September 20, 2009: Santa Cruz, California:
The Academy of Martial Arts
A wide range of people and training came together to spend a few hours learning a very special approach to the practice of Qigong. Acupuncturists, nurses, Qigong teachers and people completely new to the art all convened on the Academy of Martial Arts to spend time together and to learn what seems a simple art of breathing. (more…)
Our whole site is built around the ancient Qigong method known as Blossoms in the Spring. We asked the co-author of the new book on Blossoms to share her experiences as an acupuncturist, her insights into Qigong and her view of medicine, East and West.
HARMONY: Is there anything you might like to say at the start ?
NARRYE: I’m kind of hot right now about the tendency in this culture to make everything a workout, to drive towards getting to some goal. I’m trying to make people aware of the disadvantage of being always attached to a specific outcome, rather than an involvement in the process.
HARMONY: Can you go into a little more detail? (more…)
When I first began to study Chinese Medicine back in the 1980’s, it was in response to my fascination with Taoism and martial arts. Here was an ancient medicine based on principles of harmony and an understanding of our relationship to nature. It was radical in its premise that nature is self correcting, and that humans can heal naturally by tuning back in to the rhythm of natural cycles. The doctor’s job was to search out the cause of a patient’s disharmony and help them restore balance. We took the pulse; we listened to the voice; we observed movement, bearing, and skin tone; we asked questions about the patient’s life and their illness. Then we recommended changes in diet and lifestyle; we used needles, moxa, and herbs. We restored balance. Patients got better.
Somewhere along the line, things started to change. It’s been a subtle process, and therefore easy to miss. But Taoist medicine, in which skill is dependent on the refinement of the doctor’s sensitivity over a lifetime of practice, is getting gradually replaced by a westernized approach that emphasizes the constant acquisition of new treatment techniques and diagnostic tools.
I suspect this all started from the justifiable need for acupuncturists in this modern age of technological medicine to make a decent living and enjoy a modicum of respect among other health care professionals. Thus the emergence of what is now called “complementary” medicine (complementary to what I wonder?) and the blossoming of doctoral programs in Chinese medicine that teach us western medical skills so we can fit in better with the medical establishment.
All of this leaves me disheartened. These days, instead of instructing our patients in the art of meditation or qigong, reading their fate in the stars, and adjusting their home environment to correct imbalances, we are more likely to send them for lab tests and spend our time taking courses on which procedure codes to stack up on our insurance bills. Perhaps this is all necessary to survive as a healthcare provider in this strange antagonistic world.
But I long for a return to the Taoist roots of Chinese medicine, when a poem might be the prescription, and a life well lived, not a lab test, was the measure of success.
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No one should feel bad that the Chinese did it first. After all, they’ve had 5000 years to noodle with these things. But before we go on we have to take a simple test. If you still believe that the quality and kind of health care we have is dependent only on the attempt to supply the finest care for the most people then this new (old) approach may be too much foryou. If you can see the influence of such extrogenous factors as money, status, power and-very important- convenience then you are ready.
This absolutely radical approach which the Chinese employed for millennia was this (and as we will see it directly relates to the practice of Qigong): you pay the doctor when you are well, not sick. If he keeps you well forever, so much the better. If you get sick his fees stop until you are better.
Let me take a second to recover myself. And I know about this. Whew, better now. Well, first off some could say we already have this and it’s called insurance but of course that’s not true because insurance you pay when you are sick OR well (there’s that convenience issue again, but not for you).
We could discuss this plan for days and turn it around a hundred ways but I want to address just one little twist in the road. Doctors weren’t stupid. They figured out pretty quickly that people really didn’t want to be sick and, better yet, if they could enlist the patient’s cooperation they would be more assured of their fees. So Chinese doctors actually encouraged their patients to do healthful practices.
Such as skiing, bungee jumping, locking and space dodge ball, right? No, they helped to design exercises which were consistent with the medical practices of the culture with a different emphasis such as longevity, conservation of energy, rejuvenation, balance, optimization of movement, reduction of stress. Qigong, Tai Chi and other studies were seen as perfectly grooving in with the needs of the people and, as far as fees continuing to trickle in, with the needs of the medical community.
We somehow think that the pursuit of happiness is tied to returning to the slopes for the fifth time after your fourth ACL operation. I wonder if our medical practitioners would be less likely to feed this delusion if their income were tied to preventing our whimsical self destruction?
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Entelechy and JingWhat is this? Definitions first. Entelechy is the implicit tendency that every living being contains to realize its true nature. And Jing is a Chinese medical term. It has several meanings. One is, in a very literal sense, sexual fluids. But in a broader sense it is the part of us that knows how to reproduce itself. By implication then it is the patterning in the DNA that understands how to differentiate cells, how to heal a wound for example.
Many people today are disconnected from their true self and confused about their purpose in life. They are looking for a way to reclaim authenticity and a compass that can keep them on track. Qigong can help us with this. It trains us be attentive to the expression of our own Jing.
Though not a familiar word, entelechy is a more familiar concept because it permeates our western culture. For instance, we can easily understand the idea that an acorn implicitly knows how to become an oak tree. It is much harder for us to understand the Chinese view of Jing as a source of life direction. Qigong practice may be a way for us to learn to see that.
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Sometimes my morning qigong practice consists entirely of sitting and gazing out the window. I used to feel guilty about this, as if I were dodging my commitment, succumbing to laziness, just plain goofing off. But my dog, a Chinese Pug whose ancestors lived in Tibetan monasteries and who knows a thing or two about these matters, is teaching me the value of simplicity. She is a master of the Taoist meditation practice called “sitting and forgetting.”
With the quietude of an old monk, she spends some portion of each day sitting by the window watching life unfold in the yard outside. One morning I took my tea and joined her instead of immediately starting my daily qigong exercise. We sat on the landing halfway up the stairs (her favorite spot,) where there’s a view of the garden from two corner windows. Squirrels dashed about; the neighbor’s black tabby cat sat quietly watching the fish pond; woodpeckers dived at the feeders; a few falling leaves, harbingers of autumn, traced a lazy path through the air. We just sat and watched. I sipped my tea. I thought maybe I should get on with my morning practice instead of wasting time staring out the window. But then I poured another cup of tea, my gesture as simple and natural as the drifting autumn leaves.
Sometimes our practices become self-improvement projects. It’s not easy to notice when this happens. At what point does commitment become drudgery, discipline a lifeless and repetitive routine? How do we stay true to the living moment, the ever fresh and spontaneous movement of the qi? Surely daily practice is important, you argue. We couldn’t just go along doing whatever we want like children at play. After all, we have to show up for work every day. How will we make progress, stay healthy, achieve our goals, if we don’t practice every day? Well, yes. I know these arguments well, and I agree. My daily practice creates a sturdy vessel for me. Anchored by the consistency of that container, I’m better able to handle life’s unexpected and unpredictable events with some measure of grace.
On the other hand, perhaps the ultimate mastery is the practice of “no-practice,” just doing each thing as it comes up. Yes, like a child. Right now, I’m gazing out the window. My dog leans peacefully against me. I reach for another cup of tea.
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The Chinese government has estimated that somewhere around three thousand (yes, 3000) forms of Qigong still exist in China. It’s true they may be disappearing faster than the rain forest but, as of now, there is still a great inheritance.
Martial arts fans of Kung Fu may know that Kung Fu used to boast (before the devastation called the Cultural Revolution) somewhere around 350 styles of martial practice. But the 3000 forms of Qigong makes one pause. Why, that’s inventing one new style a year for the last three thousand years. Good Lord, that would be astonishing if, as is the case, Qigong were not about 3000 years old.
Think of it, one of the most creative peoples on the face of the earth given 3000 years. It used to be a fact that the amount of poetry written in the Chinese language exceeded all the poetry in the rest of the world combined. Hardly surprising when you think of how long the Chinese have loved poetry and how many Chinese have done so. Remember this is a culture that looks to be entering it’s SIXTH renaissance soon.
But the major reason there are so many styles of Qigong is that it is deeply rooted in the lives of the Chinese folk. I remember traveling to Taiwan on a plane. You know one of those long, drowsy trips. I awoke suddenly around midnight and the old lady next to me, the one I had helped with her seat belt, was rubbing her hands together. After a few second this lovely old Hui (Chinese Moslem) woman held her palms out and we both watched as they turned a deep purple. Then she proceeded to massage her face. This was as dramatic a demonstration as any teacher I saw in Taipei. And, obviously, it was a family thing, a little traditional self-maintenance handed down from grandmother to grandmother
So, let me tell you, 3000 is probably just the number of Qigong methods which have survived the centuries. Qigong is one of the great contributions of Chinese society and to think that it all depends on what modern people, fickle as the wind, think or don’t think about it all is to be a little naive. Qigong is on the planet to stay. How it will develop in the next hundred or so years may, in part, be up to you.
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The only thing keeping Qigong from being one of the most controversial topics in the twenty first century is that so few people know anything about it. That’s, of course, ignoring the over fifty million people who practice it now. Just this month we have two beautiful examples. The first is from the Gainesville Sun and it’s a short article telling how people in that area are coming to Qigong for everything from stress reduction to toxicity.
On the other side of the world, in the very country of Qigong’s origin, we have the beginning of a repressive movement to ban all new Qigong groups.
Why is this? What is the threat poses suddenly by a three thousand year old exercise that is beautiful, ritualized, relaxing and serene? Well, one answer lies in the fact that freedom is always a radical concept. Now there’s all kinds of freedoms but wise people from all over the earth have, throughout history, discovered that the freedom we obtain from knowing out true selves is often the deepest and most personal form of freedom. Not the same as freedom from restraint or political freedom, the freedom of self-knowledge poses a threat not to this or that form of compulsion but to the very idea of compulsion.
The world of Qigong is a wonderful place and a wonderful practice. But, as you can see, some times the idea of change itself scares some people while beckoning others.
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