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Wednesday, January 30, 2008

Taichi / Taiji Habits

In order to gain more insights to the Taichi world, I have found that having some good Taichi habits are important in our daily lives in additional to our practice routines.

Good Habits are:
1. Constantly thinking relaxing yourself while you are standing and sitting.
2. Lay flat your feet while sitting, just touching the ground not grasping the ground.
3. Use taichi principles while walking and running, walk like a cat.
4. Use two hands simultaneously in moving in the same direction.
5. Have yin-yang while standing on either foot.
6. Do your forms every day, don't go to sleep until the form is done.

Develop your own Taichi habits are as important as doing your forms daily. Happy Taiching!

Sunday, January 27, 2008

Classical Tai Chi - Tao of Martial Arts Applications

Thursday, January 24, 2008

论太极拳的松功——祝大彤

论太极拳的松功——祝大彤
什么是太极门松功呢?松功是太极拳练家终生追求,一世修炼最高境界的功法。简洁
的说,松功是内外双修,内求心神意念放松,神经安舒,头脑清静;先求心意松,而后肢体松,从脚到顶,脚、踝、膝、胯、腰、肩、肘、腕、手等九大关节松开,且节节贯串,举动轻柔,顶上虚灵,周身全体不着力,形于手指,肢体肌肤干净。
  太极拳的体能要求九大关节放松,还要求溜臀、裹裆、收腹、舒展前胸、圆背,而关
键是吸收胸窝,收吸小腹两侧的腹股沟。拳论明示:“关节要松,皮毛要攻,节节贯串,虚灵在中。”太极拳盘拳练功举动必须轻灵,这是太极拳之特性。要按照太极拳的拳理拳法、阴阳学说规范动作,循规蹈矩,一丝不苟,否则将一事无成,一生盲练。
  笔者有幸见到过京城已故三位太极拳名家:寿星——太极拳大师吴图南;松柔艺术大
师杨禹廷;杨式太极拳在京掌门汪永泉大师。他们的人生道路不同,文化素养各异,但他们的松柔功法艺术相似,令人叹为观止。
  素有松柔艺术大师美誉的杨禹廷大师,其松功达到自然空无之境界。他坐在那里跟别
的老人没什么两样,你只要想到他是太极拳大师,精神与老人家结合上,即刻你的精神世界便会起变化,你会发现坐着的不是一位老人,而似衣服架上挂着一件空空的衣服,你想过去摸摸这件“衣服”,突然会脚下出了轴,站立不稳,飘浮起来。他老人家用老式八仙桌(比当代桌要高一些),将左手放在桌面,手背朝上,让我按。轻轻摸上手背, 感觉胸口一紧,直上直下蹿起一米多高。当我还没有明白过来时候,老拳师笑笑说:“咱这是玩艺儿。”在拳场,老拳师作“收势”,左右伸展两臂,一边三四个人拉拽,前边推胸,后边推腰,前后左右有十人之众,都未感觉老拳师有什么动作,顿觉头脑一片空白,脚下飘浮,一一摔跌出去。
  早在七十年代,在杨禹廷大师家中,我就急于想求到松柔功夫。可老拳师明示,要我
扎扎实实循规蹈矩练拳。大师语重心长地说:“咱这太极拳就是两个势子——一阴一阳,一通百通。”事隔三十年,偶然在一篇文章中见到太极名家杨振基先生说:“推手不能长功夫,功夫是拳上练出来的,不是推手推出来的。”一位是吴式太极拳宗师,一位是杨式太极拳名家。“一长一少同一祖宗,练法不同,而谈经论道体验相同,道出太极拳训练之真谛。
  太极拳博大精深,难求不好练。台湾一位太极名拳家认为,不能专心技艺之苦练,其
成功率仅为百分之一二,其余皆成就渺茫。笔者认为,凡盲练者,对太极拳不具深刻的认识,对拳之意义理解肤浅,有甚者,打了几天拳或根本不练拳而热衷于推手,推来推去,只是摇头摆尾,闪腰挪胯,有了一些灵活的小窍门,拙法加本力而已。走上一条与太极拳拳理相悖的弯曲小径。
  杨禹廷大师,一生与太极拳结下不解之缘,每天盘拳不辍。在他96岁仙逝的那天上
午还在练拳。老拳师终生研修太极拳,一代宗师,堪称楷模。有没有练拳练出松柔功夫的?有!杨禹廷大师晚年期间用短短几年时间培养出几位松功较好的学生。他的长孙,青年太极拳家杨鑫荣,就是松功、技击比较全面的佼佼者。他刻苦用功,夏天练拳,手指往下滴汗,汗水湿满拳场;冬季不论大雪封路,寒风刺骨,每晚都在京皇城下,单鞋光手盘拳,浑身发热,手冒热气。
  杨鑫荣对太极拳道深入研习,悟性好,周身松空,穿着上衣,袖筒里空空的不像有胳
膊,倘若站在他身面前,腿软打晃,进也进不来,跑又跑不了。杨鑫荣在爷爷的点拨下,潜心研修,不负众望,掌握太极松柔和技击功夫比较全面。他带领30多名学生,训练从实战出发,从不假作让手,客气出招,技击场上实打实,动真格的,不管你是谁,拿着什么器械从四面八方袭来,都讨不到便宜。青年太极拳家把握了“以静制动,后发先至,阴阳相济”,“一处有一处虚实处处总此一虚实”,“动急则急应,动缓则随缓”等拳之真谛。那么,怎样练松功呢?
  1、拳里出松功
  既然太极功夫是拳里出来的,所以每一位练家应当重视拳架修炼,按太极拳理、阴阳
学说规范,不得贪多求快,绝不允抡着两只胳膊臂瞎练。首先作好无极式,脚、踝、膝、胯、腰、肩、肘、腕、手等肢体的九大关节要节节松开,且节节贯串。肢体上的几个重要部位,在练拳时也要放松。诸如溜臀、裹裆、收腹、展胸、圆背、弛项、收吸左右腹股沟,吸收胸窝,顶上要虚灵。总结起来,称谓“九松十要一虚灵”为松柔之本。这种 放松虚灵状态贯串盘拳始终,而手不着力,犹为食指轻轻扶着套路路线,体味太极拳独有的弧形路线,长此以往,松柔功夫定能上身,拙力自然退去。坚持下去其妙无穷。
  2、三不动
  练拳最忌三动,即意动、主动、乱动。拳理规范三不动,即不要有动意,不要主动,
不要乱动。君不见公园常有练太极拳,闪腰挪胯,摇头摆尾,晃身动膀,这样行功有悖拳理拳法。正确练拳行功收腹空胸,空腰圆背,上下左右,前进后退,全然靠两腿的重心阴阳变转,身躯不动循规蹈距易出功夫。
  有一次笔者应邀到江南某市讲学,中午在某酒楼用餐。很巧,也有十几位太极拳爱好
者请来拳师用餐。席间,一位青年将拳师按于椅间请老师起来。可这位拳师起身蹬脚,摇肩欲起,可惜,摇晃一阵子,也未能站起来。有一位长者,问我们这桌的某师,能否也请那位拳师小试身手。在征得同意后,那位青年练家走过来,将左手按在某师左胸,右手按卡在右肩被按在椅子上不能动得。某师哈哈一笑,轻轻松松从椅子上站立起来,按者向后跳出去。
  这个道理很简单。按常人理解,一个人70公斤,加下按之力70公斤,大约140
公斤,若挣脱对方, 要具备280公斤的力方可站起来。而太极拳松功,脚下一松,用点阴阳变化,使对方按空了,脚下飘浮,不用斤两之力,轻松而起。站立之条件是身不动,也没有动意。如主动乱动想站,是很难站立起来的,这是太极松柔之理。
  3、立柱式身形
  王宗岳公论及双重之病曰:“每见数年纯功,不能运化者,率皆自为人制,双重之病
未悟耳。”盘拳技击均不可双重,拳理规范单腿重心,杨禹廷大师称之为“立柱式身形”。立柱式身形就是脚与顶的上下一条线,“上下相随人难进,”便于修炼中正安舒,方位方向清楚准确,前时后退川子步,实脚实足,虚脚虚净,变化灵活,利于太极脚的弧形运动,符合阴阳变化之理。
  4、脚下双轻
  太极拳的根本在脚下,也就是“太极脚”。拳论云:“其根在脚,形于手指……由脚
而腿而腰,总须完整一气。”脚下双轻,自然轻灵,自然腾虚,对方必定失去重心,飘浮而起。这是练拳者双脚自然平松落地,脚趾亦应自然节节放松舒展行功。如果找不到感觉,请踩上加厚地毯,也许对你会有帮助。日久,脚下自有双轻之感,身体结构的变化告诉你,你的身上松出来了。
  5、跳舞和悬垂
  经过努力,身上仍然僵紧难以放松下来,笔者劝你暂停下来,到晨练舞场看一看,为
什么我一个人难以放松,而舞者两个人踩着音乐的拍节轻快和谐,翩翩起舞。不要以为练拳人跳舞不好意思,请看截拳道开山李小龙大师,在拉丁舞场取得香港恰恰舞金牌,此举对他在武功的道路上助了一臂之力。
  为了体验九大关节放松,节节贯串的感觉,可以在单杠、树叉、门框以及方便的地方
作悬垂,自然松垂,有益松肩。
  6、关于松肩
  肩在拳论经典哲学著作中落笔不多。太极拳十分重视松肩,常将松肩和垂肘联系在一
起。松肩垂肘是不是 松功大成呢?不能这样认识。笔者谈的松肩不是一般的松肩,不是肩的小灵活,小窍门。在技击场上,能以晃肩、摇肩、躲肩“化解”对方来力。松肩不是这般容易,从脚到手九大关节不放松,不能达到节节贯串,单独去松肩是不可能的。而松肩是周身空松后的最终功成。
  已故太极拳松柔艺术大师杨禹廷的肩是个空的,以手去按会像跌入深谷,没有底。他
的长孙杨鑫荣先生,穿着上衣,袖筒里似没有肩肘和大小臂,松肩跟收吸胸窝是密不可分的,肩真正松开,按之有追不上的感觉。拳友可以在实践中体验。肩是身体的一部分,整体松柔功夫达到上乘,肩自然放松。说到底,还是要在拳里修炼。
  太极拳博大精深,说到根子上是“道法自然”。只要修炼方法对路,在明师指点下得
到松功并不难。

Wednesday, January 16, 2008

Pushed to the Limit: One Hundred Years of Traditional Taiji Training

A conversation with Master Dong Zeng Chen

This book grew out of a conversation between Master Dong Zeng Chen, his disciple Chip Ellis and Karl Chang, a longtime student of Dong style Taijiquan who acted as translator. Karl began his studies of Taiji with Grandmaster Dong Fu Ling in 1972 and often acted as his translator. His fluency as a native speaker of Mandarin Chinese combined with his thorough understanding of the principles of Taiji made him the perfect translator for this discussion of Master Dong Zeng Chen's early training as a third-generation Taiji master.

All of us felt a certain urgency about recording this information, as there are very few people alive today who received this sort of traditional training passed down in a direct lineage. Certainly there will be fewer still in the future. These words represent an almost verbatim translation of over four hours of taped conversation.

I grew up surrounded by people who had devoted their lives to the martial arts. My home town in Hebei Province, Xingtai Territory, Xin Prefecture has been recognized for generations throughout China for its high concentration of martial artists. Every village had martial arts classes, with many different styles being taught. The various schools practiced separately but all of them got together for Chinese New Year celebrations. They demonstrated for each other, and sometimes one school boasted that their style was better than some other style, which resulted in a fighting demonstration.

These contests involved both internal and external styles. The external hard schools used knives and spears and maces against each other. Sometimes the contest would get out of hand and spill over into the audience, like rugby today. Usually there were no deaths, but a lot of people got hurt. This kind of contest was still going on after I was born and during my early childhood.

The Dong family Taiji history began with my grandfather, Dong Ying Jie, who was a top disciple of Yang Cheng Fu. For ten years, he traveled with Yang Cheng Fu throughout China, teaching the art of Taiji to the people and taking on challenges on behalf of the Yang school. In those days, the teaching was very formal. Teachers commanded a great deal of respect. When my grandfather began teaching on his own, he was treated with the same respect. His students were not allowed to talk; they had to listen with their heads down and do whatever their teacher said, with no questions. When Yang Cheng Fu taught he gave his heavy full-length brocade coat to my grandfather to hold. Dong Ying Jie would stand like a coatrack, with the coat over his arm, in Peng posture, for two hours while Master Yang instructed. After many years, his Peng was incredibly strong.

Both my uncle, Dong Jun Ling and my father, Dong Fu Ling learned Taiji from my grandfather at our home in Hebei Province. In 1948, my father and his three brothers left Hebei for Hong Kong in order to escape the civil war. After the liberation, in 1950, my uncles came back to Hebei but my father stayed on in Hong Kong.

Even before I began to be formally taught Taiji, I would follow my father's disciples around and practice with them. All my friends were doing the same thing; many of their fathers were masters too. In 1956, when I was nine years old, my uncle began to teach me, or rather to re-teach me. At that time, I knew the whole Slow Set but had never had any formal corrections. Shortly after my uncle began to teach us, he left for Hong Kong, where my father Dong Fu Ling was living.

From 1956 to 1959, I practiced Taiji under the supervision of Mr. Wu Bao Yin, a disciple of my grandfather. After learning a little from my uncle, my Taiji wasn't too good. I wasn't satisfied. My uncle suggested that I practice with Mr. Wu while he was gone.

Mr. Wu started learning Taiji very late in his life, at age 30. Most people in my village learned when they were young. But his energy was very soft, so soft that even very strong people could not push him. He seemed to disappear when he was pushed; there was nothing there. His softness was very effective. This was an organized class of ten people. We practiced two to three hours every night, after dinner, unless it was raining or snowing or really bad weather. Classes were held outdoors in a field on nights when the moon was out. Even in the dead of winter, we practiced outdoors if there was a moon. If there was no moon, then we practiced indoors in a hall by candlelight. There was no electricity in our town at that time. Inside the houses, the rooms were very small and you could hardly stand up. The room set aside for Taiji in the Wu family house was about 12 feet by 30 feet, not enough space for ten people to practice.

When I first started doing Taiji outside in the winter, it was pretty cold. But it didn't take long before I could see steam rising from my hands as I practiced, even on the coldest nights. We would start classes about six or seven pm. Sometimes they would go on until eleven or twelve pm., depending on the interest shown. Times were not set. Some people left early and went home to practice, others stayed. While we practiced, Mr. Wu told stories. That kept us kids really interested. There was no T.V, no radio, few books then. There was nothing else to do. The stories really motivated us. If you missed a day, you missed an installment in the story. Taiji became entertainment; we were entertained and learned at the same time.

In the winter of 1959 my uncle Jun Ling began to teach us seriously. I was twelve years old at that time. My uncle was very particular about who he taught. He only had a total of ten students in his whole life, and only one true disciple. He chose students who matched his own personality; He didn't want to teach anyone who had a prominent position in the town, nor any rich people. If you talked a lot, he didn't want to teach you. He believed that disciples should keep what they know to themselves. My own philosophy is very different: I believe that the teachings should be spread around so that the art doesn't die out.

At this point in time, when I was learning from him, he was teaching just his son and me. We mostly practiced outdoors in our family compound on a homemade concrete surface. Indoors there were a lot of family members and not too much space. Practice was usually at night, sometimes during the day. Now that my uncle was back, Mr. Wu began coming to our house to practice.

At first, my uncle just corrected my moves. I tried the corrections and they worked better. As I got better, I became more serious. After Taiji practice, I could jump further, run faster, and I felt better. It felt really good and so I kept doing it, with no thoughts of the future or of becoming a teacher.

My uncle and I practiced often, day and night. There was a long rest period at school after lunch, from 11 am. to 1 pm. in the winter. I would practice then, at home. I never took a nap or slept very much at night because I felt so good from doing Taiji that there was no need for sleep.

In summer, our area was very hot and no one did very much at all because of the heat. The rest period from school in the summer lasted until 3 pm. I had been told that I should practice in the hottest time of the day in the hottest place; I took that seriously, so I would practice in midday in the summer. It was very hot when I started, too hot to stand in the sun for more than a few minutes, but doing Taiji actually cooled me down. I could practice gong fu in the hot sun for one or two hours, but when I stopped, it was too hot to stand there. In the old days, it was believed that the harder the practice, the better the practice. Teachers tried to push you to the limit. They didn't force us to do anything, they just explained why it was better to practice hard. We were convinced, so this is how we practiced.

At age nine to twelve, I was so energetic that I would jump off a 12-foot high roof and land on the ground. The family restaurant had tables about one meter high, and after the restaurant closed, I would jump from the floor to the tabletop and then down and up onto the next table, all over the restaurant. We put a bowl of water on the table and the goal was to jump on the table without spilling the water. If you spilled the water, you lost the game. You had to jump high and land softly. I started by pushing off with both legs and later could do it with one leg. Even our games were aimed at improving our gong fu.

Learning from my uncle involved very hard, difficult practice. He taught us step by step, one move at a time. It was very painful at times. We went into extraordinary detail on every move. We talked about every single fragment and how they fit together. There were almost one hundred steps for every move. Then afterwards he smoothed them all out until they flowed. Sometimes we would practice for seven or eight hours, sometimes only thirty minutes. At this point, I had been practicing almost every day for three years. But Mr. Wu never went into this kind of detail. It felt totally different doing it this way with my uncle.

When family members are being taught, the teaching is much harsher, much more critical. The teaching of outsiders tended to be much more polite. The standards were different if you were part of the family. Once one became a disciple, then you were treated more like a family member. The master is much harder on you.

After Mr. Wu learned from my grandfather, Dong Ying Jie was gone from our village for long periods of time. His students started teaching on their own. My grandfather came back and was testing their Tui Shou skills. One student was having a really hard time rooting himself. My grandfather would stick and follow and the student got uprooted and sent flying time after time. Every time the student pushed, Dong Ying Jie would go back with him; it was like going down the stairs backwards. Once you take the step, you have to keep going. Mr Wu said to the student, "Why are you so stupid? why do you follow him?"

My grandfather overheard Mr Wu and started to push hands with him. He grabbed Mr Wu's hand and pushed him between two Chinese wine jugs. These ceramic jugs are really huge, with a small top and bottom and a very wide middle. My grandfather pushed him right into the small opening between the bottoms of two jugs. His head went through but his shoulders got stuck and he had to be pulled out Dong Ying Jie did this three times. Each time he pushed Mr Wu right into that small hole.

My uncle was as strict with us as my grandfather had been on his disciples. As we practiced, whenever I felt like moving, like in the middle of Single Whip, my uncle would tell me to stop. When I felt like stopping, he would make me move. He would look for the most difficult part of the move and then make me hold it at that point, to make me get really good at it. That is one of the hardest things to do, to not move when you feel like moving. It breaks the flow. But it teaches endurance and what the Chinese call "nien", the ability to withstand hardship.

At this level of detail, we worked on each move until it was correct. We could not go on to the next move until the one before it was correct. When we felt impatient, he would teach us patience by making us go over and over the same move. Then when you got really tired and stopped caring about learning whatever came next, he would surprise us by going on to the next move. You went on to the next step only when you were judged ready, not when you want to. There is a big difference. There is a Chinese saying, "When the water comes, the dam will be created." It is a very different mentality than in the West.

I practiced only the Slow Set until I was good at it, which took three years. It was just my cousin and me learning this way At the end of three years, in 1962, I began to learn Tui Shou [Push Hands]. Sometimes my grandfather's disciples would come around, and then we would do Push Hands with them. In the beginning, we were told only about relaxing the body and keeping it straight, not how to push. We were not supposed to do any pushing, just circles for two years, every night, just me and my uncle's son. I would also push hands with Mr. Wu, if he was there, or with my uncle. I started out with Peng Lu Ji An , two-handed Push Hands, right away.

After two years of Push Hands circles, Mr. Li [Li Qing Shan], who was an expert in hard style Shaolin gong fu came to see what I had learned. Though he was never officially my teacher, my uncle allowed me to learn a few things from him when he came to our house, about once a month. It was Mr. Li who taught me Fa Jin, how to deliver energy. He was a little bantam of a man, but he was incredibly fast and his energy was unstoppable; he was an expert at Fa Jin. He was like a mountain when he moved. There was no way to divert him. Even though it is said that you can divert one thousand pounds with four ounces, there is a point where, if the force is great enough, there is no way to deflect it. All you could do was get out of his way.

He could break a Chinese tombstone with his fist. These tombstones were made of slate, three feet by five feet by eight inches thick. He could break one in half. He once took some Chinese herbal medicines that made you much stronger and he was afraid of really hurting someone, so he went to a graveyard to test his strength. other people went with him and saw him break the tombstone, so this wasn't just a story.

Much later, at age 70, I saw him demolish my uncle's front gate with one hand. He was supposed to be a judge at a gong fu contest and was being mocked by some of the kids my age for being too old to be a judge. To prove his capabilities, he hit my uncle's front door, which was made of wood two inches thick which was laminated in three different directions and then nailed together. The gate was actually two doors which opened in the center. With one continuous motion, he delivered first a forehand and then a backhand strike, with so much internal energy that both doors were completely shattered. At age seventy! It left me completely speechless. The other kids fell into a stunned, awestruck silence. No one could argue with Mr Li's abilities. He never married; he devoted his entire life to the martial arts. His father was a master martial artist also.

About this time I began to learn Hua Jin, or how to take energy and change it, from my uncle. When you learn to change your shape, then you can change the force coming at you, or divert the strength of the force. I began to learn Fa Jin and Hua Jin from my uncle. One of us would push and the other would divert. We learned in a flowing way, no fixed form at all. It was whenever the opportunity arose, within the context of the Tui Shou practice, but only with Peng Lu Ji An, never with Tsai Lieh Jou Kao.

My uncle was a real purist in his teaching of Taiji. I was never allowed to read any books about Taiji other than family writings, just the Red Book [Principles of Taijiquan, written by Dong Ying Jie]. I read that book many times. Each time that I read it, I saw something else. I understood it differently as my knowledge increased. The deeper I went, the more there was to it. There was no end.

From the time that I first began seriously studying Taiji in 1959, there was no time when my practice stopped or was interrupted, even during the Cultural Revolution. In the beginning, my uncle didn't want me to learn any other martial art. But later, I practiced with people who knew other forms, and we never held back. My most intense practice period was from age sixteen to age twenty-seven. Outside of class, when I practiced with my friends, we would tell each other not to pull our punches, and to hit anywhere on the body. In the beginning it hurt when you got hit, but later it didn't hurt anymore. At this time, there was a lot of Qi Gong practice, so the force of the hit was transformed by the Qi Gong.

By this time, my Push Hands skills had reached a point where none of my uncle's other students could beat me. I began to check out other schools and styles of martial arts, and to test my skills against them. Most people teach Taiji for health, so it is useless as a self defense or for gong fu. Many teach it as a totally relaxed form. But if you want to use Taiji as a martial art, you have to be both hard and soft; you have to know how to use both. Even if you learn it as a martial art, with all of the applications, if you don't practice it against someone regularly, then it is still useless as a martial art.

At age 27, I left my village and began teaching in Gong Fu Association classes and classes sponsored by the prefectural government. I traveled a lot, spending two weeks at a time in each place. Top martial arts experts from all over the country invited me to visit with them. I learned a little from each one. I taught every day when I was away, three weeks out of every month. The classes were two hours long, in the morning before work began. The classes were sponsored by the government and were held in public squares. I was paid by the government, but also by the students themselves, although it was not required. They gave ten percent of their income for my teaching. It was what the Chinese call "the red envelope", a token of appreciation. They valued what Taiji did for their health and their spirit.

Outside of China, I checked out many other schools. In Singapore, I tried out a lot of external Chinese schools. Most of it was friendly sparring. The hard forms are all fully committed; once they start a move, they can't pull back or stop. Not like Taiji. In the hard forms, it is only the part that is striking that is committed. In Taiji, it is the whole body, from the leg up, once you decide to strike. The jin is different. When you punch in hard form, you can bruise someone; with Taiji, you can throw your opponent thirty feet. The jin comes from the whole body; it is entirely different from the hard styles. Taiji is both soft and hard. You have to start with soft, then go hard, which gives a tremendous burst of energy.

I have met almost all of the modern Taiji masters and observed the differences in their styles. Chen style has good explosive energy, and the old Wu style is very powerfull, very strong. But none of the other styles has the rooting of the Yang style. I feel that the Yang style fits the general public better than any other style. It makes the legs really strong because you step much more slowly than other styles. The steps of the Yang style are neither big nor small; an average-size step has the most power behind it.

There is a story about Master Liu, who was a very small man, being challenged by another school in front of a big crowd. He threw his opponent out of the circle, which was surrounded by spectators standing five deep. The other man went flying so hard and fast that he shot through all five layers of onlookers as though he had been fired from a cannon. Bystanders flew in all directions. Sometimes the Yang style is so powerful that you can't believe it.

You think that you could never have that kind of power, but you can. No matter whether you are big or small, everyone can get good. It is important to have a very good teacher to watch you, to point out your strengths and weaknesses.

There are three things necessary to succeed at Taiji: You must have confidence that you will benefit. You must have the patience to learn. And finally: you must be persistent, which means constant daily practice, with no lapses.

A Production of INTER-ISLAND PEN AND SWORD © 1995 Rachel Porter

Text OCR and markup by Gordon Joly 1999-06-27

Tai Chi and Walking

祝大彤先生2007年5月第二届自然太极拳年会上讲座、示范2