Limura

Why live forever if it’s unclear what “life” is?
Limura, “City of the Dead”

At the age of ten, I encountered a paradox: I understood how to perform a proper massage but physically couldn’t execute it as I envisioned. I tried and strived, yet it took years to even come close to realizing what I “knew”.

Similar limitations surfaced later in my creative pursuits — drawing, sculpting, sewing. I could visualize the correct approach but found my hands and body incapable of actualizing it. Persistently, I worked to align my actions with my vision, scrutinizing myself and understanding the reasons behind my limitations. This approach eventually led me to become an instructor.

In school, I taught geometry, algebra, biology, and chemistry. I eagerly accepted the most careless students for additional lessons, exploring how to deliver information for optimal understanding. Gradually, I concluded that everyone has a foundation to build upon, and it’s essential to identify gaps in understanding to enable people to handle more complex matters. Students needed to be engaged, taught to analyze, rather than simply trained to solve isolated problems.

In my self-exploration and work with diverse individuals, new challenges emerged, solutions were found, and questions multiplied, often left unasked by others. Simultaneously, I faced personal physical challenges, seeking ways to overcome them. In the eighth grade, this led me to defy my parents and societal norms by rejecting excessive food and living according to the laws of numerous illnesses I had discovered. “To live a lifetime in misery or take the risk of living even a little, but within my capabilities?” I pondered, and I abandoned following doctors’ recommendations. I embraced the risk, transforming my life into a captivating experiment.

The prohibition on active movement received in childhood transformed into an International Class Fitness Instructor certificate by the age of eighteen. It somewhat molded my body, instilled discipline and self-overcoming, yet I felt that a life in fitness was only valid until the age of thirty, and beyond that, it felt empty.

My quest continued; I delved into and deepened my understanding of Pilates, teaching and witnessing its effectiveness. Pilates taught me to feel, understand, and control the body more profoundly.

However, during another certification in Novosibirsk, I stumbled upon Bagua Zhang classes at INBI with Ayrat Mardanov. I remember surveying the room, mostly filled with people over fifty, effortlessly executing movements while I struggled to endure the entire class only with the thought that an international class instructor cannot give up. The realization of my weakness, practically disability, against seemingly simple tasks intrigued me. A few hours later, I realized I could feel my leg — something I began practicing to revive. It was an entry point that unequivocally defined my subsequent path.

At INBI, I began asking questions, receiving the same answer from different people every time: “Only Chom can answer such a question.” Thus, Chom entered my life, to whom I had to address all my questions. In the spring of 2008, our first meeting took place.

“If you ask a question and nothing turns you away from seeking the answer, perhaps you should follow the path of alchemy with Chom.” I still recall the questions I once asked him, and in practicing alchemy, I seek answers and, in return, discover new questions. This all-encompassing exploration allows me to continually unveil new facets of myself.

Currently, I am an instructor in the Daoist direction at INBI, a programmer, a designer, never forgetting my purpose — to delve deeper and disseminate knowledge about a special massage that unites, harmonizes, transforms reality, and perfects the bone.