The Flowing Path

When we think of Wuji in Tai Chi, we often think of the beginning. An upright stance. A relaxed body. Our arms resting naturally at our sides. Nothing appears to be happening. If you’re not familiar with Tai Chi, this is the posture we assume just prior to beginning our form. Wuji (無極) is often described as “the state before differentiation,” meaning it is without polarity, without a particular direction or expression. Nothing has taken shape, and yet everything is possible.

I thought I would write more while I was in China. Before I left, I imagined quiet evenings in Wudang when I would sit down and put the day into words. But there was simply too much happening. Too much to see, too much to learn, too much to feel. I was living the experience rather than analyzing it. Now I’m home, and the reflection has begun. I’m happy to be here. Truly happy. I came home to a life I love, to people I love, to work that feels meaningful, to all the familiar c

I’ve asked myself an interesting question as I prepare to travel to China: Why go? Not why travel. I love experiencing new places and, like most people who wear many hats, I welcome a break from the day-to-day grind. I mean something more specific. Why travel halfway around the world to study something I can practice--and do practice-- at home? I can experience Tai Chi in Virginia. I can practice Qi Gong and meditate in my own backyard. I can study Chinese philosophy from the

Lately, I’ve been getting the same message from my tai chi practice: Stop trying so hard. Easier said than done! There are movements in my form that feel natural now. I don’t have to think much about them anymore. My body seems to know where it’s going, and one movement simply becomes the next. And then there are the others... The places where I still think too much. Where I anticipate what’s coming. Where I try to put my foot in exactly the right place, turn my waist at exac

Laozi, Tao Te Ching, Chapter 11 Thirty spokes share the hub of a wheel; it is the empty center that makes the wheel useful. Clay is shaped into a vessel; it is the empty space within that makes it useful. Doors and windows are cut into walls; it is the empty space that makes the room livable. Therefore, we work with what is, but we use what is not. In other words, the empty space, what appears to be “nothing” is often what makes everything else possible. ⸻ Music. Musi

In Honor of Richard... A few months ago, the owner of a local studio reached out. She explained that a Tai Chi teacher named Richard had become ill and had been unable to teach for several weeks. He had told her it was time for someone else to continue the class, and one of my clients had recommended me. I had heard of Richard before, though we had never met. We live in a fairly small town, and there are only a handful of people teaching authentic Tai Chi—not necessarily mas

From a distance, Queen Anne’s lace looks like a single white flower. Simple, maybe even ordinary. Easy to pass by. But come a little closer. What appears to be one flower is actually hundreds—sometimes nearly a thousand—tiny blossoms woven together. And resting at the center is something many people never notice at all—a single deep purple flower. Since the flower is rather unobtrusive from afar, most people walk right past it. Not because it’s hidden. Because they never loo

It doesn’t matter whether you’re teaching the class or walking in for the very first time—whether you’ve been practicing for three weeks or thirty years. In my class, we all begin our practice in exactly the same place: standing quietly, eyes closed, settling into our own breath. Then I say, “Together, let’s inhale… exhale.” There is something profoundly humbling about knowing that experience doesn’t exempt us from the beginning. No amount of skill allows us to bypass the fir

Some things become clearer not because we do more, but because we stop doing what prevents us from seeing. Have you ever tried to see your reflection in rippling water? A breeze passes over the surface. A fish jumps and breaks the stillness. A pebble lands with a splash. Suddenly the image disappears—not because your reflection is gone, but because the water is no longer still enough to reveal it. If you wait, the ripples fade. The surface settles. And before long, you’re eye

This week’s Tao on the Go invitation…stop and smell the roses! We’re all familiar with the expression, “Stop and smell the roses." It’s one of those sayings that has become so familiar we rarely take time to consider what it actually means. Recently, I found myself thinking about those words in a different way, and I want to break it down for you. The more I reflected on it, the more I realized the expression assumes two things. First, the phrase doesn’t tell us to go outside

“In the Taoist sense, diligence is about returning again and again to something with steady reverence.” —365 Days of Dao by Dae Lee Merriam-Webster defines diligence as the “earnest and persistent application of effort.” In other words, work harder, practice longer, push through difficulties. But in a Taoist context, diligence is much softer. It isn’t forceful persistence. It’s the willingness to return. Every time we practice a form, we’re not just repeating movements. We’re

If you’ve been attending my Tai Chi classes for a while, you’re probably familiar with our opening routine. We begin with some breath work and gentle movements to awaken the body, and then a few minutes of standing meditation known as Zhan Zhuang—often translated as standing like a tree. If you’ve practiced it, you already know that this involves standing with arms extended for several minutes, which frequently evokes a reaction from newer practitioners: “Why do we have to ho

I wasn’t looking for a lesson. I wasn’t reading an ancient text or practicing a form. I was simply drifting quietly across a peaceful lake on my paddle board at sunset. A short distance away, I noticed a crane. It had one foot in the lake and one planted on the sandy shore, its slender body nearly blending into the tall grasses surrounding it. It had caught a snake. For several minutes I watched, hardly believing what I was seeing. The crane would strike. The snake would t

For more than 30 years, I’ve been drawn to practices that quiet the mind, cultivate awareness, and nourish the soul. Whether through martial arts, yoga, time in nature, or the study of ancient philosophies, I’ve always felt the call to look inward. And the older I get, the more I find myself seeking not just knowledge, but a way of living in greater harmony with myself and the world around me. Tai Chi has become that path—part movement, part meditation, part mystery. This blo