Newsletter #33

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(Lōuxī Àobù, 摟膝拗步: Brush Knee and Step Forward

“Brush Knee and Step Forward” is one of the most recognizable movements in Yang-style Taijiquan. It appears repeatedly throughout the traditional form, alternating from side to side. Its movements are straightforward, yet it contains many of the principles that make Taijiquan more than a sequence of postures.

As the practitioner steps forward, one hand passes downward beside the knee while the opposite hand moves forward in a palm strike. The name “brush knee” can be misleading if taken too literally. The lower hand does not simply brush the knee for appearance. It represents a downward and outward deflection, clearing an incoming attack while the other hand responds.

The posture also provides a good lesson in whole-body coordination. The forward palm should not be pushed independently from the shoulder. As the weight shifts into the front leg, the turning waist coordinates the movement of both arms. The lower hand, forward palm, waist, and advancing weight are parts of one continuous action. When properly connected, the movement feels considerably stronger than anything produced by the arm alone.

At the same time, the practitioner must avoid leaning forward in an attempt to add power. The torso remains upright and centered between the legs, allowing force generated from the ground to pass through the body without unnecessary muscular tension.

The repeated left and right versions also train an important Taijiquan skill: separating the functions of the two sides while keeping them coordinated. One hand redirects while the other advances; one side opens as the other expresses force. Neither action is truly independent.

Like many movements in Taijiquan, Brush Knee and Step Forward becomes more interesting the longer it is practiced. What initially appears to be a simple step, brush, and push gradually becomes an exercise in timing, weight transfer, waist movement, and coordinated power. The posture reminds us that in Taijiquan, simplicity on the outside often conceals considerable complexity within.

一葉知秋: From One Leaf, Know Autumn

September often arrives quietly. The afternoon may still feel like summer, yet mornings are cooler, shadows lengthen, and somewhere a leaf changes color or falls from a tree. A traditional Chinese idiom captures this moment beautifully: yī yè zhī qiū (一葉知秋), “from one leaf, know autumn.”

The expression describes the ability to recognize a larger change from a small sign. Its roots can be traced to the Huáinánzǐ (淮南子), a text compiled during the early Han dynasty. The underlying idea is that by observing a single falling leaf, one can understand that the year is beginning its seasonal decline. The important point is not the leaf itself, but what the observant person learns from it.

Over time, the phrase came to describe perceptiveness in a much broader sense. Small changes often appear before larger ones become obvious. A farmer notices something different in the soil or plants. A traditional physician observes subtle changes in complexion, appetite, or sleep. In Taijiquan, sensitivity allows an experienced practitioner to recognize the beginning of another person's movement before substantial force develops.

The same principle applies to yǎngshēng (養生), or nourishing life. We do not need to wait until autumn arrives to recognize that summer is ending. Changes in temperature, daylight, appetite, energy, and sleep can encourage us to gradually adjust our habits along with the season.

There is a larger lesson here as well. We often notice change only after it has become impossible to ignore. By then, our choices may be limited. Paying attention to smaller signs gives us time to respond rather than simply react.

A falling leaf is an ordinary thing. The wisdom lies in seeing what it tells us.

Perhaps that is the enduring lesson of yī yè zhī qiū: wisdom is not merely recognizing change, but recognizing it while the signs are still small.

The Interstitium: The Space Between

For many years, anatomy was taught largely in terms of organs, muscles, bones, blood vessels, and nerves. Yet between these familiar structures lies an extensive network of connective tissue and fluid known as the interstitium.

The interstitium is not simply empty space. It includes extracellular matrix, proteins, and interstitial fluid that surround cells and help form their immediate environment. In 2018, researchers using newer imaging methods described previously underappreciated fluid-filled spaces within tissues such as fascia, skin, the digestive tract, and around blood vessels. These spaces appear to be supported by collagen bundles and connected with lymphatic drainage.

For students of Chinese medicine, this is intriguing, although comparisons should be made cautiously. Traditional Chinese medicine describes networks through which qì (氣), blood, and fluids move throughout the body. The interstitium is not proof of the channel system, nor should the two be treated as identical. Still, both perspectives remind us that the body is not merely a collection of separate parts.

This may also help explain why gentle movement matters. Fascia and other connective tissues are continually compressed, stretched, and released as we breathe and move. The interstitial spaces described by researchers are found especially in tissues subjected to repeated mechanical motion.

Practices such as Qigong and Taijiquan repeatedly alternate expansion and contraction, shifting weight and gently mobilizing large areas of connective tissue. From a Yangsheng (養生) perspective, regular movement also supports circulation, mobility, and the normal exchange of fluids throughout the tissues.

Ancient practitioners did not know the microscopic anatomy of the interstitium. Modern researchers do not claim that it explains Qi. But the discovery offers a useful reminder that important physiological activity occurs not only inside organs and vessels, but also in the spaces connecting them.

Sometimes what lies “between” things is just as important as the things themselves.

Qi journal Updates

Our Autumn 2026 issue has been released, and as usual, we are receiving positive comments on the content. We appreciate the feedback. If you wish to receive this issue when ordering a subscription on our website, make sure to select "current issue" as your starting issue. Our "next" issue will be our winter issue.

Here is a list of articles and a thumbnail of the cover photo. Subscription options are available on our website at: www.qi-journal.com/subscriptions. And individual back issues have been released for sale on our website.

·         Autumn's feature articles: "What 57 Years of Practice Reveals: Silk Reeling & Joint Health" by Dr. Bob Bacher, D.C.; "The Ancient Lingbao Daoist's Magical Talisman Staff" by Prof. Jerry Alan Johnson, Ph.D., D.T.C.M.; "Neijia: Taijiquan, Baguazhang, Xingyiquan, Yiquan & Others" by Luo Shiwen; and "Guiding & Stretching: The Mawangdui Daoyin Paintings and Their Legacy" by Daniel Ming, Ph.D.

·         Departments include: "Science, Skepticism, and the Space Between" by Susan Lee; "The Chrysanthemum: Flower of Autumn and Endurance" by Steven Luo; "Training the Taiji Sword: Intention, Precision, and the Living Blade" by Dr. David Dawson; "Why is Prevention so Hard?" by Su Chaio, B.A.; "When Taiji Could Push You Up Into a Tree" by Steven Luo; "Sanzi Jing: Three Characters at a Time" by Qi Journal's staff; and "What Religion Do You Follow?" by Seth Cameron

How Much Effort Is Too Much in Qìgōng?

Qìgōng (氣功) is often described as gentle exercise, but that does not mean the body is doing nothing. Muscles still work, joints still support weight, and posture still requires coordination. The challenge is learning how much effort is actually necessary.

Too much effort usually appears as tension in places that do not need it. The shoulders rise, the hands stiffen, the jaw tightens, or the legs grip the floor. These habits may feel like strength, but they often make movement less efficient and breathing less natural.

A useful question during practice is: Can I do this with slightly less effort? If the posture remains stable and the movement stays clear, the answer is often yes. Reducing unnecessary tension does not mean becoming limp. It means using enough muscular support to maintain structure while allowing everything else to remain relaxed.

The hands are a good place to check. Fingers should feel alive but not rigid. The shoulders should stay heavy and settled rather than lifted. The knees should bend only as much as can be comfortably supported. If the legs begin to shake from strain, the stance may be lower than necessary.

Breathing also provides feedback. If the breath becomes restricted, held, or unusually forceful during a simple movement, excess effort is probably involved somewhere.

Over time, qìgōng teaches economy. The practitioner gradually learns which muscles are needed and which ones can release. Movements become smoother not because less is happening, but because less energy is being wasted.

The goal is not minimum effort at all costs. It is appropriate effort: enough to support the movement, but not so much that tension begins to interfere with it.

That balance is one of the practical skills that makes qìgōng feel easier, quieter, and more refined with continued practice.

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