Language of tai chi needs no translation

"Go to the Temple of Heaven at 8 a.m. on Saturday."

Wow. I hadn't even moved to China and already I was living the opening lines of a Jackie Chan movie.

I study tai chi, the martial art done in slow motion. You know that commercial where the dog runs through the park, past a group of people moving slowly in unison? That's tai chi.

One of my concerns about moving to Beijing was finding the right tai chi instructor. Just before I left, I came across a book written by an American who studied martial arts in Beijing. Not expecting a reply, I e-mailed him asking for advice in finding the right teacher.

His cryptic response came back within hours: "Go to the Temple of Heaven at 8 a.m. on Saturday."

"There will be some kind of initiation," a friend suggested. "You'll have to go back Saturday after Saturday, standing in the rain sometimes, until a martial arts master says you passed their test." It sounded possible.

I went. 8 a.m. The Temple of Heaven.

It's a huge park, bigger than Washington Park, bigger than the fairgrounds, with the temple in the center where the Chinese emperor went once a year to pray to the gods. Where (or how) would I find an instructor? A person who was not looking for me?

At that hour on Saturday morning, there was almost no traffic in Beijing, which made me think the park would be deserted. As I entered the gates, the sights and sounds hit me like a heavy metal concert. There were people everywhere, in groups of 10 or 20, 50 or 60. They were all pursuing their individual passions.

A boom box blared "Moon River" as an instructor barked out orders to 20 couples gliding around a concrete courtyard, ballroom dancing ... was it a waltz? A wailing, twangy sound came from another alcove as five musicians played uniquely Chinese stringed instruments to a small crowd of admirers. Shuttlecocks inscribed graceful arcs, back and forth, back and forth on dozens of fully occupied badminton courts. Under the spreading cypress trees 60 women jiggled and strutted to "I'm Coming Out." And there was tai chi.

I had studied tai chi at the Wellness Center in South Strabane Township for the past few years, so my dream has been to practice it the way the Chinese do, in the early morning in a city park with actual Chinese people. I had a guidebook that showed a picture of a hundred or so people all moving together slowly. I hoped to find this huge group, slip in unnoticed at the back and copy their movements. Clearly, that would not be possible. There were hundreds of people doing tai chi all right, but in small groups of 20 or 30. I couldn't barge in and ask if I could join. Anyway, I don't speak Chinese.

I wandered around, watching various groups performing their individual movements. I stopped at one group because they were doing movements similar to ones I had practiced. I watched the way they shifted their weight, just like my instructor had taught me. I saw them form their fingers to resemble the beak of a crane, just like I had done hundreds of times myself. Confidence flowed through me. I could do this! I longed to join them, but how? They all stopped moving and my heart sank. They were finished. They milled around, swapping the finer points of individual moves. I had missed my chance. But then the break was over and they re-formed into lines. Without thinking I stepped up to a woman near the back and gestured, asking if I could participate. She gave a broad smile and made room for me.

The teacher hit "play" on the boom box and soothing music initiated the choreographed sequence of movements, called a form. As one, they gathered their energy and began to move.

I moved with them. I focused intently on the people around me, trying to make the same moves they did.

Luckily, tai chi is done in slow motion. Sometimes my hands made the proper arc, sometimes my feet were in the right place. Right hand out and left hand palm upwards, oops! That's left hand out and right hand palm upwards. Always put your foot down heel first, toe in the air ... except when you don't. Rarely were my hands and feet totally coordinated with theirs. And every time they changed direction, I missed a move. It looked easy and effortless; it was hard and arduous.

Ten minutes later, the form was finished, and many of them greeted me enthusiastically. I hadn't realized that they were all covertly watching me. The leader, a tall, somewhat chubby man, came forward and corrected some basic mistakes I had made (bending my back leg too much) and showed me an exercise to shift weight effortlessly. His moon face beamed and nodded when I adjusted my stance to imitate his.

One bossy woman stepped forward and showed me a difficult move that involved raising one leg very high, then effortlessly placing it lightly on the ground. She clearly wanted me to try it. I managed to pick my foot up to a respectable height, then felt my balance start to shift. All eyes were on me. If I really tried to ground myself I might be able to stick the landing. But what was all that about the Chinese and saving face? Would it humiliate the woman who had challenged me to this leg lift thing?

At that moment when my balance could have gone one way or another, I deliberately allowed my center of gravity to shift and slowly, as gracefully as possible, I fell over backwards.

It was the right thing to do. They all laughed and helped me up, and I tried again, not raising my leg nearly as high and doing a credible impression of the move. They were pleased. Their colleague had not lost face.

When they began again, the bossy woman placed me at the very center of the group so I could always see and copy someone next to me, even when we changed direction. My training was paying off. When we finished the form, I was shocked but pleased when several group members turned to me and applauded, shaking my hand and smiling enthusiastically.

I was in. They adopted me like a missing piece.

With liberal use of my Chinese/English dictionary, we engaged in complex communication. They meet every day at 7 a.m. (not 8 a.m.), and I was welcome to come any time. I said I'd be back next Saturday.

I am laying a foundation to make Chinese friends. I don't know what they do for a living, or where they live, or even their names. Friends are people who share a common interest, a common passion, transcending language and culture, economic status and education.

The Temple of Heaven on Saturday morning may become my favorite place on earth. It's everything life should be, could be. It's people enjoying themselves and one another. If I were visiting, I'd say I wish I lived here.

I do live here. Wow.

The Temple of Heaven. 8 a.m. ... oops, I mean 7 a.m. Saturday morning. I'll be there.

Dorothy Tecklenburg is a freelance writer who, with her family, left Washington County to live in China several months ago.

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