All fall I’ve spent my Monday evenings in the dance studio of a local high school, learning Tai Chi. Part of the class time is spent doing “Chan Si Gong,” or groups of repetitive exercises that are the building blocks for the movements of the actual Tai Chi form – the choreographed stuff you sometimes see groups of people doing in parks (or, in the case of movies and commercials, on beaches or the tops of gorgeous mountains). At the end of class we spend time doing meditation exercises (Qigong) that leave me so peaceful I practically float, rather than walk, back to my car.

My instructor is a remarkably gifted teacher. I’ve watched him introduce new movements with such an intuitive sense for what will be difficult for people, and what will need to be repeated many, many times for us to “get it.” I’ve watched him introduce concepts that we practice for a number of weeks before he gently helps us see that we’ve been doing the movements slightly wrong the whole time. I can tell that there is wisdom and intention even in this delayed “enlightenment”; were he to try to fine-tune everything from the very start, we would be overwhelmed and give up. We need a chance for our bodies to get used to new movements before the movements can advance toward their full potential. Like baby steps, I guess.

I love this class. I love the slow, repetitive movements. I love the freedom I feel to mess up and take a long time to “get” something. I love the acceptance and even love of our bodies that flows around the room – people of all shapes and sizes and weights and ages, doing gently what their bodies will allow them to do. There is no set standard we’re pushed to attain. There is no self-conscious laughter or posturing. There is silence, and the steady, gentle voice of our instructor, pushing us when we’re ready, backing off when we need time to just repeat things a hundred times, giving us encouragements every so often that mastery of these skills takes years and years, and it’s really fine and lovely to be at whatever skill level any of us happens to be at.

The whole experience leaves me feeling hugged and loved. And more gentle with myself and other people in the rest of life.

I feel this way because lots of life can be compared with what happens in Tai Chi. New “movements” – new ideas, jobs, relationships, challenges – take time to learn, and take time for a body (or mind or soul…) to get used to. Sometimes we need years to do some simple thing over and over and over before it becomes natural and we can begin to try adding to it. We need space to look and/or feel awkward in new things, space to be allowed to just try our hands at them for a while without being judged or critiqued…space to be guided and taught, when we’re ready, by people who have done the new things far longer than we have.

When I say I feel more gentle with myself and other people, it’s because of this very perspective – this worldview that says good things can’t be rushed, and in fact, take lots and lots of time. And there is no shame in that. There is no shame in being a novice, a beginner. There is also no reason for arrogance once one has begun to advance. All levels are part of the process. And all bodies move slightly differently from each other; our unique shapes and sizes and ages and even past injuries (think literal, but also metaphoric, here) will make our movements unique to us and no one else. There is no need for shame or arrogance in our uniquenesses either.

I’m sitting with Tai Chi in my consciousness today, trying to learn to live each moment as a movement in a long-term process of mastery, where strength and skill and grace are things I can’t expect to embody all at once, and where my uniqueness is something that will always be. Something I need not be ashamed of.

This entry was posted on Tuesday, October 26th, 2004 at 9:33 am and is filed under Bodies, Healing, Writing, Mindfulness, Religion/Spirituality. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can skip to the end and leave a response. Pinging is currently not allowed.