FEEL IT
What’s it like to really Feel It? Feel what, Parkin?
It. Whatever is there when you sit still for a while, or manage to relax, or simply bring your attention to what’s going on in your body. It. It could be the pain you feel in your knees when you sit still for a moment, or the sense of sadness that’s there when the noise of your life subsides; it could be the beating of your heart; it could be the memory of how you used to be when you still had dreams; it could be the shaky tension you feel in your whole body; it could be the blind fear you feel at the prospect of carrying on; it could be your deep, dark sense of loneliness; it could be your awful sense of regret; it could be your over-excited enthusiasm for living; it could be your sense that you don’t really belong, or that you absolutely belong.
It could be a sense of peace and oneness.
It could be a sense of desperation and separation.
It.
What’s it like to Feel It? Not to ignore it or turn away and distract yourself from it; not to judge it; not to pretend it’s not even there; not to wish it wasn’t there; not to cover it in thoughts; not to want it to stay forever.
When you tune in, what do you feel? Qigong, meditation, mindfulness, and many other spiritual practices are about simply tuning in and noticing, without judging what’s going on. We don’t turn away; we look at whatever is there, being felt, straight in the eyes. And we feel it.
And, if we feel like it, we ask, ‘What do I feel like doing (with that)?’
The poetry of rubbish1
When we feel rubbish, we seem to live that experience not as it is (‘I’m feeling rubbish’), but as the absence of feeling nice (‘Why don’t I feel nice? I should feel nice!’).
What would it be like to experience feeling rubbish as it is? What does it feel like? What is the experience like? What is feeling tired like? Or stressed? Or upset? How do your thoughts swirl, how does the heat move in you, what are the sounds of it? What happens in your body? What do you look like?
In the movie American Beauty, one character spends his time filming rubbish blowing around in the wind. And through the eyes of that guy, we suddenly see the poetry of (literal) rubbish.
When we stop seeing the idea of rubbish and we see what is actually there, then we see that the actual object is just so beautiful. That plastic bag is so beautiful, like the most poetic sculpture, so aimless, so un-made!
So what would it take for us to see the poetry of our rubbish?
1 Brits often describe themselves as feeling ‘rubbish’ (known as ‘garbage’ in the US), which is a telling way to define your state of health – akin to the stuff you throw away.
EXPRESS IT
One of the most powerful practices during a F**k It Retreat is officially referred to as Free (or Spontaneous) Qigong. It’s usually only taught after a lot of Qigong practice. We often teach it the first day. It’s not dangerous, though it can look a bit potty from the outside. We introduce newbies to the wonderful healing art of Free Qigong by inviting them to ask, ‘What do I feel like doing?’ Though that’s not a way I’ve ever seen it taught.
The first time I came across Free Qigong was in the mid-‘90s. I enrolled in a Qigong course with a great Chinese master, Simon Lau, in South Kensington in London. He taught Qigong very methodically, very slowly: teaching over weeks the philosophy behind Qigong and how simply to stand and let the qi flow. He taught a basic form, too, but the emphasis was on standing (as described in Energize It). I was there for, I don’t know, maybe six weeks. But I had to skip the class for several weeks because I was off on a shoot somewhere. When I returned, most of the people in the group seemed to have changed. We began the standing practice, just as I had learned and practiced while I was away. I had my eyes closed and was really enjoying the sensation of the qi flowing in my body. Then I heard banging coming from elsewhere in the room. I resisted the temptation to open my eyes and continued to stand. Then I heard other noises: someone was grunting, someone started to moan, there was a louder banging as if someone was stamping hard on the wooden floor. I resolutely kept my eyes shut, and tried to keep my attention within my practice. But it was hard. The noises got louder and more varied. Over the course of the next 30 minutes, I heard someone howling like a wolf, someone else moaning as if they’d had their pet kitten taken away from them, the sound of that pet kitten which had been taken away, and what sounded like someone beating their chest.
I never went back.
A few years later, I was doing a Qigong course with another powerful Chinese Qigong master, Dr. Bisong Guo. After a few weekends of practice, she too started to leave more space between the teaching and the formal set exercises. In one of those sessions, with nothing being said, nothing being done, just the space to sit or lie around and just be, I, again, was enjoying the peace and the feeling of qi flowing around my body.
Then, suddenly, there was a noise; the sound of a hand beating some part of the body… then a rhythmic guttural sound not unlike a Native American chanting by the fire. What a shock. Especially when I realized something.
It was me! Me doing the beating! Me doing the chanting thing! I hadn’t thought about doing it. I hadn’t wanted to do it. But it had just happened. Really naturally. And there was no stopping it. I seemed to be doing stuff and expressing stuff that I hadn’t consciously thought needed doing or expressing.
And I loved it. Soon everyone was at it. Or most of us anyway. Others were asleep. Though I don’t know how they slept through that racket. And the racket was just like the racket I’d heard a few years earlier, and had run a mile from. Only I was now helping to make it.
And I really got it this time. When you relax enough and tune in enough and settle enough, eventually the qi starts to move and, if you can fancy, you can follow that movement. Sometimes you feel like shaking, sometimes stretching, sometimes running around, sometimes shouting or howling, or sometimes sobbing. You don’t decide to sob, the sobbing just happens. You don’t decide to do the downward dog, the downward dog just happens. You open the door to it and that downward dog just bounces in to do its downward thing.
Free Qigong is VERY healing. You know it while it’s happening, if you’re aware of anything at all. When you let go and give in to whatever’s going on there, you’re unleashing whatever it is below (or above) all that’s normally going on: whether it’s the qi, or your instinct, or your higher self, or the Holy Spirit (those evangelical Christians get into some pretty freaky-looking stuff in the name of the Holy Spirit, including speaking blaj I waj see dah flas lieu majjaww tongues).
When you let go, you naturally begin to Express It. Whatever it is that needs to be expressed. Well, it’s not even that you express it; the expressing just kind of happens.
If you watched one of those sessions from the outside, maybe on TV, the commentator would probably say, ‘Please, don’t try this at home.’ On the contrary, my friend. Do try this at home. Here’s how:
You could practice Qigong for a while, until you really begin to feel the qi and the flow of qi in different parts of your body. Then, if you stand or sit still and wait long enough, you will feel compelled to move in a certain (usually peculiar) way.
Or, you could put some great music on and stand still for a little while. Relax your whole body. Breathe deeply. Close your eyes. Then start asking yourself, ‘What do I feel like doing?’ Whatever comes back, do it. It will probably be a stretch or a shake or a boogie. Follow that. And keep asking yourself, ‘What do I feel like doing?’ Follow it, wherever it takes you. You’ll be amazed at where it does take you and how you feel afterward. As I said, Free Qigong is very healing.
And if you want to know how far it can take you. Listen to this. Gaia has done Qigong for years, like me. And Gaia is particularly intuitive, trusting, and spontaneous. Any of you who know her will regard that as an understatement. So Gaia was particularly into Qigong over the course of a couple of years. She’d do hours a day. She’d get up in the middle of the night to do it
(the qi varies at different times of the day and night). And she’d do Free Qigong outside in the early morning. At the time we lived in a rented house on a hill. Around the house was a garden, and there were pretty steep drops on all sides. You probably wouldn’t kill yourself if you fell down one, but it wouldn’t be a pleasant journey. And the whole area was like that: little flat areas, some tracks and roads, and steep fields and drops.
Well, Gaia would close her eyes and start doing her Qigong, which would usually mean rolling around in the grass, or running around the garden at high speed – with her eyes closed. She came in one morning, as usual with bits of twig and grass in her hair. And she told me about that morning’s ‘practice’ (clearly a ridiculous word for what she was doing). She had been running around the garden as usual, narrowly missing falling off the edges, and the qi had taken her off. She just wanted to run. So she ran… and ran… and kept running. No, not like Forrest Gump who ran for months. But she just ran, all the time with her eyes closed. Yes, indeed. And then she felt like stopping, so she did. And then she was guided to put her hand out, so she did. And, for the first time that morning, she opened her eyes. And there, in front of her, was a horse, sniffing her outstretched hand.
Now, don’t do that at home.
But do have a go at this. We know many, many people who have made this a regular part of their practice/life.
And it’s really about the most healing thing you could ever hope to do. Why? Well, it’s probably the case that all the various forms of yoga, Qigong, and tribal dances were developed in just this way: by people like Gaia who were incredibly in tune with the qi or life force, and just moved as they were taken. They, or someone watching them, would then turn that into a set form for the rest of the world to have a go at. It seemed easier that way. So what we get in the various forms of yoga and Qigong are broad, therapeutic movement forms. It’s like a form of physical exercise that manages to cover all the muscle groups – an off-the-peg suit, if you will.
However, if you really tune in, what you get is EXACTLY what you need and is right for you – a handmade suit, if you will. It might be that you’re in perfect form apart from a slight blockage in your gall bladder meridian. Well, without you knowing, or ever having to know, anything about gall bladder meridians, or any other meridians, you find yourself doing a stretch and patting your legs, which (if you did know anything about the meridians) is the perfect way to sort out that blockage. It’s like having the best Chinese doctor right inside you, or the best guru within you, or the best yoga teacher or energy healer. Whatever you fancy. When you tap into that qi, that vital life force, you’re tapping into the best wisdom that money can’t buy, without spending any money. Now that’s magic.
TRUST IT
When you practice any of the Magic techniques, it’s worth trusting what comes up. You’re playing with some powerful stuff (it’s ‘magic,’ after all). Because you’re tapping into your inner wisdom, or whatever it is, and it has immense value. So trust what comes up.
If you decide to simply sit still for ten minutes at the end of the day, and a peculiar image pops into your head: I must eat radishes, for example, trust that. Trust it because it’s arisen in the powerful state that is stillness. Trust it because it is, in itself, random and peculiar (and difficult to explain and therefore drops into ‘magic’ territory). Trust it and follow the message… go and eat some radishes. Make radishes a part of your daily routine. Turn a radish into a necklace. Make radish your totem. Research radishes and see if they have any ancient meaning.
Hold on, let me do that now, because I wrote that down randomly, so it’s worth me trusting that and knowing what it means…
Aha, there you go. Just looked it up, and it’s about the lungs… clearing mucus, etc. And because I’m writing this as my favorite (not) blossom (acacia) appears pretty much everywhere I look, my lungs are a bit bunged up. So time to get some radishes in.
You see?
You just read my live experience of tuning in (when I write I’m generally relaxed and tuned in and free) and having a peculiar and apparently random piece of information appear (in my example for you of a peculiar and apparently random piece of information). Then I TRUSTED that piece of information and followed it up.
If I give something value and really Trust It, I do have to follow it up.
And the same goes for everything that ‘arises’ like this. You’re relaxed and decide to go out for a walk on a whim (you used to only go for walks after dinner, now you’re popping out for a wander at the drop of a hat). On your walk, while feeling so in tune and relaxed, you pass a billboard that is peeling off at a bus stop, so it’s impossible to see what’s being advertised. So you lift the hanging sheet to see that it’s advertising a book you’ve never heard of. You make a note of the title. And you trust that this book might have something for you. When you get home, you look it up and order it. Cut to two years later. That book changed your life – it taught you how to make money from stamp collecting, which has always been your hobby. Now you buy and sell stamps online, and can even do it from your smart phone while you walk around.
Of course, you can’t trust everything, especially what you read on billboards. But when you’re in an open, relaxed, mindful, neutral state, trust what arises. Trust It and you can’t go far wrong.
I have a story about not trusting what was clearly arising for me, and I nearly went very wrong. Fasten your seatbelts.
This is a few years back. I was experimenting with what it’s like to tune in, and trust, and then follow in A BIG WAY. So, I’d use all that I’m talking about here to really tune in to whatever messages I got. Whatever arose, I would trust as very valuable, and follow.
And it takes some doing, as the messages that pop up are sometimes peculiar.
On this particular morning, I was traveling from London back home to Italy. I was flying from London’s Stansted airport, and had worked back the timings so that I’d get the train from Liverpool Street station to the airport in good time, with a good hour’s leeway. At Liverpool Street, there’s one train every 15 minutes to the airport. So if you arrive and you’ve just missed a train, it’s fine, because another one will be leaving soon.
I arrived a few minutes before the next ‘Stansted Express’ was due to leave. I made my way to the train. When I got to the platform and saw the guard and people boarding the train, I had a peculiar feeling. Something felt wrong – very wrong. I hesitated. Given that I was experimenting so consciously with tuning in and trusting, I tried to examine what was going on. Why did I feel like this? I’m not a nervous traveler; I don’t normally feel like this. But, I argued with myself, it was illogical. What could go wrong on this short train journey? However, something felt terribly wrong. But the other part of me reasoned that if I didn’t get on this train, and wait for the next train in 15 minutes, and there was something wrong with this train, then I’d be caught behind it anyway… I still wouldn’t get to the airport on time.
So I went with my head rather than my gut feeling.
I sat down in a carriage and spread out a newspaper in front of me.
A short time into the journey, I thought I could smell the faint whiff of smoke. I carried on reading. Soon, there was the unmistakable smell of burning. I looked around and no one else on the packed train seemed to have noticed the smell. I started to worry a little. I got up to check how to get off the train if I needed to (in a hurry): I found out where the hammer was located, so that I could use it to smash a window and get out. I sat down again. But the smell continued to get stronger. I got up again and went to find a member of staff. Three carriages down I found a guard and told him I could smell burning in my carriage. He told me to go back to my seat and he’d investigate.
I went back to my carriage, but there was now smoke in the carriage, as if a couple of people were smoking. Still, no one else had noticed. The guard appeared, smelled the smoke, saw the smoke, and looked a little panicked, and then disappeared toward the front of the
train. Two minutes later, the train stopped. The carriage was now filling up with smoke. The other passengers had finally noticed, and a couple of people even moved out of the carriage.
I found out 15 minutes later from the guard I’d notified about the smell that there was an actual fire under our carriage, but they’d put it out, and we’d now be making our way to the airport, though a little more slowly than usual.
As I was talking to him, a train passed on another track, going toward Stansted Airport. I realized in that moment that the train behind us didn’t necessarily have to stay behind us because there was more than one track.
I also realized that, even though I had known there was something wrong with this train, I had not listened to my feeling… and there had been a fire on the train. No, not just on the train… UNDER MY CARRIAGE.
But I felt light and relaxed, like I got the joke. I admired the way the point was being made to me so specifically and so powerfully. I relaxed, too, in the knowledge that the train was now fine and would continue on its way to the airport, still getting me there on time because of the hour’s leeway I’d left.
F**k It Therapy Page 16
