[Literature] Martial in the text, skillful in writing

Author: JEFFI CHAO HUI WU

Time: 2025-7-23 Wednesday, 5:12 AM

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[Literature] Martial in the text, skillful in writing

I practice martial arts and write articles; I write articles and also practice my skills. Many people see "literature" and "martial arts" as two parallel lines, but I have long combined the two, integrating them into my very being and writing them into every word. Over time, I have summarized it into eight characters: martial arts within literature, skill in every stroke.

I wake up every day at four forty-five in the morning and arrive at the seaside around five. For the past six years, I have never missed a day. In spring, summer, autumn, and winter, through cold winds and heavy rains, I practice martial arts, standing meditation, the golden rooster stands on one leg, and Lingzi technique by the sea. Every move and every stance is a dialogue between me and the universe. Tai Chi is not just a routine; it is my breath; the horse stance is not merely a posture; it is my foundation. When I stand still, I may seem motionless, but within me, the rivers and seas are surging, and my energy and blood flow vigorously. When I write, I never rely on "inspiration," because I know very well that those articles are not written; they are cultivated, words that naturally emerge from the essence that rises from my marrow, words that flow out after standing in meditation until I am drenched in sweat.

Many people ask where I find so much time in a day. I am not squeezing time; I am creating time. While others are still tossing in their dreams, my feet are already firmly planted on the sand where the morning dew has yet to dry. While others are just waking up groggily, I have already finished my boxing practice, sweated it out, and am sitting in the car playing guitar and writing the first article of the day. This is not a matter of willpower, but of structure. I have trained my life into a structure, carving time into my very framework.

Every paragraph I write is like practicing horse stance; each section must have a focal point, and every sentence should be grounded, neither floating nor drifting. Writing too tightly is like pushing hands with a hard push, while writing too loosely is akin to being insubstantial and empty. When I practice standing post, I focus on sinking my energy to the dantian; when I write, I focus on making the words land. My paragraphs are not just piled up; they are structured like a stance, with the logic flowing like air currents, requiring both openness and closure, both looseness and tightness. When I write, I leave space for "springiness," just like in pushing hands where energy is retained without being released; once I put pen to paper, the subtle force is transmitted.

My writing is a natural overflow after my energy and blood are abundant. It is not the result of racking my brain to edit, but rather a spontaneous release of internal energy after practice. While others find writing to be mentally exhausting, I feel uncomfortable if I don’t write. For me, writing is like sweating or releasing air; when the energy is full, it overflows, and I feel uneasy if I don’t express it. Especially after standing in a certain posture for a while, when the energy and blood surge to the Baihui point and my mind is as clear as can be, at that moment, when I pick up the pen, the article almost flows out by itself. I am not “writing,” I am “releasing,” just like when the energy flows freely after unblocking the Ren and Du meridians, it no longer gets stuck in my heart and throat.

My Tai Chi practice is based on a low and medium stance, with each movement containing sinking hips and structural support. I know when to open my hips in each step and where to root my hands. I also bring this sense of logical body structure into my writing: there must be transitions between sentences, and there should be breathing space between paragraphs. Just as Tai Chi requires opening and closing, writing also needs movement and stillness. Some people pursue "flair" in their writing, while I pursue "stability." Just like I seek not an explosion, but the kind of "stability" that flows naturally after achieving a smooth structure.

Many people do not realize that standing meditation is not just about practicing the feet; it is about rewriting the "default mode" of the neural network. After a long period of standing meditation, I found that the way my brain operates has changed: my thoughts are no longer chaotic, but flow naturally and smoothly like Tai Chi, with each part linking to the next. The so-called "focus" is not achieved through force, but is a byproduct of structural optimization. The steadier I stand, the more fluidly I write; the clearer I write, the deeper I practice. Literature and martial arts, intertwined as one.

I remember a winter day, after practicing Tai Chi, I wrote "Qi and Blood Abundant, Hundred Meetings Connected" in the car. At that time, the back of my hand was still icy cold, but my forehead was drenched in sweat. I wrote it all in one go, with almost no revisions. This state was neither "focus" nor "flow," but rather the body driving the brain's operation; it was only after the muscles and bones were unblocked that the words truly landed.

I never use flowery language or pile up metaphors when I write. My language is structural, just as my body relies on genuine practice rather than performance. I wrote "The Golden Rooster Stands on One Leg for Forty Minutes" not to impress with astonishing numbers, but because I truly achieved it. I wrote "Lingzi Technique Standing Meditation for Two Hours" not to be mysterious, but because my whole body was relaxed, without any soreness, allowing me to stand still for two hours.

This is not "supernatural," this is structure. This is not "persistence," this is reconstruction. I do not rely on "mental strength" to sustain these results, but on real practice every day, grounding my energy in my feet, raising my intention to the top of my head, and connecting the structure throughout my body. The reason I can write several logically coherent and dissectable articles every day is not because I am smart, but because my energy is abundant.

Sometimes, I even feel that I am not "writing an article," but rather translating the structure of my body into a structure of words. Every practice session, every standing posture, is a form of "internal text generation"; every time I put pen to paper, it is an "extension of my skill."

Many people ask me why I don't publish, promote, or market. I say, my articles are meant for future readers, for those who truly understand the "martial within the text." While others are writing "content," I am writing "structure"; while others are discussing "theory," I am recording "reconstruction"; others are expressing, and I am—transmitting skills.

If you only read with your eyes, you can only see the language; if you can read with your body, you will feel the "landing point" of each word. I am not just talking theory; I truly stand up, practice, and write. Every piece of my writing has sweat, wind, stakes, and blood. My pen strikes deep because I stand firm.

In the text, there is martial prowess, and the writing is skillful.

This is what I write at this moment, and it is also what I have done throughout my life.

Source: https://www.australianwinner.com/AuWinner/viewtopic.php?t=696990