Another correlation between the physical expression of Tai Chi and philosophical ideas of Taoism is the ubiquitous existence of paradoxes in both. There are contradictory answers to many questions, and at the same time, the answers are very simple (a paradox in itself).

An example from Tai Chi is the posture of the p’eng shape. If you’re too stiff, you can be pushed over easily. If you’re too relaxed, you can be collapsed easily. People make the mistake of thinking that you have to be one or the either — that you’re either resisting a force or letting it move you — without understanding that there exists a “somewhere in between”. It’s difficult to explain how something can be structured and relaxed at the same time.

A Taoist example is the idea of wu wei, or “action without action”. Practically speaking, it’s the concept that you don’t do anything that isn’t necessary, and by remaining reactionary you let nature (or the interaction of Heaven and Earth, as Taoists romantically say) run it’s course. In doing so, “nothing is done yet nothing is left undone”.

Last class, my teacher said “Tai Chi is easy, that’s why so few people do it well.” His words reminded me of verse 70 of the Tao Te Ching.

My teachings are very easy to understand
  and very easy to teach
yet so few in this world understand
  and so few are able to practice

The answers remain elusive and difficult to explain because they must be felt, as in Tai Chi, or experienced, as in Taoism, a characteristic of the paradoxical nature of both the ancient Chinese martial art and philosophy.

Lights down, sound up, for this one. Maybe some tea and a pastry if it’s not too late.

Stripped down, the beat alternates between triplet-three-one-two-three-one-two and one-two-three-one-two-three-one-two, fooling the listener into thinking it’s in some sort of complex time-signature. It’s actually based in common time, but with the triplets in there and the down-beat (marked by the open snare) falling on four and then three of the next bar, the song takes on a syncopated rhythm. This isn’t what makes the song good, though. It’s all Karen O and her voice.

I’ve been so moody lately. Up and down. Developments and denouements. Most likely a result of my overthinking and overplanning over everything. Still trying to take things one day at a time, without rushing head first, without falling head over heels.

I’ve begun seeing my psychologist on a session-by-session basis (instead of on a schedule — an indication of progress). In between, my Tai Chi classes have become my therapy. There’s something about class that centres me; the camaraderie, the movements, the breathing, the contact, the feeling that I’m improving a part of myself, bit by bit, even if it’s subconsciously. A time where I can totally focus, a place where I can forget everything else.

Afterwards, it’s a drive home in the dark with the windows down, and the rustling of wind in my hair.

The serenity carries forward. I’m recharged again. Then I’m strong enough to be myself. I’m strong enough to accept these feelings.

They don’t love you like I love you.

My understanding of Tai Chi seems to come in the form of a sine wave: the more I learn, the more I realize I don’t know, and as I adjust for more and more details, other details get lost.

For the last few months, I felt like I was getting nowhere. The concepts made sense in my brain, but not in my body. My teacher has said that Tai Chi is already too intellectualized, and as a person who’s never been very physically co-ordinated and tries to compensate in SHEER MENTAL POWA!, this holds true especially for me. Until I’ve mastered telekinesis, however, I’ll be reliant on more traditional means of movement.

One thing that helped a lot is when a senior student showed me what ward-off (peng) felt like. As he stood with structure in his body, I tried to push him¹, but ended up pushing myself off him and falling over. In order to move him, I was forced to use the proper technique (since he’s considerably bigger than me), and expand with my entire body — legs, waist, arms, chest, lungs — instead of simply trying to move through him.

Then we reversed roles and he pushed me until I could channel his energy through my feet. It was the first time I ever felt grounded, instead of simply understanding the idea. I still don’t really understand it, insofaras I couldn’t explain it to someone else.

Adapting this all to the form is something else. I try to focus on one thing at time² but it falls apart in other places. At this point, I’m just trying to get all the gross mechanics to be natural without having to think about it, hoping that I’ll eventually be able to fine tune everything else.

1. It reminded me of the feeling of squeezing a rubber stopper, something with give but not much, that becomes exponentially difficult to compress. [↑]
2. Such as staying at one level without being rigid (considered “breathing”), relaxing my lower back, thinking of my body being anchored through my legs, and keeping structure and intent in my palms. [↑]