Over time the practice of zhanzhuang fills the frame with a vibrant energy. Continual training strengthens the lower back and vitalizes the deep bindings of the pelvic bones, transforming the area contained within the pelvic girdle into the agile centre without which there can be no TaijiQuan. This centre is like a vessel gently on the boil, cooking merrily; from it bubbles effervesce, infiltrating the body to every direction. Emanations of qi on the move, which a strong supple body spontaneously squeezes along particular trajectories, with precise intent. The patient practice of a certain technique develops this art wherein no part moves without affecting the rest : ‘one part moves, all parts follow’.

The three Single Hand twining exercises (we’ll call them A, B and C) are each complex in their own way; just as B is markedly different from A and C, so is A from B and C.

Single Hand A is the exercise people are most familiar with, and as many people practise only this one, if and when they do encounter B and C they may think A is the simplest of the exercises, that complexity increases with B and C. In fact, each offers a unique experience of twining. If people think exercise A is simple they are liable to spend their taiji lives wondering why it is so difficult, why an apparently simple circling of an arm should feel so awkward. As in the practice of standing still, whatever unease there is in the body rises to consciousness, but the discomfort in chansi A is due not only to this factor.

The challenges the stance itself poses have been discussed at length elsewhere, so I will only mention here that a certain degree of togetherness of the posture is a prerequisite for any real sense of ease in the exercise. Given that clear and committed training is being undertaken, and the body day by day is strengthening flexibly, there will be indications of a gradual development in the technique. Now during motion, there will be experiences similar to those in zhanzhuang : a general sense of plenitude; a feeling of richness in the lower body, gentleness in the chest; freedom of the breath; lightness along the spine and warmth to the fingertips. Mind balanced, weight balanced, qi balanced, in movement.

Weight balanced …… This comes from maintaining centre as the weight shifts. The posture remains intact – both legs support centre so the hips stay firm and gathered, without displacement of one side, either as it becomes the main weight-bearing side, or as it relinquishes the weight. Wherever the weight is, the legs continue to buttress centre, so the feeling is of weight being continually balanced, throughout. As Chen XiaoWang would put it, centre to remain centre must never move! This brings us to a point of utmost importance. The centre in TaijiQuan is the locus of the body which controls all parts, to which all parts connect both physically and energetically : the centre of the body’s mass, the reservoir of its energy. Centre does not busy itself. It maintains calm, remains spacious, in all phases of motion; it is at rest. From it, connections to the feet and hands weave out intricately; the connections – physical, energetic and mental – must permit lightness of travel, as quick as mind is quick. If centre tenses and pushes, the body becomes heavy and awkward. Just the thought of wanting to push will encumber the hand.

The discomfort in chansi A, when it is not due to postural weakness or mental tension (the two are unavoidably linked : we tense when we know we are not strong enough for the task), is purely from the difficulty of moving the whole body together. Centre’s role is subtle : it must direct without drawing attention to itself. The watcher should see seamless movement, equality of parts linked with no part dominating. That is, as far as the body, the physical movement, is concerned. Presence of mind permeating the motion of the body – that will be palpable when it is present.

Exercise A takes place mainly on the coronal plane : visualize a telescope, and motion around its axis. The arm moves circularly on this plane, without ever separating from the rest of the body. Every tiny change seen in the hand arises from minuscule changes in every other part; there is no part uninvolved; change envelops the entire body. It is easy to see why this would take years to cultivate.

**

Around midnight, with the sun dancing on the northern horizon, we stepped out of the car.

“There it is”, pointing towards a sweet cottage, white snugly set in the middle of acres of lush grass.

I have not yet put my feet down by the Mediterranean. My inner sight is still resting on the horizon, watching a sun skimming the mountain tops, disappearing from view but continuing to light up the skies, a lingering poignant glow that does not dim but only intensifies.

The first part of our visit to Iceland was spent at Sletta, the home of our friends Svanlaug and Haukur. It lies in a valley a little in from the northern coast of the country, west of Siglufjörður, not far from Akureyri. We arrived in the endless evening light just after the solstice. Driving along a farm track, we were instantly embraced by the special atmosphere which there is when birds outnumber humans a thousand to one. Arctic terns swooped over the river, crying “kria!”, their name in Icelandic. A long-necked bird surveyed us sternly as we drove up to the red-roofed house. It was the jadrakan, the Blacktailed godwit (Limosa limosa). A snipe (Gallinago gallinago) was sitting on the chimney stack, peering down at us along its audacious beak. From the lower slopes of the surrounding mountains came a sweet cry full of promise ~ the yearned-for call of the loa, Golden plover (Pluvialis apricaria), who brings summer to the far north. A strange whirring passed overhead; it was a large bird sporting a long curved beak, calling out its name, “spoi!”, the Whimbrel (Numenius phaeopus), Curlew’s cousin.

After a delicious supper of the freshest haddock, we did our best to go to sleep, but 2am found us still gazing towards the northern sea, mesmerized by the ever changing never ending light. It was day bright by 3am.

After breakfast we strolled through luxuriant fields sprinkled with delicate wild flowers and the occasional orchid. White wagtails (Motacilla alba) looped about in the sparkling morning, deserving the affectionate name the Icelanders give them, “mariuerla”. Swimming in a calmer stream alongside the river was a tiny exquisite bird, the Rednecked phalarope (Phalaropus lobatus), called “Óðinshani”, the bird of Odin, distinct from the bird of Thor, “Þórshani” (P. fulicarius, the Grey phalarope). When Svanlaug called out, “There’s the Ptarmigan!”, I looked for white and was surprised to see it in speckly summer dress (Lagopus mutus). The loa was waiting for us on the higher slopes. It fretted close by, anxious lest we stumble across its eggs or its young. Up along the ridge I caught sight of a bird of prey; was it a Gyr falcon, or the White-tailed eagle, or a Meric? Back down by the house, there was a Ringed plover (Charadrius hiaticula) and a Redshank (Tringa totanus). Whimbrelling, sniping, kriaring we spent exhilaratingly endless days at 66 degrees north.

** [A note about the video: at 1m 20s the cameraman asks her to change hands, and she does so instantly without any need for reorganization; this is impressive; many people would change intent, redistribute weight, and generally rearrange. ~Ed]