“Taiji teachers are easy to find;
real
students are hard to find…”
~~B.P. Chan~~
Many
years ago when I began learning Bagua from Master B.P. Chan in New York City, I had a rather
startling experience.
After
nine years of Taijiquan study and practice,
I prevailed upon a dear friend and colleague of mine, Kenneth Cohen, to show me some of the Bagua movements he had learned from Chan. He graciously agreed, and for several days we
practiced informally in a local park. Although
Ken taught in a very precise manner, our
study sessions were very casual, since I merely wanted to learn the rudiments
of some Bagua moves so I would have a bit of variation in my practice routine.
After
our initial study session, whenever Ken visited my town once or twice a year, we would spend an hour or two in Bagua
practice, so I could learn a little more each time. Our practice was never intended by either of
us to be an in-depth study, but simply some informal sharing, which I very
greatly appreciated.
However,
one day I became sufficiently intrigued with Bagua that I wanted to get closer
to the source of the teaching. I asked Ken to introduce me to B.P. Chan. Again, he very graciously accommodated my
request. So I traveled from western Massachusetts down to New York City to meet Chan for the first time. Of course, I
had previously called the Master, seeking
his permission to visit a class.
Chan
kindly allowed me to observe several classes, and even spent time with me after
his class day was finished to answer some of my specific questions. It was
quite evident to me, observing his movements as he demonstrated them in class,
that he was a very highly accomplished master (even though, as I later found
out, he never liked to be called “master,” and wanted only to be called a “guide” on the
path of study).
I
was sufficiently captivated and impressed by what I had witnessed during my
visit, that I decided I would like to
take a few private classes from him just to “polish up” my very rudimentary Bagua movements. We made an appointment for the following Sunday, when he
said he could see me before his regular classes started at 10 AM. So I arose around 4:15, left my house just before 5, and arrived at
Chan’s studio right at 9 AM.
He
asked to see what I had learned so far, so I showed him what I had learned from
Ken who was one of his best students. I told him I had learned the
movements very casually, and wanted to refine my movements just a bit, but was
not intending a long-term exhaustive study. I hoped he would not be insulted by
my request.
He
observed my movements silently for a few minutes, then told me he had seen
enough. In the most polite terms, he
informed me that what I was doing was total crap (not his language), and that I would have to start over from the very
beginning. This was NOT a reflection on
what Ken had taught me, but rather on the very casual way I had approached both
learning and practicing the basics of Bagua that I had learned.
When
I had first started learning Taiji, some
nine years earlier, I was unable to find a teacher in Boston where I then
lived, and so drove for four hours each way to New York and back for a period
of 4 ½ years every weekend to spend
Friday afternoons and Saturday mornings in private classes. I had absolutely NO desire to commute to the City
again for any long-term study commitment--and yet this seemed to be exactly what
Chan was proposing. I didn’t quite know how to respond, so I stood silent for a
few moments.
Chan
scrutinized me attentively, then said, “
‘Mr. Paul’ many of my students want to ‘go to the
movies’…they want to learn many forms
and many arts, but none of them very well. Do YOU want to go to the movies, “Mr. Paul?’”
I
was stunned—the master had just thrown down the gauntlet and then waited wordlessly to gauge my reaction. I didn’t know what to think—I couldn’t even
imagine another multi-year period of long weekly commutes to study, yet
something about Chan’s abilities, and his very presence and demeanor, told me
that studying with him would be a completely life-changing experience.
I
asked if he could recommend a teacher in Massachusetts, hoping the question
would not offend him. He quietly answered, “Teachers are easy to find; real students
are hard to find,” and then fell silent once more. Somehow, from my very depths, before I could
monitor or censor what I was about to say, I simply blurted out, “Mr. Chan—you
are the master, and I would be honored and privileged to be your student.” He smiled slightly, and said “Good boy! You can have a private class before my
regular Sunday morning classes. We’ll start at 9 AM next Sunday.”
Thus
I began another 4 ½ year period of weekly commutes from Massachusetts to New York City, arising each Sunday morning
at 4:15 , taking my private classes and some of Chan’s public classes, and
returning home late at night, after Chan’s class day had ended.
Somehow
Chan’s quote about “real students” burned in my brain throughout the years. And as I taught Taiji
over more than three decades, I totally understood the wisdom and truth of
Chan’s observation.
So
WHAT IS a “real Taiji student?”
Grandmaster
Cheng Man Ch’ing stated three conditions
a student of Taijiquan must meet:
1) Getting
correct teaching
2) Perseverance
3) Having
a natural talent for the art.
The first two
were critical, and the absence of natural
talent could be overcome with arduous
practice.
Regarding
getting correct teaching, it always surprised me that the vast majority of my
beginning Taiji students had no idea what Taiji really was—or any interest in its history or traditions. Nor did they
have any understanding about what constituted a qualified teacher.
[You
can find some ideas about finding a teacher in two blogposts I wrote some time
ago.]
Questions
from Tai Chi Newbies Sept 17. 2009
What is a Tai Chi Master Dec 29, 2009
So the first
requisite of being a real Taiji student is doing preliminary research about the art, and what constitutes a
qualified teacher. This
does not have to be a profound scholarly endeavor, but simply acquiring basic
information about the origins, purposes, and traditions of the art. A friend of
mine who had spent some years in China once shared an interesting observation.
He said that in China, where one sees hundreds of people practicing Taijiquan
every morning in the parks of any city or town, everyone “gets” Taiji—even if they do not practice
themselves. They have a kind of
gut-level feeling and understanding of the art, even if they are not fully aware
of the history of the art, or of the specific fine points.
My friend analogized this to
baseball in the U.S. Virtually all Americans “get” baseball, even if they are
not rabid aficionados or have not played much baseball themselves. In America, most people still
don’t really “get” Taiji, even though it has become a household word in the
past few decades.
So a prospective beginner really
must acquite a rudimentary knowledge of what Taiji is all about BEFORE seeking out
a class or teacher. Just a short time researching on the Internet will do.
A real Teacher must have three primary qualificatons
1. A
Lineage—that is a connection with a series of recognized masters who can trace
their roots back to the founders of the art.
2. An
awareness of the entire Taiji System. That is—even if they do not actively
practice the martial aspect in depth—they must know the defensive
“applications” of each movement, be conversant at least with the rudiments of
two-person work, such as “Push Hands,”
and preferably know at least one Taiji weapon, such as the Walking Stick,
Saber, or Sword. A really good teacher will know all the weapon sets, plus the
rarely-taught Taiji Staff and Spear practices. A
qualified teacher must also know specific techniques for developing Intrinsic
Energy.
3. Honesty
in directing students to the best teacher for their real needs.
This last
requisite deserves a bit of explanation:
Many
Tajji teachers, particularly some very traditional masters, are very proud of
their lineages and their particular style of the art. They might describe their
lineage or style as “the best,” or “the only real” style of Taiji. While pride in their lineage is certainly
admirable, being overly devoted to their own style may work against
the best interest of their students.
Sometimes
teachers are extremely offended or upset when one of their students wants to
learn from another teacher. This sort of
very uncomfortable situation happened to me personally, when I wanted to broaden my studies and leave my first teacher. From then on I resolved
to always do my best to enhance my STUDENTS’ real needs, even if that required their leaving my school.
A personal example will illustrate this:
I once had a student who was
extremely motivated to learn Taiji. He loved martial arts in general, and Taiji
was the first one he had chosen to study in a formal setting. He practiced
assiduously. He came to every class, and was an ideal student in every way.
But he grew increasingly frustrated
because he felt he could not “relax” sufficiently to do the Taijiquan forms
correctly. He loved to express
his energy outwardly and told me he felt painfully constrained while trying to
keep his external energy in check during the “internal” Taiji Solo Form. One
day he somewhat hesitantly informed me that he had visited a Praying Mantis
studio and absolutely loved what he saw. He was courteous enough to request my “permission” for him to study Praying
Mantis!
I did a bit of research and found
that the school he had visited was absolutely legitimate and was headed by a
genuine master with a superb lineage. I immediately recommended most heartily
that my student leave my school and join the Praying Mantis academy. He did—and
came back to call on me several years
later to tell me that he was totally devoted to his new style, and that he was
now one of the best students in the academy and an assistant instructor.
I realized then how important it was
for any teacher to be able to respect a student’s real needs and direct them to
the appropriate venue for learning the art that will suit them best. The great teacher T.T. Liang was a brilliant exemplar
in this regard, and always encouraged his students to broaden their studies
with other teachers. “You must learn from many teachers, read many books. But
only through serious practice can you discover the truth for yourself,” he said. Check out
Master Liang’s book Tai Chi Ch’uan for Health and Self Defense for more about T.T. Liang and his
teaching.
Assuming that a prospective student has found a “real” Taiji
teacher, here are some guidelines for Taijiquan study itself:
The Essential
qualifications for a Real Taiji Student:
1) Being
teachable—that is being truly open minded and receptive to the teaching. This would seem to be obvious, but it is amazing
how many students come to Taiji with their own opinions, prejudices, or—in the
case of students with some prior experience--holding on to what they learned previously.
When I was
studying with T.T. Liang, I often witnessed students of other teachers coming
to call on him and asking him questions about technique or practice. As soon as
he would make a suggestion, the student would immediately start arguing,
telling him that they had learned something different from another master. This
totally blew my mind!! Imagine coming to a grandmaster (T.T. Liang) who had immense experience and an
unparalleled lineage, asking a question—and then start arguing when the Master
replied!
Liang, in his
usual modest way, would then advise the visitor to return to their own teacher,
who obviously had “higher rank” than his own. Liang never got angry or
defensive, he just would tell the visitor that his own knowledge was “limited,” and then
chortle a bit when the visitor had left—and say slyly, “I can teach him
nothing…”
Those “students”
never realized what they had missed! As the somewhat clichéd old Zen story
describes, always come to a teacher with an empty teacup and be ready to
receive ANY teaching from a high master as the blessing which it truly is.
Remember--BE TEACHABLE!
2) Being
willing to accept “inconvenience.”
I rented a
teaching studio space midway between two Massachusetts college towns, about 5
miles from each one. I always found it quite fascinating that a large number of
prospective students would call me on the phone, gush about how desperately
they had always wanted to study Taiji—how deeply they felt it could transform
their whole life—and then decide that a five mile drive from their home to my teaching
studio was “too far” or “to inconvenient.”
In old China,
there was a tradition that a student would be rebuffed on the first two
approaches to a teacher---and MIGHT be accepted provisionally on the third, if
s/he had the right attitude and the Master felt the student had the right
degree of teachability, and the proper temperament for study. A couple of well-chosen gifts to the Master
on the first two visits was always welcomed also…….
Around the same
time as prospective students were complaining to me that driving 5 miles each
way to class one evening a week was too “inconvenient,” one of my students informed me that he had
decided to travel to Taiwan and study martial arts with a traditional master.
He was a small and slender Asian Studies major at a local university, and was
quite skilled in reading, writing, and speaking Chinese.
He went to Taibei
and after numerous inquiries, found that many people recommended a certain
master known only as “Shifu,” who taught at an isolated Buddhist temple in the
mountainous middle of the island. He
made his way to the monastery, and was allowed to meet with the abbot (who was the
“Shifu”). The Abbot told him that he
could never be accepted as a student and had made the difficult trip in vain.
A month later, my
student returned for a second try. This time Shifu appeared quite angry about
being disturbed again and told my
student in no uncertain terms to stay away and not come back.
Another six weeks went
by, and my student made a third trip to the temple. This time the exasperated
Shifu said he could stay—but he could not learn martial arts. If he would don
the gray robes of the Buddhist monk and shave his head, he would be allowed to
remain at the temple, and do manual work for his keep. My student readily
agreed.
Once he had begun
living at the temple, my student would send me a monthly letter telling me how
he was doing. Living there was “inconvenient” indeed! There was no plumbing of any sort, so my
student was tasked with going down the
steep mountain path to a clear stream which ran at the foot of the hill, and
bringing up water for cooking, cleaning, and other needs.
On the first day,
he descended the footpath to the stream, carrying two large wooden buckets, suspended on each
end of a long pole. He stooped down, filled the buckets, and when he tried to
stand up, he realized he was not strong enough even to stand up with the pole
on his shoulder and the buckets full--to say nothing about carrying the full buckets up the hill. So
he emptied about ¾ of each bucket, and then slowly and painfully trudged up the
precipitous path to the temple.
As soon as Shifu saw him, he seemed to go ballistic—yelling and
screaming about the “lazy and good for nothing” young whelp he had just
admitted to the temple. He was
ordered to go down to the stream and back as many times as necessary to bring
up the requisite supply of water. After that he spent the day and evening doing
manual work around the temple.
He would arise at 3:30 each morning to meditate, chant
sutras, and copy out sutras in elegant calligraphy, then begin his water-carrying and his other chores for the day. Although some
of the monks practiced Shaolin martial
arts, my student was never allowed any instruction.
His letters to me became more and more despairing. One day
after about six months, he went down to the stream, filled the buckets, and was
on his way up the path when he suddenly realized that he was carrying FULL buckets, and ascending the path at a good
pace, without even breaking a sweat. Like a "EUREKA !" experience, he realized
that he was many times stronger than when he had arrived, and that the grueling
water-carrying chore was actually TRAINING. Suddenly he was elated.
A few more months went by and one day the Master invited him to go
on “herb walks” along the numerous mountain paths. My student was delighted at
this break in the exhausting temple routine, and at his privilege in having
some time alone with the Master. From time to time Shifu would point out a
plant, describe its healing properties, what part of the plant to use, when to
gather it, etc. It seemed like a nice way to spend a few hours…
One of the monks unexpectedly became ill with a severe cold and
congestion. Shifu ordered my student to gather the required herbs and prepare
them. My student replied that he had no knowledge
whatever of herbal medicine and there was no way he could formulate a
remedy. Again, Shifu exploded…”What in
the world do you think we were doing during the herb walks? I expected you to know every herb I showed
you, and how to use it properly! You
have wasted my time…”
My student realized that the herb walks were MORE training—and
that indeed everything that happened at the temple was training—there wasn’t
any activity that was NOT training.
He remained at the temple about 5 years, and never did learn
formal martial arts. But when he returned and visited me, he was a superb calligrapher,
quite adept in herbal medicine and Qigong, and was immensely strong and
self-confident. He was teachable and
willing to accept “inconvenience”—and said it was greatest experience of his
life!
3) Being willing to PRACTICE! This is self-explanatory. Serious practice of
Taijiquan will literally transform your body and mind (for the better!), but
this deep alchemy must be done continuously for a long period of time. The
Chinese expression for Taijiquan practice is to “cultivate,” just as it is for
Qigong or Taoist training. Slow and steady,
over a long stretch of time, like a farmer cultivating fields over a period of years. The great
Zen Master Shunryu Suzuki once compared Zen training to “getting wet in a fog.” He said that if you are drenched in a heavy
rainstorm, it is easy to dry off and warm up. But if you walk for a long period
in heavy fog, the moisture seems to permeate your very bones, and will take a
long time to dry out.
I always thought real Taijiquan
practice quite resembled “getting wet in a fog.”
4) Developing a courageous spirit. Since
Taijiquan is a martial art, one oft-neglected aspect of the training is
developing a courageous spirit. Exactly
what that means will vary from person to person. But we all know deep in our hearts when
courage is called for and what we would need to do to act courageously in a
given situation. If we consistently cultivate our Qi and Spirit, we will be
able to stand like Confucius and declare, “When I am in harmony with the
Command of Heaven I can face an army of 3000 men and my countenance will not
change.”
The only times Chan ever reprimanded me was when I missed two of his classes (over a period of 4 1/2 years!) One time I was deathly ill with the flu and he upbraided me for not training hard enough. If I was REALLY training, said he, I would never become ill. The second time was when I stayed home during a 15 inch snowfall, rather than drive 240 miles from Massachusetts to New York. That time, Chan said that if I was a GENUINE martial artist I would not let anything deter me from arriving at class in a timely manner.
Courage!
The only times Chan ever reprimanded me was when I missed two of his classes (over a period of 4 1/2 years!) One time I was deathly ill with the flu and he upbraided me for not training hard enough. If I was REALLY training, said he, I would never become ill. The second time was when I stayed home during a 15 inch snowfall, rather than drive 240 miles from Massachusetts to New York. That time, Chan said that if I was a GENUINE martial artist I would not let anything deter me from arriving at class in a timely manner.
Courage!
If you would like more information
about finding a qualified Taiji teacher and developing into the best Taiji
student you can be, you would enjoy my book Drawing Silk.
Paul looks funny!
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