Along the Way

by Solala Towler
Copyright © December 2002 Heart Links / All rights reserved

For many people in the qigong world, movement forms are emphasized over stillness practices, yet stillness practices such as zuowanglun (sitting in oblivion) have always been a big part of Daoist cultivation. Indeed, for many traditional Daoists, practices like zuowanglun are considered to represent a higher level of spiritual cultivation practice.

Many of the forms of Qigong that are practiced today are clearly health practices, though some have cosmological aspects. We can also take into account the psychological and spiritual make-up of the practitioner as well. Some people can take a health practice and make it a spiritual practice, or at least introduce spiritual components into it.

But originally most of what we know of today as Qigong practices were developed as aids to meditation. The earliest form of Qigong that we know of is dao-in, based on the Five Animal Movements, which were, in turn, based on actual animal movements. Daoists have always been greatly involved with observing and learning from nature.

These dao-in practices, which date back to the Han Dynasty, were created in order to lead the Qi into its proper channels by utilizing various stretching, twisting, and self-massage movements. This was done in order to help the practitioner be as healthy as possible in order to practice deep meditation.

While dao-in was an important part of Daoist and Chinese health and longevity practices (also known as yangsheng or nourishing life practices) it was all done in service to the meditation practice which was itself considered an "immortal practice."

Various methods of meditation were used at different times and by different Daoist sects, such as the Tanshi, the Quanzhen and the Shangqing. Some involved visualizing and meditation on the various divinities who were thought to dwell in each organ of the body. By clearly imagining each divinity, complete with the proper color, clothing, and energetic aspect the practitioner was able to sanctify and re-energize each organ.

Other meditation practices involved guiding Qi through various pathways in the body, including the well-known smaller heavenly orbit, or what is often referred to as the microcosmic orbit. The chong mo or central channel was also used to clear and strengthen the energy body. All of these practices were aimed at preparing the practitioner for the higher immortality or spiritual practices.

While energy and spirit have always been linked together in Daoism the so-called internal alchemy practices were designed to transmute or transform the energy or Qi state to a spiritual or shen state. Then, to take the alchemical process a step further, the spiritual or shen state is then transferred into Dao, or universal consciousness.

Of course Daoists, being Chinese, were also very practical about their practice. If one is sick, unbalanced, ungrounded or emotionally confused, it is very difficult to enter the deep spiritual realms of the immortality practices. Thus, they developed their health practices in Qigong forms to help the student of the Way stay as strong, healthy and clear as possible. In this way they were better able to keep up with life's demands as well as delve deeply into the meditation practices that were necessary for the Daoist adept.

But if one is interested in spiritually evolving or "attaining Dao," one must pay attention to the internal cultivation practices as well as the movement forms. We must remember that the Qigong or movement forms are there to support our spiritual practice, much of which consists of stillness or meditation practice. As the Daoist poet Shih-Shu puts it:
 

Study the Way and never grow old Distrust emotions; truth will emerge Sweep away your worries Set even your body aside Autumn drives off the yellow leaves Yet spring renews each green bud Quietly contemplate the pattern of things Nothing here to make us sad

Winter, the season of quiet contemplation, is an excellent time to strengthen our meditation practice. By being still, by being quiet, by closing down the outside influences in our lives, we can open doors to vast inner worlds.

An ancient Daoist text, the Daoshu, says: "First one must concentrate one's mind, then illuminating wisdom will radiate within, the myriad projections appear empty and are utterly forgotten, the mind is serene and tranquil." It is in this serene and tranquil mind that we can discover the Dao, our source as well as our destination.

The other Daoist terms for meditation are found in the Tianyinzi, translated by Livia Kohn as, first, cun, "concentration of the mind by which one can see one's own mind" and secondly, xiang, "closing one's eyes to see one's eyes." Lastly, the Neiguan Jing tells us that if we can keep our mind empty and abide in non-action (wu wei), even if we do not wish for Dao, yet the Dao will come to us, naturally.

The ancient Daoist sages described the body as the storehouse of our inner nature. They taught that we must take care of the body in order for us to have a place for our spirit to dwell. In this way, our qigong practice provides a foundation for our spiritual cultivation. It is important not to neglect our stillness practice if we are to fully enjoy the benefits of our movement practice. Like yin and yang, both movement and stillness are important to our overall cultivation.

Daoists believe that it is important to keep a balance between movement and stillness. Too much movement will exhaust one's Qi, while excessive sitting will cause stagnation in the body. The key here is to not abandon one for the other and to experiment and see what is the proper balance for your own cultivation.

Like yin within yang, or stillness within movement, that place of serene stillness within our movement gives birth to that subtle and mysterious movement within the stillness of our meditation. That movement brings us into greater harmony, greater awareness, and greater experience of the eternal and ever-evolving Dao.

Solala Towler is a true modern Taoist, teacher, writer, musician, President of the National Qigong Association, and editor of "The Empty Vessel: A Journal of the Daoist Arts", a quarterly magazine on Taoism. solala@abodetao.com / http://www.abodetao.com 

Connecting with Yin Qi in China

by Daisy Lee Garripoli
Copyright © March 2002 Heart Links / All rights reserved

There is a great dragon pine by the Jie Tai Temple that I always visit on our September China Qigong Study trips. It is about 80 feet high, noble, majestic and unspeakably beautiful. Its mottled, gray-green bark sheds like the scales of a dragon every fall, thus its name. Last year, I collected some of the soft, flat, fur-like pieces to take home with me to remind me of the gift I was given there this last trip.

Though we pay homage to more elaborate temples such as the ones at the Forbidden City, it is the Jie Tai that has always drawn me back to stay longer, to kneel at its doors and walk its incredible grounds in thoughtful introspection. Perhaps it is the Yin quality of the temple that seems to prevail over the misty, consciously-cared for grounds. It feels loved, as if every root, branch, and bud has made a conscious decision to be here and to offer itself up for sustenance for those seeking refuge.

You will likely not see the caretakers of these magnificent gardens, the abbots who live and protect this sanctuary. Like the incense wafting in the gentle breeze, they are present, but never obtrusive. I asked Francesco to schedule more time there next year, rather than the rich austerity of the Forbidden City, which, though golden and fascinating in appearance, has a forbidding energy around it - when I did some energy work around an urn, my hands actually felt arthritic and pained. I was later to learn that it was a sacrificial urn that much blood had been spilled into in the name of ceremony - both animal and human.

In stark contrast to the Jie Tai Temple, there were no trees on the Forbidden City grounds. The Emperor feared that a sniper might find it an easy hiding place to take a shot at his golden robes and ordered any and all trees within and around the Forbidden City to be cut down. Little did he know that the eunuchs within his own domicile would be the ones to betray him. Though some people might consider these temples grand and opulent as they imagine themselves walking down the same expansive path that the Emperor himself walked less than a century ago, I cannot help but think of the fear and distrust he felt to create such a joyless environment. With all that, it is still worthy of a trip, if for nothing else but to feel the contrast of the very Yang nature of this place, to the very Yin of the Jie Tai.

At the Jie Tai Temple, the energy is so pure and nurturing, you feel as if Mother Nature began her work on this very mountaintop. When you do Qigong here, you feel the heartbeat of every tree, the dance of the wind pulsing between your hands, the scent of the rose garden soaking into every pore of your being. It is, thus far, my favorite place in China. 

Last year, on my third visit, I felt a deeper connection than usual to this place. When I did Qigong in front of the Dragon Pine, I closed my eyes for the first time. In the past, I had been overly-conscious of having to take care of our guests, which meant keeping my eyes open and alert; this once, I allowed myself to be lulled into the arms of the great pine. I allowed myself to be still, to listen and be silent, trusting that somehow, everyone would be cared for without my watchful gaze. In a few moments, my whole body was swaying with the tree. While my feet were firmly rooted to the ground, my hands coiled in a figure eight 'infinity' pattern, moving and swaying me as if I wasn't me anymore, but the tree.

"This is who I am", it said. "When you are still, you will feel me. In this way, you can connect with all things." I was so excited that I opened my eyes in disbelief. "Did you see that?" I asked Francesco. "Did you feel it too? The Dragon Pine was dancing with me!"

I used to wonder if going all the way to China made any difference to my practice. It was a joy to be able to introduce people to Master Wan and his students, to show them the Chinese culture through their trained eyes and their diligent practice, to enjoy daily massages and feast on great food, to see the brilliance of an ancient culture in its many colored robes…but deep in my heart, I was still waiting for something more, something to take me to the next step in my practice.

I had never felt a strong connection with the meditative aspects of Qigong, always preferring the movements to the stillness. Perhaps it was because I was always anticipating the phone ringing, or thinking of the work I had to complete, or the meal I was going to make. In China, all these things were taken care of for me, though I was still conscious of looking after our group. In those few moments of connection with an ancient pine tree, I realized what people meant when they used the term "being one" with something. I had been looking for a profound teacher, and finally found it - in the form of the Dragon Pine of Jie Tai Temple.

The Quest for Longevity
A Taoist Perspective

by Francesco Garri Garripoli
Copyright © June 2003 Heart Links / All rights reserved

The challenge of facing our own mortality may very well be the ultimate test of being human. Next to the age-old questions relating to "the purpose of life" and the existence of God, coming to grips with the fact that we live this life and then, at some point, must die can truly stretch our intellectual limits.

When we are young, we typically lie about our age to let others believe we are older. Maybe it's a practical issue relating to getting into a nightclub or just a "pride thing" in a social situation. When we are older, we find ourselves making fun about our age, and women—more than men, according to psychologists—will go so far as to lie or become upset when asked about their age. Coming to grips with our age seems to be a serious human dilemma. Psychologists point out that it is the temporal nature of life on this planet that somehow makes us uneasy. Because we are not immortal, we must all face the finite nature of our existence.

The ancient cultures, from Greece to China, all created mythological beings that had one unique and common feature—they could live forever. Transcending the cycle of birth and death, the ancients could vicariously experience eternal life through these demigods and super-human beings. Whether they lived on "Olympus" or in the "Western Heaven," these beings were not tied to the rules of this world.

The ancient Taoists—those curious rebels of the mainstream Chinese culture who lived some 2,500 years ago—brought an interesting twist to immortality. They believed that it was truly possible to defy the entropic rules of nature and live beyond the standard program for life in this body. The old Taoist Masters believed that it was Qi (or "Chi"—pronounced "chee") that animated our physical bodies and kept us alive. This Qi existed throughout nature, and to some degree, in all things. What we eat, drink, come in contact with, and even "think" can affect the quality of our Qi. Various exercises that we now call Qigong (Chi Kung), are the results of the work that these ancients developed to strengthen the body and spirit, and help it to transcend the limits of the everyday.

Qigong is a practice that has a history going back thousands of years. The principles of this practice were known under various names throughout history such as Dao Yin, Shiu Liao, Nei Gong. Whatever the names—even Tai Chi Chuan is a derivative of this art—these practices were designed to help the practitioner cultivate Qi, strengthen the body, and in so doing, build the spirit. The result would naturally extend one's life beyond the normal genetic programming of the body; or maybe these exercises actually awoke the inherent genetic intelligence and produced the life that we were meant to live?

"I am in no way interested in immortality,
but only in the taste of tea."

—the 400 year-old Lu T'ung, (b. 755 A.D.)

There are dozens, if not hundreds, of accounts throughout history of ancient Taoist sages who lived to be two hundred, three hundred, even four hundred years old. The Eight Immortals of Taoist lore were believed to be average people who were able to jump off the cycle of birth and death and redefine the rules of life. This is not to be confused with the Buddhist concept of reincarnation—for the Taoists, their concept of immortality was a practical one that was to be pursued in this lifetime. Cheating mortality, the Immortals are believed to be walking the Earth to this day. One of these Immortals was named Lu T'ung and was born during China's T'ang Dynasty in 755 A.D. A scholar and statesman, this old Taoist was believed to have practiced various inner arts that allowed him to live in his body for some 400 years. Although some accounts say that he actually "died" at the then ripe old age of 55 in 805 A.D., many more accounts say he lived on hundreds of years, and may still be alive.

There is the documented account appearing in Yang Ywing Ming's book of Li Ching-Yuen, who was born in Szechuan Province in 1678 AD and died in 1928–living to the ripe old age of 250. Most of his wives died early, so he was married 14 times over the course of his life! Li was an herbalist and an avid Qigong practitioner, living in the lush mountain ranges of Szechuan. When he was 71 years of age, he joined the army of Provincial Commander-in-Chief Yeuh Jong-Chyi in 1749. It was said he practiced various Nei Gong (Inner Exercises) that prevented his body from falling prey to disease. These practices kept his organs functioning efficiently and his mind thinking clearly. This account, considered true in many historical accounts in both Mainland China and in Taiwan, gives us hope that through Taoist practice, combined with proper herbs, the potential of the human body and mind to live beyond 200 years is a tangible possibility.

During my travels through China studying Qigong, I had the great opportunity to study with many senior Masters, such as Duan Zhi Liang and Luo You Ming, who were well into their 90s. These great teachers had agile bodies and lucid minds. They all shared a common sense of humor, enjoying a good laugh or playing practical jokes on me. They also shared the consistent, daily practice of Qigong. I believe their vibrancy was due to their utilization of Qigong's physical exercise and mental calming techniques. Implicit in their Qigong was also the spiritual world. This is the part of the practice that moves you beyond the trappings of the physical body. This is the most subtle and least understood part of Qigong, yet maybe the most powerful. It is powerful because only through accessing the "spiritual" component of life can we truly transcend the physical. This is what we call "metaphysical" in English. In Mandarin, we may say "Shen".

There are actually three distinct aspects of Qi according to the Taoists. The first is called "Jing". Also known as "prenatal Qi," Jing is the Qi energy that we are born with. It comes directly from our Mother and our Father. In a simplistic way we can think of it as the genetic propensities that we inherit from our bloodline. To the Taoist sage, Jing also includes the "energetic" component of our heritage. This includes things like "karma" (yuan fen) and other energy qualities that came from the union of our parents. It is believed that we are born with a fixed "amount" of Jing at birth. Thus, it should be our focus to maintain this as much as possible since it cannot be replenished. Taoist sexual practices such as preserving the semen through controlling ejaculation in men and channeling the energy of the orgasm in women (and men) are aimed at conserving and respecting Jing.

The second aspect of Qi is simply known as "Qi". This is the operational energy that we require to stay alive. This "fuel" comes from all we absorb—from food to air to thoughts to environment. What we choose to ingest and experience in life dictates the quality of our Qi.

The third aspect of Qi is called "Shen". This is the most ethereal component of Qi—the spirit/thought frequency of our vital life force. Though the most intangible, our Shen may hold the most promise when it comes to understanding our "mortality" and what it means to extend our life. Developing the "clarity of mind" is key to maintaining a rich quality of life; developing a connection to our spiritual core—the metaphysical aspect life—is key to truly understanding how to navigate through the mundane. Shen cultivation is one of the great benefits of Qigong practice.

(End of Part 1. Part 2 will appear in a future issue of Heart Links)
Copyright © 2002 Francesco Garri Garripoli

The Spirit of Practicing
Qigong on Your Own

by Francesco Garri Garripoli
Copyright © September 2002 Heart Links / All rights reserved

One day someone contacted our offices distraught and frustrated. We rarely get calls like this, so when I heard about it, I took the number and called back as quickly as I could. The call may have seemed innocuous enough – it was a request to return the Qigong instructional videos that this person just ordered from our online store. Anywhere else, in a normal "customer service" situation, this would have been a routine process...but not for us. We've never had anyone request to return their tapes! More than that, we are in the business of inspiring people to become responsible for their own health and well being, so I know we are participating in a deep and personal way with people who choose to learn Qigong from us.

I share this story because it may be something you've thought about – it may touch on that part of you that questions your own inner wisdom and confidence.

This dear person answered the phone when I called; I could hear the sounds of an active family in the background. He was very sweet and present, open and ready to share his concerns. It seems that he didn't want to return the videos because he was unhappy with them, on the contrary. What he was concerned about was that he felt he might learn the tapes incorrectly. He felt that he might not be able to do the moves "right".

This touched me in a deep way. We live in a world that puts such pressure on us to follow rules and do things in a precise way. This may not seem evident, but try entering your PIN number or dialing a phone number with one number missing. This points to an unprecedented time in our society where "precision" appears to be a requirement. The exploratory, learning "process" of what we do becomes much less important than just the precision of "doing it right." This seems so counter to what it means to be human.

What I tried to share with this person was that Qigong is about the organic process of learning. It is about the "experience" of the practice – what we "feel" during the process is most important as this empirical learning is what facilitates the deep physiological and energetic shifts that help us to heal. The "form" of Qigong – the outward exercises – are just part of the process. They are the catalysts for inner shifts, for the flow of Qi, for the insights that come with dedicated practice.

Sure, understanding the "moves" honor the immense history that has brought Qigong to the present. They have also been designed to accelerate the flow of Qi, efficiently open blockages, and help us to stretch and remain pliable. The fact is, we each have unique muscular-skeletal systems; different body mechanics will dictate accommodations in how a Qigong move is 'interpreted.' Sure, respecting the teaching is important, but listening to your body is also important.

Aligning with the 'intention' of the Qigong move is actually most important. This means to find what the "essence" of the move is intended to achieve, and then hold that image in your mind and heart as you practice it.

When we work with paraplegics or seniors with limited mobility, we realize that a move must be "modified" to work for them. Does this mean that they won't receive the benefit of the move? I think not. It simply means that the "intention" will be expressed in a way that is best suited for the situation. This reflects upon the Taoist nature of Qigong.  The ancient Taoists, who deeply influenced the development of the early Qigong (then called Dao Yin) exercises two millennia ago, saw nature as their teachers. At the core of their teaching was the edict that flowing and bending was better than rigidity. They felt that trusting in their inherent wisdom would guide them to align with the Tao, the 'natural way of things.'

Each day we are asked to trust, to let go of our fears and "over thinking." Each day we are asked to take all the 'opinions' that we read and embrace them as simply 'human interpretations.' Like the Taoists of old, we are being asked to be 'natural scientists', to be at the center of the experiment of life. We are being asked to study from the experts, but draw the conclusions from our own experience. It will only be through this empirical, first-hand study that we will gain true knowledge and participate in the healing that we seek.

Peace...