HOW QIGONG CHANGED MY LIFE

‘How has qigong changed your life?

I was asked this question recently by way of a contribution for a book by my brilliant teacher John Munro.

Here is how it has done so.

Growing up on the farm I understood innately, and unconsciously, that the natural world was alive within me. As I moved through the woods, I experienced both the season, and my emotions, exactly as they were. This space – the woods – was without judgement. A blank canvas for my being, for my exploration, and for my expansion.

I could sit under my favourite tree with a silent, tearful sadness, and know the grief of autumn. I could walk the woods at night – my senses alive to the shadows and sounds of the dark – and know the fear of winter. I could pick a wildflower, or lie in a clearing, and know the hopefulness of spring. I could run in the wake of my friends – laughter our common tongue – and know the joy of summer. Each of these acts an ode to the seasonality of the cycle, and the seasonality of being human. 

As I grew older, I found myself conforming more and more to the rigour and austerity of adulthood. In this state of seriousness and productivity emerged a detachment from my natural rhythm, and from my instinctive motion toward alignment. This detachment is a pandemic the western world over. Round-the-clock, across-the-year ‘doing’ a story we have come to believe, creating the modern world we have come to inhabit. On go the lights, off go the warning signs. Health the price of productivity.

It was – fittingly – in another woodland, where I first met the magic of qigong. In an instance I knew that I had found a practice – and a philosophy – which brought me back to me. Which brought the adult back to the boy.

For a little while now I have felt that my reason for being on this earth is to teach. Not in a classroom, but on the land. Before we had even finished that first flow, I knew qigong was to become an integral part of my syllabus. It was an embodiment of my understanding of the human condition, and of a version of myself that I yearned to share.

The process of teaching has also proven to be a valuable teacher in and of itself. Grappling with imposter syndrome, self-doubt, the fragility of ego, the longing to be seen, the loneliness of existence, and the nakedness of self, has arisen as fascinating, challenging, and valuable by-products of ‘standing at the front.’

Teaching qigong has also shown itself to be a lighthouse. The emboldening sense of fulfilment and clarity experienced – if only fleetingly – while teaching has opened the door to my potential. A potential way of being, of living, and of showing up, which I knew in theory but did not know in body until I began sharing this practice.

Finally, qigong has brought an acute and heightened awareness of the need to experience flow in all facets of my existence. The most difficult chapters of my life have all been punctuated by a crippling sense of stagnation. In the face of fear – it is always fear – I have frozen. This paralysis a most unnatural state, in a natural world always in motion. Qigong has become my physical reminder of the essential, life-giving importance of not freezing but flowing.

This ancient practice is helping me navigate a modern world. It is showing me the path – a path less travelled – that winds and weaves all the way back to that boy in the woods. Sitting under a tree, smelling a flower, building a den, fearing the night, and being himself.

In this spirit of moving backwards – I wonder – where and how do you remember yourself?