Director’s Diary

The days we are living through are, for many of us, filled with pressure, uncertainty, and fatigue. This reality cannot be ignored. Each of us carries a share of this burden. In such a context, perhaps the most important step is a brief pause—to observe what is happening to us—without blaming ourselves or seeking refuge in hasty judgments.

When we give ourselves even a moment of awareness, the mind becomes a little clearer. This clarity helps us move more lightly and find a truer path forward amid difficulties. The calm that arises in this way is neither the result of escaping reality nor denying it; rather, it comes from a patient, human, and composed engagement with the circumstances in which we live.

Resilience begins from within. It starts with accepting the responsibility to soothe our inner world instead of fighting with ourselves. It grows each day—even in small measures—through attention to the quality of our perception, speech, and actions. Change in the world begins at this point: the moment we decide to treat ourselves with compassion.

Along the way, sometimes it is enough to acknowledge that today was not easy—yet we can still take a careful, deliberate, and humane step forward. These small steps form a bridge between today’s fatigue and tomorrow’s light—not for heroism, nor for blind endurance, but for living with greater dignity, awareness, and kindness toward ourselves and others.

The message may be simple:
Transformation does not begin outside.
It begins with us—in the quiet space of an inner decision.

And that, in itself, is enough to start.

"Every life is a collection of moments, and each moment, if truly lived, contains a world within itself."

Time is neither merely a chain of seconds nor the unbroken passing of days and nights. It can be a deep dimension in which each moment holds the capacity to open a new doorway. When lived consciously, a single instant can expand so fully that it feels as if the entire world has paused within it.

In this view, life is not measured by the number of years, but by the depth of experiences in which we have been fully present. Moments where everything is clear, immediate, and complete—where nothing is lacking, and nothing is in excess.

When we remain in the aware present, even the simplest happenings take on new meaning and dimension: the soft patter of rain against the window, the warmth of a cup of tea in your hands, the sight of the sun rising. These are not mere events; each can be a complete world in itself.

Lived this way, life transforms from a race toward the future into a sequence of rich nows—where the true depth of being can finally be felt.

We move along a path that is neither purely physical nor solely mental. It is a way between moments, in a constant suspension between past and future, where time seems to come to a halt. Like in the endless flow of time, akin to James Joyce’s writing, our mind seeks an invisible thread that connects the narrative—a story that reveals a secret and fundamental truth beyond the surface of reality.

Within myth, there is a space often overlooked: the moment between two breaths, that small yet sacred rupture. In ancient tales, this moment resembles the Bridge of Anahita; a bridge between two worlds, two states, where flowing water does not pass, yet holds the power of connection and transition. A place where the breath hesitates; neither moving forward nor remaining still, but in a silence seemingly motionless, truth is born.

This suspended space is the very "suspension of time" spoken of by myths; a moment where all things converge and meaning is born. Past and future meet on this bridge, and only in that instant can we glimpse pure and complete existence.

Myth, beyond storytelling, is a bridge that returns us to this sacred space; a suspension where every movement gains meaning and every breath carries new significance.

The suspension of moments, the gap between inhalation and exhalation, is a mirror where we detach from the dimension of time and reach a pure awareness. Here begins transformation; a place where every step, every movement, carries meaning beyond time and space.

Like James Joyce’s stream of consciousness, narrating in a nonlinear and complex manner, the inner experience requires a comprehension beyond linearity. An experience whose complexity lies in uncovering moments of suspension and transition, where truth emerges delicately and silently.

We, in this sacred space, are not merely narrators but the living myth-makers; guardians of the bridge between past and future, and bearers of timeless meaning. Every movement, every breath, is not mere repetition but a re-reading and re-creation of the ancient melody that defines the human spirit in connection with the cosmos.

On this path, one precise and purposeful step holds more value than thousands of scattered movements. Because this step is a commitment to continuity, full presence, and a return to that very point of suspension where we “are”—not merely “move”.

In today’s interactive and fast-paced world, remaining anchored in the traditional principles of internal martial arts is not merely a choice—it is a necessity. Continuous training and the preservation of inner cohesion remain the guiding pillars of our school’s mission.

Today’s focus was on the quality of movement and the depth of breath. Emphasis on technical precision, balanced with group training, brought the class to a state of equilibrium—between individual refinement and collective harmony. Mindful presence in each moment of practice does far more to convey the essence of the art than any verbal instruction.

On the administrative front, planning for the upcoming half-season came with its own challenges. However, the process created an opportunity to reassess our trajectory and raise the bar on our educational standards. Sometimes, a moment of pause is required before a leap forward—to realign with purpose.

At the end of the day, one thought remains clear: a single precise and meaningful step is more valuable than hundreds of aimless movements. Internal arts are not about form for form’s sake—they are a return to meaning. Our path is one of balance, dignity, and a deeper understanding of both movement and stillness.

Looking ahead, our priorities remain: expanding instructional capacity, preparing advanced training courses, and maintaining unwavering loyalty to the core principles of Master Yang. With our roots firmly grounded, we move forward—steadily and with clarity.

In an age marked by acceleration, distraction, and disconnection, adherence to an authentic path of education has become not just important, but essential. YMAA Iran, as a committed branch of the global YMAA family, upholds its responsibility to preserve, embody, and advance the legacy of Dr. Yang, Jwing-Ming—a legacy grounded in discipline, integrity, tradition, and inner cultivation.

The Director’s Diary serves as a space to share insights from the path—challenges, milestones, values, and visions that arise in the course of managing and cultivating a traditional school in a modern world. These notes are not merely administrative updates; they are reflections on a living system, rooted in classical methods and guided by enduring principles.

Our hope is that these writings offer a window for dialogue—with students, instructors, parents, and all who are devoted to true martial arts. This is a path not of violence or vanity, but of returning to center—of embodying awareness, resilience, and unity through practice.

With respect,
YMAA Iran Director
Aryanmehr

Along the path of practice, we often become absorbed in shapes, movements, and techniques — the body, like a puppet brought to life. But do we truly know what animates it?

An ancient Daoist text speaks of the Mysterious Pass — the subtle thread that moves the limbs. Yet even this thread is not the source. The true puppeteer is the innermost self — silent, unseen, and rooted at the center.

Practice is the journey back to that center.
It is a map toward the one who moves the thread.
And each breath, each moment of stillness and presence, draws us closer to the unseen axis of transformation.

At our school, the goal is not merely strength or form — but awakening the center. That invisible point from which motion, meaning, and change emerge.

These days, Iran is caught in a whirlwind of events, headlines, uncertainty, and anxiety. From political upheaval to economic disarray, from a collapse of public hope to widespread psychological pressure, we are witnessing a society exhausted, distressed, and defenseless.

In such an atmosphere, people either collapse inwardly or take refuge in denial. But traditional martial arts—such as Taijiquan, Qigong, or even the inward disciplines of Yoga and Ayurveda—offer a third path: to stand. Consciously. Still. Awake.

The Art of Standing in the Storm

The practice of Zhan Zhuang (Standing Like a Tree) in Taiji and Qigong is not merely a physical posture. It is a full acceptance of the outer chaos without allowing the inner self to be destroyed. When standing in horse stance, the body burns, the mind boils, but the breath remains. We look inward, not outward. Neither denial nor collapse—just presence. This practice becomes a metaphor for how to live through today’s turbulence.

The Body as Refuge for the Mind

When the external world spins out of control, the only thing we can still organize is the body. In Ayurveda, it is said: “When the winds are imbalanced, the mind becomes unsettled.” The physical training we offer at our school is not merely for bodily fitness. It is structured to restore balance to the nervous system, activate deep breathing, and rebuild calmness from within.

Inner Cultivation, Not Escape

We do not tell our students to stop following the news. We tell them: Build your body in such a way that it can hear the news—without being broken by it. Training is not an escape—it is preparation. You are developing a resilient self—one capable not only of physical defense, but also of mental endurance.

A Return to Roots

YMAA was founded on preserving tradition, cultivating ethics, and establishing balance. Amid the noise, this inner music still plays. YMAA practitioners are ambassadors of calm—not by slogan, but through bodies aware of breath, minds anchored in focus, and hearts that, despite the anxiety, have not forgotten compassion.

Today in class, there was a moment when we weren’t practicing or talking—we were simply breathing. And in that brief pause, a quiet clarity settled over the space.

It reminded me that sometimes, understanding arises in the space between silence and sound. Not through knowing more, but through listening more deeply.

In a world that constantly urges us to perform and produce, perhaps we need to attune ourselves to the space between two movements. Where the body is still, the mind is beginning to let go of tension, and the spirit has a chance to show itself.

If you didn’t practice today or didn’t do anything “productive,” that’s okay.
Maybe, just listening was enough.

Some days are not about pushing boundaries, but about recognizing them.

Today, I didn’t try to achieve more. I simply tried to be more present with what already is.

In this space — our studio — I saw how a small conversation over tea became the most meaningful part of someone’s day. I noticed how a student who struggled last week found balance in a single breath. I realized how powerful a place can become when it holds people gently, without rushing them.

We don’t promise transformation overnight. But we do create a quiet space where something deep can begin to shift — not through force, but through presence, rhythm, and the right kind of guidance.

This, I’ve come to believe, is enough.

Today, amidst conversations, practice, and reviewing the paths we've taken, I returned to a simple but profound realization:
True progress always begins from within.

What we’ve built here is not merely a school for passing on techniques—it is a space designed to open new gateways of understanding.
A place where each step on the training floor, each conscious breath, each silent moment in meditation becomes a journey into deeper awareness.

Here, martial arts and traditional healing methods are not just skills or treatments—they are languages of dialogue with the self, the body, nature, and life itself.
And every day, every class, is an opportunity for this endless exploration.

If you haven’t started yet, let this note be an invitation:
To move.
To pause.
To embrace a quiet, foundational transformation.

This morning, in the stillness before the classes began, I was reminded how often the rhythm of our daily life runs faster than what nature truly intended for us. A short practice with one of our elder students reminded me that slowing down is not about doing less—it’s about going deeper. Not just in body, but in mind and heart.

At our center, each day is a fresh reminder that health is not merely the absence of illness; it is a state of balance, awareness, and returning to oneself. Whether in breathwork, Tai Chi, or meditation, we are constantly relearning how to live—consciously, unhurriedly, and in reverence to both body and soul.

I’m grateful to all our friends and colleagues who walk this path with us. Today, take just one moment—right now—sit still, close your eyes, and breathe. Everything begins here.

Today, during a meeting with the team, I was once again reminded that great successes are built from the accumulation of small, consistent steps. Sometimes we expect sudden, big changes, but the reality is that persistence and steady effort in the little things pave the way forward.

As a director, I’ve learned never to underestimate any step; even a simple decision or a brief conversation can have a profound impact on the workflow and team morale. Today’s experience reminded me to approach each day with energy and focus on the details because it’s these details that create the bigger picture.

I hope you also believe in the power of small steps on your journey and move toward your goals every day with renewed motivation.