The Healing Spark

My name is Tass Bell and I am disabled. I went to my first Tai Chi class about 5 months ago.
Ten years ago I was an avid windsurfer, swimmer and dancer, passionate about gardening and
walking in the countryside. I had occasional short bouts of back pain but had always been able
to overcome them. Then came a two year stretch where the pain was not only constant but
steadily increased in intensity and caused me to become more and more crooked. The
Chiropractic care I received during this time did not solve the problem and an MRI scan finally
revealed a prolapsed disc tangled in my spinal cord. I was warned against pregnancy and
surgery seemed to be the only option.

The operation that I had to put this right left me paralysed from the waist down. I came round
from the anaesthetic with the impression that I was pinned to the bed. My legs were dead,
lifeless weights which would not do as they were told. I felt like a mermaid with a leaden tail.
The sudden blissful lack of pain, however, seemed to enable me to view my condition with an
extraordinary surreal detachment, enhanced perhaps by the immensely powerful drugs the
doctors were giving me. I decided there and then that I would not accept that I would never
walk again without a fight. I somehow knew that if I did not confront this situation immediately,
I would spend the rest of my life in a wheelchair. And so began my long journey of healing.

I soon realised that somewhere deep inside my leaden limbs, there was still a tiny spark of hazy
energy. Throughout my time in hospital almost every waking moment was spent attempting to
connect with this energy, to use it to try to make something move. I would tense muscles in my
imagination to keep the memory of movement alive. Even at this early stage, I instinctively knew
that these memories were a vital link to my past mobility. They were indeed my only link, and
all I had to work on. My own muscles wasted away at an unbelievable rate.

After many days (and nights) of willing my legs to move, electric shocks started to crackle
spasmodically down stretches of nerves. The pain of these shocks was excruciating, and though
nothing would move, I could vividly feel them on the inside and they were most certainly a sign
of life. After ten days, one of my big toes moved a fraction, and I knew I was on my way.

The day finally came for my return home in a wheelchair. I had been so looking forward to it but
it was such a desperate shock. Reality came crashing down as I realised how many things I
couldn’t do. Hospital had been so safe. I had had a bell to summon help at a moment’s notice.
Everything was done for me by the teams of wonderful nurses. Now even the simplest things
were difficult. Everything was so high up. I couldn’t reach. The only bathroom and loo were
upstairs, and I couldn’t get into my much loved garden. I couldn’t even turn over in bed. In my
little single hospital bed I had a frame to keep the blankets off my legs. The phenomenal amount
of strength needed just to drag a leg across the bed, let alone lift it, was beyond me. The list of
things I couldn’t do was endless and for the first time I began to feel truly vulnerable. I had no
control over my life. I could not confront danger, nor yet run away. It was very tough.

Fortunately soon afterwards I was introduced to Jessica Macbeth, my first healer - what an
extraordinary woman. She knew nothing about me when I met her and said very little, preferring
to "give me the once over" and feel for herself. I remained fully clothed and she didn’t touch me.
She passed her hands over me a few inches from my body and, when they were immediately
over the point of my operation, they shot up. She said that she had never felt such an intense
healing energy which was at the same time so chaotic. Because of my own internal healing
experience and the sensation I had felt of an electrical charge, I could clearly relate to what she
said. She explained that she could feel inside the body and had been able to since childhood.
She then told me that I must paint my toenails the most beautiful and brightest colour that I
could find. When I asked her why, she said that she wanted the first sight of my feet in the
morning to make me smile. She sensed (rightly at the time) that I hated my scrunched-up feet
and told me that this would not help them get better or allow the energy to flow in. She then
proceeded to draw my short-circuiting energy down my legs and into my feet. I could feel it
surge down my legs so vividly that I knew that I had reached the next stage of my journey. I
gradually learnt to channel healing energy, to locate and awaken my sleeping nerves, and create
my first minute movements. My legs gained their first hints of muscle.
The fact that I had no broken bones or structural damage meant that I could get up onto crutches
with only the faintest glimmer of muscle in my legs. Despite the enormous effort it took to get
about, the psychological difference it made being able to talk and interact with people face to
face was striking. People don’t know how to react to someone in a wheelchair. They tend to be
apprehensive and don’t know whether they should speak to you, or even if you can speak at all.
On crutches people assume that you have a temporary injury and crack jokes. When I
progressed to a walking stick, I walked very inelegantly and I was once again regarded with
embarrassment. When I discarded the stick, reactions changed once more. I am at my most
unsteady when walking across a crowded room. If people don’t know me they automatically
assume that I’m drunk. When I have a stick they make way for me. The same is true of crossing
the road. Without a stick people drive straight at me, expecting me to break into a run, cursing
me. With a stick they slow down and cheerfully wave me across. Going through life appearing
so able and yet being so unstable made me feel very exposed and insecure. The whole process
is, however giving me a fascinating insight into disability and the way the disabled are treated.

As soon as I was up on crutches, exercise of a more active kind became possible and I started to
swim again which also gave me my first chance of aerobic exercise, so important for health,
strength and stamina. The moment that I discovered that I could dance with two sticks was
another major breakthrough. I had been finding parties and gigs emotionally traumatic. I could
hardly bear to see other people dancing; I was so consumed with envy. But now I could join in
and enjoy them again. I have also developed and adapted my own series of exercises based on
yoga to help strengthen my muscles and maintain flexibility, particularly of the spine. I have
done these day in and day out for eight years.

None of this, however, seemed to be helping the development of my calves and toes. Calves
hold the shock absorbing, lifting, springing and balancing muscles. The lack of these muscles
prevent you from doing so much. It makes gravity seem twice as strong, almost as though some
force were pressing you down and making you incredibly heavy. I decided that what I needed
was some supervised gym sessions to build these muscles. However, whilst on holiday I had a
consultation with a highly respected Chinese doctor called Professor Ye. This was to radically
alter my plans. I didn’t tell Professor Ye about my medical past before his examination. He felt
my pulses, looked surprised and told me that I had the pulses of an old person. He said I had a
very strong body but that it seemed exhausted. We talked a little of my history and he asked me
what exercises I was doing. I told him, and explained that I was about to start a therapeutic
exercise programme at the gym. He was happy about the swimming and yoga but was quite
adamant that I shouldn’t use gym equipment to develop my muscles. He said that it would put
too much strain on me and could only reinforce the muscles which were already strong. These
strong muscles would then stifle the embryonic muscles and lessen their chance of developing.
He showed me some very fluid exercises and told me that I would benefit far more from a
discipline like Tai Chi. He then correctly diagnosed weakness in my digestive system which is
also badly affected by my paralysis. He used acupuncture to treat this with such impressive
results that I determined to follow his advice.

Here are some of the things that I could barely do at the time of my first Tai Chi Class:

Stand on one leg.
Raise up onto my toes.
Maintain balance if anyone bumped into me, especially at shoulder level.
Maintain my balance with my eyes closed.
Move my toes with any strength. As toes are used to prevent you falling over, balancing for
me is akin to balancing a pencil on end. Any slight tilt and I will topple.

I wondered how on earth I would fare.

And so September came, and with it the introductory class. Before we started I spoke to Pete
Morris, briefly, of my fear and explained about my virtually paralysed toes. He told me that in
Tai Chi you are not meant to need to use your toes in order to balance because you are so
centred. He explained to the group how Tai Chi enabled energy to flow around the body and
helped to clear blockages. He spoke about the minor muscles which are used and developed in
Tai Chi but not in most other forms of exercise, echoing the words of Professor Ye.

After some general explanations of the principles of rooting, sticking and yielding, and a
demonstration of the Short Form, we started with warm up exercises. I knew almost immediately
that it was right for me. I also knew that I couldn’t do it; I kept toppling over. The most difficult
moves were any that involved swinging, sudden changes of direction and above all, steps. For
most of the initial warm-up exercises I could at least face the wall at the front. I found it even
more difficult when I had people moving in view as we faced different directions. I can’t fully
explain my need for a still visual reference point in order to maintain balance. I assume that my
stability is so precarious that I need something static to act as a kind of triangulation. It lets me
know that I’m swaying in time to prevent me from overbalancing. Most people don’t need to use
their eyes to do this, they use their toes.

Next we worked together in pairs to experience push and yield. I was to positively encourage
somebody to push me on the shoulders. I had spent eight years avoiding this, fiercely protecting
my own personal space. And then, to cap it all, came sticking. We had to shut our eyes and
allow someone to lead us around. There was no time to explain my uneasiness to these strangers
the weird paradox of my seeming ability and my being continually on the brink of
overbalancing. My eight year fortress of taboos containing my greatest fears and anxieties was
being pushed, and it had to yield. Down crumbled the walls, out flowed the tears. The
frustration was overwhelming. I instinctively sensed the enormity of Tai Chi’s potential for me
but felt so unsteady and incapable.

What I didn’t know then was that with extensive practice, I would gradually be able to find the
centre and overbalance less. Nor did I realise that perversely, having paralysed toes could be an
advantage, not giving me the option of being far off centre.I did, nonetheless, feel the power of
Tai Chi’s energy, so with some trepidation and immense excitement I signed up for the course.

The power I felt whilst doing Tai Chi exercises seemed to come from the same source as healing
energy. I believe that this energy exists all around us; a kind of life-force making things grow and
thrive, and that healers act as a conduit for it. The power comes through them, not from them. I
have spent time every day since my operation going inside my body to heal, and although this
has been an intense occupation, I have always done it either sitting or lying down. Tai Chi has
enabled me to go into this passive interior space and use it in an actively dynamic way,
experiencing its force whilst in motion.

The poetic imagery of the moves enhance its charm, giving me a rich new vocabulary for
visualisation. Of all the images I have encountered on this journey to health, I think perhaps the
bubbling spring is the most captivating. Mentally, internally, the healing image of a bubbling
spring being always there, available, is extremely sustaining. It conjures up eddies and swirls,
somehow benevolent and merry, yet constant, unfailing and vital. But it is more than a visual
image. Physically it has given me a vastly greater understanding of balance. I can clearly feel the
vibrant energy pulsing up through me when I stand completely centred. I can never before have
been truly centred whilst on my feet, except perhaps as a child. (Is that where they get all their
energy from?)

I find the exercises that encompass and gather energy in Tai Chi extraordinarily empowering.
With feet firmly planted and the spring bubbling away I feel invigorated and I am given the
strength and courage to do the swings and steps. When I am tentative I overbalance, yet when I
let go and dispel my fear I begin to find my centre and The Form starts to flow. I am able to feel
new nerves sparking and minuscule muscles coming to life in the midst of movement. It is very
exciting and fills me with optimism for the future. It has been remarkable how, whenever I am
losing heart and feeling that I have reached the limit of my improvement, something else comes
along just in time. The relief is indescribable and the enthusiasm immense. I may have driven
everyone in the class mad with continual questions over the weeks and seemed sickeningly
keen, but the exasperated, "You're so full of confidence!" from a fellow player one week really
brought home how much has changed.

I no longer feel so vulnerable walking down the street at night on my own or in the country
during the day. Even crossing a crowded room full of strangers is less daunting. I still know I
can’t run, or even walk fast but I am regaining my pre-operative confidence. The martial aspect
of Tai Chi, I think, helps the sense of self possession and poise (albeit a wobbly poise in my
case!) If you exude confidence you seem less likely to attract trouble, and if you do attract it you
feel more able to deal with it. You are centred, standing tall and in control.

Tai Chi is not only giving me this inner mental strength, the physical changes have been
amazing. The entire way that I move and transfer weight during everyday activities has been
transformed by Tai Chi. I seem to jolt less when I walk, consciously trying to keep my steps
empty and my weight centred over the bubbling springs. I fold from the pelvis when bending
forward which puts far less strain on my back. I have had more improvement in my muscles
over the last five months than in the previous two years. As exercises are part of my life, it has
been relatively easy to change my daily routine to include Tai Chi. In fact I have dropped almost
all of my former exercises. I find Tai Chi maintains my flexibility and strength and is infinitely
more fun to do! I no longer need such frequent visits to the chiropractor and I don’t find
everyday life with two small children and a business to help run so exhausting. I sometimes
wonder if Tai Chi would have lured me quite so completely had I still been able-bodied. Its gifts
would not, perhaps, have been so immediately bestowed and appreciated. I don’t expect the
improvement to continue at this great pace but certainly intend to carry on playing.

I have had a multitude of goals since my operation. The first and most all-consuming was to
have children and has finally been fulfilled. To be able to run with my children, to chase them
and swing them around, like other mums, now seems more likely to happen before they’re too
old to still want it. I have recently started to dream that I can run, free, flowing and effortless. It is
such a gloriously ecstatic sensation that I feel sure I must be close. The much yearned for walks
in our stunningly beautiful valley have once more become a reality. To these goals I can add yet
another: to be able to play The Form in Tai Chi with an able body. How wonderful that must
feel. And so the journey continues. The road I embarked on eight years ago with that first faint
flicker of energy has been full of twists and turns. Sometimes it even doubles back but so far I
have never come to a dead end, nor lost the drive to continue.

It is now just over a year since my first Tai Chi class and my muscles continue to strengthen
gradually. I find it amazing how many exercises I can now do without overbalancing - many
that I struggled with at first though swinging still gets me every time. Having completed the
short form I am enormously enjoying playing the whole form without having to worry about new
moves. I had the great pleasure of joining the Summer Gathering where I experienced
meditation and push hands for the first time.

Push hands involved a lot of exercises concentrating on rooting which have had a wonderfully
positive effect on my stability. This, combined with meditation, has enabled me to go deeper
whilst playing the form, feeling the dynamics of the sequence which, in turn, has helped me
move around my spine and stay centred. This means that I can use the flow to help master the
more impossible moves like golden roosters and the various kicks and swivels.

When I am alone and can lose myself in the form, I come close to the sensation of grace and
balance I used to be so familiar with. It really makes me quite high.

Back to index page: Winter 1999