Standing.

I’ve been training in an esoteric Tai Chi style since last April. Most of the practice is a personal practice, but recently our teacher, who lives far up in Canada from my perspective, came through the Pacific Northwest. While she was in my neck of the woods, I trained with her and a group of my fellow students over the course of six days.

While what she teaches is, on the surface, a physical practice, I find the system holds great value for me as a set of tools for a deeper understanding of self. Within the system my teacher shares, we train together to “increase awareness, expand consciousness, and rest into presence.” (<— I think those are the right words, someone tell me if I’m wrong :))

The method we use in her classes to practice awareness, consciousness, and presence is deceivingly simple: We stand in our bodies and allow resting into center. From there, everything arises.

The problem is, standing and resting into center is soooo very NOT easy to do. Even now, after practicing this “Wuji Standing” regularly since April (which, of course, amounts to a split second in Taiji time) my standing practice goes like this:

I begin standing.

“Okay, here goes, settle into standing. Ahh. That feels nice. Oh, energy down, right, 60% down, 40% up. Oh! My lower dantian, right, I’m supposed to start from there, I’d better start all over again…NO! I’ll go from where I am, that’s what I’m supposed to do. Ahhhh, dropping into the earth earth earth. Good. Oh shit, I’m clenching with the outside edge of my left foot again. Allow that to release. Ahhh. Aaaaand there. The tailbone gets to slide toward the earth, I just learned that one, it feels so good, I remembered when I learned how to allow that tailbone to drop by augmenting the opening with my hands it was one of the best sensations my body has ever felt. Like I’d opened the door to a new room in my house. Maybe that’s what that recurring dream is about! The one where I find a new room I never knew about? The other night I had one where my basement ceiling extended 20 feet higher than I realized. So much space. New possibilities in life, new potential. I should write that down… No! I’m standing right now. My upper back hurts. I bet I need to lean forward just a tad, I’ll try that. No, I won’t “try” it, I’ll “allow” it.  And when that happens, head “is invited” back a tiny bit. Thhhhere. Ah. OH! Listen behind, ok, listening. Be aware of back energy. Yes. Ok, now I’m ready to start.”

That’s the first two minutes or so. Two, monkey-minded minutes of what is, in essence, a standing meditation. Then I stand more.

There are worlds within ourselves to discover during standing. For example, very early in my practice with this teacher, seven or eight years ago, I stood in front of her and she observed my posture:

“You’re holding your sternum up. Why are you doing that?” she asked gently and honestly.

I felt for the first time that I was, indeed, always holding my sternum up high. Sticking my chest out. I felt how that posture held residue from when I was the drum major of my high school marching band. How that posture was me feeling “important, in charge, strong, proud.” I let it relax.

“That’s me being ‘proud’ and ‘important,'” I told her. And as I said that, for some reason, tears began streaming down my face. I had emotions tied to that sense of pride and  importance.

I remember, I held a little shame when I told her that. I was embarrassed that I had been putting on that posture, and embarrassed that she could see it. I felt that something I was trying to hide, something I didn’t even know I was trying to hide, was obvious. For some reason, I expected her to tell me I was weird for thinking my posture had anything to do with my feelings. Or to tell me why those feelings were a problem.But she just held me in her eyes and nodded.

“So then the question,” she said, “is who are you when you’re not having to be that ‘proud,’ ‘important’ person?”

“I don’t know,” I replied. More crying.

She nodded again. The not-knowing was OK.

To me, the unexpected compassion and lack of judgement she offered in that vulnerable moment was an enormous gift. It was one of the touchstone moments that led me back to training with her all these years later.

So lately, as I practice standing on my own, I have the option to feel what is happening in my body, and I can begin to understand why it’s happening. Where am I holding tension? What are the patterns my body has been gripping onto without me realizing them?

Perhaps the gripping in my left foot is residue from years in tiger stance in my old hard style. That foot turn translates to me trying to “protect” myself.

The arch in my back is, perhaps, residue of my trying to get the attention of the boys in eighth grade. It’s me trying to be “sexy.”

The knit brow is me “concentrating” in a very serious way. Work must be HARD!!!!

My slightly clenched jaw is me trying to grasp onto and control things.

My leaning forward is passion, fire, anger, aggression, excitement.

The days I lean back I feel fear, shame, overwhelm, hollowness.

The purpose of standing practice is not to get rid of all of these things; they make up pieces of who I am. The practice is to become aware of them. To let them come out of the shadows of being unconscious habits and into the light of being understood patterns. Once these patterns of tension– be they physical, mental, emotional, or spiritual tension– come into the light of consciousness, I can notice them. I can accept them, and in turn, accept pieces of myself that had been invisible to me.

From there I can have influence over the patterns, and feel whether it is of value to “put them on” or not. From that consciousness and influence, a greater sense of being in the present moment– a present moment without unconsciously defaulting to pattern– arises.

***

I find many unconscious patterns in my body every time I stand, but sticking my chest out to be ‘proud’ or ‘important’  is no longer one of my main defaults. (At least I don’t think so :)) To revisit the question posed to me years ago, “Who am I when I’m not being ‘proud’ or ‘important’?”

The answer is still that I don’t know.

But as I continue my practice, as I allow more patterns to arise and resolve, I get a feeling of who (or what) is underneath all of those patterns and defaults. The feeling is a sense of self underneath the self, of empty nothingness that is full of everything, of an entirely inclusive but completely detached form of love. The closest word I have to describe that feeling is “home.”

 

 

 

*(To explain the illustration, when I got back from my Taiji workshop, I sat in a bar while waiting for a friend and started to write about the workshop experience. The song “Road to Nowhere” by Talking Heads came on. I thought, “What a perfect song to express a practice where you stand in one place without trying to get anywhere. Or maybe we are actually practicing in order to get ‘nowhere.'” Either way, it’s catchy and quite danceable, and I think David Byrne is probably a genius.)