Handstands against the wall in the Prudential Hotel, Kowloon side of Hong Kong. Left hand is still weak, and I can't help but fear the embarrassment of having only made slight progress since I last saw my teacher on Maui.

An eleven year old boy demonstrated one of the most gorgeous Tai Chi forms I've ever seen this morning. Completely focused, moving with grace through his postures, he hardly noticed even the holster-wearing dreadlocked white guy in the crowd.

"How long I play Tai Chi?" he says later. "Oh, ah, one year."

Each morning it seems the vast majority of Hong Kong's 7.5 million residents can be found in the public parks, breathing deep, in strong stances, tracing circles and arcs through the air. There is no shame, no shyness, no nervous glances around to see if anyone is watching. Only a consistent daily practice of moving energy, guiding it and crafting it, sculpting an invisible Light that so many in my country are completely ignorant of.

So when I bring my mat to the park and begin my Surya Namaskar, I only get a few curious glances. Mostly the Chinese just let me be, and we all breathe and move together, a silent reverence for each other's morning routine. If I was back in Chicago's Wicker Park I'd attract more attention. I'd wonder if my wallet would still be next to my mat after Savasana, or if it'd be inappropriate to have breakfast at the Bongo Room without a shower and a change of clothes.

So in a way, I fit in better in a land where I can't read most of the menus. Cantonese is a difficult language. Our client brought us out to dinner last night, and while trying to figure out how to de-shell a sea mantis, I mispronounced the translation for "I dance with fire," and accidentally said something to the effect of, "I'm a fucking dancer."

Not sure if that kind of talk will get us the next gig in Shanghai.

But here I sit in Kowloon Park, watching a man older than my grandfather balance on one leg, the other extended high, spiraling arms through the air before pressing both arms forward, straight towards...me. For a second I think he's looking straight at me, and then I realize, in this moment, he doesn't notice me or anything around us. In this moment, we're the same.