I do not teach a style. I teach the thread that runs through all of them.
Each art below entered my body through a teacher's hand. Each one changed me. Each one remains alive — not as separate curriculum, but as living memory.
But you deserve more than a list.
You deserve to know why I practice each art. Where it entered me. How it changed me. When it calls me still.
This is not a catalog. This is confession.
The Great Ultimate
Because I spent years becoming unbreakable.
And unbreakable is not the same as whole.
Taiji taught me that strength is not the opposite of softness.
Strength is what remains when you stop fighting.
I learned this first not in a kwoon, but in a hospice room.
Holding a hand that was letting go.
There was nothing to fix. Nothing to prove.
Only presence.
Years later, when Shifu Huang said "Song — relax" for the hundredth time,
I understood:
He was not teaching me to be soft.
He was teaching me to stop abandoning my body in the name of controlling it.
Wudang Traditional Taoist Kung Fu Academy with coach Zhang Wen Gao 张懋资开 under Shifu Yuan Xiugang 袁修刚.
Tai Ji 108. The complete long form.
I trained until the sequence moved from memory into marrow.
Dali. Shifu Huang Shan's home.
Three months. Every day, blade in hand. Every day, correction.
He taught me the sword as extension of the spine.
Not weapon. Not performance.
Witness.
Before Taiji, I thought power was something you generated.
Now I know: Power is something you stop blocking.
Before Taiji, I thought form was something you memorized.
Now I know: Form is something you inhabit until it inhabits you.
Before Taiji, I thought the goal was to arrive.
Now I know: The goal is to stay on the path.
Every morning. Before speech. Before thought.
I stand.
Not because I am disciplined.
Because my body now remembers what my mind once resisted:
Stillness is not emptiness. Stillness is full.
When a student cannot find root, I do not explain.
I stand beside them.
And wait for gravity to become conversation.
You have spent your life becoming strong and are tired.
You have been told to relax but no one showed you how.
You suspect that peace is not the absence of conflict, but a different relationship with it.
Enter TaijiEight Trigram Palm
Because I spent years moving in straight lines.
And straight lines meet resistance.
Bagua taught me that the obstacle is not the enemy.
The obstacle is the path.
I learned this first not on the circle, but in the ICU.
A body in crisis does not respond to force.
You must go around. You must find the angle no one else sees.
You must move so the patient does not feel invaded.
Years later, when Shifu Yu said "Walk the circle until you forget the circle,"
I understood:
He was not teaching me footwork. He was teaching me relationship.
Yunxi Caotang. Wudang Mountain.
Shifu Yu Liting. Daoist priest.
He taught me circle walking not as meditation on something.
Circle walking as meditation itself.
Washington DC. Shifu Liu Xiao Ling.
Deer Horn Baguazhang.
He taught me until left and right were equal.
Until the circle closed not around me, but through me.
Grand Champion.
Under his instruction. His technique in my body.
Not for glory. For proof:
What he taught me could live under pressure.
Before Bagua, I thought a circle was something you walked around.
Now I know: A circle is something you become.
Before Bagua, I thought ambidexterity was about skill.
Now I know: It is about not preferring one hand over the other, one way over another, one self over another.
Before Bagua, I thought winning was the point.
Now I know: The point is to train so completely that winning becomes incidental.
When I am stuck. In thought, in emotion, in decision.
I walk the circle.
Not to escape the problem.
To see it from every angle.
When a student tells me they cannot find their way,
I do not give directions.
I ask them to walk with me.
The circle does not tell you where to go.
It shows you where you already are.
You have been pushing against the same wall for years.
You are ready to stop forcing and start flowing.
You want to hold two blades and discover you have two hands.
Enter BaguaForm-Intent Fist
Because intention without form is wishful thinking.
And form without intention is dead.
Xingyi taught me that the body and the mind are not partners.
They are the same substance.
I learned this first not in martial arts, but in nursing school.
A procedure performed with doubt will fail.
The hand must already know, before the mind instructs it.
This is not muscle memory. This is intention becoming tissue.
Years later, when Master Scrima said "The fist is already there — you are just catching up,"
I understood:
He was not teaching me to punch. He was teaching me to trust what my body already knew.
Clearwater, Florida. Master Nick Scrima.
Black Belt curriculum. But deeper than rank:
Five Elements. Splitting, Drilling, Crushing, Pounding, Crossing.
Liu He Ba Fa transmission.
Sifu Liu → Master Scrima → Me.
Six Harmonies. Eight Methods.
The rare art, carried across ocean and time.
Before Xingyi, I thought power required tension.
Now I know: Power requires alignment.
Before Xingyi, I thought the mind commanded the body.
Now I know: The body understands before the mind finishes the sentence.
Before Xingyi, I thought the straight line was simple.
Now I know: There is nothing more direct than a line that does not waver. And nothing harder to maintain.
When a student cannot commit.
When they stop mid-movement, waiting for permission.
I do not encourage. I do not reassure.
I show them Splitting.
Not to teach them to strike.
To teach them that a decision, fully made, is already half the destination.
When I need to remember that softness is not weakness,
I stand in San Ti.
The posture that is neither attack nor defense.
Presence, fully embodied, is already a complete statement.
You have doubted whether internal arts are "real" martial arts.
You are ready to stop apologizing for your power.
You want to understand what the body knows before the mind interrupts it.
Enter XingyiSix Harmonies, Eight Methods
Because unity is not the absence of parts.
Unity is the conversation between them.
Liu He Ba Fa taught me that the internal arts are not a collection of techniques.
They are a vocabulary for wholeness.
I learned this first not in martial arts, but in my masters in theology.
The great traditions do not agree. They do not need to.
Truth is not singular. Truth is relational.
Years later, when Master Scrima taught me the first movement of Liu He Ba Fa,
I understood:
This is not another style. This is the grammar behind all the others.
Through the line.
Sifu Liu Xiao Ling brought it to America.
He taught Master Scrima.
Master Scrima taught me.
I stand in that line.
"Liu He Ba Fa emphasizes unifying the movements and structure of the body with the mind's intent, and in application using the eight methods. I feel that this is a truly superior martial art. So now, I would like to introduce Liu He Ba Fa to martial arts enthusiasts in America, so that they can experience a set which contains the essence of the internal arts." — Sifu Liu Xiao LingBefore Liu He Ba Fa, I thought mastery was knowing many things.
Now I know: Mastery is knowing how few things are essential.
Before Liu He Ba Fa, I thought harmony was the absence of conflict.
Now I know: Harmony is conflict resolved at a higher level.
Before Liu He Ba Fa, I thought transmission was about technique.
Now I know: Transmission is about standing in a line that extends before you and will continue after you.
When a student asks: But which art is best?
I do not answer. I teach them the first movement of Liu He Ba Fa.
Not because it is superior.
Because it contains all the others.
When I forget that I am not self-taught,
That I did not arrive here alone,
I remember Sifu Liu's words.
I am not the source. I am a continuation.
You have trained for years and sense there is something more.
You are ready to stop collecting techniques and start seeking integration.
You want to stand in a line that reaches back to the source and forward through your students.
Enter Liu He Ba FaBreath Work · Energy Cultivation
Because I have held the dying.
And I know that the last thing to leave is not the heartbeat.
It is the breath.
Qigong taught me that breath is not something you take.
Breath is something you receive.
I learned this first in hospice.
A woman who had not spoken in days.
I placed my hand on her sternum and breathed slowly.
Her breath, without conscious instruction, began to match mine.
We were not two people. We were one respiration.
Years later, when the Wudang Academy taught me Wu Xing Qigong,
I understood:
The Five Elements are not cosmology. They are physiology.
Metal, Water, Wood, Fire, Earth — lungs, kidneys, liver, heart, spleen.
Each breath restores what depletion has taken.
Wudang Mountain. Master Yuan Xiugang.
Wu Xing Qigong. The Five Elements as movement and medicine.
Transmitted through daily training with Zhang Wen Gao at Yuzhen Palace.
Yunxi Caotang. Shifu Yu Liting.
Wudang Bafa Qigong. Eight methods of breath and intention.
And the qigong that has no name.
The standing practice. The breath before form. The pause between movements.
Taught by no one. Learned from everyone.
Before qigong, I thought breath was automatic.
Now I know: Automatic is not the same as full.
Before qigong, I thought healing was something you did to someone.
Now I know: Healing is something you witness together.
Before qigong, I thought energy was a metaphor.
Now I know: It is the densest description we have for what moves between us.
Every time a student arrives in pain.
Not physical pain always. Sometimes the pain of living.
I do not ask them to move. I ask them to breathe.
Not because breath is medicine.
Because breath is the patient's own medicine, which they have forgotten how to take.
When I am the one who is depleted,
I return to the Five Elements.
Metal gathering. Water descending. Wood rising.
Not belief. Practice.
You are in pain and have not found relief.
Your breath is shallow and you have forgotten what full breath feels like.
You want to stand still, breathe, and feel the body remember what it already knows.
Enter QigongThe Root
Because before I could yield, I had to learn not to break.
Kung Fu taught me that discipline is not punishment.
Discipline is the shape love takes when it refuses to let you quit.
I learned this first not in martial arts, but in my doctor of education.
A student struggling with a concept. Wanting to give up.
I did not simplify the material. I sat with them in the difficulty.
Not cruelty. Faith that they could meet the standard.
Years later, when Master Scrima tested me for black belt,
My body screaming, my mind bargaining,
I heard my own voice, from years ago, speaking to that student:
"You can do this. I will not leave. But I will not carry you."
I passed. Not because I was strong.
Because someone believed I was, until I became it.
Clearwater, Florida. Master Nick Scrima.
Chinese Martial Arts Center.
Black Belt, March 17, 2023.
Not a beginning. A permission.
Permission to continue. Permission to teach. Permission to receive what came next.
Before Kung Fu, I thought respect was obedience.
Now I know: Respect is attention so complete you forget yourself.
Before Kung Fu, I thought a black belt was an ending.
Now I know: A black belt is a white belt who refused to leave.
Before Kung Fu, I thought the martial arts were about fighting.
Now I know: The martial arts are about becoming someone worth not fighting.
When a student tells me they are not good enough.
I do not reassure them.
I show them my white belt. It is still in my training bag.
When I forget that I earned what I carry,
I touch the black cloth around my waist.
Not pride. Memory.
When I need to remember that softness is meaningful only because hardness is also available,
I stand in a fighting stance.
Not to intimidate. To remember.
You are a martial artist from another style and wonder if Taiji is "real."
You have earned rank and suspect it was not the destination, only a doorway.
You want to understand the full picture — not only the flower, but the root.
Read: My Martial FoundationThey are not separate in my body.
When I walk the Bagua circle, Xingyi's forward intent is still there — not competing, but conversing. When I push hands in Taiji, Liu He Ba Fa's eight methods are the vocabulary my body chooses from. When I teach qigong, the Wudang mountain is in my breath. And the hospice room. And the ICU.
When I lift the Deer Horns, I am still, in some way, that student in Washington DC, hearing Shifu Liu say:
"Again. Slower. Feel both blades at once."
And beneath all of it, holding all of it:
A woman who once could not stand still without fighting herself.
Now stands.
And calls it practice.
You do not need to choose one.
You may enter through any gate. The path will eventually show you the others.
Some students come for the sword and stay for the circle. Some come for healing and discover power. Some come as warriors and learn, finally, how to rest. Some come because they are tired and do not know why. Some come because they are strong and do not know what for.
All are received. All are welcome. The thread does not choose.
This is the Arts entry point.
Not a catalog. Not a resume.
A meeting.
They come asking: What does she practice?
They leave knowing: These are not six arts. They are the same art, learned six times, from six teachers, in six bodies, now living in one.
And that one is still learning.