TAI CHI DIARY OF A MAD WOMAN INSTALLMENT 1

TAI CHI

DIARY OF A MAD WOMAN ON THE PATH TO ENLIGHTENMENT

CHAPTER I: As the chair faces, so goes the mind.

My journey began with my son Blake’s insistence that I go to the Shaolin Institute to meet the Shifu (“Teaching Father”). It wasn’t an arbitrary request. He had already joined the institute and, having read a lot of literature on Eastern philosophy and theosophy, was firmly committed on the path to enlightenment. He had already had conversations with Shifu about me, and Shifu insisted he could help me. He told Blake about a few students whom he had helped overcome serious, life threatening health issues. In fact, one had even changed her name in honor of him. “He can help you, Mom,” Blake said.

I don’t mean to sound cynical, but that is exactly the way I will sound when I say that over the course of 20+ years of illness many “healers” (from licensed Osteopaths to followers of non-traditional medicine) professed to be able to do the same; if I would just buy this vitamin regimen; if I would just drink this tonic every day for the rest of my life; if I would just quit taking all the medicines I’m taking and pray for redemption; if I would just add this or that food… The outcome was always the same…failure, and once, even disaster. In the midst of the consequences of having taken bad advice, the “healers” who offered it had simply disappeared. The more the cycle repeated itself, the more convinced I became that no one could help me. Wah-la…the birth of my cynicism.

But Blake kept after me and his own enthusiasm about the school and what he was learning was persuasive. So I scheduled a meeting with Shifu. In fact, I scheduled two meetings with Shifu and had to cancel them both because my right arthritis inflamed so badly that I could barely walk, couldn’t sleep, and was in intense pain. But Blake kept on me, not satisfied with letting sleeping dogs lie, and one day after I had received a cortisone injection in my knee and was able to walk without wincing, he got me to commit that I would go with him to see Shifu the next day.

So the next evening I met Shifu. I was very nervous about meeting with one so “enlightened”. What would he think of me? What secrets of mine would he instantly see with his all-knowing eyes? How would he judge the morbidly obese, badly scarred, sack of flesh I have judged myself to be? But the enlightenment Gods were watching out for me. They knew how unsettling this was for me, so they made sure I sat in the right chair, the one that would not collapse in a broken heap when sat upon. Yes, it is true, Shifu, a fit and petite man weighing all of 120 pounds maybe, sat in a chair that instantly broke into pieces spilling him to the ground with such suddenness that he began to laugh. If you’re wondering how an enlightened one falls, the answer is gracefully and with significantly less reactivity than those of us who are not. I don’t even think his adrenal gland registered more than a blip on the screen as he sat in a V shape, butt on the ground and legs still straddling the front of the chair with his back pressed against the back of the chair, which was now firmly pinned to the wall behind it. I blinked and instantly he was standing up with his back to me, facing the pile of timber that once held him, and he was laughing. Talk about cutting the tension! I asked him what he does for an encore as I said a silent prayer to the enlightenment Gods who had so surreptitiously influenced my choice of chairs.

He did not suffer injury, he did not curse or over react, he simply chuckled the relaxed, natural laugh of a Shifu. He found it so funny, in fact, that he brought in a student who was standing in the hallway at the time and, between laughs and through the brilliant smile on his face, pointed to the chair and told him what had just happened. Then something occurred that assured me that all mortals feel awkward around an enlightened man. The student began picking up the pieces of the chair and explaining to Shifu why the chair broke, noting a missing dowel here and a bent nail there, which altered it’s center of gravity such that it was just an accident waiting to happen. I stood there looking at the student picking through the debris and carting it away thinking…really? Not even a snicker? Just a chair breakage analysis – that’s how you’re going to leave it?

And instantly I was at ease. I would never be nervous around Shifu again. Thank you enlightenment Gods!

20 Minutes

With Shifu

Shifu interviews everyone who passes through his school. He says that as “Teaching Father” he has a responsibility to keep every student safe, and to ensure that the environment remains conducive to learning. He told me that he has helped others with complex medical issues to the extent that they are now living “normal” lives. He talked about the relationship of our past to our future and the implication of stress and abuse on the entire body, but especially on the autoimmune system. Autoimmune disease is the body’s way of self-destructing under the weight of immeasurable stress. His approach, he explained, is to facilitate a comprehensive change in mind and body by teaching the brain stillness. “It is the brain”, he said, “that must be allowed to talk to every part of the body in order to channel the bodys energy to heal it,” and it can only do this when the noise is quieted. Stillness is achieved through meditation, which commences with breathing exercises. Concentrating on controlled breathing quiets the mind and focuses the brain on “the mind’s eye”, which is our life force.

mind's eye

noun - the visual memory or the imagination; the hypothetical site of visual recollection or imagination: In her mind's eye she saw the city as it had been in Caesar's time.

After the interview Shifu took me to the studio, a large square room that was once a dance studio. It had an entire wall of mirrors opposite an entire wall of windows that look out into a serene Eastern style garden (atrium). The wood floor necessitates that all who walk on it remove their shoes at the door. The discipline requires that one bow while holding the hands in a specific posture that pays respect to the studio and the teacher. This same bow is performed when greeting other students, Shifu, or upon leaving the studio. This simple lesson, the art of paying respect to nature, initiates one into the solitude that surrounds us, hiding in plain sight. Most rituals make one feel like they are part of an elite group, but this ritual made me feel like I was a part of everything. This lesson is at the heart of all that is “Tao”.

In the studio for the first time, facing the mirror, Shifu told me to follow along as he moved through a series of coordinated movement/breathing exercises. Now anybody who saw my cheerleading tryout junior year of High School will attest to the fact that there is a breakdown between what I see and what my body does. Suffice it to say, it’s not pretty when I do it. Shifu says each movement aloud as he performs it while moving slowly and effortlessly through the postures, all the while coordinating controlled breathing. Standing behind him, I found that my body naturally wanted to follow along, making me wonder where he was for the past 30 years of my body’s uncooperative life. After only a few minutes my body was attuned to something that had long eluded me – audio/visual coordination. I was doing it!

And there was something very emotionally relaxing about it. I liked it!

________________________________________

And so…

The Chair

Post Orientation

June 10, 2012

(my 33rd wedding anniversary)

I was sitting on the back porch under our canopy watching the rain fall, practicing controlled breathing, and focusing on the “mind’s eye” that resides in the abdomen, about 3” below the navel. I was thinking about my second meeting with Shifu, tomorrow (Monday) at 11:30 a.m. when suddenly it came to me…if you want to change your behavior, change your expectations. I spend a lot of time sitting in an anti-gravity chair (yes, the kind you usually put outside) in my living room, watching TV. I got into this habit due to osteoarthritis that makes me very stiff, swollen, and uncomfortable in the morning (like the tin-man before the oil can). I found that starting my mornings slowly, drinking copious pots (yes, I said POTS) of coffee while waiting for the medicines to take effect, is the only way I can coax movement with the minimal pain possible (I don’t do pain). Over the years the number of pots of coffee and the time it takes me to achieve mobility have increased exponentially. Naturally, as the chair faces, so goes the mind!

As The Chair Faces – So Goes The Mind

If you want to change your behavior, change your view. Today I will move that chair to the window overlooking the backyard, and will begin each day observing nature, and learning to quiet my mind.

When Shifu’s chair broke into pieces and collapsed, he did not. Had that been my chair, I would have, because that is the way my chair faces. My preconceived, habitual, destructive self-talk makes me vulnerable to collapse; to withdrawal; to negative validation about who I am. I would have been so mortified that I would never have gone back to see him. A chair breaking beneath me would have solidified my expectation that the cosmos sees me as I expect it to - as a fat, lazy, gluttonous sloth, because that is what I have taught myself to expect from the cosmos. How can I teach the cosmos to treat me any differently from how I judge myself. Shifu, however, felt no shame or embarrassment. In the context of this humorous, insignificant incident, (which would have ended the opportunity to be helped by someone I believe can help me) those feelings have no place in him. Therefore, they should have no place in me.

So today, I will move my anti-gravity chair. I will spend my mornings surrounded by my houseplants, while I gaze out the family room window overlooking the woods, drinking my coffee, listening to my electric wind chimes that my sister-in-law bought me for Christmas years ago, and practicing my controlled breathing. I wonder, do you think the wind chimes knew they needed to come to me for this purpose 10+ years later? Or was it “coincidence”?

Now and forever I will take responsibility for where I put my chair .

CHAPTER 2: Where the Mind Goes, So Follows the Body
June 11, 2012
2nd Meeting with Shifu

I wasn’t nervous about this meeting…I was ready. I arrived 30 minutes early only to find that Shifu was very busy with one meeting after another; too busy to meet with me, even though he had intended to. I had wondered about how he kept all his appointments straight, as he seemed to pick his meeting times right out of the air. I wondered, if everyone he told to meet with him Monday at 11:30 a.m. showed up, what would happen? Now I know. I never got to meet with him privately today but, nevertheless, I did get the benefit of his wisdom.

I attended the 11:30 a.m. Tai Chi class for beginners. The class had about 15 students of all levels. The air conditioning was not on in the studio so it was very humid (not good for me). A practiced student began the warm up for all the students and then turned the class over to Shifu, who led us through a series of slow, choreographed exercises meant to still the mind and facilitate communication between mind and body. I began to perspire during the warm up, so by the time Shifu took over, I was in full puddle.

Being very overweight, I learned not to look in mirrors and to avoid reflective surfaces a long time ago. So seeing myself, full form, in the studio mirror was more than unsettling. I was immediately bowled over by childhood-ingrained, lifelong perfected self-loathing, and realized that I would have to face the elephant in the room before I could even begin to quiet my chatty “mind’s eye” or focus on movement. This is a considerable task for me and will require as much practice, if not more, than the exercises Shifu teaches. I would have to get control over my low self-esteem issues, and make the mirror my friend (or at least elevate it from the status of “mortal enemy”. During the exercises, I looked at myself in the mirror in short little bursts, focusing on hands and feet as it physically crushes me to see what I have become (more on this later).

Now, some people are naturally graceful and able to mimic the flowing moves of Shifu effortlessly. Then there’s me. I could memorize 10 minute speeches in High School and deliver them before an audience in competition without a hitch, but I could never watch and mimic coordinated, physical exercise routines. Tai Chi is a series of slow, deliberate movements which, when performed perfectly, is visually captivating. Subtle nuances like the graceful turn of a wrist or the widening of a stance at the proper time are critical to the stimulation of the energy that is our chi.

I focused on Shifu, watching his every move in the mirror. I tried to follow along and did well for me, but I am a long way from being graceful and fluid. Now that I had shifted from “puddle” to “flop sweat” mode, concentrating on Shifu became hampered by the copious buckets of sweat pouring down my face and every other part of me. I couldn’t move like a river, but I sure looked like I had swum in one by the end of the first routine. Even so, I pressed on. I told myself that sweat is my body’s way of cooling itself. Diabetes and Dysautonomia (a condition where the autonomic nervous system is seriously out of step with normal functioning), causes me to sweat profusely at the slightest hint of heat or stress. I cannot control it. I cannot escape it. Getting in touch with my chi may be the only possible way to reverse the condition over time. I can only hope.

After three repetitions of the routine, Shifu split the class into three groups based on belt level. I was, of course, in the group of kids from the Summer Camp program at the institute, many of whom were better than me. Shifu instructed each group what to do and then came to my group. By this time I had moved around the floor so much in an effort to get proper space between me and other students that I found myself at the front of the group. Keeping that in mind, Shifu’s next words struck terror in my heart. “Ok,” he said, “repeat the exercise three times. I felt the blood rush to my head; my face felt like it was on fire. The sweat faucet rotated to “power wash”, and rivers of sweat flowed down from the top of my head to the nail on my big toe! Really, was he serious?

There’s a mammalian phenomenon that comes into play in groups of mammals. Unless otherwise challenged, the one at the front is the leader and all look to him/her to lead. I flashed back to my High School cheerleader tryouts and instantly felt nauseous. I likened myself to the lead steer that inadvertently runs the whole herd off a cliff while each cow is oblivious to the consequence of following an idiot. Well, Shifu seemed to understand that our group was lost with me at the helm, and stepped in to lead us through the exercise one more time. I tried to grasp the order of the moves, but I needed a system by which to remember them, and I didn’t have a clue where to start.

Shifu stepped away and the entire group of kids looked to me to begin. So I did. Then the Tai Chi Gods were merciful. Right at the point where I didn’t know what move was next, I caught a glimpse of a boy in the right back corner of our group who seemed to know what he was doing. I began to follow him by focusing on him in the mirror. Out of all of us, his form was the best. His balance wasn’t the greatest, but his moves flowed as smoothly as the sweat pouring down my body. Funny, while searching for my Chi, the laws of the universe reversed themselves. The lead mammal was not the idiot in the front of the room.

After three repetitions we stopped. I breathed a sigh of relief. I had done it ,and I don’t think I looked too stupid. “AGAIN,” Shifu said. My heart sank. If I didn’t take a break my right knee was going to take one for me. I sat briefly on the chair Shifu’s assistant had so graciously brought in for me in case I needed it. As soon as I stepped to the back of the room, Shifu stepped up and began to lead the group. If I had only known that’s what would happen, I would have sat several repetitions ago! I took a break of about a minute and then rejoined my group in the middle of a repetition.

When class was over Shifu came to me and said, “don’t worry about remembering everything. We will break up each movement in small pieces so they will become natural to you in time.” I thought to myself, “Dear God I hope so.”

I noticed something else today. Even though this is challenging beyond belief, I like it. It makes me feel good. Although my form may be sloppy, my movements sometimes out of sync, I feel a powerful energy coming from inside. It’s an energy that allows me to laugh at myself without feeling humiliated. Nobody held a candle to my flop sweat. It’s an energy that made me want to keep going inspite of that. Most were more coordinated than me. But, nobody wanted to be helped by Shifu more than me. If this is what it takes to reverse my self-destructive tendencies, I am all in.


CHAPTER 3: So Goes The Body
June 13, 2012

From the moment class ended Monday (two days ago) I was very non-committal about whether I would return on Wednesday morning, or Friday morning, or next week., or... Over the past 48 hours I have contemplated going and not going. I went to bed last night “not going, because the knee needed to rest (I excused myself)”. But I awoke this morning strangely craving more Shifu-ness.

Blake gave me a copy of the “Dahmmapadda”, the “canon” of the Buddha. I have been reading it in bits and pieces and find it fascinating. It is a poem, a parable espousing the consequence of living a material life vs. the consequence of living a virtuous one. He also gave me a book called, “Black Belt Tai’Chi Chuan”, which breaks out each movement in pictures and explanations that are easy to follow. I poured myself a cup of coffee and went to sit out on the porch and read. Within 15 minutes I was on my feet and following along with the book, trying to duplicate all the subtleties of each movement. Within 10 minutes I was hurrying to get dressed for class and was out the door.

All the way there I was relaxed and excited about going. I knew I was going to have to face the mirror. I knew I was going to sweat rivers. I knew that there would be moments where I would have to sit down and rest while the class went on. But I wanted to go. I can’t begin to explain it. I never felt this way about any exercise except running and that was only after I had experienced “runner’s high” for the first time. The 45-minute drive it took to get to the Institute, once tagged as a potential excuse for not going, wasn’t even a consideration. Somehow, my mind had crossed a threshold that my broken body was eager to follow.

I went into the studio before anyone else had arrived. It was 80 degrees outside and the studio AC wasn’t on. The sun blazed through the atrium windows providing enough light that turning on the fluorescents wasn’t necessary. The room has a private AC unit all it’s own, but one must stand on a chair to reach the controls. I so desperately wanted to turn it on, but I caught myself. “Who do you think you are?” I asked myself. If Shifu wants the AC on, he will turn it on. “It is not your place.” Anyway, I had come prepared to sweat. I had a headband, a wristband, wick-away undershirt, and wick-away briefs. I also brought a towel to dry myself with whenever I could.

My son walked into the lobby minutes after me. I hadn’t asked him whether he was going this morning or not because if he said “no”, I knew from past experience that I might use that as an excuse to bow out today. But I wanted to be here! My knee felt good. I wore an ankle and knee brace for support, and I felt ready. Commence sweating!

There were about 15 people in class today, including the kids from Summer Camp. Shifu led us through the warm-up exercises and right into the routine (I think it’s called the Chaun). I positioned myself behind Blake and another more experienced woman who moved like a swan, so that I could follow them if need be. No head of the class for me again! Today I was acutely aware of the gentle movements and subtle exchange between the hands while performing the Chaun. Every movement flows. Most of the hand movements are done with palms facing each other as if holding a ball between them. The ball is your energy and most hand movements end with palms pressed against the abdomen, the home of, “the mind’s eye”, where all energy comes from. It is difficult to explain except to say that the hand movements are delicate and meaningful like the hands of Hawaiian dancers. Each movement has a name and the names are very descriptive of what the movement is, such as: “Parting the Wild Horses Mane”.

I was determined to master the hands first, knowing that the hands to Tai Chi are like your eyes are to driving. If you focus way ahead of the automobile you are driving, your hands follow naturally. In Tai Chi, if your hands are moving properly, the body participates naturally, landing you in, or at least close to, the proper position. When the hand movements are executed perfectly, it is a picture to behold.

Shifu broke us out into two groups based on experience. Blake was one of the most experienced in my group so he led us through the Chaun. I saw him become someone I have never seen him be before. All the anxiousness was gone out of him. He was relaxed not rigid. He was focused and demonstrated a naturalness that eludes me. And he was graceful! HE WAS GRACEFUL! I followed his movements as best I could, concentrating on the subtleties of the hands, but the fluidity and preciseness he has, has not come to me yet.

I decided that I would practice the routine, as best as I can remember, several times a day. I will stand in front of a mirror to perform it as often as possible. I will try to get a hold of the creed we recite before and after each class and try to memorize. And I will buy wick-away pants before the next class so there is not a sweat trail from where I was to where I am going.

Thank you Shifu for your support and delicacy. Thank you exercise Gods for wick-away clothing!


CHAPTER 4: Flexibility
June 15, 2012

Each week Shifu posts a new word on the bulletin board for students to memorize, define, and incorporate into their lives. This week the word is “Flexibility”. We collectively defined it at the beginning of class on Wednesday. My brilliant contribution was, “to touch my toes”. Shifu summarized our efforts to define it saying, “Be like the wind against the tree. The wind blows and the tree bends with the wind. If it did not bend, it would break. Be like the tree.”

At the end of class he instructed Scott and Sarah (two experienced students), to write an essay about what flexibility is. They are to have it ready today. I was taken aback when Shifu told them in the final line-up to do this. They both said, “Yes Shifu”, without surprise or hesitation, and that was all. Homework? Homework for adults? Is that right? It’s been a long time since I had homework assigned to me. I wondered how I would have handled it had he picked me. I’m afraid that I might have let out a burst of “are you kidding” laughter and that would have shown incredible disrespect. I left class respecting these students reverence for Shifu, but not accustomed to it.

So last night, I lay awake imagining what I would write. I came up with all kinds of cheeky East/West flavors: “Flexibility is surrendering to nature”; “Flexibility is giving up rigid habits to spontaneous ones”; “Flexibility is ‘going with the flow, not controlling it”. Ultimately I settled on: “Flexibility is the surrender of our oneness, and the joining of our Chi with the universal energy we are all part of. Flexibility is fluidity with nature. When a stone is cast into the river, it becomes one with the river, sending ripples out from it’s point of entry. We must be like the stone in the water, passively surrendering with nothing more than subtle ripples in our energy.”

I know; corny right? But lying in bed, contemplating whether I was going to go to class today at 11:30 or 7:00pm, I realized something really important; I was already there. My mind and body are fully engaged in the process of finding the path. There was little question that I was going to class today, just what time. Shifu has already imprinted on me because that is a monumental change for me, unlike anything I have experienced since I was an addicted runner 17 years ago. And here’s the crazy thing; I didn’t even know that it was happening. Perhaps that is why experienced students revere Shifu so much. He inspires greatness in his students simply by example.

As mind and body become one our Chi is revealed.

Flexibility is surrendering control of mind and body to our Chi.

CHAPTER 5: Synchronicity

June 25, 2012

Did I mention that I am not very graceful? Well, I’m willing to confess, that’s kind of an understatement. I have been to two classes since I last wrote and I have been working on only three Tai Chi moves: The Wave; Out of the Ocean; Parting the Wild Horse’s Mane. When performed properly these moves are graceful, fluid, and beautiful to watch.

Three moves - sounds easy right? For most people it is, but for me it’s a serious challenge. I think that Tai Chi accesses a part of my brain that never fully developed. Additionally, I have long carried all my stress in my shoulders. My shoulders spent 15+ years holding up a neck that was collapsing on itself, and is now fully fused with titanium rods and screws from C2 through C7/T1. Tension in my shoulders is natural to me – it’s a habit. All Tai Chi moves require that mind and body work with synchronicity. Synchronicity can only evolve when you are totally relaxed.
Relaxed – a state of rest; at ease.

Problem number 1 – I cannot easily quiet my mind in class. I try to focus on my breathing and it helps, but my mind automatically goes to the music playing, and then I naturally resort to another habit – whistling.

When I was little (7 or 8) I was thrown from my mother’s horse. It was a bad fall as the horse was bucking wildly and launched me into a wooden fence surrounding the paddock. My mother insisted that I get back on the horse immediately, with the promise that she would lead me around so I would be “perfectly safe”. I was SO terrified that I cried and shook, and my back hurt so bad that the pain and fear were all I could think about. It was a very traumatic experience for a little kid. It did not make “getting back up on the horse” any easier. After that day I did not get back on a horse for several years. I still went to the barn with my mother several times a week, but I would not ride. When I finally rode again, my mother told me to interact with the horse while I rode…talk to it; whistle… anything to keep the horses attention engaged and hide my fear. So, whenever I am out of my element I comfort myself by whistling. Most of the time I don’t even know that I am doing it because I do it quietly, blowing air through pursed lips without actually whistling. This is what I find myself doing in class.

Shifu told me that in order to heal my body, I must learn to relax. Relaxation facilitates communication between body and mind. With mind and body in harmony they can redirect the chi energy such that it is a positive healing power. I had to really work both in and out of class to: a) quiet my mind; b) control my breathing and; c) get in touch with my body’s energy. When I manage to do these three things at once, the feeling is so relaxing that I can only liken it to “runners high”. All motion becomes fluid and I can access a reservoir of grace that I didn’t know I had. Synchronicity is an amazing thing! Where has it been all my life?

What I learned last week is that gracefulness is a natural part of us all. Sure, some are naturally more graceful than others, but all of us have the ability to perform gracefully if we just relax enough to access our chi. Our mind, it seems, has the ability to direct our bodies energy in graceful, fluid waves, or, in response to stress, to permit our energy to bounce around wildly and chaotically. So, I have been working to relax enough in my everyday life, to consciously stay in tune with my body’s energy. I have to force myself to remember at critical moments that no matter what happens around me, I am in control of how I react or do not react to it. The sky is not always falling. The other shoe is not always waiting to drop.

I now know the three moves well enough to concentrate on performing them fluidly. But total synchronicity, grace, and fluidity still eludes me.


CHAPTER 6:
June 29, 2012

Last Friday was the end of my two week trial period that Shifu gave me to try out Tai Chi. Last night I met with Shifu to discuss my acceptance to the Shaolin Institute. I had the week to consider my decision and contemplate what his might be. But before I tell you about our meeting, I need to give you an example of how these past two weeks have changed my life.

I haven’t been able to attend class since last Friday because my right knee has made it impossible to stand still for any length of time without serious pain. In addition, the months of limping has irritated the lumbar spine causing sciatica in the right leg. After two lumbar surgeries at all five levels, I have little disc space between the vertebrae of my lumbar spine. So what space I do have is precious to me, and I will always listen when the lumbar spine speaks. I realized that my ability to make a commitment to the Shaolin Institute or any exercise regimen was dependent on getting control of my pain.

I saw my new Orthopedist, on Tuesday. He had me lay on the table and flexed my right knee. I screamed! I did not say “ouch” or “that hurts”, the message from the knee to the brain was so fast and intense that it did not allow for that. I screamed, to which he replied, “I think we better take a closer look at what’s going on in there.”

This morning I had an MRI which taught me a healthy respect for the meaning of a “10” on the pain evaluation scale. My knee was scrunched into an “adjustable?”, inch-thick-metal brace that was bolted closed, crushing the injured knee within this box, and redefining the pain I had once categorized as, “at times a 9”. NO, NO, NO, NO! All 30 minutes of the MRI raised the bar on the pain scale, defining for me the new “10”. The pain was so bad that it made my eyes water after only 5 minutes. ‘Did she really say it would be 30 minutes? Maybe I heard her wrong. Maybe she said 13 minutes?’ 10 minutes into it I turned to faith. I prayed for the strength to endure the pain for the full 30 minutes. Then instantly, as if in answer to my prayer, my mind turned to what I learned from Shifu, not religion, but control.

I began focusing on the deep breathing technique he taught us. I closed my eyes and pictured Shifu leading the class through the warm up exercise whose focus relaxation, breathing, and mind/body communication. It was only by this technique that I was able to make it through the test without begging for a break (at which time I am convinced I would have grabbed my shoes and made a beeline for the door). Thank you Shifu and all the students who have helped and supported me over the last two weeks. I cannot express in words what it has meant to me.

As Shifu and I discussed last night, chronic illness robs you of every bit of control over your life. I used to define a “great day” as any day I was not in the hospital. That is the extent of the control I felt I had over my body and my life. The past two weeks taught me that there is hope; hope of taking back what illness has consumed and what I have subsequently surrendered; hope of being able to do something just for me.

21 years of chronic illness has made me obsessive about the good things that I had control over…like eating. Eating for comfort and eating to feel good have been my crutch. Bad eating habits were furthered by frequent, lengthy periods of high dose Prednisone therapy (80 mg orally a day for several months while in crisis). Anyone who has taken that dose of Prednisone can attest to what it does to your appetite, cravings, and your obsession with food. I did not fight food cravings; I surrendered to them, even when they facilitated ridiculously obsessive eating behavior. I did not have the strength to resist what gave me momentary pleasure. I can tell you absolutely, that the comfort I got from eating was extremely disproportionate to the amount of weight I gained over the years indulging this self-destructive behavior. I now have many, many, many pounds to shed, all of which perpetuates the cycle of illness that has tried to define me.

I told Shifu that I had spent the week thinking about what I would say if he asked me, “Why do you want this?” I told him that the school and its students were already part of me. From the day I attended my first Tai Chi class something happened within me. I can only call it a physio-spiritual experience. Even though learning and performing Tai Chi is very difficult and unnatural for me, the very act of attempting the art changed me. I told him that never since achieving a “runner’s high” have I experienced something I wanted so badly. All the sweat, all the pain, all the confusion, all the embarrassment, bring it on, I want it all.

On class days I awoke knowing I would go rather than finding excuses not to. After class and in between classes a sense of calm and physical/mental relaxation is so pronounced that I am conscious of it every minute of the day. Blake was the one to call to my attention that my shoulders are no longer raised and flexed around my neck like they have been for years. I used to think that being physically tired was what it meant to be relaxed. Now I know how very offensive that is to true “relaxation” - to being truly relaxed.

I told Shifu that I feel better. I feel something positive happening. And to a great extent, I have opened myself up to “feeling” again. When you lose hope you become like my knee scrunched into that metal box and made to remain there for 30 exhausting minutes. I put up a wall so that “feeling” couldn’t hurt me any more. Most of what breached the wall was pain but only in the physical sense, not emotionally or psychologically. The truth is that debilitating illness is too emotionally wrenching to feel and deal with every day, especially when you lose hope. What Shaolin Institute has given me, is hope, and I am determined to keep it. That alone will change the course of my progressive disease.


CHAPTER 7: Discipline
July 2, 2012

Be the Change You Wish To See!

Today Shifu led a class I am convinced was just for me. We worked only on the warm up exercises, most of which are from the Tai Gong. This is what he told me he would be teaching me, as it is a form of Tai Chi specifically dedicated to healing. It is also the means by which one learns to feel their Chi. “Movement without feeling Chi is just movement,” he said. “That is not good.” You must feel the energy before you can truly perfect the art of Tai Chi.

Today was a difficult day for me. My lumbar spine has been sending sciatic nerve messages to my right leg, such that I am no longer sure how much of my knee pain is knee pain, and how much is spine pain. I knew that it would be difficult for me to stay standing for the full hour, but I was determined not to miss this last chance to learn what I would be practicing while Shifu was away at an international martial arts tournament. Realizing that this class was especially for me, I pushed myself hard not to sit down.

The Tai Gong exercises are the foundation of Tai Chi Chuan. Perhaps that is why all Tai Chi classes at our school begin by performing them and progress toward the first 24 movements that are part of Tai Chi. Tai Gong facilitates mind body communication, opening your chi, allowing you to master balance and fluidity. At age 53, balance and fluidity are not my forte. Who am I kidding, they weren’t at 18!

Whenever I am trying to focus on my chi, I close my eyes. It is the only way that I can quiet my mind enough to feel the ball of energy that is transported by the movements. But closing my eyes presents a whole new set of problems; I lose my balance, and the fluid motions I see in my head are not the motions my body delivers. Tai Gong exercises are exactly what I need in order to achieve balance and grace. But Tai Gong exercises performed repeatedly, one after the other; from start to finish is an exhausting workout for me. The AC wasn’t on in the studio, but it wasn’t too terribly hot. Nevertheless, I continued to puddle, in fact, I puddled more than I ever had before.

After four repetitions of the Tai Gong the class was over, or was it? We recited the creed as usual and then Shifu told the class that he wanted to talk to us all before we left. He began to speak and when he did, I felt like he was speaking only to me, about me, and for me. He talked to us about “poverty” – true poverty. He told us about the experiences that shaped his life; at just twelve years old being on the run because teaching Shaolin martial arts in China was banned by the new regime under penalty of death, hiding from the Chinese military for 5 years; eating people’s garbage, bugs, and even mud in order to survive. He said that Western people do not know true poverty.

I suddenly felt ashamed that I had ever begrudged my current financial situation, because he was right. I don’t know what it is to truly have “nothing”. Even during our lowest point I still had family supporting me, food on the table, and a roof over my head. I never had to fight for the basic fundamental necessities the body “needs” to survive. I never had to eat bugs that crawled out of the bathroom to quell my hunger, or pick through the garbage for food and clothing. I never had to hide from an army under penalty of death if I was caught. (Although medical creditors can be harsh!) I always had my family beside me shielding me from true poverty and hardship. I ALWAYS HAD LOVE. In light of what Shifu experienced I should be ashamed to talk about it. Further reflection on this point helped illuminate for me (once again) the incredible lessons I took from my experience, lessons that I need to reiterate just to keep them fresh for myself.

Shifu talked about the need to be the change we want to see in ourselves rather than just talking about it. He talked about the hypothetical student with all these bad medical problems like diabetes and high blood pressure, talking about how bad these conditions were, and talking about improving their health, only to continue the bad habits that feed these conditions and never really committing to doing the work; changing our eating, practicing our breathing in the face of stress, exercising to achieve optimum fitness and weight; basically, committing to the discipline rather than just reciting it.

He talked about the Western mind; how we are easily distracted from achieving our goals because we do not become our goals. For example; from the day a committed person says they are going to lose weight, they must commit to several things simultaneously; nutritional improvement, physical exercise, and (perhaps most importantly) changing the mindset and habitual behaviors that facilitate us staying in, or returning to, the rut from whence our negativity comes.

Now, I am hyper-sensitive about my weight and always have been, so when Shifu chose to talk about nutritional improvement as one of the ways to demonstrate commitment to positive change, I felt like he had shined a spotlight on my deepest, darkest secret. Nobody else in that room was obese. Oh no, the enlightened one had me in his sights and exposed me for the hypocrite I am. I felt uncomfortable, ashamed, like I wanted to melt into the carpet (and still puddling from class, that was a distinct possibility for me). But as I thought about it later I realized that he wasn’t picking on me or even singling me out. My own low self-esteem did that as usual. Let’s face it, when a person is significantly overweight, their obesity is not a secret. It is the elephant in the room! No, he was challenging us all to face our demons and prevail, simply by becoming the change we want to see. It took me several days, but I got it Shifu, and I thank you for it.

And, finally, Shifu talked about all of us students helping out around the school. I was glad of this because even though he mentioned it in previous private conversations, I had no idea that I had anything of value to contribute to the school. I can’t lift, I can’t clean away germy things even in my own home without them taking up residence in my lungs, and I can’t commit to future events because I never know what illness will sideswipe me. I can’t this…I can’t that. Immediately I was struck by the place my mind returned to again and again, like an old bathrobe. I always focus on what I cannot do (the limitations my disease places on me) , rather than what is possible. In fact, there are more things that I can do to help out there than can’t.

Talking to Sarah, the lifeblood of the office, there are several tasks that I could do to ease her burden. So, next week Blake and me are going to set aside time to do at least one thing that needs to be done and we will do it before we leave school. I feel good about that. It is good and necessary to feel useful, and to perform work that lessens a family member’s burden. Everybody at the Shaolin Institute has become “my family”.


CHAPTER 8: Just Breathe!
July 6, 2012

Throughout this past week I have been working hard on the dynamics of my breathing. When I began this exercise three weeks ago I was disappointed in the shallowness of my breathing. Before Shifu even said, “breathe out”, I was on my third breath. As I have become better and better at it, I am experiencing more of the effects associated with controlled breathing, like a slowing of the heart rate, a natural relaxation of the muscles, and incrementally, increasing control over my loud and unruly mind. I find that I am now aware of when I am winding up; taking up my usual “franticness”; breathing faster and harder, tightening my shoulders, and returning to that rut that once held me captive. I am ever more aware of how debilitating that feels. and I don’t want it anymore. Now mind you, I’m no expert breather, but I am much better than I was.

This is the first day in weeks that I actually awoke with little or no pain in my knee and back. I even threatened to go to class without my braces, but thought better of it as we neared the school and my back began to twinge. Today, Sarah led our Tai Chi class. We went through the Tai Gong program and then Sarah spent time with me going over specific exercises to build balance and strengthen knees, legs, and backs. The exercises Shifu asked her to teach me were exactly what I need – exercises targeted at areas of physical weakness. Other than the possibility of bending too low, they are virtually dummy proof (so very much appreciated, Shifu). The best thing is that most of them are performed with your backside leaning against a wall, which is so much more helpful than relying on my own balance.

Blake too, was extremely helpful because he is very familiar with these exercises from hockey camp. While Sarah worked with a more experienced student Blake helped me perfect the motions of my hands, arms, and stance. He told me to think of each move as a fighting move. If you lift your arms too high your sides and armpits are vulnerable to injury. If you hold your hands rigid, you immediately lose your sense of chi that is at the heart of the healing maneuver. And, last but not least, if you bend too low at first you will do more harm than good, a lesson I learned the hard way when my right knee screamed out, “Hey stupid! Straighten up fast or you’ll be one with the floor!” Once again, I watched Blake demonstrate in awe. My once-not-so-graceful son performed these movements with a picturesque fluidity that I envy. While I feel the profound changes going on within me, I actually see the growth that he has achieved in such a very short time. I am proud of him and grateful to him for the time he spends helping me in class and at home.

Now I must befriend a wall in my home with which to practice!




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