Uncle Jo's last trip at sea

Five mornings of tai chi practice

These few months I have been trying to write up some insights about tai chi; especially tai chi in connection to theatre and teaching (the other two practices in my life). It's harder than I expected; there are some days where the ink flows freely, and there are other days where it just doesn't. Hopefully if I persist at it I will eventually be able to battle out something more complete.

It's the same with tai chi. Some mornings I wake up, and everything seems to fall into place; other mornings it’s a struggle to even get to the park. And depending on where I am today, what I get out of tai chi practice will be different.

Here are five mornings of tai chi practice (2008年7月10-14日), which I think kind of gives an idea of the range of different types of mornings I have...



Day One: Grace

It's been raining non-stop for weeks now. But today, out of the blue, the sky has suddenly cleared up. So, for the first time in weeks, I walked over to my park at洞梓.It's great to be out again. Doing tai chi inside the house just isn’t the same, and there’s something about this park that makes it easy to settle into the practice.

Today I went slow. 點點滴滴的慢. A slow unfolding, the way a droplet discovers its path down a windowpane. The odd thing was, I don't think my body was particularly en forme. In fact, I could feel the creakiness of my 四平on my first 單鞭. But in that state of grace, how could my body not settle into place?

Oof. It's only until afterwards that I notice how well-used my muscles are. I think this is one of the slowest times I've ever done the 108.

The oddest thing was that while I was doing it, this guy in his forties, on crutches, came over while I was practising. He had been stretching when I walked in, so I said good morning, and went over to the concrete side of the park, leaving him on the playground side with the nice absorbent floor.

「你啲掌好有美感，你耍咗幾來呀?」

I never quite know how to answer that question. Two years? Five years? Usually, I just say, 「認真耍，有两年啦」

「两年!?」he exclaimed in disbelief.

All this while, I continue my 108. I discover that I'm able to navigate this conversation while keeping my kuen at the same, steady pace. I breathe into my 雲手, even as the man expresses incredulity at how young and healthy I am. It's a bit like wading in water, both through my kuen, and the swirling nuances of our dialogue.

I ask him how he hurt his leg. He tells me that he hurt it in work related accident, and that's why he has the leisure to be in the park in the morning. Because he was smart enough to ask if I did this for the health or martial art aspect, I ask him if he has learnt any kungfu. He has.

This exchange takes about ten minutes. Even though speaking with him is effortless, I have sped up ever so slightly. I notice too, how once he leaves, my awareness can slide back easily into the kuen. I finish the last third of my 108 and 收勢.

李師傅 is in 鄭洲for the week, which means a lot of quiet mornings by myself studying. When we parted, I said "一帆風順" to her; and as I said this I had this sudden thought, what if something does happen to her?
What if people close to me died this moment? Would I feel that I have lived in a way that made the most of our time together? And in the case of 我两位師傅, am I making the most of our time together?
The edge of morality gives a particular keenness to my practice.



Day Two - After-grace

Another bright and beautiful sunny day…
..but the flow wasn't there. Not in the same way. What to do?

In the absence of this grace, I try to find my way home by recreating the sensations. The trick is, while in the state of grace, to 'anchor' the sensations – the way Hansel and Gretel threw pebbles or breadcrumbs along the path, so they could find their way home by moonlight.

I trace the pathways in my memory. It's there, faintly, but it's not the same. My friend Jo once told me how she is able to recall the sensation of when she took ecstasy. “If I really concentrate… like for example, of my fingertips on this stair banister, I can get a small patch of the heightened sensation.” What I am doing today is what I imagine you does – attempting to retrace the pathway of an intense experience.

In the absence of this grace, I am besieged with questions -- how much to push? Today I kept as much as the chi wanted to run. So I didn't particularly運勁 to my fingers – instead, I just followed the flow of where the chi wanted to take me. 李師傅, of course, would have berated me for not properly filling out the energy and expanding out (掤) into space. But she is not here and this is a sort of experiment to "be moved", rather than to move.

In my slowness, I'm encountering the same resistence as I used to have in sitting meditation. i.e., moments where when I want to stop and call it a day. The difference is, however, with the 108 I have a sense of the beginning middle and end, whereas if I do vispassana with the clock I set an alarm and don't look at it. When I got to 野馬分鬃I knew, "god, I still have halfway to go."

But oddly enough, I had an undercurrent that kept my movement slow. And all the detail -- the weight shifts, 開合 – it was all there if I listened.

I am reminded about what Osho said about enlightenment – he call enlightenment an accident. You cannot ask for accidents, but you can make yourself more "accident-prone" through meditation… and that's what you have to do. You prepare, prepare and prepare, and gradually, these peak experiences happen more frequently and consistently, and hopefully, eventually, one moves from peak to plateau.

~

Day Three - Study


Today I am at 阿婆's. When I am here, the important thing is to go into the living room and do tai chi practice as soon as the impulse strikes. If I go check my e-mail or putter around, soon the breakfast will be ready, the TV will be on, people will wake up and want to be social, and the opportunity will have passed. Ergo: wake up, do.

So I stretched. It feel good to stretch after the rigor of yesterday's lesson. There are certain sets of muscles which seem particularly tired – e.g. the core muscles that control a slow descent, seem to be temporarily on strike, making my descents (e.g., into 玉女穿梭) thump heavy-footed. But that's ok. That particular set of muscles just needs to be trained.

If on Thursday my tai chi was in a state of grace, and yesterday's practice was trying to retrace that state of grace; then today's practice was in study mode. Instead of being in, or trying to recreate the flow, today I took the time to wok on the details. Yes: pay attention here – it's the knee that leads after the 上下走手. Yes. feel the connection from center to shoulder to arm to the release of the right wrist in the transition into 雲手. Make sure the fists have no gaps. When necessary, re-run sections of the sequence to check, and clarify, clarify, clarify until the pathway is very clear.

Today in particular I am sensing the difference with a slight tuck-in of the chin. This tendency for me to stick my chin out was first spotted by Soto, corrected again by 阿熊師弟, and I was reminded again last night by Victor, when we were doing the 運喉背吐. This small correction has a significant effect to my alignment, and my spine becomes taut, energised. As I test it out today, I realise that it leads also to a tightening of the center, and relaxation of the shoulders.

Details that felt particulary good today: the return from the 下勢. I could really sense the crouching tiger energy, springing from the earth. Details, details: turn the right foot after the 攻前in the 攬雀尾/單鞭transition, not before. All these small corrections that have yet to be reintegrated into my execution.

Slow detailed work on the 劈掌. Thos 2-8馬things I do little and often throughout the day. It's trying, but then I think about how difficult it was to open up my 胯 in parallel 四平大馬, and now, after all that work, I can more or less drop into that stance on demand. I look forward to the day when the 2-8馬will finally be like that.

Day Four- Muscle


Head muggy – got home late last night. Woke up, as usual, and the weather seemed so perfect, that I thought, Carpe Diem! and headed off to 洞梓park.

At 洞梓 my thoughts were mulling over the Anderson Project (the show I'd seen last night), so I sat down on a park bench and wrote. Head was still muggy. I warmed up, I tried to work on my 拳 but I couldn't focus. So I focused on very very simple 基本功: 拉筋, 摟膝拗涉, 雲手, 站樁 (in particular the 太極 / 2-8馬)

I thought, even if my thoughts are all over the place, at least I'm working on basic, basic stuff on a muscular level. I was hoping, actually, that the sheer physicality of the 站樁 would be able to cut a swathe thought my mugginess, as it is sometimes able to do. But it didn't today.

My right knee is throbbing again; and it's not the 108 起式 this time that seems to be stressing it. It could be a misalignment in a 樁?

I work myself to physical exhaustion, and then I head home and collapse back into bed. So much for the perfect weather.

The other day someone at Club O (thinking that I had some secret energy source) asked me what I do when I was feel tired.
"I sleep," I said.



Day Five - Stability


Morning. 洞梓park again. Clear blue sky.
Stable practice. Clear mind. I was with my 拳 80-90% of the time. No peak experience, but it felt steady. The first half of the sequence, I was still trying to find my way back to the flow, but the second half, I had found the 勁路. The 勁was more clearly etched, more expansive.

My 胯wasn't particularly loose – I could tell from my 玉女穿梭. So, I pushed myself to the lower, more expansive stance. My speed today was average. I didn't have a watch on me, but I would guess I'm clocking at 25 or 30 minutes for my 108 sequence. (As a reference, I was probably doing around 45, 50 minutes or more of super-slow practice for Thursday and Friday).

I was pleasantly surprised to find that after 阿孔's dancing there were no major aches, as there used to be after a crazy three hour dancing session. And then I was surprised to realise that my muscles were tired, not aching-tired, but they definitely weren't as fresh as usual. Still – it's a young, strong body.

The 炒飯 felt oddly unfamiliar. Which is odd, because炒飯felt so intuitive when I first learnt it. Maybe I have different standards now?
Who knows. I remind myself: the下盤 should be the same as the 野馬分鬃 (so I do a few of these to feel it, and then try to transfer the sensation). I keep wanting to do it like the 攬雀尾, but Victor suggests that I want to end up with the pelvis at a slight angle when the palm is forward, as opposed to directly forward.

The 2-8 迫步seemed okay today. The 劈掌, as usual, is an ongoing project, and now I'm supposed also to add the 彈腿 to my 上步and 退步. I did several, until my muscles were tired, and then I did ten more. That's what I learnt from sitting meditation. You pick a target time, and then set ten more minutes than what you thought you could do. And those ten more minutes are where the real learning takes place.

RWDNY - Pearl Sea Project (3)

I have about two minutes on stage that I really like:

I kneel, holding the space. Then, slowly, the weight of my head takes over, and I bow to the floor. From kneeling, I unfold the right knee, and caress the air with my arms in a circle, and roll the air out – the way does with a carpet. I contract into what I think of as “sheltering under the rain” gesture, which my head hidden under my hands. But I peek out: and look. It’s like a bird looking. I take care to take in the space with my looking.

Then, cautiously, I step forth. The space expands before me, and I venture into this new space. My hands part the mists before me. I look down, my hand falls, like a pebble down a deep well, and my weight sinks with it; until suddenly, I find my weight supported by my right hand. Weight shift – I flip: over to left hand, up on left leg, and I’m flying. My body is suspended, parallel to the floor, my arms supported by the air beneath.

I shift back to vertical on my left leg; it’s a tiny lift up, and then off-balance, I scuttle back. My pelvis twists: left, right, and I push the space backwards, extending my left hand behind me. Cautiously, I come en point, fragile steps into the space – and then, with an undulation, my head gets thrown up and down: I see a spot. I reach for it, sinking down. I touch the earth, and remain there in this point of contact until the lights go out.

Ling Fen taught me and Katie in the first class, and by the second class, I’d figured enough of it to make it mine. I keep thinking that Robert will develop it (and he even said he wanted to outright), but he never does. Instead, he makes us do it every other rehearsal.

It’s good practice to be able to consistently deliver; and it’s a matter of staying present, and receiving feedback from the sensation. And of course, it felt different again on the stage. I was so near the front, all the suspensions in the air feel more risky.

Isabel said, “It felt like your stuff.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Well,” she said, “It was meditative… slow, and detailed.”

I always find it amusing when people are able to tell me what “my stuff” is. I suppose it’s good to develop a recognizable aesthetic.

RWDNY - Pearl Sea Project (2)

12th July, 2008

A little further on into the project.
I’ve discovered that I hate learning movement from video.

Movement is a transmission of energy – not a series of arms and legs in certain positions.
That choreography was created in a certain moment in time; it had meaning then.
Now if one of those dancers came to teach me (the way Ling Fen does), then it makes sense. It is a transmission of meaning. I receive the quality of movement from what I am able to sense from the human being in front of me.

But video tape is a moment frozen in time. Meaning is not mediated by live, organic energy.
So we are learning dead structures; okay, sure, why not. It’s a matter of going in the front door or back. If the choreography is strong enough then as we do, we will discover (create) the meaning that arising from it. But there’s part of me that resists this Frankenstein work. Why do this when there are throbbing, living dancers in front of you? Why not create something that’s relevant to here and now and this particular group of movers?

Ok, I’m just tired, and this particular sequence makes no sense to me. What is this “Cambodian trio” – why are we being Cambodian sculptures?

19 July, 2008

One of those long RWDNY rehearsals where I seem to be waiting around, just soaking things in. I’m exhausted today – mainly from my morning tai chi with Victor. Did we really do so much? Or is it the accumulated weariness of the week? Seriously – this afternoon I was wiped out. I took a nap and when I woke up, my body felt so heavy, I just wanted to roll over and sleep again.

Working with big groups is tricky. It’s taxing to be hanging around. I feel a bit out of it. I like watching the dancers; but at the same time, I wonder: what am I doing here?

當一位演員覺得來與不來，確時與遲到都好像沒有大分別那麼，我會問:為什麼要花時間縯?我走有什麼意思? And so there exists an unspoken contract between actor and director: I’ll respect your rehearsal time if you respect the mine…

Still, it’s always valuable to watch. I particularly enjoy watching their main dancer, Ling Fen. I could watch her all day. Her movement is like clear water, so effortless and transparent. And the quality of attention, so lightly held; even when she is tired, even when she has a hurt back. She’s always present. They say in tai chi that your grasp should be like holding a bird: too tightly, and you’ll squash the bird; too loose, and the bird will fly away. Ling Fen’s movement etches the air, leaving an afterglow. Seriously, I could watch her all day.

RWDNY - Pearl Sea Project (1)

5 July, 2008

On top of my summer teaching load, this month I’ve taken on a dance project with New York choreographer Robert Wood (who used to be in Merce Cunningham’s dance company.) It’s a nice change for me to be performing instead of directing. and for the first time in three years, be dancing in performance (instead of acting in physical theatre)!

And it feels good! We are rehearing in this huge, beautiful gym in the Australian International School. The floor is a warm wooden colour, and the ceiling is really high. Higher even than Troy Dance Lab. The height and breadth of the whole place inspires huge expansive movement. It’s truly gorgeous to work in such a space.

Having been away from technique class for 2 years, I am pleasantly surprised to find that my technique has not only not rusted away, but I actually seem to have improved in my absence. Hard core tai chi has given me a strong center, and relaxed many of those shoulder and neck muscles that I used to tense up to compensate. Robert also teaches a softer version of the Cunningham technique – which, like tai chi, seems to aim for energy and extension with minimal muscular strength. It’s still as tiring as hell, as Robert likes to push the young bodies he has in front of him, but there seem to be many places where I can transfer my existing knowledge of the body over.

It’s odd though, to be surrounded by young, freshly graduated APA dancers. I discovered that I learn movement in a different way. After we were taught a fairly long sequence and retired to a corner of the hall to work through it ourselves, the first thing the APA dancers wanted to do was to chunk it down mentally. “Ok, so it’s three of these foot-things, sashay-turn on right foot…” As they did they would sketch through the movement minimally.

Meanwhile, what I wanted to do was to actually do the sequence a couple of times really slowly to understand the mechanics and anchor the sensation. By doing it full-out, I taste the continuity, and begin to understand “what this movement is about.” I mean, it’s not about “three foot-things” .. the third foot-thing should feel different from the first one, by virtue of repetition.

Here I’m beginning to sense how my understanding of movement is being shaped by the structure of my tai chi practice. Because that’s how things are done in tai chi. The 帥傅 gives you a single phrase a week to mull over like a koan, and when you learn the sequence – well, guess what? That’s a sequence that you’ll probably do every day for the rest of your life. The emphasis is on the quality of the movement, rather than the ability to memorise sequences.

Having directed a show recently, it’s interesting for me to experience the trajectory of a project from the performer’s side. I’m realizing how, as a performer, what I’m really asking for is for some to guide me. I want to be a tool in someone’s creation; I want to be well-used. And so my interest in the project , and how much time and effort I’m willing to plunge in is directly related to how much I believe in the choreographer’s overarching vision, and how much I feel that I am able to give in this structure.

I sense that Robert and I are quite similar in terms of spirit and intention. The way we might go about it may be a bit different, but as I am still very much trying to figure out my path, it is extremely useful to have someone with a wealth of experience as a reference point. There are still several choices being made in this project that I haven’t quite figured out yet, and I’m trusting that I might come to understand them better in the coming 2 weeks.