In these few decades of life, I’ve come to realise, again and again, that reading and writing are two of the most grounding companions one can be blessed with. They draw you back to yourself, help you settle into that familiar sweet spot, and offer the gentle joy of watching scattered thoughts gather into something whole.
Today, as I sit down to write, I notice that the last time I shared anything here was nearly five months back.
An entire summer seems to have slipped by.
And what a year we’ve had.
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Between setting up our new store, crafting Makoii’s products, and playing with new formulations, I’ve also been immersed in my ongoing studies of Sowa Rigpa or Traditional Tibetan Medicine. And so, in this journal entry, I wanted to open a small doorway into this vast and beautiful tradition for all of you who care deeply about conscious living, wellness, and wellbeing.
I do so with the intention to acknowledge and address the fact that we now find ourselves living in a time when the slightest cough has us reaching for syrup, and a mild ache sends us out to buy a strip of paracetamol. There is hardly ever a pause. Just an immediate impulse to silence the discomfort. But in truth, these small disturbances are often our body’s way of speaking to us. If we slow down, step back, and actually listen, there is so much insight in what the body reveals.
This, I feel, lies at the heart of today’s healthcare crisis: our obsession with instant fixes and the narrow lens of viewing illness only at the cellular or symptomatic level. In the process, the larger story - the person’s lifestyle, environment, emotional world, elemental makeup, is often ignored. Yet it is precisely within this whole picture that the deeper causes and early warnings of imbalances are found. And when we understand those, illness can sometimes be softened, reversed, or even prevented long before it takes root.
This is why traditional medical systems matter.
They remind us to look at the whole human being, not just the symptom.
You see, in Sowa Rigpa or Traditional Tibetan Medicine, the root root cause of any illness is considered to be what is called Marigpa.
In Buddhist philosophy, Marigpa refers to fundamental ignorance, the basic misperception of reality that shapes how we see ourselves and the world. It is the deep confusion in the mind that mistakes the impermanent for permanent, views the self as solid and fixed, and believes emotions to be inherently real. From this misperception arises a self-centred attitude, a tightening around “me” and “mine” that further clouds the mind and distorts our experience. As a result, we grasp, fear, react, and separate ourselves from others, becoming entangled in desire, anger, and ignorance (the three poisons at the core of Buddhist philosophy).
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According to the Sowa Rigpa tradition, a disease arises only because Marigpa first sets the stage for it. The sequence unfolds in a clear progression: Marigpa, the root misperception, gives rise to the Three Poisons - anger, desire, ignorance (our habitual emotional reaction patterns); these disturb the Three Humours (the three vital energies that govern all physical and mental functions in the body. When these three energies are balanced, we experience health; when they’re disturbed, illness arises), creating energetic imbalance; and eventually this imbalance manifests as disease, expressed as physical suffering.
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Simply put, fundamental ignorance gives rise to a self-centred attitude, which then fuels the emergence of the three mental poisons (anger/ hatred, desire/ attachment, and ignorance). These emotional patterns become habitual reactions, and over time they disturb our internal energies. Eventually, these energetic imbalances manifest outwardly as physical symptoms.
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To begin with, this understanding of disease places tremendous importance on our emotions. It recognises that our mental state, emotional patterns, and physical sensations are all deeply intertwined. With this as the foundation, illness is never viewed as a purely physical event, it is always understood within the larger context of the whole person. Even the smallest imbalance is assessed through the lens of one’s diet, lifestyle, mental attitude, and emotional wellbeing. And naturally, the treatments follow the same holistic approach, addressing not just the body but the mind and the way we live.
In fact, understanding health in this tradition begins long before any symptoms appear. It starts with recognising a person’s typology - their elemental makeup, physical constitution, temperament, habits, body language, and even their natural likes and dislikes. All of these offer valuable clues about which imbalances a person is more likely to experience and how their body and mind tend to respond to the world.
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Understanding and knowing your own self is not just encouraged; it is considered the very foundation of personal health. When we understand our own tendencies such as what nourishes us, what destabilises us, what environments we thrive in, our own mood, emotional and mental experiences and what patterns repeatedly throw us off balance - we develop the ability to prevent illness rather than simply react to it. In many ways, self-knowledge becomes the first and most essential medicine.
In the end, as I sit with these ideas that have slowly reshaped the way I have come to understand health, I realise that the journey back to wholeness is neither a rejection of modern medicine nor a nostalgic longing for the past.
Rather, it is an invitation to self-knowledge, to self-awareness, to recognising that our bodies are constantly communicating with us, that our emotions carry insight, and that true healing begins long before a symptom surfaces. It is a reminder that wellbeing is not a single practice or intervention, but a tapestry woven from our daily habits, our emotional patterns, our inner narratives, the rhythm of our breath, the environments we move through, and the innate intelligence of the body itself.
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Traditional Medical Systems such as Sowa Rigpa calls us to return to this wider, fuller way of seeing.
To listen a little more closely, to move through life with intention, to meet ourselves with gentleness instead of urgency.
And in making this shift, subtle as it may be, we often rediscover a steadier, more rooted way of being in the world.
Because the more closely we listen,
the more whole,
we slowly become.