October, 2009 Archives

You Must Revise Your Life

Post Date:October 25, 2009 | PermaLink | Comments

    In an earlier entry (“The Year of the Ox”), I used the line from Rilke’s poem “The Archaic Torso of Apollo”—“You must revise your life”—to discuss how the process of meditation and T’ai Chi requires and results in a complete “revision” or realignment of the self.
    Let me return here to the most important word in Rilke’s last line—“revise”—for a point of clarification about this process.   On the surface, to “revise ones life” suggests a refashioning or remaking along the lines of New Years Resolutions:  I will be more organized; I will eat healthier; I will exercise more.  This remaking begins with what one has (an ego and a body) in order to reshape it into a new self that is more in keeping with the image of one’s ideal self. 
    Another way of reading the word “revision,” though,  should not be overlooked since it is more in keeping with the gist of meditation and T’ai Chi.  RE-vision.  To see anew.  To see freshly.  To see again.  Such a concept of re-seeing shares much with the essence of Ch’an (Zen) Buddhist meditation and T’ai Chi as meditation-in-motion.
    The Buddhist conception of the self is not that it is inherently flawed; rather each person has Buddha nature.  More, each person is already fully-enlightened.  We simply must realize our inherent Buddhahood and enlightened nature.  The self need not be “remade” but rather the self needs to be recognized—re-known—and contemplative, introspective practices such as T’ai Chi and meditation provide the tools to begin to “re-vise” oneself.
    To re-see within this paradigm is to recognize that within oneself is a fully awakened, fully-enlightened person—not an other to be constructed and remodeled—but a perfect one, a Tathagata, already intact.  [Tathagata, by the way, means, a person of “Suchness.”]
   We often view the act of “perfecting” oneself as an act of becoming the “ideal” person through incremental acts of revision (i.e., eat less, exercise more, be angry less, be more organized).  Yet if such a concept of becoming is abandoned, what remains is not the image of self but Being.
   To revise, though, requires fearlessness, as if looking into a mirror to truly see oneself—not to identify the flaws that require correction but to recognize how one has created an image of that self.  Our fearlessness requires that we recognize that the self we construct is merely that—a construct, an amalgam of ideas and images of the self.  We are not what we think we are.  Nevertheless, we cling to that idea of the self and its labels:  “I am ___ years old;  I work as a ____; I am in a relationship with _____;  I vote _______;  The list can go on ad infinitum and yet we never arrive at am. 
    Revision is an act of fearlessness.  To wake up is a manifestation of courage.  Otherwise, we are merely falling into the trap of remaking a self that is always already complete.  To let go of all of these labels is to embrace life.  And as Rilke writes, “for here there is no place / that does not see you.  You must change your life.” 

Learning to Be Regular

Post Date:October 19, 2009 | PermaLink | Comments

  The sun currently rises at 6:55 A.M. and sets at 7:39 P.M.  In between are roughly thirteen hours.  Yet, for many, there isn’t enough time in the day to practice T’ai Chi and do everything else that needs to be done. 
    This difficulty in scheduling calls to my mind two stories.  Story Number One:  during a seminar with William C. C. Chen in which I was present, someone asked “How often should I practice T’ai Chi?”  Master Chen responded, “You should put in at least twenty minutes of practice every day.  But on those days when you are especially busy with little free time, you should . . . [long pause] practice at least one and a half hours.”  Story Number Two:  A number of years ago my Ch’an (Zen) teacher, Ven. Shih Ying-Fa, was asked during a lecture at a Church in Pittsburgh “How can I meditate when I don’t have any free time?”  Ying-Fa replied, “On those days, are you too busy to go to the bathroom?”
    The issue of practice/meditation is directly related to quality of life.  When one is exceptionally busy and harried by a multitude of tasks, it seems as if nothing gets done and what does get done, isn’t done well.  As we multitask, our focus is dispersed over a broad continuum, but if we would focus upon the task at hand, and upon its completion turn to the next task, then quality would not be diminished.  Our minds, though, are always craning back and forth in time that it seems that we are so seldom in the present.  We are so intent worrying about whether we are going to get a piece of pie that we hardly enjoy the maincourse that we are currently eating.  Where is the satisfaction?
    The practice of T’ai Chi hones concentration, which is (to use current business place lingo) a “transportable skill” for all aspects of ones life.  (So list T’ai Chi on your resume!)  Regular practice provides the focus to recognize what needs to be done and the means to do it with energy and focus.  If practice becomes a daily ritual—as natural as going to the bathroom—that focus and energy grows stronger and more finely honed.  As Yang Ch’eng-Fu says in his essay “A Discussion of the Practice of T’ai Chi Chu’an,” “Although the guidance of a superior teacher and practice with fellow students is indispensible, the most important thing is one’s daily practice.” 
    Not to ignore the obvious benefits, if you practice everyday, you will feel better, be less stressful, and be healthier, which means that more energy is available for each and every task.   More, regular T’ai Chi practice translates into a deeper understanding of the body mechanics and how Chi works within the movements.  To begin to recognize the internal aspect of T’ai Chi allows for mastery over both the sequence of movements as well as a deeper appreciation of the life that T’ai Chi yields.
    To try to nudge people toward a regular schedule, tuition at Still Mountain is calculated on a flat monthly fee.  True, a flat fee does make it easier for my book-keeping, but more importantly, it creates greater accountability for each student.  Think about it.  If you don’t feel like going to class (you are tired, or grumpy, or hungry, or have a headache), but you have paid for the month, more than likely you will recognize that you are merely throwing away money by not attending.  Once you go to class, and feel better, you will be glad you went.   But if classes are paid per class, and you are tired, or grumpy, or hungry, etc., then if you skip, you will not lose money.  If you don’t come to class, you will lose an opportunity to ease physical pain, gain energy, feel invigorated, and maybe, just maybe, become fully enlightened. 
    I am always happy to have students in classes—not because each is a paying customer, but because each person is engaging the process of embracing his or her life through T’ai Chi.  Each person is become better, more awake, more human.   So practice, practice, practice.  Not because each class costs “x” amount of your hard-earned pay, but because to not practice means missing out on experiencing a deeper, un-measureable sense of value beyond dollars and cents. 

Why do I need a teacher anyway?

Post Date:October 11, 2009 | PermaLink | Comments

Why Do I Need a Teacher Anyway?

    Inevitably, in either a phone conversation or in an email, a prospective T’ai Chi student or someone interested in learning Ch’an (Zen) meditation will say to me:  “I have read a number of books on T’ai Chi/Buddhism”; or “I have tried to learn T’ai Chi from DVDs.”    The pat response, which those books/DVDs on meditation/T’ai Chi often emphasize, is that a person can’t learn T’ai Chi or meditation from books or from DVDs and that a person should look for a qualified teacher.  The bottom line is that learning T’ai Chi and meditation are both experiential processes that require hands-on work and guidance—and not second hand advice from books and virtual teachers on our TV or Computer screens.
    “Now wait a minute,” you might say.  “There are DVDs for sale on this very Website.  If DVDs are not good for learning T’ai Chi, why do you sell them?   And aren’t these writings ‘teachings’ too?”   Well, yes they are.   Let me implicate myself even more by confessing that I read lots and lots of books on T’ai Chi, Taoism, Buddhism, Chi Kung, and Traditional Chinese Medicine, and I watch lots and lots of DVDs.  Hypocrit!  But as the great American poet T. S. Eliot writes,  lifting lines from Charles Baudelaire, “You!  Hypocrite Lecteur—mon semblance,--mon frère.”  (Translated loosely:  Hypocrit reader.  My double, my brother.)
    I read those books and watch those DVDs in order to expand my understanding, but they are in no way an adequate substitute for a teacher or for a regular practice.  Matter of fact, many of the books that I study have been written by my teachers or with people with whom I have studied in some capacity:  Dr. Yang, Mwing-Jing or Helen Wu, for example, in T’ai Chi, or sutras and studies written by people in my direct Ch’an lineage.  I study those books in order to amplify and deepen what they have taught me directly.    
    The issue, in my mind, comes back to our very American cultural identity of rugged individualism and self-reliance.  The individual stands large within this world-view and has spawned the American Dream, where an individual (any individual regardless of background and socio-material opportunities—[do you see the ideal cracking here under the weight of reality here?]) can accomplish anything he or she desires.  This ideal perpetuates the myth of the so-called “Self-made Man” and the possibility of a rags-to-riches storyline. 
    So what does this American Dream Myth have to do with Buddhism or T’ai Chi?  The American ideal of the rugged individual does nothing more than stroke our egos, which are so well-formulated in this culture already that we do not realize that we are so inundated with this ideal that we think that we have the capacity to fix ourselves without the meddling of others—which manifests in our cultural obsession with the Self-help section of our local bookstores.  We think that we do not need teachers since we have all of the tools (books, resources, and our own abilities) that we might possibly need because we are rugged individuals.  But as one of my teachers, Dr. Yang, explains in his Qigong Meditation: Small Circulation,

"When you find a good qualified teacher or source of learning, treat it preciously, so you don’t miss the opportunity of learning.  This chance may not come again.  Traditionally, it was very difficult to find a qualified teacher.  Even if you found one, you would not necessarily be accepted.
    Today, it is easier to collect information since there are so many books, videotapes, and DVDs available.  But the guidance of an experienced teacher is generally crucial to reach the final goal.  Subtle advice can save you a great deal of time and effort.  When you are lost in a big city, even though you have read the map, guidance from a passerby could save a lot of effort."

When we want to learn how to drive, reading the manual is not going to prepare us enough to learn how to actually drive a car out of the driveway and pass our drivers test.  Similarly, if we decide to learn carpentry, we don’t just read books on it; we do it.  If we want to become a really good carpenter, we study under a professional (the original notion of the process of “apprenticeship” in order to become a “master”),  who teaches us the tricks and secrets to perfecting our art. 
    When it comes to perfecting ourselves—and let’s face it, waking up in meditation is about recognizing our inherent Buddhahood, and learning T’ai Chi is turning inward in order to reach the harmony of the Tao—does it not make sense that we should turn to others who are farther along the path for their help—their guidance—since they have already navigated the trials and tribulations of the practices?   Those teachers are more than capable of helping others to negotiate those same problems and obstacles when they arise since they have dealt with them already.
      This is not to say that those teachers have completed learning about their art, and if someone tells you that he or she has entirely mastered T’ai Chi or meditation, then run away as quickly as possible since both T’ai Chi and meditation are an ongoing process of discovery and growth and not the end of a path.  As Ven. Shih Ying-Fa , my Ch’an teacher, replies when asked if he is enlightened:  “I am  not enlightened, but I am waking up nicely.”   Teachers truly dedicated to their art never stop deepening their practice; subsequently, someone truly dedicated to an art, never stops being a student in the most humble and yet open way.
     So who doesn’t need a teacher? 

The Year of the Ox

Post Date:October 04, 2009 | PermaLink | Comments

    The year of the Ox within the Chinese horoscope is a good year—usually.  The Ox is a steady creature—earthy even—and while is sometimes needs to be “encouraged” (hence a nose-ring to tug it along), the work of the year is rewarding and should yield benefits for years to come.  But those rewards, like the work of the oxen in the field, need to be earned with sweat and toil.
    This year of the Ox has been marked with trials and tribulations on a large scale:  the global recession, countless job losses, wars, health issues, and dissolved relationships have made suffering even more pronounced.  Perhaps not surprisingly, more than the usual numbers of people have been inquiring into the benefits of meditation, T’ai Chi, and Chi Kung.  People are looking for relief from their burdens.  While meditation, T’ai Chi, and Chi Kung provide just what a person needs to be healthy and happy, it is important to emphasize that these things in and of themselves are not the cure.  The cure must be within each individual; the prescription includes the ingredients of T’ai Chi and meditation, but the ultimate cure is what the practice must discover.
    “What does all this mean,” one might ask.  “You seem to be talking in a circle.”  Indeed, I am.  The process of meditation, T’ai Chi, and Chi Kung is a self-reflective informational loop.  Through these tools we learn to see ourselves clearly and enter the process of self-awareness of the habituated physical and emotional patterns that we think constitute ourselves.  For example, we begin to recognize our patterns of behavior when a certain person says “Good Morning,” I say “Good Morning.”  But when a different person says “Good Morning,” we pretend we do not hear him or her.  The self-awareness is also physical so that one becomes cognizant of what times of day one is sleepy or how certain foods may make a person feel sluggish or hyper.  We develop a consciousness of all of the things that go into our construct of ourselves and how that self is constantly interacting with the world. 
    This process makes the self more transparent—and the particular emotional, psychological, and physical state at any given moment is recognized as the product of a number of choices: patterns that are dietary, lifestyle, emotional, physical, and others.  In Buddhism, this is the essence of Karma, cause and effect, and the culmination of these various strands determines ones immediate situation and state of being.    As one becomes more aware of the various threads that make up this moment, the root causes and their various branches of ones current situation including ones suffering come into sharper focus through the tools of meditation and T’ai Chi.
    The awakening of awareness is possible for anyone, but the leap from awareness to transformation is much more difficult and requires discipline.  Essentially, in this process, we realize that we are the sole owners of our suffering.  Whereas if we have a headache, we can take an aspirin and the headache dissolves.  There isn’t quite the same over-the-counter analgesic for that tangle of our suffering.  An aspirin is temporary, but in order to commit to the long-standing eradication of suffering, we need to truly revise our lives.  We need to own them and in this process we cannot hide from ourselves.   I often think of the wonderful closing lines from Rainer Marie Rilke’s poem “The Archaic Torso of Apollo”:  “for here there is no place / that does not see you.  You must change your life.” 
    So, yes, if you meditate, play T’ai Chi, and practice Chi Kung, you will feel better.  It will be an aspirin for suffering and your health will improve, you will feel more balanced psychologically and emotionally, and you will feel more fit and gain a more positive self-image.  Beyond the surface, what is demanded of you for long-term health is even deeper revision.  To own your health and happiness, you need to grab the reins of the ox.  You need to plow your own field.
    Meditation and T’ai Chi provide the insights and the tools, but you still need to wield them.  Your health and happiness cannot happen nor can it be sustained without your very own sincere efforts and discipline. 
     As we say in the Evening Gatha at the close of our Ch’an (Zen) service:

    Let me respectfully remind you
    Life and death are of supreme importance.
    Time swiftly passes by and opportunity is lost.
    Each of us should strive to awaken.
    Awaken.  Take heed.
    Do not squander your life.