empty cup. taking a seat.

Chen Taijiquan Practical Method: San Francisco Bay Area Branch, Oakland CA

Its hard to admit to yourself that you're moving your hand or that you're not sitting on your heel, or that what feels like rotation is not actually rotation. Its hard because you've got to have something to practice. If what you're doing is not correct, or if what you're doing will not enable you to issue power, then what are you doing it for? How can you do something that you don't know how to do? Its easy to convince yourself that you're doing it correctly, or as correctly as possible for the time being, just so you can practice...and you have to be comfortable practicing at the level that you're at. But then all that practice makes you feel like you're doing something right, correct, as if (at least a little) you know what you're doing. You begin to identify with and put a lot of meaning into all of that practice, all of that time and commitment you've put towards your practice. Its not easy to say, "yes I've been doing taiji for 10 years, and yes, I'm still a beginner". Or maybe its easy to say but difficult to really mean it. To live up to it. To continue to live with an empty cup. Sometimes your cup just fills up, and then you're "full of it". Sometimes someone needs to empty your cup for you. They tilt you over on the ground, and some of it spills out. Sometimes your cup needs to crack or break to empty out. Sometimes you just need to listen, or you need to sit down and stop working so hard, so you can slow down and relax, and realize that your job is actually much harder than you thought it was. To understand that what you've been doing had its place, and was not in vain. That all of that work got you here, where you are now. But that now there's something different on the table. Something more fundamental. Something more correct. Another piece. Sometimes a big piece is hard to swallow. Don't fight. Listen and then Do (receive and act) (yin, then yang). The soft always wins.

In my understanding, this is what it means to have an empty cup. You have to be willing to listen first, and then do. In social innovation they say that there are three ways of listening. The first way is to listen for only what you already know, what you recognize, what you agree with, and to allow everything else to pass through or go un-noticed, or even to fight against and discredit that which doesn't fit into your understanding. This is listening with a full cup. Its not really listening at all. The second way is to listen from the POV of the other, to put yourself where they are, and listen empathically. The third way is to listen for "the heart" of what is being said, to listen from the point of view of "what wants to emerge". To listen between the lines of what they're saying and see how their statement fits in to the larger picture. I think this is the most effective way to learn, especially in taijiquan, but I also think its difficult to get to the place where you can listen this way. Sometimes you have to not listen and not hear for a couple years before you get fed up with yourself. Before you're ready to see that you're full of it. I think its usually incremental for this reason. I'll close this posting with an excerpt from Hong's poem on push hands from his book, Chen Style Taijiquan Practical Method, translated by Chen Zhonghua:

In dealing with fellow practitioners
One must respect the aged ones
Be polite to each other
And don't fight to be the first
Learn with an empty heart
And your ability will increase
If you initiate fajin
You must keep safety at heart
It is good to play the game to a draw
And both feel good about it
Keeping your opponent's reputation
Will make your heart feel at ease
If you run into a bully
Don't engage him
Treat him with polite words
And a humble attitude
Live in peace with everyone
And all must feel the peace inside

One Day, One Form, One Move

Joseph Chen told me that someone once asked him, "How many moves are there in your set?" and he replied, "Just one." Although it is known that there are many moves in the yilu, the first form of Chen taijiquan, the form is really just one continuous movement. Of course knowing the names of the moves in Chen Taijiquan can act as a very helpful map of the form, for discussing different moves etc, so that you know what you're talking about, but the form is ultimately continuous to itself - it is singular. Master Chen's reply also implies that you shouldn't focus on the surface aspect of your form. Who cares how many moves there are in your form? Another answer to this question might be "enough". "There are enough moves". Rather than ask how many moves, ask, "Is your form good?" or "Does your form apply the principles of taiji?" or better yet "Do you see anything that I could improve in my form?" It is better to focus on the substance of something than make some generalizations or characterizations. For example, this blog will tell you next to nothing about my form. this can be seen as just some Jibber Jabber. To know if there is something there, you have to see it in person, and get down in the stance and do the circle or touch and see what you feel. In fact, it also doesn't matter what it looks like. The form is not supposed to be pretty. Its supposed to be effective. I remember thinking Gordon Muir's form looked weird...until I touched him and he made me feel like I could just go down a hole in the ground. Then I listened. Then I was looking at his form with a listening mind. It is important not to let good looks and numbers of moves and fancy spirals and the like get in the way of learning.

In the same way that there is only one move in the form, there is also only one day in your life. Of course it is sometimes important and useful to talk about "yesterday" or "tomorrow" or "next Thursday", but in reality, in terms of your physical position in time and space (which is where taijiquan occurs), there is only today. And if you are practicing taiji today, which you should, then there is also really only one form. This one. The one you are doing right now.

The redheaded Scott of Edmonton, a taijiquan brother of mine, helped me understand this about taiji during Master Chen's Taiji Tradition Camp 2009, hosted by Master Gordon Muir. Scott kept asking me how many forms I had done that day. He'd say, "how many forms is that?" And I would stop and think and try to count and get mixed up and say "I don't know, three or four". Then he would laugh and say "oh! only three!". After this happened four or five times over the course of a couple of days, I had to laugh about this question. I started saying "How many? I don't know, you tell me" or "twenty three" and then finally I just said "one. this is number one." This understanding has completely transformed my practice over the last few weeks because I used to concern myself with "how many forms should I be doing?", or "how many forms did I do yesterday?" or "I should do at least x # of forms per day". But no matter how I tried, I could not keep a steady practice, because I was living in a fantasy world of "should". Now, I just do one form per day. That's my commitment. One form, One day. Because there's really only one of each of these anyway, how could I expect more from myself? To expect more than this is foolish in my mind. But now, after I do one form, I start getting warmed up, and feeling good and getting a bit of a workout, so I often do a few more. This kind of mentality has really helped me build inertia and steadiness in my practice. One of Courtney Blackburn's students asked him once, "How many times per day should I practice?" and I remember Courtney replied "How many times do you eat?". Its really simple. Its like "I'm hungry, I should eat a sandwich." Same thing. "Oh, today's a day, nice. I should do some taiji."

Next I'll post a video of Master Chen doing the yilu. Have a look. One move?