I’ve been learning Tai Chi for the past four years, with intense practice over the last year. My teacher, Steffens Wu, hails from Shangai, China. She’s been the most patient and kind teacher I’ve had on this journey. We meet every Sunday for an hour, and she teaches me Qi Gong and Tai Chi.

Tai Chi is an ancient Chinese martial art form that is practised not just for defence but also for its incredible health benefits. It is a slow, meditative form with graceful movements that flow into each other in a continuous sequence.

Tai Chi is often called ‘meditation in motion’. Unlike other physical forms like yoga or traditional forms of exercise, Tai Chi does not develop a ‘muscle memory’. I could practice the form a hundred times, but if my mind isn’t fully present, I forget the next movement.

I have practised the Yang Style forms more than 500 times in the past year, but keeping my mind in the present has been challenging.  When my mind wanders, I make a wrong move or freeze in place, unable to remember what comes next.

Steffens was reviewing my practice of the 24 forms of Yang-style Tai Chi. After practising for a while, I finally got the sequence flowing. On a Sunday morning, Steffens watched me do the full form. I managed to complete the entire sequence of 24 forms in a flow without missing a sequence. Thrilled and excited, I finished the closing form and looked at Steffens expectantly.

Steffens clapped her hands and said, “You have been practising. Your forms are flowing smoothly.”

I beamed with pleasure.

I was stunned as her words sank in.

Tai Chi is not about mastering the forms. It is about the full presence of my being. When I practice Tai Chi, I am practising staying in the moment and connecting with my being and my Chi. By really slowing down and experiencing the moment, I can feel my Chi and my being. At some point, I will sense the Chi guiding me.

For the next few weeks, I focused on slowing down my practice. It was hard. Slowing down is the antithesis of my nature. I like speed and high energy. But my life has led me down a path where I have had to slow down. This was another nudge in that direction.

As I slowed down, I didn’t have to rely so much on my brain to tell me the next move.  My sense of vigilance dropped, and I was able to relax into the form. I could sense my mind relaxing and feel my breath, slow and rhythmic, coursing through my body.

When I met with Steffens on the following Sunday, I performed the 24 forms for her to review and give feedback on. She watched, clapped her hands and said, “You have been practising.”

This was an experience of Wu-Wei.

Hoff gives us an example of Wu-Wei from the writings of Chuang-tse:

“At the Gorge of Lü, the great waterfall plunges for thousands of feet, its spray visible for miles. In the churning waters below, no living creature can be seen.

One day, K’ung Fu-tse was standing at a distance from the pool’s edge, when he saw an old man being tossed about in the turbulent water. He called to his disciples, and together, they ran to rescue the victim. But by the time they reached the water, the old man had climbed out onto the bank and was walking along, singing to himself.

K’ung Fu-tse hurried up to him. “You would have to be a ghost to survive that,” he said, “but you seem to be a man, instead. What secret power do you have?”

“Nothing special,” the old man replied. “I began to learn while very young, and grew up practicing it. Now I am certain of success. I go down with the water and come up with the water. I follow it and forget myself. I survive because I don’t struggle against the water’s superior power. That’s all.”

Wu-Wei is about relinquishing control of what could happen.

Too much planning and overthinking causes us to operate in a state of chronic anxiety. Anxiety pervades every aspect of our lives. Every action we take is couched in the fear of the unknown and the future. Even if the worst-case scenario does not materialise, the mind does not relax; it constantly conjures up other scenarios.

This is best shown in the movie Inside Out 2. Anxiety wants to protect Riley and keep her safe. It conjures up worst-case scenarios, and all behaviour and action is from a state of fear. Anxiety does not let us rest at all.

Wu-Wei is not a state that just happens on its own. It is about cultivating a curious and relaxed state of mind, an open-heart space operating from trust and love. It is about developing the connection with our body so that it can offer its instincts to our being without being clouded by fear.

For me, Tai Chi has been one of the ways I have glimpsed what Wu Wei feels like. This glimpse has given me a window into living in this world where I am not operating out of fear.

We all have had this experience at some point in our lives. The key is to reflect on it and, if we desire it for ourselves, see how we can integrate it into different parts of our life.

With this, we round up this edition of the newsletter. I hope you read “The Tao of Pooh” by Benjamin Hoff alongside this series, and enjoy it as much as I did.

In the next edition, we will explore appreciation, the heart of the Taoist philosophy.

And here is the tiny story of the week.

The Woodcarver

There was a skilled woodcarver named Ch'ing who was asked to carve a bell stand for the king. When the work was finished, everyone who saw it marveled at its beauty and said it must be the work of spirits.

When asked about his method, Ch'ing replied, "I am only a simple woodcarver. I begin by fasting to calm my mind. After three days of fasting, I forget about success and failure. After five days, I forget about praise and criticism. After seven days, I am so empty of myself that I forget my limbs and body. Then I go to the forest to see the trees in their natural state. When I find the right tree, the bell stand appears in it; all I have to do is cut away what is unnecessary."

💌 Siri