We can spend a lot of time developing Qigong through movement, breath, coordination and awareness.
But how do those skills relate to the situations we encounter during the rest of our day?
Recently, I’ve been thinking about a parallel with martial arts. Training can focus heavily on technique, while a real situation also involves how we respond instinctively.
In self-defence simulations, we may already have our stance, our arms raised and our attention on what faces us, ready to block, parry or divert force.
In an unexpected situation, fear and surprise can trigger natural responses that don’t necessarily resemble what we’ve practised.
Learnt techniques may still have a place, but perhaps training works alongside those natural responses with some humility.
This made me think about Qigong.
Qigong can also become focused on the practice itself. There’s nothing wrong with practising for its own reward, but perhaps part of the missing context is the situation, the environment and the state of mind we’re in.
When we practise Qigong, we’ve already decided to practise. We’re paying attention to posture, breathing, movement and how we feel.
But what happens when our attention is somewhere else?
If I’m working non-stop, my posture can become stuck, my joints stiff and my energy stagnant.
Knowing where I tend to get stuck gives me the awareness to change it. A short rest, changing position or moving can help reset.
At that point, Qigong might not mean completing a 40-minute routine. It might mean standing up, moving the spine and shoulders, noticing the breath or recognising that we’ve been pushing for a while and taking a proper break.
Recognising when to pause can itself become part of the practice.
Practice moves in both directions
During Qigong, we develop awareness of posture, breathing, tension, movement and attention.
Then we encounter those same qualities under different conditions.
We practise awareness of tension, then notice it while working. We explore efficient movement, then recognise unnecessary effort elsewhere. We practise returning our attention, then notice when it has narrowed or become scattered.
If my shoulders become tired after working for a long time, or I keep working after my attention has faded, noticing those patterns gives me information too.
Practice changes what we notice and how we meet daily life, while our experiences continue to shape what we practise and embody.
Adapting to changing conditions
Wu Wei, a Daoist principle often translated as “non-doing” or “effortless action”, and sometimes “non-contrivance”, relates to responding appropriately as conditions change, rather than simply moving with flow.
Its application can involve action, stillness, effort or ease at different times.
Knowing when and how to apply these qualities can itself become part of developing skill, or Gong.
Developing skill can take time and dedicated practice, but it doesn’t only happen during longer sessions. Even a short break gives us an opportunity to explore movement, breath or mindfulness.
Then, when we return to work or another activity, we can bring some of that focus, energy and relaxation with us.
A few minutes doesn’t have to accomplish what a longer practice does. Sometimes it can simply help us return to balance.
When the practice ends
This relationship between practice and everyday life also makes me think of a Japanese martial-arts concept called 残心 (zanshin), often translated as “remaining mind” or “remaining awareness.”
It refers to awareness continuing after an action has finished.
How many of us finish a class feeling settled and aware, then switch straight back to our phones, worries about what comes next or familiar mental chatter?
There’s nothing necessarily wrong with those habits.
But perhaps a quiet reflection can help us notice how we feel and transition with awareness. We might stand quietly for a moment, have a calm conversation or walk home while continuing to notice our surroundings.
Something I’ve found interesting through Qigong is that alertness and calm don’t have to sit in opposition. Qi can stay grounded while attention rises to the occasion.
The end of a practice doesn’t have to mean the end of our awareness.
Sometimes it marks the beginning.
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