The Flowing Path

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

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

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

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