Blanche Merz on the Origins and Practice of Feng Shui

The Soul of Place Part 2

“Qi is an energy that is becoming less and less secret; it once flowed through the veins of the Chinese dragon (our Earth) and through similar energy channels, it circulates along the meridians of the human body, which are no longer hidden thanks to acupuncture. The body of the Earth, just like the human body, can be balanced… or unbalanced… depending on the actions of the practitioner. One’s personal environment can be harmonized by a knowledgeable individual, or equally destabilized by an incompetent person.”

~ Blanche Merz

There are places that seem to breathe with an intelligence of their own: landscapes, structures, or sacred spaces that evoke something primordial within us. These spaces possess a resonance, a subtle signature that speaks to the soul. Blanche Merz refers to this as the "alma del lugar," the soul of the place.¹

It’s not unlike the fleeting magic of a perfect moment, the kind that makes us wish time could pause. Here, beauty is not a surface trait but an essence, a living pulse woven into the very fabric of the environment. The atmosphere acts as a vivifying humus, nourishing the invisible strata of our being, coaxing the latent, luminous dimensions of our consciousness into full bloom.

Modern science, with its compartmentalized disciplines, often overlooks these intangible harmonies. Merz was known to use subtle energetic instruments like the Bovis scale or the ancient pendulum, employed since the time of the Pharaohs, to attempt to bridge this gap.

According to one of Merz’s contemporaries, Dr. Aschoff, the pendulum resonates with the spin of subatomic particles, becoming a conduit between the human energy system and vibratory forces in the environment. But in truth, it is not the device that measures; it is the human being, attuned to subtle variations, who becomes the instrument.

Consider the way historical events leave their mark, not just in books or monuments, but as imprints on the very spaces where they unfolded. Merz describes these traces as astral photographs, impressions etched into the aether, accessible through sensitivity rather than sight. In her view, the material world is saturated with memory and meaning. Places retain echoes of human emotion, collective experiences crystallized into subtle fields.

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The Roots of Feng Shui

Merz, drawing from ancient Chinese wisdom, speaks of a world where neither Heaven nor Earth exists in isolation. Humanity, she suggests, is not merely an inhabitant of this cosmos but its vital mediator, tasked with completing the subtle circuits of perfection that ripple through both realms.

According to Merz, at the dawn of Feng Shui, two schools emerged like twin streams carving the same riverbed: one intuitive, flowing with the natural rhythms of the land, and the other analytical, dissecting the mechanics of cosmic influence. By the 20th century, these currents converged, their union offering a more holistic approach to environmental harmony.

The intuitive tradition revered the contours of mountains, the serpentine courses of rivers, and the undulating influence of the 'dragon,' a metaphor for the earth's pulsing life force. Geomancers, standing at the nexus of land and spirit, examined these natural forms from the vantage point of construction sites or sacred tombs. Their art was less about imposing order and more about discerning the pre-existing patterns etched into the earth’s energetic skin.

Conversely, the analytical school delved into the metaphysical, charting the invisible dynamics between terrestrial and celestial forces. It was a philosophy woven from the threads of sky and soil, speculative yet grounded in the tangible effects of environmental alignment on human well-being.

According to Merz, the principles of Feng Shui are elegantly simple, yet their application often reveals layers of nuance that defy easy codification. In Hong Kong’s evolving landscapes, these ancient practices found both refuge and resistance.

Yet the tools of the trade endured in Merz’s time. The geomantic compass, once relegated to the dusty corners of tradition, still commanded respect alongside satellite maps and urban blueprints. Contemporary practitioners traversed the land with the attentive eye of naturalists. They observed the subtle signs: animal trails, sparse vegetation, the faint echoes of water beneath the soil, seeking the elusive pathways of Qi, the breath of life.

As Merz points out, the ancient geomancers engaged in a subtle dialogue with the land. They listened to the constellations, noted the dance of light and shadow across the terrain, and immersed themselves in the slow cadence of time’s passage. Their judgments were not rushed; they were the product of an intimate, almost sacred relationship with the environment.

This reverence, Merz suggests, extends to the microcosm of daily life. A student struggling with concentration might simply change the orientation of their desk; an ailing individual could find renewed vitality by repositioning their bed. These adjustments are not superstitions but reflections of an ancient understanding: that space and spirit are entwined.

Consider these distilled tenets of Feng Shui, as outlined by Merz:

1. Drainage and Health: Construct on land with natural drainage. Stagnant underground water, the ancient texts warn, is a harbinger of illness.

2. Northern Barriers: Protect the northern perimeter with natural barriers like hills or trees to shield against the 'Sha,' the cold, malevolent winds believed to carry disruptive energies.

3. Burial Orientation: Graves should face south, forming a protective energetic shield for the living.

4. Southern Gateways: Cities and homes flourish when their main entrances greet the south, absorbing the benevolent vibratory currents.

5. Yin-Yang Balance: Favor sites where the 'Azure Dragon' (east) and the 'White Tiger' (west) form a protective embrace, symbolizing the dynamic equilibrium of Yin and Yang.

6. Masculine-Feminine Harmony: Even in spaces with dominant feminine (Yin) qualities, infusing subtle masculine (Yang) elements ensures energetic balance.

7. Dynamic Topography: Flatlands are energetically inert. Introducing artificial mounds or tree clusters, particularly to the north and west, reanimates the landscape.

Merz pointed to Guangzhou as a living testament to these principles, at least during her lifetime (1919 - 2002). Its urban pulse resonated with ancient vitality, cradled between symbolic forms and nourished by century-old banyans and the lingering fragrance of camphor and cinnamon. Even amidst modernization, ancestral temples, once repurposed for mundane functions, retained their psycho-energetic equilibrium, their vibrational signatures stubbornly intact.

Mountains, in Feng Shui, are the thrones of immortals, the reservoirs of potent 'dragon veins.' Their inaccessible peaks concentrate Yang energy, casting the lowlands as sedimentary archives of exhausted forces. From the towering Himalayas, life’s vital currents cascade eastward, infusing rivers with the essence of distant, sacred heights.

Feng Shui: A Living Dying Art

In her exploration of Feng Shui, Merz speaks of the subtle threads of wind (Feng) and water (Shui). For Merz, this ancient Chinese art is a holistic philosophy that reveals how the arrangement of our environments influences our psychological equilibrium. At its core, Feng Shui is a pursuit of life quality, a dynamic interaction between human existence and the living, breathing matrix of the Earth.

Often mistaken in the West for geomancy, a term rooted in Arabic traditions of divination, Feng Shui diverges significantly. Geomancy, as it was known in Europe and Africa around the end of the first millennium, carries connotations of esoteric fortune-telling, while Feng Shui is grounded in empirical observation and natural philosophy. According to Merz, the mislabeling arose through 19th-century translations, which inadvertently framed Feng Shui within the confines of superstition.

China, with its millennia of naturalistic inquiry, discovered countless laws governing the interactions between Earth and cosmos. Feng Shui is deeply entwined with Taoist philosophy, seeking harmony between heaven and earth, and was once held in high regard until the Cultural Revolution dimmed its prominence. It was considered an astro-biological framework, emphasizing how cosmic and terrestrial influences shape life through cyclical patterns and the dynamics of the five elements: wood, fire, earth, metal, and water.

Centuries of meticulous observation affirm that the energetic exchanges between landforms, cosmic forces, and vibrational flows significantly impact human well-being. Western architecture often dismisses these principles, perceiving them as arcane or irrelevant, but many reports and threads of fringe research say otherwise. For instance, traditional Chinese wisdom asserts that metal positioned parallel to wood can foster disharmony, as metal "cuts" wood in the elemental cycle. This may seem like an overly simplistic idea, but it invites us to reflect on how environmental arrangements might subtly affect our lives.

Feng Shui perceives vitality in all things: rock, water, soil, and air are not inert but vibrant with life force. The Chinese, honoring this principle, traditionally refrained from imposing discordant structures upon the landscape, instead integrating their designs harmoniously with natural forms. This reverence included both the living and the deceased. The placement of tombs was a matter of ensuring the continued flow of Qi, the vital energy believed to nourish both the departed and their descendants.

Consider the construction of the Beijing-Nanjing railway in the 19th century, where Western engineers faced fierce opposition from local communities. The planned route threatened to violate sacred geomantic principles, including cutting through a mountain shaped like a dog, a symbolic form whose "throat" was considered vital. The resulting detour was a concession to a worldview where landforms possess intrinsic energetic significance.

Feng Shui's sophistication is perhaps best exemplified by the geomantic compass, a complex instrument far removed from its Western counterpart. Featuring concentric rings, sometimes as many as 38, it integrates astrological, topographical, and magnetic data, providing a multidimensional map of energetic landscapes. This tool, according to Merz, reflects an intricate understanding of spatial dynamics, incorporating the I Ching's trigrams, lunar cycles, and celestial constellations.

Each of the five elements corresponds to cardinal directions, seasons, colors, and even human emotions. Their interrelationships, generative and destructive cycles, mirror natural processes, offering insights into both ecological and personal balance. These are dynamic interactions, influenced by temporal rhythms and cosmic forces, including those subtle forces of the moon.

The Mysterious Forces of the Southeast

In her exploration of cosmoteluric high places, Merz noticed something strange: across continents, climates, and cultures, sacred structures and natural energy emitters (such as menhirs, underground water convergences, and mineral deposits) all seemed to share a common orientation. The compass needle, time and again, pointed Southeast.

She observed that objects oriented toward the Southeast emitted a distinct energetic signature, one that could extend its influence over considerable distances. But what made this direction so potent, according to Merz, was a confluence of the East’s subtle vitality and the South’s ancient, solar fire, an axis of life force that was both primordial and perpetually renewed.

Consider the ancient Chinese. They not only understood this secret but codified it into the practical elegance of Feng Shui. In traditional Chinese households, the most revered family members, the elders, were often placed in Southeast-facing rooms. This was designed to bathe them in an irradiation of vitality that could sustain them gracefully through their final chapters. Ancestral altars, conversely, were positioned to the West, a symbolic horizon of endings.

Within the geomancer’s compass, the 60° Southeast corresponds to the dragon, the harbinger of spring’s zenith, while 30° Southeast aligns with the serpent, ushering in summer’s first breath. Both creatures symbolize a solar crescendo, an amplification of the sun's force woven into the very geometry of orientation.The Southeast also maps onto the human body. According to Merz, it aligns with the intestines and the left hand, as if the body itself were a compass.

Yet this orientation is not universally benevolent. Merz recounted observations in Hong Kong, where the Taip'ingshan district was flanked by two peaks: one embodying Jupiter (wood), the other Mars (fire). This geomantic juxtaposition mirrors the image of wood fueling a flame, a metaphor made manifest in the district's disproportionate history of fires. Here, the Southeast's force isn’t nurturing; it’s volatile.

Chinese geomancers were essentially cartographers of invisible currents, crafting elaborate codes to regulate spatial harmony. Their diagrams, etched onto walls and thresholds, all served a singular purpose: ARMONÍA, or Tchong, a sanctuary of balanced forces.

According to Merz, our very positions, where we sit, sleep, or work, are subtly influenced by these directional forces. When awake, our bodies muster an unconscious resilience against disruptive energies. But when exhausted or asleep, we are more susceptible.

Here we recognize a universal language of orientation. Despite cultural variances, the underlying vibratory truths resonate. In the margin of an old manuscript, Merz found a cryptic note: “When the compass rose turns, it will turn with the opening of philosophy.” Perhaps that turning has already begun, in the quiet spaces where science, tradition, and subtle energy converge.

1. Merz, B. (n.d.). El alma del lugar: Su interacción dinámica sobre nuestros cuatro cuerpos.