Pride, which effectively amounts to an insistence upon the external, is the puffed up chest of one caught up in class, of one confident in place and direction, of one brimming with self-image. Even if that image is an image of heart – a loving front – it is still a lie. The opposite of this is the taiji hollow chest and rounded shoulders: an old hunchbacked crone stirring her pot, indeed stirring her heart into her pot, her work, her magic.