Aikido is a wonderful martial art. The peaceful philosophy of Morihei Ueshiba, the emphasis on mindful perfection of technique, the trance-like state of mental calm, the easeful grace and flow of the circular movements…
But its terminology lacks a little in poetry. To the English-speaking mind terms like Irimi Nage and Nikyo sound exotic and tantalising; it’s a bit of a let-down to discover they mean Entering Throw and Second Teaching respectively. Tenchi Nage is an improvement: Heaven and Earth throw. But on the whole, it’s all rather matter of fact. Efficient, instructive, and direct – yes. And there’s nothing intrinsically wrong with that. But it is a bit dull.
One of the things I love about the Chinese martial arts is the rich use of vivid metaphor. And it’s not just that it’s aesthetically pleasing; the vivid titles of forms and techniques make them easier to learn and remember. When we apply imagination and associative techniques to our learning, our powers of recall improve astronomically.
I’ve been using these kinds of techniques to help memorise acupuncture points. Kidney 1, Liver 5, Heart 7, and Stomach 35 don’t exactly fire the imagination. Bubbling Spring, Woodworm Enters the Groove, Spirit Gate, and Calf’s Nose, however, all draw memorable imagery that also poetically describes the primary function of the point.
Various gong fu styles are famous for their imitation of animal movement. In Xingyiquan we have the Twelve Animal Forms, including some rather unexpected ones such as Chicken and Swallow. In circular Baguazhang we have snake, dragon, tiger, and the same darting, overturning swallow. The linear forms, whilst more literal in general (“adhere”, “fold”, “pierce”, “encircle”), contain some descriptive gems too: Two Immortals Point the Way, Phoenix Robs the Nest, Flower Hidden Under Leaf Palm…
More widely known are the Taijiquan forms: Part the Horse’s Mane, White Snake Creeps Down, White Crane Spreads its Wings, Embrace Tiger Return to Mountain, Buddha’s Warrior Pounds the Mortar…
And then there is Qi Gong. In the Eight Silk Brocades we have Open the Golden Bow and Wise Owl Turns its Head; in the Eighteen Taiji set we have Hawk Flies to the Forest and Scoop Up the Sea, Gaze at the Sky. Even the very notion of “reeling silk” visually and tactilely conveys a sense of continuous, flowing movement, of tensile strength and suppleness, of simultaneous softness and relentlessness.
Such descriptive names suggest not only what the movements are, but also how to perform them and why. All this lends wonderful flavour and imagery to these arts, as well as giving practical hints on their execution, intention, and the quality or “feel” of the movement, and of course serving as a mnemonic aid.
As I learn more about Chinese Medicine, I’m discovering more and more fantastically vivid and unusual terminology, some of it amusing, some profound. What follows is just a small selection…
Running Piglets (Ben Tun Qi)
A form of “rebellious Qi”, or energy moving in the wrong direction, that arises in the abdomen and rises through the torso to disturb the chest and heart with palpitations and a swelling sense of panic. It occurs due to an imbalance between the crucial Fire–Water relationship in the body between the Heart and the Kidneys. Either the Kidneys are overflowing, or the Heart Fire has faded or weakened, and Qi rushes upwards. Today we might simply call it a “panic attack”, but the imagery of a squealing stampede of spooked piglets is so much more compelling.
Running Piglet Syndrome is distinct from Li Ji, another form of rebellious Qi that also manifests as tightness in the abdomen and rises to lodge in the throat. But Li Ji refers to a more vague, internal anxiety or restlessness originating in the Chong Mai (Penetrating Vessel) and is often associated with emotional stress or the menopause.
There is also Plum Pit Qi; a constant feeling of having a lump in the throat, despite a lack of any physical obstruction, which is caused by chronic worry, stagnation, and Phlegm.
Wind, Damp and Phlegm
Wind, Damp and Phlegm are pathogenic factors in Chinese Medicine that can, with the exception of Phlegm, be either external or internal. Wind conditions tend to be sudden and upward-moving in nature, and can either invade the body’s Wei Qi (defensive surface energy) from the exterior, or develop internally from a “vacuum” created by rising Fire or Liver Yang energies.
If you get diagnosed with a case of Intestinal Wind, I’m afraid it’s not just the unfortunate effects of last night’s broad bean curry; it’s early onset haemorrhoids.
Damp is the opposite of Wind: a slow, heavy, sinking, lingering stickiness. Phlegm is similar, except that it is always internal in its aetiology, and is more congealed and condensed than Damp. In its extreme expression it can “mist the mind”, or unbalance the Heart and Spirit, causing psychosis.
A Thousand Coins in the Belly
A feeling of abdominal distension or fullness that occurs when the Dai Mai (Girdling Vessel) is too tight, as though carrying a heavy weight of coins in the belly.
Legs in Cold Water
Persistent cold in the legs and feet, as though you’d been dangling them in a cold lake. Contrary to the previous condition, this is due to a slackness of the Dai Mai, leading to potential prolapse or sciatica. It can result from a weakened core due to Lower Crossed Syndrome, which is often caused by an overly sedentary lifestyle (or the habitual wearing of high heels). The erector spinae group and rectus femoris tighten, while the glutes and rectus abdominus muscles grow weak and soggy. The humble chair has to be one of humankind’s worst inventions…
The Sea of Marrow
The Four Seas within the body are the Sea of Grain, the Sea of Qi, the Sea of Blood, and the Sea of Marrow, into which the twelve primary channels, or “rivers”, flow. The Sea of Grain relates to the Stomach channel, the Sea of Qi to the Lungs, and the Sea of Blood to the Chong Mai.
The Sea of Marrow is associated with the Brain, which is demoted to an “Extraordinary Fu” by Chinese Medicine, and regarded, rather insultingly, as a hollow vessel that stores Yin essence. This Sea also comprises the bone marrow itself, and the entire spinal column and central nervous system. Signs of deficiency of the Sea of Marrow are akin to Kidney deficiency and include such symptoms as a weak lower back and knees, dizziness, blurred vision, and low-pitched, constant tinnitus.
The whole notion of the body as a complex network of streams, rivers and seas is a great metaphor to emphasise the Daoists’ understanding of life as flow and process, rather than as matter and function. Even within the channels themselves we have well points, spring points, stream points, river points, and sea points, reflecting how the Qi gathers, flows, and changes from babbling brook to vast ocean as it moves through the body.
The Gates of Life and Mystery
Many people who know a little about Chinese Medicine or Qi Gong are familiar with the Fire of Ming Men, the Gate of Life. This is the vital energy associated with the Seas of Blood and Marrow, with the Jing (Essence) that sustains life, and with the Original (Yuan) Qi that animates our bodily processes.
The Ming Men Fire is contained by the Kidneys, or sometimes correlated to the right kidney specifically, and therefore to Kidney Yang energy. The Yi Jing trigram for water (the Kidney element) is a Yang line contained within two Yin lines, which represents not only the power hidden within the apparent softness of water, but also the Fire that warms the “cauldron” of the Kidneys and creates the “steam” of Kidney Qi.
Lesser known is the concept of the Xuan Men, or Mystery Gate. This is the “Gate of Darkness” and could perhaps be compared in some respects with the Cloud of Unknowing of Christian mystic literature. In Daoist alchemical practice it refers to the state of mind beyond thought, where the body and mind have entered a profound rest.
Once the more intentional, conscious alchemical techniques have been performed, the experienced meditator can let go and enter a deep, self-maintaining meditation. In this deeply restful state, the nervous system is subdued, the thoughts are quieted, the breath forgotten, and the body completely stilled, so that the internal systems and organs can repair and restore to their optimal functionality. Essentially it is a gateway to greater health and harmony, but also a paradoxically dark window upon higher realisations of spirit and self-nature.
Hun and Po
Each Zang organ has its spiritual aspect in Chinese Medicine. The Heart is the seat of the Shen, or Spirit-Mind; the Spleen houses the Yi, or Intention/Intellect; the Kidneys contain the Zhi, or Willpower; the Lungs house the Po, and the Liver houses the Hun.
The Po is the Corporeal Spirit. It is the Yin, bodily aspect of the soul which forms at conception along with the Jing, or Essence. It is the breath of life, and it dies when the body dies. Disfunction of the Lungs can lead to excessive grief or melancholy that cannot be let go of, and at its extreme this can develop into suicidal ideation and depression of this physical spirit.
At the opposite pole is the Hun – the Ethereal Spirit. It is the Yang, spiritual aspect of the soul, which is eternal; it enters the body after birth and survives it after death. The Hun gives us direction, ambition, imagination, vision, creativity, and inspiration, and its nightly wanderings give us our dreams.
We need both these aspects of spirit, the Yin and the Yang. The image of the Po, pulling us into our bodies and back into the earth, and the Hun pulling us out of our bodies into the world of spirit and subtle energy, is a powerful metaphor that provides for a deep understanding of our inner experience.
Eight Extraordinary Vessels
The Chong Mai, Du Mai (Governing Vessel), Ren Mai (Conception Vessel), Dai Mai, and Yin and Yang linking and stepping vessels, form a network of eight channels that act as reservoirs connecting with the Kidneys, integrate the Extraordinary Fu and Zang Fu, circulate Wei Qi, and regulate the developmental life cycle. They are thought to be the first of the channels that form in utero, and some theories* correlate them directly with the process of embryonic division and development.
The twelve channels pertaining to the Zang Fu (Lung, Large Intestine, Stomach, Spleen, Heart, Small Intestine, Bladder, Kidney, Pericardium, Triple Heater, Gall Bladder and Liver) take supremacy over the Eight Extraordinary Vessels as the infant takes its first breath after birth. Thus, the twelve primary channels are linked to Post-Heaven (Hou Tian) Qi, whilst the eight vessels are associated with Pre-Heaven (Xian Tian) Qi.
The unfolding of these sustaining channels within the developing body is yet another arresting image that not only provides a useful working model for Chinese medical theory but is increasingly supported by the scientific evidence base within modern embryology.
Qi
One of the most mysterious and unique concepts in Chinese Medicine, and martial arts, is Qi. I don’t want to disappear down convoluted theoretical rabbit holes here, but it’s interesting that in Daoist philosophy everything is regarded as a form of Qi.
Everything.
Material form is simply a heavy, embodied form of Qi, whereas spirit and mind are refined forms of Qi. One of the purposes of alchemical practice is to engage in this process of refinement, by turning Jing to Qi to Shen, and thus to raise the body’s energies to a higher vibration.
Indeed, all is process. In the patterns of the universe, from the constellations in the heavens to the gnarled bark of a tree, the unfolding nature of the cosmos is imprinted. Indeed, to some extent Qi could be defined as “process”, although that doesn’t quite capture its essence in full. It is more than that; a palpable, moving energy, an animating force, and the mysterious, fundamental substance of all apparent existence.
There have been many parallels drawn with current ideas in subatomic physics about the fluctuating, “quantum soup” out of which things emerge on mixing with consciousness, but again, I’m not sure it equates perfectly.
One thing that draws me to Daoist thought is that it accepts mystery and is happy to live with it. I certainly don’t reject science’s urge to explore and explain, but mystery is an essential and enriching aspect of life, from which imagination, poetry, and creativity can spring.
We need some mystery in our lives. Perhaps science is the Po to Daoism’s Hun? Perhaps we need them both – Yin and Yang together, locked in their eternal dance. Unshackled from bodily existence, we would be free, but unrooted, wandering in interminable bardos of the spiritual realm. Unshackled from spiritual existence, we would be like rocks – present in our bodies, but mindless, devoid of all the richness of human existence.
Best, then, that Qi remains undefined, untranslated, that its edges stay blurred, that its true nature slips into shadowed corners every time we peer too closely. What use is knowledge at the expense of poetry and mystery?
* For more on this fascinating theory, see The Spark in the Machine, by Dr Daniel Keown (Singing Dragon, 2014).
The Azure Dragon 