Qigong Meditation

I started learning Qigong in 1992–just after my father was diagnosed with terminal cancer. My first teacher, Chen Hui-Xian, was herself a cancer survivor who thrived on Qigong as part of her recovery. My father was enthusiastic for my practice; it was one of the few things he ever encouraged me to do.

I was working in a highly stressful healthcare environment, seeing up to 70 patients at 3 public health clinics on a good day. These were the sickest patients, the ones nobody else wanted in our fair city, who sometimes showed up at our 54-bed in-patient facility with their belongings nicely packed in plastic bags from the hospital the turned them out the door.

I was an acupuncturist at the Hooper Center, which still stands as an island of hope in the public health desert of Portland, Oregon. We witnessed brutal and rapid budget cuts throughout the 1990s.

Our employer, Central City Concern, was started and run by community activists who were alarmed by the arrival of homeless veterans on our streets in the 1980s. Their heart was in the right place, and they were skillful. They were my most enlightened employer ever.

I was very excited by what I was learning in my work. It was a rare opportunity to apply acupuncture to acute in-patient settings. A nurse would give me a list of sick patients in bed to see if I could help. It was amazing to see what acupuncture could do in that setting with pancreatitis, acute mental health crises, infections, skin diseases, acute withdrawal, immune issues….

I was young, but feeling the burnout creep in after a few years. I sensed I needed backup, an in-flow for the profound exertion of energy going out.

I dabbled in several types of meditation. I sensed I needed something on the spiritual level. One night, I happened to watch a TV show by the earnest journalist Bill Moyers on Healing and The Mind.’ He took a film crew to China to check out the herb programs in hospitals. Instead, his lens went to the patients meditating in clinic hallways, practicing in parks, and sharing their stories about this thing called Qigong I’d never heard of before–let alone know how to spell.

A couple of weeks later, I got a flyer in the mail for a Qigong workshop with my teacher. Days later, my supervisor at work said, “We need to pay for you as staff to attend workshops.” It was the first –and also the last time that offer was made at that public health site, which was uncharacteristically flush with cash that month. The weekend workshop was a few miles from my house, at a converted convent in woods by a river.

Our teacher was Chen Hui Xian, a former professor of English at Beijing University. She was reputed to have translated for Mao with visiting trade delegations from English. Her language skills were flawless. Moreover, her energy and boundless enthusiasm, combined with professional teaching skills made her a natural. Although very short, she would stand on a round table and say in the late afternoon, “Can I show you one more thing?” We could not resist.

I was oddly exhausted after the first day. My dog expected her evening walk, as ever. Animals are great with regular schedules…. I could barely walk, so I was dragged by my faithful canine companion around the corner, and sat down on a rock, more tired than ever before on these strolls. I closed my eyes, and was shocked to see different colored lights emanating from my internal organs. I had been meditating on my organs for a few weeks as a personal practice, but it was nothing like this. I realized something special was going on, and that it was not mere fatigue. When I went back the next day, my energy was good, and got even better through the full day. The weekend transmitted the hundred or so movements of Soaring Crane Qigong –and much more than that, apparently. On Monday at work, I felt great, and even my supervisor knew something was going on while watching me work.

It was the busiest time in my life, with two young children, my wife staying home with them, a private practice in a new field, and a demanding job in public health. I wound up practicing on lunch breaks in my office, or in the living room as my child woke up from his nap while watching the same TV show again. Sometimes it was ten minutes there, 15 minutes there. At times, I didn’t have the inclination to practice, but I’d figure well, I’ll try 5 minutes. That always went well, into a good flow for up to a half hour.

What motivated me most was my terrible immune system. I had bad colds since childhood with every season change. In public health, I started to get sick every month. I took all kinds of herbs and supplements for it. I could not afford expensive natural treatments. My patients were very sick with TB, AIDS, and other diseases, combined with the damp, cold climate of western Oregon. I might be sick for weeks at a time.

Remarkably, I found that doing 10-15 minutes of Soaring Crane could dissolve my upper respiratory symptoms. During acute phases of the disease, I found that doing a practice twice daily worked best.

Like everyone who learns some Qigong, my practice waxed and waned over the years. Despite our best intentions, life can crowd in, or we can devalue ourselves and our needs. It teaches us about priorities in life. Still, whenever I get respiratory, digestive, or low back pain symptoms, I know where to go: A half hour of Qigong will turn around a bout of back pain, digestive upset, or common cold for me. What had been 3-4 days of suffering can typically be resolved within a day.

Lastly, I observed with peers that most acupuncturists don’t do Qigong. We all learn it in school, but most have other interests for their own lives and healing. But those who do, that I’ve talked with, all find that on the days they practice Qigong, their treatments and experience with patients is in a whole different place.