“If just neglected
— Empress Shoken
And never polished to a glow
Even precious jewels
Would remain resembling
Dull roof tiles made of clay.”
One of the things I have come to appreciate most about traditional Japanese Reiki is the emphasis it places on inner cultivation rather than external achievement. When many people first encounter Reiki, the focus is often on techniques, attunements, healing sessions, symbols, or certification levels. Those elements may have their place, but the deeper I study traditional Reiki, the more I feel that the heart of the practice is really about the gradual refinement of the practitioner through consistent daily practice and returning to harmony over time.
That is one of the reasons I have been so moved by the use of waka and gyosei within traditional Reiki practice. I am currently taking a 21-day Waka Wisdom course with Bronwen Logan, and one of the poems by Empress Shoken immediately stayed with me after reading it. The waka speaks about how even precious jewels, if neglected and never polished, can begin to resemble dull roof tiles made of clay.
As I reflected on the poem in my journal, I found myself thinking about the jewel as a metaphor for our true nature. I wrote that without practice, our true self can gradually become obscured, while consistent Reiki practice helps it shine again like a well-kept jewel. Something about that image felt deeply connected to what I have experienced through Reiki over the years.
The longer I practice, the less I see Reiki as a process of becoming someone new and the more I experience it as a process of remembering and uncovering what is already there beneath distraction, emotional conditioning, worry, and disconnection. The jewel is already precious before it is polished. Practice does not create its value. It simply helps reveal what has become covered over or neglected over time.
Waka and Gyosei in Traditional Reiki
In traditional Japanese Reiki, waka and gyosei were not included simply as inspirational poetry or decorative additions to the system. They were part of the deeper cultivation of the practitioner. Mikao Usui selected 125 gyosei written by Emperor Meiji for students to contemplate regularly as part of their development. These poems were intended to support self-reflection, emotional refinement, awareness, and the gradual shaping of character over time.
I think this reveals something very important about the original orientation of Reiki. Traditional Reiki was not only concerned with techniques, healing sessions, or unusual energetic experiences. There was also a strong emphasis on the inner condition of the practitioner themselves and how practice shaped the way a person lived.
In that context, Reiki was understood as much more than something a person occasionally performed. It was a discipline that influenced awareness, emotional balance, consistency, and relationship to daily life itself. Practices such as meditation, reflection on the Gokai, self-Reiki, and contemplation of waka and gyosei were all intended to gradually deepen presence and refine the practitioner over time. The focus was not solely on what someone knew intellectually, but on how they practiced, responded, and embodied the teachings within ordinary life.
The gyosei often encouraged reflection on qualities such as humility, gratitude, patience, perseverance, simplicity, and self-restraint. In many ways, they functioned similarly to the Gokai by helping practitioners repeatedly return to awareness and self-observation throughout daily life. Rather than offering quick inspiration, they created space for ongoing contemplation and gradual internal change through repetition and reflection.
This emphasis on inner cultivation is one of the aspects of traditional Reiki that resonates most deeply with me personally. It aligns closely with the philosophy behind The Reiki Society, which approaches Reiki not as something to consume, but as a consistent daily practice of embodiment, simplicity, and returning to harmony over time.
The longer I practice Reiki, the less I experience it as a collection of techniques and the more I experience it as a gradual process of refinement. Not dramatic transformation, but a slow and steady polishing that happens through consistent practice and repeated return over time.
The Precious Jewel and the True Self
The metaphor of the jewel feels especially meaningful because it changes the entire way we think about healing and spiritual practice.
Many people, myself included, unconsciously approach spirituality from the assumption that something is fundamentally wrong with us. We search for the experience, teaching, practice, or breakthrough that will finally make us feel whole. It is easy to believe peace exists somewhere ahead of us — in a future version of ourselves that is more healed, awakened, or spiritually complete.
For a long time, I related to spirituality in that way. I was always searching for deeper alignment, stronger connection, or some lasting state of peace that I hoped would finally remain permanent. But over time, both life and practice began teaching me something much quieter.
The jewel is already valuable before it is polished.
Polishing does not create its worth. It simply reveals what has been there all along beneath dust, neglect, and obscuration.
I think Reiki practice often works in a similar way.
Consistent practice gradually begins clearing away the things that make us feel disconnected from ourselves: chronic worry, emotional reactivity, mental overstimulation, striving, exhaustion, and the constant pressure to become someone else. The process is not about turning ourselves into something superior or spiritually impressive. More often, it feels like slowly returning to a more natural state of presence and steadiness that was already there underneath all the noise.
This understanding has become increasingly important to me personally because my relationship with practice has changed significantly over the years. Earlier in my path, I often approached spirituality through intensity and seeking. I chased moments of deep connection, awakening, transcendence, and alignment. And when those experiences faded, as they inevitably do, I often felt as though I had lost something essential.
What Reiki gradually taught me instead was the importance of returning.
Not maintaining extraordinary states forever, but learning how to come back to presence again and again within ordinary life.
That is part of why the Gokai feel so foundational to me now. The principles are simple, but over time they begin quietly reshaping how we live.
“Just for today” helps return our attention from imagined futures and unresolved pasts back into the reality of the present moment. “Do not worry” softens our attachment to control and outcome. “Do not anger” brings awareness to emotional reactivity and how quickly we lose ourselves in it. “Be grateful” reconnects us to what is already here instead of what feels absent. “Practice diligently” reminds us that meaningful transformation usually happens through repetition and consistency rather than intensity. And “Be kind to others” gradually dissolves some of the separation and self-centeredness that keep us disconnected from one another.
What I appreciate most now is that these changes rarely happen dramatically. Reiki practice has not transformed my life through constant spiritual highs or extraordinary experiences. Most of the deeper changes have happened quietly through ordinary repetition over long periods of time.
Through returning to practice after losing rhythm.
Through becoming more aware of my reactions during stressful seasons.
Through learning to pause instead of immediately reacting.
Through noticing how often the mind drifts into striving, fear, or self-judgment and gently returning again.
Over time, the practice begins shaping not only how we feel during meditation or Reiki sessions, but how we move through daily life itself. And in many ways, that gradual refinement feels much more sustainable and trustworthy than the pursuit of dramatic experiences ever did.
The Dulling That Comes Through Neglect
One aspect of this waka that stands out to me is that the jewel never loses its value through neglect; it only loses its brightness. I think many of us understand this feeling personally. There are periods in life where we lose rhythm with practice and gradually begin feeling disconnected from ourselves. We stop sitting quietly, listening inwardly, breathing deeply, or engaging in simple practices like self-Reiki. Over time, stress, distraction, striving, and emotional overwhelm begin to accumulate, and something within us starts to feel dull or distant. Not because our true nature disappears, but because it becomes obscured by noise and disconnection.
The longer I practice Reiki, the more I realize that daily practice is less about achieving spiritual experiences and more about maintaining relationship with ourselves. Like the jewel in the waka, that relationship requires care and attention. If neglected long enough, even something precious can begin to resemble an ordinary clay roof tile. I find that image deeply humbling because from the outside the jewel and the roof tile may appear similar, yet their nature is entirely different. The same feels true for human beings. Beneath our conditioning, anxiety, emotional patterns, and distraction, something inherently whole and luminous remains, and Reiki practice gently helps us remember that over time.
Practice as Polishing
What I appreciate most about this metaphor is the reminder that polishing is not something that happens once and is finished forever. A jewel requires ongoing care if it is going to continue reflecting light clearly, and in many ways that feels very similar to daily Reiki practice. The practice asks us to keep returning — to the breath, to awareness, to the body, to the present moment, and to the simple disciplines that help us stay connected to ourselves. Some days that practice feels nourishing and deeply grounding. Other days it feels very ordinary, and sometimes we sit distracted, restless, or resistant. But over time, I have come to see that the value of practice is not always found in dramatic spiritual experiences. More often, it is found in the quiet consistency of returning itself.
I think traditional Reiki understood this deeply. Real transformation rarely happens through intensity alone. More often, it develops gradually through repetition, rhythm, and long-term embodiment. This is one of the reasons I feel so drawn toward the dojo model and the kind of practice culture I hope to cultivate through The Reiki Society. The emphasis is not on chasing extraordinary experiences, but on creating a steady relationship with practice through consistency and daily engagement over time.
Modern culture conditions us to constantly seek novelty. We are encouraged to believe that growth always comes from finding the next technique, the next breakthrough, or the next experience that will finally change us. But Reiki continues bringing me back to something much simpler. Again and again, it points me toward what is already here and asks whether I am willing to practice it consistently enough for it to become lived and embodied rather than merely understood intellectually.
The Three Diamonds
As I reflected on this waka, I also found myself thinking about the Japanese energetic system sometimes referred to as the “Three Diamonds.” Different traditions describe these centers in different ways, but there is a shared understanding that harmony develops when the mind, heart, and hara (the lower energetic center) become more integrated and aligned with one another. The image of the diamond feels especially meaningful in this context because a diamond reflects light clearly through its refinement and clarity, yet when neglected or covered over, its brilliance becomes difficult to see.
In my own experience, Reiki practice gradually brings these different aspects of ourselves into greater harmony over time. The mind becomes a little quieter and less reactive. The nervous system begins to soften. The heart becomes more open and less guarded. Awareness deepens, and we begin feeling less internally fragmented. Not perfect, and certainly not permanently beyond struggle, but more connected to ourselves and more present within our lives. The longer I practice, the less I see Reiki as something that adds anything new to us and the more I experience it as a process of removing what obscures our natural state. The practice does not create the jewel. It simply helps reveal what has always been there beneath the noise, conditioning, and disconnection.
Returning to Simplicity
One of the most meaningful shifts in my own path has been moving away from striving and returning toward simplicity. For a long time, I believed spiritual growth meant reaching extraordinary states of awareness and somehow remaining there permanently. When those experiences faded, I often felt as though I had lost something important or fallen out of alignment entirely. Over time, though, my understanding of practice began to change. I no longer think the purpose of Reiki is to maintain constant spiritual intensity. Instead, I think much of the practice is learning how to return gently and consistently to ourselves when we inevitably become distracted, discouraged, overwhelmed, or disconnected.
That is what daily practice has gradually become for me: a way back. A way of reconnecting to the body, the breath, awareness, and the present moment without needing life to feel perfect first. Some days that return feels peaceful and grounding. Other days it feels very small and ordinary. But I have come to trust the value of the returning itself. There is something deeply compassionate in this understanding because it means Reiki is not reserved for people having constant mystical experiences or living in some permanent state of spiritual clarity. It remains available within ordinary life exactly as it is — within quiet mornings, difficult seasons, anxious moments, simple breaths, and the familiar act of placing our hands on ourselves again.
This waka by Empress Shoken reminds me that our true nature does not disappear when neglected, but like a precious jewel, it does require care and attention if it is going to shine clearly. Practice, consistency, presence, and self-awareness gradually help uncover what has become obscured over time. Not because we need to become more valuable or transform into someone entirely different, but because so much of spiritual practice seems to involve remembering and reconnecting with what was already there beneath the noise, conditioning, and distraction. The longer I practice Reiki, the more I feel that its purpose is not to create a new self, but to slowly polish away the layers that cause us to forget our own inherent wholeness.
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