This phrase, well known in China as a metaphor for great success, has its origins in the leaping of carp in China’s Yellow River. Like migrating salmon in the Western hemisphere, the carp swim upstream, leaping the rapids which form as the river flows through a cleft in the mountains. So difficult is the ascent that many carp are unable to complete it and fall back. A legend tells that they complained to the Emperor who found that they had a point and decided to reward the successful few by transforming them into dragons. The rapids were then named Lóngmén龍 門, the Dragon’s Gate.
Tai Chi is full of references to carp leaping the Dragon Gate. We find it at the end of the sword set (#47 Carp leaps the Dragon Gate) and also of the Yang family sabre set (“Left Right Part the Waters, Jump the Dragon Gate), although the name is not preserved in the version of the set transmitted by Mr Liang to Mr Moy. In both sets the move comes close to the end of the set where it thus symbolises the achievement of success after a long effort.
The leaping of carp is a common subject in both Chinese and Japanese art. This image is by the famous Japanese painter and engraver Ohara Koson (1866-1945).
Liang Tzu-peng (梁子鵬, Liang Zi-peng (1900-1974) was one of the most important teachers of Chinese martial arts of the 20th century. He started learning martial arts as a boy as his father thought they would strengthen his body and spirit, and lay the foundations for a successful life. Born in the southern province of Canton (Guangdong), he moved north to Shanghai as a young man, starting work as a clerk in a western company. Here he joined the Jing Wu martial arts association, one of the first public martial arts institutes in China (immortalised in the Bruce Lee film “Fist of Fury”). All the best teachers were invited to teach here and Liang trained particularly hard in Eagle Claw kung fu which was taught by the “King of Eagle”, Chen Zi-zheng. Liang is said to have studied at least 30 styles of hard boxing as well as a myriad of Shaolin weapons forms, all to a high level, to the point where he could learn new styles just by looking at them.
Over time, Liang’s interest slowly shifted to internal styles. Liang heard about You Peng-xī尤彭熙 (1902-1981), a man with a deep knowledge of tai-ji, ba-gua, and xing-yi, who had also studied Yi-quan from its founder Wáng Xiangzhai. Unable to obtain an introduction, Liang went to visit You, challenging him arrogantly. You invited Liang to grasp his wrist – the favourite technique of Eagle Claw practitioners – but Liang was unable to do so. Admitting defeat, Liang became You’s student, but after so many years of studying hard styles he found the standing training (Zhan Zhuang) uninspiring. Later he became addicted to it. Years later, Liang later told Mr Moy that he regretted having spent so much time studying hard styles as a young man.
As a youth Liang had looked down on Tai-ji but after he began training with You he began to see it in a different light. Liang studied Tai-ji from fellow martial artists, without having a formal teacher. He preferred yang style, which is what he later taught to Mr Moy.
In Shanghai Liang studied Liu He Ba Fa (Lok Hup) under Wu Yi-hui 吳翼翬. Wu nicknamed Liang “The lark” 百靈鳥 because of his lightness skills: Liang could jump a foot higher than his own height. Liang studied with him only a short time, leading to allegations that he learnt only the first half of the set from Wu and “made up” the second half, but it seems Liang told Mr Moy that Wu required people to adapt the second half of the set according to their knowledge of other styles (this statement should not be interpreted as a license to interpret Lok-hup in whichever way one wishes).
Liang was of course extremely fit. There are many stories about that, but the most significant is a sad one: a fire broke out in their building. The family apartment was on the upper floor. Liang absailed down the outside of the building carrying his wife, climbed back up, then rescued his daughter in the same way. Only at this moment did he remember their second, infant daughter, but it was now impossible to re-enter the building, and she perished. This incident greatly increased Liang’s renown locally.
In 1946, seeing the situation on the Chinese mainland deteriorating under the communists, Liang decided to move to Hong Kong which was still a British colony and where his employer (Oriental Yarns) had just opened a new branch. You Peng-xi, being a famous medical doctor, was not permitted to go with him but told him: You have to make my Yi-quan famous. In Hong Kong Liang did not join the Jing-wu but taught Lok Hup and Yi-quan at home in the evenings, and in the parks. Two of his students were Sun Di (孫秩Sun Zhi) and Moy Lin-shin (梅連羨), who were martial-arts brothers. Sun Dit participated in the open fight competitions where he became known as “Sun the Unbeatable”, a testament to the martial efficacy of Liang’s teachings. Another famous student is C.S. Tang who still lives and teaches in Hong Kong.
In Hong Kong Liang taught for free because he had a job. He asked his students to call him Mister Liang rather than Shīfu (師傅 (master)) because he wanted to change the relationship between master and student. As it turns out, Liang inherited this practice from his Yiquan teacher, who had insisted that his students called him “Mr Yau” (cantonese). Mr Moy continued the practice, telling us: “No more masters”.
Finally, it’s not quite true that Bruce Lee was a student of Mr. Liang, although he did come to some classes. Lee’s father was studying Taiji under Mr Liang and when his son came to Hong Kong he introduced him to Liang. Lee attended some classes and listened intently to what Mr Liang had to say, but Liang would not accept him as a student because Lee would not change his path from external to internal arts. Nevertheless, it’s clear that Liang’s teachings greatly influenced Bruce Lee’s Jeet Kune-do. “Empty your mind, be formless, shapeless – like water” is an expression of the core teaching of Yiquan which has no fixed forms, and the water metaphor a direct link to Lok Hup which is sometimes called Water Boxing in China.
What did Liang teach?
In Hong Kong Liang taught Lok Hup Ba Fa (六合八法) and Yi-quan. His main training methods were the “Three Treasures of Southern Yiquan” (南派意拳): the standing postures (Zhan zhuang) (站樁 – Stand like a Stake), the don-yu (蹲腰), and the tor-yu (拖腰), which includes Push Hands (Tui-shou推手).
References
Most of the information in this article is contained in the book The Complete Book of Yiquan by C.S. Tang (2015). This contains lots of information about the standing postures of Yi-quan (with photographs) which I have never seen elsewhere.
There are two short weapons in taiji: the sword (劍jiàn) and the sabre (刀dāo). The jiàn is a light, straight, double-edged sword, the choice of the nobility and of religious, requiring a high level of skill and a still mind.
By contrast, the dāo is a heavier, curved blade with a single cutting edge. In China it is said: Jian is like a flying phoenix; dao is like a ferocious tiger. The sabre, having a simpler technique, is the “root of the short weapons” – the first short weapon to be trained. Whilst it lacks the subtlety of the straight sword it should not be underestimated; it too fosters the development of high level skills.
The word dāo means simply knife, which is one reason why the Chinese remain so resistant to the Western knife and fork at their dining table. Dāo (flat tone) is not to be confused with dào (falling tone) 道 (formerly written tao) – the way.
The sabre set has many benefits. Most obviously, it exercises the shoulders – helping to open the upper gate.
The weight of the weapon helps with sitting and promotes a unified, whole body movement: it is simply too difficult to wave a heavy weapon around just with arm strength. Sabre play thus improves our empty-handed form. A typical wooden practice sabre weighs a pound and a metal sabre two to three pounds, but the Yang family practiced with sabres that weighed at least five pounds, so for our purposes the heavier the better.
There are many different sabres in China. The word dāo is also used for the halberd, a sabre on the end of a long pole that was used by infantry to defend against cavalry. But even the sabre proper has many different varieties.
Today we most commonly see the oxtail sabre (niúwěi dāo牛尾刀), a staple of Kung Fu movies (just look at Michelle Yeoh in the still above from “Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon”). This is a heavy weapon with a broad blade, for which reason it’s sometimes called a broadsword in English. It appeared in the 19th century as a civilian weapon (even an untrained person can do a lot of damage with one) at a time when firearms had made armour redundant and was never issued to the military. Because of the flare at the end of the blade, the centre of gravity of the oxtail sabre is not very close to the hilt, making it a powerful slashing weapon at the expense of manoeuvrability.
The oxtail sabre was also not the traditional choice in Taiji. Yang style sabre continues to use the willow leaf sabre liǔyè dāo柳葉刀), which has a gentle curve along its entire length and often a curved handle as well. This developed from the goose feather sabre (yànlíng dāo雁翎刀 , see the photo below), which in turn developed from an earlier weapon used on horseback by the Mongols – the weapon that made the Mongol horde under Genghis Khan so feared and effective. These weapons are not broadswords but occupy a middle ground between a straight sword and an oxtail sabre – much narrower than the latter. The guard was very small; one can see instantly the similarity to the Japanese katana.
The oxtail sabre is however popular among Kungfu stylists and that’s why wooden sabres are made after the pattern of the oxtail sabre. It would be better to use a wooden willow leaf sabre but they are simply not available.
Sabre techniques: attacking
The sabre, like the straight sword, can be used to stab: either superficially (poke), or a deep thrust (ci刺). Most often it is used to chop – a powerful cut designed to cut through leather armour or to attack the neck. Chopping with the sabre is normally done at an angle (kan砍), a movement called throwing the shuttle, but can also be straight down (pī劈, hack).
The sabre is also used to slice (huà划), a method of attacking unarmoured parts of the body such as the hand or wrist, or the leading leg. It’s not necessary to cut off the opponent’s hand: it’s sufficient to make him drop his weapon. We see slicing of the hand at the end of Hide Sabre and Push as the weapon is held horizontally and pulled back towards the waist.
Finally the opponent can also be attacked with the hilt, for example with a blow to the temple (hit tiger left) or to the ribs (hit tiger right).
Sabre techniques: defending
In taiji sabre, stabbing attacks are blocked by neutralizing the incoming blade – deflecting and sticking to the blade (a taiji skill developed in push hands). According to one story, a famous sabre player known as Magic Sabre Zhang once had a bout with Yang Jianhou (son of Yang Luchan and father to Yang Chengfu). Armed only with a horsetail duster, Yang easily defeated Zhang by sticking to his blade, leaving Zhang unable to deploy any of his techniques.
When the blade is deflected one can move either inside (i.e. to the side of the opponent’s body) or outside the attack. Moving inside it is then simple to switch to attacking with an upper cut. Moving outside, one then spins round to attack (a movement not seen in our set).
Chopping attacks are avoided by holding the hilt high with the blade at an angle (a structure described as resembling a roof), such that the incoming blade is deflected to the side (as in roll the sabre).
An incoming sabre can also be blocked using sheer strength, and followed up by a push involving both arms, with the back of the blade being pushed by either the empty hand or the back of the empty forearm.
Don’t think that sabre techniques are necessarily designed to block another sabre. The opponent may have a spear. In this case, the defender must first intercept the attack and then rapidly close the distance, perhaps with a lunge.
In taiji dāo the weapon is mostly held with a single hand, with a two handed grip used relatively seldom. Occasionally the other hand is used to reinforce a technique, which also keeps it out of harm’s way. This does not mean that the empty hand never does anything: it can also strike or grab.
Rolling the sabre
Rolling the sabre chán tóu纏頭 is a move that allows defence to shift to counterattack. An incoming chop is deflected down to the left. The sabre then rolls chán纏 around the back of the head tóu頭 and strikes down in a diagonal chop (throwing the shuttle), or cuts horizontally (zhǎn斬) – literally, behead). The full movement is then called, rather graphically, chán tóu guò nǎo纏頭裹脑 which means roll-head-wrap-brain! Note that in Mr Moy’s taijidāo the initial deflecting block is used to extend the spine, pressing down with the lower palm and stretching up with the upper hand.
Hiding the sabre
Any movement in which an opponent cannot see the sabre is called hiding or concealing (cáng藏) the sabre. In our form, after rolling the sabre and throwing the shuttle, the path of the weapon is reversed and the weapon is held behind the spine as if being sheathed in a scabbard on one’s back. This is the main kind of hiding the sabre but the weapon is also “hidden” if, for example, it is held horizontally as we stand side on to an opponent, such that they can only see the handle.
In the next part of this article we’ll look at the Yang Sabre Set, before concluding with a third part looking at the set taught by Mr Moy.
Dragons seem to be everywhere at the moment. This is today’s Google doodle, celebrating the red dragon of Wales. There are many legends about it. One says that the villagers near its cave were frightened of the dragon until St David befriended it – it turned out to be vegetarian.
Another legend says that the red dragon saved the villagers from an ice dragon that was terrorising them. After the battle the red dragon returned to its cave to hibernate, and has not been seen since.
The Green Dragon on a Chinese tile. Photo credit: 沃德利成書畫院
In China dragons are always auspicious. The green dragon (qīng lóng) even has a constellation named after it. This constellation rises in the Eastern sky in the springtime (the dragon “raises its head”), signalling, or perhaps even bringing the spring. For anyone living in one of the big coastal cities on the east coast, the dragon would thus emerge from the waters of the East China Sea.
The Taoist arts are full of references to dragons; in Taiji sword there is a beautiful move called 青龍現水 “Green Dragon Appears on the Water”, whilst in the Lok Hup set there is even a move called 蟄龍現身 “Hibernating Dragon Shows Body” (Chinese dragons hibernate just like Welsh ones). Dragon energy is about lengthening the spine, often with a coiling motion; typically the head is lifted up.
Do the Taoist arts have references to red dragons also? They do. One of the last moves of the Lok Hup set is called 赤 龍 攪 水 “Red Dragon Stirs Waters”. It was Mr Moy’s favourite move: a smile always appeared on his face when he played this move.
What is the meaning of this movement – what would a Chinese person understand by its name? The word ‘needle’ might remind them of the legend of the Monkey King, who for a weapon used a magical iron pillar, twenty feet long, that he could shrink to the size of a needle and tuck behind his ear. This iron pillar, the legend says, was used by Great Yu to “fathom and fix” the depth of the rivers and seas when he brought the Yellow River under control (the river used to flood repeatedly). This is an historical event that took place 4000 years ago; the Chinese refer to it as Great Yu Controls the Waters (大禹治水dà yǔ zhì shuǐ). This magical weapon was found for Monkey by the Dragon King and Queen, who lived at the bottom of the sea.
But perhaps we are pushing a needle to the bottom of the sea, rather than picking one up? This may be the correct explanation, but the sea may not be where we first think it is.
In this view the sea would refer to the ‘sea of qi’ 氣 海qì hǎi, in other words the lower dan-tien (the energy centre in the belly). There’s even an acupuncture point here with this name (CV6). The bottom of this sea 海 底 is not the seabed, but the pelvic floor. Martially, it seems that the move was originally used to attack the cavity between the hip and the groin. If the strike was not sufficient to disable the opponent, one continued downwards in order to push the opponent to the ground.
Yang Cheng-fu demonstrates “Needle at Sea Bottom” (1931)
Here is Yang Cheng-fu demonstrating Needle at Sea Bottom in his book The Essence and Applications of Taijiquan. Yang describes using the movement to break free from a grab of one’s right wrist at the end of the previous ‘Brush Knee’. The opponent is pulled first towards you and then down, uprooting him. “The movement’s intent is like a needle probing the bottom of the sea”. There is no mention of striking with the hand, but we should remember that the book was written and published quite late in the development of Tai Chi: in 1931. By this time several movements had lost their original purpose; a classic example is White Snake Shoots out Tongue, whose original meaning was only preserved in oral transmission.
The way Mr Moy performed Needle at Sea Bottom himself was similar, although with a narrower base so that the weight remained in the back foot. However the way he taught it was a bit different. To beginner and intermediate students he showed a table stretch with straight legs, designed to stretch not just the legs, but the back and spine:
Needle at Sea Bottom – a table stretch.
The coccyx stretches back and the head forwards, lengthening the spine. Additionally there is a rounding across the shoulder blades and across the back of the pelvis.
To students who were more flexible Mr Moy taught the version he himself performed in which he allowed both knees to bend. This clearly won’t stretch the tendons in the leg, but it creates more stretch across the back of the pelvis, opening the sacro-iliac joints.
Remembering that Tai Chi is an “internal” art (內家nèi jiā), one further possibility comes to mind: perhaps the sea here is neither a figurative ocean, nor the ‘sea of qi’ of an opponent, but the one inside ourselves?
Sometimes in Taiji we hear talk of the Five Animal Forms and the Eight Animal Appearances. What does this mean?
The animal appearances are attempts to mimic aspects of an animal’s movement, for example, the rounded back of a bear. An old example of this is the 五禽戲Wu Qin Xi or Five Animal Frolics, said to have been created by Hua Tuo during the Eastern Han Dynasty (25-220). This qi-gong sequence is still popular today.
Mr Moy brought with him a later system which spoke of eight animal appearances and five animal forms. What are the forms? These are attempts not to mimic the movement of an animal, but to embody one of its qualities, such as balance. Talk of the Five Animals in Chinese martial arts is not confined to Taiji or the Taoist arts. The place one most often hears them mentioned is in Shaolin Kung-fu. But Kung-fu and Taiji both work with the same five animals: the tiger, the leopard, the crane, the dragon and the snake. The term used in Chinese is wǔ xíng五 形 which means five forms.
The first animal is the tiger 虎hǔ. Tiger stands for the strength of the bones, and in this regard we should remember that healthy bones are flexible. In Taiji the tiger particularly references the pelvis, and the opening of the pelvic bowl.
The second animal is the leopard 豹bào. The leopard pounces on its prey, sometimes springing from trees. This requires springiness in the tendons: the leopard stands for the elasticity of the tendons. The tendons rest on the bones – the first animal.
The third animal is the crane 鹤hè. The crane has balance and stillness. It conserves energy. Its long limbs, like those of the gibbon, enable it to “gather” more qi, because long limbs lead to a greater separation of ying and yang.
The fourth animal is the dragon 蜻lóng. The dragon embodies presence and clarity; its movements are majestic. It stands for the lengthening of the spine. It is vertical. In taiji, it references the don-yu, which is sometimes called the dragon squat, and the circulation of energy along the mid-line.
The fifth animal is the snake 蛇shé. The snake stands for flow. It especially manifests in the snaking of the spine.
The order of the animals is significant. In taoism the animals are trained from yang to yin. The tiger is the most yang, and is trained first; the snake is the most yin and the most difficult, and is trained last [1].
Eliot Kravitz MD, who worked for many years alongside Mr Moy, points out that all animals are present simultaneously. In Chinese culture, this is implicit in the term wǔ xíng, which has two different meanings. Here it is 五 形, the five (animal) forms, but it could also be 五 行, often translated in the West as the Five Elements (because it reminded us of the Four Western Elements). In Chinese it’s often hard to tell if a character represents a noun (a state) or a verb (an action). Translations which emphasise the latter are the Five Agents or the Five Processes; a compromise translation is the Five Phases.
What on earth can the name of this movement mean? The names of the movements are recorded at least as early as 1931, when they appear in Yang Cheng-Fu’s book “Applications of Taijiquan“. The Chinese characters 抱虎归山Bào hǔ guī shān literally say: “Embrace tiger, return (to) mountain”. The tiger is a fierce animal: powerful and dangerous. The mountain is its home. Here the tiger stands for a fierce opponent who is sent back whence they came, but what is the carrying/embracing about? The name has confused many, with some even speculating that bào might actually stand for its honomyn 抱, which means leopard. There’s no evidence for this at all, and it’s not the character in Yang Cheng-Fu’s book (although this would have been dictated to a senior student).
I searched the internet for 抱虎归山 and discovered this scroll by the Chinese artist Zhang Shan-Zi. The scroll dates from 1925, which is before Yang Cheng-Fu wrote his books. Zhang made many tiger scrolls including one bearing as its title the famous Chinese phrase “Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon”.
The image makes clear the meaning of “embracing”, but is otherwise a bit of a red herring. The tiger tightly hugs a boulder on a steep mountain side to avoid falling. As Sun-Tzu wrote in ‘The Art of War’ (5th century BCE): “Keep your friends close; keep your enemies closer”. In the Tai-ji movement, the tiger is the enemy.
How does this relate to the mechanics of the movement? First of all, remember that “Cross hands” is a separate movement: when we cross hands, we are not really carrying the tiger, even if this is a handy aide-mémoire. Yang Cheng-Fu’s book says: “From the previous movement (Cross Hands), presume the opponent closes on me from behind at the right corner”. If the opponent is close, then the movement that follows is a trip. The right leg is picked up and placed behind the opponent’s leg. Then we push him back and trip him over.
How is this like “embracing a tiger”? The answer comes when we look at Yang style Tai-ji. In Yang style, when we step to the corner the left hand falls and the right hand rises. Yang Cheng-fu describes two applications for this movement in his book. If the opponent attempts a strike with their right hand (or foot), then the raised right forearm wraps the attacking limb. Then the left hand pushes them over. See the picture below.
Yang Cheng-Fu demonstrates one application of “Embrace Tiger” – although sadly not the one which gives the movement its name – blocking a right punch with the right forearm before striking with the left palm. From “Applications of Taijiquan”, 1931.
So far, so good, but we still have not ’embraced’ our opponent. Yang Cheng-Fu describes another application: if the opponent attacks with their left hand then after the block the (raised) right hand circles round the back of the opponent. We hug them close, with a movement that some have described as like scooping up a child, before the left hand, continuing forward, knocks them over with a push to the face or shoulder.
In the meantime, after generations of oral transmission and evolution have obscured the meanings of the movements, it does no harm to imagine that when we cross hands, we embrace a tiger.
Mr Moy, like many Tai ji teachers, told his students to relax. What he actually said was fang sōng – 放 松.
Perfectly relaxed: a pine tree.
Sōng松 is an essential quality for tai chi practitioners. It means loose, but the character also means a pine tree. You can see the pictographic representation of a tree in the left hand half of the character, with branches hanging down from the trunk – this is more clear in an older version of the character 枩 which has more branches. The branches hang loosely, but the tree retains its structure – something that is no longer implied by the word “relax” in English, which today could easily refer to someone collapsed on their sofa, with no structure.
Fang放 means release. Fang sōng thus means something like “let go of all excess tension”.
Towards the end of his life, Mr Moy started telling his students, in English, to let go, a translation of fang sōng which avoids the ambiguity of the word relax. I like to think of it as: relax and let go.
The name of this move puzzled me for years. 野马分鬃 – Wild horse parts mane – what does it mean?
In English this move is sometimes called Parting wild horse’s mane. This rendering leads on to the idea that the tai chi player is parting the mane of a wild horse. This always seemed a bit unlikely to me. Wild horses are, well, wild. In Taoism, the wild horse is a metaphor for the raw energy of our physical body, the energy of youth. Think of the movement in the Lok Hup set Wild horse chases wind, whose name describes how we so easily waste our energy on useless projects. The energy must be brought under control, but the idea that we will get a comb out and part the mane of a wild horse – really?
Chinese is rather terse as a language and frequently dispenses with things such as articles (a, the) and possessive pronouns (his, hers, its). It’s very tempting to add extra words to make nice English phrases, but these are not English phrases – they are Chinese. 🙂 Here the Chinese simply says, literally, wild horse parts mane. So who is doing the parting?
My answer came to me one day watching a nature documentary about mustangs, the wild horses of the North American plains. In this documentary there was some slow-motion footage of a running horse which, as its ran, was shaking its head. The slow motion footage revealed how this sent a rippling motion down the animal’s neck.
Suddenly it all became clear. As we perform Wild horse parts mane to right and left, we are the horse, shaking our mane – our neck and spine – from side to side. In the video, look at the way a wave ripples along the horse’s neck as it shakes its mane.
攆 猴Repulse monkey is one of the repeated moves in the Tai Ji set. Why do we repulse the monkey? The simplest explanation is that to calm the mind, we must repulse or expel (攆) the chattering monkey mind.
This makes sense, but perhaps there’s more to it than this. As ever, the question to ask is: What would a Chinese person understand by the name of this move?
Monkey was a cheeky Chinese demi-god. He got up to all kinds of mischief, but the exploit that the Chinese best remember is revealed by the name of a movement in the Lok Hup set: Monkey picks fruit. According to the legend, Monkey stole the Peaches of Immortality from the garden of Xiwangmu, the Queen Mother of the West, and gorged on them. He is now an Immortal – the goal of Taoist practice – but he has taken a short cut. This is cheating, and Buddha Shakyamuni imprisons him under Five Elements Mountain for 500 years. This episode is widely depicted in Chinese art, both in paintings and sculpture.
In Repulse Monkey we try to stop Monkey from stealing the peach. Imagine a nice juicy peach in the upturned palm of your hand. As Monkey reaches for it, you withdraw it, and the rear hand delivers a palm strike, thrusting him away.
You think this image a bit fanciful? The movement just before Repulse Monkey is Fist Under Elbow. This was once explained to us as: Reach out, grab an apple, and slice it in half. Now, apples are to the West what peaches are to the East. The Chinese Peaches of Immortality should remind us of the Golden Apples of the Garden of the Hesperides in Greek mythology which also conferred immortality. One of the 12 Labours of Hercules was to steal some apples from this garden, which was guarded by a dragon. The parallels don’t stop there: the Peaches of Immortality were in the garden of the Queen Mother of the West, whilst the Hesperides were also in the far west, and situated near a mountain – the mythical Mount Atlas. The Garden of Xiwangmu is situated near a mythical Taoist mountain, Mount Kunlun. Both gardens are attended by young maidens: the Garden of Hesperides is named for the nymphs who tend them, whilst Xiwangmu’s garden is tended by her seven daughters. The Garden of Hesperides is the original paradise (the word means ‘enclosed garden’) – the Garden of Eden.
In Repulse Monkey, then, we thrust away our desire to achieve results without working for them.
If one may not steal one of the Peaches of Immortality, how can one get one? Xiwangmu would occasionally give them to deserving mortals. In other words, they cannot be taken, but only given. In the West, this is what we call grace.
Monkey holds a Peach of Immortality
A final inspiration for our practice comes from the monkey itself. The character 猴yuan today refers to any kind of monkey but formerly it was used just for gibbons. Gibbons swing through the forest canopy on their long arms, which are beautifully extended in long, relaxed arcs, rather than locked straight, with the elbows pointing down. “Drop elbows” was the correction Mr Moy gave more than any other.
A Hainan gibbon in the Bawangling National Nature Reserve in South China’s Hainan Province.
Liang Tzu-peng (
I searched the internet for 
This makes sense, but perhaps there’s more to it than this. As ever, the question to ask is: What would a Chinese person understand by the name of this move?
