Page One

Like me, my new friend Naomi loves to ride her bike around Berkeley. She has a rack on the trunk of her car, so we can take our bikes to explore other places, as well. I appreciate Naomi’s energy, her get-up-and-go spirit, and her self-confidence. The fact that she is 75 years old makes her all the more inspiring! 

“Jan, you should come to my T’ai Chi Chih class,” she suggested one day as we biked along the Bay Trail toward Point Richmond, the screeches of seagulls filling the air. “I think you’d enjoy it. The teacher is terrific. He’s fully accredited. And it’s free!” 

“Where is it?” I asked, breathing in the salt air as I sped to catch up with my friend, whose silver hair reflected the glow of the sun. 

“North Berkeley Senior Center,” she called back, racing ahead to catch the green light.  

When I was in Beijing a few years ago, I enjoyed seeing older people doing T’ai Chi Chuan in the park. It reminded me of dancing in slow motion. But T’ai Chi Chih? Once back in the car, I asked Naomi the difference. “T’ai Chi Chih is a meditative form developed by an American, Justin Stone, in Albuquerque, New Mexico, in the ’70s,” she explained. “It’s not as complex as T’ai Chi Chuan. The form has only 19 movements and one pose at the end, so it’s much easier to learn. A lot of research has been done on the health benefits of T’ai Chi Chih; apparently, it strengthens the immune system and improves balance, as well as relieving certain other ailments.” 

“Hmmm! I have certain ailments I’d like to relieve—my chronic back and neck aches, my occasional knee pain.” 

“Why don’t you come, Jan!” 

Sounds good, I thought. Approaching 63, I am just starting to feel like a senior. In addition to the aches and pains, I have dry eyes. I too often find myself blocking words. But I’ve had a lot of resistance to admitting I’m “old.” My body still looks youthful, and my hair is a miracle. It’s still the long thick strawberry-blonde “mane’”of my youth.  

Thus, with the exception of certain movie theaters that have senior prices, I had not taken advantage of my senior status. I had never attended any of the diverse free classes—line dancing, drawing and painting, Iyengar yoga, Spanish conversation, Chinese karaoke, Argentine tango, ceramics, ukulele, and many more—offered at the three senior centers in town. Each time I would pass one, I’d see folks going in and out who looked “elderly.” I did not place myself in that category. 

However, I had wanted to study T’ai Chi since my trip to China, and the schedule of Naomi’s class worked for me. I said I would most likely meet her there. When our mutual friend Arleen, a year older than I, told me she’d attended the class and liked it, that convinced me. Taking this T’ai Chi Chih class would give me the opportunity to see these dear friends regularly and woul add to my exercise and meditation practices at the same time.  

Since my retirement from two decades of compelling work doing crisis intervention at King Middle School, I have put time and effort into getting in better physical shape, delighting in dance and spin-cycling classes in my free time. Dance comes naturally to me—I feel free and exuberant when I dance. It makes my heart sing.  

Spin cycling gives me a great cardio workout; it strengthens my heart.  

I thought that the practice of T’ai Chi Chih might complement these activities. I though having recently lost my beloved partner, this form of moving meditation might increase my internal (as well as external) balance. It might help open and heal my heart. I decided to check it out. 

Therefore, a few weeks ago, arriving about 15 minutes early, I parked behind the North Berkeley Senior Center and headed in, passing animated older folks of diverse races and nationalities, their wrinkled hands punctuating conversations in English, Chinese, Spanish, and Russian as they relaxed on the benches outside. Squirrels darted above their heads in the trees that shaded their bent bodies.  

As I entered, I noticed an African-American woman with a gray “natural’”standing behind the front desk. She smiled at me as I inquired about the class. “T’ai Chi Chih is on the second floor. You can use the elevator or the stairs,” she explained. “Please sign in first—right here.” 

I noticed “Today’s Menu” posted on an easel. “Oven Baked ‘Fried Chicken’ with Country Gravy and Mashed Sweet Potatoes—Suggested donation $3.00,” it said. “Served with Collard Greens, Cornbread and Butter, Fresh Fruit.” A deal, I thought, as I bounced up the stairway, the aroma of fried chicken and gravy wafting through the air. 

Passing a small library on the second floor, I noticed an attractive Asian man with a gray ponytail reading a book while peddaling a stationary bicycle. Efficient, I thought. I might actually like this place. 

Behind the next door was a large sun-lit room with a shiny linoleum floor, a piano at one end. A frail dark-skinned woman with an accent was sitting in a wheelchair talking to a spry white-haired African-American woman seated on a folding chair, who introduced herself to me as Sister Makinya. Others were arriving, pulling out and opening folding chairs to create a large circle. Assuming this was the protocol, I opened a seat for myself.  

“Are you all here for the T’ai Chi Chih class?” I asked a woman in a green and yellow sari who was seated nearby. 

“Yeah, dahling,” a new arrival responded as she dragged a cart filled with an assortment of plastic bags to her side. The “bag lady” plopped herself down to my right. “This one’s a beauty!” she called out in a loud voice and pointed in my direction. “Is that yaw real haih?” she yelled. 

“Yes, it is,” I answered, smiling self-consciously. “It’s totally natural. There are some silver hairs among the red and blonde ones.” I noticed I wanted to fit in. 

“I don’t see them,” she responded. “Do you see them, Ruma?”  

“That’s beautiful hair,” the balding man to my left shouted, interrupting the Indian woman. I figured people were shouting to hear themselves as well as each other. 

Finally I noticed that Naomi and Arleen had arrived. They stood together across the room. Saved from too much attention! I ran to greet them. Following right behind them was a tall attractive silver-haired man in brown overalls. “That’s our teacher,” Naomi murmured, as she gave me a hug. “We should put our purses down and stand in the circle.”  

Arleen and I took our places. Others were beginning to rise, although a few remained seated during the whole hour, moving only from the waist up. 

“I see we have some new people here,” the teacher said, his German accent adding charm to his gentle demeanor. “So, for those who come regularly, please forgive me if I give explanations that you might already know. 

“Let’s begin with our warm-up, loosening exercises, checking in with our bodies to see how they respond today. Remember to breathe naturally.” Then he began to demonstrate shifting weight from one leg to the other. For those seated, he pulled a chair in and showed them how to alter the movements in that position.  

“What’s his name?” I asked Naomi in a whisper when the teacher’s back was turned. “Friedbert Weimann,” she replied softly, shifting her weight as he did. I did the same, my attention focused on the positioning of my feet, legs, and hips, as well as my arms, hands, and feet, coordinating them with my breath. 

I enjoyed the naturalness of the motion. I felt the meditative quality as everyone moved together in silence. Using a soft serious tone of voice, Friedbert explained the movements as he demonstrated and led them, his hands and arms floating gracefully through Rocking Motion and Bird Flaps Its Wings, rotating in the center of the circle, so that we all could see him from different directions. 

Friedbert talked about the flow of vital force, “chi—the spiritual energy in every living being” and “the balance of yin—female energy—and yang—male energy. Keep your movements soft, slow, and even. Let T’ai Chi Chih be a form of meditation.”  

He suggested we “concentrate on a spot about two inches below the navel-the T’an T’ien—where the movements are centered.” He went on to demonstrate variations of Around the Platter: “Breathe in and out slowly and deeply as you move. Softness and continuity are the essence of this form.”  

My dance background helped me with balance; yoga helped me coordinate my breath. However, although I practice meditation, I had difficulty getting into a meditative space; I was too busy trying to learn the movements and do them correctly. But I knew this was part of “beginner’s mind.” I tried to stop my inner critic and just let myself flow. There was poetry in the movement—a metaphor of peace and harmony. 

Suddenly, the woman with the cart complained that she still didn’t “get it.”  

“Daily practice is your best teacher,” Friedbert commented. “It might even lead you to a wholesome addiction.” Serenely, eyes partially closed, he went right on with the lesson. 

Over the hour, Friedbert led us through the 19 exercises, one by one. They had picturesque names that described our movements: Daughter on the Mountaintop, Daughter in the Valley, Pulling Taffy, Light at the Top of the Head, Joyous Breath, Passing Clouds. At the beginning and end of each element of the form we were instructed to assume a position of ease and repose. I found myself feeling at once both calm and wide awake. As I looked at my hands, I realized that these were the hands of an older woman who belonged there. 

Before the final pose, we did Six Healing Sounds, moving and exhaling with long drawn-out whispers of “Ho”(heart), “Hu” (spleen), “Szu” (liver), “Hsu” (lungs), “His” (relating to three chakra points), and “Chui” (kidneys). We ended the hour with the Universal Consciousness Pose, holding it for a few minutes. Then we all bowed to our teacher as he bowed to us. 

When the class was over, I felt rested and refreshed. I thanked Friedbert for his excellent instruction. “Have you done T’ai Chi before?” he asked me. 

“No, I’ve seen it many times, even in China, but I never took a class. I dance.” 

“You’re a dancer?” 

“No, I dance for pleasure. I’m a psychotherapist.” 

“Ah,” Friedbert responded. “Well, this is a practice in which you have your own internal therapist and you nurture your own inner child.” 

“I can see that,” I responded appreciatively. “I’ll be back!” 

Naomi, Arleen, and I walked out of the room, down the stairs, and into the crisp winter sunshine, catching up with each other’s lives, as women do. We agreed we’d meet at the T’ai Chi Chih class the following Thursday. 

The next week, traffic was light and I arrived at the Senior Center earlier than expected. I sat outside on a bench for a while, enjoying the chirping birds that helped block the noise of the traffic on Martin Luther King Jr. Way. The shady spots were taken, the winter sun was bright, and I didn’t have my sun hat, so I decided to go inside—noticeably more at ease than I had been the week before.  

The woman at the front desk greeted me this time like an old friend. I smiled hello and signed in. A familiar gentleman with wavy white hair and a bushy mustache invited me to ride the elevator with him “to Tai Chi.”  

“No thanks,” I responded. “I like to maximize my exercise. See you at the top!”  

“I’m Charlie. I’m glad you came back. What’s your name?” he asked. 

“I’m Jan,” I called out as the elevator doors closed. He’d obviously recognized me from the previous week. It’s such a welcoming atmosphere, I noted. We both arrived on the second floor simultaneously and walked to the classroom together.  

As we approached the room, there was upbeat piano music ringing in the hallway. “There must be another class going on,” I said to Charlie.  

“Something’s going on!” he laughed. 

As we walked in, we saw the T’ai Chi Chih students, formerly so serious, dancing freely around the room as Sister Makinya swayed on the piano bench to the boogie-woogie she was pounding out to everyone’s delight.  

Charlie and I joined right in, jumping and jiving with the group, each of us doing our own thing in solidarity. I was in my element! It occurred to me that, like me, these folks were mostly baby boomers who had probably gone through the sixties here in the Bay area. Most likely we had all tripped the light fantastic in the Summer of Love, dancing to Janis Joplin and the Grateful Dead, who played their music spontaneously and “for free” in the Panhandle of Golden Gate Park. The atmosphere was joyous as we all let loose. Each time Sister Makinya came to the end of a piece, we would applaud and call out for more. 

The T’ai Chi Chih class was due to start in a few minutes, but Friedbert had not yet arrived. I was eager to see how he would react upon seeing his students—this diverse group of seniors—twisting and shouting to Sister Makinya’s full-tilt boogie. Naomi walked in and without skipping a beat, took my hand to be-bop around the floor. Arleen arrived and began laughing hysterically.  

And then Friedbert entered. We all looked up as he put his hands to his face in amazement. Then he joined us, dancing to the last refrain of the Boogie-Woogie Bugle Boy of Company B. We all hooted, cheered, and applauded with enthusiasm as Sister Makinya rose from the piano. “I was just checking to see if I still remembered the pieces I learned when I was thirteen—seventy years ago!” she laughed. 

“I see you have all found there are other ways of having joy through movement besides T’ai Chi Chih,” Friedbert said with a big smile. “But it’s time to start our class.” After that, I had a new appreciation for my classmates. They no longer seemed old. And I no longer felt separate. We were all in this with Friedbert together.  

But now “Rocking” had new meaning for us. Breathe in; breathe out. 

Jan Elise Sells, a licensed psychotherapist in Berkeley, is writing a book, Lost and Found: True Stories of Hope and Healing from the Frontlines of America’s Teen Crisis. She works with graduate counseling students as Lecturer/Supervisor at Saint Mary’s College.