Dayan Qigong: The Way of a “Good Heart”
Reprint of an article I wrote, published in Qi Magazine, Vol 13, Issue 3, August 2003.
On July 23, 2002, Grandmaster Yang Meijun died peacefully just days before her 108th birthday. As the 27th generation inheritor of ancient Kunlun style Dayan Qigong practices, her life reads with the intrigue of an epic trilogy. Her story is a tale of courage, instincts, wise vision supreme dedication, and service to humanity. It is a tale colored throughout by a very principled life and many feats of the impossible. A sprightly woman barely the height of an average middle school youth these days, Grandmaster Yang Meijun was nonetheless quite a force to be reckoned with, and she lived her life with a tremendous sense of purpose.
Somewhere in her seventies, when the time was ripe for taking on an apprentice of her own, she made an important decision to break with old traditions and share with the world the ancient knowledge she had been protecting. As the last reprentative of an esteemed Master/Apprentice lineage she, therefore took on many public and private students. Without leaving China’s shores and without the aid of many modern conveniences Grandmaster Yang successfully spread the knowledge of Dayan Qigong throughout the world. Here, offered on the one-year anniversary of her passing, is an essay pondering the meaning of Gransmaster Yang Meijun’s most central message to us all.
Dayan Qigong: The Way of a “Good Heart”
By Cynthia Hom Eaton
Our teacher comes home to us with a message from Grandmaster. “Tao De De Tao. Zhing Tao Shing,” she says. “When personal virtue is valued, the right Tao will flourish.” Master Hui Liu had just returned from a long trip to China, during which she spent a month with Grandmaster Yang Meijun. There have been many such visits over the years. They begin with a sojourn of Wen Wu School students who wish to broaden their world view, to meet our teachers’ teachers (e.g., painting, taiji, and Dayan Qigong), and to practice within the context of the Chinese culture. And at the end of these cultural emersion journeys, Master Liu would then stay longer to spend more time with Grandmaster Yang. As a student, it was such a pleasure to see the tenderness in their special relationship. We were like sponges soaking up every nuance these cultural experiences had to offer. In the moment we watched while Grandmaster patiently received and spoke to each student directly. “Follow your teacher,” she said, looking deeply into my eyes, “and practice more.”
Back home again, and seated among the school community, we would eagerly strain to hear Grandmaster’s latest words. But now there are no more phone calls. No more faxed messages and no more trips to see Grandmaster. Now that her soul has transitioned into the spirit realm, the only visits we can have with her are through the teachings she left behind (Follow your teacher…), the Form, and the meaning each of us discovers through our practice (and practice more).
So now I find myself pondering her words more carefully as I sink more deeply into my practice. “When personal virtue is valued, the right Tao will flourish.” What does this mean? And what do these sentiments have to do with our practice? I looked up the word “virtue” in a Chinese calligraphy book I happened to have. The book explains each of the characters that create word composites. In this case, the symbols for ten, eyes, right angle–meaning rightness, and heart coalesce to create the composite character for the word virtue.
“When ten pairs of eyes see and agree on something, it is considered right or straight.
When others acknowledge straightness in a person,
s/he is considered upright.
Virtue is the straightness of the heart.”
(excerpt from Voices of the Heart, by Ed Young)
The simple definition: “The heart is good.” So again I wonder, what is the meaning of Grandmaster’s most central message, and what does that have to do with our practice?
“Sometimes we have to live into the questions,” a wise friend of mine told me ,”until we can live into the answers.” He was quoting a concept from Rainer Maria Rilke, Letters to a Young Poet. So it was that one day, at the close of the First Set, I was crouched with my Bai Hui forward, my back flat, weight evenly distributed on the soles of my feet, with my heels up and palms flat against my belly, that I felt a familiar sense of stillness and calm, which I suddenly recognized as a “tap root” into wholeness.
Master Liu often talked about there being three levels of practice in Dayan Qigong. There is the physical (yang) practice, exemplified by movement. When we do the Form we are practicing, “Stillness in action.” Through meditation we practice, “Action in stillness,” strengthening the spiritual (or yin) part of our nature. And then there is the place where both practices converge that affects how we walk in the world and how we treat others. “When personal virtue is valued, the right Tao will flourish.” Perhaps Grandmaster’s message was meant to draw our attention to the importance of bringing the spirit of wholeness, balance, and connection into everyday life.
Many of the lessons I have learned from Dayan Qigong have changed my world view and more importantly changed my relationship to myself and others. Yes this is a healthcare practice, and yes I am more flexible, healthier, happier, more spiritually buoyant. But the quality my life also has been enriched just by trying to understand the basic principles of nature (the Tao) that underpin taiji, qigong, and all Chinese healthcare practices.
I’ve learned what balance means in a multidimensional way. On a physical level, I’ve come to recognize what balance feels like when I am standing, walking, reaching, sitting, or moving. I have come to respect and appreciate the subtle and instinctive ways that the body as a whole, without any conscious effort, tries to mend itself and continually strives to recreate and sustain balance and harmony. I am humbled to watch my body so forgivingly restore itself despite many years of disregard and ignorance. I have learned that it is never too late to start paying attention, and it’s even okay to “start anew” every day.
So with a palpable understanding of the body’s creativity and its intrinsic ability to correct itself, I began to view the world around me with new eyes. I began to look at my body not only as a universe unto itself, but also as a reflection of the world around me. I started to strengthen and fine tune the observer within. I started to notice how I relate to others, and observe how other people relate among themselves. I started thinking and noticing more details about natural phenomena, and I began to realize how much there is about nature, the world, and my body that I still do not comprehend. The fact that life goes on despite my ignorance is proof enough for me that perhaps my ignorance is not the central issue I need to be aware of, as much as my actions.
The Yin and Yang relationship is one principle of balance that I do understand, at least in a rudimentary way. Moderation is the lesson we learn when respecting the principles of Yin and Yang in everyday living. My body seeks balance on a daily basis, however. It is not achieved by working a 60-hour week for several months on end and then taking a few days off for vacation. I started to become more conscious and accountable to myself about how I make use of time. Who is it that places all these demands on my time and energy, and what part do I play in overburdening myself with an unrealistic schedule? To what extent have I created time to regenerate and renew my spirit? While considering the complexities of my work life and personal priorities, I came across these words by Thomas Merton, who said:
To allow oneself to be carried away
By a multitude of conflicting concerns,
To surrender to too many demands,
To commit oneself to too many projects,
To want to help everyone with everything…
Is to succumb to violence.
So, because of my Dayan Qigong practice…because I value what I experience through the Form and meditation…I started living my life differently. I started living from my tap root, paying more attention to my internal core and that feeling of balance and profound relaxation. I started noticing what arouses my attention and pulls me from my center. In doing so, I began to discern a subtle shift in the way I navigate through life. I seem to let life unfold before me more. I seem to “will” less and relax more. I take care of the things that are before me and worry less about things beyond my control. I thank people more; not only for their efforts but for intrinsic qualities like their good intentions, warm personality, or caring spirit. I seek help or assistance from others when I need it. I allow myself to ask questions and I critique my thoughts and actions carefully every day. I acknowledge my accomplishments, what remains to be done, and the lessons I have yet to learn with a spirit of compassion and internal forgiveness for my own shortcomings and the foibles of others. More importantly, I have begun to listen to others more for understanding instead of right or wrong. And over time I am developing more patience with myself, in moments when I do not understand the actions of others, and with others, when they lack patience or understanding of me.
By working with just this one principle of balance, I’ve come to respect the harmony that exists between polar opposites—which most assuredly includes human emotions and personalities. I may not comprehend all there is to know during moments of conflict, but I do understand that within nature there are built-in forces that test the strength and validity of things. I believe the “straightness of the good heart” that Grandmaster aims us towards through her message is tested through compassion, humility, forgiveness, and restraint. It takes a lot of openness and personal discipline to live within the nature of who we are individually and connect in meaningful ways with the unique nature of others very different from ourselves. To do this with an open heart and with grace gives life, dignity, and meaning to everyone. These are the principles to which Grandmaster Yang Meijun dedicated her entire life—as her grandfather and 25 other generations of grandmasters before him had done. Her life was a gift to us as much as the Form and practices that she so carefully preserved, so that our Way would be made more clear.
* * * * * * * * *