For readers familiar with my previous blogs, which have focused on the technical and health-related aspects of tai chi qigong, this narrative marks a departure from my usual approach. Where past writings have explored the scientific principles, Traditional Chinese Medicine alignments, and health benefits of chi energy, this blog offers a personal journey—a glimpse into the lived experience that shaped my understanding and passion for tai chi qigong.
I never envisioned myself training in tai chi qigong. Yes, my father’s side of the family was known for prowess in Chinese martial arts, and it was expected that my brother and I would eventually follow suit. Yet, tai chi chuan? It conjured images of elderly practitioners moving slowly in the park. As for qigong, I had never even heard of the term, let alone understood its practice.
When I was 12, I stumbled upon stories of meditation and decided to try it. While my family slept, I sat cross-legged on my bed, eyes closed, listening to the peaceful silence. For several months, I practiced this mindfulness, finding solace in the stillness.
I had always been somewhat shy, withdrawn and introverted. But little did I know then that this early exploration of stillness would later become the foundation for my tai chi qigong journey, teaching me the power of internal focus and quiet introspection.
When my parents later bought a small family restaurant in Edmonton, Alberta, my brother and I helped out daily after school. Amid our busy routine, my mother scoured the Chinese newspapers, searching for traditional martial arts lessons—eschewing commercialized schools in favor of authentic training. We knew our chances were slim in Canada, but we hoped to find the right teacher.
One summer, my mother found an ad for Chinese praying mantis-style martial arts classes held in a church basement. Excitement turned to disappointment when we discovered the location was over an hour away by car, even longer by bus. Little did we know at the time, this very date coincided with a prediction made by a martial arts master during meditation, as we would come to learn later.
Nearly a year passed before fate intervened. Two Chinese customers struck up a conversation with my dad in Hakka, a minority dialect spoken only in the small hometown my father came from. My dad was elated to meet people who spoke this specific dialect—an uncommon connection in Edmonton.
During their conversation revealed that one of them was a martial arts teacher and TCM practitioner. My father introduced me to him, and the teacher invited me, along with my brother, to his home for lessons. An intriguing detail puzzled me: how did this teacher already know about my brother, whom my father had not mentioned?
Months later, I discovered a fascinating revelation: my master had foreseen this encounter. The year before, during meditation, his spiritual guides had revealed that he was to teach two students—one in tai chi chuan and the other in praying mantis. The first date provided by his guides coincided with the very day my mother had planned to take my brother and me to lessons at the church basement but canceled due to the distance.
When no students appeared on that date, my master sought clarity and learned that the meeting would take place a year later. When he met me at the restaurant that fateful day, he immediately recognized me as one of the students he was destined to teach. Though he had not yet met my brother, his prediction would come full circle.
Finding a traditional martial arts teacher is not merely about learning physical techniques—it’s about preserving a lineage of knowledge passed down through generations. In an era of commercialized martial arts schools prioritizing quick certifications, my master represented a direct connection to centuries-old wisdom. His approach was not about creating fighters, but about transmitting a holistic system of health, energy cultivation, and philosophical understanding.
The rarity of such teachers in Canada made our connection even more profound. He wasn’t just an instructor, but a guardian of a cultural and spiritual tradition, selecting and guiding students with a depth of insight that transcended mere physical instruction.
Thus began a life-changing relationship. Though my brother was assigned a secretive praying mantis discipline, I was directed to train in tai chi chuan—a decision I initially resented. My master assured me, “Tai chi chuan is the ultimate martial art. In Chinese, taijiquan means ‘supreme martial art.’ If you master tai chi chuan, no one can beat your tai chi.” While “mastery” remains a humbling and distant ideal, this path has led me to over 40 years of dedicated practice and a transformative journey of health and balance.
Training was intense—several hours daily, seven days a week, under the watchful eye of my master, often at our restaurant. I began with qigong exercises to cultivate chi energy, noticing energy in my hands within two weeks. Repetitive drills, like Fair Lady’s Hand, became meditative, connecting my body and mind as the chi flowed. These repetitious movements cultivated a natural meditative process that encouraged the circulation of chi energy.
However, when I transitioned to attending lessons at my master’s home with senior students, the pace of instruction quickened significantly. Rapidly learning new movements each week disrupted the meditative rhythm I had developed through repetitive practice. I noticed that my chi circulation could no longer keep up with the speed of the lessons, a realization that deeply shaped my understanding of the importance of balance between physical movements and internal energy flow.
As the years unfolded, my journey inspired me to share these teachings. I launched chikung-unlimited.com as a platform to explore the intricate connections between health, martial arts, and spiritual growth through tai chi qigong. As my understanding deepened, I refined my focus, creating healthfulqigong.com to provide targeted resources on alternative wellness practices, drawing from my decades of experience and traditional training.
My father often spoke with pride about the Hakka people’s significant role in Chinese history, particularly their legacy as revolutionaries and agents of change. This narrative of transformation and resilience resonated deeply with my own journey in tai chi qigong, inspiring me to carry forward this spirit of perseverance through my practice and teaching.
My path with tai chi qigong has been more than a physical practice—it’s been a profound journey of self-discovery, patience, and gradual transformation. Each movement, each breath, tells a story of persistence and connection. Through this blog, I invite you to walk alongside me, to explore the nuanced world of tai chi qigong, and to discover the subtle yet powerful ways this practice can reshape our understanding of movement, energy, and personal potential. One breath, one movement at a time.