Stillness, the Ruler of Movement

“Stillness, the Ruler of Movement”

― Lao Tzu

Whether learning to crawl, walk, run, balance on a bike, knit, play a musical instrument, drive a car, dance, draw, play sports, repair plumbing, operate construction equipment, design buildings, or invent mechanical devices, etc., we are all required to develop some level of skill in our Moving Centers. From the first initial lessons of learning an activity to the skill of accomplishing it, we go through pretty much the same stages of instruction with any of these varied Moving Centered activities. The process starts with directed attention on a new movement (the King of Spades); once we have some experience and coordination with it, our attention is drawn into the enjoyment of the newly acquired skill – it becomes pleasurable (the Queen of Spades); and, finally when that newness wears off, we execute that movement without having to give it any attention at all (the Jack of Spades).

Let us take learning to walk as an example with which we are all experienced and familiar. As an infant, we began by attentively watching others walk. We sensed the movement of walking while being carried in someone’s arms and we likely felt the transfer of their weight from one foot to the other. At the same time, something in us registered the rhythm of moving in space across a room or down a flight of steps. Once our leg muscles became sufficiently strong, which was accomplished partly by holding on to a parent’s hands and dandled on their laps or steadied on the floor, we could try the next step.

After a number of months of gradually collecting enough observations and visualizing a concept of walking, we finally pulled ourselves up from the floor holding on to a nearby table. We deconstructed the larger sequence of movements into small manageable segments of which standing and learning to balance was first. Once balance and standing became comfortable we enjoyed this movement for a few weeks or so, until we started taking a few steps and testing out our ability to balance as we moved through space. Our arms began to sense how to contribute to balancing as a counterweight when our bodies were unsteady. Eventually, our arms learned how to swing in a natural rhythm which coordinated with our steps. From standing to taking a few steps to correcting our balance and finally walking across a room, we put the sequence of skills back together again and learned to walk.

"A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step."千里之行，始於足下 (Chinese characters)─ Chinese proverb ascribed to Lao Tzu

Learning that single step began with directed attention in the intellectual part of the Moving Center, the King of Spades. Once we were comfortable with walking, we enjoyed the pleasure of this new movement in the emotional part of the Moving Center, the Queen of Spades. Finally, the excitement and newness of walking became common place and could be carried out from the mechanical part of the Moving Center, the Jack of Spades with little or no attention necessary.

Decades ago, I learned to type in my King of Spades, carefully studying where all of the alphabet letters were located on the jumbled up Qwerty keyboard and which fingers belonged to which letters. Once mastered, it gave me pleasure to type quickly and accurately. Today, I noticed while typing this post, I caught myself in automatic pilot mode, my fingers typing and the movement carried out by the mechanical part of my Moving Center ― the Jack of Spades.

The Jacks of all the four lower centers are where learned behavior is stored and these behaviors function from the Jacks without any attention at all. They have their place and are useful; however, we have more chance of connecting with higher centers when we are in the Kings of Centers, particularly the King of Hearts. To be in the Kings of Centers requires directed attention and is accompanied by more awareness which can link us to higher states when we divide our attention. Everything can be used toward connecting to Higher Centers, but some parts of centers walk us closer to the door.

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A Child Being Taught to Walk, Rembrandt (1660)