Qigong Meditation

Why do the same form every day? Could we relax into some type of liberation without all that fuss and bother?

Answer: The point of doing a Qigong form is to enter a state of formlessness.

Hallmarks of this may include losing a sense of time or space, forgetting oneself, or experiencing a wave of unreasonable happiness.

There are estimated to be over a hundred Qigong forms. I studied a number of Qigong forms, eventually certified to teach 6. Every one of them started briefly with relaxation, then dwelled on a form, and then became formless. This latter was termed ‘spontaneous movement’ or ‘sitting and forgetting.’

An example of this is the first form I learned, venerable Soaring Crane. This had over 20 million adherents in China, and led the Qigong Boom in the populace there in the 1980s. This inspired form has about 100 movements in 30 minutes, utilizing all the joints and sometimes standing on one leg like a crane. Although simpler than Tai Chi, it took a very motivated student to pick it up in a weekend workshop.

After practicing the Soaring Crane form, students were invited after a season to learn a standing meditation that relied on spontaneous movement. This was embarked upon with a structured sequence of relaxation, then following spontaneous movement led by the Qi the middle of the lower abdomen (or lower Dan Tian in Chinese terms).

Why spend time learning a complicated form if we are trying to connect with what some schools call Authentic Movement from within? Maybe it is because if you take a large group of people and tell them to stand there and just move spontaneously from within, some will do it and have a meaningful, fun experience. Others will feel too little, stand there and look at everybody else moving around, wondering why they aren’t getting it. A third group will feel too much: they might take off running or yelling, requiring other people to help calm themselves. It can be overwhelming, boring, or just right.

Doing a structured form had more people get in touch with what Qi is for themselves, how they feel it and what to look for. It also taught the wilder crowd that they can regulate their own Qi. The form increased the chances for a successful launch into spontaneous Qi moving meditation. In this state, the Qi ‘knows where to go,’ people seem to receive what they need. As my teacher Chen said, “The Qi is the best doctor: It knows right where to go.” The trick is to set up conditions for that to occur, to get cultural and mental blocks reduced for that natural state to flow.

Soaring Crane had great repute among different Qigong teachers we were introduced to in Beijing. However among North American students, the complexity of the form seemed to be a barrier. I taught it to over 70 students for a full year in a demanding TCM acupuncture program in the year 2000, and found that the power of the form was transformative for severely ill patients, but could be a bit much for stressed-out graduate students.

I was asked to teach Turtle Qigong as of 2002, and it met the needs of student stress and patient health perfectly in my setting. I continued with Soaring Crane, most recently to heal my knee by practicing it daily (except for 6 days) since January of 2024. It worked great on that–and got me off coffee, among many other benefits.

Cranes and Turtles are a good combination. In China, one would see figurines of a crane standing on a turtle. They are fine vessels of Yang and Yin, a perfect complement to each other.

Turtle Qigong approaches form and formlessness in a different way. The forms are relatively simple: The first standing form is exactly 3 movements and 2 visualizations that make a fun-filled half-hour. Formless is found at the end of the forms, when we are encouraged to stand or sit still. This is, as Wang said, “when the outer movements stop [enough] so that the inner movements can begin.” The state of emptiness is also more easily found after doing the movements of the form, since it is regulating and balancing the channels for a better experience.

I’ve noticed a tendency for students I’ve known over the decades in North America to stick with the forms, and not dwell on the opportunities for formlessness in Qigong. They like learning the form, the feeling from it, the sense of accomplishment from learning something new. I speculate that it could be that we have a pretty creative and dynamic culture, yet also chaotic one. A form can give someone a handle, even an identity. We also have a really hard time ‘doing nothing.’

Qigong has the Yang of the form, and the Yin or inner experience of ‘doing nothing.’ Our culture is quite Yang or active, and doesn’t have a place or value for genuine Yin.

Many times, learning a form has our favorite and forgettable parts. The parts of a form that we like are the gateway into the form. But always, there is another stage of healing when the exact part of the form that we always forgot, couldn’t seem to get, or like seems to just turn on for us. Look for that: it’s fun.

For many of us, the formless, spontaneous or inner movement from stillness in (or after) a form is that next stage. So when for example Wang asks us to stand there as a turtle and watch the Qi for 10-15 minutes, set a timer and see what develops over the weeks.

What all students notice is that they can dive in and do a Qigong form well enough to enjoy it and notice the effects. However over time as they refine their form, especially when a teacher gives some advice on how to do it more effectively, a noticeable change in the feeling or Qi occurs. The Qi can increase with these seemingly small details. This is found with both workshops and closely watching videos of Qigong forms.

     We still need to answer: Why do a form every day?

Because the experience changes over time: We relax into a form, so that the muscle memory and brain can flow into its rhythm. In a matter of weeks, we can appreciate changes. Moreover, there are unpredictable moments when the Qi comes like a wave, hitting us when we least expect it. It is a moment of grace, a profound moment, even though it looks like we are doing the same thing as yesterday.

When we use substances like drugs, there are diminishing returns: There’s nothing like the ‘first high.’ After a while, people use the substance to avoid withdrawal. In western culture, we want things on-demand, whenever we push the right button. We get a rush from drugs, a surge of Kundalini up the spine to the brain, in yogic terms. If we keep hitting that button, we experience ‘burnout’–a perfect term. This is Kidney Yin Deficiency, where the deepest types of Source Qi are depleted, over-spent from the repeated ‘highs.’

Working or being with Qi or meditation is so very different. A doorway sometimes opens up to invite us in, like an encouraging moment in our first workshop. Then the road proceeds uphill, with ups and downs. There are moments when we round a bend and are stunned by the view. It always ascends, as high as we want to go.

It helps to relax, release concepts and expectations–along with demands. As Wang said, “Live without expectations: only Love.” As another Qigong teacher, Chen Fu-Yin said to me after I learned a little Qigong, “Follow the Qi, not concepts.”

To fulfill academic requirements, I would ask students to write a paper on ‘What happens when you meditate.’ These were a powerful joy to read. Of the 70, there were always some who struggled with the form, who didn’t find it pretty or appealing, who didn’t want to come to an academic class and have to engage energetically. “But then one day,” they would sometimes write, “I was doing the form at home, and everything melted into light….” Walls and the floor would sometimes disappear. They would come out of it a bit in shock and disbelief. And whoever had that kind of experience got Honors for that term.