JBZ is a physically exacting art. By that I mean that one must concentrate on one’s muscles and move them in a precisely prescribed way in order to properly perform a movement.
Let me give you an example by dissecting the ba turn. In this movement, you need to turn your outside foot by turning your leg at the hip’s ball and socket joint and not at the knee. The inside leg also must turn at the hip, point in the direction of the turn, receive your forward momentum, bend slightly to transfer the momentum down, and then spring up and out in the new direction transferring the momentum forward. It looks quite simple when seen done by someone who is proficient, but it’s not easy to do correctly. [The steps of the ba turn have been abbreviated for this example; there is more to successfully performing this turn than what is written here.]
Practicing this art requires this sort of physical concentration on all that we do from walking and breathing (yes, there’s a proper way to do both – most people do them inefficiently) to the most complex palm changes while turning. My point is that this concentration on your muscles, posture, feet and arm placement and angle, spine angle, etc. is constant. To have power with every step (to have a moving root), one cannot leak energy by having improper alignment and expect to connect with an opponent with full force. In order to make yourself always ready, you have to concentrate on your locomotion at three in the morning when you’ve just gotten out of bed to get a drink of water. You have to live, eat, and breathe the art’s principles twenty-four by seven so they’ll be there in the heat of an encounter; so that they’re hardwired. You don’t want to think about how to do a ba turn when someone is taking a swing at you.
Does this make sense? Our Shizi (our teacher) says that this art is something that you become, not something that you practice. He hit the nail on the head with that summary. Those of us who have gotten into JBZ and been bitten by the bug for this art know exactly what this means.
There’s a non-martial side benefit to all this mental concentration and practice, too. After you’ve been practicing for a while, you know your own body much more deeply. You can isolate muscles that you couldn't before and sense parts of yourself that you didn't know existed. How is that a benefit? Well, you can focus on and examine different areas of your body when something feels different. For example, is this harshness in my throat because of something that I ate, or am I getting a sore throat? If it’s the later, then I can take steps to mitigate the problem (gargling with an antiseptic mouthwash, taking aspirin, getting into bed). In the past I didn’t feel the sore throat coming on, I felt it only after it had already arrived.
If you add Quiet Sitting to this focused attention, you really can feel what's going on inside you. Shifu Painter in his Combat Baguazhang, Volume One says, "... sitting quietly is the easiest way to feel subtle internal sensations."
This deeper knowing of myself has helped me avoid illness for two years. Our Shizi has done so for ten, ever since he started this art. This side benefit alone is worth a million dollars!
But this new-found information can be abused if you don't have the mental discipline to put things in perspective. For example, this crick in my ankle is probably nothing... probably. The undisciplined mind might think that it's trichinosis or beriberi or some such thing. So he'd most likely go to the emergency room where the attendants would say something like, "Hey, here comes Qui Chang Caine again! What do you have this time?" And I would... errr, I mean this other person would tell them and the attendants would laugh and laugh and laugh. I never realized that emergency room attendants were such happy people... ummm, ahhh, not that's it's ever happened to me of course.
