Before any exercise: Common Guide to the Practices

Before the first movement, take a moment to sense your body. Notice how you are supported, and how the air comes and goes. Acknowledge what is here today, without demanding a special experience of yourself.

Soften whatever tension you can. Loosen your shoulders, your hands, your face. Let the breath find its rhythm. Then smile from the heart: allow an inner gesture of kindness toward yourself. If today that smile is only a willingness, begin from there.

Sense, soften, and smile from the heart. This is the opening shared by all thirteen doors.

Perform the exercise of the door, honoring the form you have learned and its own instructions.

When the movements end, leave room to notice how you are. This stage also includes the time of Chi flow and the stillness that follows. Remain without seeking any particular sensation. Today’s experience may be simple.

Gather the Chi in the lower Dantian, gently bringing your attention there. In this tradition, the lower Dantian is the center in the lower belly, below the navel. Avoid tightening the abdomen or forcing the breath in an attempt to produce a sensation.

Remain a moment in stillness and give thanks for the time of practice. Rub your palms to warm them. With relaxed hands, gently massage your face in circular movements from the inside outward, without pressing on the eyes. Move across the face without haste or force.

When you finish, recognize the place where you are, and return little by little to everyday activity.

The choice, frequency and repetitions of each form are learned with the instructor. The narrative order of the doors does not prescribe the same practice for everyone, nor does it require all thirteen exercises in one session.

I distinguish the school’s exercise from the personal gesture I propose for carrying the door into the day. When I give only the name of a form, the name serves to recognize it with whoever teaches it to you; the gesture that follows neither describes nor replaces its technique. You can approach these everyday gestures without trying to reproduce my inner experiences.

It matters to me whom I walk with. I need to be able to tell what is happening to me and to listen to someone who sees it differently, even when I feel it very strongly. I want to be able to ask questions of what I live. There are things I do not yet understand and can leave open, without hurrying to name them. If fear or confusion begin to govern my days, I also need professional help. That is part of care.

That conviction also guides the way I teach. I have decided not to teach these arts to anyone under eighteen. It is a limit I set, out of the responsibility I feel toward those I accompany. Reaching that age does not mean being ready: maturity, grounding, and the willingness to receive help also matter.

I want to share what I have received while also caring for the return. I am still learning how.