Grounded

You know, the meaning of the word "grounded" has shifted so much in my lifetime.

I cringed at the word as a teen.
Felt proud of it during karate in my early 20s.
Played with the emotional aspects of it in my late 20s.
Was amazed by it during my 30s.

This word has re-made itself more times than William Shatner.

As a young taiji player, I pictured "grounded" as being strongly rooted in my stance. Unmovable. Solid. A tree. A tree with roots so big and juicy, pulling in nutrients from rich black soil. No way would anyone be able to push me over.

But I noticed something as my practice deepened. My movements were very solid and strong, but something was missing. When I practiced "Beautiful Maiden Weaves the Shuttles" (a.k.a. Four Corners) as I transitioned from one corner to the next, I felt a little clunky, uncoordinated, not so grounded.

It was then that I realized my definition of "groundedness" had blinders. My connection was only going down.

Magnetically rooted to the spot, my agility and lightness of foot was...no where.

Until it finally dawned on me.

What about grounding upward? What about the little string that holds you up?** The crown of the head, the bahui, connecting me magnetically to the sky?

This thought blew me away. Being aware of my connection (groundedness) toward the sky was an amazing awakening for me. Upward groundedness? Really??

This thought led me even further to believe that groundedness is full spectrum. Not just magnetically connected to the earth and the sky, but to everything around me. Again, the definition had changed!

It transformed me. I became grounded...in being. My taiji became a whole-body, connected, immersed-in-the-moment movement. Try saying that five times.

Not that I'm connected in this manner every time. My foundations (up, down and out!) shake at times. I'm not always completely connected. But that whole body feeling, connected and grounded in everything is an amazing, freeing feeling. So much richer than what I was practicing.

**Mine has never been a "little string". Puh-lease. Like that thing is going to hold me up. I picture more of a steel cable. ;)

Thoughtless observer

Last night in class we were working on observing. Just observing. Losing the thinking mind and just practicing being in the moment.

It's simple, but in a traditional, typical day, it's something most people (in the U.S.) don't do.

So we practiced standing: feet hip width apart, feeling the entire foot on the floor, with the most of the weight focused at the ball of the foot.

Knees are soft, slighty bent.

Pelvis is relaxed, and just tilted forward, without tensing the stomach or lower back muscles. Just enough so that the curve in the lower spine is lessened.

Shoulders are in their natural curved state.

The neck is relaxed.

The crown of the head is the highest point. (Place the thumb on one clavicle and the third finger on the other. Allow the index finger to reach up toward the chin. Does it touch the chin? If not, lower the chin so it does. Does the finger reach the divit between the chin and the lips or even highter? Raise the head slightly so the index finger gently touches the chin. This is a good guideline for making sure the crown of the head the highest point.)

Stand in this posture and just bring your attention to the palms of your hands. Don't think about them in your head. Don't imagine what they feel like, really FEEL them.

Do you feel a gentle pulse from blood flow? Do you feel air passing by the palms? Just observe what you feel, without evaluating, judging. Just feel.

Do you sense a fullness in the hands? Tingling? Heat? Coolness? Nothing?

Whatever you sense, or don't sense, is okay. You're just here to observe. What you sense is just...what you sense. There is no good, bad, right, wrong.

In class, as we move deeper into this kind of practice, we bring our attention to a bigger part of the body, moving up the arms, adding the torso, the legs, the feet, the head.

As we really sense the body, just observing the changes, the delicate movements, shifts in balance, pulsing, qi, we practice not only being present in the moment, we become aware of the subtle messages we get from our bodies, others bodies and from the environment around us.

The practice moves from the body to just outside. Being aware of the space just outside of our body, connecting into it. Deeper practice allows one to feel connected to everything in the room. Be aware of where things are, if they shift or change.

This is what internal arts masters are so in tune with. This is why, when you try to strike a master, they know your move before it even comes. And you're down on the ground wondering what happened.

People who have trained so deeply to be in tune to their environment aren't separate from it. This is why they respond so swiftly and accurately. There is no pause. There is no "re"action. There just is.

Happy practicing.