Category: Training

Diǎnxué (點穴, sometimes called Dianmai or even Dim Mak) is known as pressing or sealing the cavity and it is one of the most misunderstood techniques of Chinese martial arts. Most students of Chinese martial arts don’t bother memorizing cavities for striking for innumerable reasons. Knowledgeable teachers are hard to come by, the instruction is boring, precise, tedious, surrounded by myth, mysticism, and obscurity. Not only is finding a teacher difficult, but also finding one who is willing to part with his information is even more challenging.

Before coming to Chinese martial arts, I studied a variety of Korean and Japanese arts. It was in one of these classes that I had my first introduction to the concept of the cavity press. After looking at a poster, which outlined cavities for striking, where it hung in my teacher’s studio, I asked the teacher why he didn’t teach these techniques.

“You need a really strong grip for that,” My teacher replied.

Confused, I asked him to elaborate.

“In a fight, if you’ve grabbed an opponent, you might be able to press a cavity, but you have to be very strong or even that will not work.”

“What about hitting them?” I asked.

“You can’t,” My teacher said simply.

When I asked why you couldn’t hit them, my teacher responded by saying, “Those points are very small. You will never be able to aim with such accuracy. Missing by even a few centimeters means that you have failed to strike the cavity and your attack will be wasted. It’s better to employ more reliable techniques.”

So, from that moment on and for years afterwards, I studied martial arts confident in the knowledge that striking cavities is not a reliable method of fighting. Later, I took up Tàijíquán (太極拳) and about a decade after that, I began to study Traditional Chinese Medicine (TCM). While in school, learning about acupuncture I suddenly realized that cavity striking one of the greatest weapons in a Tàijíquán practitioner’s arsenal.

So, why is it that someone practicing Tàijíquán can strike a cavity with accuracy while a hard-stylist could not?

The answer is simple: external martial arts do not generate power in the same way internal arts do.

One of the most unique aspects of the internal arts is the development of explosive force (Bàofālì 爆發力) known as Fājìn (發勁). The whip-like explosion of movement often seen in Chen-style’s Cannon Fist and New Frame forms are a fine example of this Fājìn power. In pushing hands, a master can apply Fājìn and with a small jerk of his body, the master can send his opponent flying. It bodes the question: how can such a small movement send someone so very far?
Aside from the massive effect of this explosive energy, a Fājìn strike is very penetrative, sending the energy of the strike deep into the body, while an external martial arts strike which uses muscular power or Lì (力), spreads damage out on the surface. Furthermore, a person who has mastered the techniques known as Inch Jìn (Cùnjìn or 寸勁) or Centimeter Jìn (Fēnjìn or 分勁) can strike an opponent with no windup, and the damage done from striking with the fist only an inch or centimeter away from the opponent is just as devastating as punching with a windup. Probably the most famous example of this concept is Bruce Lee’s “one-inch punch,” but in the case of inch and Centimeter Jìn, the fighter will ideally be using Phoenix-eye Fist, focusing all that explosive Fājìn power into a tiny point.
This is Tàijíquán’s secret weapon.

Fājìn actually allows a Tàijí practitioner to find a cavity through touch, and then, without withdrawing one’s hand, the Tàijí practitioner can use Inch or Centimeter Jìn to strike the cavity with amazing force.
As soon as I discovered cavity striking is a viable technique, and I began to examine the recommended striking points found in Chinese martial arts. I quickly discovered that these were the same points I was studying in TCM school.

Of course, not all acupuncture points can be struck effectively, but all the Diǎnxué points were acupuncture points. At that point, I began seeking out colleagues who practiced both Tàijí and TCM with whom I could compare notes. I did this in hopes of finding a way to de-mystify Diǎnxué and to discover why this knowledge was couched in such secrecy.

I found myself asking questions like: “What happens when I strike a cavity? How does that affect the Qì of the human body?”

In order to understand this, we must first understand some basic concepts of TCM. First, it’s important to realize that Qì (氣) is not some mystical and unexplainable energy that wisps around like magic inside the Human body.
The word Qì itself offers a fantastic understanding into its meaning. The character for Qì, 氣, is actually made up of two different Chinese characters. The upper portion of the character, 气 means “air” or “gas.” And there is also the word mǐ (米) meaning “rice.” A saying in Chinese Medicine helps us to further unlock the meaning behind the idea of Qì.

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If you train Tàijíquán (太極拳) as a martial art, you will, at some point, come across Tui Shou (推手). Also known as Pushing Hands, (Pushands, Push Hands), this type of training is an incremental step in the direction of Tàijí sparring. This training usually progresses from fixed-step training drills, to fixed-step pushing, to moving step training drills, to moving-step pushing, and then finally to Tàijí sparring drills, two-person fighting set, and Tàijí sparring.

The problem is that many of us who train in Pushing Hands find ourselves focused on the wrong things, leading to bad training habits that can stunt our growth along the path from fixed-step drills to Tàijí sparring. To develop true skill in this training, we must always measure techniques we use now against how well they will help later in training. Some of the most common mistakes I see in both beginners and advances Pushing Hands students are:

• Using techniques not common to Pushing Hands

  Have you ever been Pushing Hands and suddenly your training partner put into a painful joint lock, or actually attempted an eye-jab or throat strike? I have. As a beginner to Pushing Hands, I had no idea what to do to counter these techniques. When I complained to my partner that these were not the point or focus of this training, his response was, “You’re learning self-defense. These are the kinds of things that people will try to use on you on the street.”

  The problem with this is that for the rest of that Pushing Hands session, the aggressor stoked his ego, while I flailed around uselessly because he was training fixed-step Tàijí sparring, while I was still trying to do fixed-step Pushing hands. Training in Pushing Hands happens between partners. This means that ultimately you should be working with your friend to bring both your skill levels higher. Tearing your training partner down may make you feel good in the short run, but it makes you a bad partner. Eventually nobody’s going to work with you!

• Relying on speed, not skill, to get out of a jam

  I have lost count of the hundreds of times I’ve seen this happen. I will be training with a partner and we start slowly, pushing and neutralizing until suddenly my training partner finds him or herself in a bad position. They are about to fall, so suddenly they speed up, effectively countering the push that would have toppled them.

  This works great when you’re training slowly, but what happens after you speed up and find yourself in the same jam? Once you are going as fast as you can go, you can’t go any faster. Then what? Usually you will fall, and it’s much harder to undo a bad habit when you’ve already graduated to moving swiftly. So my advice is, if you’re about to get pushed over . . . let it happen. It sucks, but you will learn from it.

• Using a technique that works well for only one type/style of Pushing Hands training 

  In intermediate and advanced stationery (fixed-step) Pushing Hands, I will often see students who are pu
  lled off balance throw their bodyweight into their opponent as they fall. The unexpected movement knocks their training partner off balance while simultaneously propping himself or herself up.

  It’s a great technique to save you from falling, but it only works in fixed-step Pushing Hands. The moment you add stepping into the mix and try that technique, you are likely to find yourself doing a face-plant on the floor. Once again, if you’re about to fall, check your ego, and let yourself fall. Relying on this or other, similar, techniques to get you out of trouble just develops a bad habit you’ll have to contend with when you graduate to moving-step Pushing Hands.

• Only training with competition in mind

  Sometimes when training in class, you might find yourself paired with a partner who is much better than you are. It’s not fun—and often not helpful to your training—when this person pushes you down repeatedly just because they can.

  Training in class is different from training for competition (or pushing in actual competition for that matter). Once again, you are partners. Pushing someone down feels like a sense of accomplishment, but it’s no good if they aren’t learning something from it. It’s not always helpful to a training partner if you take advantage of every opening they offer you. It’s sometimes more helpful in training to let your partner to get in close, past your defenses, testing one another’s ability to get out of a precarious situation.

  It’s different if you’re training for a competition, at that point, you don’t ever let them in, and you take advantage of any opening they leave you, but your partner should know before you start your practice session that this is what you have in mind. This ensures you both get something out of the training session.

At this point, you can easily see that ego comes into play in every one of these instances. That’s a trap, however, which will lead to bad training habits. Being good in Pushing Hands isn’t the ability to push someone else over whenever you want. It’s the ability to keep yourself from falling! The only way to get there, though, is by getting pushed over. The famous master, Jou Tsung Hwa, was once asked how he got so good at Pushing Hands. His answer was, “I fell a lot.”

One of the most interesting concepts in Chinese martial arts is the theory of tī dǎ shuāi ná (踢打摔拿). Tàijíquán (太極拳) teachers often overlook this and many times it is only taught by traditional Gōngfu (Kung fu or 功夫) instructors. Few Tàijíquán practitioners have heard this, and fewer still know the true depth of meaning behind the theory.

First, let us examine the meaning of the words. “Tī” refers to leg techniques or kicking, while “dǎ” refers to striking (either open hand or closed). “Shuāi” is the same word found in Shuāi Jiǎo (摔角) or Chinese wrestling, and refers to all wrestling techniques. While “ná” refers to the same word in Qín Ná (擒拿) and refers to grappling and joint locking techniques.

On the surface, this appears to be a way of categorizing the multitude of techniques and application found in Chinese martial arts. While it is true that these categories cover every possible technique employed in hand-to-hand fighting, there is more to this than simply labeling categories. These groupings are arranged to teach a basic and profound logic in how fighting works.

To put it simply, these are the scissors, rock, paper of Chinese martial arts.

To explain this, we will first lump kicking and punching into a single category, which we will call “kickboxing.” Then, we will compare the techniques of three fighters each skilled in a single category of tī and dǎ, shuāi, ná.

The first of our imaginary fighters is only trained kickboxing techniques. Our second martial artist specializes in wrestling, while the third warrior is a master of grappling and joint lock techniques.

For the kickboxer to be effective (barring the use of fā jìn or 發勁 which we will discuss in another article), he must keep his opponent at arm or leg length distance. This range allows each of the kickboxer’s punches or kicks to fully extend and achieve maximum power. If the kickboxer’s opponent is either too close or too far away, our kickboxer’s techniques are useless.

This is where our wrestler comes in.

Wrestlers must get close to their opponents to employ a takedown. Once the opponent is on the ground, the wrestler can employ a hold or submission. Therefore, when our wrestler steps in close to the kickboxer to throw him down, the kickboxer will suddenly discover that his punches and kicks have no power. He will also quickly discover it’s hard to kick or punch your way out of a takedown. Then, once on the ground, the kickboxer’s techniques are useless, while the wrestler has a whole arsenal of techniques with which to hurt or maim the kickboxer. We have seen many real-life examples of this in MMA fighting, when a skilled ground-fighter gets a kickboxer onto the ground.

When the wrestler tries this on the grappler, however, he will quickly find himself in some trouble. The moment the wrestler reaches out to grab our grappler, the wrestler has given both his arms over to his opponent who can then very easily twist a wrist, elbow, or shoulder into a painful grapple.

However, anyone who has studied grappling quickly notices that almost all grapplers have to use both hands on an opponent’s single arm or leg. Therefore, if our grappler tries to put the kickboxer in a painful joint lock, the kickboxer will simply attack the grappler with a free hand (or foot).

Just like scissors, rock, paper, each of these techniques is effective against one of the three, but not the other two. Rock can’t defeat rock, just as it cannot defeat paper. But put rock up against scissors, and it will win every time.

So if the kickboxer is like our metaphorical scissors, our wrestler is the rock (no pun intended), and our grappler is the paper.

Therefore, when you train applications of your Tàijíquán techniques, it’s important to pay attention to each of these categories, developing skills from all three: kickboxing, takedowns, and grappling.

The best way to employ is training is to begin developing applications all three categories for each movement in a Tàijí form. Let us take a traditional long form from Yang-style Tàijíquán (Yángshì Tàijíquán or 楊氏太極拳) as an example. If we remove all the repeated techniques from the form, a list of 108 (give or take depending on who is doing to the counting) the number of unique movements from the form is suddenly whittled down to 37.

This means that Yang-style practitioners should be working on all three of those categories with each of the 37 movements. This same math can be used for any other style of Tàijíquán.

Then, to integrate this concept of training into your own practice, start with one or two of your favorite Tàijíquán movement and practice an application from each category until it becomes second nature.

Once you have developed a handful of these, take it to the next level. In a safe pushing hands (tuī shǒu or 推手) environment, practice moving from one technique to the other. Remember to be sure to talk to your training partner so that they are aware of what you wish to emphasize in training (it’s really quite rude to punch someone who’s pushing hands with you if they’re not expecting it). Then, when you can do this effectively while practicing stationary pushing hands, it’s time to integrate these concepts into moving pushing hands training.

It’s important to remember at this point that other basic fighting theories not covered by of tī dǎ shuāi ná must be integrated into training at this level also (perhaps from a Two-person Fighting Set). However, when those basic fighting theories are combined with those of tī dǎ shuāi ná and the principles of moving pushing hands, the result is the highest level of combat training in Tàijíquán, known as “Tàijí sparring.”

In one of his continuing education seminars, Bob Flaws (acupuncturist, Chinese herbalist, author, and expert in Traditional Chinese Medicine) said, “Mastery of anything is simply mastery of the basics.”

It is an extremely accurate statement, and very simple. In many ways, this statement is like watching an expert practice Tàijíquán. The movements appear slow and simple, but are far more profound than what you see at first glance. This statement is the same. It hints at the true dedication and enormous effort it means to “master” anything.

Take traditional education, for example. Grade school, middle school, high school, and even undergraduate are all designed to hammer home basic information about various topics. It’s is not until grad school or post graduate work that a person might take the information from several basic sources and mold it into something new and exciting.

In many ways, the study of Tàijíquán is the same. Mastery of Tàijíquán basics leads to the ability to synthesize new ideas from remedial material that we know like the back of our hands. Look at masters who have taken what they know and transformed it, such as Cheng Man Ching, who took traditional Yang style and made it into a new style entirely.

Sadly, and particularly here in the United States, I have noticed a huge obstacle to this type of mastery.

Education of the 21st century, particularly in the United States has moved away from dogged memorization of facts. Instead, it emphasizes the big picture, concepts, and relationships. Many schools allow counting on fingers or calculator use, which has replaced basic arithmetic skills or rote memorization of times tables. This new concept of education, however, is a danger to “mastering” Tàijíquán.

In the early days of my own Tàijí education, I went through countless stretches, warm-ups, movement drills, and stance work. All this was designed to give me a firm foundation in the later movements of the form.

My teachers, who were very traditional, often had me freeze in place, holding a position as they walked around class and moved everyone’s body into the correct alignment. The idea being that long periods of maintaining the correct pose would lead to muscle memory, which in turn would mean that improper movements would suddenly feel “wrong.”

Sadly, I have seen countless modern teachers abandon this method of teaching only to offer a class wherein the student simply follows along with the form until they can produce the same movements with somewhat reasonable accuracy. I have even seen teachers who barely understand Tàijíquán basics change the form they teach, adding or subtracting movements at a whim, or combining Tàijíquán with yoga or dance.

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I intend to continue in this article to present the Tai Chi Farm exercises which have been explained in a series format in my previous articles.

While writing about the exercises, I almost neglected one important aspect. They are not to be practiced as an end, but as a tool. This tool is seen as the living embodiment of the Tai Chi principles. These principles are meant to be visible in one’s everyday movement, one’s push hands practice, and if possible, one’s practice in sparring.

But nowhere are the principles displayed in the exercises more showcased as they are in the Chen1 form of master Jou. But even having said that, it is best that they are practiced to such an extent that their traces can be seen in all of one’s Tai Chi forms.

From at least 1980 till the time of his transition, Jou Tsung Hwa had been working on a Chen1 routine
(he stated that the 1st routine came after Cannon Fist) that got away from where the Chen routines he had seen were headed. Independent hand and foot movement, push hands wrestling, and other non-Tai Chi elements were what he was against.

Master Jou’s version of Chen1 is very different from the standard routines that we are used to seeing. There are more leg raises, some moves are more reminiscent of the Yang form, and the “Wave Hands In Clouds” reminds me a little of the Hao form. Actually, the Tai Chi Farm exercises are more of a clue to the Tai Chi Farm Chen form than anything else. There is contraction and expansion, intense spiraling, a great deal of matching of different parts of the body, and total whole body movement.

Tai Chi Farm Exercise

Place the left foot to the left of the right foot and to the front with the left heel raised and the toes facing 9:30 or 10:00. The weight of the bodt is on the right foot which is solidly on the ground with the toes facing approximately 2:00 or 2:30. The right hand is placed gently on the abdomen where it remains. The head and the eyes face forward with the abdomen relaxed. Begin to contract the abdomen as the head and eyes and body turn towards the left hand which is rotating the left palm upwards as the left heel turns towards the right front reaching the maximum movement with the abdomen fully contracted and the left palm facing the sky and eyes facing the palm with the head upright. Reverse the movement and return to the original position. From the original position, begin turning the body towards the right as the left palm begins turning and ending facing downward with the body now facing 2:00 or 2:30 [the same direction as the right toes]. At this point, the abdomen is fully expanded. Reverse the movement and return to the original position. After enough repetitions, switch feet and hands. The right hand remains on the abdomen throughout th entire exercise.

Both hands can be placed over both feet, or the opposite palm can be used instead. Also one foot can be raised entirely off the ground. Ultimately, one has to find out the angles and placements best for one’s self.

There are quite a few of these Tai Chi Farm exercises with some being more complicated and difficult than the one[s] presented here. Some of them I don’t like and nver practice, and some of them I really like and almost always practice. Any variations that I present are not of my own making so as to keep what I learned pure.

Although I have spoken of some of the original students in Piscataway previously, I must once again thank Tai Chi Farm students Bob Arietta for his valuable instruction of these exercises and Mike Goldstein.

Most of all I must thank my Tai Chi instructor Larry Banks whom I have also written about. The idea for this series on the Tai Chi Farm Exercises and other experiences was inspired by Loretta Wollering’s presentation of Master Jou’s 6 part interview on YouTube in 1994 at the Tai Chi Farm.

On November 20th 2011, when Master Yang finished his first seminar in Mendoza, Argentina, he told us, “Tai Chi is like a thread that brings us together”. Beyond time and space, without borders, the experience of sharing our love for this martial art with friends from different countries of this South American continent is unique. At the São Paulo Seminar we had practitioners from Venezuela, Perú, Argentina, Uruguay, Panamá and Bolivia. For the first time ever we had the opportunity to have a seminar taught by Master Fang Hong! She was very welcomed by everyone and received a standing ovation when she finished her classes.

Brazil is a big country and it’s impossible to mention all the states that were present at the seminar: Rio Grande do Sul, Santa Catarina, Sergipe, Brasilia, Rio de Janeiro, Minas Gerais and many others. In Mendoza there were groups from Uruguay, Venezuela, Colombia and Brazil. Everybody was sharing the joy of being able to be together practicing what for many people is their life. Many lives here are dedicated to maintaining Yang Family Tai Chi Chuan as a living truth, flowing and growing as a great fabric sewn together by all the cultures and countries, connecting everyone by their hearts. The teachings of Master Yang Jun make this connection, and bring us closer together. It is not often that the world looks at these countries that form our South American continent.

One of our friends from Venezuela said one time, “We are orphans from this kind of knowledge”. There are so many obstacles that are put before us on our path: the language, politics, economy, and distance. But what we are finding out down here when we meet among Brazilians, Argentinians, Uruguayans, Peruvians, Venezuelans, Colombians, Bolivians and Panamanians, is that the love and the strength that moves us and that involves us can make us go beyond all territorial borders or any kind of borders that may hinder us, and change this condition completely. If we open our eyes to look around, and open our hearts to feel the care that all of our fellow practitioners share we know that we are all together. We know that Yang Family Tai Chi Chuan brings us together and makes us one great family. To have Master Yang come to Brazil and Argentina offering us seminars is a good example of that. To have center directors like Roque Severino, Angela Soci and Sergio Arione and many others that dedicate so much to bring us this knowledge, is a proof of that. Every one of us is dedicated to take Yang Family Tai Chi Chuan to every corner of this continent so that our conditions change for the better.

Tai Chi is something to share, to be given and not to be put aside. This is why we dedicate ourselves to this art. One of the Push Hands teachings says, “Forget yourself and follow the other”. At these meetings we have the opportunity to experience a little bit of that, and to be able to truly make ourselves brothers and sisters. Beyond political differences, economical, territorial, languages, cultures, habits, we are all one heart. And as Master Yang taught us, Tai Chi is the thread that brings us together. For ten years he has been teaching in Brazil and with this new appearance in Argentina we hope that we can expand even more and make our family a bigger one. We are not orphans anymore; we are not alone!

The definition of distill is – To extract the essential meaning or most important aspects of.

When I began my Tai Chi practice about 8 years ago I was thinking about how fascinated I was when I first saw it. I remembered thinking this looks like a lot I have to memorize and I wondered whether I was breathing properly and what direction should I be facing now?

My teacher Mark Lord (a student of Yang style practitioner Mr. Liu Hsi-Heng) started his class and I stood attentive determined to “learn” how to do this Tai Chi thing.

He was an amazing man to say the least. With a calming presence he had always started the class by reminding us that there were 5 principals that should be thought about throughout our daily practice. To this day they have served as a constant reminder of what is truly important in “learning” Tai Chi.

He was able to distill generations of wisdom into these simple principles that he felt were so very important to understanding the practice of Tai Chi.

The first was Relax. No tension. He used to say “Relax don’t collapse.” There is a difference in staying relaxed but still being aware of your body and collapsing and having no structure to speak of.

Second was to “Suspend the head top.” Mark often described it like a plumb line. I always imagined my body was like a marionette puppet. Suspended but hanging free. My head always in line with my spine, straight and centered.

Third was “Turn don’t twist.” This is probably one of the more challenging principals. I always imagine my body from the waist up to be between two panes of glass. So any direction I have to move, my upper body can’t “twist” but has to move within the glass frame. It is meant to keep the spine in alignment so the flow of “chi” can be maintained and there’s no tension in the body form twisting.

Fourth was “Separate the weight (clearly).” Often postures in the practice of Tai Chi require us to move and distribute weight in our legs. Sometimes evenly and sometimes one leg can carry all of our weight. Mark used to say one leg was heavy like a mountain and the other was as light as a feather. That distinction seemed “clear” enough to me.

The Fifth principal was the “Beautiful lady hand.” This was defined as a straight wrist.(Not bent or closed off to the flow of chi.) Not tense but straight, ready to receive, sensitive and full of flowing energy. Certain moves in the form break from this principle, but it is a steady reminder that we must allow for our body to stay in alignment with natural energy flow and not “close off” our chi.

I continue to use these guiding principals to maintain good habits and I’m reminded Tai Chi should be practiced with a sense of simplicity and strong “rooted” fundamentals. Enjoy your practice and I hope these basic principles help you in whatever form of Tai Chi you practice.

Above all, your movement should feel natural and always be mindful of your breathing. If you feel like your swimming in air chances are your doing something right.

The eight gates (bamen) are peng, lü, ji, an, cai, lie, zhou and kao. Dealing with them in theory and practice quickly brings up the following question:

Are they techniques to overcome an opponent, or are they general principles of movement?

These two views seem contradictory, but they can be blended to one, as the two sides of a coin. The eight gates are part of the thirteen basic movements (shisanshi) of Tai Chi Chuan. The Chinese word for basic movement shi has two main different meanings:

On the one hand, it has the meaning of (hand-) movement.
On the other hand, it has the meaning of strategic advantage, power or powerful position.

In merging these two meanings into one, the contradiction between principle of movement and technique can be resolved.

The eight gates as principles of movement

If one understands the eight gates as a principle of movement, they tell you, how to deal with an evolving attack of the other. One uses the eight gates to understand the situation and the opponent (dongjin). By gently intervene in the situation one starts to develop a change to ones own benefit, but at the same time keeps all options open. The key is therefore to explore with minimal intervention. In practice this can, e.g., look like this:

Peng: I take a little of the force of the other and try to determine if I can absorb the full force.

Lü: I lead the force of the other a little bit into the emptiness and try to feel, if the other goes further on with his force, or if he retreats.

Ji: I press the other a little bit and try to feel if he collapses under the pressure, or if he pushes back.

An: I push a little into the emptiness of the other to determine whether he will collapse or if he is trying to change.

Cai: I pluck the other a little: does he stiffen up, or does he yield?

Lie: I’m trying to pull the other into a spiral: does it work or does the other block it?

Zhou: I come with my elbow from the side against the attacking power of the other. Is he trying to hold against it, or does he try to get away?

Kao: I lean toward the others’ centre of gravity or line of force. Does he resists or is he surprised?

In all cases, the eight gates are used to understand the force of the other (intensity, overall direction of the force, components of the forces, etc.) by feeling (tingjin). When I succeed, I have gained a strategic advantage. I now know beforehand, what the other intends to do and I can adjust my actions accordingly.

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