I learn so much when I start a new book. What other activity would allow me to have, on the same month, a conversation about 1) soul alchemy in daoism, another on 2) thought suppression on the brain’s neocortex, one about 3) antagonist algorithms in artificial intelligence, one on 4) the differences between playing and … Continue reading Hashtagananza
Girls should be at home this late. Especially little Asian chicks like me. Never running, alone, in the dark streets of Oakland. Except that when dudes see you so comfortable and confident by yourself, they think you are either crazy or are hiding something.I am both. Crazy and hiding. From a fence ahead, I hear … Continue reading My name is Tigress
Wudang is a UNESCO world heritage site because of extraordinary places like the Black Warrior Palace, a temple dedicated to Xuanwu, the daoist Turtoise/Snake god of the north. I was just writing about it in a chapter of the book and stopped by to post a picture too. #wudang #daoism #taoism #kungfu
The last few weeks have been an amazing journey to the core of the book. A trip to China -- Wudang and Shanghai -- to study Daoism and Taichi. Lots of photos and videos coming soon. For now, enjoy the new TaiChi form the officials at Wudang have been preparing to roll out next year.
Americans. They can buy into their own witchcraft so quickly, but make it foreign and it’s silly. I nod and explain. At the very least, it's a good philosophical ritual to perform, sometimes. If you don’t trust the divination part, the results still get you thinking. In my case, the Dao says I am approaching zenith, with all its glory and triumph, and need to think abandonment, cause decline comes next. I glance around and it doesn’t seem like zenith or triumph. Except for George. He makes me happy, despite having to live in his bizarre schedule. He’s worth it. (...)
In my mind, it’s always present. One flash inside the other, never past, never future, forever happening. Right “now,” I am twelve. A sound: water nearby. The scent of leaves, bamboo, China. Among the woods, a broad, clear circle on the floor invites me in. The sacred ground where we train. Although this time, there's more. He watches us. Two arms point out; a third, a foot lower, aims at me; a single leg bends forward, like a cat stance. I return the look, in respect. The wooden man, icon of … Continue reading The Wooden Man
I know the speed (and angle) of every punch I threw in my entire life. Didn’t, back then. But now I do. I can tell the energy built through all chi-gong routines, and what you spend in each bagua palm change. With accuracy of seventeen decimals, because after that it’s mostly irrelevant. I have data … Continue reading The me that ain’t