The following discourse, inspired by last night’s class, was
written about the process of learning T’ai Chi, but could easily be adapted to
describe many learning processes.
Watching Mr. Chow paint a bird, or Mrs. Chow paint a flower,
was an amazing experience. They would prepare some paints in different colors,
then dip a brush first into one then into another, and then into even another
of the paints, and then, with one stroke, create part of a bird or flower, with
each color in exactly the right place. With a few deft strokes, an object of
uncommon life and beauty appeared which couldn’t be more perfect. Entire
panoramas were created with just such an elegant simplicity and clarity of
movement.
Mr. Chow was known to say that “Every brush stroke is art, and every
movement is T’ai Chi.”
I believe that Mr. Chow used to tell a story (it’s possible
that the story came from elsewhere) about the famous Chinese painter who was
asked by the Emperor to paint his portrait. Many times in the following years,
the Emperor sent word to the artist asking if the painting was finished, and
the answer was always “Not yet.” Finally, one day the Emperor’s patience was
running out, and he assembled his entourage, and went to the house of the
painter. The painter invited him in, and, in just a few moments, painted the Emperor’s
portrait. It was a masterpiece. The Emperor was puzzled. He asked the painter, “How
come you made me wait so long, when it only took you such a short time to paint
my portrait?” The painter then showed the Emperor into his back room, which was
full of his earlier attempts.
Learning T’ai Chi can be seen as a process in which one
first practices in order to gain strength, balance, and flexibility. Then, as
the evolution and integration of these attributes proceeds, one begins to
attain a fluidity of movement which may transcend mere mastery of technique and
engender timeless conscious states characterized by an acute awareness of the present
moment.
Out of these states may be generated great energy and joy. This is not
a philosophical or theoretical contention, but a very practical description,
and may perhaps be better understood as such by likening it to the effects of
powerful music or visual art, which can also certainly help us to evolve by
offering us new insight through processes which transcend verbal reasoning.
Drama, although presented through use of verbal means, also may transcend the
verbal. (Participation in the creation
of such forms, just as in T’ai Chi, can often be even more beneficial and
rewarding than mere observation.)
Alas, my poor words seem, once again, barely able to touch
upon the experiences which I try to describe, and I had best stop before
muddying the waters further. As you practice, these words may achieve some
semblance of practical use. They are offered with good intent.
Happy Holidays to All,
Daniel
