週五的晚上，我早早安頓完一切，回到我的房間，開啟在線視頻，當然是通過微軟的Teams，早早地等待約伴的到來，仿佛是打開院門，早早迎客。
我已經和單位的兩位同事約好了，大家一起通過視頻，練習氣功半個小時。
一位是來自孟加拉國的移民，大約四十多歲的年齡，留著長長的鬍鬚，酷似金庸笔下《神雕侠侣》中的公孙止的徒弟樊一翁。两周前在小组会议后段时间里，我亲手教大家练习气功，当时这位老弟居家办公，居然也通过视频积极参与练习。后来他到了办公室，亲口表达了气功的神奇，寻求我的辅导和一起参与练习。
另外一位同事是来自印度的移民，是位女性，年龄应该跟我相仿。她放弃她们祖先擅长的瑜伽，来参与我们中国的气功，我当然倍加珍惜。
两人都同意参加周五晚上我们三人的在线气功练习。
坦诚讲，这是我第一次通过在线视频，教别人气功。一开始，我心里也没有底，就跟上次在会议上我当面教所有同事练习气功是一样的心情。
大约四十分钟后，我们结束这次练习，两位同事都表达了谢意。我不知道她们在这四十分钟里，学到了什么，效果如何。反正我自己是感觉非常舒畅，全身毛孔顺畅，脸上和手上也温热。
在视频里，大家的面目表情不是很清晰，我想明天上班后，大家见面碰头再好好聊下。
我内心深处，还是希望她们是真心实意地想长期参加，大家建立起一个在线社区，大家一起练功。
当然，首先我自己作为一个组织者，必须自己首先内心坚定，积极邀请，定下各项建议。
我要客服各种尴尬心理，和时不时湧出的不安與怀疑情绪，我自己都不内心强大，又岂能期待别人死心塌地地追随我呢？
還有，我得開動我的說客嘴唇，說動她們，這週五晚上的練功有多重要。
另外，週三，我又要再次教所有組員練功，這次是另外的一個內容，這樣就會招收吸納更多同事參加。
這裡我暗藏私心，我在積累經驗，也許有一天，我可以通過在線教客人氣功，達到理療效果，從而達到成為氣功治療師的目的，終將有一天，我可以以此為副業，特別是自己年老退休後。
A Friday Night of Quiet Magic
On Friday evening, as twilight draped itself gently over the city, I had already tucked the day's affairs away like books on a shelf. I returned to my room, a humble sanctuary, and opened my laptop. With a quiet sense of ceremony, I launched Microsoft Teams—as if unfastening the latch of a garden gate—and waited, early and eager, for my companions to arrive.
This wasn’t just any online meeting. It was a gathering of spirits across continents, joined by breath, silence, and energy. I had arranged with two colleagues to meet virtually, to practice qigong together for half an hour. Not out of obligation, but out of a shared curiosity for something ancient and quietly powerful.
One of them is a man from Bangladesh, in his early forties, whose long beard lends him the air of a sage. In my mind, he resembles Fan Yiweng, the bearded disciple of Gongsun Zhi from The Return of the Condor Heroes, mysterious and noble. Two weeks ago, during the final minutes of a routine team meeting, I had spontaneously begun teaching a short qigong routine. Though working from home, he joined through video—his movements hesitant, yet sincere. Later, back at the office, he approached me and, with honest eyes, shared his amazement at the sensations he had felt. He asked for guidance, for more.
The other colleague is a woman from India, likely around my age. She has chosen, for reasons her heart knows best, to set aside the rich tradition of yoga that flows in her ancestry, and instead to step into the quiet waters of Chinese qigong. Her willingness touched me deeply. I knew then that I must cherish this fragile beginning.
So, the three of us made a pact—to meet every Friday evening for qigong.
To tell the truth, this was my very first time teaching qigong through video. I felt a tremor of uncertainty, the same nervous current that ran through me weeks ago when I first introduced the practice to my whole team during a meeting. Yet I pressed on, quietly determined.
About forty minutes passed. We finished the practice. Both colleagues expressed their thanks in warm tones. I couldn’t know what, exactly, they had absorbed—if their energy had moved, if their spirits had lifted. But I, for one, felt lighter than air. My whole body seemed to breathe through its skin; warmth pulsed gently in my hands and face. Something had flowed, unobstructed.
The video feed, like all digital mirrors, was blurry and distant. Their expressions were faint as watercolor. I told myself: tomorrow, in the real world, in the shared air of our office, we’ll speak again—face to face, heart to heart.
Beneath my calm surface, I quietly hope they truly want to continue. That together, we might build a small online sanctuary—a qigong circle that spans time zones and cultures, where breath and movement can bind us across space.
But I know this: before any of that can happen, I must become the steady stone at the center. As the organizer, my conviction must be the first flame. I must invite them not with pressure, but with joy. I must set times, create rhythm, nurture the roots.
And I must overcome the little voices in my head—the awkwardness, the flickers of self-doubt. If my own inner ground is shaky, how can I ask others to plant their faith in me?
Yes, I must become a persuasive voice—not pushy, but inspired. I’ll speak with warmth and clarity about how meaningful these Friday evenings are. I’ll open windows into what this practice can become.
On Wednesday, I’ll offer a different form of qigong to the whole team—another doorway. Another invitation. Perhaps more will join, curious and open. Slowly, quietly, our circle might grow.
And I admit—there’s a small, private dream nestled in all this. With each session, I gather experience. One day, perhaps, I could guide people through qigong online not only as a teacher but as a healer. One day, when I’ve retired from my job, perhaps this practice can become a second life for me—a gentle livelihood born of breath and movement, of healing and presence.
And so, on this quiet Friday night, under the glow of my room's soft lamp, with a webcam as my window to the world, I take one small, steady step toward that dream.
