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

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

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

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