Here’s the thing: Every movement in Tai Chi is part of a circle, either clockwise or anti-clockwise, and sometimes parts of the Tai Chi yin/yang diagram (like a figure eight infinity symbol), but they are always circular, even the moves that look linear on the surface. If it looks linear it’s because the circle has become so small as to be invisible (or at least that should be the reason).
I find that to really understand this you need to go through the whole form until you understand how each movement is circular, and how to generate that circle from your feet, legs and middle, not the arms. Of course, that’s easier said than done!
Go through each movement of the form and break down how it is composed of circles and learn how to generate them from the turn of the middle of the body, using the legs to help, and not from the shoulders.
Where the circle begins
The important thing is not to draw imaginary circles with your hands. That is just arm waving.
The real work is to feel where the circle begins. Does it start in the shoulder, or does it come up from the foot, through the leg, into the middle of the body, and only then express itself through the arm?
That is the difference between making a circular shape and moving in a circular way.
So, when you practice, pick one movement and ask yourself: where is the circle? Is it turning horizontally, vertically, diagonally, or through the body like a spiral? Can you make it bigger? Can you make it smaller? Can you still feel it when it becomes almost invisible?
Over time, this changes how the form feels. The postures stop being separate positions joined together by transitions. They become circles turning into circles, opening and closing, rising and sinking, appearing and disappearing.
And that, really, is Tai Chi: not a sequence of poses, but a body learning how to move without corners.
Behind the gesture is a code about power, respect, and control
I always finish my Tai Chi class, which takes place in the UK and is taught by me, a British person with no connection to Chinese culture outside of martial arts, with a small Chinese-style salute.
Often called the βsun and moonβ salute, itβs a traditional greeting in Chinese martial arts circles. It’s the same one you see Bruce Lee do to his student at the start of Enter the Dragon. But like most things in Chinese martial arts, it has both an obvious meaning and a hidden one. Of course, you donβt need to know the hidden meaning to use it.
In Chinese, the salute is called bΓ oquΓ‘n lΗ, which roughly translates as βfist-wrapping rite.β Your right hand forms a fist β the βsunβ β and your left hand presses flat against it β the βmoon.β You stand straight, feet together. Itβs accompanied by a short, respectful nod of the head rather than a deep formal bow, while maintaining eye contact.
Sometimes the fingers are folded instead. This seems to be a softer, less formal greeting (and itβs the one I usually use). This variation is often called gΕngshΗu lΗ (βcupped hands greetingβ) and is traditionally gendered β the closed fist is the right fist for men and the left fist for women.
Itβs worth noting that this is far from the only hand position used for greeting across Chinaβs long history, particularly within religious traditions.
Why do it?
The bΓ oquΓ‘n lΗ isnβt a tradition added to Chinese martial arts β itβs a remnant of a moral code that existed before they were formally named.
At a basic level, the fist represents martial skill or strength, while the palm represents civility, restraint, and wisdom. The palm covering the fist symbolizes martial power governed by virtue or, put simply: I can fight, but I choose respect and control.
When I do it at the end of class, itβs quick and almost reflexive, sometimes even a little embarrassed. I donβt expect my students to do it back. Itβs a brief gesture with a clear purpose: it marks the end of the session and acts as a quiet βthank youβ for the work theyβve just done.
When I do it to my kung fu teacher, it carries a different weight. My teacher (who is not Chinese) still greets his own teacher (who was Chinese) with this salute every time they meet, and that tradition was passed on to me. I still greet my teacher this way whenever I see him. Even though it isnβt part of my culture, the meaning is clear when I do it.
In that sense, I suppose Iβve passed on a βlightβ version of the tradition to my own students by using the salute at the end of class. Even if they donβt return it, itβs something they now recognize. The tradition has softened over time, we donβt use it to greet each other, and honestly, I think it would feel strange if we did.
Iβd describe my teacherβs period of training with his teacher as serious, and my own training as semi-serious by comparison. People in modern Tai Chi classes arenβt devoting their lives to this with the all-or-nothing commitment that might have been expected in 1860s China. For most people, itβs a hobby. A social activity. Ideally, people leave class feeling better than when they arrived, or at least like theyβve worked hard and learned something.
Hidden meanings
As with most things in a culture that has existed continuously for thousands of years, meanings tend to come in layers.
The sun and moon are obvious representations of yin and yang, shown here as equal forces held in harmony, suggesting balance rather than dominance.
Thereβs also a practical dimension. A level of formality in martial arts is useful. What weβre engaging in is potentially dangerous, and maintaining respectful ritual helps reinforce that fact.
(Incidentally, thatβs one reason I donβt mind bowing in Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu training too. We routinely put our training partners in potentially life-changing situations, and a moment of ritual respect is a good reminder that what weβre doing carries real consequences.)
One of my favorite hidden interpretations, though, comes from Chinese history, specifically the MingβQing dynasty transition.
The Ming were the last ethnically Han Chinese ruling dynasty. The Qing were Manchu invaders from the north, and they were deeply unpopular with large parts of the population. Resistance movements emerged almost immediately.
The bΓ oquΓ‘n lΗ salute was reportedly adopted by some of these movements as a covert signal of allegiance. The closed fist was said to represent the character for sun (ζ₯), while the open palm represented moon (ζ). Together, these two characters form ζ (MΓng), meaning βbrightβ or βto illuminate,β and also the name of the fallen dynasty.
Which means that, technically speaking, every time Iβve used this greeting, Iβve been quietly expressing support for the overthrow of the Qing dynasty.
But no, my Tai Chi class isnβt secretly plotting the restoration of a long-collapsed Chinese dynasty. But I do like the idea that a small, slightly awkward gesture at the end of a community hall class carries echoes of philosophy, rebellion, and restraint. Even if most of the time, itβs really just a polite way of saying: thanks for showing up β see you next week.
And why you shouldnβt train with weights when developing your qi
Mike Sigman has sent me an article to publish on this blog. I don’t normally publish other people’s work, or agree to their requests, but I’ll make an exception because it will hopefully generate some discussion. Regardless of how you feel about him, there’s is always a real depth to Mike’s writings and ideas that you can get a lot from, that you don’t really find anywhere else.
The article is primarily about one of the trickiest subjects in Chinese martial arts β qi (or chi).
I have a few thoughts about it:
1) The article starts by trying to “separate the skin-related qi, which includes the subconscious mindβs involvement, from the theoretical qi of traditional Chinese medicine”.
To some, particularly those people who relish Chinese history and the evolution of the concept of qi as it appears in Taoist thought, or medicine, that just won’t be acceptable, but I think this works for me. It moves the discussion into the realm of the physical and practical. It becomes a feeling and a doing thing.
2) It appears to be written partly as a reaction to a recent trend of mixing, or doing, Chinese martial arts conditioning through the medium of kettle bell or weights training. The question is, is that a waste of time if you want to get to the root of the subject, which is what the Chinese martial artists call qi?
Look, I don’t think there’s anything wrong with making yourself physically stronger at all. In fact, it’s obviously advantageous if you’re learning martial arts… But the article states that to master the internal movement, “the body must be completely retrained to learn to move with the qi, jin, and dantian”, and using weights will not help you in that respect. If you have retrained the body, then you could probably add them.
3) As I’ve said, nobody else really talks about this stuff, or if they do it’s watered down with a lot of other guff. If the article is correct on qi then what exactly are all the big names in modern tai chi seminar circuit and online courses out there actually teaching? Because they talk about qi a lot… but they don’t approach it in the same way as this article does, at least as far as I can see.
4) The article describes internal movement, quite simply and quite succinctly: “Ultimately, you develop a form of movement that uses the solidity of the ground as the focus of all forces to and from the body, while the qi covering of the body is manipulated by the lower-body and the middle to bring power to the arms and upper body.”
I find it hard to disagree with that definition, probably because it’s pretty broad. Sure, we can argue over what the “middle” is, or what the “lower-body” means,etc.. but as a succinct definition, it’s not half bad.
Now, let’s move on to how you do it…
The article talks about breathing exercises as a starting point: “Breathing techniques that stretch the surface of the skin and the involuntary muscle layers are the usual start of the progression.”
Now, I have personally trained in some of the methods that Mr Sigman uses (there’s a link to a video at the end of the article), and experienced what he’s talking about, and I’d agree that I can feel what he’s talking about. But I wouldn’t count myself as an expert in it, or knowledgeable about anything to do with it beyond the initial foot in the door stages, however, I have found that alone to be incredibly valuable and shone a light on some of the other things I was already doing. Even getting a foot in the door took a lot of work and a lot of time.
Anyway, I’ll leave you to read the article now and feel free to comment with your thoughts below.
Graham
Practical Development of Qi
And why you shouldnβt train with weights when developing your qi
by Mike Sigman, March 2025
Discussing qi is difficult because the definition of qi has become a birdβs nest of related topics. Letβs try to narrow the discussion and then describe an approach to practical development.
Most of the skills related to qi, in the physical body, have to do with an area near the skin of the body that is referred to as the βprotective qiβ or βwei qiβ. While the protective qi is often referred to as an βenergyβ, it is actually a physical set of tissues that is controlled via the autonomic nervous system β¦ but when you learn to control it via the subconscious mind, it does indeed feel sort of like an βenergyβ because it is apart from the topical sensations of the somatic nervous system, and the qi indeed feels odd, like an energy.
So, letβs separate the skin-related qi, which includes the subconscious mindβs involvement, from the theoretical qi of traditional Chinese medicine: thatβs where most of the confusion lies. The skin-related qi and the subconscious mind are the artifacts which give us heightened toughness of the skin, odd sensations of qi, added strength by supplemental our muscle-bone strength, and dantian control of the body as whole connected by skin-related qi, among other things. Jin forces, the manipulation of the solidity of the ground and/or downward forces of gravity, are also the product of the skin-related qi: jin is defined as βthe physical manifestation of qiβ in many Chinese sources.
The qi of traditional medicine theory is/was an effort to explain the workings of strength, including the strength of our involuntary systems. We donβt need to know all the theories about meridians, putative different types of qi, etc., in order to develop the qi. Breathing exercises and focused physical and mental exercises are more important than complex qi-paradigm explanations.
The skin-areaΒ wei qiΒ is initially controlled by respiration and βbreathing exercisesβ are our initial approach to control and development of the qi tissues. During inspiration, if we are slightly extended or stretched out, we can feel a slight inward pulling of the tissues of the fingers and hand. Other areas of the body, upon being slightly stretched taut, can also be felt during the inhale, but many tissues in other areas of the body canβt be felt. They must be developed over time by breathing exercises before we can feel them respond to our breathing and before we can develop them further.
Some Chinese texts mention the fact that this superficial qi is something that animals still use (think of a horse quivering its flanks, for example), but which has atrophied in humans over the course of evolution. In order to regain our qi, we must use deliberate exercises of breathing, mental imagery, and posture manipulation.
Training the Qi in General Movement
Jin force-manipulation is a product of the qi tissues applying stressors within the bodyβs frame. Thatβs why jin is defined as βthe physical manifestation of the qiβ, among other things. We use jin unconsciously in our everyday movements, so another common definition of jin is as an βintrinsic strengthβ. The full-blown traditional movement methodology that permeates the Chinese (and related) martial arts involves both qi and qiβs subset, jin. Qi and jin. Jin forces are the mind-directed forces from the ground and gravity; qi can be thought of, in a simplified sense, as a superficial muscular layer that connects the whole body.
The basic idea of movement with qi and jin is that the power from the ground and lower body is used as the power source for the upper body. The qi and the jin work from the lower body (including the middle/dantian), so what we have with βinternalβ movement is a system where the arms and hands are controlled and powered by the lower body and the middle.
The general admonition is that muscle and power are used in the lower body, as needed, while the upper body is moved without the use of local muscle. I.e., a person has to learn to control his/her upper body via manipulation of the lower body and the middle. The person who thinks the internal arts would be best supplemented with typical weight workouts at the gym has lost the plot and is giving away a total lack of understanding about how the βinternalβ martial arts work.
Developing the Qi
Jin skills are actually fairly easy to learn, although it generally takes a few knowledgeable pointers and some personal, hands-on demonstrations to get someone started. There are a number of written attempts at jin explanations on the internet, particularly through the 6H forum.
Qi is difficult to develop because it takes time and the feelings we need to focus our attention are tenuous at first. Breathing techniques that stretch the surface of the skin and the involuntary muscle layers are the usual start of the progression. Many traditional Chinese martial arts talk about β100 Daysβ of breathing exercises to develop the qi to a usable status.
Movement of the involves directing all forces upward from the solidity of the ground (so you must βsink your qiβ) or use the weight of the body as a basis for downward movement.
Ultimately, you develop a form of movement that uses the solidity of the ground as the focus of all forces to and from the body, while the qi covering of the body is manipulated by the lower-body and the middle to bring power to the arms and upper body.
All Asian martial arts that are labelled as βinternalβ martial arts, formal calligraphy, qigongs, traditional dance, etc., use this combination of qi and jin for movements. Learning the external choreography and appearance of a martial art, a qigong, etc., no matter how much it resembles the movements of an expert, will not be correct until the system of movement is changed over to the qi, jin, and dantian type of movement.
Almost all of the movements we so often see in western semblances of βTai Chiβ, Aikido, Xingyiquan, Baguazhang, etc., are based from normal movement parameters, rather than qi and jin mechanics and it will take effort to re-learn these arts with the correct movement basis. There is an old saying to that effect: βTaijiquan is easy to learn, but difficult to correctβ. So, if your goal is to learn Taijiquan, Aikido, or related arts, remember that all the talk about βrelaxationβ, βdonβt use weightsβ, etc., is because the body must be completely retrained to learn to move with the qi, jin, and dantian.
Here’s a video of Chen Zhaosen, with translation by John Prince, teaching basic movement drills for the Chen-style Taijiquan. Notice his comment about no strength in the upper body, but whatever strength you need in the lower body. https://vimeo.com/141009942
Yang Cheng-Fu demonstrating a tai chi form, emphasizing the importance of daily practice for mastery.
One question that nobody I teach tai chi to ever asks me, but I think they should, is βhow much do I need to practice between classes?β Perhaps they donβt want to hear the answer!
The quick answer is: every day. If youβre serious about getting better at something you need to do it every day. I donβt mean just tai chi, itβs the same with anything you want to do in life. Want to learn to play the piano? Practice every day. Want to learn to speak Spanish? Practice every day.
Hereβs what I observe about myself when I practice the tai chi form everyday: you go much deeper into your practice, because youβre not taking one step forward one step backwards anymore. Youβre only going forward. Your tai chi form gets much, much sharper if you do it every day and you are able to get deeper into your practice. If you take a day off, it takes you a day to get back to where you were last time. There are things you notice about the movement, or about the way you do a movement that you only get the mental space to notice in your practice if it happens every day.
Iβm not saying that if you miss one day everything will fall apart, but just try it β, make a conscious choice to practice the form every day for a week and see how it opens up your practice.
How long to practice
The next question is how much should you practice in a session?
The answer to this I like the best is, βdo the form a minimum of 3 timesβ. Once because the first run through is always terrible. Second to work on something specific, and third to finish off just enjoying it and not working too hard.
If you have more time available you can do the form more times in the middle part of your practice to work on specific aspects. Or you could break out individual moves and work on them over and over. Some people really like this β Iβm not such a fan because I donβt think any move in tai chi is especially better than any other, but thatβs just me. Xing yi has a different approach because it emphasises the five βfistsβ, but thatβs a different martial art.
Wu Jianquan practicing tai chi, demonstrating a deep stance and focused movement.
Why the same form?
You might wonder if there is value in repeating the same form each day – I mean, why not do a different one each day, or freeform something? I think the answer is that you get something unique out of doing the same form each day that makes it worth it.
The idea of repeating a familiar sequence may not initially appear to be in keeping with ideas of spontaneity, but I think when you go deeper into a form, it can still feel spontaneous. Not to mention that once you go deeper into it and start living it from the inside you realise that a form is just a series of expressions (energy changes) and you can do those in multiple ways, so it is never the same form.
As Heraclitus famously said, or was reported to have said, βYou cannot step into the same river twiceβ. However, I think you need to be very familiar with the river in question (the form) to appreciate that.
This video of a lady doing Tai Chi on a balance board popped up in my Instagram feed today and I’ve got to say – not bad at all! Her balance looks fantastic. Obviously, she’s also super flexible ( she looks like she’s adept at modern gymnastic ‘wushu’, not just tai chi, to me), but that has nothing to do with how well she’s balancing.
This balance board device looks like great fun to play with! I’ll have to find one. I like doing things like that that test my balance. My local park has a play area with a strange circular rotating… er… thing?… in it. When my kids were little I used to take them to the park to play on it, and I used to try and do tai chi on it while they jumped on it at the same time:
That thing is very hard to balance on, let alone walk around on while it’s moving. It goes surprisingly fast at times.
I was taught specific body-lightness training as part of my tai chi training, and it really helps with things like this. My teacher’s notes described it as giving you ‘better than normal balance’ and when I read that I thought it was a bit of an exaggeration, but once I got to that part of the training, I realised that this was a perfectly good description of what it gives you. The training involves a chi kung exercise (internal training) as well as doing the form with weights on your ankles (external training) then combing the two. It’s the sort of thing you have to concentrate on to have: Like a switch you can turn it on and off.
Better balance is one of the things I find that people come to tai chi for. The good news is that I think the whole process of learning the form gives you significantly better balance. The specific body-lightness I’m talking about is part of the whole training process and takes time to get to, as well as time to practice before you ‘get it’. Sadly, it’s not something I can just impart to people, because I would if I could. It’s damn useful.
Simon Thakur is the founder of Ancestral Movement, “An ecological approach to movement and mind-body practice, exploring ancient ancestral patterns of movement and awareness built into our bodies, rediscovering the power, grace and ease of natural movement and our bodiesβ innate connection to the rest of the living world.”
In this episode we talk about many subjects including Yoga, Chinese Martial Arts, Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu, Tai Chi, Shamanism and more!
Hello! Happy Year of the Snake, dear reader. On an occasion such as this is would normally be customary for a tai chi blog like mine to do a little post about the influence of the snake on tai chi, kung fu and Chinese culture in general.
Snake is, after all, one of the five main Shaolin kung fu animals, one of the 12 main xing yi animals and frequently appears as a menu item in Chinese restaurants, er no, sorry, I mean, appeared in Kung Fu Panda!
But, no! I’m not going to do that; partly because it’s such an obvious thing to do that I’ve done it before, and I hate being predictable, or at least repeating being predictable, but also because I’ve just recorded an excellent conversation for my next podcast with Australian national treasure and sometimes-Chinese-martial-arts-practitioner, Simon Thakur of Ancestral movement about finding your inner, ancestral animal, including, of course, the snake, and I just need to find the time to get on with editing it so I can get it out to you lovely people.
I think that what Simon says about our human connection to snake-style movement is probably more valuable than whatever I’ve got to say on the subject of our slithering cousin. So, I’ll leave the snake talk until the podcast comes out!
Simon Thakur, trying to locate his inner snake while doing an impromptu bit of Fox Trot in The Bush.
In the meantime, while you wait for that podcast to properly percolate (all the best things take time) I’ll leave you with a thought. “Tai Chi is more than the techniques, it’s the jins that make it interesting”.
If you listened to my last podcast with the esteemed Alan Wycherley of ‘In Defence of the Traditional Arts’, you might be forgiven for thinking that I’m all about training tai chi techniques. Now, while I’ve no objection to practicing a Repulse Monkey or a Part Wild Horse’s Mane (or two), or even a Snake Creeps Down, I definitely agree with the statement that tai chi is more than the moves. In fact, I think we can probably agree that tai chi applications aren’t that great as martial techniques. There are (shock!) other martial arts that have more effective techniques. Hello, Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu, I’m looking at you. Hello, Choy Li Fut. Hello, Western Boxing. Hello, Muay Thai, stop hiding at the back! Yes, all these martial arts have techniques that I would probably put ahead of anything found in a tai chi form, regardless of style. They’re practical and effective. And yet, I practice tai chi. So, why is that?
What tai chi has, and emphasises over techniques, are the eight energies – the jins: Peng, lu, ji, an, etc.. What you are doing when you practice a tai chi form is emphasising energy changes using these eight over technique. Flowing from one to the other a bit like a river flowing along smoothly. Sometimes there are fast bits, sometimes there are slow bits, sometime the river turns one way or another, but its energy flow keeps going.
When I practice other martial arts, my emphasis is more on technique. When I practice tai chi I can relax and get more inside the movement and concentrate on the energy flow.
And of course, in tai chi push hands you get to interact your energy flow with the energy flow of another person in a live situation, and that’s extremely valuable for developing martial ability. Techniques are another thing.
Now, if the analogy of a river doesn’t work for you then think of something else… perhaps, a snake? Snakes can flow along smoothly, they can change direction sharply and they can be incredibly powerful or incredibly quick, as well as slow and suffocating. They’re a great example of energy changes.
Homework
In preparation for my next podcast allow me to recommend a documentary by professional paleontologist and evolutionary biologist Neil Shubin called Your Inner Fish. (He’s written a book of the same name, if you prefer to read about him). Snakes come out to play in episode two. Here you go:
My latest podcast with Alan Wychereley, who was as student of the late UK tai chi legend Dan Docherty inspired my listener/reader Steffan Stringer to track down Dan’s autobiography “Wild Colonial Boy” (I have to admit, I’d heard of this book before, but never read it, and in my mind it was always called “Wild Caledonia Boy”, which, I think, given the Scottish-centric design of the cover would have been a far better title!)
“In 1975, Dan Docherty, aΒ young Scots law graduate and karate black belt, left Glasgow to spend nine years as a Hong Kong police inspector.
As well as serving as a detective and vice squad commander, he also took up Tai Chi and won the 5th Southeast Asian Chinese Full Contact Championships in Malaysia in 1980.
In 1985, he was awarded a postgraduate diploma in Chinese from Ealing College.
He travels extensively teaching Tai Chi and has written four books on the subject.”
When I started Tai Chi in the early 90s everybody had heard of Dan Docherty, and he was something of a big name, not only because of his competition success, but also because of his reputation for unmasking frauds. I remember him gaining a lot of notoriety for pouring a bottle of water over the head of an ethnically Chinese Qigong teacher who was doing seminars on Ling Kong Jin or “Empty force”. Dan’s reasoning was that if he could move people without touching them then he should be able to deflect the bottle without the need for physical contact. It didn’t work. He was also famous for “getting into it” with one of the Yang family representatives in the UK, who ended up leaving the UK after their encounter.
Sadly Dan Docherty died of complications from Parkinson’s disease in 2021. I never met Dan in real life, but his impact on the UK tai chi community continues to be felt long after his death. That’s probably the best legacy a tai chi teacher could hope for.
I often wonder what most people’s biggest fear is in Tai Chi. Or what it is that stops them trying it out? Is it looking silly? Is it the fear of other people in the class looking at you as you struggle to get the movements? That you won’t fit into the group?
Believe me, everybody feels the same. You do need some willingness to be open to new experiences if you’re going to try a Tai Chi class for the first time, but just say to yourself, what’s the worse that could happen?
You can learn Tai Chi online these days, but nobody I’ve met in real life who learned online had much of a real practice, as far as I could see anyway.
To learn Tai Chi you need somebody to point out everything you’re doing wrong, because on your own, you won’t see it. Even if you know that your knees aren’t supposed to bend inwards, and are supposed to be in line with your toes, you’ll let your knees collapse in without realising your doing it.
Often those ‘light bulb’ moments in Tai Chi occur when somebody points out what you’re doing wrong without even realising you’re doing it, and for that you need a teacher.
If you’re thinking about starting Tai Chi classes in the new year then dig deep and give it a go. You won’t be the only one who is a bit nervous, and once you realise that everybody else is just as worried as you are you can relax a bit and enjoy it. Believe me, your teacher will simply be pleased to see you. What have you got to lose?
Doing both BJJ and Tai Chi I love seeing moves from one art crop up in the other. Imagine my surprise when I happened across this BJJ seminar clip where the coach seems to be cycling unawares through a variety of Tai Chi moves.
At one point he says that one of the moves looks like “some karate bullshit that looks silly but works”, which is funny because you could describe Tai Chi like that as well π
If you do Tai Chi or Bagua or pretty much any long fist style Chinese martial art, or probably Aikido, you’ll recognise these moves. I’ll give them Tai Chi names:
Breakdown
It starts with a grip break, that is similar to Hidden Hand Punch from Chen style (0.00- 4.00) The first technique from here is like Needle at Sea Bottom (4.17- 6.15) The second is like Diagonal Flying (6.15 – 9.20)
After that it becomes more traditional wrestling/judo takedowns, but it was nice to see some Tai Chi appearing fora minute there.
While the rest of the video is much more of the usual jiu-jitsu fair, the initial positions have a strong similarity to Tai Chi moves, and could definitely help Tai Chi practitioners become more aware to the martial potential of Needle at Sea Bottom and Diagonal Flying.
The Tai Chi Notebook 