ARTICLES

• Autumn River
• Gong Fu - Beyond Technique
• Venerable Teacher Knee
• So What Is Push Hands?

Autumn River 

From time to time I meet a fellow student of the esteemed art of Tai Chi.  "Oh, I used to do Tai Chi," they often say, but when prompted deeper as to which style, there is almost inevitably a look of blankness followed by "Was it Tai Chi Chuan?"

When they are then informed that Tai Chi Chuan is the full name of the art we practice and Tai Chi is only an abbreviation, there is a look of confusion.  Hoping to be helpful, I ask, "Who was your teacher, I might know them?"  There is a further pause and a look of concentration followed by the equivalent of, "I think his name was Dave or was it Jim.  Oh I can't remember.  I only went for a few weeks."

It is hardly surprising that there is some confusion as amid the newness of starting classes, the beginner has to contend with various names for the art they are trying to learn.  First of all there are a couple ways Tai Chi Chuan is normally written. (the other being Taijiquan.)  Then there are the variety of styles e.g. Yang, Chen, Wu etc.  Then there are variants like Cheng Man-ching (also written Zheng Manqing) form or 24 step form and other variants like long forms, short forms, large frame, small frame etc.

It is little wonder, therefore, when meeting someone who reveals that they once practiced Tai Chi, there is a blankness when they are questioned as to the style.  Add to this the practice of giving individual names to particular Schools within a style, in the way we use our Christian names, and the potential for confusion increases.

As a case in point, although we all practice much the same form, Autumn River is distinct from Shr Jung, Long River, Rising Dragon, Great River, Rocky Mountain etc.  The differences here are to do with distinguishing a teacher, or group of teachers usually allied by some consensus about what Tai Chi is all about, from their colleagues.  When someone begins to teach independently of their teacher, they frequently create their own name for their School.  Usually, though, the new student has no idea about any of this and is only interested in doing Tai Chi.

Occasionally, a student will ask why my particular School is called Autumn River Tai Chi.  I usually give a brief answer as class time is always limited but then feel a more in depth answer should be available somewhere.  The following is an attempt to provide a little more depth and greater inform those who want to know.

When I first started teaching Tai Chi, I was part of the Rising Dragon Tai Chi School  but later left to further my understand by studying with Wolfe Lowenthal's Long River Tai Chi Circle.  After some time, and with Wolfe's blessing, I began using the Long River name myself and acted as a contact for his teaching in Europe.  The name sat well with me as it was a phrase used by Cheng Man-ching to signify how the form should be performed, without stopping, just like a Long River.  It was also pretty unpretentious involving no mythical beasts or underlying implications of superiority.

When, some years later I was teaching independently of Wolfe, I kept using the name as most of what I taught had come from the Long River Tai Chi approach, i.e. Cheng Man-ching Form, Push Hands, Sword Form and Fencing.  It was true that I had benefited from studying Push Hands for a short time with Liu Hsi-Hung in Taiwan, and subsequently, spent some time with Ken Van Sickle in New York, improving my understanding of Tai Chi Sword.  Nevertheless, the basis of the School syllabus was as before and I acknowledged the debt I owed to my former teacher even though I was practicing in a slightly different way.

The fact that I was no longer the official Long River contact in Europe was problematic for the organisation but I initially resisted changing the name I used for classes until October 2006.

During a short holiday in the North of Scotland, I had some time to reflect on what I was doing with Tai Chi to see why I was studying and what I valued in the teachings of my various teachers.  It was the beginning of having a clearer view of Tai Chi and its true worth in our modern age.

I then started thinking of an appropriate name and found it to be a most frustrating exercise.  I liked the four word pattern used by many Schools and also wanted to include the imagery of water, a very Taoist and Tai Chi symbol, but was unable to come up with anything which felt right.

On the return journey my partner and I spend quite a long time in a state of 'creative tension,' suggesting names to each other and dismissing  them immediately as more fitting to a cheap Kung Fu film or a Sci-fi novel.

Toward early evening, we stopped for respite on the way at a little retail outlet-cum- cafeteria.  Our late arrival found the cafe closing and most of the shops already closed.  Choosing to dawdle around for a few minutes after the necessary comfort stop we gravitated to the only remaining shop.  Aimed, principally at the bored tourist on route to somewhere else, it offered little promise of anything interesting and I only half-heartedly browsed its shelves.  My partner then drew my attention to the page of the book she has just picked up.  It was a book of paintings by the Russian artist Kandinsky.  The book opened at random to reveal a painting called 'River in Autumn.'

'River in Autumn' or 'Autumn River' seemed perfect.

We were both of one mind.  It would fit in with the four character pattern, Autumn River Tai Chi, had the connection with water, and included symbolically, in the word Autumn, a concept which eloquently hinted at a deep level of understanding in Tai Chi.

On returning to Glasgow I conferred with a Chinese acupuncturist over the Chinese characters which could be used as a logo and whether there was an idiomatic meaning in Chinese which would make the name unusable.  Gratified to learn it did not mean "eat at Joe's" or anything worse, I proceeded to make the name change a reality.

The metaphor of a river is very apt, in numerous ways, to the study of Tai Chi.  The continuous flow keeps water clean as alluded to by Cheng Man-ching in his long river reference.  Stagnating water becomes unclean and poisonous much like the chi in the body.  Continuous flow washes away the impurities leaving the water crystal clear, another image use by the Professor.

On a more Spiritual level, the river is on its own journey toward the sea where it will merge with the greatness of the ocean in much the same way as we learn to  harmonise with the our Chi and the Tao.

It prefers to course round obstacles instead of contending with them, yet when thwarted and unable to flow; it quietly builds power and breaks through or over a barrier.  It can have the delicacy of trickle or the power of torrent, has patience and makes it own discipline by cutting its own path from hills to sea.  Sometimes it is gentle and meandering, other times its energy is turbulent and intense.  It remains true to its nature responding naturally to its environment and in relation to its journey.

The river is egoless always seeking the lowest position and can accommodate to all by taking the shape of whatever contains it.

Autumn is also symbolic representing both a time and happening.  The autumn of our life is sometimes depicted as the time, when through knowledge earned and challenges met, we are at our most complete.  It is the time of ripening wisdom and fulfilment following from the innocence of spring and the hustle of summer.  It is the time when the harvest moon bathes us in its glory offering 'the mellow fruit of long experience and slow maturity.'  Implicit is the sentiment of waiting for the heavy fruit to fall or the leaf biding its time till its moment arrives.  Insight comes when it is ready and no force can make it arrive sooner.

So, Autumn River combines the power and naturalness of flowing water with the wisdom that comes from our practice and patience, the willingness to allow this wisdom to mature and reveal itself just at the perfect moment.  It implies a trust in both ourselves and the benevolent Spirit of life.  It is the paradox of great power with no force, in harmony with the natural workings of the Universe around us.  Its fruit is joy, peace and love.

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Gong Fu - Beyond Technique

A few years ago, I was talking to someone who was going away to a health club for the weekend.  'Excellent,' I said 'What kind of stuff will you be doing there?'

'Well they have really good food and you can get a facial and five different types of massage; oh, and a really great aromatherapist and a hair dresser . . '

I had misunderstood.  Not having any experience of a health resort, I presumed it was a place for exercise, contemplation or study with learned teachers.  My view was coloured by my experience of Aikido and Tai Chi courses and so I was coming at the 'health' issue from a different angle. 

To have a really good massage is wonderful and can help the body heal, but it differs from doing a Tai Chi class because someone does 'it' to you.  While some resorts may offer Tai Chi sessions, a regular class with a committed teacher is about self cultivation.  This is a fundamental difference.  Our aim is to develop ourselves, in respect of physical and mental well-being, as well as managing conflict, and deepening our understanding of our life. We see change resulting from our own efforts as being permanent and reaching deeply into our being.  It is not a makeover mentality; it is about development at the very core of that being.

In some ways, the Tai Chi class has an old fashioned rationale.  I remember being told as a boy in martial arts class and in youth organisations, 'the more you put in, and the more you get out.'  We were encouraged to take responsibility for our own progress and enjoyment.  As with Tai Chi, fundamental to the approach is that no-one, not even the most gifted and brilliant teacher, can make it happen for you.  The very act of taking the time and energy to study is intrinsically linked to the rewards gained.  This is something too easily forgotten in the entertainment and product driven modern world which persuades us that we are passive recipients for their merchandise.  This is the road to dissatisfaction which only results in 'changing channels,' when the inevitable boredom sets in.  Greater levels of pampering are offered, all with eventual tedium built in.

I really welcome the fact that Tai Chi class is one of the antidotes to that kind of thinking, and also that it matters little how much money you have, how it is earned or what your social status is.

For the most part, I do not know what work my students do - if they are professionals or unemployed.  In time these details may come to light but do not initiate the pigeon-holing which normally follows the 'What do you do?' question in social interactions.  Of more importance is a genuine interest in Tai Chi - and what used to be known as common decency.

The only 'discrimination' which exists in a respectable Tai Chi class is to do with natural talent for learning the art, but even that is tempered by the equal, in some cases greater, importance ascribed to good character.   There is an understanding that, given enough time, the slower student will catch up with the quicker and, in the process, have gained greater depth from the experience.  Struggling to understand has its own reward as progress hard won is valued more highly in the internal currency of what really matters to us.  The 'quick study,' does not have it all his own way in Tai Chi and, as often happens, talents granted easily are talents ignored.

Many of us take comfort in studying an art that calls for some effort to make progress, and is probably part of the reason why I continue after 20 years study.    Knowledge gained this way is 'gong fu,' i.e. knowledge internalised to the point where it is part of a person at a 'molecular level.'  It is not a theory or a technique which disintegrates when challenged by the vagaries of life we are obliged to bear from time to time.  It can be relied on in a crisis, at the very time we need it.  Like our skin, it is us, and cannot be parted from us like clothing.  It is true knowledge.

Recently, a debate was joined in one of the Tai Chi forums found on the internet.  A well known Tai Chi player and winner of some push hands tournaments commented on how quickly he lost his ability when he stopped practising.  This was countered by a student who quoted Ben Lo's thoughts on the matter: 'you gain it slowly and lose it slowly.'  The latter is the nature of gong fu.  It comes from study and insight but like riding the proverbial bike, once acquired, it stays with us.

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Venerable Teacher Knee

I have had my fair share of Aikido and Tai Chi teachers over the years.  Some are pretty famous and some quite obscure, some 'old school' and some more progressive, some scrupulously honest and some mere flim flam men.  Some I studied with for years, others only a weekend.  Some remember me fondly, others do not, but during all this time I have been a constant disciple of Venerable Teacher Knee.

Venerable Teacher Knee is very definitely old school, teaching by pointing out the bad rather than praising the good.  Discomfort or pain is province of this kind of teacher along with long periods of apparent disinterest until straying from the path invites, sometimes, withering intervention.

If it is not clear yet, I would point out that Teacher Knee is none other than the knee joint, a place of particular difficulty for the student of Tai Chi.  If we are to suffer a regular injury in our practice (leaving aside falls or the results of over enthusiastic pushing) it is most likely to be in the area of the knee.  Our American cousins refer to it as 'Tai Chi Knee,' and according to research quoted in Tai Chi magazines, knee problems are very common among teachers and presumably among their students too, since a diligent student copies their teacher's faults as well as their virtues.

One of my own teachers had the unfortunate experience of hearing a loud crack from the region of his knee, before it gave way - with him ending up on his backside in front of the new beginners' class.  Tai Chi for health indeed!

I should add he did make a full recovery and had been given plenty of warning by way of knee-pain for some time.  It was only as a last resort that Teacher Knee dealt the ultimate sanction.

This teacher has since become a devoted student of Teacher Knee and now understands better the role played by knees in teaching us about posture, or more correctly 'alignment.'  Previously he tolerated the ache instead of listening to its message.

As for myself, I have long had an appreciation of the particular difficulty presented by knees due to an injury caused 30 years ago by jumping from a truck.  In a state of youthful abandon, not to mention blatant exhibitionism, I leapt from the truck before the tailgate was down and only succeeded in landing painfully and ignominiously on my left knee.

Venerable Teacher Knee showed his displeasure at such treatment with pain and swelling and has continued to remind me of my youthful folly ever since.  Venerable he may be, but Teacher Knee can be unforgiving.  A subsequent operation did not improve matters in spite of the doctor's assurances. 'A boy scout with a penknife could do it,' was his reply when asked if the procedure was difficult.  I have since wondered if indeed a boy scout had conducted the operation, since the surgeon's confidence was misplaced.

I would like to say that my acquaintance with Teacher Knee ended there but, since it did not, I console myself with learning from my mistakes which is, after all, a key principle of Tai Chi.  'Investing in Loss,' as it is called, leads to deeper understanding but also instils in us resilience in the face of progress and setback - our steadfast companions every step of the way.

In dealing with the setbacks, I like to hear of the experiences of those who have gone before and so, I hope the following digest of knee niggles will be of help to those struggling to understand the mysterious Venerable Teacher Knee.

First, if the thigh hurts when holding postures for a time, then rejoice for you are getting stronger, pumping up your chi/blood/energy (use whichever word you like), and developing your root.  If, however, there is pain in the knee, something is wrong.  Raise your posture until you know why it is sore and then you can lower it again.  I read somewhere that Cheng Man-ching once told an over earnest student to raise their posture a little, adding 'you must earn the sinking.'  This not an instruction heard very often.  I understand Cheng Man-ching to mean that alignment must not be lost as we sink lower in our postures.  I have seen many students who worship on the altar of low stances by sacrificing alignment.  Ultimately, it is not good Tai Chi and not good for the joints.

Secondly, while doing the form we must generally separate transfer of weight from turning of the waist.  Not everybody teaching Tai Chi follows this rule but it is a very useful method to eliminate one of the fundamental problems arising from practising the Tai Chi form, namely twisting the knee.  The knees are designed to operate as a hinge and do not like to be twisted, something I used to do all the time.  Only when I learned to separate turning the waist from transfer of weight did this long standing problem disappear, along with the ache it produced.

This problem usually manifests when we are changing direction in the form, i.e. when the feet are at 90 degrees.  The weight (hence the root) must be shifted off the foot before we turn the corresponding hip and leg.  This applies particularly to those of us with limited hip flexibility who compensate by twisting the knee causing a niggle, usually in the inner part of the knee.  Transferring sufficient weight off the leg before turning it will correct the problem immediately.

Thirdly, the feet must be flat on the floor - except when the form explicitly asks us to lift either the toes or heel.  This may seem a little obvious but relaxing the foot on the floor is something of a skill and needs some careful attention, at least at the outset of our study, and also when we try to improve our form by sinking lower or stepping longer.

You may be thinking that only an idiot would not know when their feet are flat on the floor.  If so, I am that idiot.  Unfortunately, poor alignment begins to feel so normal that it goes unnoticed until, in my case, Teacher Knee took the matter in hand.  The ache in my knee 'helped' me to discover a habit I had in favouring the inside edge of my right foot.  When corrected, the pain in the knee disappeared instantly as did a significant callous at the root of the big toe.  The speed at which these joint aches can disappear is nothing short of staggering even if they have been present for years.

Fourthly, in normal front posture, sometimes known as the bow stance, the front knee should not be further forward than the toe.  Some teachers even advise no further forward that the root of the big toe.  This can be confusing because the rear or 100% posture is not subject to the same rule.

The rear posture, with crown of head, Tantien and Yung Chuan point (also known as bubbling point) all in a straight line, channels the weight through the centre of the knee.  The front posture, however, has the body behind the front knee, potentially forcing the knee to restrain the body weight rather than channel it into the foot.  It is akin to rocking back and balancing a chair on its back legs only, causing pressure in an unintended direction.  This pressure builds up in the knee if the leg is bent too much and cannot be channelled into the ground effectively.  

Furthermore, channelling or rooting into the front foot correctly is indispensable in developing a correct push during Push Hands practice.  Power can only be transferred correctly if the alignment through the front leg is not broken at any point between foot and hand.

Neither should you compete, even with yourself, over how low you can go.  A former teacher of mine used to say 'go to your bargain basement.'  Forcing a low posture, however, does not help.  A better analogy can be taken from the Buddha's teaching about the strings on a sitar or other similar instrument.

'If you make the string too tight it will break, if it is too loose it will not sing.' 

As with the sitar string, we only sink the posture till it 'sings,' i.e. till there is a feeling of dynamism and power in the legs.

An indication that things are going well with our alignment is when the Yung Chuan point, i.e. the centre of the foot just behind the ball of the foot, tingles or heats up during practice.  While, by itself, it is of limited practical value, it is nevertheless a sign of progress.

Fifthly, I believe that when the backside is allowed to stick out in either front or back posture, the knees can also be thrown out of alignment.  That the lower spine should be allowed to 'drop,' as if the 'ten thousand things were hanging from it,' is not just about lining up the spine but also lining up the knees.  That the knees and the spine are linked in more than just the obvious way, (i.e. knee bone connected to the thigh bone, the thigh bone connected to . . . ) can been seen right at the beginning of the form in Preparation or Beginning Posture.  Standing with the feet pointing forward and knees a little too straight, will result in a sore back.  Guess how I know.

Correct positioning of the lower back not only affects the knees but centres the weight in the Yung Chuan point so that it feels as if the weight is rooting through the centre of the foot into the floor.  A way to check alignment of the lower spine is to feel your buttocks to see if they are soft.  No, I am not kidding.  This goes for both legs not just the one with less weight on it.  If the lower spine is not 'dropped' the muscles in the buttock can be felt supporting the weight of the spine and thus hindering the fall of weight into the middle of the foot.

As a final piece of advice, do not try to put the knee where you think it should go.  If the above principles are adhered to, the knee with naturally be in the right place.  It actually 'knows' where it is supposed to.  If we stop trying to force it to do what it cannot, it will be fine.

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So What Is Push Hands?

Some years ago as an experiment, six psychiatrists were asked to examine a patient and give a diagnosis.  They gave six different diagnoses.  I mention this only in its similarity to what would happen if you asked six Tai Chi teachers 'What is Push Hands?'  The difference might be that you would get more than six different answers in the struggle to classify as evasive a subject as Push Hands.  I am more sanguine about the difficulties these days and tickled by the irony that the subject itself is as difficult to pin down as someone who is good at Push Hands.  Perhaps that is the way it is meant to be.

If truth be told, any answer given is more informative in allowing us an insight into the respondent, rather than in defining Push Hands itself.  In pursuing the subtleties of an art like Push Hands we are restricted by the template we impose on it in order to understand it.  Ironically, the more we try to understand it, the narrower will be our conception of it.  In practice our view is heavily influenced by our experience and expectations.

Bearing in mind the above, I am outlining here my personal view derived from studying with several teachers but also from what I instinctively feel is right for me. 

I am not concerned to convert people to my point of view but to express it as a valid viewpoint among several which may be posited in the Tai Chi community.  Nor do I want to stray into realms of the glib, offering ill-advised counsel to those suffering or in pain.  However, in writing about Push Hands, we tread a line between saying something which is sincere and useful and preaching the gibberish of false hope to those in anguish.

So, what is Push Hands?

Put simply, it is an exercise where two people try to disrupt the balance of their partner, while at the same time not succumbing to the attempts of the other to do likewise to them.  Here ends agreement on the subject so what follows will inevitably be controversial.

The main grounds for disagreement centre around whether push hands should be a cooperative exercise or competitive; martial or self-developmental; practised with minimum use of physical strength or the intelligent use of strength; a spiritual exercise or strictly secular.

My view is that Push Hands should be cooperative to the extent that our fragile egos can tolerate losing to those who we perceive to be our 'inferiors.'  We try not to use more than a little bit of force (four ounces is the often quoted maximum, although Dr. Chi Chiang-tao recommended ½ an ounce) to stay balanced in the face of even strong pushes and, when the incoming force has been neutralised, we push using the energy known as chin (also written jin or jing.) rather than purely muscular strength.  The goal is not necessarily to be good at pushing and not being pushed (although that would be nice as well), but to learn something else from the practice.

Cheng Man-ching has been quoted as saying: 'The form teaches us about ourselves, Push Hands teaches us about others.'  This suggests to me that the value of Push Hands goes far beyond the confines of the genteel Tai Chi studio or the competition arena.

I believe it offers us instruction in maintaining peace of mind and happiness, clarity of perception and the ability to act effectively even in the midst of difficult conditions.

Quite often the fruits of equanimity and happiness are thought to come from without in the form of achievements and acquisitions, but a story by Anthony DeMello concerning a rickshaw ride he took in India suggests something else.  The wallah pulling the rickshaw was a man, who was not only terminally ill, but so poor that he still had to work and had already sold his skeleton.

That degree of poverty was nothing new to DeMello, a Jesuit priest living in India.  What was surprising, however, was the happiness of the wallah in spite of his lot.  He was a man not at the mercy of circumstances.  How he became that way is not related by DeMello, but I believe that push hands can lead us to a similar attitude, where we do not allow ourselves to be caught in the negativity surrounding the threat, insult or calamity which may befall us periodically.

Bear in mind this is not a negation of reality.  It is not the same as affirming that 'Everything happens for a reason!'  'It's all good, right!' or 'This is a learning opportunity!'  It is, rather, a keen observation of what is happening and a realisation that the sharp sting of Yang energy is neither good nor bad, and can be neutralised and deflected.  This is not an avoiding strategy, but a facing up to our pain and fear, even if they cannot be removed, without letting them turn us into their victim.

It is a premise of this point of view that our natural state is, in fact, happiness- but we allow circumstances to cause our dis-ease with life; further, that this dis-ease can be ameliorated, even if change of circumstances is not possible.  There is common ground here with cognitive approaches to dealing with fear and doubt, but Push Hands offers a physical method of understanding our problems in terms of Yin and Yang energy which enables us to apply that knowledge to any problem, since all problems are in effect yin/yang exchanges.  Push Hands applies as much to fighting as to building a loving relationship, the difference is only in adapting the principle to the situation.

Although attention should be paid to the important work of practising yielding and neutralising, we must not forget that we are beings of action and must, therefore, be able to use our own yang energy when in a position to do so.  As a former teacher of mine said, 'It took me a long time to realise that Tai Chi is not a Yin art; it is a Yin and Yang art.'

This is important because so many decent, sensitive people come to Tai Chi hoping to find a way to avoid confrontation.  They are empathetic enough to feel the discomfort in those they find themselves having to discipline, supervise or contend with everyday of their lives.  They know they are not good at confrontation and look for a way out.

A way out is not possible, however, as we all have to act and risk getting it wrong or making things worse.  Jesuit priest, Anthony DeMello, who was a great collector of parables from all traditions, tells of the monkey sitting in a tree plucking a fish from the river below and placing it high in the tree to save it from drowning, an action with good intentions but disastrous consequences. The skill in action lies in the ability to act with sensitivity to our surroundings and not force solutions based on our own prejudice or impatience. 

How do we develop this skill?  How do we avoid, in our 'push,' the negative effects of imposing our view and hence our will on the situation?  How do we physically push another person without initiating bad feeling by our 'victory'?

Even assuming we can do this in the relatively controlled environment of the Push Hands hall, how do we extend this principle to dealing with an employee, or lover, or child, or even a mugger?  How do we stand up for ourselves without violating the principle?  To misquote Raymond Chandler 'How does a man walk down these mean streets without resorting to becoming mean himself?'

In my yet immature understanding of the lessons Push Hands has to offer I nevertheless notice the difference in me when my push is 'personal,' in contrast to when it is artless.  The artless push - which is anything but art-less, is powerful, I surmise, because it has less ego in it i.e. less of me in it and more of the Tao about it:  It is not quite that they push themselves, but it is not quite that I push them either.

A former teacher told me of pushing with Dr. Chi Chiang-tao who, despite being considerably smaller, older and physically weaker, still managed him with ease.  The lasting impression was not one of being 'pushed' but a feeling of being 'wrapped in the mind,' of Dr. Chi.  My impression is that a good push does not taste of wilful force winning the day.

So the question becomes, how do we push 'without pushing'?  A clue, I think, is to be found in a saying of my former Aikido teacher, Sensei Coyle, who summed up the matter with his customary eloquence when he said, 'Only throw someone who is already falling.'  In other words once led to the consequences of our own imbalance, the push is only a confirmation of the natural order of things. We sail through the air, knowing that we are borne not on another's egoistic intention but upon an organic process of which we are part. 

Clearly I do not believe that winning and losing is the only factor under consideration when we talk about Push Hands.  The ability '....to meet with Triumph and Disaster, and treat these two imposters the same,' (Kipling) is equally, if not more important.  To become defined by our wins and losses is to be held hostage by these imposters and never be free or happy.  As a captive of circumstances we are in danger of believing that life is mostly about 'having' or 'winning'.  Yet, ultimately, we can choose to invest what 'we are' or what 'we have'.  I would suggest that Push Hands gives us the opportunity to study the interplay of these two perspectives and endeavour 'to have' and 'to be' in balance.

Indeed, if the question was 'What is Push Hands all about?', we could simply answer -  Balance.

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For more information phone Jan Kauskas 0141-357-5102
E-mail:  tao@autumnrivertaichi.com