We should take care not to make the intellect our god; it has, of course, powerful muscles, but no personality.
Albert Einstein
28 February 2006
Tullius Maximus.
This seal point Birman is Gerrilyn's cat. John reminded me that Wal (Ian Waller) used to breed Birmans.
Be different
My teacher used to say this to me all the time.
In fact this is the constant message from your teacher.
The good student accepts the challenge willingly and whole-heartedly and is instantly different, delighted and daunted by the immediate improvement. Delighted because he feels the truth of this new way and daunted because he knows life is going to be tougher, at least until he becomes accustomed to the changes.
The mediocre student changes to some degree when the teacher challenges them, but then reverts when the inspiration wears off. This is because they don't practice either correctly or enough to generate their own inspiration, and because they don't believe in either the teaching or, on a deep level, themselves.
The poor student isn't prepared to be different at all. You'd think that they would very quickly stop coming along, but they are often clever and know a good thing when they see it and are able to deceive sufficiently to be allowed to ride the energy of the class without actually giving anything real in return, especially not any commitment to change, which is the only real thing you give the teaching, or indeed anything.
This last point is the key to yielding. Real yielding has nothing to do with maintaining balance and equilibrium under pressure. It is all about having the spirit and heart to change when you are required to, which is all the time (each moment). If you are in a situation in which you can successfully maintain balance and equilibrium then it is trivial, unworthy of you and a waste of time. Or, and this is far more likely, you are drastically missing the point. I remember dear old Lester from the Wimpole Street days, well into his 70's having been a commando during the war (he'd actually killed) and a weight-trainer all his life. Someone offered to buy me a set of weights so I asked him what to buy. A barbell, two dumbells and 100lbs of iron was the reply. Will that be enough I asked – I was already squatting over 50kg. More than enough he told me – there are always ways of making it more difficult. Honesty is just so important.
A mediocre student is in a transition stage. They are half way between good and poor and always moving towards one or the other. With a truly mediocre student the teacher is always hopeful that they may chose to move towards goodness and begin to really take on board the teaching. Until they become a good student they haven't actually begun – the transition from mediocre to good is what my teacher calls preparation for the teaching. What is surprising is how many mediocre students chose to drift towards poor. An advanced Tai Chi class will often contain one or two good students and ten or more poor ones, all of whom started as mediocre.
An advanced mediocre student is one who is still able to convince themselves that the teaching is what they would like it to be rather than what it is. If a student is good, mediocre or poor in the Tai Chi class where standards are high and interactions are (hopefully) real then they are the same in any situation. If a poor student finds something they are good at then the chances are they are either kidding themselves (are not receiving accurate feedback) or have found a world with low standards – one that allows (or even encourages) avoidance. In my experience academia is the best example of such a world. I positively shone there so you can imagine the shock I felt on finding my teacher and Tai Chi and quickly realizing what an inept turd I really was (am).
In fact this is the constant message from your teacher.
The good student accepts the challenge willingly and whole-heartedly and is instantly different, delighted and daunted by the immediate improvement. Delighted because he feels the truth of this new way and daunted because he knows life is going to be tougher, at least until he becomes accustomed to the changes.
The mediocre student changes to some degree when the teacher challenges them, but then reverts when the inspiration wears off. This is because they don't practice either correctly or enough to generate their own inspiration, and because they don't believe in either the teaching or, on a deep level, themselves.
The poor student isn't prepared to be different at all. You'd think that they would very quickly stop coming along, but they are often clever and know a good thing when they see it and are able to deceive sufficiently to be allowed to ride the energy of the class without actually giving anything real in return, especially not any commitment to change, which is the only real thing you give the teaching, or indeed anything.
This last point is the key to yielding. Real yielding has nothing to do with maintaining balance and equilibrium under pressure. It is all about having the spirit and heart to change when you are required to, which is all the time (each moment). If you are in a situation in which you can successfully maintain balance and equilibrium then it is trivial, unworthy of you and a waste of time. Or, and this is far more likely, you are drastically missing the point. I remember dear old Lester from the Wimpole Street days, well into his 70's having been a commando during the war (he'd actually killed) and a weight-trainer all his life. Someone offered to buy me a set of weights so I asked him what to buy. A barbell, two dumbells and 100lbs of iron was the reply. Will that be enough I asked – I was already squatting over 50kg. More than enough he told me – there are always ways of making it more difficult. Honesty is just so important.
A mediocre student is in a transition stage. They are half way between good and poor and always moving towards one or the other. With a truly mediocre student the teacher is always hopeful that they may chose to move towards goodness and begin to really take on board the teaching. Until they become a good student they haven't actually begun – the transition from mediocre to good is what my teacher calls preparation for the teaching. What is surprising is how many mediocre students chose to drift towards poor. An advanced Tai Chi class will often contain one or two good students and ten or more poor ones, all of whom started as mediocre.
An advanced mediocre student is one who is still able to convince themselves that the teaching is what they would like it to be rather than what it is. If a student is good, mediocre or poor in the Tai Chi class where standards are high and interactions are (hopefully) real then they are the same in any situation. If a poor student finds something they are good at then the chances are they are either kidding themselves (are not receiving accurate feedback) or have found a world with low standards – one that allows (or even encourages) avoidance. In my experience academia is the best example of such a world. I positively shone there so you can imagine the shock I felt on finding my teacher and Tai Chi and quickly realizing what an inept turd I really was (am).
27 February 2006
Work
Develop a healthy relationship with the principles – a working one.
Your endeavours should stretch, bend, ply and sometimes distort them – the same way they do you.
Wrestle with them rather than blindly or meekly obey them.
Let the work regularly take you into areas where your principles begin to break down and threaten to mutate.
Only then will you condition, extend and enrich both yourself and your relationship with the work.
Your endeavours should stretch, bend, ply and sometimes distort them – the same way they do you.
Wrestle with them rather than blindly or meekly obey them.
Let the work regularly take you into areas where your principles begin to break down and threaten to mutate.
Only then will you condition, extend and enrich both yourself and your relationship with the work.
26 February 2006
The Connective Space
The point I was labouring yesterday was that your solo practice, as well as training the body, mind and energy (spirit) – work that may increase your effectiveness once you have made connexions with other beings – should also facilitate the making of those connexions. My teacher used to have a saying, “If you practice when tired then you practice dullness,” which doesn't mean that you shouldn't practice when tired, but that no matter how you feel you should allow the practice to open out into what we call “the connective space.” This doesn't require any more energy than usual, in fact it requires less because it is always naturally wanting to happen, and what generally prevents it is resistance – we prefer to enter some other space – one more of our own making. The relaxation of Tai Chi is simply cutting out this resistance and allowing yourself to be drawn into this connective space. It is a space full of lightness and gentle humour, and it is above all inspiring – it literally breathes spirit into you. When you are tired you need to rest so you may subconsciously be reluctant to enter this space, knowing that if you do you'll soon get a second wind, become enthused and probably overstretch yourself. However, if you use a little common sense then it should be possible to practice gently and willingly, enter the connective space and have the wisdom not to abuse the energy that space lends you. The wonderful thing about solo work is that no one is watching you – it is your time and you can fill it with whatever – so for the sake of touching connectedness – what my teacher calls the humour of the natural process – you can play with the work. Sometimes when we meet up for a session of partner work and it is clear that both of us are tired and a little unwilling then my teacher will say, “Let's have some fun” and we will approach the session lightly, often starting with something new or outrageous. This will often be enough to make the session a success.
It is the entering of the connective space that makes Tai Chi special. It is what happens when you work together and it should be what happens when you work alone. It is quite easy to achieve, once you know how crucial it is. Are your labours making you better able to make a generous (heartful and soulful) connexion with another human being were they to suddenly enter your space? That is the test. When I started working privately with my teacher I was always shocked that no matter how involved or intense the work became he was always totally willing to answer the telephone if it rang, which it often did. I would always get irritated and annoyed that our flow had been interrupted, but for him it was another thread of connectedness – of potential – entering his space which he willingly took up, and in fact the work we were doing made him more willing rather than less.
It is the entering of the connective space that makes Tai Chi special. It is what happens when you work together and it should be what happens when you work alone. It is quite easy to achieve, once you know how crucial it is. Are your labours making you better able to make a generous (heartful and soulful) connexion with another human being were they to suddenly enter your space? That is the test. When I started working privately with my teacher I was always shocked that no matter how involved or intense the work became he was always totally willing to answer the telephone if it rang, which it often did. I would always get irritated and annoyed that our flow had been interrupted, but for him it was another thread of connectedness – of potential – entering his space which he willingly took up, and in fact the work we were doing made him more willing rather than less.
25 February 2006
Practice
The problem with any communicative art is how to practice alone in such a way that it improves your ability to communicate. The tendency is for practice, especially repetitive practice, to create a slick, efficient product which belies a lack of depth. Classical musicians are renowned for this; in fact any art which requires an unreasonable amount of technical skill will tend to place style above content, and that style will become a barrier preventing real communication. If you find yourself marveling at the artists skill, or settling back to be entertained, or even enjoying the situation then communication is probably limited. Real communication is always difficult, uncomfortable and frightening – it grabs you by the throat – never a pleasant experience – and wrenches you into a connected space where the usual landmarks disappear – it places you on the verge where you are most alive – the one between life and death.
The usual process for an artist (including martial artist), of course, is to practice techniques until they become ingrained and second-nature, so that in performance they can give all their attention to the real task at hand – opening up and touching others with their heart and soul. The problem with this approach is that the only time you're getting any real practice is when you perform. When I was a musician we had a phrase - “gig-fit” which basically meant you were performing often enough to be up and capable for the job. Usually if you were performing at least twice weekly then you could guarantee to put on a good performance; anything less than that and the situation would either threaten to overwhelm or your efforts would not hit the mark – they would only strike a glancing blow.
Our heartwork developed in response to this problem. How to practice the real thing, or how to get heart into everything you do. Firstly we upped the amount of daily partner work and increased its intensity so that it involved real fighting spirit. During these sessions so much energy was generated that unexpected things happened – postures changed, textures deepened and detail found its way naturally into simple exchanges that improved their ability to catch and affect both parties. Each session was a journey into uncharted territory. Our solo practice was a struggle to come to terms with what had happened during the partner work, and to retrieve the form of the exchanges – we basically practised exactly what we had done together (memory permitting). The problem was that it is impossible to recreate the intensity and energy of an exchange when you're on your own, and if you try you get very tired very quickly, so what you end up practising is just a shadow of what transpired during the previous meeting. Our next session of partner work would then consist of a frustrating hour or two of trying to get what we had practised alone to work together. Out of this frustration would come a spark of inspiration which would yet again transform the work and thrust us into a space where it all came alive and the togetherness meant something real. This is how we would move forwards – stutteringly. I always had the nagging feeling that our methodology was not quite correct, partly because experience showed me that if I didn't bother practising and instead slept or went into town then the following session of partner work would always be better. There was something about focusing too intently on what was happening or what had happened that blinkered the vision and stunted enthusiasm. The solo work needed as a major component practice that opened out and embraced as well as intricate and complex detailed work – it needed to move in both directions – inward and outward. We have now developed this component. It is what the slow Tai Chi Forms attempt to be – ways of getting in touch with what underlies things – the common ground. However, without the detail and the intensity the slow stuff glides and slips – it fails to catch. It is important that your Form has, at all points, what JK calls “hooks of affection.”
Sorry this finishes abruptly – I'm off to Liverpool now – I'll finish off later.
The usual process for an artist (including martial artist), of course, is to practice techniques until they become ingrained and second-nature, so that in performance they can give all their attention to the real task at hand – opening up and touching others with their heart and soul. The problem with this approach is that the only time you're getting any real practice is when you perform. When I was a musician we had a phrase - “gig-fit” which basically meant you were performing often enough to be up and capable for the job. Usually if you were performing at least twice weekly then you could guarantee to put on a good performance; anything less than that and the situation would either threaten to overwhelm or your efforts would not hit the mark – they would only strike a glancing blow.
Our heartwork developed in response to this problem. How to practice the real thing, or how to get heart into everything you do. Firstly we upped the amount of daily partner work and increased its intensity so that it involved real fighting spirit. During these sessions so much energy was generated that unexpected things happened – postures changed, textures deepened and detail found its way naturally into simple exchanges that improved their ability to catch and affect both parties. Each session was a journey into uncharted territory. Our solo practice was a struggle to come to terms with what had happened during the partner work, and to retrieve the form of the exchanges – we basically practised exactly what we had done together (memory permitting). The problem was that it is impossible to recreate the intensity and energy of an exchange when you're on your own, and if you try you get very tired very quickly, so what you end up practising is just a shadow of what transpired during the previous meeting. Our next session of partner work would then consist of a frustrating hour or two of trying to get what we had practised alone to work together. Out of this frustration would come a spark of inspiration which would yet again transform the work and thrust us into a space where it all came alive and the togetherness meant something real. This is how we would move forwards – stutteringly. I always had the nagging feeling that our methodology was not quite correct, partly because experience showed me that if I didn't bother practising and instead slept or went into town then the following session of partner work would always be better. There was something about focusing too intently on what was happening or what had happened that blinkered the vision and stunted enthusiasm. The solo work needed as a major component practice that opened out and embraced as well as intricate and complex detailed work – it needed to move in both directions – inward and outward. We have now developed this component. It is what the slow Tai Chi Forms attempt to be – ways of getting in touch with what underlies things – the common ground. However, without the detail and the intensity the slow stuff glides and slips – it fails to catch. It is important that your Form has, at all points, what JK calls “hooks of affection.”
Sorry this finishes abruptly – I'm off to Liverpool now – I'll finish off later.
24 February 2006
23 February 2006
Peace
“The most valuable thing in the world is peace of mind.” JK
Only when you achieve peace of mind do you begin to touch energy and your potential. By energy here I mean the beginnings of things – the gentle compassionate space where “begin” “touch” “energy” and “potential” all mean pretty much the same thing. It is the space the heart wells into. It should be at least as big as the world you inhabit. In fact, internally it is that world. The struggle is to extend it. To begin this struggle you must first have acquired or located a seed or core of peace within from which to operate. This is the first stage. Before you can love others you must learn to love yourself – you must locate the real within in order to connect with the real in the other. This is love, in a sense, when your reality touches and stimulates another, extending and enriching it, and vice versa. Love brings peace – it wakens you to the internal.
Sacrifice means doing away with whatever interrupts or limits peace of mind (requires a high degree of honesty).
Suffering means bearing the consequences of the resulting connectedness (living the implications of that connectedness).
Only when you achieve peace of mind do you begin to touch energy and your potential. By energy here I mean the beginnings of things – the gentle compassionate space where “begin” “touch” “energy” and “potential” all mean pretty much the same thing. It is the space the heart wells into. It should be at least as big as the world you inhabit. In fact, internally it is that world. The struggle is to extend it. To begin this struggle you must first have acquired or located a seed or core of peace within from which to operate. This is the first stage. Before you can love others you must learn to love yourself – you must locate the real within in order to connect with the real in the other. This is love, in a sense, when your reality touches and stimulates another, extending and enriching it, and vice versa. Love brings peace – it wakens you to the internal.
Sacrifice means doing away with whatever interrupts or limits peace of mind (requires a high degree of honesty).
Suffering means bearing the consequences of the resulting connectedness (living the implications of that connectedness).
22 February 2006
Peace
Revealed religion makes comfort, it doesn't make peace. JK
Peace comes from bravely facing what's there - doing what's right.
It requires sacrifice and suffering.
Sacrifice means giving up things you hold dear.
Suffering means bearing pain and distress.
These are not negative - they are the price of connexion - they are the confirmation.
Peace isn't something that comes after the sacrifice and the suffering, it's what you feel when you stop resisting.
Comfort is another word for avoidance.
Peace comes from bravely facing what's there - doing what's right.
It requires sacrifice and suffering.
Sacrifice means giving up things you hold dear.
Suffering means bearing pain and distress.
These are not negative - they are the price of connexion - they are the confirmation.
Peace isn't something that comes after the sacrifice and the suffering, it's what you feel when you stop resisting.
Comfort is another word for avoidance.
21 February 2006
Sacred Tree
Today the word "weird" means strange, unexplainable, odd. Something that is weird is beyond the scope of normal understanding. But in the ancient cultures of Europe, the word had a very different status. The original, archaic form meant in Anglo-Saxon "destiny", but also "power", or "magic" or "prophetic knowledge". "Wyrd" was still the "unexplainable", but the Unexplainable was the Sacred, the very grounding of existence, the force which underlay all of life. And one way in which it manifested was in trees, which were regarded as sacred by the peoples of ancient Europe.
Brian BatesIn Norse mythology, Yggdrasil ("The Terrible One's Horse"), also called the World Tree, is the giant ash tree that links and shelters all the worlds. Beneath the three roots the realms of Asgard, Jotunheim, and Niflheim are located. Three wells lie at its base: the Well of Wisdom (Mímisbrunnr), guarded by Mimir; the Well of Fate (Urdarbrunnr), guarded by the Norns; and the Hvergelmir (Roaring Kettle), the source of many rivers. Four deer run across the branches of the tree and eat the buds; they represent the four winds. There are other inhabitants of the tree, such as the squirrel Ratatosk ("swift teeth"), a notorious gossip, and Vidofnir ("tree snake"), the golden cock that perches on the topmost bough. The roots are gnawed upon by Nidhogg and other serpents. On the day of Ragnarok, the fire giant Surt will set the tree on fire.
Micha F. Lindemans
Micha F. Lindemans
20 February 2006
19 February 2006
No return
The most important qualities to possess (or be possessed by) are firstly the nagging feeling that the next stage/level is always pending (the inability to ignore what's staring you in the face), and secondly the courage to enter its world (which is unimaginably different to anything you have ever experienced) with no possibility of going back. The first of these is the rarest, and the most important. The second can be developed but I'm not sure the first can – you either have a feeling for the beyond or you don't. Both are aspects of heart. The first is the quality you have in common with your teacher – it is what brought you together and it is what makes your togetherness so rich and productive – a questing. The second is the quality your teacher hopes to help you develop and it isn't the usual courage. It is all about shedding some aspect of self in order to make yourself worthy of the next level, not leaping into the fray fully armed and ready for battle. To achieve this you need relaxation (to relax the grip you have on your present reality), the energy and passion to shake yourself loose of that reality (this is like an irritable fierceness), and then the humility and sense of wonder to enter the new world naked and pure, at least initially. My teacher has always said that the next level is the most difficult to achieve – closer to the bone – and that as you progress more attention, energy and heart needs to be put into your endeavours in order to achieve that elusive level. If you have the heart to devote your life to the work then, as you age, these levels approach with increasing regularity and with more and more subtly and immediacy until each successive moment of your living is an unfolding of a new world. This is the way reality actually is and it is force of habit that denies us it. When you meet someone who is so connected they have a deep relaxation – the feeling that nothing phases them – but also a childlike excitement at pretty much everything. A seeming paradox – they have managed to settle into a process that denies settlement – the natural process of constant becoming.
18 February 2006
Skyhorse flies, gallops
What's nice about the mythic isAlice Jones
the only direction is the improbable
and inside
fleet-footed
mane tossing
we get quite certain
Extreme Directions really is a beautiful book. I'd recommended to anyone serious with their Tai Chi, or the internal.