"Unlocking the Essence of Soft Wing Chun: A Journey of Taoism and Self-Discovery" by Christoph Busetti
In my experience training with David in the soft approach to Wing Chun, I've discovered two profound revelations. First, I've realized how closely this martial art aligns with the principles of Taoism. Secondly, I've come to understand that focusing on learning countless techniques can inflate one's ego and divert us from the true essence of martial art.
So, how does Wing Chun resonate with Taoism? For me, it's the concepts of "the soft overcomes the hard," being receptive like a valley, and the idea of Wu Wei, which I interpret as cleansing oneself from ego and greed. These concepts are not just philosophical ideas; David demonstrates how to apply them in a practical and logical way, which sets him apart.
Wing Chun is undeniably a journey that spans years, if not a lifetime. There are no shortcuts in this art; it's about continuous hard work, both mentally and physically. It can be frustrating, but it inevitably shapes a new level of consciousness. It's akin to learning a language: amassing a vast vocabulary is meaningless without understanding the grammar. You may impress some people, but you won't effectively communicate without grasping the underlying principles. When I first encountered Wing Chun in 2000, I was struck by the speed of the movements and the way my hands were manipulated during training – bong sau, chops, and those lightning-fast chain punches. The training at that time was dominated by complex sequences, with specific responses to each move. I often wondered, "What if the opponent doesn't act as expected? How do I adapt?" The complexity left me puzzled, and my stance was weak, causing frequent balance issues.
I also couldn't fathom where the power came from when executing straight punches without involving the shoulders or waist. These strikes paled in comparison to those in boxing or other martial arts. I believed that hitting the gym and practicing more chain punches would increase my speed and power. I also encountered sore shoulders while practicing chisao, and my teacher's response was that it would improve with time and strengthen my shoulders. However, these pieces didn't seem to fit together. After a year of training, I moved to Venice for university, continuing to practice chain punches but receiving no formal training until 2011 when I reunited with David in Shanghai.
I decided to learn from him, primarily due to the remarkable finesse he demonstrated during a visit to my apartment in Hangzhou. His touch was powerful yet effortless, natural, and deeply relaxing. This experience opened my eyes to the essence of Wing Chun, a martial art created by a woman: soft yet potent. I understood "soft" as the correct posture that allows Qi to flow naturally without obstructions, filling every part of the body.
The punches he showed me seemed to descend effortlessly upon me, penetrating rather than pushing. I committed myself to this type of Wing Chun, but it was a frustrating journey. It lacked the flashy moves I had initially associated with martial arts. It was monotonous and frustrating. I even started sweating profusely during Siu Lim Tao practice.
Despite the initial boredom, I persisted, realizing that my punches and my overall Wing Chun skills were becoming more robust and substantial. I was entering a new realm of consciousness. My focus shifted to timing, positioning, the connection between knees and elbows, and feelings.
The connection between my knees, back, shoulders, and elbows created a system of elastic bends that, when aligned, generated formidable but penetrating power. It was about being connected and relaxed, not muscle-bound. Siu Lim Tao served as the foundation for this internal work, Nei Gong. Although it may not appear strenuous from the outside, it demanded great patience and a Wu Wei attitude. It was an internal journey, an exploration of feeling and learning to internalize these sensations for practical use.
In each lesson, David corrected our posture, ensuring that we were relaxed and connected. He allowed us to experience the correct movements, focusing on the sensations they generated. After the lesson, it was up to us to reorganize and internalize these concepts, retaining the "feelings" we had discovered.
In the end, much of the work depends on us, as we practice alone, often in front of a mirror, to refine our posture, movements, and connections, striving to recapture those elusive feelings. The depth of knowledge we gain correlates with our ability to shed our egos and embrace the journey.
In my experience training with David in the soft approach to Wing Chun, I've discovered two profound revelations. First, I've realized how closely this martial art aligns with the principles of Taoism. Secondly, I've come to understand that focusing on learning countless techniques can inflate one's ego and divert us from the true essence of martial art.
So, how does Wing Chun resonate with Taoism? For me, it's the concepts of "the soft overcomes the hard," being receptive like a valley, and the idea of Wu Wei, which I interpret as cleansing oneself from ego and greed. These concepts are not just philosophical ideas; David demonstrates how to apply them in a practical and logical way, which sets him apart.
Wing Chun is undeniably a journey that spans years, if not a lifetime. There are no shortcuts in this art; it's about continuous hard work, both mentally and physically. It can be frustrating, but it inevitably shapes a new level of consciousness. It's akin to learning a language: amassing a vast vocabulary is meaningless without understanding the grammar. You may impress some people, but you won't effectively communicate without grasping the underlying principles. When I first encountered Wing Chun in 2000, I was struck by the speed of the movements and the way my hands were manipulated during training – bong sau, chops, and those lightning-fast chain punches. The training at that time was dominated by complex sequences, with specific responses to each move. I often wondered, "What if the opponent doesn't act as expected? How do I adapt?" The complexity left me puzzled, and my stance was weak, causing frequent balance issues.
I also couldn't fathom where the power came from when executing straight punches without involving the shoulders or waist. These strikes paled in comparison to those in boxing or other martial arts. I believed that hitting the gym and practicing more chain punches would increase my speed and power. I also encountered sore shoulders while practicing chisao, and my teacher's response was that it would improve with time and strengthen my shoulders. However, these pieces didn't seem to fit together. After a year of training, I moved to Venice for university, continuing to practice chain punches but receiving no formal training until 2011 when I reunited with David in Shanghai.
I decided to learn from him, primarily due to the remarkable finesse he demonstrated during a visit to my apartment in Hangzhou. His touch was powerful yet effortless, natural, and deeply relaxing. This experience opened my eyes to the essence of Wing Chun, a martial art created by a woman: soft yet potent. I understood "soft" as the correct posture that allows Qi to flow naturally without obstructions, filling every part of the body.
The punches he showed me seemed to descend effortlessly upon me, penetrating rather than pushing. I committed myself to this type of Wing Chun, but it was a frustrating journey. It lacked the flashy moves I had initially associated with martial arts. It was monotonous and frustrating. I even started sweating profusely during Siu Lim Tao practice.
Despite the initial boredom, I persisted, realizing that my punches and my overall Wing Chun skills were becoming more robust and substantial. I was entering a new realm of consciousness. My focus shifted to timing, positioning, the connection between knees and elbows, and feelings.
The connection between my knees, back, shoulders, and elbows created a system of elastic bends that, when aligned, generated formidable but penetrating power. It was about being connected and relaxed, not muscle-bound. Siu Lim Tao served as the foundation for this internal work, Nei Gong. Although it may not appear strenuous from the outside, it demanded great patience and a Wu Wei attitude. It was an internal journey, an exploration of feeling and learning to internalize these sensations for practical use.
In each lesson, David corrected our posture, ensuring that we were relaxed and connected. He allowed us to experience the correct movements, focusing on the sensations they generated. After the lesson, it was up to us to reorganize and internalize these concepts, retaining the "feelings" we had discovered.
In the end, much of the work depends on us, as we practice alone, often in front of a mirror, to refine our posture, movements, and connections, striving to recapture those elusive feelings. The depth of knowledge we gain correlates with our ability to shed our egos and embrace the journey.