Healing is Not Always the Cure

This morning in Qigong class, we explored something very simple.

We began, as we often do, by noticing what was already here.

Not trying to relax.

Not trying to create a special state.

Not trying to improve anything.

Just noticing.

Where does the body feel open?

Where does it feel held?

Where is there flow?

Where is there congestion?

As we moved through Lifting the Sky, Carrying the Moon, and Pushing Mountains, something became increasingly apparent.

The movements themselves were not really doing the work.

Or at least, not in the way we often imagine.

What seemed to matter most was becoming aware of what was already happening.

One person noticed how a small adjustment in opening the palms seemed to change the whole feeling of the exercise.

Another noticed a greater sense of flow.

Others noticed places that felt tight or places that seemed to soften without being asked to.

Nobody was trying to fix anything.

Nobody was trying to get rid of anything.

The practice simply created the conditions for something to happen.

And that got me thinking.

Many of us approach wellbeing as though we need to add something.

A new technique.

A new insight.

A new routine.

A new solution.

Sometimes that is exactly what is needed.

But this morning reminded me that many of the most meaningful shifts in my own life have happened in a different way.

Not because something was added.

But because something unnecessary stopped getting in the way.

A tension I hadn't noticed.

An effort I didn't need to make.

A habit of rushing.

A need to control the outcome.

A story that had quietly taken up residence and started running the show.

As these things soften, something else often appears.

Not something new.

Something that was already there.

The body knows how to breathe.

The heart knows how to soften.

The mind knows how to settle.

Life already knows how to move.

Grandmaster Wong Kiew Kit often taught Qigong as a way of overcoming illness and restoring health. Many people first came to the arts because they wanted relief from suffering.

Yet alongside this, he often spoke about living a rewarding life, here and now.

The more I practise, the more important those three words seem.

Here and now.

Not when everything is fixed.

Not when all our problems disappear.

Not when life finally matches our plans.

Here.

Now.

Perhaps this is one of the gifts of practice.

Not that it cures every difficulty.

But that it helps us recognise the conditions that allow life to flourish.

A tree does not grow because someone pulls on its branches.

It grows because the conditions support growth.

A river does not need to be taught how to flow.

It simply needs a clear path.

Maybe we are not so different.

This morning left me wondering whether healing is not always the cure.

Whether sometimes healing begins when we recognise what is already present and gently remove what unnecessarily interferes with it.