What brought you to Twin Cities T’ai Chi Studio?

In 1998 I spent some time in China vacationing. It was one of those life-changing events that would open up a whole new world. A Sunday-morning visit to a park in Beijing included an invitation to join a group of women practicing T’ai Chi. Little did I know how that simple gesture would affect my life’s journey. Before the trip, the group I was traveling with met with a woman from China who is currently teaching at Century College. She talked about Chinese customs and culture. In the course of her discussion, she had talked about the practice of qigong and T’ai Chi common to everyday life in China.

Upon my return home, I met a number of times with the individual who had prepared my group for the trip. I wanted to know more about this “qigong and T’ai Chi” practice that I had experienced in the park in Beijing and had observed people practicing on the boulevards and in the green spaces throughout my time there. She recommended a friend of hers, a qigong master who was teaching in Coon Rapids. As luck would have it, an article appeared in the St. Paul paper the same week listing various T’ai Chi schools and teachers in the Twin Cities area. I made note of the school in St. Paul and its close proximity to where I live vs. the distance to the site proposed in Coon Rapids.

On a Saturday morning in May of 1998, I walked into the Studio. The first person I saw was Grandmaster Choi. He was conducting a workshop that weekend. Sifu Paul met me at the door explaining that a special workshop was in progress that weekend. We spoke briefly about the schedule of classes. (I did not meet Grandmaster Choi that day, but would indeed take his workshops in my ensuing years at the Studio.) I started taking classes the following week.

My initial intent had been to continue the search for information on qigong practice. In fact, my first class with Julie Cisler was at my request on the Qigong 21. Then this wonderful and beautiful T’ai Chi Solo Form unfolded before me in those early months at the Studio. I was challenged and mesmerized.

Our teachers are outstanding. The diversity of students at the studio brings a wealth of life experience added to the mix. This was the beginning of my T’ai Chi journey, which continues today.

Did you find what you were looking for?

I did find what I was looking for and so much more. Inquiry into qigong practice as an initial point of interest may have drawn me to walk in the door, but T’ai Chi kept me involved to expand upon that base. I came with no martial arts experience. As it unfolded, the Solo Form uncovered beauty and coordinated grace that continues reveal itself. The benefits of conditioning and relaxed movement enhanced an understanding of moving meditation. That was a whole new revelation. It motivated me to come to class, share in a common practice with my peers, and take that journey in the learning process.

It also moved me to establish a discipline of practice that still challenges me as I expand to new forms and come to new insights of how the whole system is interconnected. During stressful times, the practice has provided a means to stay centered in the learning process—even when I’m not successful at a particular element, the focus on practice helps me to press through the blockage.

Perhaps more important than anything, I found dedicated teachers who are willing to share their knowledge and reach out to their students. Their commitment to life-long learning in their own personal practice provides students with the highest quality of instruction and training.

What did you find that you were not looking for?

First on the list of unexpected gems at the Studio has to be weapons. At the outset, I would never have guessed the treasures to be found in the weapons rack. I was mesmerized by the sword form at first sight. Of all the weapons forms, it captured my heart. Some of the other weapons took a little more internal negotiating to come to terms with, though each weapon revealed its energy on its own terms.

Another item that was totally unexpected was push-hands. If ever there was a laboratory for self-examination or revelation of how one interacts with another human being, an epicenter can be found in push-hands. Tactical information communicated by close contact with a partner has been mind stretching, challenging, and an ongoing study of self-discovery. I learn with each partner how my learning curves or limits come to a more conscious level of awareness with the continuum of drills.

The discoveries found in the Liu Ho Pa Fa/Twelve Animals Form hold a very important space on my list of unexpected treasures. When I was finishing the Solo Form those many years ago, I would stop and watch the Twelve Animals class do their warm-ups that begin the class. When they first began to explore the beginning movements of the Main Form, which Sifu Paul was in the process of learning from Grandmaster Choi, I was hooked. It was one of the most beautiful forms I had seen at that time. As I am learning that challenging form at this time, especially when working on a particularly difficult posture or sequence, I need only go back to that initial experience of awe to move through the challenge. It is an unexpected treasure indeed. (There was probably a reason Grandmaster Choi was the first in my sightline upon my entry into the Studio)

The legacy of our teachers and the legacy of their teachers and lineageholders passes the tools of mastery forward. For that gift there, is a depth of gratitude.

“One hour in the mind, one hundred hours in the body”

~Grandmaster Wai-lun Choi

 My journey through Pushing-Hands has been a fascinating and intellectually stimulating process, and simultaneously the most frustrating and humbling discipline I’ve attempted. Every step of the way, old mental habits doggedly crop up to worm their way into my practice. It’s not that I can rely on past hard-style martial arts and fighting experience—I don’t have that kind of experience. Nope, these are the dumb mental and physical habits I created to cope with the world as a child.

I’m not the biggest or the strongest person in my class. I usually can’t fake skill by muscling through anything. But I’m also not the smallest or weakest person in my class. So guess what—I still do try to muscle or speed through drills! If my partner is stiff and hard, or strong and aggressive—do I relax? Not usually. Often, I catch myself getting hard and brittle, or panicking and trying to hurry.

I really do want to use the training methods my teachers have so carefully taught. But I often don’t believe that I can adequately employ these methods. All of this boils down to a fear that I will lose. This goes against all of my training, against everything my teachers have said. I remember that Master Liang said, “Invest in loss: small loss, small gain; big loss, big gain.” My rational mind tells me to listen to these sage words, that my fear is stupid and pointless. But the childish part of my brain just wants to horn in and drive the bus back to the safety zone of the same dumb coping skills.

One of the positives about working on this challenge in a class is observing all of my classmates. We are all facing this same challenge. We don’t all respond in the same way, and some of us aren’t really ready to respond at all. But we are all still trying to embrace loss while fighting it every step of the way.

So, next class, if you catch me muttering to myself, it’s because I’m reminding myself to lose.

One evening a few years ago, Master Hayward turned to the class and asked, “What does it mean to be a disciple?” I glanced around the room quickly. I was the only disciple present.

“Well, crap!” I thought to myself, “He’s talking to me.” Dozens of answers tried to pop out of my mouth at the same time. A disciple is someone who took an oath to a teacher. A disciple is someone who is initiated into the lineage. A disciple is someone who knows enough Tai Chi to be able to teach. None of them seemed right. Taking a deep breath, I chose the only answer that seemed appropriate. “I’m not entirely sure I know, Sifu.”

“Really?” he asked, raising an eyebrow at me.

“Really,” I replied.

“A disciple is someone who has received the discipline.” Master Hayward went back to correcting Fist Under Elbow and dropped the subject. His words stuck with me for the rest of the night. When I got home, I looked up the word discipline, and it began to make more sense.

dis·ci·pline

1. Training expected to produce a specific character or pattern of behavior, especially training that produces moral or mental improvement.

2. Controlled behavior resulting from disciplinary training; self-control.

3. Control obtained by enforcing compliance or order.

4. Punishment intended to correct or train.

5. A set of rules or methods, as those regulating the practice of a church or monastic order.

6. A branch of knowledge or teaching.

Tai Chi fits into several of these definitions, but the most illuminating to me is the first. Tai Chi training ingrains into us both a certain mental attitude as well as a pattern of physical behaviors. Being a disciple means that we have received, at least partially, this conditioning. We are the dogs, and Tai Chi is Pavlov’s bell. When we are exposed to stressful situations, we relax and sink. We yield without giving ground.

The other answers count, too. Disciples go through a ceremony with either Master Hayward or Master Abdella, and we are required to pass along Tai Chi to at least one other person in our lifetime. But at its core, we are simply further along in the classical conditioning process that is Tai Chi. Woof.

This is an article written in response to a questionnaire for a compilation of experiences and biographical sketches of Master Liang in honor of his 100th birthday. Enjoy!

Saturdays started early. On the road by 8:30, my classmate and I headed Northwest about 75 miles outside the Twin Cities to St. Cloud, Minnesota. We drove through pine dotted farmland passing the exits to a half dozen small towns along the way including Monticello where the nuclear power plant was. When we passed that exit we knew we were getting close. Driving into St. Cloud, we passed the car dealerships and chain stores that were crowding out the small shops that once gave the community a small-town feel. As we approached the one-story mustard colored house where master Liang lived, my thoughts always turned to the class that lay ahead. After knocking firmly on the side door, Master Liang would appear and gesture us to come inside.

As we stepped into a small entry way that separated the kitchen straight ahead and a doorway to our left that led to the basement, the smell of cooked vegetables mixed with a hint of incense and liniment permeated the air.

Once inside Master Liang would smile, greet us, and offer an observation. Typically this observation was limited to the obvious-”Oh, it is quite cold today,” or “Oh, just you come today,” if my classmate was absent. But it foreshadowed the keen eye that would scrutinize and monitor us in the class that followed. For me, Master Liang’s two defining characteristics were a disarming sense of humor and an ability to know people on a level that went well below the surface simply by observing them. All the while they were unaware they were being observed. After our greetings, Master Liang would send us down the stairs that led to the basement while he returned to the kitchen to clean up after his breakfast. This was the start of a weekly ritual which for me began in April of 1982 and would continue through January of 1989.

As we headed down the stairs we could see the rust orange carpet that covered the basement floor. The walls were covered with pinewood paneling. The paneling also extended down two, square-shaped, floor to ceiling pillars. The pillars were spaced equally down the center of the room, creating three rectangular practice spaces. The first space you entered as you came down the stairs was the one Master Liang would sit and view the class from. The student in this space would get the most corrections since they were most visible to Liang. For this reason my classmates and I would take turns each week in the front practice space.

The second space wasn’t bad really. It was about the same size as the first and only slightly obscured from Liang’s view by the student in front. The third space we affectionately called the hole. Not only because it was smaller and darker, and it most assuredly was that, but because the white cork covered ceiling dropped down over a foot to accommodate some ductwork beneath the surface. This created a space that was not only cramped, but occasionally dangerous. While doing a form that contained a jump it was quite possible to hit your head on the ceiling, and weapons forms required humorous mutations on their intended choreography.

Fortunately, Master Liang couldn’t easily see those who were stuck in the hole, and in my nearly seven years of commuting to St. Cloud, only about three of those years required its use. The two pillars which divided the room were branded with deep gashes from anyone trying to master a weapons form, and the cork ceiling held an array of puncture wounds which bled a fine white dust whenever you grazed it with your weapon. On such occasions the guilty party would stop and look apologetically at Liang to which he would reply “nevermind!” as if to say you aren’t the first one and you won’t be the last.

Along the far wall were two full size mattresses that stood up on end for use in push hands practice. Next to them a long row of wooden swords, broadswords, canes and staffs leaned, one after the other, against the wall. Nearly every week someone would ritually replace a weapon after doing a form in a slightly askew position causing it to fall over, taking the whole row down like long wooden dominoes. In the early days Master Liang would dryly reply to the sweeping crash with an, “O.K., pick up.” Later on you were more likely to hear “banana head!” Then you knew he was starting to like you.

We usually had ten to fifteen minutes from the time we first entered the room to the time we heard Master Liang’s slow steady descent down the basement stairs. This time would be used for some quick stretching and to review whatever form we happen to be working on. Soon Master Liang would come down, settle into his chair and announce, “O.K. one round to the music!” We took our positions in our respective practice space then the student in front would start the music.

In the early days of St. Cloud, Master Liang would lead us in his five warm-up exercises before we did the form. These consisted of simple movements of the neck, arms, and torso followed by two simple qigong exercises. I was always struck by the short powerful waist turns that would propel his arms, free of all tension, into effortless, graceful patterns around his body. I would try and copy the look of his movements and would feel my arms begin to relax in the attempt.

Master Liang wasn’t a tall man, he stood maybe 5’5″ or 6″. His rounded shoulders supported a round bald head with a wreath of fine white hair which wrapped behind and along the sides, framing a face which bore an uncanny resemblance to Yoda of Star Wars. When he smiled, which was often, you immediately noticed that all but two of his front teeth were missing. The two teeth on the bottom row were spaced apart displaying an animated red tongue when he spoke or laughed. He had deep set eyes with a spirited sparkle in them that seemed to look through you.

His torso was short and thick with a protruding belly he affectionately called his ocean of chi. At first this handle seemed an old man’s idle joke until he allowed us to push and strike at his belly. Using the technique of receiving energy we were repelled backward with a jolt. This torso however, made his legs and arms seem thin by comparison. He usually wore a sweatshirt of some kind and dark sweatpants with black canvas deck shoes. As the years went by, his attire became even more casual consisting of flannel pajamas with the pant bottoms tucked into his socks mimicking his elastic sweatpants.

As the music began to play Master Liang would sit in his chair attentively watching our form movements. By the time we reached the first Repulse Monkey posture his eyes would begin to lower and his head began to droop. By the time we reached Needle at Sea Bottom he was usually asleep. At first we were surprised, then amused and finally relieved that our form wasn’t under such close scrutiny. He would remain asleep for most of the rest of the form occasionally stirring to bark out a count, “3…4…da!” if our forms were out of sync with the music. Master Liang knew every note of every measure in the music and where every count of a posture corresponded to it. If your form was off the beat he would wake and count aloud until you corrected it. How he managed to wake up just as you screwed up was almost as surprising as the corrections he made to the entire form after we finished – even the sections he seemed to be sleeping through. We never really agreed on how he did it but the corrections were detailed and complete.

In general, form corrections from Master Liang were clear and direct. He would begin with a semi-encouraging statement such as, “pretty good, but not quite up to standard.” The highest compliment you could receive was that something was up to standard. By this he meant it was performed according to the principles of the T’ai Chi classics-the Bible for T’ai Chi Ch’uan practice.

Next on his list of priorities was the music or the beat. “The beat is not quite correct. You must learn to do it to the music-to make it more aesthetic and more scientific!” Master Liang believed his unique contribution to the art of T’ai Chi was the introduction of music in practice. He believed that in addition to its health, martial, and philosophical aspects, T’ai Chi when practiced at its highest level was also moving meditation. In meditation, the integration of posture, breath, and a tranquil mind are essential. To that end, the music or more specifically the rhythm or beat of the music, was used as a tool to guide the body and hold the mind to a single focus thus creating a meditative state. Nothing garnered him more criticism from his contemporaries and their students than the use of music. For the most part, they didn’t understand his four part method of using music to: 1. Learn the movements by counting, much like you would in learning a musical instrument. 2. Use the counts to follow the music and focus the mind. 3. Introduce breathing patterns or rhythms as a substitute for the music. 4. Discard all tools (music, breath patterns etc.) and just do the form as meditation. If they did understand this they deemed it unnecessary. Indeed Master Liang himself has said in his article “Why should we practice T’ai Chi to music?”, “Of course if one can reach the highest level while practicing T’ai Chi without music, so much the better. But I cannot do it because I am a human being, an ordinary, ignorant person with a heart like a monkey and a mind like a horse. So I must use music as a means of concentration, as a stepping stone to the highest level of T’ai Chi.”

Often Master Liang would get up and demonstrate not only how to do a posture correctly, but how one of us was doing it incorrectly. This could be both humorous and painful. “Who is this?,” he would say, making a face and sticking his rear end out in the posture Single Whip. “Is that me, sir?,” I might volunteer. “Yes! You stick your bloody, silly ass out like Shaolin. This is not T’ai Chi’s way!” He would then relentlessly mimic your posture week after week until you corrected the problem. For some, this was not a constructive way to learn. For others, myself included, it forced you to surrender your sense of accomplishment. To realize that T’ai Chi was a never ending work in progress, and that progress could always be made if you could set aside your ego and look honestly at yourself. This is not so easy to do. As Master Liang would often say, “It’s hard to see the dirt on the back of your own neck.”

After the solo form and corrections Liang would announce, “O.K. what’s next? Knife! Cane! Sword?!” And so it went-moving through the repertoire of forms that comprised T.T. Liang’s T’ai Chi art. In the end it was quite a repertoire indeed, with three solo sword forms, a double sword form, three sword fencing forms, one solo broadsword form, a double broadsword form, one broadsword fencing form, a cane form, solo spear drills, two person spear sets, a two person san shou form, push hands and ta lu. All these in addition to the Yang style long form. It was a sink or swim teaching strategy that forced you to practice just to keep up.

When review and corrections were complete we went to work on whatever new form or practice we were currently engaged in learning. Master Liang would correct what we had already learned then teach us something new. This part could be somewhat challenging since Liang wasn’t long on explanations. He would show us once and have us try, show us again with some more instruction, then a third time before he returned to his chair and sat down. After practicing awhile it was possible to coax another demonstration or two out of him but not without complaint-”You bloody give me lot of trouble!,” as he got up from his chair. Two person forms allowed us to get hands on with Master Liang and really get his feel-especially empty hand forms.

After this instruction period Liang would need to take a break. He would retire to a back room where a small altar stood which held some fruit and flowers, two photographs of his parents, and a small bronze Buddha. He would light some incense, say some prayers, emerge from the room, and walk up the stairs to begin cooking his lunch. We practiced awhile to insure we’d remember the new material then take a break ourselves.

Soon the scent of cooked vegetables began wafting downstairs. Boiled Yams, carrots, lotus beans, Brussels sprouts, and always cabbage-cooked in a watery oxtail broth to a consistency only a man with no teeth could appreciate. When the smell of lunch came downstairs we knew Master Liang would soon follow to finish up our last half hour of class.

Although many stories, jokes, principles and classics had been strewn throughout the previous hour and a half the final thirty minutes was where we would try and coax T’ai Chi’s “secrets” from the master. Of course Liang was never tricked by us into saying anything he hadn’t intended to say and often what he volunteered amounted to nothing more than idle chatter. But those times when he sensed you had done the work, put in the time and were close to something, he would give you a gift that put your T’ai Chi in an entirely different place. Of course he always let you know about it. ” If I did not tell you this thing you would spend a whole lifetime and never get it.” He was probably right. Typically though, the time was spent somewhere between chatter and profundity with deeper discussions of the classics, and more stories. He told stories of the old Masters, both his classmates and teachers, and those who came before them. Most interesting of all perhaps, were stories from his life.

It was a life that began when the last emperor was still in power, and spanned into the age of computers and space travel. A life that succumbed to excess and illness, then health and prosperity. As a high ranking customs official Liang rubbed elbows with politicians, royalty, and criminals alike. He traveled the country, from the turbulent seaport of Shanghai to the frozen isolation of Outer Mongolia. He was imprisoned during the war and imprisoned by his vices, in time forgiving both his captors and himself. Liang landed in Taipei where he learned from the cream of Chinese martial artists in an era of great masters. Finally, at the advice of a fortune teller, he ended up half a world away, teaching T’ai Chi in America to a culture very different from his own.

I always valued my time with Master Liang, not because he was well known or he somehow fit the profile of an “old master,” but because he presented himself as a fallible human being who shared the wisdom of his experience. It was the experience of a long and extraordinary life. Liang’s art was subtle and internal even if, at times, he was not. This allowed it to get inside, to germinate and grow, not revealing a full blossom for years. But most of all, at least for me, his was a life that showed by example that what you accomplish in life isn’t as important as what you overcome.

Master Liang went upstairs to eat his lunch. My classmate and I stayed behind to gather our things and write a few last notes. Once upstairs Liang was already eating his vegetable stew, clearly more interested in his food than us, he barely looked up as we set a too modest sum of money on the table for the day’s class. We said our good-byes. “Thank you very much sir, take care, we’ll see you next week.” Liang, looking up again, sipped some tea and nodded. “O.K., bye, bye.”

The benefits of regular stretching are known to most people, however many people do not know that virtually all methods of stretching can be placed in one of three general categories; relaxed stretching, dynamic stretching, and isometric stretching.

These stretching categories are distinguished by how they attempt to alter or reset the stretch reflex when a muscle is stretched. What is the stretch reflex? Here is an example that we’ve all probably experienced.

It’s the end of a physically active day and you decide to do a little stretching before bed. You prepare yourself to do some toe touches; feet apart, straighten the legs, bend forward from the waist, lower yourself down and then … thud, your palms touch the floor. Wow! Amazing! You’ve never stretched that far before!

You hold the stretch a few seconds and feel a warm tingling taughtness at the back of your legs that skirts the edge between pain and pleasure. You rise up slightly, then lower yourself down again. This time you feel a deeper release in the muscles as you drop to a little lower position. You hang timeless, like a cloud in space, until your body informs you that it’s time to stop. You stand up, shake your legs out a little, and retire to bed, completely satisfied.

The next day you leap out of bed ready to repeat last night’s performance in your morning routine. You loosen the neck and shoulders a little, rotate the trunk and hips, perform a few more routine warm-ups then ready yourself for toe touches. You assume a proper stance, bend forward, lower down, and … OUCH! There’s a tug on your hamstrings that pulls like a dog’s leash. It stops you, barely halfway to the floor. Surprised but determined, you rise up to try again—this time a little more forcefully. Although you manage to get a bit lower on the second try, the contraction at the back of your legs is sharper. It leaves a tingling residue of pain that causes you to stop and abandon the stretch. The same stretch that just hours before felt so free and natural. What happened? The activation of the stretch reflex.

The stretch reflex is a safety mechanism built into a muscle. When a muscle is stretched, special groups of cells called stretch receptors (contained in the muscle fibers) inform the central nervous system about their state of tension. This information is received by the central nervous system, which sends a message back to the muscle telling it to contract. This contraction acts as a brake on the muscle, preventing it from stretching too far and being injured.

In the case of the evening stretch, the muscles were warm and elastic with plenty of blood flowing through them from a full day of activity. After receiving this information from the muscles, the central nervous system applied only a mild contraction allowing a greater stretch to occur. It then released the contraction as the muscles relaxed more deeply, allowing for an even greater stretch.

In the case of the morning stretch, the muscles were inactive for a period of several hours during sleep. When the attempt was made to touch the toes, the stretch reflex contracted the muscles firmly. This prevented them from lengthening too much before they were sufficiently warmed-up.

As I stated earlier, the three general categories of stretching methods can be distinguished by how each attempts to reset or alter the stretch reflex to a lower tension level. This allows for a greater range of motion, with a reduced risk of injury. Let’s take a look at each of these stretching categories in more detail.

Stretching for Life – continued Relaxed Stretching This is the most common and widely practiced form of stretching. It is characterized by slowly relaxing your body into a stretch and holding it there for a time. Imagine a ballerina with her leg held up to the bar, gracefully lowering her rounded torso to it. As the name implies, you assume positions that let you relax your muscles as you move into the stretch. You feel the tension in the muscles created by the stretch reflex. As you stretch, you move past the point of tension a little, hold, then move out of the stretch. As you repeat this sequence, eventually the stretch reflex is adjusted and the level of tension in the muscle lessens and you can ease into a new position.

Advantages: Relaxed stretching can be done anytime. It does not cause fatigue in the muscles, so you can do it when you are tired. It is the safest method of stretching which makes it ideal to use when you are recovering from an injury. You will instinctively do relaxed stretching after being in one position for too long because it just plain feels good.

Limitations: Although it is the safest method of stretching to use, it is also the slowest to gain new levels of flexibility. Relaxed stretching also won’t build strength in a muscle, as do other forms, and may even diminish it if done to an excessive degree.

Prescription: Do relaxed stretching before a workout, then afterward as a cool down. It may also be used as a counterbalance to fatigue, stress, or being in one position to long.

Dynamic Stretching
Dynamic stretching (sometimes called ballistic stretching) can be defined as a stretch or movement which is started by a muscular contraction but is completed by momentum. This momentum often takes the muscles outside a normal range of motion. Dynamic stretching most closely resembles the activities in which we all engage. Imagine a football kicker warming-up to punt a ball with a few half speed kicks in the air; a golfer gliding through a swing with an imaginary club; a baseball player loosening arm and shoulder with a relaxed throwing motion. Contrary to current wisdom, dynamic stretching is completely natural and safe if done properly. Begin by lightly swinging the limb to be stretched, and feel for the point of tension or resistance in the muscles. As the level of tension in the muscles decreases you can increase the range of motion until you feel you’ve reached your maximum range. At this point continue doing a few more repetitions. Stop before the muscles get fatigued. Muscles are less elastic when they are tired so their ability to stretch is diminished. If you persist in doing dynamic stretches when your muscles are fatigued, you run the risk of resetting the stretch reflex back to a higher tension level.

Advantages: Dynamic stretching creates elasticity in the muscles, and if practiced consistently it can greatly reduce the time needed to warm-up before a workout.

Limitations: The effectiveness of dynamic stretching is reduced when muscles are tired. Also, if you stretch to your maximum range too quickly and forcefully using dynamic stretching, you may develop small tears or fissures in the muscle fiber which will heal in a less elastic condition. This can inhibit your ability to gain the flexibility levels you desire.

Prescription: First, do a small amount of relaxed stretching to limber the joints, then do your dynamic stretches, followed by your workout. Include as many dynamic stretches that resemble movements in your sport or activity as you can.

Isometric Stretching
Isometric stretching is a form of stretching where a muscle is first stretched and then contracted against some form of resistance for a short period of time (about five seconds) before being released. This stretch, contract, release cycle is repeated from three to five times, increasing the stretch a little with each sequence until your maximum range of motion is achieved. The resistance is created by stretching and contracting against an immovable object and using a weight to apply force to the stretching muscles. Imagine again, a dancer with her leg outstretched on the bar. This time she lowers the weight of her torso just to the first sign of tension in the stretched muscles. Then she contracts the stretched muscles at the back of her leg by pushing downward against the bar, holding this position a few seconds and then releasing the contraction. She lowers her torso down a little further and repeats the sequence. With each stretch, contraction, and release, the muscle tension caused by the stretch reflex is lessened creating a gain in flexibility.

Advantages: Isometric stretching is the fastest method of gaining new levels of flexibility in muscles. To contract a muscle with a load or weight on it is the basic principle in developing strength. This is why isometric stretching develops strength in a muscle throughout a full range of motion.

Limitations: To reap the greatest benefit and minimize any damage to your connective tissue, your muscles have to be healthy and strong to do isometric stretching.

Prescription: Isometric stretching works by activating the Golgi tendon reflex. This is a special stretch receptor located in the tendon, and designed to pick up sensations of too much stretch or stress on the muscles. When activated, it overrides the muscle contractions caused by the stretch reflex and simply shuts the muscle down in order to protect the tendon from injury. Because of this muscular shut-down, it’s not good to do isometric stretching before or during your workout. Do isometric stretching right after your workout – two to four times per week in sets of three to five repetitions per muscle group. Hold each rep about five seconds. Hold the last rep a little longer – up to thirty seconds

Regular stretching along with aerobic and strength building activities will increase the muscles’ normal resting length, making them more elastic, and greatly reducing the risk of injury. Developing an awareness of tension levels in the muscles caused by the stretch reflex, plus an understanding of the three methods of stretching, will give you the ability to create a body equipped to perform at the levels you need, for a lifetime.

T’ai Chi Ch’uan is an art belonging to the internal school of Chinese boxing. This means there is a marriage between the external movement mechanics of the style and the inner qualities of meditation. This article explores T’ai-Chi as moving meditation, and the energy-stimulating properties of the movements themselves.

Meditation

The three essential components of meditation are posture, breath and a quiet mind. In the posture of meditation, the muscles and bones are harmoniously aligned with the force of gravity, thus creating a body which is relaxed and free of tension. As we begin to experience gravity as a source of support rather than a source of tension, the body’s energy is naturally stimulated.

Breathing is both a voluntary and an involuntary action. This means that the breath is controlled by two sets of nerves: the voluntary (central) and involuntary (autonomic) nervous systems. Therefore, the breath can act as a bridge between the two and begin to have an influence over what are generally believed to be involuntary processes in the body. When the breath is deep and slow, utilizing the abdomen as well as the chest, more oxygen is drawn into the cells to nourish the body as the nervous system both stimulates the circulation and calms the body down.

When quieting the mind, it is important to learn to control mental activity and the emotions. To do this, the mind is brought to a single focus utilizing a variety of possible techniques such as visualization, sounds, breath-work and the cultivation of emptiness. Any of these techniques can interrupt our emotional patterns and bring our electrical brainwave activity to a lower frequency. When the three elements of posture, breath and quiet mind are brought together in a practice, the ch’i is stimulated and becomes active. Master T.T. Liang has said, “The ch’i in and of itself is not sufficiently forceful to increase the flow of blood, but if the ch’i is persistently stimulated, it produces heat and becomes powerfully effective in activating the circulation of blood throughout the whole body without any discontinuity. The same principle is illustrated by the conversion of water into steam: the latent invisible power in water is made active enough, effective enough, to drive the pistons of a powerful engine.”

The Five Stimulations

The T’ai-Chi Classics state, “In resting, be as still as a mountain peak; in moving, act like the current of a great river.” When T’ai-Chi postures are held, the three essential elements of posture, breath and quiet mind combine together to stimulate the ch’i as if igniting a piece of charcoal. Such is the power of stillness. In moving from posture to posture, the energy is further activated and circulated as if fanning or blowing on the hot coal. This increase in the flow of energy takes place primarily because of five basic actions or stimulations inherent in the movements themselves. These actions are:

1. Expand and contract
2. Rise and sink
3. Full and empty
4. Turn and twist
5. Fast and slow

A closer examination of each action will reveal the hidden power of the Tai-Chi movements to increase the flow of energy in the body for health and self-defense.

Expand and Contract

From the smallest atom to the far reaches of space, expand and contract is the fundamental rhythm of the universe. When we examine the movements of the solo form, we can see the manifestation of this rhythm within each individual posture and from posture to posture within the entire sequence. For example, the postures Single Whip, Lift Hands, and Shoulder Stroke illustrate this idea well. From beginning to end, the posture Single Whip is a series of expanding and contracting gestures, as are Lift hands and Shoulder Stroke. The finished position of Single Whip looks and feels more expanded than Lift Hands, which looks and feels more expanded than Shoulder Stroke, and so on. To experience the stimulating power of expand and contract, select a posture from the form and perform it repeatedly with or without footwork as if doing Ch’i-Kung. Soon you will notice that the movement and breath combine together in this rhythm of opposites to stimulate and mobilize your energy.

Rise and Sink

There is a general principle in T’ai-Chi practice which states that the form movements should remain at an even height throughout the sequence (with the exception of the stand-up and squat-down postures). Although this principle is designed to keep a practitioner from arbitrarily bobbing up and down, there are numerous places throughout the form where subtle rise and sink actions stimulate energy and enhance the practical use of a posture. In most postures that finish with the forward hand and forward foot opposite each other, such as Brush Knee, a subtle rising action occurs at the end of a posture caused by the straightening of the rear leg and a slight opening of the chest. In most postures that finish with the forward hand and forward foot on the same side, such as Ward-Off, a subtle sinking action occurs at the end of the posture caused by bending the knees slightly and relaxing the chest. In postures that stand up, such as White Crane Spreads its Wings, the legs are straightened, the chest is opened and the spine is lengthened. In postures that squat down, such as Needle at Sea Bottom, the legs are bent deeply, the chest is relaxed and the back is rounded, then the body rises up again into Fan through the Back. In all of these examples, the rise and sink actions correspond to the posture applications but also stimulate the movement of cerebrospinal fluid along the spine. Most postures utilize the actions of rise and sink; those that do not are governed by one or more of the other stimulations. Select a posture with an obvious rise and sink component, such as White Crane Spreads its Wings, and perform it repeatedly left and right. Soon, the movement of energy along the spine and elsewhere will begin to flow.

Full and Empty

In Tai-Chi practice, when stepping to advance, retreat, turn left or right, the weight must be shifted from one leg to the other in a gradual and deliberate manner. When the stepping foot is lifted and placed in position, it is in a state of emptiness, leaving the leg that bears the weight completely full. As the weight is slowly shifted from one leg to the other, the status of full and empty in each leg is reversed. This interchange is continuous throughout the form and applies a steady on/off pressure to the bubbling well points on the soles of the feet–one of the most significant energy centers of the body. In addition, there is a full and empty aspect to the movement of the arms as well as the breath. Together, they unite and stimulate the circulation of energy in the body. Select a posture from the form such as Push and perform it continuously, paying special attention to the full and empty aspects in the feet, legs, arms and breath.

Turn and Twist

In T’ai-Chi, it is the waist and legs that direct the movement of the postures. There is, however, some confusion as to what is meant by the waist. The pelvis consists of the bones of the hip and sacrum. The lowest section of the spine, the lumbar, is attached to it. Unlike the middle (thoracic) and upper (cervical) sections of the spine, which can bend and rotate in all directions, the lumbar vertebrae cannot rotate or twist very much. Therefore, when the pelvis turns, so does the lumbar vertebrae. This unified movement of the pelvis and lumbar make up what is referred to as the waist in T’ai-Chi. A common principle in T’ai-Chi is to move the body as a unified whole. When the waist directs the movements in turning side to side, this unity is preserved and the spine is gently stretched and massaged. A small amount of rotation or twist beyond the movement of the waist is acceptable, even beneficial to the spine and nervous system. If the twist comes before the turn (in other words, if the shoulders and chest, not the waist, direct the movements), the movements become segmented, the breath becomes shallow, and the benefits for health and self-defense are diminished. Select a posture from the form such as Cloud Hands and perform it repeatedly, letting the waist-turn guide the movement. As the waist reaches the limit of the turn and a subtle twist of the upper body moves a little past that point, the stimulation of turn and twist will become apparent.

Fast and Slow

Training forms at different speeds is a traditional and beneficial practice. Slow-speed training in T’ai-Chi develops ch’i by allowing the practitioner to observe, correct and control those elements that interfere with the essentials of meditation and the five stimulations. Training at faster speeds allows one to express that energy for martial purposes. When practicing T’ai-Chi slowly, there will occur natural shifts in tempo in individual postures and various sections of the form. These subtle shifts in rhythm have a stimulating effect on the body, providing they follow the general principles of the classics. Practice a posture, a section of the form, or an entire round of the form at a slow, medium, and fast pace and note the different feeling each produces.

In Conclusion

When the essential elements of meditation–posture, breath, and a quiet mind–are integrated in T’ai-Chi practice, and the movement of the five stimulations fully realized, the body’s energy will be full and flowing and ready to obey the dictates of the mind. As Master Liang said, “When the mind mobilizes the intention, and the intention mobilizes the ch’i, and when the ch’i mobilizes the body (circulates throughout the entire body), then the energy of stimulation, which is latent within, will be created. When the mind and ch’i are joined and linked together with the variations of substantial and insubstantial, the energy becomes so very strong and fast that it is like a howling typhoon and fearful waves, or passing clouds and flowing waters, or a flying hawk and a leaping fish, or a hopping rabbit and a swooping falcon, now sinking, now rising, suddenly appearing and suddenly disappearing. The stimulation of the natural greatness of the ch’i is inscrutable like the winds and clouds.”

This article will introduce each element separately – detailing some of the physiology and function of each while relating them to the whole of Qigong as a general practice. If you are already practicing Qigong or just starting out, having a deeper understanding of these essential building blocks will enhance your practice.

Part One: Posture
“When the lowest vertebrae are plumb and erect, the spirit of vitality reaches to the top of the head. When the top of the head is held as if suspended from above, the whole body feels light and agile.” ~ T’ai-Chi Classic

Posture refers to the effect of gravity on the alignment of bones and muscles. With the spine as the central pillar of the body’s structure, its relationship to the head and pelvis should be the primary focus for developing the proper posture for Qigong practice. Any disharmony to this alignment results in a diminished flow of energy to the body. Energy blockages in the body ultimately result in illness. Therefore, in the practice of Qigong, good posture is defined as the harmonious alignment of bones and muscles with the force of gravity.
The spine is a beautiful example of functional design. The bones, discs, and ligaments make up the spinal column and are arranged in four natural flowing curves. Together they maintain the structure of our trunk, allow for mobility, and act as a shock absorber. Most importantly perhaps, the spine houses and protects the spinal cord-the branch of the central nervous system extending from the brain down through the trunk of the body. The spinal cord provides energy and control of the body by making the muscles work. The autonomic nervous system also descends along the spine and is responsible for organ and glandular function, among other things.
Over time, poor posture, incorrect body mechanics, stress, and the general loss of strength and flexibility can erode the structure of the spinal column and diminish the full functioning of the nervous system. It is important that we correct and maintain proper alignment in all our activities so as to circulate energy freely and cultivate our health.
Gravity. The effect of gravity on the spine is to compress the discs that lie between the vertebrae. If the spine is aligned properly during your daily activities, the discs will naturally decompress during sleep time-making you as much as half an inch taller when you rise the next morning. Astronauts who experience less gravity in space for extended periods can come back to earth as much as two inches taller.
If your daily routine demands long periods of time in unnatural and stressful positions, such as hunching over a computer terminal or doing repetitive tasks with poor body mechanics, your muscles will develop tension patterns that misalign the spine and may not release during sleep. This creates a continual state of compression in the spine that has a detrimental effect to the circulation of energy and to the structure itself.
When the body is aligned with the force of gravity, it naturally feels relaxed, breathing becomes deep and unrestricted, and the mind becomes more aware of tense or blocked areas of the body. Ultimately, the goal is for the spine to be held upright, as if suspended from the crown of the head by a string that gently pulls upward, while the base of the spine is pulled down by slightly tucking the pelvis. If this alignment is maintained a feeling of openness and release is created in the torso and neck.
Standing. Although an open and vertical spine is essential to good posture, the position of the feet, knees, hips, chest, elbows and shoulders in relation to it is also extremely important. The following is a description of a Qigong standing practice, including how each of the elements are integrated.
Stand with the feet shoulder-width and parallel. Keep the feet flat on the floor and shift the weight forward onto the balls of the feet, then back to the heels-repeat a few times. Then settle the weight in-between, where you feel equal pressure on the balls and heels. Relax into this position as if the feet were deflating balloons.
Straighten the legs without locking the knees. This is called standing with soft knees. Feel this push the head upward, lengthening the spine as if the head were suspended and being pulled from above. Although the spine straightens, it is not rigid like a pole, but rather, flexible like a piece of elastic. Imagine the elastic has beads along its length representing the vertebrae, and as the elastic is elongated a space opens between each bead.
Gently tuck the hips under, which pulls the elastic spine downward. It is important not to tuck the hips too much, as is common by many Qigong and T’ai-Chi practitioners-this can be stressful to the lower back. Personal comfort level should dictate the degree of tuck.
Relax the abdomen (no one’s looking!), relax the chest, allowing it to be neither collapsed, nor extended. Lift the shoulders as if shrugging then let them drop. Tension is commonly held in this area, so let the shoulders sink low and let the arms hang freely. The relationship between the elbows and shoulders is important. When the elbow raises so will the shoulder. Often this builds tension in the shoulders and neck with prolonged activity. While performing work with the arms, observe the position of the elbows and strive to lower them as much as possible. This will, to a large degree, eliminate the build up of tension in this area.
Let the head feel centered and balanced on the neck-not straining forward like a horse trying to win a race. If the head is forward, place one finger on the space between the upper lip and nose and push the head back to its natural place on top of the spine.
Now, take a few moments and stand in this position bringing your awareness to your alignment. Feel the body deeply relax as you stand in this natural posture. You will become aware of areas of tension and misalignment as you maintain this new position. Allow the body to adjust.
Next, just as you created your Qigong posture one piece at a time from the feet up to the top of the head, imagine a wave of relaxation travel downward from head to toe. This wave of relaxation can be compared to drawing a tea bag up out of the water. As the tea bag is drawn upward by the string and suspended from above, the liquid within it is slowly drained from top to bottom until finally the last few drops are released from below.
Proceed from head to toe: feel the face and neck relax, the shoulders lower and relax, chest and upper back, arms, abdomen and lower back, hips, legs. Feel all the joints as open and clear, then let it all release through the feet into the ground.
Again, stand for a few moments bringing your awareness inward, then repeat the sequence for creating alignment from bottom to top: feet flat, straighten the legs and lengthen the spine, soft knees, hips tucked, abdomen and chest relaxed, shoulders down, arms relaxed, head centered, eyes softly focused.
Then repeat the downward relaxation allowing the cycle to continue as long as you can comfortably stand.
This is a simple but powerful Qigong practice, which not only builds proper alignment but also deepens the breath and quiets the mind.
As you do standing practice, you will become aware of areas of tension, emotions, misalignments and other conditions that may require additional relief to help correct your posture. Remedies could include stretching, massage, structural work, and other healing modalities. In time and with regular practice, the body will be realigned and the power of posture will reveal itself in the creation of radiant health.

Part Two: Breath

“One must breathe the essence of life, regulate one’s respiration to preserve one’s spirit and keep the body relaxed.” ~The Yellow Emperor’s Classic of Internal Medicine
Breath is the primary source of energy in the body – the essence of life itself. It is therefore a natural object of meditation and is used in Qigong to form a link between the body and mind and to increase the available energy in the body. To find out how the breath is used to accomplish this let’s examine some of the physical, mental, emotional and spiritual qualities of breathing.
Physical Breath. The physical body is comprised of millions of tiny individual living units called cells. The life of the body is dependent upon a continuous source of energy to the cells that is provided when oxygen combines with nutrient fuel derived from our food and is burned within the cell to release energy. This process could be compared to an automobile engine where fuel and air are mixed and exploded in what is the equivalent of our cells – the combustion chamber or cylinder. This explosion releases energy that is used to turn the wheels of the car. Unlike the combustion chamber of an automobile engine where fuel is burned rapidly to create an explosion of energy, the fuel in our cells is burned very slowly over time producing energy at a slow steady rate. When something is burned a natural waste product is produced such as the carbon ash remaining after a campfire has burned out. Carbon dioxide is the waste product produced when fuel is burned in our cells and must be removed if the cells are to remain healthy. This is the function of the exhalation phase of breathing while the inhalation phase draws oxygen from the air we breathe into the body and delivers it to the cells. This continuous gaseous exchange insures that the body receives the energy it needs. Finding a way to draw the maximum amount of oxygen into the body with the minimum amount of effort is essential to the practice of Qigong. By looking at the mechanics of breathing we can understand how best to achieve this in our practice.
The physical act of breathing occurs in the torso of the body. If we imagine the torso as a cylinder, we can divide it into two simple sections: the chest, which houses the heart and lungs and the abdomen that contains the organs of digestion and elimination. The two sections are divided by the diaphragm, a thin sheet of muscle that attaches to the lower ribs, sternum and spinal column. In its resting position the diaphragm is not flat, it billows up into the chest cavity like a dome or parachute. This is its position during exhalation.
The diaphragm, like any muscle when it contracts, will shorten and take up the smallest surface area possible which flattens the dome shape and increases the space in the chest cavity. Because the lungs are covered with a very thin double layer of tissue, which is attached to the inner surface of the chest wall and the topside of the diaphragm, any movement on the chest or diaphragm will be transmitted to the lungs. Thus, if the chest expands out or the diaphragm moves down, the lungs will be expanded creating suction and causing air to flow into them. These are the two primary ways air moves into the lungs. They are called chest breathing and diaphragmatic breathing respectively. It is diaphragmatic breathing, sometimes known as abdominal or natural breathing, that is generally used in the practice of Qigong. It is physiologically the most efficient way of breathing since most of the blood in the lungs moves with the force of gravity to the lower portions, and it is there that the greatest expansion occurs when the diaphragm is lowered. Chest breathing is not as efficient in bringing air to this portion of the lungs so less oxygen is mixed with the blood. More energy is required to expand and contract the ribs to achieve the same blood/oxygen mix as deep abdominal breathing that results in the need to take more frequent breaths.
Due to the extra energy expended, more blood needs to circulate through the lungs, which, in turn, increases the workload on the heart. If the oxygen requirements of the body are great, such as in athletic performance, a combination of diaphragmatic and chest breathing can be used. Because chest breathing is efficient in bringing air to the middle and upper portions of the lungs, starting a breath in the abdomen and letting the expansion smoothly flow up into the chest will distribute a greater volume of air throughout the lungs; creating a complete breath.
We all began life as abdominal breathers (infants and small children must breathe this way until the bony structure of the chest matures) but if it has been a while since you were regularly breathing in this manner a quick “how to” review might help you get started again. Get comfortable in a reclining position face up on a flat surface such as bed, sofa or carpeted floor (a small neck pillow is okay to use). Place one hand on the chest and the other on the abdomen. Take a moment or two and observe your breath. Try and feel with the hands where your breath is located – is it in the chest, abdomen or both, perhaps? It is important to simply observe the breath and not to force the breathing in any way. Then move the hand that is on the chest to the abdomen, so that both hands are resting there.
Gradually begin to expand the abdomen using the abdominal muscles as you inhale. Feel the abdomen expand and draw air in like a bellows. Relax the abdomen completely to exhale. Continue this sequence for a while until the breath becomes relaxed, smooth, and rhythmic. In the resting position the body’s energy requirements are slight, so a large expansion of the abdomen is unnecessary. In time, as the body relearns how to breathe diaphragmatically, you can experiment with expanding more and taking in larger volumes of air. Practice this reclining breathing exercise daily, eventually not using the hands, until it becomes relaxed and natural. Then begin practicing in a standing position until this too becomes relaxed and natural. Eventually, let diaphragmatic breathing replace chest breathing as your normal breathing pattern and watch as your stress and tension levels diminish while your energy levels increase.
Mental/Emotional Breath. Breathing can be performed consciously as well as unconsciously because breathing is controlled by two sets of nerves – the voluntary (central) nervous system and the involuntary (autonomic) nervous system. The breath acts as a bridge between these two systems. To illustrate this concept try holding your breath – this is a conscious act performed by the voluntary nervous system. As you will soon discover, if a threat to your survival is perceived by the involuntary nervous system, it overrides the voluntary one and you are forced to resume breathing.
The voluntary or central nervous system controls our motor skills such as muscle function, sensory and emotional awareness, speech and other functions associated with the brain. The involuntary or autonomic nervous system regulates the function of our vital organs and glands. These vital organs (heart, lungs, liver, kidneys, etc.) are not normally considered to be under our voluntary control. However, we know the breath can operate voluntarily and therefore we can begin to regulate the movement of the lungs through deep controlled breathing. The lungs and heart work together and as the lungs begin to work more efficiently the heart is regulated and also works more efficiently. The involuntary nervous system has two branches that work in harmonious opposition to each other – one that stimulates and accelerates the function of the vital organs (sympathetic system) and the other that slows down the functions of the organs (parasympathetic system). A healthy balance and general tone of this involuntary nervous system is critical to the health of the organs and body. When the balance and tone of this system is off, it can produce irregular heart rhythms, high blood pressure, poor circulation, digestive disorders and other illness since these are all controlled by this set of nerves. By working with the breath during Qigong you can influence and tone the autonomic nervous system and affect many of the involuntary functions in the body for the betterment of your health.
In addition to affecting the autonomic nervous system, breathing has a direct connection and influence on our emotional states. Recall an incident where you were angry or afraid and you will probably recall breathing that was rapid, shallow and irregular. The emotions effect on the breath is coordinated by the autonomic nervous system. If the emotions can affect breathing, breathing can in turn affect the emotions. You cannot be in a rage if your breathing is slow, deep, smooth and quiet. It is not always possible to control the external conditions that affect our emotions, but you can use your breath to influence the part of your nervous system that slows down organ function bringing you to a more calm and centered place from which to make decisions and take actions. Regular Qigong exercises will cultivate the breath control needed to influence our emotions in a more positive way.
Spirit Breath. The written Chinese language is pictographic. The old form of the written word or ideogram for qi shows steam rising from a pot of cooking rice. The implication of this image is that in order for water to boil there must be fire. This harmonious relationship between the opposites of fire and water will produce steam, vapor or breath. The bellows-like action of diaphragmatic breathing stoking the abdominal fire will distribute the breath throughout the body. As we have seen already the mixing of the rice (nutrients from food) with breath (oxygen) in our cells will burn and release energy (qi) in the body. The words for spirit and breath are the same in many languages. In Chinese – Qi (chee), Japanese – Ki, Sanskrit – Prana, Greek – Pneuma and Latin – Spiritus. The common understanding these ancient cultures had for breath stems from their observation and experience of the cycles of life. All of life pulsates to the universal rhythm of expansion and contraction and the duality of opposites that cannot be separated. From day and night, growth and decay, to the beat and pause of the human heart – from the positive and negative charge of the smallest atom to the expansion of the universe (which science tells us will one day contract again completing one cosmic breath) – this rhythm truly manifests in all things. Einstein said that “matter is energy” and energy cannot be destroyed, it can only be transformed. Spirit is the animating vital force in all living things and the breath represents the movement of spirit in matter. To cultivate the breath is to cultivate the spirit.

Part Three: Quiet mind
“When the mind is at peace, the world too is at peace.”~Layman P’ang
For most of our waking day our minds are focused on the external world. From the distractions of current events to the demands of our careers, the mind exists in a world “out there” rather than “in here.” When we do bring the mind inside, often it is to relive a memory (the past) or indulge a fantasy (the future), and we miss the space and time where life is truly lived: the present moment. This tendency to flee the present makes learning to calm and quiet the mind and bring it into focus an essential element in the practice of Qigong.
The Mind’s Influence on the Body. The Chinese have likened the mind to a wild horse running unbridled in any direction it chooses, or a monkey swinging from tree to tree. Left untamed its boundless energy is never harnessed for any fruitful purpose. Thoughts appear and disappear like passing clouds with little awareness of their deeper effect on the body, mind, and spirit.
Most of us can recall an incident in our lives where we felt anger, sadness, joy or some other emotion and instantly felt these emotions return. Indeed science has recorded changes to body temperature, respiration, heart rate and other biological functions with the memory of a past event.
Let’s examine some of the ways in which our thoughts and perceptions create physiological changes in the body. A man we’ll call Joe returns home from a long frustrating day at the office. He represented his department in making an important presentation to the president and board of directors of his company. It wasn’t well received. The result was a loss of respect for Joe by his superiors and co-workers, a diminished budget for his department and possibly some lost jobs. In recounting the days events he began to realize that inadequate information and unrealistic deadlines from his supervisor contributed to the failure of the project as well as incompetent support from his coworkers -yet he was being held responsible. As Joe reviewed the events in his mind his disappointment and frustration turned to anger and depression. If Joe’s heart rate, blood pressure and other vital signs were measured during this memory of events some alarming statistics would appear.
The heart speeds up and slows down in different beat patterns. Scientists measure these beat-to-beat changes in heart rate known as heart rate variability (HRV). Almost any stimulus to the brain, such as thoughts and emotions will influence these heart rate changes. Joe’s HRV patterns became erratic and jerky indicating his sympathetic and parasympathetic nervous systems are out of sync with each other. These two branches of the nervous system work together to regulate heart rate and blood pressure as well as establish communication between the brain and vital organs. When this system is out of balance your blood vessels constrict, blood pressure rises, breathing becomes shallow and you deplete your energy. If this happens consistently you can become hypertensive, which greatly increases your risk of heart disease and stroke. This nervous system imbalance is not only detrimental to the heart, but to the brain, hormonal, and immune systems as well.

In the immune system is an antibody called IgA (immunoglobulin A) that protects us against colds, flu, and infections of the respiratory and urinary tracts. In a study which compared the effects of anger versus compassion on average IgA levels, it was found that one five minute episode of recalling an experience of anger and frustration caused an immediate but short rise in IgA followed by a depletion so severe it took the body more than six hours to restore normal production of the antibody. The study showed that recalling a single episode of anger and frustration could depress the immune system for almost an entire day! The same study showed that one five minute memory episode of the emotions care and compassion caused an immediate and much larger rise in IgA followed by a return to normal levels. However, the levels then gradually climbed above the normal level for the next six hours. Other studies have shown that feelings of joy and happiness increase white blood cell counts further boosting the body’s immune system.
There is overwhelming evidence of the degenerative effects that stress and negative emotions have on the body, and increasing evidence showing the regenerative power of positive mental and emotional states. Knowing how to shift into a state of mind that promotes optimum performance of the body’s biological functions is necessary if we are to offset the day-to-day stress of modern life. Qigong provides such knowledge.
Entering tranquility. In order to quiet the mind for qigong practice one must bring under control three basic factors: 1. External environment 2. Mental activity 3. Emotional activity.
1. Environment. When beginning your practice it is important to be in an environment free of distractions. The space should be free of unpleasant odors, lighting, colors, objects, and noise. The environment should be aesthetically pleasing and able to engage as many of the senses as possible. For example, the use of incense or fresh air from an open window to engage the sense of smell. Soft, subdued lighting or natural light, muted, harmonious colors, an uncluttered room simple in design, sounds from nature or quiet music can all enhance the process of quieting the mind. In time you will learn to adapt to less than ideal surroundings as your mind develops and becomes undisturbed by external factors.
2. Mental activity. The amount of electrical activity in the brain produces various states of consciousness. The highest frequency range, measured in Hz or cycles per second, is Beta or waking consciousness (13-26 Hz or higher). This is the state we are in for most of our day-to-day interactions and activities. The second range is called Alpha, which is a state of relaxed concentration (8-13 Hz). Alpha is the frequency most commonly produced during meditation. The third state of brain wave activity is called Theta, which is characterized, as a dream state (4-8 Hz). The slowest is Delta, which is the state we enter during deep sleep (.5-4 Hz).
To reduce mental activity one must let go of all extraneous thoughts and bring the awareness to a single focus. This puts the mind in a meditative or alpha state where the electrical brainwave patterns have slowed from those of our normal waking state. When this occurs in the mind, the body will follow by activating the parasympathetic nervous system that slows the heart rate and calms the body down. Any number of techniques can be introduced to quiet the mind such as focusing on energy centers and pathways in the body, repeating sounds, words, or phrases (audibly or internally), or holding a thought or visual image in the mind. The most commonly used technique however, is to bring the awareness to the breath. Breathing is both a voluntary and an involuntary process that allows the meditator some influence over the lungs, heart, and other automatic processes. Begin your practice by adjusting your posture, calming the breath, and letting go of your thoughts. Then introduce the focus/awareness technique(s). Utilize whatever techniques work best for you or are inherent in the particular qigong practice you are doing. Practitioners of qigong and meditation will generally fit one of two basic categories. They will posses either a yin or yang type personality. Yin type people tend to “zone out” in meditation, making techniques that require concentration and focus better suited to balance this tendency. These might include concentration on specific energy points or vocalizing stimulating sounds. Yang type people are easily over stimulated by focusing too hard on something and would benefit from cultivating a more general awareness of the body and its release of tension. The breath is a balanced place to center the awareness for both yin and yang type personalities. Spend some time with different methods to assess this tendency in yourself if you don’t already know. As you practice, thoughts will reappear and consume your attention. When you notice this occurring simply let the thoughts go and bring the awareness back to a single focus by reintroducing the breath or other techniques. In time, and with consistent practice, the mind will quickly settle into a tranquil state and remain there for the duration of your practice.
3. Emotional activity. The mind is essentially a patternmaking computer. It seeks to create patterns of information, store them, and then to recognize them. Some patterns are built into the mind and manifest as instinctual behavior. The most important property of the mind however, is its ability to create its own patterns. The mind doesn’t discriminate between an information pattern that is positive and one that’s negative, just that it is repeated and stored in the mind/body for immediate or future use. As we’ve already examined, the emotions can induce powerful physiological changes to the body and mind that can either harm or heal. Harnessing the power of the emotions is essential if we are to reach deeper levels of tranquility in our practice.
When negative emotions overwhelm us we typically set up a kind of repetitive tape loop that is played over and over in our minds. This is like listening to an unpleasant piece of music and playing the same song continuously. Let’s go back and rejoin our friend Joe and his conflict at work. As Joe reviews the events of his difficult day at work he begins to create a pattern sequence in his mind that goes something like this: I FAILED. IT WAS MY FAULT. I’M ANGRY. I’M DEPRESSED… I FAILED etc. In order to offset the negative impact of this thought pattern Joe must get to a neutral emotional state in order to alter his perceptions of the situation and reprogram a more positive emotional response. In other words, Joe needs to press the pause button on his music player in order to change the song. To get to a neutral state, interrupt the thought pattern, and then take a time out by bringing the awareness to the breath until it is slow, smooth, and deep. Next bring the awareness to the area around the heart. Imagine you are breathing through the heart. Keep the mind and breath in this area for a minute or two. Recall a time when you experienced compassion, joy, or some other positive emotion and take some time to re-experience those feelings. Ask the heart sincerely for intuition and guidance in restructuring a response to the current situation. One that will reduce the stress reaction and allow for a new more balanced perception to emerge. Although this may seem simplistic, there is a scientific basis for its effectiveness.
The heart is our main power center in the body. Electrically, it is 40 to 60 times more powerful than the brain. This electrical signal can be measured at any point on the body indicating that power from the heart permeates every cell. As mentioned earlier the balance between the sympathetic and parasympathetic nervous systems establishes two- way communication between the brain and heart and other internal organs. There is a third nerve pathway called the baroreceptor system that originates in the heart and sends communications to the brain. When stimulated, it sends information to the higher brain centers where perception and learning take place. Bringing attention to the heart while experiencing positive emotions activates this pathway. Your perceptions trigger mental and emotional activity that stimulates the nervous system. This electrical stimulation in turn affects heart rate, blood pressure, hormonal production and immune response that combine to create a healthy body and mind. Balancing mental and emotional activity through the practice of quieting the mind insures that these communication links in the body operate at their highest level.
A long- term approach to learning to regulate and control negative emotional states is to practice the ancient art of mindfulness. Mindfulness was developed around 500 BC by the founder of Buddhism, Shakyamuni Buddha. It is a practice where you maintain clear moment-to-moment awareness of what is happening internally and externally without judgment or interpretation of the experience. Our preconceptions of our experience have been shaped by our past conditioning, belief systems, hopes, fears, and desires, perceptions of reality and ideas about ourselves. It’s a valid world but not the world of direct experience.
Mindfulness is connecting deeply and directly with what is actually happening; to be aware of what is going on without adding to our experience in order to see the truth of things.

In learning to practice qigong we must integrate the three essentials of posture, breath, and quiet mind in a natural and gradual manner. With consistent practice we will develop control of the conscious mind, influence the involuntary systems of the body and remain in a state of awareness that allows us to cultivate wisdom and reach our highest potential.

Imitation: 1. to seek to follow the example of 2. to mimic 3. to reproduce in form and content

Imitation is the most primal form of learning we know. From the first utterances of speech to our first walking steps humans have always learned by imitating the world around them. We awaken these innate human functions by imitating through sight, sound, touch and our other senses. Through imitation and the assistance of our caregivers we acquire the ability to walk, talk, feed and dress ourselves and to perform other basic life skills. As we mature we cultivate interests and seek to imitate those who are accomplished in those areas. It might be an athlete, musician, dancer, actor or someone in another discipline we admire and seek to imitate. I remember as a kid choreographing fight scenes with my friends based on what we saw in the movies or on television. We had no real idea what we were doing but to us, our mimicry looked like those we admired.

At some point we may perceive our own limitations and seek out instruction from a qualified teacher. Finding a good teacher isn’t always easy and could be the subject of an entire article. Once a connection is made with a teacher we find ourselves once again engaged in the act of imitation-this time on a new and deeper level. As our instruction unfolds we find that imitating the teacher requires a precision of movement we hadn’t formerly encountered. Our new movements contain an understructure of meaning both in principle and execution, which may make our performance of them, seem awkward and robotic. Through continued practice and receiving corrections from the teacher something deeply satisfying begins to occur. Assimilation.

Assimilation: 1. to absorb and incorporate; digest

In time the principles behind the movements are understood and assimilated by the mind and body. This process happens incrementally over time and continues on deeper more subtle levels as long as one continues their practice. There is however an initial recognition that ones movements have become relaxed and fluid and they begin to feel like the teacher’s movements look. When this occurs the thin veneer of mere imitation has been transcended and we are on another, more internal, level of practice. Over time as our understanding and assimilation of T’ai-Chi deepens we begin to naturally personalize our practice. Our areas of interest and specialization become clear which shape and guide our T’ai-Chi. We begin to see the principles as flexible guideposts rather than immutable laws. The body begins to follow the dictates of the mind and our natural instinct for creativity begins to emerge. At this point we enter into the stage of innovation.

Innovation: 1. the process of making changes 2. a new method, custom, idea, etc.

The history of T’ai-Chi is a story of innovation. From its roots in Shaolin through the Chen, Yang, Wu, and other family styles, T’ai-Chi is an art that has passed through the creative minds of many individuals whose willingness to innovate within a tradition has led to its survival and continued evolution. Every prominent figure whose innovations have changed the course of the art has passed through the first two stages. All of us have our own unique reasons for practicing T’ai-Chi and we each have inherent strengths and weaknesses that influence the way we innovate within our practice. Once all the fundamental principles have been assimilated someone more oriented toward energy work and meditation would, by necessity, innovate differently than someone more interested in martial arts for example. Teaching is another vehicle for innovation in T’ai-Chi since the best teachers have the ability to make the art accessible to diverse groups of people and must remain creative in their approach to teaching. True innovation however is not arbitrary or designed to cover weaknesses in comprehension or technique. Rather, it is a natural outgrowth of having worked slowly and deeply through the first two phases. The first two rules of mastery are after all: 1. Start at the beginning. And 2. Don’t skip any stages.

Cultivating an awareness and enjoyment of the three phases of practice: imitation, assimilation, and innovation, will allow you to continually progress and meet your objectives for as long as you chose to practice.

We began our session with Master Choi correcting my Main Form while Ray manned the video camera. Master Choi has considerable knowledge and skill in T’ai-Chi, Hsing-I, and Pa-Kua, but the Liu Ho Pa Fa Main Form is the crown jewel in his repertoire of styles. He knows every centimeter of the form in great detail and my form felt strong, natural, and comfortable after receiving the subtle corrections he made to it. A review of the self-defense applications for the form came next. Many of the applications he demonstrated were different than those we had learned previously. When asked about this Master Choi said since fighting is unpredictable, any given movement in a form should be applicable to different situations. The founder of the style had an idea in his mind that worked in his generation and we should analyze and adapt it, but “don’t copy it.” This means we must understand the principle in order to freely use it, as a situation demands. Master Choi used the analogy of learning architecture by studying the blue print of a particular building. By only copying the blue print you continually build the same building over and over rather than understanding the principles of architecture and engineering to design original structures that fit their environment.

Ray and I changed roles as student and cameraman and a session of Pa-Kua and Hsing-I staff and spear techniques began. Every weapon is used in a particular way based on its physical design but weapons must be thought of as an extension of the hand. Master Choi clearly demonstrated this idea through the 5 elements of Hsing-I and various Pa-Kua palm changes. Our afternoon session came to a close all too quickly even though it was over three hours long. It was time for a well-deserved meal.

Master Choi drove us to our favorite Chinese restaurant in Chicago, Li Wing Wa in Chinatown. There Master Choi ordered in Cantonese the best beef and pan fried noodles we’ve had anywhere, a delicious shrimp in honey-mustard sauce with glazed walnuts, and crispy chicken. The tea and conversation flowed as we waited for the food to be served. At one point Ray asked Master Choi what his Liu Ho Pa Fa teacher Chan Yik Yan’s favorite food was. This brought up a story about a banquet that Master Choi held in his teacher’s honor when he was a student. Grandmaster Chan loved to eat fish but his favorite fish was a large, rare and very expensive fish (he said the name in Chinese but not in English) which was considered a delicacy in Hong Kong. The fish needed to be caught and prepared the same day and a special chef who knew how to cook it had to be used. To cover the cost Choi and the guests had to pay a hundred dollars each – this was in the early 1960′s. As a self-employed truck driver, the time and expense was difficult to manage but he told us sometimes in order to show respect and appreciation money is not important. After the restaurant Ray and I returned to our hotel to digest a great meal and a lot of information.

The following morning we arrived back at Master Choi’s studio for another session before returning home late that afternoon. In this session new Main Form postures and applications were learned as well as a lot of discussion and demonstration on body-harmony, speed and power, sensitivity, comparative styles and strategy. Before we knew it morning became afternoon and we invited Master Choi out for one last meal before heading back to the airport. Another delightful feast at Li Wing Wa was enjoyed during which time we arranged to meet with Master Choi once this summer and again in the fall.

Thanks to all our students and friends who contributed to our education fund for making that possible. Wai-lun Choi has continually investigated and questioned the principles and commonly held beliefs in the martial arts for over forty years in order to reveal their essence-both for himself and for his students. At one point during our lunch Master Choi joked that he was named Wai because he was always asking why. For Ray and I, that weekend he had a lot more answers than questions.

In the fall of 1994 Ray told me he was traveling to Chicago the following weekend to meet a Pa Kua and Hsing-I teacher living there. His name was Wai-lun Choi. Ray had recently read an interview and article about him in a martial arts publication. He liked what he read and called Master Choi to arrange a meeting at his school in Chicago. Ray had spent many years studying these two martial arts and hoped that master Choi would help him deepen his practice of them.

Ray has always been a student of history, especially the history of martial arts and particularly the arts of China. When he researched Master Choi’s lineage in Pa Kua, Hsing-I, Tai-chi and Liu Ho Pa Fa, the so called “fourth internal style” of China, the call of Chicago became loud and clear. After I listened to the highlights of his conversation with Choi I wished Ray luck on his trip and asked to hear all about it upon his return.

The next time I saw Ray after his return from the windy city he made a short summation of the trip by saying “I found what I’ve been looking for.” Then he added, “You have to come to Chicago with me.” Ray, of course, provided a detailed account of the weekend, but the essential story had been told and before parting that day we planned a trip to Chicago around the first of the year. In those days we seemed to have more time than money, so Ray and I packed up a car and drove the 800 miles or so to Chicago to meet with Choi.

Once in Chicago we drove down Irving Park Road, a long and congested street on Chicago’s North side where the school was located. We spotted the address and turned down a side street to park the car. A hand painted sign, faded by the sun, above the small storefront read: Wai-lun Choi’s Kung-fu Academy. Ray pulled open the door and we walked inside.

Once inside, a cursory glance around revealed a no-frills practice space that had an atmosphere befitting the urban environment outside. The walls in the front area were covered with photographs, certificates, plaques, calligraphies, and other memorabilia of Choi’s illustrious martial arts career. Just beyond the entrance area, on the left side, sat a large weapons rack with an array of swords, staffs, spears, and several handmade variations of traditional Chinese long weapons. Beyond the weapons rack, chains from an improvised metal stand suspended two heavy bags of different weights and densities. Master Choi stood in the center of the room performing a few stretches as he awaited our arrival.

“Ah, Ray Hay, you’ve come already!” Choi exclaimed. For some reason he never produced the last syllable in Ray’s name.

“What would you guys like to do?” he asked. We inquired about the Hsing-I five fists, Pa-Kua’s single and double palm changes and getting an introduction to Liu Ho Pa Fa. “Well, O.K. but you must understand the Principles-don’t talk style, only one style-human style! You must analyze and understand the physics and physiology of movement.” As my ear adjusted to the heavy Cantonese accent Ray had warned me about, Master Choi launched into a lecture that I was to hear dozens of times over the next ten years. Each time it was delivered with a different emphasis and point of view much like one would walk around a sculpture to see it in a slightly different way. He began to describe how the body must always move as a unified whole-with all of its parts in harmony. If one’s movement was disconnected in any way the consequences would be immediate, and a person would “bother their breathing.”

This would be a phrase he would often use to describe any stressors applied to the body, either from an external or an internal source, that diminish the flow of oxygen into the body. The breath is the primary source of energy in the body and when it is compromised, the body is immediately weakened. Choi saw this compromised breathing as emanating from three primary sources: 1. A body that maintains a high level of tension that is sustained over a period of time-and for Choi that is anytime longer than a half second. 2. A body that works against, rather than with the force of gravity. This idea is connected to principles of leverage but goes deeper than simple body mechanics in Choi’s application of it. 3. A mind that is overly focused, confused or overwrought with anticipation instead of a mind that is calm, empty and clear. This harmony of thought and movement, relaxed control of tension in the body, and proper use of gravity and leverage must be studied and refined in solo practices before partner work may be learned and correctly applied.

The word relax is used often by practitioners of internal martial arts with its meaning and application being highly subjective. Choi is specific in his meaning of the term and detailed in his description of how to develop this state of awareness in the body. Choi describes a tension scale numbered from 0 to 10 with zero being a state so relaxed it is difficult to maintain an upright posture and ten being maximum muscular tension in the body. The ideal state of “relaxation” for Choi would be one or two on the scale. This is just enough tension to maintain a posture such as a fighting stance and guard. Choi called this state of relaxation “standby” or “ready” position since the body was ready to explode and deliver a technique with maximum force. This explosive release of energy would last no longer than a half second, then the body would immediately relax back to one. The body is able to continuously receive an adequate supply of oxygen if this level of relaxation is maintained. The ebb and flow of this tense/release cycle Choi would call wave power. Since waves on the ocean never cease, it is an apt metaphor for the development and use of energy in internal styles. I was rapidly trying to process everything he was saying. I had heard some of the concepts before from other teachers and my own reading, but Master Choi had distilled and presented his ideas in a way that was comprehensive, original and accessible. Perhaps more importantly, he was able to do what he talked about.

As the lesson progressed from the conceptual to the physical, we began working on the material we had requested. Choi’s instruction was precise and detailed, and his demonstration of the movements showed the principles in action. When it came time to teach the martial applications of the form movements Choi became animated and visibly excited when demonstrating the techniques. He presented multiple uses for any movement as well as strategies for their use and his execution of them was formidable. The energy and excitement he put forth when teaching combat skills reinforced his reputation as a champion fighter. Before we knew it four hours had passed and our time was almost over.

We invited Master Choi out for a meal and afterward came back to the school for a few last minute questions and corrections. We packed our things, said our goodbyes, and then Ray and I hit the road for home. We had a lot to talk about on the ride home, and we both agreed the trip had exceeded our expectations. Yet we were both unaware of the door that had just opened up for us and what was to unfold over the next ten years.

In the ensuing years Ray and I built our practices and our relationship with Choi one step at a time. Two or three times a year we would invite master Choi up to the studio to conduct workshops in addition to our trips to Chicago. In the early years most of his time would be spent teaching with little time for socializing, except at mealtimes and traveling to and from the school.

After a few years Ray started to work some open time into the schedule. This allowed us to spend longer periods together away from the workshop environment. We would always try to incorporate two of Master Choi’s favorite things into our adventures: nature and science. At first we kept it simple and stayed pretty close to home—a walk through a city park, a trip to the zoo, a hike along the river. Once we were outside, Master Choi’s senses went on high alert, and his power to observe something in nature and relate it to martial arts was always a source of surprise.

On one occasion we had hiked along Minnehaha creek where it led to the waterfall. As we sat and looked at the falls, Choi tapped my arm and said, “See that?” pointing at the falls. “That is just like martial arts.” He went on to point out that if you fixed your gaze on a single focal point, the rush of water seemed to flow extremely fast. If you allowed your eyes to follow the water as it flowed over the edge, it would appear to slow down. The way you see an opponent directly affects your ability to perceive his intent or neutralize his attacks.

On another trip we drove to Red Wing, Minnesota along the Mississippi river. We decided to take an afternoon hike up the highest peak called Barn Bluff. The hike was beautiful and invigorating. As we neared the summit we ascended a long steep stairway that led to the overlook. As Ray and I worked our way up the stairs Master Choi remarked, “You guys work too hard to climb stairs.” He proceeded to show us a way to tuck and release the pelvis while climbing, and to move in a zigzag pattern that, to my surprise, reduced my energy expenditure of the climb significantly. Once at the top the view of the Mississippi River made the hour long climb worth the effort. Again I felt Choi tap my arm. “See that?” He pointed to the expanse of nature below, “That makes most people feel really small. Use your mind to imagine you are larger than a mountain. When you are fighting, you must use this technique to make yourself feel larger and more powerful and confident than your opponent, even if he is bigger than you.” After awhile Ray and I almost felt guilty going on these little excursions since we weren’t paying for what turned out to be a continuous private lesson.

Master Choi would often quote the classics of T’ai-Chi, Hsing-I, and Liu Ho Pa Fa when discussing and demonstrating martial arts. He often surprised us with an unorthodox application of a line from one of the texts. It was a few years however, before we began a formal study of these writings. Choi’s skill as a martial artist had, for me, always overshadowed his literary accomplishments until our formal study began.

It was then that I began to see another facet of his personality—that of the scholar. After scrutinizing the various translations we brought in for accuracy, he would line by line expound on the deeper meaning of each statement in the classic. This was often a liberating experience, since we brought with us certain preconceived notions of their meaning and attachment to conventional wisdom. Choi was never afraid to challenge the standard interpretations, and even the classics themselves, as he drew upon his experience in history, philosophy, the study of nature and science, and especially his fighting experience. He made a point that people with limited literary experience, but extensive fighting experience, would understand the classics better than scholars with no fighting experience, since it was high level fighting strategies and training methods that were being described. Choi had a way of simplifying the ideas-really getting at their essence-and making them understandable and useful for one’s long term training and development.

For the past few years, Master Choi had been talking about closing his school and retiring from commercial teaching. He had always held the view that devoting most of your energy to attracting large numbers of students was good for business, but bad for the art-both the students’ and his own. Even though Choi attracted students from Asia, Europe, and across North America, his day-to-day volume of students was modest compared to large commercial schools. He preferred the control of small numbers of dedicated students to whom he could impart the subtleties of the difficult arts that he taught.

Eventually Master Choi set a date to close his school-May of 2005. He said he wanted time to practice, research and write about the higher levels of the arts to which he’s been devoted to the past forty years.

Master Choi had been complaining of fatigue and some related health problems for a few months. As a result we had a dark and disappointing session in the fall of 2004. It was with some trepidation that Ray and I scheduled our last class in the old school in April. When spring arrived, to our surprise, Choi seemed to be himself again.

We had a spirited class full of laughter and high energy. At that time I began to see Master Choi in a new light—that of an artist. At one point during the class Choi, who was working with Ray and demonstrating close quarter sensitivity, was moving fluidly from Pa Kua, Hsing-I, Liu Ho Pa Fa and T’ai-Chi techniques like a jazz musician improvising on a theme. I’ve always felt a little uncomfortable that the word art was included in the term used to describe the study of fighting systems-not that art is never achieved-it’s just that it seldom is. The term martial artist implies a high level of achievement simply by participating in the activity. Occasionally, however, the shoe fits. As the saying goes-“the greatest art conceals effort.” That day Master Choi was effortless.

It has been said that when walking a path it is important to occasionally look behind to see how far you’ve come. And so it was with our time with Master Choi, as ten weeks turned into ten months, which turned into ten years and beyond. Master Choi is retired now, with his future plans still in transition. He provided Ray and me a past rich in knowledge and experience so that now, the future is ours to create.