‘gradually’ and gracefully. I have witnessed Taiji increase the quality of life of all my students, particularly seniors and special needs.
Until the last ten years or so, I was having little success with special needs students. Few lasted more than a month. Only two men over seventy managed to learn the short form (37 movements). One was a feisty former marine who fought in World War II and the other, a retiree, studied Jewish religious texts for most of the day. Both had clear minds, good memories and the will to finish something they had started. These are important traits in someone who wants to succeed. But what about those whose memories were not sharp or whose bodies had suffered a illness or injury? They should have access to the benefits of Taiji.
My success with seniors and special needs did not improve quickly. In time it became clear that my style of teaching was too rigorous and beyond the capabilities of most seniors and special needs. I had studied with several Chinese teachers who demanded hard work and commitment from their students. Their standards were high and I had enormous respect for them.
I recall my first class with one such teacher, Benjamin Pang Jeng Lo. It was a cold San Francisco summer night. I arrived late because of traffic. When I walked into the room, I was shocked by the sweat rolling down the students’ faces, their legs trembling from holding postures. Here the students were ‘training.’ This was the real thing! As a veteran teacher of Taiji, I had never seen this before. Taiji was supposed to be soft and gentle. I was intrigued, challenged and decided to study with this teacher. Later, as a teacher, I believed it my duty to uphold these high standards. Anything less was selling out. I did not understand the deeper meaning of the cliché: ‘different strokes for different folks.’
It took one poignant event to open my eyes. While teaching a Taiji class, I realized that two seniors, a married couple in their seventies, did not know the sequence of movements and what little they did know, they were doing poorly. It was painfully obvious that they were not learning Taiji. They were wasting their time and money. Feeling frustrated, I blurted out: ‘You’re never going to learn the form!’ Instantly I realized my mistake. Later that night they phoned to say how embarrassed they felt, particularly being humiliated in front of the class. I apologized of course but the damage was done.
Sometimes events occur that are the worst-best moments in life. In this case the ‘worst’ was causing needless pain to these fine people. I felt terrible. The ‘best’ came later as I pondered what had happened. How could I reach seniors and special needs? The answer was obvious, although it took awhile before I figured it out. Special students require a special class. It had to go at their speed and be easy to learn and do. More importantly, I had to change my attitude and become sensitive to their individual needs.
I started a new class for special students. It began with warm-ups, stretching and meditation and Chinese breathing exercises known as Qigong (pronounced ‘chee gong’). Over time, I developed Taiji exercises designed for seniors and people with special needs. This was the ‘best’ scenario that grew out a ‘worst’ moment. Once the class was underway, I called the couple whom I had embarrassed, apologized again and invited them to return. To my regret, they never did.
What about my integrity as a teacher of Taiji? I came to realize that I needed to forge my own way and style. I am not my teachers, although I am greatly indebted to them. That I am my own person may seem obvious but it is not. When I practiced Taiji alone, I would hear my teachers comments and criticisms as if they were standing next to me. A true teacher of a martial art is like a father whose influence, good and bad, can reach beyond oceans and even the grave.
The result of my soul searching was that I decided to focus my knowledge on helping others. In the words of Rabbi Hillel: ‘If I am only for my self, what am I and if not now, when?’ I try to view each person as an individual with special needs. This decision has spilled over into all my classes. I use humor, positive reinforcement, touch, visualization, anything that promotes healing. I have formed strong bonds with my students, some of whom have been with me for years.
Over the last ten years, I have taught many seniors and special needs students, privately and in groups. Presently I have two classes. I prefer to call the people in these classes, ‘differently-abled.’ Seniors are anyone over sixty-five and special needs refer to anyone who suffers from an illness or injury. The groups often overlap. In one class the students are between the ages of seventy and eighty. Nearly all of them have health problems of one sort of another. Buelah has a troublesome right eye. Minnie cannot walk well. Mildred gets tired after walking a few steps and must rest. They cannot stand for long periods so I have adapted the exercises to fit their needs. I have developed a sitting Taiji form for them. With time my goal is encourage them to do it standing. This sitting form can be taught to those in wheelchairs.
The other class has a wide range of age from twenty to sixty-five. Most of the students have health problems. Marcie, who is in her twenties, has Chronic Fatigue Syndrome. Dorit has pain in her legs and has difficulty walking. Shoshana, a nurse in her forties, has a serious lower back problem. Everyone can stand but many of students have to be careful. Shoshana cannot do part of the stretching exercises because of her back. In the beginning Marcie had to sit through much of the class. Now she can stand from start to finish.
Martin Buber once wrote that a teacher can convey the same ideas to a five year old as he can to someone twenty-five. I believe that the same thing holds true for the principles of Taiji, whether teaching a senior who cannot stand long or a person in a wheelchair. An imaginative teacher can adapt the principles of Taiji to fit the needs of almost any student. It takes sensitivity and intuition.
The principles of Taiji such as separation weight and keeping the body upright are so profound that they often escape notice. People who do Taiji regularly are deeply influenced by them. In my classes I have sought to extract the major principles of Taiji and merge them with simple Taiji-based movement. From experience I believe that most people can learn these exercises.
The reality of life is that aging begins at birth. A wise person will choose the path that promises (but of course cannot guarantee) a healthy middle age and up. Most of us will live into our winter years. Since 1900, the population of the United States has tripled while the sixty-five and older have multiplied eleven times. More than seventy percent of people live to the retirement age of sixty-five. In 1990 there were 61,000 Americans who had reached the age one hundred years and above. In 2050 the projected figure is 600,000. There is a good chance that you will live a long life. But what good is a long life if its quality is poor? Good sense tells us to begin taking care of our health now.
While the physical work of Taiji is crucial, calming the mind with meditation and minding the spirit are equally important. If the mind is out of control, the body will follow. The Taiji Classical writings observe: ‘The mind is the commander.’ Similarly if we are depressed, and, according to psychologist Martin Seligman, depression is an epidemic in the United States, Taiji will be of little use. A healthy fulfilling life depends on our awareness and determination to harmonize Body, Mind and Spirit. Taiji can help every adult, young and old, to actualize that harmony.

Tai Chi for Seniors

Fear of falling is the number one fear among older adults, according to a recent study. And it is no wonder. In the United States, 60,000 of the 300,000 people who break a hip from a fall will die within the twelve months of their accident. One important way for older adults to stay on their feet is by practicing the Chinese health exercise, Taiji. However, most seniors taking Taiji classes are not getting the help they need.
Recently I received a telephone call from a woman who was taking Taiji classes at her local YMCA. She had read that Taiji could help her balance but she found the exercise too demanding. She could not practice at home because she could not remember the sequence of the movements. She was aware that classes twice a week was simply not enough to improve her balance significantly.
She had clearly identified the major obstacle preventing older adults from learning Taiji. Memory! Taiji, as it is generally taught, consists of 60 to 120 movements in sequence depending on the form. It is no secret that as we age, our short-term memory diminishes and concentration becomes more difficult.
Physical problems can also stand in the way of older adults learning Taiji. For example, most of the weight sinks down on one leg or the other. If someone has knee, foot or other leg problems, which many elderly people have, Taiji will prove to be too painful.
Yet Taiji has been shown to improve balance. A major study at Emory University concluded that adults over 70 doing Taiji fell 47.5% less than the control group. This led to a sense of well-being about walking because the participants knew they were less likely to fall. The Emory study also reported other important benefits of Taiji such as a reduction in blood pressure and an increase in hand-grip strength. Suddenly Taiji was on the exercise map for older adults.
So the dilemma is this: With all the benefits that Taiji has to offer seniors, can it be modified to meet their needs? Fortunately the answer is yes.
The Emory Study actually points the way to solving this problem. A closer look at the study shows that the method of Taiji taught to the older adults was a modified form of only a few movements. Moreover, for the first few weeks Dr. Tingsen Xu, the Taiji teacher of the study, concentrated on breathing, focusing the mind and developing a sense of the center of gravity. In other words Dr. Xu curtailed the longer sequence and excluded the more difficult moves of Taiji while emphasizing certain Taiji principles to aid balance and walking. I believe we can utilize Dr. Xu’s methodology and take it one step further. We can extract the principles that form the basis of Taiji and teach them in a simple exercise called, ‘Taiji Walking.’
Look for the next Blog: 'The Ten Principles of Taiji Falls Prevention.'

In the Rose Garden, Part II

The drama between the cat and the crow is over. After their intense confrontation I try to return to Wuji. This is not easy. I try to focus on my breath but my mind is far from being cooperative. It is full of thoughts and ideas, running wild like a swollen river in spring. I grow impatient because I have to teach soon. I have a tight schedule today. But I persist, focusing on my breath. Finally my mind quiets down. I wait until a feeling moves me to sink my weight into my right leg. With the separation of weight Wuji has given way to Taiji and yet something of Wuji’s emptiness remains within me.
As I move through the form, I become aware that my moving from Wuji to Taiji, from stillness to movement, replicates the Chinese idea of how the universe was created. In the beginning there was not a void but rather emptiness. Inside the emptiness latent energy was gaining force like a volcano before its eruption. Finally the energy could no longer be contained. It exploded, a big bang, and the world separated and expanded from one into two and into ten and into ten thousand. The emptiness was Wuji and the separation into Yin and Yang was Taiji. And within the separation was emptiness and within the emptiness was separation. They had different forms but were the same like the ocean and the waves.
Then, a page turns and a different story replaces the Chinese one. It is a narrative that has strong roots in this land. While it is different from the Chinese story, it tells an astonishingly similar tale.
‘In the Beginning God created the heaven and the earth. And the earth was without form and empty (Wuji); and darkness was on the face of the deep. And a wind (Qi) from God moved over the surface of the waters. And God said, Let there be light: and there was light. And God divided the light from the darkness.’ He separated them into Yin and Yang, the dark being Yin and light being Yang. And later he made woman and man, also a separation into Yin and Yang. In fact the entire Biblical creation narrative is one of separation into complementary opposites.
But, in contrast to the Chinese story, the Jewish narrative ascribes God as the First Cause. He was the Prime Mover of creation. He created Dao, the emptiness of Wuji and the energy within it. He created and determined how the laws of the universe will function. While similar when describing the material universe, the Jewish and Chinese stories of creation diverge sharply with regard to its origins.
I can live with this contradiction. I am content to swim in the waters of both traditions and to let the unknowable remain that way until it is revealed. When the Messiah comes, I tell my Christian friends, I have one question: ‘Is this your first or second visit to Jerusalem?’ I have my questions but they can wait.
What I do know is this: I am aware of my past, my present and my future. I can think logically and strategically. I know I am the product of thousands of years of Jewish history. This is why I am here in this Rose Garden in this Holy City. But I am also the product of thousands of years of Chinese history. This is why I am doing Taiji in this garden. These two ancient traditions, contained within me, are parallel streams that meet here. A Chinese proverb says that all rivers eventually merge with the sea. Perhaps this is the way of all traditions; that at some point they will be subsumed within a larger truth.
Today my mind seems to have a mind of its own. I am giving it free reign and allowing it to roam where it will. On the physical plane I have moved from Wuji to Taiji and returned to Wuji, the beginning posture, completing the circle. Each time I do Taiji, it is different and yet it is the same form with the same principles.
Taiji is a spiraling circle. No point on the spiral ever returns to the same place. This is not unlike the Jewish holidays, the same but always different. There is no accounting for what might happen. Life is full of cats and crows, of worlds within worlds. It is full of God and it is full of human beings with the wisdom to create Taiji and the wherewithal to study it.
My students are arriving. It is time for another act of creation. I will try to teach them how to stand and move in the Taiji way. To begin, I will endeavor to introduce the idea of Wuji. After greeting my students I stand in front of the class. But before I begin, a student asks: ‘I was wondering, where did Taiji come from?’ ‘China,’ I say with a straight face. There is laughter. ‘I’m glad you asked that,’ I say, changing course in mid-stream, ‘I’ve been waiting to tell you the story of Zheng San-feng and the creation of Taijiquan.’
Wuji will have to wait like my stack of unanswered questions. Taiji has taught me patience.

Is it Tai Chi or Tai Ji?

Recently I was watching a Tai Chi teacher conducting a class on television. She explained that the ‘Chi’ of Tai Chi meant ‘breath’ or ‘life force’ in Chinese. Unfortunately she had made a common mistake that has its origins in the early Wade-Giles system of transliteration from Chinese to English. The ‘Chi’ of Tai Chi is translated as ‘Ultimate’ and Tai Chi as ‘The Supreme Ultimate.’ The Chi meaning ‘life force’ is spelled properly with an apostrophe, Ch’i. This apostrophe means that the ‘ch’ should be sounded like the ‘ch’ of chair.
In the Wales-Giles system when ‘ch’ preceded an ‘i’ without an apostrophe it has a ‘j’ sound like the word, ‘jar.’ Thus Chi of T’ai Chi should actually be pronounced, Jee, not chee. What happened is that in common usage people dropped the apostrophe and thus Ch’i became Chi, causing confusion with the Chi of Tai Chi. Moreover, the Tai of Tai Chi should be spelled with an apostrophe, T’ai. This means that the ‘t’ is pronounced as a ‘t.’ A ‘t’ without an apostrophe is pronounced as a ‘d,’ for example, Tao is actually pronounced, ‘Dao.’
I know this explanation is confusing and it comes as no surprise that English speakers like the teacher on TV are confused. There is hope. Today the Wade-Giles system is being eased out and the Hanyu Pinyin system is replacing it.
In my previous entries you will have noticed that I have spelled T’ai Chi Ch’uan as Taijiquan. This is because I have used the Pinyin system of transliteration from Chinese to Roman letters (not English letters) in order to conform to modern international standards. Hanyu Pinyin was adopted by the Peoples Republic of China in 1979 and has superseded the previous Wade-Giles system (T’ai Chi Ch’uan). Most international systems, universities and newspapers now use the Pinyin system. Regarding Tai Chi, in the Pinyin system Chi is written with a ‘j’, which sounds like the ‘j’ of the word,‘jar.’ So it is Taiji, not Taichi. The Pinyin system is not perfect for English speakers because ‘Ch’ of the chair sound is written with a ‘Q.’
Setting aside the merits or demerits of the two systems, Pinyin tranliteration is becoming the standard. You will notice that I employ Tai Chi as my web address and in my blog title. This is because I want you to visit my sites. I know that the traffic will be much less if I use Jerusalem Taiji Journal. Tai Chi is still more popular in common usage. You will also notice that my entries are written in the Pinyin system. This is my way of gradually switching over to Pinyin system.
The answer to the above question is that both T’ai Chi and Tai Ji are correct. But, for serious Taiji people, it is important to be aware of the nuances.

Teachings from the Taiji Classics

‘In motion all parts of the body must be light, nimble and strung together.’

In motion: And not in stillness. Why not begin at the beginning with stillness? The Teacher wanted to inform us that the secrets of Taiji are revealed in the form and movement, which is the separation of Yin and Yang. Later he will speak of the beginning, Wuji and stillness. In motion means continual practice!

Light: but still grounded. The root in the legs remains solid like a tree trunk while the upper body appears light like branches swaying easily in the wind.

Nimble: like a cat ready to spring in any direction and always landing on its feet.

Strung together: like a river. Muscles, tendons and sinews flow and form a contiguous physical unity so that in motion one cannot distinguish a beginning or an end.


‘The Qi (Ch’i, breath) should be excited,
The Shen (spirit) should be internally gathered.’

The Qi should be excited: Like a wind strirring up waves. How? As you move through the form, breathe deep, slow, thin, long and silent.

Internally gathered: ‘Gathered’ means concentrating the Qi. Where? In the Dan Tien to ensure that the body remains soft and supple. This follows the teachings of Laozi: ‘In focusing the Qi to attain suppleness, can you be as a newborn babe.’ The mind must focus, direct and store the Qi in the Dan Tien. To do this, the mind must remain calm as if sitting in the eye of a storm. If not, the Qi will spread throughout the body like a herd of wild horses and the spirit will transform into the seven negative emotions (such as anger, greed, lust). When the mind is hard, the body is hard.


‘Let the postures be without
Breaks or holes,
Hollows or projections,
Or discontinuities continuities of form.’

Let the postures: The Teacher did not say, ‘the postures should be….’ This is to teach us to seek the natural wholeness of the postures. Do not use force. Rather relax into the postures without collapsing like a rag doll.

Breaks: The form flows on slowly like a great river, never stopping.

Holes: Filled with the steady flow of movement.

Hollows or projections: Seek a balance of yin and yang, empty and full. Not sinking too far down or rising too far up or overly receding or extending. For example, in the ‘push’ the hands only reach the point where the Qi can easily sustain their distance from the body. The elbows do not stick out but sink naturally downward. In this way there is no separation between the hands, arms and the body.

Discontinuities: This means maintaining internal wholeness. The mind must be aware of all parts of the body at all times so that they are always connected and are never separated.

Continuities: The mind must not be in one place more than another. Even though function and form are connected, do not emphasize function over wholeness. Why is mind so important in Qi? Because it can be everywhere at the same moment.

When doing the form be like the ancient masters: subtle, mysterious, profound and responsive.


‘The motion should be rooted in the feet,
Released through the legs,
Controlled by the waist,
And manifested through the fingers.’

Rooted: The weight drops through the legs, to the bottom of the feet and merges with the ground. The foot remains flat and the weight is evenly distributed.

Released through the legs: As the weight slowly shifts, the foot pushes into the ground, sending internal energy through the legs. Pushing into the ground is like stepping on a billows. The internal energy compressed and directed through the legs.

Controlled by the waist: The waist is the conduit that guides the internal energy to the spine. When called upon, the waist can snap like whip, greatly enhancing the velocity and power of the internal energy. From the spine it passes through the shoulders to the fingers. Tension at any point along the way reduces the quality and quantity of internal energy.

Manifested through the fingers: The fingers, hands and arms are a reflection of the feet, legs and the waist. Root and branch, lower and upper, are the same. Then the body is not a body but a vessel containing one contiguous flow of internal energy.


The space between heaven and earth is like a bellows
Empty and inexhaustible,
Move it and even more comes out.
Laozi, Chapter 5

In the Rose Garden, Part I

I am in the Rose Garden for my morning ritual of Taijiquan. I’ve been coming to practice Taiji in this Garden for over twenty-five years. This is where I teach most of my classes. Soon I will teach a class of beginning students. I say hello to the Arab gardener who knows me well. In English he asks how I’ve been. I say fine and ask after his welfare. A few people are walking to work on the upper path. I move to a hidden corner of the garden where I am alone in the hush of the early morning. I am standing under an iron trellis that supports green leafy vines and a flourishing purple bougainvillea. Before me is a field of brilliant red roses. The only sounds I hear are birds singing and the din of distant traffic.
The land for the Rose Garden and its maintenance were given to the people of Jerusalem by a wealthy family. Later it will be filled with people, young and old of all faiths, who come to enjoy its beauty and tranquility. Secret lovers frequent the garden at night. But at this time, early in the morning, the garden is quiet and regal. Like the roses, my Taiji has blossomed here. I feel as much at home in this garden as I do in my own living room.
I do a few easy warm-ups before assuming the Beginning Posture with heels together and toes pointing out at an angle. I plant the soles of my feet flat on the ground, distributing my weight evenly. My knees are slightly bent. I focus on standing upright in a balanced and stable position. I tuck in my chin slightly and raise the back of my neck. I try to relax any point of tension in my shoulders, chest, stomach, lower back. Then I focus on my breath, inhaling and exhaling long, slow and deep. I try to empty my mind and allow it to slip into the stillness of Wuji. When the moment is right, I will begin the Taiji form by separating weight and sinking into my right leg.
Suddenly my Wuji strivings are disturbed by the shrill cawing of a crow. The racket is so distracting that I am compelled to look in the direction from which it is coming. What I see is a face-off between a cat and a crow. A gray-striped male cat is walking past a bench like the macho king of the Garden, his tail swishing back and forth like a whip. A few feet away a large gray and black crow, nearly the size of the cat, is confronting him eye-to-eye. The cawing is warning to every creature that danger is lurking nearby. The crow, its black beak raised like a sword, maintains just enough distance so that the cat cannot pounce on him. Even so, head-on, the crow represents a formidable opponent. His beak could easily injure the cat. The cat will not attack and the crow knows it. The crow has made his point.
In the scheme of hunter and hunted, the cat has lost his great advantage, that of stealth. But he does not seem perturbed. He walks with a hunter’s confidence, knowing his day will come. I watch his movements with awe. ‘Walk like a cat’ is written in the Taiji Classics. What can he teach me? He is so soft and graceful, each part in its place and integrated into the whole. It is almost as though his paws do not touch the ground. He continues walking past the crow, ignoring the crow with the arrogance of a natural-born predator.
The crow backs off slightly but his posture and voice continue to proclaim: ‘Don’t mess with me!’ I am impressed with his audacity and courage, the way he stands his ground. He knows exactly what he can get away with.
Watching this ancient drama, I am reminded of the legendary origins of Taijiquan. The immortal Zheng San-feng was meditating in his mountain hut when he heard a noisy racket in his garden. He looked outside and saw a battle between a snake and crane. The snake’s body was coiled like a whip, waiting to defend itself. Suddenly the swift crane dove toward the snake and thrust its sharp beak at its head. The supple snake evaded the crane’s attack and lunged at the crane’s exposed neck. The crane quickly raised its right wing and brushed away the snake’s dangerous strike. Repulsed by the bird’s wing, the snake curled around and attacked the crane’s exposed left leg. With lightening speed, the crane swept away the snake’s charge with its left wing. The bird then struck again and again but was unable to gain the advantage or to inflict any damage due to the soft circular evasions of the snake. The battle raged for some time. Eventually the combatants grew weary and the struggle ended with no clear winner. Finally the snake slithered away through the thick grass and the bird flew back to the forest.
According to legend, this primal battle led Zheng San-feng to create Taijiquan. He understood that the soft could overcome the hard in martial arts from the suppleness and pliability of the snake’s circuitous movements. He also realized the paramount importance of quickness and change in martial arts. The fact that both the snake and the crane quickly yielded or attacked, as the situation required, demonstrated the importance of understanding nature of change, that is, Yin and Yang, in self-defense. The Yin and Yang symbol is called Taiji while Quan means fist. Taijiquan is often translated as ‘The Supreme Ultimate Fist.’