Newsletter #25

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Morning Movement: When the Day Begins with Motion

In China, the day traditionally begins not with stillness, but with gentle motion. As dawn breaks, parks, courtyards, and quiet streets fill with people walking slowly, stretching, or practicing qigong and taijiquan. This is not exercise in the modern, goal-oriented sense, nor a replacement for an exercise routine. It is a way of waking the body into the day, aligning breath, posture, and awareness before daily demands take hold.

From a traditional Chinese medicine perspective, morning movement supports the natural rise of yang energy. After a night of rest, circulation and digestion need encouragement rather than force. Gentle walking, joint opening, and relaxed breathing help activate the channels, support the lungs, and ease the transition from sleep to activity. Unlike strenuous workouts, these practices aim to nourish rather than deplete, leaving the body clear-headed and steady.

There is also a cultural rhythm at work. Moving early connects individuals to seasonal cycles and communal life. When the weather permits, one often sees elders practicing beside younger walkers, each moving at their own pace. The emphasis is consistency, not performance. Over time, this daily habit becomes as natural as brushing one's teeth.

For those wishing to adopt a similar routine, the key is simplicity. Begin with a few minutes of relaxed walking or standing stretches. Let the breath remain unforced. Movements should feel circular, unhurried, and comfortable. Even five or ten minutes can be enough to establish a sense of calm momentum for the day ahead.

In a world that often begins with screens and urgency, morning movement offers a quieter alternative: start the day by inhabiting the body first, and let activity arise from steadiness rather than haste.

Winter Wellness the TCM Way

As we enter the heart of winter, Traditional Chinese Medicine (TCM) reminds us to shift gears—slow down, stay warm, and harmonize with the season’s natural rhythm. In TCM, winter is the time for conservation: of energy, warmth, and spirit. It’s not just about bundling up—it's about dressing, resting, and living with intent.

Sleep with the Sun: According to classic TCM principles, winter calls for adjusting our sleep cycle. Try to wind down around 10 p.m. and allow yourself to wake with the sun, not before it. This gentle rhythm helps preserve your body’s yang energy—your internal fire—which is most vulnerable during the cold months.

Dress Like an Onion: Instead of relying on one bulky coat, embrace the "onion-style" method: layering several lighter garments. This protects against external cold and allows you to regulate your temperature indoors without overheating or sweating. Key body areas—head, neck, back, waist, knees, and feet—deserve special protection. A cozy scarf, a vest, and warm socks aren't just fashion choices—they’re energy-saving tools.

Create a Healing Space: Indoor warmth should be balanced with humidity. Aim for 18–22°C (64–72°F) and 50–60% humidity to protect delicate lungs. Open windows briefly each day to refresh the air and, when possible, bask in winter sunlight to nourish your internal yang.

By following these simple seasonal habits, we nurture resilience, boost immunity, and flow into the new year with vitality.

The Uneven Path of Practice

Learning taiji or qigong rarely unfolds as a smooth progression from first class to quiet mastery. It is not a straight road but a winding one, marked by pauses, detours, and occasional reversals. Early enthusiasm often gives way to confusion. Movements that once felt natural suddenly seem awkward. Sensations that were vivid one week disappear the next. This is not failure; it is the process revealing itself.

Progress in internal arts tends to arrive in layers rather than steps. A student may grasp the outer choreography quickly, only to discover later that structure, timing, and intention demand a different level of attention. Physical obstacles appear first. The legs tire, balance wavers, the shoulders refuse to release. With time, subtler challenges emerge: habitual tension, impatience, or the urge to force results. These mental patterns can be more persistent than stiff joints.

Periods of apparent stagnation are common. Practice feels dull, mechanical, or unrewarding. Yet these plateaus often precede moments of insight. A teacher’s brief correction suddenly makes sense. A familiar movement reorganizes itself. Breathing settles without effort. Such epiphanies rarely come on schedule and cannot be summoned by will alone. They arise when consistent practice meets readiness.

The alternating rhythm of obstacle and understanding is not a flaw in the training; it is its core feature. Taiji and qigong are not about accumulating techniques but about refining perception. Each difficulty exposes something that cannot be learned intellectually. Each breakthrough reveals how much remains unseen.

Seen from this perspective, mastery is not a final destination but an ongoing capacity to adapt, listen, and continue. The uneven path is not evidence of going astray. It is how internal arts quietly teach depth, patience, and resilience.

Qi Journal Updates

Following the release of our Winter 2025–2026 print and digital issues, the holiday period offered a welcome pause. During that quieter stretch, we focused on expanding our free online content and laying the groundwork for a future website redesign. Several new sections have been added to www.chinesehealth.com, including a growing collection of 38 plant-based recipes and a new "Life and Aging Series" collection that explores practical yangsheng approaches to healthy living over time.

With household budgets under increasing pressure and retail activity softening this year, we are also making an effort to offer greater value. Our shop now includes more than 250 books, videos, and gift items at reduced prices, providing an opportunity to explore Chinese culture, health, and practice at a more accessible cost. A full list of sale items is available on our website.

At the same time, we continue to do our best to hold subscription prices of Qi Journal steady for as long as possible. This comes despite rising expenses related to postage, paper, and production over the past year. Your ongoing support makes it possible for us to maintain both the quality of the journal and the growing range of free educational resources we provide online.

Wuxia: The World of Wandering Heroes

Wuxia (武俠) is a distinctly Chinese genre of storytelling centered on martial heroes who live by a personal code of honor rather than by official law. The term itself combines wu, meaning martial or military, and xia, referring to a chivalrous individual who acts with righteousness, loyalty, and moral courage. A wuxia hero may be skilled with the sword or empty hand, but just as important are restraint, justice, and compassion for the weak.

The roots of wuxia go back over two thousand years, appearing as early as the Warring States period in historical records and philosophical texts. These early xia figures were wandering knights who operated outside rigid social hierarchies, often clashing with corrupt officials or unjust authority. Over time, their stories evolved through oral tradition, classical novels, and later popular fiction.

Wuxia experienced a major revival in the twentieth century through serialized novels, especially in the mid-1900s, and later through film and television. Today it remains popular across East Asia and internationally, influencing everything from cinema to video games. At its core, wuxia continues to explore a timeless question: how an individual cultivates skill, integrity, and responsibility while moving through a flawed world.

Harmony and Transcendence: Three Paths, One Culture

When people encounter Chinese thought through taiji, qigong, or meditation, they often meet Daoism or Buddhism first. Confucianism, by contrast, can seem distant or purely social. Yet all three traditions developed side by side, each addressing a different dimension of human life.

Confucianism is concerned primarily with harmony within society. Its focus is not transcendence or escape, but refinement. One learns how to act appropriately, fulfill roles responsibly, and cultivate character through daily conduct. Order in the family, respect for teachers, and steady self-improvement are not abstract ideals but practical disciplines. The goal is not to leave the world, but to live well within it.

Daoism turns attention toward harmony with nature. Rather than emphasizing rules or obligations, it observes how life unfolds when force is reduced and timing is respected. Health practices, breathing methods, and internal arts grow from this worldview. Where Confucianism asks how to behave, Daoism asks how to align.

Buddhism addresses a deeper question: how to relate to suffering itself. Its aim is transcendence, not in the sense of escape, but of understanding. Through insight into impermanence and attachment, one learns to loosen the mental habits that generate distress.

These paths were never meant to compete. In traditional life, a person might live Confucian values in society, preserve health through Daoist practices, and turn to Buddhist teachings when facing loss or mortality. Together, they form a layered approach to being human.

Understanding this balance helps modern practitioners see that internal cultivation is not only about stillness or technique, but about how insight, health, and conduct support one another over a lifetime.