The late riser has missed the tai chi, the kung fu, the chi kung. While he was sleeping, the artists of the chi, mostly women, Chinese women, were moving, dancing the air / the wind / energy / life, and getting the world turning. They’d segued from pose to pose—spread white-crane wings, repulse monkey, grasp bird by tail, high pat on horse, stand like rooster on one leg, snake-creep down, return to mountain. They played with the chi, drawing circles in the sky, lifting earth to sky, pulling sky to earth, swirling the controllable universe. Then walked off to do their daily ordinary tasks.
Maxine Hong Kingston
