It’s hard to understand the lightness of the touch of Tai Chi. The perfect balance of yin and yang, of ‘sung’ and peng’ create the touch of an angel.
The sink to swallow to ‘float’ mean that there is nothing stopping the ethereal movement, the body of a Tai Chi practitioner appears to have no bones, only the whisper and touch of a soft summer breeze.
Felt for, he cannot be touched, like reaching into soft cotton, he is a shade, a wraith, a spirit draped in cloud.
Tai Chi is art, the sword like a calligraphers brush, takes on a life and spirit of its own and the body only supports and propels, never weighing it down.
Tai Chi does the practitioner, not the other way around. The practitioner attains wu chi and waits for Tai Chi to arrive.
On arrival yin and yang spiral into the dance of the universe.
Through Tai Chi the Tao wanders the realm of opposites, harmonising and bringing magic to those able to release their soul.
The softness brings power, if touched the practitioner responds from the feet, through unlocked joints, connected tissue and controlled from the spine, any of the 13 strategies can be brought to bear, a deadly martial art with a ghost hand.
The touch of a lineage going back through the ages, an oral tradition that can only really be learned and understood by touch and letting go of the cloying overcoat of humanity wrapped in fear and aggression to fly in harmony with the spirits in their art.