Saturday, October 27, 2012
Friday, October 26, 2012
Wednesday, October 24, 2012
Rice, Ch'i, Christ, and Tao
From ... Cross-cultural theology ...
...The one gospel is understood in and shaped by many cultures. In One Gospel—Many Cultures authors from various parts of the world describe examples of such contextual understandings of the gospel message.
The volume contains accounts of Jesus as rice in a Korean and as guru in a South-Indian setting; churches in secular and individualistic societies on both sides of the Atlantic struggling to understand the gospel anew; Christians in East Asian megalopolises trying to inculturate faith in their local cultures; poverty stricken people in massive urban areas in Latin America who cannot read eating fragments of the Psalms; women in African countries suffering poverty and threatened by the spread of diseases, raising the question whether the churches should stick to monogamy or make room for polygamy? These examples entail serious questions for the churches. In what does the unity of the worldwide church consist and how strong is its witness if various contexts yield different interpretations of the gospel? Is cross-cultural understanding in the church possible?
Critical spirit
If you do not strive with others,
You will be free from blame.” (Tzu , Ch. 8)
http://mysite.verizon.net/nancy_poitou/TheTaoRelate.htm
You will be free from blame.” (
http://mysite.verizon.net/nancy_poitou/TheTaoRelate.htm
Thomas Merton: the way of Chuang Tzu
Just got the book from Amazon dot com. Chuang Tzu is the greatest of the Taoist writers whose historical existence can be verified. This was 550 to 250 B.C. and it could be verified? Wow. Lao Tzu's existence was not sure, it says. Merton did this work in 1965, comparing two English, one French, and one German literature on Chuang Tzu. In Korean, the name of these two figures are pronounced as /No-ja/ and /Jhang-ja/. Now, I am reading these stuff in English and it makes things fresh.
p.65
Man is born in Tao.
Fishes are born in water
Man is born in Tao.
If fishes, born in water,
Seek the deep shadow
Of pond and pool,
All their needs
are satisfied.
If man, born in Tao,
Sinks into the deep shadow
Of non-action
To forget aggression and concern,
He lacks nothing
His life is secure.
It's very much in line with the theory of REBT (Rational Emotive Behavioral Therapy). It's complicated. Here is a quote from a web page (http://www.chebucto.ns.ca/Philosophy/Taichi/chuang.html):
"A very interesting and new notion which he brought into Chinese philosophy is that of self-transformation as a central precept in the Taoist process (an understanding that has also penetrated to the heart of Tai Chi Chuan). He believed in life as dynamic and ever changing, making him akin to both Heraclitus and Hegel in these regards. In general, our contemporary understanding of Taoist philosophy is deeply predicated on a very thorough intermingling of the ideas of Lao Tzu and Chuang Tzu."
Monday, October 22, 2012
Two more videos
Here are two videos, one in warm weather, another cold weather. Descriptions are interesting. Author did not allow embedding them in other sites. Spring and Winter, would there be different Qi (energy), but the same Ji (poles)?
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0Bm2pY7_EA4
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6saQIlBeNM4
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0Bm2pY7_EA4
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6saQIlBeNM4
Prof. Cheng presents 37 form Taijiquan (VIDEO)
Here is a video of Prof. Cheng practicing his Taiji in about 7 minutes. It is a bit clearer than the other ones. The form starts at 1:08 and ends at 7:30.
The Thirteen Postures
I am way ahead. But today I find there are something called 13 postures, which are composed of 8 gates (hand positions) and 5 steps. The summary of 13 postures is here. But I am more interested in how those postures are related to the dynamics of mind, heart, body, energy, and movements. Here is a copy of another web page that explains some of that. I am going to find out the Chinese characters in this article to understand them better.
The Understanding of the Thirteen Postures
1. The Xin (mind/heart) motivates the qi, directs it to sink, so that it can be stored and concentrated into the bones.
2. Let the qi motivate the body without hindrance, so that it will effortlessly follow your xin (mind/heart).
3. If the shen (spirit) is raised, there will not be any sluggishness. This is the meaning of the crown being suspended from above.
4. There should be agility in the interaction of the yi (mind intention) and qi, so that it [the qi] will be circular and lively. This is what is meant by, ‘changing substantial and insubstantial’.
5. When executing fajin (releasing the force) the body should relax and sink. Focus on the one direction.
6. When the body is upright, loose and tranquil, the feet will support all eight directions.
7. Direct the qi like threading the ‘nine bend pearls’, by flowing continuously it reaches everywhere unrestricted.
[When the qi flows throughout the body] the jin (relaxed force) is like tempered steel, overcoming all solid defences.
8. Have the appearance of a falcon preying on a hare. Concentrate the shen (spirit) like a cat stalking on a mouse.
9. Be calm like a mountain and move like a river.
10. Store up the jin (relaxed force) like drawing a bow, discharge the jin (relaxed force) like releasing an arrow.
11. Seek the straight in the curve, first store then discharge.
12. Force is released through the back, the steeps change with the body.
13. To receive is to release, if it disconnects then reconnect.
14. In moving forwards and backwards, there should be folding. In advancing and retreating, there should be changes of direction.
15. Extreme softness yields to extreme firmness and tenacity.
16. Only with the ability to inhale and exhale, will there be agility.
17. When qi is cultivated naturally, there is no harm. When jin (relaxed force) is stored, there will be a surplus.
18. The xin (mind/heart) is the commander, the qi is the flag, and the yao (waist) is the banner.
19. First seek exspansion while opening then seek contraction while closing. It will lead to perfect refinement.
20. Its said: “If the other does not move, I do not move. If the other has the slightest movement, I move ahead”.
21. The jin (force) seems song (relaxed), however it is not song (relaxed), it is about to expand, although it has not yet expanded. The jin (relaxed force) might disconnect, but mind must not.
22. It is also said: “First the xin (mind/heart), then the body”.
23. When the abdomen relaxes, the qi sinks into the bones. When the shen (spirit) calms, the body becomes tranquil.
24. Keep this in xin (in your heart). Remember; when you move, every part moves. When you settle every part settles.
25. When moving forwards and backwards, the qi sticks to the back and permeates into the spine.
26. Internally be acutely aware of the shen (spirit), externally appear calm and relaxed.
27. Step like a cat. Transmit the jin (relaxed force) like reeling silk from a cocoon.
28. The yi (intention) should be on the jingshen (spirit), not on the qi, otherwise the qi will stagnate. With qi, extra-ordinary power will develop. Without qi there will only be li (brute strength). Qi is like a cart wheel and the yao (waist) is like the axle.
Reference: Taijiquan Wuwei: A Natural Process translation by Wee Kee Jin 2003
ISBN: 0473097818
ISBN: 0473097818
Sunday, October 21, 2012
Principles of Tai Chi Chuan
Principles of the Cheng Man-Ch’ing Simplified Yang Style Tai Chi Chuan
Five Basic Principles:
(Represented with the Acronym BURST)
Straight relaxed wrists
No tension in arms, wrists or fingers
U: Upright Body
Coccyx tucks in slightly to straighten lower back
Imagine that tail bone is if pulled down with weight
Chin turns slightly down
Top of head is pulled up as if lifted with a string
Lower body is pulled down to the ground with gravity
Upper body floats loose and free as if suspended
R: Relax
Be aware of and let go of any tension in the body
This is the pivotal principle in Tai Chi
S: Separate the Weight
Weight not to be distributed evenly on both legs
One leg is ‘Substantial’ and the other is ‘Insubstantial’
(Except for in the Preparation Posture)
T: Turn the Waist
Never move the body independently of the hips/waist
All movements come from the hips/waist
Move from the hips/waist
Power comes from the legs
Is controlled by the waist/hips
Is expressed through the fingers
Additional Concepts:
Softness (Yielding)
Water is the softest element in the universe yet unstoppable. Soft always overcomes the hard
Momentate (Made up verb)
Momentum from one movement leads into the next
Movements always flow from the previous movement
In essence; Only one movement from start to finish
Silk Reeling
Movements are steady with no break between postures Like pulling silk from a cocoon
Natural Breathing (as opposed to reverse breathing)
Breathe through the nose
Tongue lightly touching upper palette
Breathe like a little child
Abdomen expands when inhaling
Abdomen contracts when exhaling
Additional inhalation into the back of the lungs
Allow chest to sink
Rooting
Weight falls naturally with gravity to the ground
Imagine you are being rooted to the ground through feet
Swimming in Air
Air has substance which you will feel as you relax
Tai Chi is like swimming in air
Version 12/13/2006 Soft Answer Tai Chi – Instructor Sean Carney – http://www.SoftAnswerTaiChi.com
The Korean Flag
I will talk about Korean national flag. (North Korea, a hermit Stalinist totalitarian country, abandoned it and took it's own flag before the Korean war.) The Korean flag, created in the late 19th century, has a lot to do with Taoism and Taichi stuff.
The Korean flag is called Tae-Geuk-Gi /Tae-geuk-ghi/. The last letter Gi means flag. The first two letters Tae-Geuk literally are the same as Taiji in Chinese,
太 (great) 極 (pole).
So, when we say we practice Taiji, or Taichi, we are, or supposed to be, playing with these great poles. The confusion in the name: Chi in Tai-chi means pole, not energy, which is
氣 (energy, life force, pronounced as Ch'i or qi)
It's just a confusion in translating one language to the other. By the way, Qigong, which is
氣功 ( life energy cultivation),
can be called Chi-Gong also. The title of this blog, therefore, naturally contains double meaning, Chi, can be pole or energy. Maybe we can differentiate two words or two practices by writing it as Taiji and Qigong. Don't forget. When you practice Taiji, you are practically waving the Korean flag. ;-) Read more about the Korean flag here.
Yielding
A re-post of another web page:
http://www.chengmanching.com/yield1.html
The
Power of Yielding: Getting it Done By Not Doing It.
by Fred Lehrman
“By non-action, all things are accomplished… Without leaving
his house, the Sage knows everything in the world
...My words are easy to understand.”
...My words are easy to understand.”
—Lao-tze
Dao Te Ching
Dao Te Ching
Easy to understand?
I suppose so, if you understand them. Lao-tze refused to compromise his readers
by telling them that which could not be told. In this way he transmitted intact
his insight, his “crazy wisdom ,” across 2500 years and into the lives of
people who, for the time, find themselves on a planet where power games threaten
the scene of the game itself.
I want to introduce
Daoism as a “Way” of proceeding from here in extricating ourselves from our own
clutches. Taijiquan is the best known form in which to take the medicine.
Taiji is a physical
practice based on the observations of nature brought forth in the writing of
Lao-tze, whose own thought was shaped by his study of the I Ching, or Book of
Change, and of the Nei Ching, the classic treatise of Chinese medicine. Taiji
has suddenly begun to have a wide popularity in the West; there is even a
nationwide television series which surprises and puzzles innocent
channel-browsers. But, what is it really about? And how can the study of Taiji
assist you in achieving your intentions, whether they be changing a personal
situation, setting up a new community where life works better for everyone, or
facing the whole problem on a global level? The clue is in the paradox of non
action; and the way I would like to formulate the challenge for now is thus:
“Obviously, I simply am: yet it seems that I must always try to be.”
When you find
yourself at the beginning of your first Taiji class, you will soon realize this
is unlike anything else you have ever tried to learn. This is because it
appears at first not even to be like itself. You are asked to stand quietly,
with you feet-heels together, toes naturally apart – flat and relaxed directly
under you (“Where else could they be?” your mind asks.) Then you are asked to
stand there, right where you’re standing, nowhere else, not anywhere you were
earlier or might be tomorrow. At this point some interesting things are
starting to go on in your body, you notice that you really are there more, that
you are denser, more compact, and more aware.
What has happened is
that the Qi, the vital, live energy of your body and mind, has begun to sense
itself. Continuing, degree by degree, aspect by aspect, to learn to just stand
there (which your already doing), prepares a new body, a body of Qi rather than
muscle and bone, with which you are going to move through the slow, evenly
evolving attitudes of the Taijiquan (literally, “Extreme Ultimate Discipline”;
quan also means “Fist” or Boxing”). And the paradox begins: you start by
lifting a foot, stepping out, slowly shifting your weight, and then very, very
slowly letting your wrists fall away from you, out and up until they hang
loose-heavy in from of you at shoulder height, then down to your sides again,
until in this way your whole body is moving, expanding, contracting, turning,
stepping, floating yet anchored, back and forth across the room, washed by
invisible waves of air; yet you are still standing still, centered, right where
you are, right there.
When I had my first
lesson with Professor Cheng Man-ch’ing in New York eight years ago, I didn’t
understand it, I thought “This is strange; usually I can get some sense of what
things are about, I really can’t see what this Taiji is for, so I’ll stick with
it until I do. Then I’ll quit.” I do understand it pretty well now, but I
haven’t quit, at least not in the sense that I originally meant. Actually, I
have quit, and now I’m, beginning to be able to do T’ai Chi.
Last year, just
before he left for Taiwan, Professor Cheng called me over the his desk at
Shr-Jung Center in New York (shr-jung, a term coined by Confucius, means “right
timing”). He said to me that my practice had reached a significant point and
that it was important for me to give it special attention during this period. I
thanked him and said that I had been practicing more and thinking a great deal
about it, but that there were still some obstinate habits and tensions that I
couldn’t seem to cut through. He smiled at me sadly, then shook his head: “The
Dao is not something you can try to do.” These words enabled me to move on.
Everyone who studies
Taijiquan encounters such frustrations, which comprise the environment for
progress. One continuing frustration is the realization of how inappropriately
we use our own bodies. Unlike most creatures and things under the sun, adult
humans seem to have lost an awareness of what the parts of their bodies are
for, and insist on using one end of the beast to do the job best performed by
the other end. Pianos, rocks, trees, wild animals, and young children are
generally not plagued by this confusion; but at some point in growing up,
people start to get funny ideas about how to get their bodies around in the
world. In Taiji class you will begin to notice that you have confused your
shoulders with your legs; that it’s your legs which get you across the room and
that your shoulders might as well relax and enjoy the ride. Also, you will
observe that when you raise your hand slowly to a position in front of your
chest, arm gently rounded and palm facing in, that your hand looks and feels as
if it’s holding onto something. But there’s nothing in your hand, so drop it!
And then you might begin to notice you’re still holding onto your hand itself,
as if it might go somewhere without you. Let go of it! It ain’t going nowhere.
These are the little ways in which we
cheat ourselves of power, which is the use of our energy. As you work in Taiji
continues, the realization of what you can let go of reaches increasingly
profound levels. Progress is slow, because an unknown fear, the fear of power,
keeps the body fighting itself long beyond the time when the mind has seen that
there is no reason to fight. Professor Cheng calls this stage of practice
“drinking” the cup of bitterness. You become painfully aware that you are, for
the most part, manufacturing your actions, and only rarely, for moments, are
you being your action. Try as you might, at some point you still resist, and at
that point your power is no longer at your command. You are at the effect of
your own strength. True power, when experienced, has nothing of effort or
strength in it.
Let’s return to Lao-tze and non-action.
If you were a blade of grass on a hillside, and the wind began to blow, how
would you practice non-action? If you didn’t move, you would be resisting the
wind, and that’s doing something. If you lay down flat in order to create no
resistance, you would be “doing” passivity. But if you simply remained what you
are, a blade of grass, which is intrinsically yielding, yet firm, continuous,
and coherent, you would move as the wind moves, back and forth, sometimes more
inclined and sometimes less. To an observer, there would be motion. Yet nothing
would be being done. A blade of grass, not having the same type of
consciousness that we have, spontaneously practices non-action. Through
Taijiquan we can recover that sense of being a blade of grass on a hillside, in
the wind, in the world, and to find that sense in any situation. Lao-tze
observed, “That which yields, endures, that which resists is destroyed.” And
that which is destroyed has no more power.
The strangest part (and hardest thing
to accept) about studying Taijiquan is the slow realization, through
observation, that non-action actually works. Somehow, by adhering to the
principle, you find that you can handle and repel someone whose strength is
much greater than your own, with no effort. This realization is on the level of
physical mechanics. It is appropriate in that it supports and is in harmony
with a realization on the inner plane, which is that you don’t have to do it
anymore, because you’re already doing it.
As you read this article, you don’t
have to try to read it; you’ve already done that. In fact, you never had to try
to do anything, except that you preferred the redundancy of effort. Discover
the on-going energy of the Universe, which you’ve been using since before you
were born to put your body together and to get you here. That’s your power
source, and it’s free and unlimited.
Lao-tze said that the Dao which could
be talked about was not the Dao he was talking about. So words lie, even though
we need them. Taiji is first of all empty, basically useless; and that makes it
the most useful thing in the world. Knowing the useless enables you to find the
emptiness in everything: if the wheel did not have an empty space at the hub
through which to run an axle, it would itself be useless. So your Yoga, your
carpentry, your piano playing, your thinking, your writing, your being with
people—all expand as your practice of Taiji teaches you to do less and less and
less.
That which you control, controls you.
Grab something, right now, say the leg of a chair, and hold onto it tight
enough to keep me from pulling it away from you. Now try to move around the
room with this thing that you’re controlling. See? That’s what control costs in
terms of power. However, he who controls emptiness, who controls space, has
power. He can move freely, act appropriately, and let go instantly when it’s no
longer appropriate to be involved. His actions are a function of shr-jung,
right timing.
Since the principle of the Dao is not
to be in conflict with anything, Taiji is not incompatible with other ways.
Yoga, Zazen, Alexander technique, the various therapies – all are facilitated
by the element of awareness which Taiji takes as its prime focus. If this were
not so, it would not be the “Extreme Ultimate Discipline.” And if it is to
contain everything, it must itself be perfectly empty. Taiji is not really a
training in self-defense, or health, or philosophy; the benefits in these areas
are side effects of the practice.
Taiji does not teach you how to do
something. It teaches you how to do. It teaches you how. It teaches you.
The editorial questions behind this
issue of the New Age Journal is: “Who rules the world?” In order to answer
that, we have to consider some discouraging possibilities. All power games take
place in limited fields, with boundaries and goal posts. If ” the world” is a
limited field, we are in trouble.
I remember sitting one morning several
years ago with Professor Cheng and several students in the Asian Library at
Columbia University. The Club of Rome Report had just been released by MIT, and
one of the students had bought in a clipping from the New York Times outlining
the hopelessness of solving the compounded problems posed by overpopulation,
food shortage, energy resource depletion, atmospheric pollution, radioactive
waste, etc. The student was quite upset, and asked professor Cheng what he
thought of the situation, and how we could get out of it. The Taiji master
turned the question around and asked the questioner what his ideas were. The
student gave his answer, and sat expectantly, awaiting correction from the
Sage. Instead, Professor Cheng turned to another student at the table, and
asked, “What do you think about what he said?” This continued until each
student had commented on the others ideas, and it was clear that the subject
had been exhausted. There was really no way to solve the problem. Professor
Cheng went back to reading his book.
After a pause, the first student, more
upset than ever, asked again for some word from the teacher. Professor Cheng
leaned forward, and put his book down next to the cup of hot tea which had just
been refilled for him. “What will happen to the world? I don’t know. Look at
this vapor; it comes from the tea, it goes into the air, and right about here”
– he pointed in the air – “you don’t see it anymore. Where does it go?” He sat
quietly for a moment while we pondered the empty space left after the world had
destroyed itself. “Don’t worry about it, “he said , “Nothing gets lost.”
There are many lessons in this story.
Primarily, we made the problems, because we are unable still to clear them up.
The problems are in us, and not in the world. No one rules the world, because
no one rules himself. Until that changes, the world rules us. Because Professor
Cheng at first did nothing, we were able to see that; or rather, to experience
it. And from this experience comes the natural response, without effort.
The lesson of the tea might appear
superficially to mean that we ought to just sip merrily as we are being snuffed
out. But Professor Cheng’s actions in the world don’t give the impression that
that’s what he’s doing. The world gets better when he’s around, Thus, the other
side of Taiji begins to become apparent. Professor Cheng’s teaching is this: in
relation to yourself, internally, follow the Dao of Lao-tze—yield, yield,
yield, invest in loss; in relation to the world, externally, follow
Confucious—be responsible, act appropriately to the situation, and always,
right timing, right timing, right timing.
Because he has let go, because he knows
the abyss, the man of Dao has power.
In the Tui-shou, or “push hands” part
of the Taiji practice, the students work in this paradox for hours on end. And
as he learns to not resist, to let things have their way, he begins to find
that they start to turn out his way just by virtue of his intention, with no
strength applied. This is difficult to believe and harder to figure out.
Through practice it becomes part of your body’s knowledge.
My point is this: go ahead and change
the world. To the extent that you resist the Universe, the Universe will resist
you. Make the way things are part of your plan, and everything will cooperate
to get you there.
© 1998
Fredrick Lehrman
NOTE: Louis
Swaim found the article on the Jung Tao School of Classical Chinese Medicine.
CMC/s Webmaster contacted the Jung Tao School’s Webmaster and requested permission to
post the article on our site. They responded by way of e-mail and later Dr.
Sean Marshall, the school’s founder, called us and granted permission to
reprint it.
Fred Lehrman
was a senior student of the late Professor Cheng Man-ching for 9 years. He was
one of Dr. Marshall’s primary teachers.
An Introduction
This blog is a diary about, and my determination with, Tai Chi, Chi Gong, and other philosophies, as I start to learn them this year. An amazing meetup group in Columbia, MD got started recently and a very generous teacher Saroja is teaching a small group of people. What a beautiful place near the lake we have!
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