#tai chi push hands

[amongdragons]

How to Find a Martial Arts Teacher? Anti-scam Non-exhaustive Guide

I lacked the enthusiasm for full-scale opus; however, I would like to list several criteria regarding the choice of MA teacher. There are subtle signs that should alert you before you waste your money, time and health.

[tonytsai]

CTCL - Os testes de energia ( Qi ou Chi) com vários participantes durantes 61° ENCONTRO TAOÍSTA.

31/08/2024: Durante o encontro foram feitos vários teste de energia com os participantes para perceberem as diferença entre força física e energia integrada dinâmica através da prática de Tai Chi. Para maiores informações sobre tratamentos favor acesse:https://centrotaoista.com.br/acupuntura/ O CTCL desde 1998 com sede própria! Rua Senador Felício dos Santos, 410 – Liberdade – São…

[taijiandqigong]

Dealing with Life's Problems and Tai Chi

or Retraining the Sympathetic Nervous System “Often, when we encounter challenges or tough situations, our initial reaction is to respond with worry or negative thoughts. This internal turmoil can make it seem like we’re addressing the issue, but in reality, it hinders our ability to effectively manage the situation, leading to frequent setbacks.The key to overcoming obstacles lies in first…

[ilonabito]

Do This: Holding the Tree, solo and with a partner. 

Thank you for reading. If you would like to receive my monthly newsletter with class updates and information please e-mail taproottaichi@gmail.com.

“Standing alone and unchanging, one can observe every mystery.Present at every moment and ceaselessly continuing, this is the gateway to indescribable marvels.“ –TAO TEH CHING Solo tai chi practice is standing meditation. In Holding, or Embracing, the Tree, stand in the “wu chi,” position-  translating literally to “without separation,” referring to the moment before distinction, a meditative…

[ganzl]

Pushing Hands Applied to Combat!

The Five Armies of Tai Chi Chuan! I say Tai Chi Chuan, but these five armies. are usable in every martial art. The five armies are: the wrists the elbows the shoulders the waist the feet It’s pretty simple, actually. If you understand a little push hands it will really make sense, but even if you don’t, there is a logic here that can’t be denied. If somebody grabs your wrist simply roll it. This…

[johnwickb1tsch]

Sympathy for the Devil ~ Part 18

A Donaka Mark x housekeeper!Reader fic, based on @discoscoob 's concept & bot! An unlikely flirtation turns into a dark obsession... Warnings: Donaka Mark is a bad man with a soft spot for you. dark romance, possessive behavior, nonconsensual voyeurism, red flag red flag girl!🔺, psychological games, power imbalance, eventual dubcon/nsfw/involuntary captivity. all chapters

Eighteen. 十八

Maybe because Donaka watches you streaming how-to videos over the limited access iPad he gives you, a yoga teacher starts coming every other day to the house for an hour session.  

You cannot help but think the gesture is self-serving, keeping you limber for his own gratification, but it gives you something to do while he’s gone. 

It also helps calm you, in the moments when you are sorely tempted to break every expensive antique ceramic he has in the house, starting with the extremely rare pale green Ru Ware vases.

He’s kept his word, not letting you outside the compound since your little escape attempt. On top of the cameras, you feel his security team watching you at all times when he’s out–from a distance, but it’s still unnerving. You’re doing your best to be the goodest of girls–but it’s driving you crazy inside.

You’ve tried to write, but the words do not come easily anymore. Partly because you know he would read them later, and partly?

You feel too overwhelmed to even begin to make sense of this in the shape of words. 

You read instead, spending a great deal of your time in the library. You sprawl in the comfy chairs, but your favored pose is laying on your belly with a book on the floor like you did when you were a child. Partly because it’s comfortable and partly, it gives you the ridiculous psychological illusion of hiding. You are laying like this behind the table when you hear the door open, and recognize just by the confident footfalls who has entered your little sanctum. 

You cannot keep your heart from pounding double-time–depending on his mood, it could be good to see him back from work this early, or very bad.  

“Are my chairs not satisfactory?” he asks, the corner of his mouth pulled just slightly. “Do you require a pillow fort?”

You roll onto your side to look up at him, shrugging. “You’re home early.” It wasn’t even lunchtime yet. 

“I thought you might like to try out my new toy with me.” 

Your initial reaction to this statement is dread. 

The look on your face must tickle his funny bone. He throws back his head and laughs like a real Bond villain. “Not that kind of toy, y/n. Get up.”

You push to your feet, gingerly closing the book you’d been reading. He tilts his head to peruse the cover. “Tai Chi Theory? Forgot I even had that one.”

“It’s kind of interesting,” you play off, reluctant to tip your hand. In fact, you find it very interesting, especially after watching that young man Tiger Chen. You wonder how long you’d have to study, before you could get to pushing hands, the martial side of Tai Chi. 

You feel the weight of his gaze on you, and as usual, suspect you’re not fooling him one bit. He looks you up and down; you’re still in yoga pants and a tank top. “Go put on one of your new dresses,” he tells you. “Casual is fine.” 

His idea of casual and yours differ by vast degrees. 

This is when it sinks in for you: he is taking you out of the house? He watches your face light up like a lightbulb, and his smile widens slightly. “Tik tok, bunny,” he tells you, glancing at the Rolex upon his wrist. 

With a final glance at him you set your book on the table for later, and rocket out of the room. 

A large section of Donaka’s closet has been filled with clothes–for you. Nothing you had any hand in picking out, of course, although you hate to admit…more of them hit the mark than don’t. In your rush you settle on a sleeveless floral Carolina Herrera shirt dress with an A line skirt, and semi-sensible platform wedge sandals by Dior. It’s something you would almost select on your own–minus the three grand price tag.

Jesus H Christ on a cracker. 

Nervous, because you have no idea what he has in mind, you find yourself fidgeting in the closet mirror with a deer-in-the-headlights look. This does not improve for you, when you see him filling the doorway, his arms up on the jambs.   

“I knew that would look nice on you.”

His approval should not make you feel all warm inside, but…oh. His dark eyes in the mirror could start a fire, and you take a shaking breath. 

“Is this ok?” you ask, turning, smoothing your skirt. 

“Perfect.” 

This is when you really notice that he is wearing a khaki colored suit, with a white oxford button down, and it’s such a change from his usual grays and blacks that it almost makes your head spin. It makes him seem…less sinister, somehow, and so dapper your chest aches. 

“Where are we going?” you ask, sidling closer. 

“Nowhere, if you keep looking at me like that,” he answers with a half smile and that smoldering look that makes you weak in the knees. 

The devil shouldn’t be allowed to wear white. It’s entirely too becoming. It makes you forget too much. 

Feeling bold, maybe even a little giddy with the thought of going out, you wrap your arms around his lean torso under his jacket, tilting your head towards his. When his lips touch yours gently it feels like spring rain, like parts of you that were near death inside perk up and sigh, and you know you shouldn’t let yourself feel this way…but it’s too late. Too late by half. 

“Come on, y/n,” he says, taking your hand and tugging you to follow him.

***

You do not really know what you’re looking at, at first, when he leads you out to the circle driveway.

It’s a sports car, of course, its perfect porcelain white paint gleaming like a pearl in the sun, with brushed aluminum trim and crimson accents in the wheels. You can see hints of red leather interior peeking through the tinted windows. 

“Well?” he asks impatiently when you are quiet for too long.

“It’s gorgeous,” you admit, meaning it too.

He grins down at you in a moment of what you believe is pure, unadulterated happiness. “That’s worth 2 million dollars, I suppose.”

You almost trip, and might have bit it if he wasn’t already holding on to you. “What?”

The ‘Just kidding’ does not come. He opens the passenger side door for you with a gallant little wave. “My lady.”

You, however, pause at the door. “Donaka, I’m afraid to even touch this thing.” He was ready to spank you over just tearing a button off a shirt.

He leans on the door, smirking down at you. “Baby, do you know what the mark of true, untouchable, fuck you wealth is?”

You blink in answer. “Umm…no?”

“It’s the fact that we could destroy this thing today, and I could buy another one tomorrow just like it. And there were only 58 ever made.”

You let out a slow breath. You know he is not actually so cavalier with his expensive possessions. And the thought of having that much money to burn…it’s just obscene. Like he can read the transcript of your hesitance, he urges you further.

“Come on, bunny. Let’s have some fun.”

You look at the luxurious blood red leather inside the car. “Should I take my shoes off?”

“Honey, you can put your feet on the dash if you want.” 

It feels like…he actually means it, and it’s hard to reconcile this carefree mood of his with the forbidding man you knew before. Maybe you’re the fool…but you want to believe this side of him is real. You want to believe…that you’re safe. You bite your lip, and he can see your trepidations evaporating with the rising sun. In the end, the chance to go outside the compound is too much temptation to resist. “Okay.”

“Mmm. That’s my girl.”

Hearing those words from his lips should not cross the wires in your brain the way they do. You settle down into the sculpted seat, and he closes the door gently after you. 

You notice something sitting in the floorboard at your feet. As he’s getting in you realize it's a handbag, white leather, red lining. It’s almost cute, that it matches his car. There’s a brightly printed silk scarf inside, as well as sunglasses, hand lotion, and organic lip balm. It’s funny that you didn’t even think to bring a bag, because you have no money or identification to put in it. He’s thought of everything, it seems. 

It’s all damn near sweet, is what it is, and as ever you feel the conflict of rabid want and utmost trepidation with this man. 

He starts the car, and the deep, primal rumble of the motor is like the warning grumble of a jungle cat, low and menacing. How fitting, for the man behind the wheel. 

“You’re going to want that for your hair,” he tells you, nodding at the scarf. 

“Oh?” 

He touches a button, and what you thought was a solid tinted black top slides back with seamless precision, folding somehow into the boot. 

“Holy shit.”

He laughs at your surprise, enjoying your mystification. “They told me this car can go from 0 to 100 kilometers in 2.7 seconds. Should we try it out?”

“Uh…that sounds terrifying,” you answer glibly, folding the scarf in half. Your insides lurch a little when you see Hermès printed in the corner. Then you have a heart-stopping inkling about the bag too. Gold hardware and a decorative lock, and in small gold script, there it is. $30,000 sitting at your feet, minimum. 

Don’t panic. Stay calm.

You can’t help but think that if you had that kind of money to throw around, you would give it to Mei for her sister, and not spend it on a Birkin, or a special edition supercar, or a designer dress that you were pretty sure you could find a lookalike of at Target.

He’s watching these thoughts play across your face with a small smile. You’re sure he knows the gist of them, if not the exact translation. You realize he was right, when he told you so unfalteringly that he knows you better than anyone. 

Fine, you think, trying to put some steel in your spine. Bitching about the price of these gifts to indulge your guilt will get you nothing in the end. You decide that you are going to enjoy your day, so that he enjoys his day, and then you are going to ask him again about Mei tomorrow. Honey over vinegar. 

Flow bitch flow.  

As if on cue, the wound on the inside of your thigh aches as you shift in your seat. It’s not infected, but it’s taking a long time to heal. He lets you wash it, but no ointment is allowed. He wants it to scar–and he’s going to get his wish, the manipulative bastard. 

You look around the interior of the car, admiring the undulating white leather dragon detail sewn into the upholstery between your seats. “This is way cooler than the Lamborghini,” you affirm, winning the smug pleasure you sought. 

“I thought it might appeal to you.”

“Um…what is it?” You don't recognize the stylized logo on the dash. 

He smirks at you, as though for some reason it pleases him that you don’t know. 

“This is a Bugatti Veyron, sweetheart.”

You think you’ve heard of that…in a Lana del Rey song.

Then, like he can’t help himself, he adds, “Year of the Dragon edition.” He lifts his eyebrows as he says this, and it hits you like a shovel–he’s being cute. He seems to get so much enjoyment out of giving you the specs–it’s ridiculously endearing, even if he is mansplaining.

“I see. Well…I shouldn’t like it, but I’m afraid I do,” you begrudgingly admit.

This admission makes him laugh out loud. “I don’t think you realize it yet, but you have expensive taste.” 

You shrug, even while it eats at you inside. “I think you mean I have good taste,” you counter, tracing his long fingers lightly where his hand rests on the console between you. He opens his paw in invitation, and you lace your fingers with his. As his grasp closes upon your smaller hand you can’t help but feel like you have sealed something between the two of you. His heavy gaze upon you only reinforces this impression. 

The corner of his mouth ticks up, as though he senses your trepidation deep down. He doesn’t taunt you though, simply stepping on the gas. The car roars, and you are racing off into the warm embrace of a beautiful South China day.

***

As you drive the winding roads of Hong Kong island, the lush landscape on either side and the glittering blue sea stretching off into the distance, you think you finally understand Donaka Mark’s predilection for high-performing sports cars. These roads are made for such machines, or vice versa, the low slung car hugging the curves with ease. Donaka is a good driver, despite the speed, and you strangely find yourself relaxing for the first time in you don’t know how long, enjoying the ride. This man doesn’t have a death wish. He’s not going to do anything stupid, so you sit back and revel in the breeze, riding the wind with your hand out the window like you used to when you were a child. 

Out the corner of your eye you realize he’s watching you with a small smile, and for once he doesn’t look sinister or conniving. He looks content, and you didn’t have to sacrifice any of your mental or physical wellbeing to get him there.

Miracles happen every day.  

He also looks unfairly handsome behind the wheel of this speed machine, and you can’t help but sigh to yourself. You suppose you could certainly be doing worse with your time. 

“Where are we going?” you ask, curious, but in no hurry. 

“On a little adventure. Have you seen the south end of Tai Tam Road yet?” 

You shake your head. Anytime you took the bus to the Central district from Shek O you just went north. “I haven’t seen any of that part of the island,” you admit. You’d wanted to check out the beaches, but just never got around to it. There was a lot in Hong Kong you had wanted to do, before the necessity arose to try to get the hell out of Dodge. 

“Then today’s your lucky day.” 

You think that might be true in more ways than one. At the juncture he turns left, heading south, and you are happily quiet as you take in the views of the lush mountains along the winding road. You roar over the narrow two lane of the dam of the reservoir, and you close your eyes for a moment, enjoying the cooler air. It’s all so stunning, and over-the-top as it is, this is a pretty epic way to take it all in. 

Donaka catches you smiling to yourself, and squeezes your hand in his. 

“Was it difficult, getting used to driving on the left?” you ask. 

“Who says I had to get used to it?” he counters with a little smile. 

“I guess I just assumed you’re American,” you admit, mostly from the way he talks. “You’re too evil to be Canadian.” 

This makes him laugh out loud, delighted. “You might be surprised, darling.” 

He gives you nothing, and you wonder if he encourages the mystery because he left a life behind as a wanted man, or simply because he enjoys the cloak and dagger of it. You realize that you’ve kind of invented this persona of wickedness for him from gut instinct and what little clues you’ve gathered, but you know nothing for certain. Donaka might be a perfectly upstanding businessman–as upstanding as any multi-millionaire ever can be. Mightn’t he???

You just can’t bring yourself to believe it.

“So…how did you come to live in China?”

He tilts his head, looking over at you with amusement. “Are we playing twenty-questions today?” 

“Just trying to get to know you better.” 

“Why?” 

“Oh, I don’t know. It’s not like we’re living together now or anything…” It’s the most politic way you can think of, to describe kidnapping, forced cohabitation, and temporary insanity brought on by the most thrilling quasi-consentual sex of your life.

His lips twist as you think he’s trying to suppress a grin. Instead he presses a surprisingly tender kiss to your fingers, and drives in silence for at least a kilometer before answering, “I came to China a long time ago, to find my father.” 

Sensing the weight of this admission, you hesitate to go forward. But there is that burning curiosity in the back of your brain; you so badly want to know. “Did you find him?”  

“Eventually.” You wait for elaboration, but the silence stretches on. You realize this is not a happy subject for him, and you congratulate yourself on your talent for always pinpointing the exact wrong thing to say to ruin a beautiful day. This is why you prefer writing conversations down to having them in real time. You always, inevitably, unfailingly, fuck up. 

“I’m sorry,” you sigh, sinking into your seat, looking out over the stunning landscape rolling before you and feeling incredibly stupid. Once again, it seems, you’ve forgotten your place. Mistresses don’t ask these things, do they? You’re supposed to be pretty and fuckable and entertaining, and don’t forget your role on the odd days when it feels like you might mean more than that to him. 

“Don’t be,” he forgives you with a grace that absolutely surprises you. “I appreciate that you want to know me, y/n. But there are things you don’t want to know. Do you understand?”

“Yes and no,” you admit cautiously. “Are these things I don’t want to know, or things you don’t want me to know?” 

He smiles ruefully at that. “Both.”

Maybe you already knew that, deep down. You try to tell yourself that it doesn’t matter. That you’re not staying any longer than you have to, no matter what he says to scare you, or beguile you, and no matter how it seems that he’s being sweet because it has to be a manipulative lie. That someday you’re going to get your opportunity, and you’re going to bounce. And most important of all: you are not falling in love with this man. You’re telling yourself all of this…but the foremost part of your brain, whatever is responsible for what you are doing now, in this moment–isn’t paying one bit of attention. It likes this handsome monster of a man beside you, in his beautiful suit, with his wicked fast car. It likes where you are right now, and it’s telling your longterm survival instincts to fuck the fuck off. 

His thumb strokes yours gently on the center console between you, back and forth as he thinks. “I haven’t had an easy life, y/n,” he finally admits. “I learned early on that if you want anything worth having, you have to take it, because no one will hand it to you.” It’s possible that you hold your breath at hearing this, thinking about the way he up and took you. “Not that he meant to, but the one good thing my father taught me, was the lengths the rich will go to, to protect their wealth. I’ve made a career capitalizing on that, and it’s gone well for me.” 

You suppose you can’t argue with that. 

Vague as his admission was, it does explain certain things about Donaka Mark to you. It almost startles you, when he flashes that smile that is so much like a tiger showing its fangs. “And now I know you will pick apart every little syllable I’ve just said, trying to get the most information you can out of it.” 

It’s so spot on that you look away, embarrassed by how ridiculous you are, and how well he knows it too. But he squeezes your hand, calling your attention back to him. He doesn’t say anything more, but the warm way he looks at you…it should be illegal. You’re not sure you’ll ever be free, when he turns the full power of that smoldering gaze upon you. 

Inexplicably flushed, you look at the road ahead. There’s a straight away coming up, the azure sea beyond glittering like a blanket of brilliant cut diamonds. “I thought you said this car was fast?” you challenge, and even though you know he knows you’re changing the subject, he rises to your challenge with a smirk, and a roar of the engine as the Bugatti rockets forward down the highway. 

You laugh with unfettered joy as he passes a slower car, slicing back into your lane with a foot to spare in front of an oncoming truck, and you decide that maybe the both of you have gone a little mad amidst this thing that has grown between you, taken hold of your sanity like a strangler vine. 

all chapters.

____________________

*the car is a Bugatti Veyron, Wei Long Grand Sport 2012 Year of the Dragon edition. You can google it if you want more specs. I’m not big into cars or anything but I thought it was pretty frickin’ cool. 😂

The route they take on Hong Kong island: (I love maps I'm sorry 😆)

[fatorangepoo]

Wriothesley Teaches You How to Fight Like A Pro

"First things first... fix that attitude of yours," Wriothesley grumbled, clad in his long-sleeved dress shirt, fitted pants and mechanical gauntlets. Slicking his hair back with both hands over his head, he groaned, "You don't even want to do this properly. Are you just here for me or what?"

Upon hearing that, your jokester ass laughed out loud and you clutched your clenched stomach bending over in joy. Wiping a tear from your eye, you muse, "Well what if I was?" and continued giggling with your feet circling in arcs like a dying roach.

Let's just say some people have a different sense of humour. You weren't even surprised when you lightly peeked with one eye at Wriothesley to find him glaring daggers at you with those striking eyes of his, because he has never appreciated your skibidi toilet jokes.

Even you knew his limits, and you didn't know him well. Just well enough to share drinks and inside jokes. For you, well was quality time and bouts of intimate touches. So no, you didn't know him well. You got up and sprung back into action, picking up some Gintama move you saw Chinese grandmothers do in Tai Chi. Hands in karate chop motion, you tornadoed to his direction and landed a foot directly in front of him, hand positioned directly before his nose.

Wriothesley scrunched up his nose and forced out a reluctant "Better, I guess," and lowered his head. Addled and confused, you tilted your neck to your side in a classic WHAT?! pose, then you heard a chuckle from somewhere around the room. Looking around, you said, "Well, I never knew you invited some others to our practises."

When he didn't respond, you turned back to him kneeling on the floor, gorgeous di-coloured hair sprawling out from his scalp. You squat with your legs open like a frog or sneaky spider in front of him, leggings stretching against your calf. Looking down at him, you saw a glimpse of his canine tooth revealed by a devilish grin. He looked up at you and laughed at your face, eyes closed all the way through in a joyful daze.

Sobering up, he projected with a husky voice, "So funny, are we?" and you could swear his Arctic glacier eyes thundered periodically, letting you in a world of dark, deep sea typhoons. "Let's see what happens when you face real danger. You think they would loosen their grip because you said something that started with ski, ended with di and rhymed with clinically? I'd like you see you £#¢¥ing try," he threatened gloomily, advancing onto you with a fat forearm.

You hastily avoided his arm by holding it back with both hands, but you never really won over the gymbros in arm wrestling, so you got overpowered instead. He locked his arm under your neck, lifting you up so your toes were dreaming of touching land, which never happened considering you were taller than the average population. His shirt sleeve was so distracting because it smelled like your cousin's detergent and made you wish you had money to afford laundry that was more than just rinsing fabric with water.

You felt like Loki being held by his neck by Thor, albeit being the superior brother in the situation. In every situation, actually. Loki just suited you better. Pranksters have your whole heart.

You snuck your hands under his arm and pushed outward with all your might, and he was still unyielding. Bruh, at this point you just gotta turn around and start pushing his chest away from you. That'd be more effective, right? Whose chest can withstand brute force? Well, not yours, to be frank. You can't even wrestle your cousin.

"LET ME... THE £@#& GO!" you yelled with your back against his locked hands in a smooth manoeuvre, and tried to push at his chest. Ew, this feels like molestation. Who cared about molestation when your life was being threatened by a raider!!! You don't care anymore, you went from poking his chest playfully to shoving the hell out of his dress shirt, and he stumbled, hands losing their grip.

Like a proud hen, you stood arms akimbo, head inclined as you stared Wrio down. Oh my effing god. He surged and started CHARGING at you!!! He threw himself on you like on those WWE Superslams and you flew with your back sliding on the floor. His arms were around you, then you realised they weren't around you as much as they were wrapped around an actual dagger. Oh archons!

If you were wrong in the head, you would think this was fun and mentally stimulating. It was a bit exhilarating, but you were fearing for your life here. Mr Puppy here looks like he would actually kill you here and now for saying skibidi toilet during a company dinner 3 weeks ago. Deeply stashed anger, am I right? Poor pup doesn't have an outlet to release stress, so he keeps it all pent up and explodes on you for a tiny joke consisting of toilet...

His knee kneeling in the space between your thighs, he seemed chivalrous and angelic and deadly. The light shining on him from his table lamp just further intensified the dark side of his face, unilluminated by anything. That pretty much sums up your first impression of him. Dark, sepulchral and a pain to be with. Now, you're wrong. This is fun.

"Alright, yes yes, I'm afraid I'm deeply invested now, Your Grace. Continue," you chirped happily from your position under the Duke's glinting knife. If you stole a jewel from the hilt now, would he realise? You were quite good at this gemstone side hustle of yours.

"Second of all, do not let yourself be vulnerable," he gritted his teeth and you wanted to caress his neck just right above your collarbone. "Well, I don't. I never open up to people! I consider it one of my great strengths-" you got cut off by his bejeweled dagger pinning itself on the fabric of your tank top like a dart pinned to a dartboard.

"Not what I meant," he offered, "but thanks for the invitation." Then he lifted a hand and punched you on your good side. Alas, no more side profile selfies!

You grabbed the gloved hand that was about to go for a second round of punching you with one determined fist of yours, unyielding in your grip. You observe Wriothesley's amusement, his face on top of you taunting. God, his lifted lips are so distracting in their angles, sharp at all the right places. Dangerous men should not have smiles more perilous than their charm.

Despite that, you shook him with your hand guiding him in the direction you wanted to go - in this situation you wanted him the floor where you previously were. Locking your elbow around his dangerous arm, you channeled enough strength to pull him down on the floor beside you. After the satisfying thud of your bully/mentor's back hitting the floor (his tough back muscles are probably fine), you swiftly roll yourself on top of him, legs clamped around both of his. Tank top strap slowly sliding down your shoulder, you dislodge the dagger on the floor and rest your elbows on the sides of his face. Curling his hair on the dagger's pointy edge, you look down, half-lidded, on his tired blue eyes and sadistically remarked, "Any tips for ending someone with a dagger?"

[sifu-kisu]

"The soles of the feet are divided into yin and yang, and the power of the soles of the feet turns up and flows out from the fingertips"

Tai Chi requires not to use force, but in fact your original force has not disappeared, it is just concentrated under your feet from being dispersed throughout the body. In other words, practicing Tai Chi does not mean that you have no strength. The original strength has not disappeared, but it has all been relaxed under your feet. It is all concentrated, transferred, and relaxed under your feet. When you use it, when pushing hands, you use the strength under your feet and the contact point. These two points must be able to "talk" and "speak", not lose or resist, so that you can slowly change endlessly. In other words, as soon as your hand touches the opponent, the information is transmitted to the feet, and then returns from the feet to this contact point, or to grab, or to transform, or to move, or to change.

[kungfuwushuworld]

Tai chi Tui shou (Pushing hands)

Push hands or tuishou (alternately spelled tuei shou or tuei sho) is a two-person training routine practiced in internal Chinese martial arts such as Baguazhang, Xingyiquan, Taijiquan (tài jí quán), and #Yiquan. It is also played as an international sport akin to Judo, Sumo and wrestling, such as in Taiwan, where the biannual Tai Chi World Cup is held.Pushing hands is said by t'ai chi's Chen family to have been created by Chen Wangting (1600–1680), the founder of the Chen-style t'ai chi ch'uan, and was originally known as hitting hands (da shou) or crossing hands (ke shou). Chen was said to have devised pushing hands methods for both empty hands and when armed with a spear. Other Tai Chi schools attribute the invention of pushing hands to mythical Zhang Sanfeng.

[frostise]

(〇o〇；): What is their body language like when they are stressed? Do they try and hide the fact that they are stressed? How do they recover from said stress?

𝐏𝐇𝐘𝐒𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐋 𝐃𝐄𝐓𝐀𝐈𝐋 𝐀𝐒𝐊 𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐄   ┇   accepting ♡

@masquenoire sent the same question 💖

the most obvious signs of her frustration crawling up the surface is her tense posture and scrunched face—a fierce glare, hands curling into fists, tension in the brows and sometimes gritted teeth is introduced if pushed over the edge and since she's a pale person, her face would flush red like tinkerbell whenever blowing a fuse. i wouldn't say louise is animated in her anger unless hitting a boiling point. that's when her voice turns clamorous and the wrinkles in her features will become pronounced. it's ugly and frankly terrifying.

kf is the type of person to wear her heart on her sleeve. the only exception being if she's on an undercover mission and putting up a convincing act in front of a crowd. she's able to remain in control of her emotions. frost always used a mediation technique called 'qigong' to soothe her headspace and shift into a focused mindset before approaching her missions.

louise uses diverse 'distressing techniques' that have helped soothe her spirit over the years. from qigong to yoga and incorporating tai chi into her daily routine with the additional green/chamomile tea, scented candles, hot baths/showers and listening to punk music. she regularly takes antidepressants and anti-anxiety medications in the morning and melatonin supplements at night. all prescribed by her psychiatrist she used to visit before he retired.

even if she's not in the comfort of her home, kf will resort to staying outdoors in the sunlight and meditate alone. one of the few materials she'll often touch is the faux fur on the ends of her V-shaped gloves or if she's in a sitting position (cross-legged mostly), her hand will automatically stroke the fur on her boots. it's more of a self soothing gesture, but it does calm her down.

[grumfield]

Since you’re a bona fide martial artist, what do you think obi wan and anakin’s Jedi/martial art styles would be?

Waahhh I love this question I get to flex my knowledge a bit

TLDR: based on their chosen saber forms (Soresu and Djem So respectively) Obi-Wan is very much a kung fu/tai chi sort of guy to me, and I think Anakin is more karate oriented with some judo flavoring

Soresu is a defensive saber form, and in martial arts most defensive work requires a lot of flowing or circular movements to change the path of an incoming attack. If someone punches, you push their arm out of the way and then follow their momentum to get them into a position you prefer. Flowing and circular momentum is very much a kung fu style thing. Redirection into incapacitation rather than direct opposition is a very Soresu thing, so a very Obi-Wan thing. Obi-Wan also does something called alchaka meditations in Wild Space which Karen miller doesn’t describe really other than as repetitive non-saber exercises. Based on the little information out there in my obikin longfic I interpreted this as something sort of between yoga and tai chi. It’s definitely portrayed as a mindfulness practice, and tai chi is essentially a slowed down version of kung fu so…yeah that’s the thesis for him

Anakin on the other hand does Djem So which is a very offensive saber form and I think that translates well into karate. Most karate forms with the exception of a handful like Shūdokan (mine, because there’s a lot of kung fu influence) are very hard and linear. Very offensive and forward momentum focused rather than redirection oriented. It’s also not a very kick heavy style and is focused more on punches and other hand movements which also feels intuitively very anakin to me. The judo stuff is more because judo isn’t a kata oriented martial art and is more free sparring with takedowns (which karate doesn’t really have) and he definitely strikes me as a dude who would dude who would that if he was losing in a low stakes sparring match lol… “why play by the arbitrary combat rules if I can still beat you”

Anyhow thanks for the question babe

[romanceyourdemons]

ang lee’s debut film pushing hands (1991) is not only an excellent and effective film but also establishes lee’s strengths as a filmmaker in terms of visual style and complex interpersonal narratives. the film, like many films of the first taiwanese new wave, emphasizes and examines cultural shifts between generations. the central character, a beijing tai chi master freshly moved in with his new yorker son and white daughter-in-law, describes himself as a “useless middle link” in his family, from his qing dynasty scholar grandfather to his nationalist leader father to his computer engineer son. he himself is the one around whom things change, and he is left behind by the times, plunged into independence in his old age as the confucian family values he had relied on fade in the new world and the impending new millennium. one of the film’s greatest strengths, as well as one of ang lee’s great strengths as a director, is the vital visual importance of place. each space depicted is so visually distinct—in terms of color palette, visual noise, lighting, and its spaciousness or lack thereof—that it almost becomes a character of its own under the camera. in terms of the characters themselves, each one is sympathetic and each one is to blame in their own right. the film is conspicuously free of large, national-level conflicts the way hou hsiao-hsien might set as a backdrop; the film does not present anything that needs to be overthrown, anything that it asks the audience to despise, any clear villain that can distract from the gradual and inevitable shift of culture across generations. this gentle but forceful narrative, giving and taking in unbroken arcs, is reminiscent of the tai chi technique from which it takes its name; pushing hands (1991), though understated and unresolved, is a well-crafted and satisfying film, and i would highly recommend it

[tonytsai]

FOTOS NO 61° ENCONTRO TAOÍSTA SOBRE ENERGIA E SAÚDE (31/08/2024)

Para maiores informações sobre tratamentos favor acesse:https://centrotaoista.com.br/acupuntura/ O CTCL desde 1998 com sede própria! Rua Senador Felício dos Santos, 410 – Liberdade – São Paulo Telefone: (11) 3271-3458 | WhatsApp:(11)98164-1338 Nosso E-Mails: contato@centrotaoista.com.br

[lensman-arms-race]

6 For G-Toilet, 39 For T-cam and T-Tv and 41 for Speakermen (with Sweet Cap'n Cakes trio from Deltarune bought to you for lunch)

What do you think?

6. Worst personality trait

Uh, I guess 'genocided humanity' doesn't count as a personality trait?

Probably that he's a coward. He doesn't make a tactical retreat, he goes D8 and legs it from the Titans, leaving his allies behind.

39. Favorite game

TCam's favourite game to play is the Danish thigh-slapping game with TSpeaker. They also like the Tai Chi practice game where you can attempt to push the other player's hands or pull your hands away, and the loser is the first person to move their feet. (It's a game about balance rather than brute strength.) They sometimes play that one with TTv.

TTv's favourites are knife games like Split the Kipper, but no-one will play with them. (TSpeaker might once they're friends with TTv.) TTv also likes the game where you point at something slightly disgusting (pile of seaweed, etc.), and your opponent has to pick it up and count down from 10, and if they're still holding it when they reach 0, they get to throw the thing at you. No-one will play this game with them either.

TCam doesn't really care for videogames because the only screen big enough for them is TTv's, and TTv likes messing up the game for anyone playing on their screen.

TTv would probably enjoy Beat Sabre if there were controllers big enough. Maybe they'd enjoy Thumper - it doesn't use motion controls, so they could play it with simulated button presses using their brain.

41. If they could have lunch with anyone in the world (living or dead, from any fictional universe or the real world), who would it be?

I like Deltarune but I don't really care for the idea of mixing Deltarune with Skibidi Toilet. (I like the idea of Skibidi Toilet existing as media within the Deltarune universe - I think Susie and Kris would dig it! Ralsei wouldn't really get the appeal.) Plus, I think the Sweet Cap'n Cakes trio are a parody of something from Homestar Runner?

I think the speakermen would love to meet the members of Tears For Fears - the creators of their beloved anthem!

(Original post with list of questions)

[ganzl]

The Martial Arts Freestyle Method

Technically, you should probably say, ‘The Al Case Martial Arts Freestyle (or fighting) Method.’ I don’t know of anybody else who teaches freestyle like this. Yet it is a complete method that leads to competence in fighting in the shortest possible time. The problem with karate, and with people, and all of mankind, is that they think the only solution is force. somebody comes at you and…

[junglekarmapippa]

E is for Elastic

The alphabet of fluff - PRJF

Theo groaned when he saw RJ walk towards him holding two yoga mats. "Theo, we've been through this," RJ said, handing him a mat. "Your strength and speed are tip top but your elasticity needs a lot of help." "But I hate Yoga!" The blue ranger complained. "Theo," RJ warned. He pointed to the space behind him so Theo knew where to put his mat. "Okay, let's start with the child's pose," RJ said, letting his butt touch his ankles while stretching his arms over his head. He breathed three times into the position and then looked at Theo, whose butt was still way up in the air. RJ moved closer to Theo and put a hand on the base of his back and one on his neck. He pushed Theo's butt downwards. "Theo, this isn't a time for perfection, it's a time for relaxing and aligning with yourself. Breathe and let go, the world will still be there when you finish."

Theo took a deep breath and as he exhaled, RJ pushed harder. "Nice, keep the breath going, relax your lower back." After Theo managed to rest his buttocks on his ankles, RJ went back to his mat. "Now let's do downward-facing dog. Remember, start on your hands and knees, and then extend your legs, butt to the roof." Theo's difficulty with this one was extending his legs properly. RJ moved to him and corrected his posture. "Separate your hands a bit, good, same with the feet, good job. Now breathe in, and as you breathe out, extend those legs, come on. Nice and easy." After a mere 30 minutes, Theo let himself drop on the mat. "I'm done." Instead of insisting he continued, RJ took the thirty-minute mark as an improvement. "Let's do our closing meditation, then." They closed their eyes and meditated for around ten minutes. Afterward, RJ used a gesture to keep Theo from getting up from his mat. "Let's have a chat," he said. "What do you want to talk about?" "This problem with elasticity is not new. The difference between this and your other skills is quite a gap. Didn't you practice yoga and tai chi at the academy?" "I was meant to," Theo said. "But most of the time I found a way not to." RJ chuckled and got up. "You can't just skip the classes you don't like. The Pai Zhua has a very strict, very balanced training plan." "I don't see you doing yoga or Tai Chi with Casey and Lily." "I do yoga with Casey and Lily all the time. Every morning, in fact. You prefer to read in your room. And I prefer you read in your room too because you couldn't keep up with the rest of us." RJ was setting up the kettle in the kitchen and Theo walked to him after rolling his mat. "Seriously?" "Yes," RJ said, preparing the mugs. "Also, it helps that Lily and Casey know how to relax. Master Swoop did a great job helping you focus on only one thing at a time, but you are still incapable of relaxing." "I relax," Theo said as RJ passed him a mug. "I relax when Lily and I go out for lunch." "That is a different kind of relaxing. I need to know you can let go of worries and emotions and go back to your center if you need to do so," the Master explained. "It will also help with your strength, balance, and defense capabilities. It's a basic Pai Zhua skill and a hole in your training. So we have to catch up." "No, please, I really hate it…" "Theo…" "I'm really bad at it." "Theo…" "I look like an idiot…" "That's what the practice is for, Theo. Remember the metaphor of the stool I told you on your first day here?" "Yes." "Well, when it comes to this, you are the broken leg. I need you to catch up. Is that clear?" "As day." "Wonderful, let's drink our tea and get ready for work." RJ brought his mug to his mouth and Theo said: "I didn't mean to weaken the team. I'll do my best to catch up." RJ smiled at him. "I know you will." He put his mug down and then a hand on Theo's shoulder. "You can't help yourself."