Becoming who we are: Daoism
and health
‘It is one of the commonest of our mistakes to consider that
the limit of our power of perception is also the limit of all
that there is to perceive.’
– Charles W. Leadbeater
When comparing and contrasting modern society’s view of health
to that of Daoism, it is easy to slip into a rant about the
reigning Western Medicine Supremacy model and the unfortunate
enslavement of the general population to it.
Worshippers of scientific materialism, these
supremacists are the adolescents when it comes to the
investigation of ‘health’, yet have the loudest voice. They
judge and denigrate traditional-medicine elders, with little
understanding of any system other than their own. Anything
that cannot be measured with their limited tools is dismissed,
labelled as quackery and anti-science. When patients die after
using supremacist medicine, they are lauded as having fought
the good fight; when patients die using traditional medicine,
they are accused of being misguided or tragic. Simultaneously
self-righteous and fickle, these supremacists run after
pharmaceutical, diagnostic and treatment fashions, declaring
them as mandatory truths for all to adhere to, while
simultaneously discarding the ‘evidence-based’ truths they
lived by the day before. They claim scientific rigour without
turning that lens upon the constant inconsistencies and
fallacies of their own model. Double standards abound.
Traditional medicine would be
obliteration if it caused even a
nosocomial illnesses, addictions
to conventional medicine, or if
regulated to the point of
fraction of the iatrogenic or
or deaths that are attributed
traditional herbal remedies,
rather than the pharmaceuticals, were poisoning our waterways
and drinking water.
Desiring to embrace diversity, many attempt to
pursue the latest natural health trends reported in the media.
They proclaim disdain of doctors, yet ultimately defer to
them. Use of antibiotics is decried in supermarket chickens,
but not in their own human bodies. The majority remain
beholden to the supremacist fear-based ideology,
unquestioningly lining up for their flu vaccines and dutifully
scheduling their annual exams. They anxiously await the
decrees of ‘healthy’ or ‘diseased’, as determined by scans and
blood tests. Handed down from doctors, like priests delivering
a message from God, these proclamations are either passes to
continue on another year of potentially ‘unhealthy’ living
(simply because ‘the numbers’ fall in range), or doomsday
scarlet letters of illness, embedding panic or a subtle unease
into the fabric of one’s being. ‘Health’ in this system has
little to do with one’s actual experience, and offers little
in the way of self-empowerment, self-awareness and selfresponsibility.
Some doctors wear badges of tolerance, say, by
touting the benefits of meditation, mind you, only after the
Harvard study ‘proved’ its efficacy. Like Columbus
‘discovering’ America, medical researchers can be experts at
‘discovering’ that which has been already known. Prescribing
Vitamin D with one hand, they dole out prednisone like candy
with the other. They cultivate a bedside manner and
erroneously call it mind-body medicine. One can’t fault their
shortfalls. As genuine as these doctors may be, their
diagnostic and treatment tools, developed in isolation and
based solely on that which can be measured, will never breach
the compartmentalised barriers that are set up, between the
body, mind and spirit, and between individual and environment.
In this climate, even traditional practitioners
kowtow to gain legitimacy, seeking validation of their
thousands-of-years-old medicine through modern research,
spending hundreds of hours learning the supremacist language
of pathology, and proudly working alongside ‘real’ doctors.
Many enthusiastically find hope in the promise of ‘Integrative
Medicine’, without recognising that ‘integration’, for the
most part, currently consists of co-opting and bastardising
the beautiful cohesive sphere of traditional wisdom and
cramming bits of it into the square hole of conventional
medicine.
People within this system are robbed of the
potential existing within their own bodies, minds and spirits.
They are disconnected from relationship with the exterior
natural world, and live under the fear of disease, rather than
mastering how to be whole and well. In a cyclical manner, the
medical system becomes as pathological as the society it
serves.
As an antidote to all this, embracing the Daoist
perspective of health and embodying it via methods like Qigong
can begin to remove the fear-based shackles of the supremacist
model, replacing them with trust, re-empowerment,
connectedness, acceptance of life, illness, and death.
I could go on and on in this vein…
But, upon reflection, what does this rant of
divisiveness bring to my life; how does it assist in the
cultivation of my spirit? I have gladly left this behaviour
behind, but the arguments still roll off my tongue with ease.
Even though these proclamations don’t rile or linger with my
emotions, such talk reeks of hubris and disdain. It does
little to connect me to the harmony and virtue of my spirit to
focus on the seeming shortcomings of the other. On the
contrary, it evokes a slight derisive glee within. To abandon
or refrain from such talk is not out of moral obligation to be
‘good’, but out of a recognition of how such indulgence has
the potential to create vibrational seeds of discord, either
in myself or in others. If I wish to embrace health from the
Daoist perspective, I cannot discount how my actions,
emotions, and words, and how much I dwell in dualistic
discriminations, aligns with my life path, or might alienate
those whom I encounter from discovering and embracing the
beauty of Daoism.
Good men are not argumentative,
the argumentative are not wise….
…The Way of Heaven is to benefit, not to harm,
the Way of the Sage is to do his duty, not to strive with
anyone.
[1]
So enough about ‘Us vs. Them’…
* * *
The discrepancy between Daoist and conventional approaches to
health largely stems from the differences in how ‘health’ is
defined. Health in Daoism is not predicated solely on the
absence of physical disease. Physical health is also important
within Daoism, but only as part of the picture. Because a
seamless relationship exists between body and spirit, and
between individual beings and the universe as a whole, good
physical health has importance in that it offers a more
efficient body-vehicle through which to experience life and
provides longevity for further spiritual cultivation. As
Chinese-medicine teacher and Daoist priest Jeffrey Yuen stated
(something to the effect of): ‘Healing is not about saving
lives; it is about saving souls. To die is not to lose; to
[2]
live is not to win.’ Because the body is recognised as a
temporary form, we can still lay claim to ‘health’ even in the
presence of disease, if we have cultivated our spirit. The
spiritual aspect of ourselves is considered paramount to
achieving health, as seen in this early passage of the Huang
Di Nei Jing:
In ancient times those people who understood the Tao patterned
themselves upon the Yin and the Yang and they lived in harmony
with the arts of divination… by these means the ancients kept
their bodies united with their souls, so as to fulfill their
allotted span completely… Nowadays, people are not like this…
their passions exhaust their vital forces… they do not know
how to find contentment within themselves; they are not
skilled in the control of their spirits… for these reasons
they reach only half of the hundred years and then they
degenerate.
[3]
To vastly simplify, spiritual growth in Daoism
does not mean to become other than what we are, but rather to
recognise what we truly are and to live in connection with
Wuji (the emptiness containing all potential), in awareness of
the nature of all things. This full awareness goes beyond the
obvious tangible world that we are mostly familiar with.
Astrophysicists determined that what they can
see/measure in the cosmos accounts for just 4% of the
universe. The other 96%, referred to as ‘dark matter’ and
‘dark energy’, are aspects of the universe that are unknown,
yet exert forces on what we are able to perceive. In Daoism,
since we are regarded as a microcosm of the macrocosm (the
universe), perhaps the 4% corresponds with our tangible body,
while the other 96% represents our elemental energies (Jing,
Qi and Shen) and the forces of Heaven and Earth—aspects that
scientists are unable to measure, but ones that have been
described by Daoists for thousands of years. We can utilise
Daoist wisdom to understand the cosmic and cyclical forces
that comprise both the outer universe and our inner selves.
Through deeper awareness of these extra layers, which
previously seemed hidden, we become freer in our lives and in
how we see ourselves in the interplay of everything. This
expanded view makes it easier to relinquish clinging to our
physical state and to ultimately accept its inescapable
degradation.
To illustrate the phenomenon of our existence,
Daoism uses descriptions of ‘spirits’ that comprise us and
elucidates how our emotional lives can impede spiritual
clarity. ‘The Spirit wants to be embodied because it has a
lesson that needs to be experienced. That lesson is the
curriculum, it is the search, it is the quest of your life.’
[4]
The original spirit (Yuan Shen) carries the pure message of
Heaven within us. The Shen Zhi, the aspect of ourselves that
reacts or responds to our emotional desires of our current
[5]
incarnation, is seen as the lowest expression of the Divine.
Additionally, the five elemental spirits (which are
fundamental to, and popularised by, the theory and practice of
Chinese medicine) reside in the five Yin organs of the body.
These include the Shen, Yi, the seven Po, the Zhi, and the
three Hun.
Rather than see these as entities possessing us,
one might think of these ‘spirits’ as varying forces that we
embody, each force having different functions. Worry, grief,
fear, anger and anxiety are associated with each of the
elemental forces. Imbalance of these emotions can manifest
physically in disease. In addition, if we are overwrought or
consumed by acquired emotions, it becomes difficult to access
the clarity of our nature, thus affecting our spiritual
cultivation. ‘The important thing is not to be prey to one
emotion, not to be preoccupied by some kind of desire which is
not the realisation of your own nature. Because that
realisation allows you to be able to really see what it is, to
[6]
see yourself and also what happens at the exterior.’ Mastery
of the emotions is key for spiritual growth. This does not
mean we should not express nor have emotions, but that it is
important not to lose sight of our true nature amidst our
emotions. ‘…a life full of emotions is not endangered by
anything provided that in your mind you always have authentic
cultivation of self. Not of self for self, but of self in
order to be fit for what you are from nature and what you are
[7]
to become from destiny.’
Our destiny/life path is referred to as our Ming.
It is created and handed down from Heaven when we are born. It
is considered advantageous for our development to travel that
trajectory in the smoothest way possible.
We are too often sidetracked from the priorities of our
lives… Our Spirit is dampened from the movement of going
straight ahead into this adventure of life, and we often
disassociate ourselves from that purpose because there are
some things that have traumatized that pathway, the movement
of Qi.
[8]
Most of us, upon introspection, could identify when we are
being pulled off of our Ming from either external or internal
circumstances. When this happens, our health can be further
affected.
If there is a problem coming from my ability as a person to
follow or not follow my own nature, because of some kind of
wrong decision or inability to keep in touch with my spirits,
all the mechanism of renewal of the essences and qi can be
disturbed… Little by little… my vitality diminishes. At the
same time the influence of my spirit is diminishing, and the
inner access to the direction of my life gets worse and worse
[9]
and disease appears.
Ideally, living as much as possible in accordance with the
mandate of Heaven can ensure judicious use of our essence.
‘The intent to remain congruent with the “will and intent of
heaven” is what gives the individual virtue (De). It is
through the development of his or her virtue that the
individual establishes a healthy relationship with the Dao,
[10]
Heaven, and the spirit world.’
* * *
‘If I cannot stay well by a normal diet and temperate living,
the sooner I die, the better for me and the society of which
[11]
I am a member.’
I enjoy this quote from Scott Nearing (who lived a robust and
healthy life, dying at age 100 via purposeful fasting) because
it demonstrates self-responsibility in achieving health, not
just for the individual, but for society as a whole. Nearing
was not Daoist, as far I as I know, but anyone familiar with
his homesteading life (from the 1932-1983) would likely agree
he lived in accordance with his Ming or mandate of Heaven. His
life exemplifies how achieving vital health without modern
medical intervention is not an elusive concept, rather it is
there for the taking if we are willing to observe the natural
world around us, and learn, listen and live accordingly.
Classical Daoist texts such as the Dao De Jing and the Huang
Di Nei Jing outline extensively how one can live according to
Dao in each moment; this serves as preventative medicine.
‘Treating an illness after it has begun is like suppressing
revolt after it has broken out. If someone digs a well when
thirsty, or forges weapons after becoming engaged in battle,
[12]
one cannot help but ask: Are not these actions too late?’
Yang
Sheng
(life
nourishing)
techniques
include
recommendations on diet, lifestyle, meditation and living in
harmony with nature and the seasons. At first these concepts
may appear to be intellectual or too restrictive, but as one
begins to embody and understand the cohesiveness and strengths
of the system, it becomes effortless to live in line with it.
* * *
Qigong is one Yang Sheng practice to maintain a state of
health and is also the foundation to alchemical practices.
Regulating the body, breath and mind through Qigong exercises,
we become familiar with the inner workings of this vehicle
that carries us through our lifetime; we gain experiential
understanding of the concepts of Heaven and Earth, Yin and
Yang and the five elements. Qigong and Dao Yin exercises
nourish us and release stagnation, which is considered the
primary cause of disease in Chinese medicine. The initial
focus of Qigong may primarily be on the Jing level; however,
and as sensitivity increases, we can begin to work on the Qi
level. Since Jing, Qi and Shen are all manifestations of one
another, spiritual development is inevitable.
The normal Daoist Qigong training process is: 1. To convert
the Jing into Qi; 2. To nourish the Shen with Qi ; 3. To
refine Shen into nothingness; 4. To crush the nothingness.
The first step involves strengthening the Jing, then
converting this Jing into Qi through meditation or other
methods. This Qi is then led to the top of the head to
[13]
nourish the brain and raise up the Shen.
Much of my Qigong training with Lotus Neigong
(LNG) thus far has primarily focused on the physical level,
but the ripple effect into the energetic and spiritual levels
is palpable. With the 2+ hour daily practice commitment,
Qigong is a defining moment of my daily structure and constant
companion through which to experience life. It connects me
with my surroundings and to the flow of the varying weather
changes, both internally and externally. This LNG training has
been a perfect funnel through which to channel the lifestyle,
mental attitude and spiritual development that I have
previously cultivated. It is like a magnifying glass
concentrating sun rays into a more focused direction for the
coming years—physically, energetically and spiritually.
Laying a foundation in strength and alignment has
been exceptionally significant. This redirected my structural
development away from the potentially unhealthy trajectory it
was on, by utilising what youthful vitality remains, before my
tendons and sinews became desiccated and solidified. Just
prior to starting with LNG, I had become mildly complacent in
body conditioning. Despite the recognition that my expanding
torso reflected disharmony (stagnation in the Dai Mai),
addressing it wasn’t a priority. It was a storage closet that
I’d clean out at some point, but not today, not this year. It
is remarkably easy to continue through life in whatever subpar
morphology we have become accustomed to, especially when we
are not significantly disabled by it.
LNG inspired me to clean this closet. I have a new
found reverence for the importance of a strong core and how
much vitality it brings. It seems so obvious now—how the
efforts, benefits and development of one’s Qigong are greatly
diminished without the strongest, most flexible (but not
slack) and aligned body possible, and that a strong core is
key to achieving this. Without such motivation/instruction
from the LNG programme, it is doubtful I would have devoted so
many hours on daily planks, crunches and press-ups, especially
in the name of Qigong. In fact, I had developed a mild disdain
for such exercises as being unhealthy because of the potential
for creating tightness and being excessive. I still believe
such exercises done in isolation can cause imbalances, but
when practised with the principles of the ‘honeycomb’
connection, in combination with Qigong afterwards, then
openness, flow, and elasticity can be created.
Another missing piece in my previous training was
the focus on the elastic lines while relaxing the muscles. I
could always go into a mabu or a low pubu stance, but this was
by using muscle strength and innate flaccid flexibility.
Stretching with the elastic lines instead and releasing out
through the Jing Jin required my starting from the beginning.
It can still be challenging to find that sweet spot, but the
connective feeling within, when it is found, is illuminating
in its strength and buoyancy.
Mentally, I observe varying emotions and watch my
monkey mind. Doubt surfaces sometimes: ‘Is my Lower Dantian
spinning?’; occasionally I note my lack of inclination to
prostrate or run about. But such thoughts do not, by any
means, dominate my sessions. Other experiences arise and are
let go of (magnetic pressure in the hands, sense of body
distortion, pulsations, warping of time and movement,
sharpened vision, an impression of x-ray vision, etc.). For
me, the consistent tangible validation of the Jing flow is
warmth spreading through the body and having warm hands during
Qigong even on the coldest days. Most often, I engage the
exercises with trust and openness, appreciating the ‘aha’
moments of connection as we delve into the layers of each
movement, and enjoying the moments of silence and spaciousness
when they come. Comfort and contentment arise in the inner
understanding of myself, others and everything around us as
continuous vibrational flows of Qi.
External changes are visually subtle, as there is
still a lot of progress needed to re-align this physical
structure that took many years to create. But the shifts are
profound in affirming the body’s transformative power. With a
stronger core and better alignment, I can drop my mind more
easily into areas that used to feel amorphous. It is as though
an antenna is receiving the message more clearly. A natural
growth of clarity has opened. Qigong gives me the time/space
to observe, to balance my five spirits, to connect with my
Yuan Shen, to allow my Ming to express itself unimpeded and to
its fullest vigour and to be the springboard into exploring my
energetic self. And most of all, Qigong allows me to be
content in what is. For me, this is the ultimate state of
health.
[1]
Lao Tzu, Tao Teh Ching, Ch 81, trans. John C.H. Wu (New
York: St. John’s University Press, 1961), 165
[2]
Yuen, Jeffrey, Cultivation of the Practitioner Lecture notes
(New York, Swedish Institute of Massage, 2000).
[3]
Veth, Ilza, trans., The Yellow Emperor’s Classic of Internal
Medicine (Berkeley, Los Angeles: University of California
Press, 1966), pp 97-98.
[4]
Yuen, Jeffrey C., Light on the Essence of Chinese Medicine:
The Ling Shu Vol I. (Newton, MA: New England School of
Acupuncture, 2001), p 11.
[5]
Johnson, Jerry Alan. Chinese Medical Qigong Therapy. Volume
1: Energetic Anatomy and Physiology. (Pacific Grove, CA:
International Institute of Medical Qigong, 2005), p 67.
[6]
Rochat de la Vallée, Elisabeth and Claude Larre. The Seven
Emotions: Psychology and Health in Ancient China. (Cambridge,
UK: Monkey Press, 1996), p 6.
[7]
Rochat de la Vallée, Elisabeth and Claude Larre. The Seven
Emotions: Psychology and Health in Ancient China. (Cambridge,
UK: Monkey Press, 1996), p 15.
[8]
Yuen, Jeffrey C. Light on the Essence of Chinese Medicine:
The Ling Shu Vol I. (Newton, MA: New England School of
Acupuncture, 2001), p 12.
[9]
Rochat de la Vallée, Elisabeth and Claude Larre. The Seven
Emotions: Psychology and Health in Ancient China. (Cambridge,
UK: Monkey Press, 1996), p 35.
[10]
Johnson, Jerry Alan. Chinese Medical Qigong Therapy. Volume
1: Energetic Anatomy and Physiology. (Pacific Grove, CA:
International Institute of Medical Qigong, 2005), p 114.
[11]
Nearing, Scott. ‘Refusal letter to physician who was
offering him exams and medications’. Loving and Leaving the
Good Life. by Helen Nearing. (White River Junction, VT:
Chelsea Green Publishing,1993). Kindle Location 1734.
[12]
Ni, Maoshing. The Yellow Emperor’s Classic of Medicine.
(Boston, MA: Shambala Publications, Inc, 1995) p 7.
[13]
Yang, Jwing-Ming. Qigong: The Secret of Youth: Da Mo’s
Muscle/tendon and Marrow/brain Washing Classics (Boston, MA:
YMAA Publication Center, 2000) p 44.