Tai Chi and Me

I have always harnessed the power of martial arts to elevate my physical and mental well-being. My journey began at the tender age of fourteen in the bustling metropolis of New York City. I found myself under the expert tutelage of Sifu Allen Lee, the esteemed proprietor of “Allen Lee’s Northern Shaolin Kung Fu Wushu School.” It was within those timeworn walls, filled with the echoes of history and dedication, that I was first introduced to the captivating practice of Tai Chi. This ancient art form, steeped in tradition, offered a stark contrast to the intensity of the Kung Fu techniques I was so eager to master.

As I immersed myself in the rigorous training required to achieve my black belt, I admittedly found myself begrudgingly enduring the deceptively slow and meditative movements of Tai Chi. At that time, the stillness felt more like an obstacle than an opportunity, a necessary component of my training that I approached with a sense of obligation rather than appreciation. Yet, there was a quiet strength to those movements, a subtle energy that I would later realize was foundational to the philosophy of Tai Chi itself.

At eighteen, my path took an unexpected turn when I joined the Army, where I proudly served my country at Fort Belvoir, situated in a serene suburb of Alexandria, Virginia. There, amid the disciplined structure of military life, I found solace in physical activity. My passion for martial arts remained undiminished, and I sought further training. I discovered Sifu Dean Chinn’s “Jow Ga Kung Fu School,” an oasis of martial arts where I was once again confronted with the serene flow of Tai Chi. In this environment, I was urged to embrace the methodical practice alongside the traditional “Jow Ga” format, which is well known for its dynamic techniques and spirited forms.

At twenty my Energy level was high, and I sought the comforting fix of competitive fighting to satisfy my addiction to adrenaline.

 Eight years later the constant pounding on a three-hundred-pound bag to build my endurance, put thunder into my punches and kicks, and make me a world champion put me on a journey to having a hip replacement and arthritis in both of my shoulders. Arthritis pain caused me to use eight hundred milligrams of ibuprofen twice a day for several years, this in turn caused my kidneys to flare and my blood pressure to rise.   Because of the high blood pressure and arthritis, I returned to my Kung Fu roots and Tai Chi.

As I renewed my training, I began to understand the value of the Tai Chi practice. I learned to appreciate the deliberate, flowing movements as a form of meditation in motion, a way to cultivate inner peace while simultaneously enhancing my physical prowess, soothing my arthritis, and lowering my blood pressure. It was during these sessions that I started noticing the profound connection between body and mind. Each movement became a dance, a celebration of life and balance rather than a chore to merely endure. I discovered how Tai Chi could be both a graceful art and a formidable martial discipline, providing a comprehensive approach to my martial training that I had previously overlooked.

Through Tai Chi, I unearthed deeper levels of focus and clarity, insights that translated into other areas of my life as well. The mental discipline required to execute each movement with precision began to influence my everyday mindset, offering me tools to manage stress and conquer challenges outside the dojo and workplace. This exploration of Tai Chi became not just about the form, but about my evolving self—an ongoing journey of self-discovery, resilience, and harmony.

In retrospect, what I once dismissed as drudgery has now woven itself into the very fabric of who I am. I am free from arthritis pain and my blood pressure is approaching normal.

Tai Chi is no longer a mere segment of my martial arts training; it has evolved into a vital aspect of my lifestyle, offering balance amid chaos and a continuous path toward inner serenity. My relationship with Tai Chi and the broader world of martial arts has transformed into a profound journey that is far from over. Each lesson learned, and each movement practiced, continues to deepen my understanding of this beautiful art, creating pathways to growth that I cherish deeply.

How Tai Chi works

Tai Chi has four main parts: Balance, Fluidity, Deep Breathing, and Meditation.

Let’s talk about them one at a time.

Balance

Balance is an essential part of the practice of Tai Chi. It is improved by consciously shifting weight onto the leg you anticipate standing on. While on the surface, it may seem like a simple task, it is more difficult than one thinks.

Several moves in Tai Chi require an “inordinate” amount of balance: the step-over shift in Tai ji, the circle kick, the toe tap, the shift back to turn the lead toe, the stand on one leg in the flute, the roster, the white crane spreading its wings, and the kick.

How is the balance achieved? Balance is achieved by pretending that a rope or string is attached to your spine and runs through the top of your head and into space. At the end of the rope is a giant hand pulling straight up into the heavens. This causes your spine, chest, neck, and chin to be perfectly aligned.

The most challenging part for beginners is that it must be done consciously until they get accustomed to it, which can distract from the session’s deep breathing and meditative parts.

The good thing is that once you get used to aligning your spine and shifting your weight in anticipation of a move, it spills over into your daily life and can prevent falls in seniors. In Tai Chi, transition moves are done by shifting weight to the supporting leg while at the same time consciously picking up the moving leg and placing it in a desired place.

Fluidity

Tai Chi is performed using smooth, graceful, flowing movements. These movements relax muscles and remove tension, which is a byproduct of stress and can cause damage physically and mentally.

Deep Breathing

Oxygen is to the body what gasoline is to a car. It powers muscles, invigorates and massages organs, and provides mental acuity and alertness. As we age, because of poor posture, our lungs condense, which prevents us from taking deep breaths. This, in turn, causes oxygen deprivation, loss of energy, inability to concentrate, and the desire to spend most of the day sleeping. Tai Chi teaches a kind of “precision breathing’: how to provide oxygen to desired body parts for healing, strength, and resuscitation.

Meditation/Mindfulness

If you were to take a car and drive it from the East Coast to the West Coast at 100 miles an hour without stopping, at the very least, the car would need a tune-up at the end of the journey. The human body is like a car. The arms and legs are like the wheels, your eyes are like the windshield, and your brain is like the engine. Stress is like driving your body, or car, 100 miles an hour without rest. Meditation is a tune-up for your mind.

In my class, I take the three most essential parts of Tai Chi: movement, breathing, and meditation, and teach the students how to master them separately. This is akin to teaching a five-year-old how to ride a bike. When teaching their child how to ride a bicycle, most parents place “training wheels” on the back wheel. This allows the child to concentrate on the function of the bicycle mechanics without fear of falling. Once the child has mastered the mechanics, he/she can now concentrate on balance (it is extremely difficult to do both simultaneously).

The most challenging part of learning Tai Chi is learning how to meditate. Meditation has a surface or beginner level, a mid-level, and an advanced level. At the beginning level, the challenge is to teach your mind how to obtain a state of quiet and stop talking to yourself. This is more difficult than you think because we spend our entire lives solving problems mentally, essentially talking to ourselves. The second stage is meditation from within, that is, taking stock of what is transpiring internally. The third stage is connecting or immerging externally with the world around you.

The most obvious question at this point is, “Why would anyone want to do this? ” The answer is, “It gives living greater depth and meaning.”

Learning how to meditate

To learn how to meditate, one should find a quiet place. Once you’ve mastered the process, you can meditate at any time and anywhere without anyone knowing that you are doing it (I do while teaching a class all the time, and I even do it strolling through a park on a sunny day).

At the start, you should concentrate on a single thought—your breathing. This will prevent other thoughts from invading your psyche. My experience has been I am able to concentrate only on breathing for about a minute, and then I say to myself something like. ” Hey, I’m actually doing it!” and, of course, at that point, you are no longer doing it. Keep practicing, and within a week, you should be able to accomplish it. Note: in the beginning, do not try to meditate longer than five minutes. Your brain will need time to develop and adjust to the process.

The next level – Precision breathing

The final level – Altered State of Consciousness