This leads to the question as to whether Qi is objectively real or not. In one sense it doesn't matter. Daoist philosophy, or at least its practical is largely predicated on the existence of Qi. Indeed, beyond Qi Gong and Tai Ji a plethora of practical applications for Qi science (in the traditional Chinese sense of science), from acupuncture and acupressure, to TCM and moxibustion, to Feng Shui, of course the Chinese martial arts, and certain other Dao-based practices I'll merely allude to here. I'm quite open to the idea that there might be forces that, because they are metaphysical, either are hard to measure cannot be measured using Scientific Method, nor falsified by Popperian falsifiability (the measure generally used in the West to distinguish science from pseudo-science). Likewise, I'm sure that there are vital (in both senses) aspects to human existence that get crowded out by the noise and hubbub of Modernity and all that entails so that most people most of the time living a Modern life no longer experience them, so can no longer believe in them (there are some near equivalents of Qi in Greaco-Roman, and Medieval European and Islamic thought, although not the meticulous systematisation we see with Daoism). But even if, at the end of the day Qi were no more than a metaphor for the sum total of the benefits of enhanced neuroplasticisy, better hormonal balance, better exercised and lubricated joints, a stronger skeletomuscular system, a more efficient gut, optimised breathing, and a calmer psyche, so what? It works. At least that's been my experience. Thinking of the tale of the blind philosophers trying to describe an elephant by touching its parts: I suspect that Qi is the elephant, and better circulation, enhanced neuroplasticity, optimised breathing, etc are the ears, tail, trunk, etc. So I'm perfectly happy to park the question of the objective existence of Qi as an interesting but not that impactful philosophical question. The point is that subjectively, I feel Qi.

@Kirby Mannon Thanks. Language eh? Words are powerful: they can express the deepest love or try to capture the profoundest beauty; but they can also pass a death sentence or declare war. But although powerful, language, an arbitrary system of symbols which, like Math, we use to make sense of the world, structure it, and use it, is also notoriously prone to slipperiness and slippage, as Derrida and other philosophers of language have pointed out. But while power certainly isn't inaction, it isn't quite action either, let alone balance. The idea of Qi as memory is really profound: "the body remembers and the mind forgets" can be understood at different levels, from simply muscle memory through to a meditation on embodiedness and a critique of ratiocentricity: we have done great things with our reason, but at, perhaps, the cost of forgetting who and what we are. My first encounter with the Dao was through my now late mother, who got me into the Kabbalah and was kinda "New Age". Part of her reading was classical Taoist texts, now obsolete translations and heavily commented on by people like Reich and Jung. So it was in the early '70s, I guess I was about 13, I took to studying a book about Taoist meditation, not physical practice, but simply meditation, visualising the circulation of Qi as golden light coursing through the body. One day, after a lot of practice, it suddenly "clicked": I walked out into the woods and fields and experienced what I can only describe as the Unity of Being. Sounds all hippy-trippy, but it was overawing. Beautiful, but overwhelmingly so, frighteningly so. In an odd way very scary in its sheer unfamiliarity, so the return to my normal self was most welcome. I never attempted that meditation again, I was scared as to where it might lead. Nor did I continue reading much in the Dao. Of course, I was a precocious kid jumping into the deep end, trying to run a 100 metre sprint when I could barely crawl. 53 years later, I see that the body must come first, that the stillness of mind in physical motion channels that overwhelm in a way reading something out of a book in a dodgy translation with no guide cannot. Over subsequent decades I made the opposite mistake: I trained my rational mind to the Nth degree in multiple disciplines, but at the neglect of my body. Only now, on the cusp of senior citizenship do, I feel I am achieving balance.

I'll be in Berlin for the next week, so little chance to keep up with live sessions, but I'll try to put in 30 mins or so of pre-recorded per day!

So yeah, I've completed the 7 Day Challenge, and have been (along with other practice), re-doing Days 3-6, as I think they seem to develop very core, fundamental practices. Still most of my daily practice is Qi Gong, and some basic centre and four directions Tai Chi work. I'd love to jump straight into full sets of forms, but I'm starting to appreciate how poorly Tai Chi is often taught, as it tends to skip, minimise, or even completely ignore the fundamentals. Rooted Alchemy is a refreshing change in that regard. I've found the 43 minute Beginners Guide very useful, and it is easier to repeat regularly once one's done the Challenge than simply repeating days, and it covers much of the same ground. So my plan for the next month or two is: 1) Continue with a largely QG based practice, tapering to more of a balance with TC; 2) To start to incorporate TC walking, I tried it very early on but found it hard to do, but I now realise that beforehand one has to prepare the body, especially weakened legs, with lots of QG, and get the TC fundamentals internalised (still a work in progress); 3) Begin to play with say four full body TC forms, and gradually expand my repertoire (if that's the right word!); All that said and I must emphasise how the health, wellbeing, focus, and peace of mind benefits of my practice so far have massively exceeded my expectations! Any advice on which videos are best to watch in the light of intentions 1-3 above in what order very much appreciated!

@David Ervin Meanwhile, in east TX: https://www.cityofdiboll.com/