Greed

Who isn't greedy for something? We all recognise the greed that gets us into a shopping centre, a new car, a bigger house - and the most obvious, that which expands our waistlines. But there is a more subtle form of greed: greed for knowledge. We can stuff ourselves with facts just as much as we can stuff ourselves with food. And like that drug that prevents fat from being digested which necessitates a form of nappy being worn to deal with the inevitable leakage, so we can overstuff ourselves with facts and skills without absorbing their meaning or taking them into our every day life. Bits of knowledge leak out undigested, without sticking to our gut.

Someone has read about T’ai-Chi, seen it on the telly or a friend has spoken glowingly about its effects. They sign up for a course. They don’t know what to expect when they roll up to their first class. This person has never met anything like this stuff before, it is mind-blowing. During the first few classes there is so much to take in. Being an average Jane or Jim, (who aren't really average as when we get to know someone there is no such thing as average), he or she has learnt that to achieve in life we have to strive, to push, to be out there, to compete, and get as much as possible out of whatever is on offer. Wow, this is great stuff! Then: things change, as they often do in life. By the third or fourth or fifth class this stuff is far too slow. Why can't the teacher just get on with it? Why can't we do more?

Of course in the same class there are those Winnies and Walters who are struggling to keep up, who feel that the work is being presented far too quickly, why can't we do less in each session? Why do I have to practice? There is a feeling that they are not getting it, or at least not getting it right, whatever 'it' is. Is there a way of learning this without me having to remember anything? It feels 'nice' when we work together, but really, it is too much having to think too.

Both are tied up in some sort of greed. One is the greed for more facts without reflection, a Teflon approach, the other is a greed for experience without responsibility. The teacher too wishes to see the students progress, to have realisations and understandings about the physical philosophy offered. Their own desire can often be a barrier to transmitting the work clearly, with ease and humour. Their own greed to wish to see a group of students ‘doing well’ can prevent the heart of T’ai-Chi being explored and digested.

So how to cut through that lot - all the different belief systems, ages, levels of education, physical ability and expectations brought by the rainbow variations of people coming to the average T'ai-chi class. Being able to hold this disparate group together is like a juggler attempting to keep at least six balls in the air.

T'ai-Chi offers wonderful solutions to the different desires we all have. One student wants to learn more, demands to learn more, because that is what one does in an educational situation. Another begs to not have anything new that week. Several are ambivalent about it all and are rather drifting along - and may not be there the following week. To offer something of value to all the different expectations each student projects onto the teacher means that he or she has to delve deeply into the heart of T'ai-Chi - the process, posture, breathing and the calm, steady mind. By putting into practice the pith of T’ai-Chi the teacher can prevent him or herself from getting caught up in all those fears and expectations. If the teacher understands in his or her heart that T'ai-Chi is a process not a goal, a journey, not an arrival, then it becomes easier to balance all the differing types of greed being displayed by everyone including the teacher’s own desires.

T’ai-chi is the art of life. The form is a model of existence which starts simply, in the middle comes lots of twiddly bits and ends in great simplicity. We start life as an embryo, a helpless baby: simplicity. As we grow up all the twiddly middle bits take over: school, university, career, relationships, children, retirement, hobbies, big financial decisions, travel, etc. etc. Growing older we reach another great simplicity: death. In practising T'ai-Chi we are modelling how to give birth to the new - or change, each and every moment of our lives, and how to die, to mve on, or let go. T'ai-Chi is about meeting change with ease and grace, to let go and unburden, to free ourselves of all the clutter we carry mentally and physically and to learn to live fully.

And there is another often unacknowledged greed: for spiritual enlightenment. We want to be better people. We want to be good. In striving for that goodness we miss a lot. We can so easily miss the essence. Basically T'ai-Chi is teaching us how to breathe, how to stand up in the body we live this short life in with ease, how to flow through the joys and difficulties we meet on the way, how to be present each moment, smell the air, listen to a friend, see the trees and snow and sun. To prepare to simply let go into the great mystery of death, as we allow ourselves to experience the great mystery of birth.

We may think we are teaching a physical exercise form. We may believe we are learning a mysterious martial art. Ultimately we are learning how to flow each and every moment of our lives.

When boredom sets in, when patience deserts us or the budding practitioner, go directly back to the breath, the relaxed posture, the calm clear fearless mind. These moments of impatience and boredom are great opportunities to practice T’ai-Chi. That is when we absorb the essence of the art and it teaches us how we can weave the techniques into our being so they are there for us each moment of our lives and not existing solely for that hour and half each week in the classroom. Those moments of frustration can become our teacher, enabling each of to see where we are impatient and uncomfortable with the thoughts and tensions we carry within. It is the process, the journey that counts. Not the getting there. There is nowhere to go in T’ai-Chi. Except to the centre of our hearts. To that generous, vulnerable soft spot.

I breathe, I relax, I loosen up. Instead of having the rug pulled from beneath my feet, I learn to dance on a moving carpet. We open up our hearts as we loosen up. That is T’ai-Chi.