Tai Chi Class

Welcome to WholenessInMotion. Tai chi is a whole body and mind exercise that combines meditation, martial art and health tonic in one. This particular form is the Yang style, 37 posture short form as taught by Prof. Cheng Man-ch'ing. This fascinating and intricate exercise has many benefits and just about anyone can practice it.

Take a look at this site and consider the study of relaxation and how it can benefit you in your daily life. I look forward to working with you. Tom Daly


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Tai Chi Chuan and Listening

Posted By Tom Daly on February 25th, 2016

Tai Chi Chuan and Listening

I’m always amazed at how poor most folk’s listening skills are.  I’ve done a lot of work on my own listening skills.  I’d say I have moved from D+ to maybe a B-. A few F’s here and there.

But even worse than listening to others, we rarely listen to ourselves.  By that I mean, what we say, what it means, how others hear it – this never registers. Often, we are clueless.

When we speak, there are two of us present, not just one.

And one would hope that tai chi might have some influence on this because so much of it has to do with awareness.  We begin with ourselves, we then work with others.  Yet how rare it is to see any of this spill into everyday life.

Let me give you an example of poor vs. good listening in life.


T: I’m going to India.

B: wow, I know lots of people who have gone to India and hated it, though some have loved it. I think people get sick over there so you should be careful. The Taj Mahal is really worth seeing, my aunt was stunned by it, but she doesn’t want to go back to India, too many poor people, too sad.

(We’ve all been there!)


T: I’m going to India.

B: Where? (pause.)

What brings you to India? (pause.)

Do you have your reservation yet? (pause.)

When are you going? (pause.)

The point being, good listening engages the speaker to express themselves, poor listening takes control of the conversation.

In the poor example, B doesn’t even hear himself.  He just rattles on, oblivious to the statement T just made. (Because what T really said was: I’m going to India, do you find this of interest?) In certain situations, if you tell B what he just said, he may be surprised, deny it, or get angry. Or just not care.

The inability to hear yourself comes to mind in an example in Stephen Sondheim’s Passion.  Fosca (sad, sickly) is walking with a soldier she later comes to love.  He is rattling on about love in very idealistic and noble terms. He doesn’t see her need, her challenge in terms of intimacy, the improbability of attaining this ethereal concept in her sickly and somewhat morbid state.  She then lets him have it big time, pouring out her reaction to his self indulgent puffy nonsense. Let me paraphrase: “How dare you talk to me of such nonsense when it should be clear to both of us that this will never happen for me. Why taunt me with such a concept?” He wasn’t listening to what he was saying. Or who he was saying it to. Clueless.

Tai chi.

It would foolish to think that tai chi would change all this, yet the kernel of change is there.  You begin by listening to your body. For most beginners, this is a foreign concept. We never see our habits, never see our inability, and never see how our movement doesn’t match what the teacher demonstrates. Most who begin tai chi quit rather quickly. It’s a slow process.

Then we work in push hands, and again, mostly your partner is viewed in terms of what I want. As in, I want to do something to this person. But the study is more about being WITH this person and you become less and less while what they are doing/wanting becomes more and more. The only way to hear this person is to be empty. A favorite teacher I know says, “There is only one mind here, and it’s YOUR (the partner’s) mind.” His mind has been put on hold and now he can better hear you.

I highly recommend books on listening. There are lots of good ones on the market.

In tai chi, I recommend being even more attentive to what you are doing in the form and what your partner is doing in push hands.  By this I mean attentive like you might observe a laboratory rat.  How does it move? What does it want? What makes it go for the heroin?  Start with investigation, not manipulation. Be curious. Don’t fix it, just see it. Give it some time to be itself and see what that is. We move on from there…

We learn more from our flaws than from anything else. Begin with here and now, not some fantasy of who you would like to be. Find a time to listen, on every level, in some period of time, to something.

Just listen. Nothing else. Allow presence of this body, air, that person, sound, a feeling, ground, silence.




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Tai Chi Chuan – Heavy and Light

Posted By Tom Daly on October 10th, 2015

Tai Chi Chuan – Heavy and Light

Years ago I went to a hypnotherapist.  This was not for fun, but for a real reason, for real therapy.

The hypnotherapist had a technique to hypnotize.  It was not like the movies where you do something you don’t want to do.  Instead she aimed at a certain kind of deep relaxation.  The technique was simple.  You lie on the couch and she would suggest for all the major regions of the body, carefully moving through each, that you are “heavy, heavy, heavy, heavy as lead, heavy…”  At the end, you were really heavy!

Then she switched channels and repeated this body scan, but this time she intoned in a feathery voice that you were “light, light, light as a cloud, floating like a cloud…”  Man, you were up there in clouds like a twirling leaf.

So relaxed!

In part, this confuses the mind.  You don’t know which way to go and you are in a space that can’t decide where reality sits.  Are you heavy? Are you light?  It unlocks you from your patterns.

I’ve always loved this as a meditation.  And it strikes me that tai chi lives exactly where those two polarities meet.  You are neither here nor there but can change in an instance into either.  By being in that zone, you have options that do not bind you to either, while opening up opportunities to be either one.

There is another system that rings true to me as well: Laban movement.  Laban divides space into quadrants and emphasizes natural movement.  I won’t describe that here though it is easy to demonstrate.  Laban describes all 8 possible movements.  Tai chi is a limited expression of the choices available.

In Laban, the upper planes above the waist are light and free.   The lower plane below the waist is strong and bound (that is, using some muscular strength, as in sawing a piece of wood.)  In front of you is sustained smooth movement, but to move backward is quick movement.  When you execute Laban’s 8 movements, you explore each quadrant that Laban sets out logically (direct/indirect, free/bound, light/heavy, sustained/quick).  Tai chi looks at the heavy/bound lower part and the free and light upper part.  Mostly tai chi form only uses “sustained” movement regardless of going forward or back.

So we might say that the heavy as lead is the lower half and that light as a cloud is the upper half.  Note I’m not suggesting “heavy” is tense.  It’s not.  This heavy happens through letting go and being with the ground in a substantial way.

And there you have it, a place that expresses infinite opportunity.  You are grounded and you are free and agile, light as a feather and capable of joining the rest of the world without being thrown off balance.

You can’t really think this through. You inhabit this space.  The organic you is allowed to exist.  In that sense, this is not a mind focusing exercise; the mind is free to land on any point in the spectrum and see where it goes.

I am tempted to say it is a mind letting go.  I’m not entirely sure here.  Words fail this space as hard as one might try to define it.  I think if I was really sure of the right word(s), the mind would be far too meddlesome to allow the kind of freedom I see in this intersection of allowing, meeting, heavy and light.

Are we one piece?  Are we two?  Are we one and two?  Where are you if you are simultaneously grounded and floating?  Where is the freedom in all this?

You may be asking, what is this all about?  What’s the point?

The point is that we need new tools to change our old patterns.

Take a few years and see what happens…

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Tai Chi Chuan – Creative New to Replace Old Baggage

Posted By Tom Daly on September 6th, 2015

Tai Chi Chuan – Creative New to Replace Old Baggage

One thing I loved about Maggie Newman’s teaching was her creative use of language.  It evolved.

I find when creatively playing in push hands, one way to go is to find what you want to improve on, and then practice it endlessly.  That’s required unless you are a genius.

But sometimes we are very stuck in our patterning.  And we need to look at the interaction with a fresh perspective.  If we keep going back to the old rules, however true they are, most likely we are also going towards the old patterns.  For each rule that you believe in, I can almost guarantee that over time, your habitual patterns cling closely by.  The rule is actually a list. And you may not see the list as it is played out in action.

New words that don’t have baggage can be very helpful.  You think differently and perhaps, just perhaps, you will move differently, experience something new, get somewhere you couldn’t imagine before.

I have been thinking about Dr. Tao, whom I had a few classes with years ago.  Alas, it is mostly forgotten.  But something has emerged that feels very much like what he did with ease.  And in thinking about it and trying to let it emerge, a new way of looking at push hands evolved.  Is it true?  Is it real?  I’m frankly not sure, but I can say venturing out on a new limb to explore and use new language will open up the process and perhaps the game.

Here is what I think I experienced – it really felt as if he knew where you were going before you got there.  And when you got there, he was right there, right with you.  It was predictive in a sense, but not in being manipulative, putting you somewhere you didn’t want to go, not getting ahead of the game in terms of his connection.  And yet there it was:  Wherever you went, he was right there with you.  It sort of reminds me of sitting in the balcony of a sporting event, looking down on a boxing ring for example and watching a fight.  Pretty much from afar, you have a better view of where this punch is going, where this duck and weave is being executed.  Did part of his mind exist above the entire endeavor?  Worth a try.

But next it felt to me that when he arrived where you were going, the two of you form a single unit.  And this unit, like the tai chi symbol, has a yin and a yang.  It is as if you are becoming a sculpture.  And Dr. Tao was the yin side of the sculpture.  It seems worthy to play, even sloppily, to find the yin part of the formation.  Be the yin side of the sculpture.  Depending on your accuracy and skill, if you truly become the yin side of this sculpture, it follows that you have the advantage in a push.

I like to experiment with this one by not pushing, but just changing changing changing into yin yin yin into new shape new shape new shape.  You needn’t stick so formally to the push hands form in doing this.  You can slow down.  We are trying to discover something new through new language and new variations in the game.  Then I might see if and where a push feels inevitable from the standpoint of the yin part of the sculpture.  Go slow, don’t assume you have this skill, explore, and see if you can clearly identify your yin and your yang in relation to their yin and their yang.  Worth a try.

New language helps, letting go of old language helps.

How to find new language?  Look at where you want to go and see what comes up as you feel your way into that new result.  It feels like… It seems like… It looks like…

There is tremendous poetry in tai chi.   Chi, Mind, Ti Fong, Fa Jing, Relax, Yield, Sink, Let Go, Stick and Follow – all to the good.  But how does that translate to YOU?  How do you get there from where you are?  What does relax REALLY feel like or what do you think it should feel like?  Are you as flowing as a river? As porous as a cloud?  As massive as a mountain?  As elegant and soaring as an eagle about to strike?  As strong and full as a polar bear?

Words point the way.

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No Time To Think – New York Times Opinion

Posted By Tom Daly on July 27th, 2014

Being busy is fine, but the inability to be with oneself is not.  Below is not so much about tai chi, but it does promote mental down time.  Hey, Google, of all places, offers its employees mindfulness meditation.  Slowing down, as tai chi reinforces, is invaluable.  Tom

No Time to Think


JULY 25, 2014

New York Times

ONE of the biggest complaints in modern society is being overscheduled, overcommitted and overextended. Ask people at a social gathering how they are and the stock answer is “super busy,” “crazy busy” or “insanely busy.” Nobody is just “fine” anymore.

When people aren’t super busy at work, they are crazy busy exercising, entertaining or taking their kids to Chinese lessons. Or maybe they are insanely busy playing fantasy football, tracing their genealogy or churning their own butter.

And if there is ever a still moment for reflective thought — say, while waiting in line at the grocery store or sitting in traffic — out comes the mobile device. So it’s worth noting a study published last month in the journal Science, which shows how far people will go to avoid introspection.

“We had noted how wedded to our devices we all seem to be and that people seem to find any excuse they can to keep busy,” said Timothy Wilson, a psychology professor at the University of Virginia and lead author of the study. “No one had done a simple study letting people go off on their own and think.”

The results surprised him and have created a stir in the psychology and neuroscience communities. In 11 experiments involving more than 700 people, the majority of participants reported that they found it unpleasant to be alone in a room with their thoughts for just 6 to 15 minutes.

Moreover, in one experiment, 64 percent of men and 15 percent of women began self-administering electric shocks when left alone to think. These same people, by the way, had previously said they would pay money to avoid receiving the painful jolt.

It didn’t matter if the subjects engaged in the contemplative exercise at home or in the laboratory, or if they were given suggestions of what to think about, like a coming vacation; they just didn’t like being in their own heads.

It could be because human beings, when left alone, tend to dwell on what’s wrong in their lives. We have evolved to become problem solvers and meaning makers. What preys on our minds, when we aren’t updating our Facebook page or in spinning class, are the things we haven’t figured out — difficult relationships, personal and professional failures, money trouble, health concerns and so on. And until there is resolution, or at least some kind of understanding or acceptance, these thoughts reverberate in our heads. Hello rumination. Hello insomnia.

“One explanation why people keep themselves so busy and would rather shock themselves is that they are trying to avoid that kind of negative stuff,” said Ethan Kross, director of the Emotion and Self-Control Laboratory at the University of Michigan. “It doesn’t feel good if you’re not intrinsically good at reflecting.”

The comedian Louis C.K. has a riff that’s been watched nearly eight million times on YouTube in which he describes that not-good feeling. “Sometimes when things clear away and you’re not watching anything and you’re in your car and you start going, oh no, here it comes, that I’m alone, and it starts to visit on you, just this sadness,” he said. “And that’s why we text and drive. People are willing to risk taking a life and ruining their own because they don’t want to be alone for a second because it’s so hard.”

But you can’t solve or let go of problems if you don’t allow yourself time to think about them. It’s an imperative ignored by our culture, which values doing more than thinking and believes answers are in the palm of your hand rather than in your own head.

“It’s like we’re all in this addicted family where all this busyness seems normal when it’s really harmful,” said Stephanie Brown, a psychologist in Silicon Valley and the author of “Speed: Facing Our Addiction to Fast and Faster — and Overcoming Our Fear of Slowing Down.” “There’s this widespread belief that thinking and feeling will only slow you down and get in your way, but it’s the opposite.”

Suppressing negative feelings only gives them more power, she said, leading to intrusive thoughts, which makes people get even busier to keep them at bay. The constant cognitive strain of evading emotions underlies a range of psychological troubles such as obsessive-compulsive disorder, anxiety, depression and panic attacks, not to mention a range of addictions. It is also associated with various somatic problems like eczema, irritable bowel syndrome, asthma, inflammation, impaired immunity and headaches.

Studies further suggest that not giving yourself time to reflect impairs your ability to empathize with others. “The more in touch with my own feelings and experiences, the richer and more accurate are my guesses of what passes through another person’s mind,” said Giancarlo Dimaggio, a psychiatrist with the Center for Metacognitive Interpersonal Therapy in Rome, who studies the interplay of self-reflection and empathy. “Feeling what you feel is an ability that atrophies if you don’t use it.”

Researchers have also found that an idle mind is a crucible of creativity. A number of studies have shown that people tend to come up with more novel uses for objects if they are first given an easy task that allows their minds to wander, rather than a more demanding one.

“Idle mental processing encourages creativity and solutions because imagining your problem when you aren’t in it is not the same as reality,” said Jonathan Smallwood, a cognitive neuroscientist at the University of York, in England. “Using your imagination means you are in fact rethinking the problem in a novel way.”

Perhaps that’s why Google offers its employees courses called “Search Inside Yourself” and “Neural Self-Hacking,” which include instruction on mindfulness meditation, where the goal is to recognize and accept inner thoughts and feelings rather than ignore or repress them. It’s in the company’s interest because it frees up employees’ otherwise embattled brain space to intuit end users’ desires and create products to satisfy them.

“I have a lot of people who come in and want to learn meditation to shut out thoughts that come up in those quiet moments,” said Sarah Griesemer, a psychologist in Austin, Tex., who incorporates mindfulness meditation into her practice. “But allowing and tolerating the drifting in of thoughts is part of the process.” Her patients, mostly hard-charging professionals, report being more productive at work and more energetic and engaged parents.

To get rid of the emotional static, experts advise not using first-person pronouns when thinking about troubling events in your life. Instead, use third-person pronouns or your own name when thinking about yourself. “If a friend comes to you with a problem it’s easy to coach them through it, but if the problem is happening to us we have real difficulty, in part because we have all these egocentric biases making it hard to reason rationally,” said Dr. Kross of Michigan. “The data clearly shows that you can use language to almost trick yourself into thinking your problems are happening to someone else.”

Hard as they sometimes are, negative feelings are a part of everyone’s life, arguably more so if you are crazy busy. But it’s those same deep and troubling feelings, and how you deal with them, that make you the person you are. While busyness may stanch welling sadness, it may also limit your ability to be overcome with joy.

Kate Murphy is a journalist in Houston who writes frequently for The New York Times.


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The Biology of Risk – New York Times article

Posted By Tom Daly on June 11th, 2014

This long article has more to do with investing and its relation to stress and risk management.  However, it does bring out the biology of stress and its relationship to risk taking.  The really interesting thing to me is that increased stress leads to LESS risk taking during times of economic upheaval, therefore missing opportunities and in fact increasing the likelihood of economic downturn.  But be warned, this is a slow complex read….

Tai chi is definitely the middle way, reducing stress but hopefully keeping us engaged to life as it is (and therefore the opportunities that arise in the normal course of “stressful” lives.)  By reducing our biological stressors, we are then better equipped to evaluate which risks are better bets and which are not. 

This article notes that a certain amount of uncertainty in the markets keeps investors on their toes.  If they feel too comfortable (tai chi=collapsed) they ignore the dangers in front of them and respond inadequately.  By not giving into stress when uncertainty appears, they make better choices. 

Again, the body drives decision making beyond our conscious recognition.

The Biology of Risk


New York Times, JUNE 7, 2014

SIX years after the financial meltdown there is once again talk about market bubbles. Are stocks succumbing to exuberance? Is real estate? We thought we had exorcised these demons. It is therefore with something close to despair that we ask: What is it about risk taking that so eludes our understanding, and our control?

Part of the problem is that we tend to view financial risk taking as a purely intellectual activity. But this view is incomplete. Risk is more than an intellectual puzzle — it is a profoundly physical experience, and it involves your body. Risk by its very nature threatens to hurt you, so when confronted by it your body and brain, under the influence of the stress response, unite as a single functioning unit. This occurs in athletes and soldiers, and it occurs as well in traders and people investing from home. The state of your body predicts your appetite for financial risk just as it predicts an athlete’s performance.

If we understand how a person’s body influences risk taking, we can learn how to better manage risk takers. We can also recognize that mistakes governments have made have contributed to excessive risk taking.

Consider the most important risk manager of them all — the Federal Reserve. Over the past 20 years, the Fed has pioneered a new technique of influencing Wall Street. Where before the Fed shrouded its activities in secrecy, it now informs the street in as clear terms as possible of what it intends to do with short-term interest rates, and when. Janet L. Yellen, the chairwoman of the Fed, declared this new transparency, called forward guidance, a revolution; Ben S. Bernanke, her predecessor, claimed it reduced uncertainty and calmed the markets. But does it really calm the markets? Or has eliminating uncertainty in policy spread complacency among the financial community and actually helped inflate market bubbles?

We get a fascinating answer to these questions if we turn from economics and look into the biology of risk taking.

ONE biological mechanism, the stress response, exerts an especially powerful influence on risk taking. We live with stress daily, especially at work, yet few people truly understand what it is. Most of us tend to believe that stress is largely a psychological phenomenon, a state of being upset because something nasty has happened. But if you want to understand stress you must disabuse yourself of that view. The stress response is largely physical: It is your body priming itself for impending movement.

As such, most stress is not, well, stressful. For example, when you walk to the coffee room at work, your muscles need fuel, so the stress hormones adrenaline and cortisol recruit glucose from your liver and muscles; you need oxygen to burn this fuel, so your breathing increases ever so slightly; and you need to deliver this fuel and oxygen to cells throughout your body, so your heart gently speeds up and blood pressure increases. This suite of physical reactions forms the core of the stress response, and, as you can see, there is nothing nasty about it at all.

Far from it. Many forms of stress, like playing sports, trading the markets, even watching an action movie, are highly enjoyable. In moderate amounts, we get a rush from stress, we thrive on risk taking. In fact, the stress response is such a healthy part of our lives that we should stop calling it stress at all and call it, say, the challenge response.

This mechanism hums along, anticipating challenges, keeping us alive, and it usually does so without breaking the surface of consciousness. We take in information nonstop and our brain silently, behind the scenes, figures out what movement might be needed and then prepares our body. Many neuroscientists now believe our brain is designed primarily to plan and execute movement, that every piece of information we take in, every thought we think, comes coupled with some pattern of physical arousal. We do not process information as a computer does, dispassionately; we react to it physically. For humans, there is no pure thought of the kind glorified by Plato, Descartes and classical economics.

Our challenge response, and especially its main hormone cortisol (produced by the adrenal glands) is particularly active when we are exposed to novelty and uncertainty. If a person is subjected to something mildly unpleasant, like bursts of white noise, but these are delivered at regular intervals, they may leave cortisol levels unaffected. But if the timing of the noise changes and it is delivered randomly, meaning it cannot be predicted, then cortisol levels rise significantly.

Uncertainty over the timing of something unpleasant often causes a greater challenge response than the unpleasant thing itself. Sometimes it is more stressful not knowing when or if you are going to be fired than actually being fired. Why? Because the challenge response, like any good defense mechanism, anticipates; it is a metabolic preparation for the unknown.

You may now have an inkling of just how central this biology is to the financial world. Traders are immersed in novelty and uncertainty the moment they step onto a trading floor. Here they encounter an information-rich environment like none other. Every event in the world, every piece of news, flows nonstop onto the floor, showing up on news feeds and market prices, blinking and disappearing. News by its very nature is novel, adds volatility to the market and puts us into a state of vigilance and arousal.

I observed this remarkable call and echo between news and body when, after running a trading desk on Wall Street for 13 years, I returned to the University of Cambridge and began researching the neuroscience of trading.

In one of my studies, conducted with 17 traders on a trading floor in London, we found that their cortisol levels rose 68 percent over an eight-day period as volatility increased. Subsequent, as yet unpublished, studies suggest to us that this cortisol response to volatility is common in the financial community. A question then arose: Does this cortisol response affect a person’s risk taking? In a follow-up study, my colleagues from the department of medicine pharmacologically raised the cortisol levels of a group of 36 volunteers by a similar 69 percent over eight days. We gauged their risk appetite by means of a computerized gambling task. The results, published recently in the Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences, showed that the volunteers’ appetite for risk fell 44 percent.

Most models in economics and finance assume that risk preferences are a stable trait, much like your height. But this assumption, as our studies suggest, is misleading. Humans are designed with shifting risk preferences. They are an integral part of our response to stress, or challenge.

When opportunities abound, a potent cocktail of dopamine — a neurotransmitter operating along the pleasure pathways of the brain — and testosterone encourages us to expand our risk taking, a physical transformation I refer to as “the hour between dog and wolf.” One such opportunity is a brief spike in market volatility, for this presents a chance to make money. But if volatility rises for a long period, the prolonged uncertainty leads us to subconsciously conclude that we no longer understand what is happening and then cortisol scales back our risk taking. In this way our risk taking calibrates to the amount of uncertainty and threat in the environment.

Under conditions of extreme volatility, such as a crisis, traders, investors and indeed whole companies can freeze up in risk aversion, and this helps push a bear market into a crash.

Unfortunately, this risk aversion occurs at just the wrong time, for these crises are precisely when markets offer the most attractive opportunities, and when the economy most needs people to take risks. The real challenge for Wall Street, I now believe, is not so much fear and greed as it is these silent and large shifts in risk appetite.

I consult regularly with risk managers who must grapple with unstable risk taking throughout their organizations. Most of them are not aware that the source of the problem lurks deep in our bodies. Their attempts to manage risk are therefore comparable to firefighters’ spraying water at the tips of flames.

The Fed, however, through its control of policy uncertainty, has in its hands a powerful tool for influencing risk takers. But by trying to be more transparent, it has relinquished this control.

Forward guidance was introduced in the early 2000s. But the process of making monetary policy more transparent was in fact begun by Alan Greenspan back in the early 1990s. Before that time the Fed, especially under Paul A. Volcker, operated in secrecy. Fed chairmen did not announce rate changes, and they felt no need to explain themselves, leaving Wall Street highly uncertain about what was coming next. Furthermore, changes in interest rates were highly volatile: When Mr. Volcker raised rates, he might first raise them, cut them a few weeks later, and then raise again, so the tightening proceeded in a zigzag. Traders were put on edge, vigilant, never complacent about their positions so long as Mr. Volcker lurked in the shadows. Street wisdom has it that you don’t fight the Fed, and no one tangled with that bruiser.

Under Mr. Greenspan, the Fed became less intimidating and more transparent. Beginning in 1994 the Fed committed to changing fed funds only at its scheduled meetings (except in emergencies); it announced these changes at fixed times; and it communicated its easing or tightening bias. Mr. Greenspan notoriously spoke in riddles, but his actions had no such ambiguity. Mr. Bernanke reduced uncertainty even further: Forward guidance detailed the Fed’s plans.

Under both chairmen fed funds became far less erratic. Whereas Mr. Volcker changed rates in a volatile fashion, up one week down the next, Mr. Greenspan and Mr. Bernanke raised them in regular steps. Between 2004 and 2006, rates rose .25 percent at every Fed meeting, without fail… tick, tick, tick. As a result of this more gradualist Fed, volatility in fed funds fell after 1994 by as much as 60 percent.

In a speech to the Cato Institute in 2007, Mr. Bernanke claimed that minimizing uncertainty in policy ensured that asset prices would respond “in ways that further the central bank’s policy objectives.” But evidence suggests that quite the opposite has occurred.

Cycles of bubble and crash have always existed, but in the 20 years after 1994, they became more severe and longer lasting than in the previous 20 years. For example, the bear markets following the Nifty Fifty crash in the mid-70s and Black Monday of 1987 had an average loss of about 40 percent and lasted 240 days; while the dot-com and credit crises lost on average about 52 percent and lasted over 430 days. Moreover, if you rank the largest one-day percentage moves in the market over this 40-year period, 76 percent of the largest gains and losses occurred after 1994.

I suspect the trends in fed funds and stocks were related. As uncertainty in fed funds declined, one of the most powerful brakes on excessive risk taking in stocks was released.

During their tenures, in response to surging stock and housing markets, both Mr. Greenspan and Mr. Bernanke embarked on campaigns of tightening, but the metronome-like ticking of their rate increases was so soothing it failed to dampen exuberance.

There are times when the Fed does need to calm the markets. After the credit crisis, it did just that. But when the economy and market are strong, as they were during the dot-com and housing bubbles, what, pray tell, is the point of calming the markets? Of raising rates in a predictable fashion? If you think the markets are complacent, then unnerve them. Over the past 20 years the Fed may have perfected the art of reassuring the markets, but it has lost the power to scare. And that means stock markets more easily overshoot, and then collapse.

The Fed could dampen this cycle. It has, in interest rate policy, not one tool but two: the level of rates and the uncertainty of rates. Given the sensitivity of risk preferences to uncertainty, the Fed could use policy uncertainty and a higher volatility of funds to selectively target risk taking in the financial community. People running factories or coffee shops or drilling wells might not even notice. And that means the Fed could keep the level of rates lower than otherwise to stimulate the economy.

It may seem counterintuitive to use uncertainty to quell volatility. But a small amount of uncertainty surrounding short-term interest rates may act much like a vaccine immunizing the stock market against bubbles. More generally, if we view humans as embodied brains instead of disembodied minds, we can see that the risk-taking pathologies found in traders also lead chief executives, trial lawyers, oil executives and others to swing from excessive and ill-conceived risks to petrified risk aversion. It will also teach us to manage these risk takers, much as sport physiologists manage athletes, to stabilize their risk taking and to lower stress.

And that possibility opens up exciting vistas of human performance.         


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Tai Chi Chuan and Your Flawed Partner

Posted By Tom Daly on March 17th, 2014

Tai Chi Chuan and Your Flawed Partner

I’ve been thinking a lot about, again, how we work with each other.  This is crucial because we depend upon each other for our mutual growth.

It is not fun for me to lack a challenge; it is not good for you to be constantly overwhelmed.

It is not helpful for me to be the wise one who always wins, dispensing my wisdom to those in need. 

It is useless for me to judge what I do not like in someone’s practice. 

As a teacher, I need beginners to verify my thinking and my approach.  I need to see them “get it”.  They come to learn. 

As a partner, however, I need to allow myself lots of time and space to make mistakes; I need to allow others the time and space to make lots of mistakes.  Learning from our mistakes is invaluable.

So here are some ideas that I think strengthen the foundation of building a partnering relationship.

Don’t teach.

Don’t take advantage of every opportunity to “win”.

Don’t criticize or judge flaws – your own or the partner’s flaws.

Give your partner lots of time to be wrong without correcting it.

Play with your point of failure and be sure your partner doesn’t fix you.

Give advice when asked for.  Maybe.

Ask for advice if you have run out of options.  Maybe.

Don’t ask for advice if you have run out of options.  Think about it for a while.

Don’t scoff at what you see as flawed or inferior.

Don’t be a tai chi sports newscaster, calling out each and every play.  Unless they want it for some odd reason.  (This is a great way to kill the “us” and create a superior one and an inferior one.)

But don’t we learn from the observations of others?  Isn’t feedback required?  Yes, absolutely.  But you won’t hear a thing if the messenger feels overbearing and authoritarian.  You will learn less about Push Hands and more about who is delivering your “lesson”.

I was pushing hands with someone who had less experience than me.  He had many flaws.  I was simply letting him be and I wasn’t taking every opportunity to use his flaws to my own advantage.  But another senior student came over and told me I should be correcting him.  He eagerly agreed!  She then proceeded to “correct” him with a list of items that he needed to address.  As she left us, his only comment to me was, “She’s bossy.”  So much for the Good News!

I think it is good to fail and not be fixed.  You will learn a significant amount if left to your own experience, even if you can’t solve the push in front of you.  Mostly, we rush too quickly to solve the situation before we have a good idea of what we are doing in the situation.

“You are too hard!” really means, “I can’t deal with that push in a way that sticks to principle.”

“That was a lousy push!” really means, “I am superior since I can call you out on it!”

Two words to throw away:  1. Bad, and 2. Wrong.  It is never Bad or Wrong.  It is always, “We can do better.”  Secondarily they are never too hard; they never use too much force.  It is, “I need to improve my skills.”  (Technically speaking, if they are hard, they should be the one defeated because “the soft will overcome the hard”.)

It is always gratifying to be the one who knows.  Teaching is ego gratifying.  But if that were the point, I’d never want to teach again.  The point is not to be right or superior.  The point is to have all of us grow in our skills.  This is an endless process, right?  I love it when someone gets it right and then I am the one that has to solve the problem!

In general, I will ask more advanced partners if they want my suggestion.   They often want it, but I have no deep need to solve the problem at hand.  I think it is wonderful to sit with the problem and not fix it!  To let it simmer.

If they do want a suggestion, I don’t give them the entire bible – everything I know.  I try to give ONE basic idea to address.  Too much information never helps.  This is mostly a slow, one step at a time process.

At some point, you have to play a game not hampered by right and wrong.  You try your best and if and when you fail, it should be OK for both of us (short of actually hurting your partner).  From time to time, playing a sloppy game will show you quickly where you need to focus next.  Criticizing a sloppy game kills it in its tracks.  DOA!  See the sloppy game for what it is: a game that is beyond your reach.  There are few more instructive places to be.

Of course, should you encounter someone with a great push, it is instructive to be pushed and pushed and pushed.  The lesson may not be apparent in the moment, but in time, you will have gained great experience.

I’d rather have a good learning relationship with my partners than be feared, revered or avoided.  I need them, they need me.  How you work together will move the process with greater benefit.  Slinging out advice left and right is a dead end.  It is a skill to know when, if and how to intervene.  Truly, I turn red thinking of my past errors in this regard.  Like, just last week!

I’m not holier than thou.  I’ve learned this through experience.  The learning process here is too tough to be an excuse for ego creation.  Most of us are struggling.  It is better to struggle with the skill at hand than with your partner’s personality.

It’s true: I break all of these rules.  But don’t think for a moment that I’m not looking at my actions.

And of course we all need feedback.  But before you enter that quagmire, know that feedback can be brutal and damaging.  It may not help.  Giving feedback always feeds your ego so check in with that.  Your ego will always be there, but the point is not one-upsmanship.  The point is growth.

Alternatively, NOT asking for suggestions can be an ego trip.  “I’m going to figure this out all by myself.  (I don’t need your advice.)”  Maybe so, but few of us get anywhere without suggestions and external advice.

Push Hands has to be fun.  Fun in the sense of satisfying, welcome, interesting, delightful, an adventure in learning, an adventure in change.  For those that enter it in this way, it is an endless source of joy!  You will laugh every push of the way.

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Tai Chi Chuan – Paradigm Shifts

Posted By Tom Daly on January 26th, 2013

Tai Chi Chuan – Paradigm Shifts

Once in a great while, I play with someone who does not play MY game. And it is a reminder that there many ways to skin a cat (though I don’t advise you try this at home).

I was sword dueling with a partner who clearly works the interactive form of dueling with a different focus.

What to do?

First, observe what your partner is trying to achieve in the game. He was doing two effective things: the point is mostly aimed directly at me as a warning to keep out and his neutralization works to block me from getting closer to him. This is done with real finesse. My game focuses on inviting him in and NOT letting him know where I am by just sticking and following without much regard to getting a strike. If he comes in too close, I have a shot at getting a point.

When I told him that I always know where his tip of the sword is – because it is always aimed at me – his response was that he didn’t care that I knew where his sword is. This was great news to me because now I have a situation where I know where his sword is, but he doesn’t know where my sword is. In my form, the tip often leads away from my partner, so he can’t know what I’m going to do next.

But in all fairness, his form and his skill are of value. It tests my form and my skill and makes me work harder to effectively “defend” myself. My form makes me more vulnerable and my regular partners don’t always test this vulnerability because we get caught in our own patterns and assumptions about the game itself.

I have to adjust to his style, and he has to adjust to my style. All forms have pros and cons. They all have strengths and weaknesses. If we work from a “learning” perspective, not a “wining” perspective, we can really grow. Luckily for me, he operates this way.

We all have to adjust to whatever the situation really is and make appropriate choices. If we stick to our built in patterns, we lose the value of this particular interaction. My goal is not to persuade partners that I am right. My goal is to find a way to play their tune and not lose my core principles.

That’s where deeper learning takes place.

I have to note that this is easier to do in sword dueling as opposed to push hands. There are ways to escape difficulties in sword that in fact may be a way of not really being in the game. I need to take a closer look at this tendency.

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Tai Chi Push Hands: Fact vs. Judgment

Posted By Tom Daly on January 9th, 2010

Recently I was practicing push hands with another practitioner, someone who really wants to get this right and improve. He’s good too. In our verbal exchange, I noted something that I was feeling again and again and again and this “error” gave me an opportunity to push him. I forget if he asked me what it was that inspired my pushes, or if I volunteered the observation, but it was a simple fact. “When I am moving forward on my press, you are using your arm to push me away.” It was NOT a gross level pushing me away, but nonetheless there was an effort to keep me out. I’m moving in and he’s trying to keep me out. Clash! He didn’t notice the error, and even after it was pointed out he continued to repeat it. This is not unusual because what is normal to us is hard to see and feel. His understanding of the neutralization was incomplete (or so I felt). We worked on it and he found a different idea about the neutralization.

But then he countered that my push “could be better.”

Here is the language problem. Or to create a new word, the “languaging” problem. How do we communicate to help each other? To tell your partner that their push could be better is an empty statement at best and unhelpful as well. Empty because all pushes could be better. Empty because he has no way of knowing if my push at this time could be better. Unhelpful because what he was expressing was his opinion. Opinions don’t help in push hands practice. I learn how he “feels” about something, but not much about what I’m doing. The “bad-good” discussion or the “better-worse” discussion doesn’t really move our skill level along nor does it increase any real understanding or appreciation of push-hands. (The same might be said of Life in general .)

Instead of telling him that he was pushing me back when he needs to take me in (standard operating procedure in push hands and tai chi because this avoids class and tension and hardness) I could have told him, “Your neutralization could be better.” What is he supposed to do with that? He has no more information on hand than before and not a clue as to what I am working off of. He most likely will feel judged and this does not help.

Of course, the whole situation is sticky to begin with because perhaps he doesn’t want to hear my factual observation at all. I could be wrong in the observation, yes, or he may not really want to hear it. Some folks like to work with push hands, experiment and try to figure out solutions by themselves. I’m not opposed to this, though it is the loooong road to improvement. My own preference is to take some time to try to figure it out and feel it out, but if I truly can’t see it I’d like to hear what they are experiencing and observing. I need a factual observation, not a judgment about whether it is good or not good.

With my regular push-hands partners, we have our languaging in pretty good order and we are on the same page with sharing information. The operative question is “Does it work?” If so, why? If not, why not?

Did my push work? My partner says the direction felt good to him, but it did not feel like the pressure that generally generates a good push went down all the way to my feet. We can argue this fact, but nonetheless, we are talking about a fact and not a judgment on the quality of the push as a whole.

To digress a bit here, I love the way tai chi gives one ample opportunity to be with each other and to note or solve problems that permeate our lives. The languaging problem is endemic and engineering better ways to communicate can help us along tremendously in relationships. But it helps to have a context that creates the problem in the first place. Believe me, you will never see a more heated laboratory than push hands when it comes to relationships. How we talk to each other and treat each other in this context is very very close to the surface. I have noted elsewhere (in another blog commentary) where I RAN from one partner because of his insensitivity. I know that I’ve insulted quite a few by my ignorance as well. But the lure of push hands gives us a reason to keep coming back. It’s a marvelous marvelous tool to see how you relate to others while playing a complex game.

In fact, because push hands is so confusing for such a long time, this aspect of practice doesn’t really surface until a later date. Mostly we muddle through with liking this partner and avoiding that partner. Just like life. And that is fine because not all partners will help you grow as a push hands practitioner or as a person. I still do that, I admit it! But at least I see the problem and how I am dealing (or not dealing) with it and, hopefully, why.

I reflect on one individual that I avoided for years and years. He drove me nuts. But at a later date, I realized he was EXACTLY what I needed for my own selfish growth. The interaction changed between us radically and then I loved working out with him. He has passed on since. I really miss him and – surprise! – not only for selfish reasons.

Tai chi gave me this invaluable experience.

A few years back I took a workshop on Having Difficult Conversations. A core insight from that workshop was the following: There are facts. Then we select the facts that appeal to us. From this we draw a conclusion. When we argue with each other, we typically argue from the perspective of the conclusions we have drawn. The facts are no longer in view. Of course, our conclusion is wrapped in a judgment that satisfies us. This conclusion is right, correct, good. We assume it is supported by the facts and to a certain extent, it is.

I’d like to suggest in tai chi and push hands, we get back to the facts and work from there. The process is more like mining for gold. We have to dig and dig and dig and explore and discover. More data is uncovered as we move through the process. To settle with some judgment or conclusion will not move us along. At best, it is a temporary resting place to let us gather some experience to move to the next level. Your conception of a good push, or your experience of some great push that you have met with some master will only get you so far. The facts that make up YOUR push are crucial to understand, discover and work with.

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Circles – New York Times article

Posted By Tom Daly on January 9th, 2010

This off the beaten track article is not really about tai chi, but about circles. Tai Chi is loaded with circles (and spirals) and to that end, this art world article may give us some clues and inspiration about how important these circles are. NOT required reading this, but sort of fun in a tributary way.

Enjoy if you decide to venture forth. Tom

December 8, 2009

Circular Logic of the Universe


CIRCLING my way not long ago through the Vasily Kandinsky show now on display in the suitably spiral setting of the Guggenheim Museum, I came to one of the Russian master’s most illustrious, if misleadingly named, paintings: “Several Circles.”

Those “several” circles, I saw, were more like three dozen, and every one of them seemed to be rising from the canvas, buoyed by the shrewdly exuberant juxtapositioning of their different colors, sizes and apparent translucencies. I learned that, at around the time Kandinsky painted the work, in 1926, he had begun collecting scientific encyclopedias and journals; and as I stared at the canvas, a big, stupid smile plastered on my face, I thought of yeast cells budding, or a haloed blue sun and its candied satellite crew, or life itself escaping the careless primordial stew.

I also learned of Kandinsky’s growing love affair with the circle. The circle, he wrote, is “the most modest form, but asserts itself unconditionally.” It is “simultaneously stable and unstable,” “loud and soft,” “a single tension that carries countless tensions within it.” Kandinsky loved the circle so much that it finally supplanted in his visual imagination the primacy long claimed by an emblem of his Russian boyhood, the horse.

Quirkily enough, the artist’s life followed a circular form: He was born in December 1866, and he died the same month in 1944. This being December, I’d like to honor Kandinsky through his favorite geometry, by celebrating the circle and giving a cheer for the sphere. Life as we know it must be lived in the round, and the natural world abounds in circular objects at every scale we can scan. Let a heavenly body get big enough for gravity to weigh in, and you will have yourself a ball. Stars are giant, usually symmetrical balls of radiant gas, while the definition of both a planet like Jupiter and a plutoid like Pluto is a celestial object orbiting a star that is itself massive enough to be largely round.

On a more down-to-earth level, eyeballs live up to their name by being as round as marbles, and, like Jonathan Swift’s ditty about fleas upon fleas, those soulful orbs are inscribed with circular irises that in turn are pierced by circular pupils. Or think of the curved human breast and its bull’s-eye areola and nipple.

Our eggs and those of many other species are not egg-shaped at all but spherical, and when you see human eggs under a microscope they look like tranquil suns with Kandinsky coronas behind them. Raindrops start life in the clouds not with the pear-shaped contours of a cartoon teardrop, but as liquid globes, aggregates of water molecules that have condensed around specks of dust or salt and then mutually clung themselves into the rounded path of least resistance. Only as the raindrops fall do they lose their symmetry, their bottoms often flattening out while their tops stay rounded, a shape some have likened to a hamburger bun.

Sometimes roundness is purely a matter of physics. “The shape of any object represents the balance of two opposing forces,” explained Larry S. Liebovitch of the Center for Complex Systems and Brain Sciences at Florida Atlantic University. “You get things that are round when those forces are isotropic, that is, felt equally in all directions.”

In a star, gravity is pulling the mass of gas inward toward a central point, while pressure is pushing the gas outward, and the two competing forces reach a dynamic détente — “simultaneously stable and unstable,” you might say — in the form of a sphere. For a planet like Earth, gravity tugs the mostly molten rock in toward the core, but the rocks and their hostile electrons push back with equal vehemence. Plutoids are also sufficiently massive for gravity to overcome the stubbornness of rock and smooth out their personal lumps, although they may not be the gravitationally dominant bodies in their neighborhood.

In precipitating clouds, water droplets are exceptionally sticky, as the lightly positive end of one water molecule seeks the lightly negative end of another. But, again, mutually hostile electrons put a limit on molecular intimacy, and the compromise conformation is shaped like a ball. “A sphere is the most compact way for an object to form itself,” said Denis Dutton, an evolutionary theorist at the University of Canterbury in New Zealand.

A sphere is also tough. For a given surface area, it’s stronger than virtually any other shape. If you want to make a secure container using the least amount of material, Dr. Liebovitch said, make that container round. “That’s why, when you cook a frankfurter, it always splits in the long direction,” he said, rather than along its circumference. The curved part has the tensile strength of a sphere, the long axis that of a rectangle: no contest.

The reliability of bubble wrap may help explain some of the round objects found among the living, where the shapes of body parts are assumed to have some relation to their purpose. Eggs are a valuable commodity in nature, and if a round package is the safest option, by all means, make them caviar round. Among many birds, of course, eggs are oval rather than round, a trait that biologists attribute to both the arduous passage the egg makes through the avian oviduct, and the fact that oval eggs roll in a circle rather than a straight line and thus are less likely to fall out of a nest.

Yet scientists admit that they don’t always understand the evolutionary pressures that sculpture a given carbon-based shape.

While studying the cornea at Columbia University College of Physicians and Surgeons, Dr. Liebovitch became curious about why eyeballs are round. “It seemed like their most salient feature,” he said. He explored the options. To aid in focusing? But only a small region of the retina is involved in focusing, he said, and the whole spherical casing seems superfluous to the optical needs of that foveal patch. To enable the eye to roll easily in the socket and dart this way and that? But birds and other animals with fixed eyes still have bulging round eyeballs. “It’s not really clear what the reason is,” he said.

And for speculative verve, nothing beats the assortment of hypotheses that have been put forth to explain the roundness of the human female breast. It’s a buttock mimic. It’s a convenient place to store fat for hard times. It’s a fertility signal, a youth signal, a health signal, a wealth symbol. Large breasts emphasize the woman’s comparatively small waist, which is really what men are interested in. As for me, I’m waiting for somebody to explain why a man’s well-developed bicep looks like a wandering breast.

Whatever the prompt, our round eyes are drawn to round things. Jeremy M. Wolfe of Harvard Medical School and his colleagues found that curvature was a basic feature we used while making a visual search. Maybe we are looking for faces, a new chance to schmooze.

Studying rhesus monkeys, Doris Tsao of the California Institute of Technology and her colleagues identified a set of brain cells that responded strongly to images of faces, monkey and otherwise. The only other sort of visual stimulus that aroused those face tracing neurons, Dr. Tsao said, were round objects — clocks, apples and the like. She suspects the results would be similar for humans. We make a fetish of faces. “If you have a round object with two spots in the middle,” she said, “that instantly attracts your attention.”

Or maybe the circle beckons not for its resemblance to human face but as a mark of human art. Dr. Dutton, author of “The Art Instinct,” pointed out that perfect shapes were exceedingly rare in nature. “Take a look at a billiard ball,” he said. “It’s impossible to imagine that nature threw that one up.” We are predisposed to recognize “human artifacture,” he said, and roundness can be a mark of our handiwork. When nature does play the meticulous Michelangelo, we are astonished.

“People come to see the Moeraki boulders of New Zealand,” he said, “and ooh and aah because they’re so amazingly spherical.”

Artists in turn have used the circle as shorthand for the divine: in mandalas, rose windows, the lotus pad of the Buddha, the halos of Christian saints. For Kandinsky, said Tracey Bashkoff, who curated the Guggenheim exhibition, the circle was part of a “cosmic language” and a link to a grander, more spiritual plane. A round of applause! We’ve looped back to Kandinsky again.

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Non-Doing Is, Oddly, Hard To Do

Posted By Tom Daly on December 13th, 2009

I’ve been having an interesting time teaching a simple exercise. We start to do it standing in the legs with little steps. At first I have the class do it as sort of an easy movement. Essentially we perform the movement, but it is sort of a glob. No real skill is being utilized. We “do” it.

Next, I begin to break it down in greater and greater specificity. This means that I’m looking at ways to accomplish the same movement but using relaxation and non-doing. As I articulate how to make it one whole non-doing movement, slowly but surely the students start to lose the movement altogether. Then they go through a time period where they feel they have mostly lost the movement. It falls apart in their hands.

One student commented that the more we work on it, the harder it gets. This is because the focus has shifted. As an unskilled glob, it was easy. But now we are relying on a whole body movement where all parts are integrated and working together. Each part individually is not required to hold you together. The whole is holding you together. One part is all parts. So each individual part has little to do, but more importantly each part must communicate with every other part.

Harder to not “do” it? How fascinating.

Of course, this is impossible to nail in print here because this is an experiential experiment. But the class goes from being able to “do” it, to not being able to “do” it. Nor are they able to NOT “do” it. We perpetually lock ourselves into the habit of doing in order to accomplish what is essentially a simple simple movement.

Or to put it another way, we only know how to do things, we don’t know how to allow things. Allowing relaxation, air, ground, structure, whole body integration to be the tools that hold us together and create a movement. Our habit, and therefore our experience, is that a sense of our doing things is how we get things done. If that support system is removed, we fall apart. Yet to utilize this other support system makes a world of sense because it requires much much less effort. It makes life easy. And now we have a surplus of energy. All that fuss and stiffness is gone.

I see our American sense of personality as a way of forcing results to happen as well. We throw this around like a calling card to help identify who we are and get what we want. This would be OK except this is often unnecessary, tiresome and inefficient. And it is so hard to let this go. Who are you and how do you act if you don’t access your personality? And so many times it actually gets in the way and prevents us from getting what we want.

This comes up a great deal in the work place where most of us are on automatic, getting things done as quickly as possible, and relying on habit to do so. Doing what comes naturally, which usually means how we have always done it via “doing”. The spaciousness and potential of non-doing is completely lost: mistakes are made, feelings are hurt, work is poorly executed, working relationships are damanged, information is misinterpreted and so on. Ever happen to you?

Oddly, in our culture, presenting who you are – your personality – is considered a necessary means of getting to know each other. But it is primarily this habit of doing that we are presenting. Maybe this is a good thing because it is this habit that we ultimately have to deal with. Isn’t it an insult to say “Mr. Jones” has no personality? Yet when we complain about someone, it is the personality that we are annoyed with. How ironic.

If nothing else, I would like to suggest that adding “non-doing”, or allowing, as a tool to get things done is a worthy pursuit and an invaluable practice. The art of tai chi is one way to study this (although not the only way.) Certainly you will add energy to your day since you now need less of it to do what you used to do. You get out of the way of what needs to be done. Your energy goes where it needs to go to accomplish tasks. You are no longer this stiff glob, but free flowing energy.

Yes, this IS difficult to do! Because we don’t practice this. Is “non-doing” on your to do list? It requires great focus and a certain kind of commitment. But the pleasure of tasting even a little bit of this is what tai chi students love. The thrill is palpable. Non-doing is a challenge, yes, but is also thrilling.

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