The exquisite mystery of transmission

I’ve always considered myself a rather mediocre practitioner of T’ai Chi Chih. No one ever says to me, “Wow, I wish I could yin and yang like you do,” or, “Boy, can you flow from the center or what!” I do think I’m a good teacher, however, judging by how quick my students catch on, not to mention how some move better than I do after just a few weeks of classes.

Or, maybe there is something else going on.

I have been teaching at the juvenile detention center for some years now. Any one of a number of wardens is assigned a monitor to keep order and break up potential fights or riots. One Saturday a warden named Jonathan was our staff person and also joined us in practice. I was totally amazed—his T’ai Chi Chih form was absolutely perfect. Was he a beginner and just talented? Was he a martial artist? The kids were mesmerized. After the class I asked him where in the world had he learned his T’ai Chi Chih form. “Why, from Ron C., one of your students from last year,” he replied. “He taught me all the movements and we would practice together on the Unit when nothing was going on.” It took me several days of searching my memory to remember just who Ron was, and when I finally did, I remembered him as a quiet pleasant boy who had been incarcerated there for a long time—maybe two years. He always wanted to come to class, even while never particularly distinguishing himself in the form. Eventually, because of his very serious charges, Ron was tried as an adult and is now doing hard time in prison. I often wonder if he is showing the T’ai Chi Chih movements to the wardens there, and how many of those wardens are doing it better than I am.