The Big Qi Debate: what is Qi? does it exist?

In considering Chi ( it's a more elegant spelling than Qi in my opinion...) we have to consider a number of factors. We have to consider the roles of Chinese medicine, of Taoism, modern "alternative therapies", martial arts mythos and the religious attitudes of both Chinese and Western people. So I don't expect to cover it all in one brief and flippant post.
Chi is rarely written about in any kind of specific context. Usually, it is taken as read that the reader "believes in" (and this is far from a satisfactory phrase to use but let's let it stand for the time being...) chi, and the writer usually plunges straight into directions and imperatives: what one should do with ones's chi, whether to sink it or circulate it or what have you. This of course angers a certain section of the readers, who don't "believe in" the notion of chi: for them, it is rather like being given a manual on how to ride the Pegasus. These people are further alienated when members of the tai chi community imply that good tai chi can't be achieved without knowledge of meridians and chi flow, which are the bread-and-butter of the chi-using community. So we end up with a deeply divisive argument which seems never to proceed because one side is blessed with  faith in chi, and the other isn't, and never the twain shall meet. Parallels with the atheist/Believer face-off are appropriate, albeit with a smaller audience.
Both sides suffer from the same affliction in my opinion. They both believe that chi is something special and extra to what I can only call our "normal" world of perception and sensation. Furthermore, both sides are usually ill-informed about  various mechanisms and oddities of religion or spirituality that could shed some light on their dilemma.
First, lets look at the chi-lovers. I shall be generalising, and therefore inevitably offending. For this, I apologise.
The chi-lovers generally are of the opinion that they have discovered something wonderful, something indeed that Western man, in his ignorance, is sorely lacking in. Often, people "find" chi as a result of illness and then overcoming that illness whether by means of chi gung, acupuncture or tai chi itself. This tends to lend a slightly emotional, evangelical air to their relationship with chi, which we will not dwell on for the time being.For them for a variety of reasons, chi is seen as a life-transforming agent, something alien to Western knowledge, and often, something to be believed in. This, strangely, is an attitude they share with their opposite numbers on the other side of the divide. The reason for this belief seems to me because of the West's general post-Christian hangover. The Christian faith, in its drive for accessibility and intellectual respectability, has long since confined it's adherents contribution to that of belief, that's to say  intellectual assent to the existence of things which cannot be proved, namely the existence of God. We have very little experience with forms of spirituality that demand anything other than belief apart from the scientific method, and that's sure not going to help here, for reasons which we will explore later. An introduction to chi is often presented as a revelatory experience by unscrupulous teachers, so it isn't surprising that people get religious about it. As a result of their fervour, the chi lovers present chi as something extra, something that can onlty be found in "special" or "Oriental" exercises, something which can't be manipulated by those who aren't "masters" but which results in fantastic martial and therapeutic abilities. It is at this point that the chi-haters come in to the picture...tune in at the same time for the next thrilling episode.

The Middle Way: Buddha definitely did tai chi...honest.

For a wee paragraph or two, I shall be putting my Buddhist hat on. Apologies to those who couldn't give a monkey's about Buddhism...


It occurred to me that tai chi is the art of following, and of balance. By following, I suppose I mean giving up our superficial intent to harmonise with that of another.
In Buddhism, it seems to me that quite often one must balance, and keep the right tension: for example, between self-regard and regard for others, or between letting our desires have their space, but not letting them run amok. Tai chi I would say is not a method of spiritual cultivation in itself. But it can help at key points in life, at the point where philosophies or systems of cultivation require you to trust yourself, and proceed by feel, by instinct. The Buddha himself said that practice was like keeping the strings of a lute: not too tight, not too slack. Tai chi, through the embodiment of this principle, allows it to be recreated amd imagined in a wide variety of situations, not just martial or physical encounters.
The art of following is perhaps more subtle yet. I posited to the Monkey Army the other night that our movement and its development could be said to describe a circle. We start like ragdolls: whatever the opponent does, we have no choice but to follow, and we lurch and fall from one extreme to the other, from one side to the next.  Then we learn a bit of structure, and perhaps gain a little strength, and we resist, and maybe we start to win a bit here and there. This is the middle stage. Then, however, we relax our ideas about winning. We see that there really is no such thing. So we just follow. If they want to take us there, then there we go. But when we arrive, we still have our balance, and not only that, we are in a better position than them. So they move us again and again we follow, and they end up tying themselves in knots. Following is perhaps an underestimated skill: we are more often taught to be leaders. But as we know from the world's religions, perhaps we could do with better followers, people who have the confidence to give up their own ground but maintain enough poise to turn bad moves into good ones.
The Monkey Army seemed to like this idea.

Ch1 "The Elders can train martially too"-where the author tries unsuccessfully not to offend

Let's get this straight. I love tai chi. I've enjoyed it for years, and being someone of a relatively short attention span, this is miraculous in itself. We practice in the rain, the snow: the delights of the British weather are our constant companions, and this doesn't dissuade me one bit. Tai chi has saved my arse definitely on one occasion, and provided me in general with good health, friends, and the excuse to own a sword. Wonderful.
But, well how can I put this...? There is something rather staid about it. Out-of-condition,late middle-aged people milling about dressed as though someone's throwing a Chinese-themed fancy dress party. This is the image of tai chi. Throw into the mix some stuff about healing, and maybe calligraphy, make some comment like "well it used to be a martial art you see...", and you have the whole package. This picture represents half of the scene. The other half is composed of vigourous men and women of a range of ages enjoying and training in an effective martial art which contains qualities as impressive as any of those found in aikido or ninjutsu classes. Yet this side of tai chi is rarely seen in the magazines, and never in the books. The sad thing is, tai chi would be the perfect martial art for those out of condition, or who are weak or have injuries. But such people are sucked into merely doing Handform, which has become the bugbear of the style. As Handform competitions become more popular (and more Wushu-like by the day...) and as the Contact events are filled with competitors from other martial arts, what will be the future for the unique martial way of tai chi?
Don't get me wrong. It's not that I'm ageist or anything. But the fact is, when you look at all the other martial arts, many of them have practitioners of all ages, engaging in a martial syllabus. This to me is the real spirit of training. I think more older tai chi people would train this way, if only their teachers were brave, or knowledgeable enough.

The results of my Herculean efforts

Boo, and again boo I say. Competitions and me, we don't seem to get along. First round, the guy was no problem: a few solid pushes, a few quick pulls, 20-8 in my favour. The muscled, tattoed ones look the part but it doesn't mean much...
Second round, and this one was much closer. But quite frankly, the dude was scoring because of my penalties. Moved my back foot when pushing him over, he gets the point. That one I can understand. At 6-6, I get annoyed because he's not doing much, and matching me point for point. I give him a good shove, and he's hanging time like a human windmill, not quite going over. So I give him an extra shove, and over he goes. Two penalty points to him because apparently it was a strike not a push, time up:  he wins 8-6. Boo.
I hate competitions. Well done I suppose, Danish dude whose name I know not. Jammy bugger.

It's competition time....

Tomorrow is the European Tai Chi Championships, held in Blackbird Leys,Oxford. I, and a fellow Brighton Wudangist, shall be making our way to the tournament, there to Push Hands with all-comers of a European bent. Preparation has been minimal, having only decided to enter about five weeks ago. If I can get through the first round, I'll be happy. I have an astonishing ability of giving away penalty points, and generally pushing the boundaries of what is strictly allowed. I am not proud of this, it's just something that seizes hold of me. Rather like what happens to some people when they're allowed to play Monopoly, who suddenly become hand-rubbing, throat-cutting capitalist fat cats, I become a cheating, dirty-fighting ignoble bum. I daresay these antics will do me no good.
In order to meet the rather optimistic start-time of 0900 hours, my companion and I have to leave Brighton practically in the middle of the night. We are going to pretend that we are going on holiday. I shall post our results (hem hem) and reflections upon our return. It was nice knowing you all...

Review: "Meditations On Violence" by Sgt. Rory Miller

You can't doubt Sergeant Miller's credentials: as a Corrections Officer of wide experience, he's spent quality time dealing with some very violent people and situations. His general theories about violence, and his ability to point out weaknessess inherent in  martial training are perceptive and thought provoking. He is also excellent on both the legal ramifications and the "after effects" of violent confrontation, topics often conspicuous by absence in martial writings. Finally, his idea of giving yourself permission to use force or aggression is something I've not seen before, and poses intriguing questions. 
I can't help feeling however that this book is pitched way above what is useful for most people, and perhaps that is the intention. I would have liked to hear a lot more about "street" experiences rather than instances in jails and institutions, for the simple reason that it is unlikely (I hope)  that I will ever find myself cooped up with an armed criminal high on PCP. His vignette of his encounter with the two assailants on his way home was illuminating and instructive, and perhaps I wanted more of the same. I appreciate however that  it's only possible to write about what one has experienced. All martial artists could learn something from this book, and will appreciate Sgt. Miller's efforts in laying his own physical safety on the line to perform dirty, but necessary jobs. Those who enjoyed this book would do well to seek out the excellent "The Fighting Edge: using your martial arts to fight better"  by James La Fond, on Paladin Press, though it isn't easy to find.

Wordsworth look out...

I have just come back from a week in the beautiful countryside of Derbyshire, and I am full of reflections on nature...
On one hand, tai chi can be seen as a skill learnt, a technique or a craft, the refinement of which adds to one's skill and enjoyment in life.
Another way of looking, it could be argued, reveals tai chi as adding nothing in particular to us, but instead stripping away defective, inefficient, and unattractive movements. I like to think of tai chi chuan as perfecting our human movement, after a week in the dales and on the moors observing eagles, crows, sheep and other beasts playing out their own essences in movement. At some point, an eagle learnt its skill-at-flight, the sheep where best to graze and how to keep a watchful eye out and so on, but when we observe them now any sense of technique per se has disappeared. Something to aim at on my part.
We are upright creatures, and should express that. We haven't the natural tools such as claws or horns for the stand-up fight, and this we express also. We are capable of more than just a bloodthirsty fight-to-the-death, and tai chi chuan gives us this option. We enjoy play, and there is much of this in tai chi.
I wonder if it's possible to direct teaching along the lines of revealing natural movements rather than filling people up with supposed technique? Without losing the discipline and form of tai chi, can we convey its essence simply?
I shall be back to my normal less ponderous self soon I am sure...