In recent decades, both Eastern and Western societies have shown a renewed interest in spiritual practice. Meditation, mindfulness, and various forms of self-cultivation are widely promoted as paths toward inner peace and self-realization.
However, despite their popularity, many practitioners find themselves confused, frustrated, or stuck. This confusion arises not from a lack of effort, but from a misunderstanding of where true transformation occurs.
Over the past century, Western spiritual movements have gradually shifted their focus from external religious authority to internal exploration. Thinkers and practitioners began to realize that truth could not be found outside oneself, but must be discovered inwardly. As a result, traditional religious frameworks were questioned, and practices such as mindfulness and meditation became widespread. Yet even with this inward turn, many practitioners encounter a limitation: they still approach practice as something done by a “self”, a doer who strives, controls, and achieves.
This sense of “I am practicing” becomes the very obstacle. When practice is driven by intention, effort, and a fixed sense of self, it remains confined within the boundaries of the senses and the conditioned mind. One may sit in meditation for years, yet feel increasingly restless or confused. The problem is not insufficient discipline, but excessive attachment to the idea of the self who is doing the practice. Ultimately, the question arises: if everything returns to the self, then who is this “self”?
Traditional Chinese philosophy and martial arts offer a different perspective. In Confucian thought, knowledge must be united with action, yet this unity cannot be forced. In Daoist and martial traditions, the emphasis is on loosening, releasing, and forgetting the self rather than strengthening it. True skill emerges not from tension or control, but from relaxation and integration. When one practices kung fu or internal arts correctly, the goal is not to accumulate power, but to dissolve unnecessary effort until action becomes natural and unforced.
This principle is clearly illustrated through martial techniques such as “stealing,” “empty doors,” and changing hands. These methods do not rely on brute strength or conscious strategy. Instead, they exploit the opponent’s fixation. When the opponent’s mind is locked onto a single point, everything else becomes empty. By releasing one’s own fixation and remaining fluid, movement becomes effortless and effective. The body responds before thought, and action arises from awareness rather than intention.
At a deeper level, this reflects the essence of spiritual cultivation. Human attention can only have one true focus at a time. When the mind is divided, confusion arises. But when focus dissolves into openness, energy naturally and harmoniously gathers.
As practice deepens, the boundary between the individual and the whole becomes blurred. The conditioned, acquired self gradually loosens, leaving behind pure determination or fundamental awareness. When even this determination is transcended, what remains is emptiness—not a void, but a limitless ground from which all experience arises.
This state is often misunderstood. Emptiness does not mean nothingness. Rather, it is the foundation that allows all things to exist. Without emptiness, there can be no form. Without release, there can be no true action. In this sense, the highest value of martial arts and spiritual practice is not what one can do in a special moment, but how one lives daily life—walking, standing, responding—always in harmony, ease, and clarity.
Ultimately, genuine practice is not about accumulating techniques, knowledge, or mystical experiences. It is about unlearning, letting go, and returning to what was always present. When one truly knows what cannot be known within the conditioned framework, real understanding begins.
