How I Found My Grounding

And You Can Too

There I was, standing on the beach at San Diego’s Coronado Island, ocean in front of me, arms stretched toward the sky, attempting to absorb the cosmic forces of Heaven while keeping my feet firmly planted on Earth.

The sunbathers, clearly unimpressed by my form, cocked their heads in judgment. A pigeon scurried by, possibly whispering to his buddies, “Hey, guys, come watch this human channel universal energy. It’s hilarious.”

This was back in 2018 and I had recently become deeply immersed in Qigong, particularly the practice of Connecting Heaven and Earth—a graceful, meditative exercise designed to harmonize my mind, body, and spirit.

The problem?

I am neither particularly graceful nor naturally harmonious. My journey into this ancient practice quickly became a mix of enlightenment, self-discovery, and an existential battle with my keeping my inner equilibrium in balance.

The Art of Not Falling Over

Qigong teaches that one must absorb Yang energy from the cosmos and soak in Yin energy from the Earth. This sounds lovely in theory. In practice, it felt more like a physics experiment in human stability—one that I was failing at spectacularly.

“Relax into the movement,” I told myself, inhaling deeply. But my overthinking brain had other plans.

“What if I pull in too much Yang and not enough Yin? What if I accidentally start levitating? Do I really trust my feet to do their job?”

As I extended my hands skyward and then gently lowered them toward the Earth, I suddenly felt a wobble. My core, which I had always assumed was relatively strong, decided this was the perfect time to take a dirty chai break. Before I knew it, I was tilting forward like a majestic (but very uncoordinated) flamingo, flailing to avoid face-planting into the grass.

The Energetic Tug-of-War

Once I regained my footing (and my dignity), I refocused on energy flow and meridian stimulation—which, according to Qigong masters, helps release stagnant energy and encourage relaxation. As someone who regularly carries the stress of a thousand lifetimes in my shoulders, this sounded fantastic.

As I breathed in, I imagined replenishing my body with positive and negative charges—like an ancient, organic battery. The Liver, Spleen, Heart, and Lung meridians were supposed to be bathing in the glow of my new Qi-powered existence.

I pictured my Bladder meridian releasing tension, which was reassuring because, let’s be honest, nobody wants a tense bladder.

But instead of enlightenment, I found myself wondering:

Do my meridians even know I’m doing this?

Have they been waiting for me to wake up and do something useful for them?

Is my Qi just sitting there with its arms crossed, judging my form?

Still, I persisted.

Mindfulness and My Battle with Random Thoughts

Qigong encourages present-moment awareness—a beautiful goal, but one that requires me to stop entertaining every rogue thought that passes through my mind.

As I moved through the flow, my brain continued its usual programming:

• Did I pay my mobile phone bill?

• What’s the meaning of life?

• Why do ducks waddle?

Deep breath in. Deep breath out.

I refocused. Absorbed the energy of Heaven. Exhaleed. Grounded myself with the energy of Earth.

Then, a mosquito landed on my arm. And that’s when I realized: achieving inner peace is a lot harder when the local insect population sees your spiritual practice as an all-you-can-eat buffet.

Nature’s Role in My Quest for Zen

Performing Qigong in nature amplifies its benefits, they say. The body absorbs rejuvenating frequencies from the elements, thoughts and nerves are bathed in natural vibrations, and the practice replenishes Qi in a way that an artificial setting never could.

I had chosen the beach for this reason. There was fresh air, palm trees, and the occasional friendly butterfly flitting by. But nature, in all its wisdom, had also chosen to test my patience.

A sudden gust of wind nearly knocked me over. A bird came for a beach landing from the sky on the pristine sand. A crow cawed in the back grown in what I assume was either encouragement or mockery. And the bugs? They were having the time of their lives.

Despite these distractions, I pressed on. I breathed deeply, feeling the merging of Heaven and Earth energies within me. And for a brief, glorious moment—somewhere between dodging bugs and resisting the urge to check my phone—I actually felt it.

Balance. Centeredness. A fleeting glimpse of peace.

The Aftermath: Mental Clarity or Delusions of Enlightenment?

After practicing deeper breathing and some movement consistently for a few weeks, I started noticing changes.

My stress levels? Lower.

My sleep? Deeper.

My ability to resist the urge to smack people who annoy me? Slightly improved.

Connecting with Heaven and Earth energies has given me a tool to navigate life with more grace (and fewer existential crises). I wasn’t exactly a Qigong master, but I was beginning to understand how merging these energies brings about inner tranquility.

Would I ever look as serene as the practitioners I saw on YouTube? Doubtful. But did I care? Not anymore. Because at the end of the day, Qigong isn’t about looking perfect—it’s about feeling in harmony with yourself and the world.

Even if that harmony includes a few wobbles, rogue thoughts, and one particularly judgmental squirrel.

Some Final Thoughts (Or, Why You Should Try This Anyway)

If you, like me, struggle to quiet your mind, feel stressed beyond belief, or just want to explore the wondrous mysteries of Qi, I highly recommend trying Connecting Heaven and Earth Qigong.

Sure, you might look ridiculous at first. You might even fall over once or twice. But if you stick with it, you’ll find something surprisingly powerful beneath the awkwardness—a practice that grounds you, energizes you, and just might make you laugh at yourself in the process.

And if nothing else, you’ll at least give the local wildlife something to talk about.

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Diamond- Michael Scott — aka The Chocolate Taoist