I am on a massage table, face down in the little hole of the table, staring at the floor, thinking, "how in the world did all of this tension get into my body?!" At the moment when I think the massage therapist's fingers have turned into big, strong needles, I hear a vibration from his pant pocket, and the force behind those needles lessens, he pulls one hand away, and, with his phone to his ear, says, "wei?" all the while, the other hand still digging into my muscles. I am reminded of the number of times in India when my yoga instructors answered their phones during asana class, and then I am reminded of the scolding I received in the States from the owner of the yoga studio I was teaching at at the time who received a complaint from one of my students about my texting during the final relaxation portion of the asana class.
Oh, Perspective, you're so funny.
When the student who was so frustrated by the little button-pushing sounds from my phone approached me with his complaint, I tried my best to gracefully accept the criticism, apologize for the disruption it had caused in his relaxation time, and recognize my responsibility for creating the safe space to practice. Then as politely as I could I tried to articulate that the purpose of both the asana and relaxation/meditation practice is, in essence, a kind of rehearsal, cultivating the equanimity to face the challenges and distractions in the real world. Your practice is nothing if it does not help to keep you grounded and equanimous in the face of less than ideal circumstances. (This is not to excuse my rudeness in neglecting that responsibility of creating a peaceful setting for practice- though it was kind of setting the stage for the rehearsal...). I once participated in a Summer Solstice celebration in Times Square, New York, where yoga asana classes were being held throughout the day. 300 -600 yoga mats spread out in the middle of Times Square, attempting to find that inner peace and equanimity amidst all of the horn-honking, neon advertisements several stories high and the general chaos of a city. mantra, so to speak, of the event was, "anyone can find enlightenment at the top of a mountain, can you do it in the middle of Times Square?"
This is the kind of practical, or applied spirituality that really draws me in- it's a kind of challenge that expects you to remain in this world, active in a meaningful way in the chaos of interpersonal relationships, business, politics, and conflict. This kind of practice inherently places value on the physical world of form, as opposed to the ascetic renunciation of all things material, this is a practice that expects one to continue to engage in the material world, despite how challenging it might be.
But from my experience, this perspective on yoga IS much more of a Western twist on the ancient tradition.
I've now been to six Tai-chi classes at the old zoo in Kunming with Yang laoshi (teacher). Initially, and to a great extent the class still consists much of me watching Mr. Yang and trying my best to reproduce his movements. However, every now and then, when I'm practicing the form, Yang laoshi will stop me in a particular sequence of movements, place his hands on my arms or ask me to place my hands on his arms and tell me to push while he pushes against my force. This force-to force is not exactly "against," though, it's more like redirecting my force and he and I usually end up moving in a circular motion where I am then in a position that allows Yang laoshi to either bend my arm behind my back, chop his hand into my neck or simply push me away to the side (all quite gently). Given the fact that my Chinese language skills are still super minimal, these "push-hand" experiences, as they are called, allow Yang laoshi and I to communicate in a meaningful way with very little spoken language- in fact, our bodies are communicating more directly than our minds. After being punched in the stomach or pushed to the side in push-hand, I have a much more concrete sense in my body of the applicability of these movements; WHY I'm supposed to move my arms in a figure-eight, or WHY my hips should move this way in relation to my shoulders: BECAUSE if I'm being attacked, this is the most efficient way to use my energy either in avoiding a punch, or in executing a counterattack. This energetic/spiritual movement practice is (arguably more than yoga asana is) grounded in physical reality.
The practice mostly stems from Taoism, as does Traditional Chinese Medicine (TCM) and acupuncture; a lineage that is fairly evident in the circular and continuous motions of the Tai-chi form and in the diagnostic and treatment "protocols" (though that's not the best word for it, since it will vary according to each TCM/acupuncture practitioner and each patient). The best way I can articulate the applied Taoism is the phrase, "the dual within the non-dual," which I had heard and read prior to this experience in China, but it only really made intuitive sense to me then (as in, I had a mental inclination toward understanding the phrase) but I can now FEEL the meaning expressed within my body. When practicing the push-hand technique with Yang laoshi or the other students, the need to relax ("fansom," in Chinese) is emphasized greatly. Yang laoshi demonstrates regularly that when a body is tense, it is impossible to move in the fluid way required for the efficiency and circuitousness of the motions- in other words, unless you relax, you're going to be punched in the stomach. This is only sort of counter-intuitive. When you're faced with a situation where you may be attacked, the body's evolved response is the engagement of the autonomic nervous system- Fight or Flight (in this case, but this system is also responsible for the Feast or F**k drives, which, for this reason, can seem just as overwhelming as Fight or Flight), but practicing Tai-chi teaches the body that the best way to handle such a situation (in many cases) is by relaxing that instinct and deliberately responding as opposed to reacting (a distinction made in Buddhist practice as well as some schools of clinical psychology).
Yin-Yang theory (not YAYng, but sort of a cross between young and yawn) is a really beautiful example of how to think about this dual-whithin-the-non-dual-thing. We all know the symbol, right?
So lets break it down, shall we? Black and white, from the perspective of the color spectrum represent the opposition of fullness and emptiness as black is the absorption of all wavelengths and white is the absence of absorption. However, you could also flip it by saying that black is the absence of reflection white is the reflection of all wavelengths. This is how Lao Tzu, the earliest Taoist sage got away with saying:
"To be bent is to become straight.
To be empty is to be full.
To be worn out is to be renewed.
To have little is to possess."
(the word "shunyata" expresses the same basic concept in the Buddhist tradition. I think it's a Sanskrit word, but I honestly can't remember. See David L. Loy's "Money, Sex, War, Karma")
This is directly at odds with the cornerstone of most the Western philosophy with Aristotle on one of it's highest pedestals. One of Aristotle's most basic rules about the nature of the universe declares, "the same thing cannot at one and the same time be and not be, or admit any other similar pair of opposites," in other words, A cannot be Not-A. Tai-chi practice flies in the face of Aristotle's "rule." The one allows the other to come into being because they are relative to each other. This is also displayed in the yin-yang symbol with the curved line separating the black and the white. The fact that it is not a straight or rigid division imparts the idea that the two are constantly in flux: always relating to, creating and consuming the other (relaxing when under attack IS the strength needed to defend or counter-attack).
Another principle of yin-yang theory is the lack of absoluteness. You cannot say that anything is absolutely yin or absolutely yang because neither one exist without the other. Something is only yin in relation to something yang. Furthermore, something that would be considered yin also has yang qualities within it. This is seen in the symbol as the little dot of white in the black section and the black dot in the white section. Within the one is the seed of the other (and within the seed of the other is the one, ad infinitum). Again using the same example: the act of relaxing, which would be considered of more yin essence, gives rise to the quick motion of evading a punch or throwing one, an action of more yang essence. Though even the yang movement of evading a punch has the aspect of self protection, which is a more yin property. Get the idea?
Now, to be fair, many of these same principles are found in yogic theory as well. The difference is in the way the principles are applied, but I certainly don't have enough experience with the Tai-chi practice to make a clearcut distinction. And so the journey keeps on keepin' on.
More soon on acupuncture and other Chinese things!
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