Waves and spirals: Nature's favorite patterns of motion
If you observe nature, you will find that almost everything that flows is presented in a spiral or wave-like manner.
River eddies, the spiral patterns of tree growth, the undulations of ocean waves, the climbing patterns of vines, the textures of seashells, the structure of typhoons, the spiral arms of the Milky Way, and even the double helix structure of DNA—from the microscopic to the macroscopic, spirals and waves are the most efficient ways for nature to transfer energy.
The spiral is effective because it can simultaneously achieve "extension" and "stability," creating maximum tension within a minimal space; the wave is effective because it allows energy to be transferred in a continuous flow without breaks or waste.
Chanrou incorporates these natural spirals and waves directly into human movements, making the spine undulate like waves and the limbs extend spirally like vines—this is why Chanrou's movements look particularly "natural" and "organic".
Waves: The Language of Spinal Movement
Ocean waves don't suddenly erupt from a single point; they begin to accumulate in the distant deep sea, travel all the way to the shore, reach their peak, and then recede. The entire process is continuous, flowing, and uninterrupted.
The gentle undulation of Chanrou's spine is precisely based on this logic.
Juliu often mentions tsunamis and volcanoes—not as destructive images, but to illustrate how energy accumulates and is released. Tsunamis are almost imperceptible in the deep sea, yet the energy is constantly moving; before a volcano erupts, magma flows slowly deep underground for a long time. Chanrou's movements are similar—energy accumulates from the depths of the body, travels down the spine segment by segment, and is released naturally at the end, rather than through sudden exertion of surface muscles.
The movement begins deep within the pelvis, travels down the spine vertebra by vertebra, all the way to the cervical vertebrae and the top of the head, and then flows back. Each vertebra is part of the wave transmission—no one is a bystander, and no one needs to exert force alone.
When you first feel your spine truly flowing like a wave, instead of being rigidly stretched in segments, that feeling is very concrete—your body suddenly feels lighter, your movements suddenly become smoother, as if something stuck has finally been unlocked.
Spiral: From Vines to Tornadoes
Spiraling is the soul of a gentle soul.
When we rotate our bodies in the Chanrou style, it's not a sharp turn, but rather a rotation that extends upwards, like vines growing towards the sun. This protects the joints from compression and allows power to radiate outwards from the center like a tornado.
Every spiral movement simultaneously integrates three dimensions: extension, lateral bending, and rotation—just as a typhoon is not only spinning, but also rising, expanding, and gathering energy. When the body learns to move in a spiral manner, the pressure on the joints is distributed, the transmission of power is more efficient, and the movement becomes both powerful and graceful—like the spiral structures in nature, which look light but are actually extremely strong.
Animal wisdom: Who can the body learn from?
In her teaching, Juliu often uses animals as images of movement—not to ask you to imitate the movements, but to use the essence of animal movements to guide the body to find its proper texture.
The cheetah represents the pinnacle of speed and explosive power—yet before it runs, its spine is completely relaxed and flexible. Its power doesn't come from muscle tension, but from the spring-like energy of its spine. This is precisely what Chanrou meant when she said: true power comes from flow, not stiffness.
When an eagle soars, its wings are fully extended—not forcefully, but naturally, with its chest open and its heart facing the sky. The graceful extension of a woman's arms embodies this imagery: it's not about pushing the arms to a certain position, but about opening the chest and heart first, allowing the arms to naturally extend. When the chest truly opens, the breath deepens, the shoulders relax, and the entire aura transforms.
When a stingray moves in the water, its entire body forms a wave—no part is still; the wave flows smoothly and continuously from the center to the edges. The graceful undulation of the spine is a training of this ability for overall fluidity.
Jellyfish, without bones or muscular support, move through the sea entirely through water pressure and rhythmic contractions and releases. Their movements tell us: no effort is needed, only rhythm. The gentle rocking pulsations of the pelvis follow the same logic—rhythm itself is power.
Deep-sea creatures live under the pressure of the deep sea, yet their movements are effortless—they adapt to the currents and the environment, maintaining their vitality in a seemingly defenseless state. This is one of Chanrou's deepest philosophies about the body: not fighting against the environment, but finding one's own direction through adaptation.
Water: The graceful texture of movement
Juliu often uses water—rivers, oceans, waves—to describe the texture of movement that Chanrou desires.
"Let your movements flow like water." "Feel your body moving in water." "Let your spine sway like seaweed in water."
Water is characterized by its constant flow, its relentless movement, and its ability to change shape with its environment. Rivers do not choose their direction; they flow with the terrain, around rocks, and find their way out. The ocean exerts no effort; it simply exists, yet it possesses everything. Water is the softest thing in nature, but also the most powerful—it can penetrate rock, carve canyons, and nourish all life.
What Chanrou pursues is precisely this power of water—not through brute force, but through continuous flow; not through tension, but through the resilience in relaxation; not through resistance, but through finding strength in adaptation.
When your movements acquire the texture of water, you'll experience a paradox: incredibly relaxed, yet incredibly powerful; incredibly soft, yet incredibly stable. This isn't opposition; it's what water teaches us.
Rhythm: Respecting the body's natural rhythm
Nature has the rhythms of seasons, day and night, and tides. These rhythms are not enforced or determined by external forces, but rather grow naturally from within the system.
Chanrou emphasizes that movements should have a sense of rhythm—the rhythm of breathing, the wave of the spine, and the frequency of the pulse should all be as natural as the rhythm of nature.
Modern life has disrupted many people's bodily rhythms—sleep is disturbed by artificial light, movements become rigid due to prolonged sitting, and breathing is compressed by stress. The body has lost its natural rhythm and begins to express this imbalance through various symptoms.
The gentle, rhythmic undulations, rhythmic breathing, and rhythmic spiral flow help the body rediscover its disrupted rhythm—not by imposing a rhythm from the outside, but by allowing the body to slowly recall its original frequency through the flow.
Tree: A Dialogue Between Roots and Extension
A large tree grows in two directions simultaneously—its roots extend deep into the ground, and its branches reach towards the sky. It doesn't choose one direction, but rather both occur at the same time and are interdependent—the deeper the roots, the higher the branches can reach; the wider the branches, the more firmly the roots need to be planted.
This is the prototype of the Lengthening through Opposition.
The head extends upwards, while the tailbone roots downwards, gently lengthening the spine between these two points of tension. This is achieved not by force in one direction, but by the tension of both ends extending outwards simultaneously, creating the space and support in the middle.
The tree sways in the wind, but it doesn't fall—because its roots are deep enough. The gentle, outward extension of the branches allows the body to establish the same structural wisdom: the further outward it extends, the more stable its center becomes; the deeper its roots penetrate, the freer it can grow upward.
Breathing: A Dialogue Between the Body and Nature
Plants absorb carbon dioxide and release oxygen. Humans inhale oxygen and exhale carbon dioxide.
This is not just a chemical exchange; it is a dialogue that has lasted for hundreds of millions of years—plants and animals depend on and nourish each other, maintaining the balance of the entire ecosystem through respiration.
With every deep breath, you participate in this ancient dialogue.
Chanrou's breathing exercises make this dialogue more conscious—not just about letting air in and out of the lungs, but about ensuring that every breath truly nourishes the body and every exhale truly releases what is unnecessary. The diaphragm descends, the abdominal cavity expands, and the body sways gently in the wind like a tree—inhaling is receiving, exhaling is giving, and the body synchronizes with nature in this rhythm.
Returning to the logic of action in nature
Modern life has made human actions increasingly deviate from the logic of nature—becoming more and more linear, more and more mechanical, more and more localized, and more and more rapid.
The body begins to express this distance through soreness, stiffness, and fatigue.
What Chanrou does is remind the body of the movement logic of nature—waves, spirals, rhythms, flow, and opposing extensions. These are not things Chanrou invented; they have always been in nature, always in your body, but have simply been forgotten.
When the body rediscovers these principles, it's not just "exercising"—it's engaging in dialogue with nature, aligning its own rhythms with the rhythms of the world.
Juliu once said, "The body knows how to move; it just needs to be reminded."
Nature is that initial reminder.
