Tai Chi-riquí

From one of our excellent Students:
"I was standing in the gym with my friend Kathy Smith discussing single-leg balance. Being a super athlete and mom of an Olympian, she could stand endlessly on one leg. But as soon as she closed her eyes, all bets were off. Same for me. Eyes open, I can hold it for a minute. Eyes closed, 12 seconds is about the limit.
. . . . The reasons are real: muscle weakness in the stability chain, decades of shoes dulling sensation in our feet, and an over-reliance on vision that quietly rewires the brain over time. The great news is that balance is largely a brain thing, and the brain adapts faster than muscle builds.
. . . . Here's my pro tip: Practice in a progressively darker room. Hard enough to demand focus, not so hard as to be impossible. And then, try standing on one leg while brushing your teeth. Habit-stacking at its best."
Photo taken during a recent public demo at Funicular Circus, Volcán, Panamá.

Tai Chi Volcan !
ONE change for one class this week: Tues/martes & Thur/jueves at Los Brezos . . . 4:30 - 5:30 ONLY !

Since 2013, Tai Chi-riqúi has been sharing Yang Style Tai Chi classes in Davíd, Boquete & now . . .3 NEW CLASSES . . . in Volcán !

After I had just told one class the classic story of Yang learning from the Chen Family ! . . . . . "Yang Luchan (1799–1872) arrived in Beijing in the mid-nineteenth century, likely in the 1850s, to teach what would later become known as Yang-style Taijiquan. His arrival occurred at a pivotal historical moment, when the Qing Empire still appeared to retain imperial continuity but was already entering a phase of profound structural decline.
Although nineteenth-century Beijing was one of the largest cities in the world, it remained culturally and materially far removed from the industrialized capitals emerging contemporaneously in Europe. The city functioned within the framework of a late imperial order whose rhythms, institutions, and daily life had changed comparatively little over centuries.
To modern observers, the fact that Yang Luchan lived during the same century as railways, photography, and industrial manufacturing in the West can create a misleading impression of historical proximity. In reality, the social environment into which he introduced Taijiquan was overwhelmingly preindustrial. Beijing was a city of narrow alleys, guilds, courtyards, sedan chairs, bannermen, itinerant vendors, and military retainers. Transport relied primarily on animal or human labor, literacy remained limited outside educated classes, and traditional cosmology still shaped both medicine and social conduct. Even among elites, intellectual life was structured through classical Confucian education rather than modern scientific paradigms.
Yang Luchan’s importance lies not only in the technical transmission of Taijiquan but in the fact that he carried a highly specialized rural martial system into the political and cultural center of the Qing Empire. Having trained in Chen Village, in Henan province, he entered Beijing, where martial arts still possessed immediate practical value. Combat skills were not recreational pursuits but components of security culture within a society marked by weak policing, regional instability, caravan trade, militia organization, and periodic violence. Martial artists could find employment as bodyguards, military instructors, escorts, or retainers within aristocratic households.
According to traditional accounts, Yang gained prominence through challenge matches and demonstrations of exceptional skill among Manchu bannermen and elite circles. His teaching reportedly reached members of the Imperial Household and military officials, contributing to the spread of Taijiquan beyond its original regional context. This process reflected broader patterns within Qing society, where systems of patronage and personal reputation were more important than institutional certification or public sport structures.
The cultural appeal of Taijiquan in Beijing also stemmed from its ability to bridge martial function and classical intellectual aesthetics. Unlike systems associated purely with external force, Taijiquan could be articulated through concepts already familiar to educated Chinese elites: yin and yang theory, Daoist cosmology, breath regulation, and principles of internal cultivation. This gave the art unusual legitimacy among literati and officials who might otherwise have regarded martial practice as socially inferior.
Yet the Beijing of Yang Luchan’s era was also a city confronting the first shocks of modern geopolitical reality. The O***m Wars had already exposed the technological weakness of the Qing state relative to industrial powers. Foreign influence was expanding, internal rebellions were devastating large parts of the empire, and confidence in traditional institutions was beginning to fracture. Taijiquan therefore, developed during a historical period in which Chinese civilization still maintained its traditional cultural framework while increasingly losing military and economic dominance on the global stage.
This context is essential for understanding the later transformation of Taijiquan. In Yang Luchan’s lifetime, the art still belonged to the world of lineage transmission, practical combat, and imperial social hierarchy. By the early twentieth century, however, after the collapse of the Qing dynasty in 1911, Taijiquan would gradually be reinterpreted as part of a broader national project of cultural preservation and physical regeneration. The shift from private martial discipline to public cultural heritage mirrors China’s own transition from late imperial society into the unstable modern republic.
Thus, Yang Luchan’s arrival in Beijing should be understood not simply as the introduction of a martial art into the capital, but as a symbolic moment within the broader encounter between traditional Chinese civilization and the disruptive forces of modernity. Taijiquan emerged from a world that, despite existing chronologically close to the industrial West, remained socially and materially rooted in premodern structures. Its subsequent evolution reflects the extraordinary speed and violence with which China transformed during the century that followed."
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NEW CLASSES beginning soon in VOLCAN !

En español, también . . .

THE SECRET OF PRACTICE

Self-cultivation is essential. It balances aging, faults, ignorance, and uncertainty. It’s the only way to lifelong wellness. Almost any endeavor can be the means to self-cultivation. My master used to say that there were calligraphers, musicians, poets, and craftsmen who were superior to Daoist adepts—because they lived their cultivation so deeply that they saw to the very depths of life’s meaning.

Do you want to know the secret of how to do this? The “Doctrine of the Mean” in the Book of Rites gives us this sure-fire formula:

What people do once, I will do a hundred times.
What people do ten times, I will do a thousand.
Results can come from this.
Even if dumb, understanding will be certain.
Even if weak, strength will be certain.

This is the secret that overcomes weaknesses and keeps one on the road of enlightenment.

Lifted from some silly "Viking" post . . . "How to 'be brave'." . . . Samurai taught another version. In Taiji we do something similar.
1. The core secret — make your exhale longer than your inhale.
Inhale for 4 counts. Exhale for 8. Through slightly clenched teeth, almost like a soft hiss. After 90–120 seconds, your body gets the signal: there is no danger. Fear doesn’t disappear — it dissolves.
2. Vikings didn’t “motivate” themselves. They muted panic.
Before battle, they didn’t shout about bravery — they slowly exhaled through their teeth while clenching their jaw. It sounds primitive. But the jaw is directly connected to nerves involved in the fear response.
3. In 2017, MIT researchers showed that breathing rhythm influences emotional states. Their findings suggested that slow, extended exhales can reduce activity in the brain’s fear center — the amygdala. Not thoughts. Not willpower. Breathing.
4. The second part — muscle tension for 5 seconds.
Clench your fists. Tighten your abs and shoulders. Hold. Then suddenly release. The body “resets.” This kind of tension-and-release technique is often used to reduce physical trembling under stress.
5. The third detail people rarely mention — focus on the horizon.
Don’t look down. Lift your gaze slightly above eye level. The brain reduces its threat-scanning mode. Panic doesn’t thrive in openness.

The Meaning Behind "Single Whip" (单鞭, Dān Biān) ─ https://www.facebook.com/QiJournal
Among the many recognizable movements in Taijiquan, few are as iconic as Single Whip. At first glance, the posture appears expansive and deliberate: one hand forms the distinctive hook while the opposite palm extends outward, the stance wide and firmly rooted. Yet beneath this elegant structure lies a sophisticated lesson about power, balance, and unified intention.
. . The word Biān, or "whip," carries rich cultural associations in Chinese history. A whip symbolizes authority, direction, and the ability to transmit force with precision rather than brute strength. Like the whip itself, it is soft and flexible yet capable of delivering a sharp crack... the movement reflects the classical principle that softness can overcome hardness. Power is not generated through tension but released through coordinated relaxation.
. . . Equally important is the character Dān, meaning single or solitary. In practice, Single Whip represents integration: the mind, body, and breath align into one clear expression of intent. The practitioner becomes a unified system, anchored below and expansive above.
. . . . From a martial perspective, the posture suggests readiness in multiple directions. The hook hand may control or deflect while the forward palm issues energy, supported by the turning waist and stable root. Energetically, the posture opens the chest, encourages grounded breathing, and balances inward gathering with outward expression.
. . . Philosophically, Single Whip illustrates a central Taiji idea... the still center guiding dynamic movement. Yin and Yang coexist within the shape: one hand stores potential, the other releases it; the legs root while the upper body remains supple.
. . In many forms, Single Whip serves as a structural "corner," a moment to re-establish alignment before continuing. Its lesson is simple but profound: true power arises from calm structure, not force. When the body is organized and the intention clear, energy can travel effortlessly from the ground to the fingertips.
Single Whip ultimately reminds us that strength is most effective when it is quiet, focused, and fully integrated.