Qi Node 9: 芒種 Mángzhong (Grain Matures)

This is 3rd qi node of Summer and comes after the 2nd moon of the season. MangZhong finds itself at a crossing point between nascent summer qi and the intensity and grandeur of summer solstice where the potency of Yang is on full display.

Close-up image of grains of wheat on the grass stalk

The Season of Awakened Action

With Mángzhǒng 芒種, the rhythm of the season shifts once again. The name of this Qi Node translates to “Grain in Beard”, referring to the moment when grains develop their awns—the fine bristles that signal they are nearly ready for harvest. This is a time of action, movement, and momentum. The steady growth of Xiǎomǎn now transforms into something more urgent. Summer is fully alive, and the world is brimming with activity.

As we mirror this maturation in our daily lives, this is the perfect part of the year to do things. Take trips. Be active. Multitasking is even ok. The planning of Spring is complete and now it is time to execute those plans. Don’t keep planning your jam sessions but instead rehearse diligently for the next gig coming soon. Take that story that has been rolling around in your head for the last few months and put it on paper. Build out that new deck and patio cover. You’ve been waiting and conserving all year and now you can really get in to it.

Mángzhǒng is ruled by the element of Fire, but it also carries the influence of the Earth element, as it is deeply tied to agriculture and the fruition of effort. The rising heat pushes things forward, while the presence of moisture in the air creates a sense of heaviness. It is a time of great productivity but also potential stagnation—both physically and emotionally. The key lesson of this period is knowing when to push forward and when to pause, understanding that movement must be directed, not chaotic. The heat of this season can create internal dampness, making the body feel sluggish and weighed down. In Chinese Medicine, dampness manifests as fatigue, bloating, heaviness in the limbs, and a foggy mind. Just as fields can become waterlogged with excessive rain, our own bodies and minds can become overwhelmed if we do not manage the balance between activity and restoration.

Your body is supposed to grow and expand just like the grain maturing so stay active, and maintain a strong appetite with a balanced Chinese medicine diet. Two large meals during the day, especially at breakfast, is ideal. Green tea throughout the day and a small and very light dinner serves your body the best. You can make use of light broth soups that are slightly salty in the evening meal position or other easy to digest cooked vegetables and grains.

Emotionally, Mángzhǒng calls us to be mindful of burnout. The season encourages us to be productive, to take action, to move forward—but if we push too hard without proper nourishment, exhaustion follows. Emotional outbursts are more common this time of year and can actually serve to purge some of that accumulated heat, but be careful to not find yourself stuck in a pattern of intense emotional churn. Once the venting is done, further exasperation will cause damage and lead to deficiencies in the coming months.

Insomnia patterns can often start during this part of the year too. Make sure your bedroom is cool at night and even through the light is hanging around later, don’t push your own bedtime much past the Sun’s. Remember to breath deeply into your belly and avoid being overly baked in the sun. This is a time to work with intensity but also with wisdom, recognizing that true progress comes from flowing with the season’s energy rather than forcing things beyond their natural rhythm.

Aligning Your Life with Mángzhong

To harmonize with the Qi of this season, focus on balancing action with rest, heat with cooling, and momentum with mindfulness.

Stay Light and Hydrated

• Eat foods that reduce dampness and clear heat, such as mung beans, barley, and bitter greens.

• Limit heavy, greasy, or overly sweet foods, which can contribute to internal stagnation.

• Drink light herbal teas (e.g., chrysanthemum, peppermint) to cool the body and support digestion.

Move with Awareness

• Engage in moderate exercise that keeps the body active without excessive strain.

• Be mindful of overheating—exercise in the morning or evening rather than midday.

• Stretch often to maintain flexibility and circulation as the body holds more heat.

Balance Productivity with Rest

• Work efficiently but set limits to prevent exhaustion.

• Take breaks throughout the day to avoid mental and physical stagnation.

• Prioritize sleep, as hot and humid conditions can disrupt rest.

Manage Emotional Heat

• Watch for signs of irritability, impatience, or frustration, which can flare up in hot weather.

• Practice cooling breathwork or meditation to regulate internal heat.

• Seek time in natural spaces—trees, water, and open air help release excess energy.

Prepare for the Height of Summer

• Adjust your home environment to stay cool—ventilation, fans, and light clothing help regulate temperature.

• Begin shifting to a lighter, more relaxed schedule, recognizing that high summer requires a change in pacing.

• Plan activities that align with the season’s natural movement, such as travel, outdoor adventures, and social gatherings.

Mángzhǒng is a season of purposeful action. It reminds us that effort is necessary, but so is knowing when to pause and redirect energy. As the heat of Summer intensifies, the key to balance lies in staying light, staying aware, and staying in rhythm with the unfolding cycle of nature.

Foundations of Chinese Medicine: Pattern Differentiation

What Is a Pattern? Understanding biàn zhèng 辨證

One of the most distinctive features of Chinese medicine is its approach to diagnosis. Instead of identifying diseases by name alone, practitioners look for patterns—configurations of signs, symptoms, emotional states, pulses, tongue presentations, and environmental context that together reveal how a person is experiencing imbalance. The Chinese term for this diagnostic process is called biàn zhèng 辨證 and is one of the core distinctions between Chinese medical methodology and the biomedical methodologies of conventional medicine, naturopathy, functional medicine, and chiropractic. Our unique way of seeing a body and illness invites nuance. Two people with the same biomedical diagnosis may have very different patterns. Likewise, two people with different symptom lists may share the same underlying disharmony.

But what exactly is a pattern? Each pattern is a composition of quantative factors like heat and dampness (xié qì 邪氣) as well as the locations of those imbalances in the body (bìng jīng 病經). That composition is necessarily paired with an underlying cause (bìng yīn 病因) and all these elements together are what we call a “pattern.” In English, the word “pattern” often implies something repetitive or predictable. In Chinese medicine, it means something more: a coherent, interpretable configuration of bodily phenomena that expresses an underlying dynamic. A pattern (zhèng 證) is not a fixed thing—it’s a snapshot of how your body is responding to internal or external influences at a particular moment in time.

Patterns tell us what’s going wrong and what’s still going right. They help us understand what systems are compensating, what’s deficient, what’s stuck, what’s trying to move but can’t. They’re rooted in observation: not just the symptoms you report, but how you carry yourself, how you speak, the color of your complexion, the quality of your pulse, the shape of your tongue.

Instead of asking, “What disease does this person have?” we ask, “What is this person’s body doing?” And more importantly: “Why?”

Understanding these ideas helps make sense of how Chinese medicine practitioners decide which treatment strategies to use—and why the same herbs or acupuncture points might not be right for everyone, even if their complaints sound similar.

Bìng Jīng 病經: The Channel of the Disease

The term bìng jīng literally means “disease channel.” In classical Chinese medicine, this refers to the channel system through which a pathogenic factor travels. The body is understood as a network of channels (jīng luò 經絡) that move qì 氣, Blood, and fluids. When a disruptive force enters the body—like Wind, Cold, or Damp—it often does so through the surface and follows a path inward, moving along these channels.

For example:

• A cold wind invasion might start in the channels beloning to the Tàiyáng 太陽 layer (Bladder and Small Intestine), causing chills, body aches, and a stiff neck.

• If the body cannot repel the intrusion, the pathogen might move into deeper layer like Shàoyáng 少陽 or Yángmíng 陽明, changing the symptoms and requiring a new strategy.

Understanding which channel the illness is occupying gives clues about where the problem is lodged, how deep it has penetrated, and what stage the body is in relative to the disease process. This is especially relevant in acute conditions, but it also informs how we treat lingering or residual patterns that may have entered years ago and never fully cleared.

In this way, bìng jīng gives us a map. It tells us about the trajectory of the disease, not just the current location.

Bìng Yīn 病因: The Root Cause of Illness

If bìng jīng tells us where the illness is moving, bìng yīn tells us why it’s there to begin with. This term means “disease cause,” and it refers to the underlying factors that have made the body vulnerable to imbalance.

Bìng yīn can be:

• External: wind, cold, dampness, dryness, heat, or seasonal transitions

• Internal: emotional stress, excessive thought, repressed grief, anger, fear, or worry

• Lifestyle-related: poor diet, overwork, lack of rest, sexual excess, trauma

• Constitutional: inherited tendencies, congenital weakness, or life stage transitions

The presence of a bìng yīn doesn’t mean someone has done something wrong. It simply reflects the context within which illness arises. Two people may be exposed to the same cold wind, but only one of them gets sick. Why? The one who becomes ill may already be run down from overwork, not sleeping well, or struggling with grief. These bìng yīn set the stage for the body to become vulnerable.

In treatment, understanding bìng yīn is essential. If we only address the symptoms without understanding what made the system susceptible, we may suppress the current flare-up but leave the deeper disharmony untouched.

Patterns Are Relational, Not Categorical

An important feature of pattern differentiation (biàn zhèng 辨證) is that it is relational. That is, the practitioner is constantly asking how different symptoms and signs relate to one another.

For example, a person might have:

• Headaches

• Irregular bowel movements

• Cold hands and feet

• A wiry pulse

• Tension in the ribcage

In a biomedical system, these might be seen as separate issues. In Chinese medicine, we might interpret this as a pattern of Liver qi constraint, with Cold obstructing the channels. That’s not a disease name—it’s a description of a constellation of relationships in the body.

And importantly, that pattern exists within the context of bìng jīng (perhaps the Juéyīn 厥陰 or Shàoyáng channels) and bìng yīn (perhaps long-term emotional frustration or cold food consumption). That’s how we know what to do. Because we’re not treating the headache. We’re treating the system it’s coming from.

Why This Matters to Patients

You don’t need to memorize terms like bìng jīng or bìng yīn to benefit from Chinese medicine. But understanding the logic behind them can help you appreciate why your practitioner asks about things that seem unrelated, or why your treatment may differ from someone else with “the same” condition.

It can also help explain why progress is sometimes non-linear. Patterns change. What starts as excess Heat may give way to deficiency. What begins in the surface channels may sink inward. Practitioners adapt to the body’s shifting landscape, and treatment evolves alongside it.

This approach can be deeply empowering. Rather than being seen as a passive recipient of care, you are understood as an active participant in a dynamic process. Your symptoms are not random—they’re meaningful expressions of how your body is navigating the world. Ultimately, pattern diagnosis in Chinese medicine is less about classification than about recognition. It’s about attuning to what the body is doing, what it’s asking for, and how it is attempting to rebalance itself. Bìng jīng and bìng yīn are part of the map orienting us toward understanding what’s happening in a body.

And armed with that understanding, real change becomes possible.

Qi Node 8: 小满 Xiǎomǎn (Grain Sprouts)

Yang qi’s transformation from dormancy in Winter through the rebirth of Spring has now finally manifested as a fully mature Yang. At this point in the calendar, much of Yang’s early impulsiveness, and even recklessness, it showed in late Spring has settled down. Yang has a discipline and dedication to doing and growing that shows in the seedlings taking hold in the fields.

For us, the 8th qi node marks a distinct shift toward consistent activity. Get up and move around. Working in groups to accomplish larger tasks is auspicious this time of year, with a greater likelihood of smooth interactions and successful completion. Socialize with friends, enjoy the growing warmth, and involve yourself in things beyond your personal comfort and your routines.

The Season of Small Fullness

As Summer deepens, we arrive at Xiǎomǎn 小满, literally translated as “Small Fullness” and more often metaphorically as “Grain Sprouts.” This Qi Node marks a time of gradual ripening—the moment when the promise of growth begins to materialize, but the harvest is still to come. If Lìxià was the strong ignition of Fire, Xiǎomǎn is its steady, building glow—less of a blaze, more of a controlled burn.

In the language of nature, Xiǎomǎn describes grains filling with moisture—not yet mature, but no longer in their infancy. It is a period of transition, where Yang energy continues to rise, but the presence of Yin begins to linger at the edges. The heat is increasing, yet the rains come more frequently, tempering the intensity. The cycle reminds us that even in seasons of expansion, patience is required. Things are growing, but they are not yet ready to be gathered.

In the body, this is a time to nourish and protect what is developing. Chinese Medicine often speaks of digestion as a kind of internal ripening process, transforming food into usable energy. The Spleen and Stomach—the center of digestion—must remain strong, ensuring that the nutrients we take in are properly integrated. Xiǎomǎn reminds us that supporting growth is just as important as initiating it. There is no need to rush. Strength is built in small, steady increments, just like grains filling with moisture in the fields.

Emotionally, this Qi Node also speaks to the practice of satisfaction without completion. In modern life, we are often fixated on results—on finishing things, achieving goals, arriving at destinations. But Xiǎomǎn teaches us the value of the in-between space, the moment when something is still forming, still taking shape. Can we be content with the process rather than the product? Can we recognize small signs of progress rather than demanding immediate results? This is the essence of Xiǎomǎn: fullness, but not yet fulfillment.

Aligning Your Life with Xiǎomǎn

To move in harmony with the energy of “Grain Ripens”, consider these practical ways to integrate its lessons into your daily life:

Nourish Growth with Gentle Support

• Eat warm, easy-to-digest foods to support digestion (rice, millet, lightly cooked vegetables).

• Avoid excess raw, cold, or greasy foods, which can weaken the Spleen.

• Drink light broths and teas to maintain hydration and aid digestion.

Balance Expansion with Rest

• Don’t overextend yourself—progress happens gradually.

• Schedule short breaks between tasks instead of pushing through exhaustion.

• Get enough sleep to allow the body’s internal processes to unfold naturally.

Move with Intention

• Engage in gentle, steady exercise like walking, tai chi, or yoga.

• Avoid excessive sweating, which can lead to depletion in hot weather.

• Stretch and breathe deeply to encourage circulation without strain.

Practice Contentment in the Present Moment

• Acknowledge small wins and trust the process rather than rushing for results.

• Engage in creative activities that emphasize process over outcome (painting, gardening, journaling).

• Spend time outdoors and observe nature’s gradual transformations—growth doesn’t happen overnight.

Prepare for the Coming Heat

• Begin adjusting to rising temperatures with lighter clothing and cooling foods.

• Keep your living and sleeping spaces well-ventilated.

• Stay mindful of emotional irritability or impatience, as excess heat can stir frustration.

Xiǎomǎn reminds us that everything ripens in its own time. The work of growth is ongoing, and each moment of small fullness is a necessary step toward completion. By nourishing, balancing, and trusting the process, we align ourselves with the rhythm of the season—moving forward with patience, steadiness, and an appreciation for the unfolding journey.

Let’s Talk About That Sleep Score

I have a patient who I’ve been treating for chronic insomnia and low energy during they day. The treatment is going well and they have been feeling better—more rested, more clear-headed, more resilient during the day. But at our evaluation lat week about their treatment plan, they said to me:

“I’ve been feeling great… but my Oura ring still says my sleep is terrible.”

And they are not the first person to tell me that their experience of sleep is so much better but their app is telling them that its not. Sometimes it’s the opposite. For some people, their sleep score is high, but they wake up groggy or crash by mid-afternoon. But in either case, they’ve been trained to trust the app over their own experience. And when the app doesn’t validate how they feel, they start to second-guess the progress we’re making. Or worse—they feel discouraged, like their body isn’t cooperating despite their efforts.

Sleep monitors like Oura and Fitbit are everywhere now, worn as badges of health optimization and self-awareness. But when they start to dictate how we feel about our own bodies, it’s worth asking: What are these devices actually measuring? How accurate are they? And what’s the cost of outsourcing our internal sense of rest to a commercial algorithm?

Let’s take a closer look.

What Are Sleep Trackers Measuring, Really?

Sleep, as it's commonly understood in modern science, is divided into several stages: light sleep, deep sleep (also known as slow-wave or N3 sleep), and REM sleep. These stages are primarily defined by patterns of brain activity measured through electroencephalography (EEG). Light sleep is a transitional state, where brainwaves begin to slow, muscles relax, and awareness of the outside world starts to fade. Deep sleep is marked by delta waves—slow, high-amplitude brain activity associated with physical restoration, tissue repair, and immune function. REM sleep, on the other hand, is paradoxical: the brain becomes highly active, almost wake-like, while the body remains effectively paralyzed. This is when dreaming occurs, and it is thought to be key for memory consolidation and emotional processing.

This structure gives researchers and clinicians a way to analyze sleep in measurable terms. EEG provides a visual record of what the brain is doing moment by moment, and from this we’ve built a framework that assigns meaning to each phase. That framework is valuable. It gives us a shared language to discuss sleep quality, to compare states across time and populations, and to identify patterns associated with dysfunction.

More fundamentally, the idea that sleep can be fully understood through a chart of waveforms may itself be too narrow. EEG can tell us what kind of electrical activity is present in the brain, but it cannot tell us how that sleep is lived. It doesn’t know if you felt safe, or if your dreams left a residue of sadness. It doesn’t know if you woke feeling held or fractured, restored or restless. These are human experiences, and they are part of sleep, too. Nonetheless, EEG and its clinical assessment partner polysomnography (PSG) are the biomedical tools we have and they are the assessment metrics that sleep tracker devices are trying to mimic.

When it comes to the at-home sleep monitors like Oura and Fitbit, those devices rely on a small suite of biometrics, mostly collected through sensors on your finger or wrist. Here’s what they’re actually recording during the night:

• Heart Rate (HR): Tracks how many times your heart beats per minute. Typically lower during deep sleep.

• Heart Rate Variability (HRV): Measures the variation in time between heartbeats, associated with parasympathetic nervous system activity (rest and recovery).

• Movement (Actigraphy): Uses accelerometers to detect tossing, turning, and stillness, often interpreted as sleep depth.

• Skin Temperature: Relative changes in peripheral body temperature, often correlated with circadian phase and recovery.

• Respiratory Rate: Estimated from subtle physical signals like heart rate patterns and temperature variation, but not actually able to read the movement of air into and out of lungs.

• Blood Oxygen (SpO₂): On some devices, measures how well your blood is carrying oxygen during the night.

These are the ingredients. From there, proprietary algorithms infer sleep stages (light, deep, REM, wake) and calculate a composite “sleep score” meant to represent your sleep quality on a scale from poor to excellent. Note the word proprietary here because none of the companies in this space will tell you exactly how they calculate your sleep score — “trade secrets” and what not…

Notable though. when sleep trackers attempt to recreate the EEG system using proxies like the ones listed above, they step even further away from the source. A Fitbit-type device cannot measure brainwaves directly. It can only infer, based on surface-level data, which stage a person might be in. And while those inferences are sometimes correct, they are also often wrong—particularly when it comes to deep sleep and REM. The body may be still during both, but the internal experiences are radically different. To a wristband, they can look the same.

When patients come in saying they feel rested, but their device disagrees, we often encourage them to believe their body. That doesn’t mean we ignore data—but it means we don’t let it override lived experience. Sleep, like health more broadly, is not just what we can measure. It’s also what we can feel.

But here’s the critical thing: none of these devices are reading your brain.

In a sleep lab, clinicians use polysomnography (PSG) to track brain waves, eye movements, muscle tone, breathing, heart activity, and more. This is how sleep stages are defined—not by heart rate or motion, but by patterns of electrical activity in the brain.

By contrast, commercial devices are just guessing at those stages based on peripheral proxies. Their accuracy in doing so is… mixed.

Validation Studies: The Data Doesn’t Quite Match

Several independent studies* have compared consumer sleep trackers like the Oura Ring and Fitbit to clinical-grade sleep testing(PSG). These studies generally show that while wearables can track general trends, they fall short when it comes to accurate sleep staging and nuanced interpretation.

The most common issues include:

• Total sleep time: Both Oura and Fitbit show high agreement with clinical measurements here. Most devices can detect when you are generally asleep versus awake.

• REM sleep: Oura's Gen 3 ring performs reasonably well at estimating REM duration, though its accuracy varies by user.

• Light vs. deep sleep: Both devices tend to overestimate light sleep and underestimate deep sleep, with Fitbit in particular detecting deep sleep correctly only about 50% of the time compared to EEG measurements.

• Wake after sleep onset (WASO): This important insomnia metric is routinely underestimated by both devices.

• Overall staging of sleep: The further a metric gets from total time asleep, the more the accuracy drops.

These discrepancies have real-world effects. When a patient comes in saying their Oura Ring reported zero deep sleep, but they woke up feeling clear and rested, they’re often confused. And understandably so. The device’s conclusion doesn’t match their experience. In cases like this, the tracker probably missed the signal. These tools rely on proxies like heart rate, HRV, and movement—not the brain activity that actually defines sleep stages.

Deep sleep, for example, is defined by slow-wave EEG patterns, something a wearable cannot directly detect. REM sleep involves high brain activity and vivid dreams while the body remains still. A wristband can’t see what the eyes are doing. It can’t monitor brainwaves. It can only measure what’s happening on the surface—and then infer what’s happening inside.

So the algorithm does its best. It guesses. And often, it guesses wrong.

The danger is not just in technical inaccuracy. It's in the impact those guesses have on the person wearing the device. We’ve seen patients feel discouraged by a low score, even when their subjective experience of sleep was good. Others spiral into anxiety after one “bad night,” despite no change in energy, cognition, or mood. In some cases, people have begun to structure their entire day around the number on their screen—eating differently, canceling plans, or even skipping exercise based on what the ring told them.

In that context, the data has usurped human experience and understanding, and we have ceded our agency to a machine that is wrong 25-40% of the time. Once we hit that point, the abidication of our relationship to our bodies is not so much a technological problem as a psychological one.

The Psychological Toll of Quantifying the Unconscious

Sleep is one of the last frontiers of health that happens entirely without conscious effort. It’s mysterious and restorative, an internal process that unfolds beyond our control. And perhaps because of that, there’s a particular vulnerability in trying to pin it down with numbers.

When a wearable device offers a neat little score each morning, it’s tempting to take that as truth. Over time, people begin to check their app before they check in with themselves. They start to wonder not “how do I feel this morning?” but “what does the ring say?” As we’ve discussed, a bad score can color the whole day—even if the night felt restful. A good score can override a lingering sense of fatigue.

This gap between subjective experience and algorithmic output creates a subtle but profound shift: people begin to trust the data over their own bodies. We’ve seen patients who are sleeping better by every meaningful measure—more energy, fewer night wakings, calmer mornings—start to question that progress because their sleep score hasn’t budged. Others have reported a sense of deflation after a single “bad” score, as if their own sense of rest had been invalidated.

There’s even a name for this phenomenon: orthosomnia—a condition where obsession with sleep data creates anxiety and, paradoxically, worsens sleep. The numbers become not a support, but a source of stress. In trying to optimize the unconscious, we end up bringing more tension into the very system we’re trying to soothe.

This isn’t just about the accuracy of the data. It’s about how we relate to it—and whether we still allow ourselves to trust the quieter signals of our own physiology.

Who Benefits from This System?

When a patient’s sense of healing begins to unravel because of a number on their phone, it becomes important to ask a harder question: who, exactly, is this system serving?

Technology companies like Oura and Fitbit present themselves as partners in health. They suggest that wearing a device will deepen self-awareness, encourage better habits, and provide meaningful insight into the body’s rhythms. The branding is subtle but persuasive—language that frames the product as a mirror, as if these companies are simply helping you see yourself more clearly.

But clarity is not the real commodity here. Engagement is.

These devices are designed to encourage daily interaction. Sleep scores, readiness rings, temperature trends, recovery insights—each one is a prompt to return to the app, to re-enter the loop, to keep checking. That behavior is not accidental; it is engineered. The more you interact with the app, the more valuable you become as a user. Not because you are getting healthier, but because your attention, your habits, and your data are monetizable assets.

For example, Oura requires a paid monthly membership to access detailed metrics, including many that the ring is already collecting. Fitbit offers a “premium” tier that unlocks expanded analysis and coaching tools. In both cases, your own body’s data is held behind a paywall. What you are buying is not just a health device—it is ongoing access to information about yourself, packaged and interpreted by someone else’s algorithm.

Beyond subscriptions, there are additional layers of value extraction. Your biometric data—whether or not it is personally identifiable—can be aggregated, analyzed, and repurposed. These data streams are useful for machine learning development, corporate wellness programs, health research partnerships, and future product rollouts. In this economy, the body is not sacred. It is a resource to be mined.

It is easy to forget that these companies do not exist to support your healing. They exist to generate returns for investors. That is not a cynical interpretation of their efforts; it is the legal obligation of a company to make money for investors. Publicly traded companies are required to prioritize shareholder value, and their boards are bound by a legal fiduciary responsiblity to work in the best interests of their shareholders financial welfare, which means decisions around design, data use, and product development are ultimately driven by profitability—not by human wellbeing.

The impact of this model is not always visible right away. It reveals itself slowly, in the gradual erosion of trust in your own sensations. Over time, the app becomes the authority. If it tells you that your sleep was poor, you may start to doubt how rested you feel. If it gives you a high readiness score, you may push through fatigue that your body was asking you to respect. Each time that shift happens—each time an external score overrides an internal signal—the technology becomes a little more central, and you become a little less sovereign in your own experience.

This is the deeper concern. Not that the metrics are imperfect, though they are. Not even that the business model relies on dependence, though it does. The concern is that, under the guise of empowerment, we are being conditioned to hand over the most basic elements of bodily wisdom to systems that do not know us, do not care for us, and are not designed to support healing in any real or relational way.

The more we rely on these devices to tell us how we feel, the more difficult it becomes to hear what the body is saying on its own.

Returning to the Wisdom of the Body

There is a kind of medicine that lives outside of screens. It does not need scores or apps or predictive algorithms to tell you how you are doing. It begins with something much older, and much more intimate: your own felt sense of being alive.

This is not romantic nostalgia. It is a call to remember that your body has its own language—one that can be learned, listened to, and trusted. Every day, your system offers signals about what it needs and how it’s doing: the texture of your energy, the steadiness of your breath, the clarity of your thoughts, the quality of your rest. These signals are not noise. They are the foundation of real self-knowledge.

At Root & Branch, this is where we begin. We practice a form of medicine that does not extract you from your experience but guides you more deeply into it. Chinese medicine has always been rooted in observation—not just by the practitioner, but by the patient. The pulse, the breath, the sleep, the dreams—these are meaningful data points, but they are not reduced to numbers. They are read in context, with care and curiosity.

When patients come to us, we are not trying to optimize them. We are trying to help them feel at home in their bodies again. Sometimes that means sleeping more deeply. Sometimes it means waking with clarity. Sometimes it means understanding what fatigue is trying to say, rather than overriding it. We do not measure success by how well someone fits a norm. We measure it by how clearly they can hear themselves—and how gently they are able to respond.

There is a place for technology, but it should never replace your own inner sense of knowing. You do not need permission from a device to trust how you feel. You do not need a score to validate your rest. What you need is space to reconnect—with your breath, with your rhythms, with the signals your body is offering every day.

If you are ready to come back to yourself, we are here. Root & Branch is a place where your experience matters. Where we listen. Where we help you learn to listen, too.

---

Sources*

Brigham and Women’s Hospital. “Wearable Sleep Trackers Put to the Test: Oura Ring, Apple Watch, Fitbit Compared to Gold-Standard Sleep Study.” Sleep Review, 7 May 2024, https://sleepreviewmag.com/sleep-diagnostics/consumer-sleep-tracking/wearable-sleep-trackers/oura-ring-apple-watch-fitbit-face-off-sleep-accuracy-study/.

Jeon, M., et al. “Validation of Fitbit Inspire 2 for Sleep Staging Against Polysomnography.” Journal of Sleep Medicine, vol. 21, no. 1, Jan. 2024, pp. 15–22. https://pmc.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/articles/PMC9985403/.

Lee, S.Y., et al. “Accuracy of Fitbit Sleep Staging Compared With Polysomnography in Healthy Adults.” Journal of Sleep Medicine, vol. 18, no. 3, Mar. 2022, pp. 131–139. https://e-jsm.org/journal/view.php?doi=10.13078/jsm.220019.

Oura Health. “Oura Ring Validated Against Polysomnography by University of Tokyo Researchers.” Oura Blog, 18 Oct. 2023, https://ouraring.com/blog/oura-ring-accuracy-validation-study-university-of-tokyo/.

Why Word Of Mouth Matters

When someone finds something that really works—whether it’s a great plumber, a dependable mechanic, or a clinic that actually helps them feel better—they often tell a few people about it. These small acts of sharing are how most of us discover the things we come to trust. But in today’s world, it’s easy to assume that businesses grow because of digital advertising, clever algorithms, or a strong social media presence. That might be true for products or viral trends, but it’s not how real, local, service-based care actually grows.

Two women talk over breakfast

We’re often asked why we don’t post more on social media, or why we don’t invest in digital ads to “get the word out.” And the answer is fairly simple: digital marketing is expensive, competitive, and poorly suited to the kind of work we do. We’re not selling a quick fix or a single-use item—we’re offering care that takes time, relationship, and trust. And those are not things that people usually buy because they saw a well-placed Instagram ad.

The truth is, even if we wanted to pour energy into online advertising, we’d be competing with large health systems, national supplement companies, and digital health brands with marketing budgets that could cover our entire operating costs many times over. The internet is noisy. Attention is fragmented. And the kind of depth that Chinese medicine offers doesn’t lend itself easily to short-form content or click-through campaigns. What we do is slow. It’s personal. It requires a willingness to sit with someone and really listen. That’s not something you can package into a sponsored post.

And even if you could, it still might not work. There’s an old rule of thumb in marketing that says it takes about seven times for someone to hear about something before they decide to act. That number isn’t precise, of course, but the underlying point holds true. People rarely make decisions the first time they hear about something new. They need reminders. They need to hear it from someone they trust. They need to feel like the choice is safe and the path is familiar. And in our experience, nothing moves that process along more effectively than word of mouth.

When someone you trust says, “You should check them out,” it means more than a dozen glowing reviews online. When a coworker tells you that acupuncture helped their headaches or that their digestion finally improved, it creates a kind of opening. You don’t have to understand how it works—you just start to wonder if maybe it could help you, too. That small opening is where the real momentum begins.

And for clinics like ours, that momentum is essential. We don’t have investors. We don’t have billboard campaigns or prime-time ad slots. We grow because people like you have good experiences, and then tell someone else. That’s it. That’s the whole engine.

So when you recommend us to a friend, or share a blog post that resonated, or casually mention in conversation that acupuncture helped you sleep through the night for the first time in weeks—you’re doing more than passing along information. You’re actively supporting our survival. You’re helping to keep a small, local business open. You’re helping a clinic stay available for the next person who needs care. And you’re helping grow a model of healthcare that still believes in time, attention, and personalized support.

It doesn’t have to be a grand gesture. You don’t need to post on social media or deliver a speech about Chinese medicine to your book club. Sometimes it’s enough to say, “I think my acupuncturist might be able to help with that,” or to hand someone a card, or to write a few honest sentences in a review. These small, direct, person-to-person exchanges do more for us than any algorithm ever could.

In a time when people are inundated with ads and recommendations from all directions, a real voice still carries weight. Your voice—genuine, human, and grounded in your own experience—is what makes people listen. And in a landscape where small businesses are often drowned out by louder, better-funded ones, that kind of word of mouth matters more than ever.

So if our work has helped you, if you’ve felt better in your body or more steady in your mind because of the care you’ve received, we hope you’ll consider sharing that with someone. Not because we’re trying to grow fast, but because we want to keep doing this for the long haul. We want to stay open, stay available, and keep offering care that is thoughtful, effective, and rooted in something more lasting than trends.

The future of small, relational, whole-person medicine depends on people talking to people. And that kind of support can’t be bought. It has to be offered freely, one conversation at a time.

---

Wanna help us get the word out? Give this flyer to your friends!

Had a great experience? Leave us a review

What They Came In For: Peripheral Neuropathy

When Karen T. first came to us, she described it like this:
“It feels like my feet are wooden blocks.”

It hadn’t started that way. At first, it was just an odd tingling—a kind of buzzing across the tops of her feet at night. Then a kind of numbness at the tips of her toes. She thought maybe her shoes were too tight. Maybe it was just circulation. But over time, the buzzing turned to burning. The numbness spread. She started feeling unsteady when walking. Sometimes her legs felt like they belonged to someone else. Other times, it was all she could feel—burning, stabbing, buzzing, aching—and no one could tell her why.

She didn’t have diabetes. She wasn’t on chemotherapy. Her labs looked fine. Her neurologist ran the tests, shrugged, and said, “Idiopathic.” Which, in medical language, is a polite way of saying: we don’t know.

“I guess it’s just nerves,” Karen said, laughing tightly. “But that doesn’t make it feel any less real.”

She had tried gabapentin. It made her groggy and forgetful but didn’t touch the pain. She tried B vitamins. Topical creams. Magnesium. Warm socks. Nothing helped. She felt like she was chasing sensation—trying to catch what was still there before it faded completely.

When she came to Root and Branch, what she wanted was simple:
“I just want to feel my feet again.”

We started, as we always do, by listening. And then by mapping.

We had her close her eyes while we gently touched different parts of her feet and lower legs. She pointed to the places she could still feel—sharp here, dull there, nothing at all along the outside of her heel. We marked the edges. Traced where sensation faded and where pain flared. It wasn’t about finding a single diagnosis. It was about learning the landscape of her body—what had gone quiet, what was still speaking, and what might be trying to come back online.

We looked at her tongue and pulse. Asked about her digestion, sleep, circulation, energy. Her body told a story of cold in the channels, blood not flowing freely, the yang of the lower body not reaching the periphery. In Chinese medicine, neuropathy is rarely a standalone problem—it’s a pattern of stagnation and depletion, often years in the making.

We prescribed a custom herbal formula that became the cornerstone of her treatment. Not something generic for “nerve pain,” but a blend built for her: to warm the channels, nourish the blood, invigorate circulation, and open the pathways between the core and the limbs.

She took the formula twice a day. We adjusted it every few weeks as her symptoms changed. And slowly, they did.

We paired the herbs with specialized acupuncture—targeting points that improve blood flow to the legs and feet, awaken dormant nerve pathways, and signal the body to rebuild sensation. We used shallow needling along the areas of numbness to reintroduce stimulus gently, and stronger stimulation at key distal points to boost circulation from the inside out.

Each week, we repeated the map. Touched the same places. Tracked what was coming back.

First, she noticed she could feel the floor more when she walked. Then, she could feel temperature differences between surfaces. The pain episodes became less frequent, less severe. The buzzing turned down to a whisper. She didn’t feel normal yet—but she felt something again.

And that was everything.

“I can tell my body’s trying again,” she said once. “That it’s not giving up on me.”

We see both kinds of neuropathy in our clinic—diabetic and otherwise. We treat the kind with a clear label, and the kind that gets called “idiopathic.” Either way, our approach is the same: we work with what’s in front of us. We listen to the body’s signals. We build a treatment plan rooted in Chinese medicine’s deep understanding of circulation, sensation, and repair. And we don’t stop at symptom management—we support the body in changing the pattern.

What Karen came in for was simple: she wanted to feel her feet again.

What she got was sensation, yes—but also confidence, balance, and the sense that her body was still hers.

If you’re living with numbness, tingling, burning, or strange sensations that no one has been able to explain, know that there are still options. We don’t promise overnight results. But we can offer care that pays attention. That tracks change. That sees what’s missing—and works to bring it back.

Because even when the cause is unknown, healing is still possible.

Qi Node 7: 立夏 Lìxià (Summer Begins)

Leaning into the Fire of Summer

The Qi Node of Lìxià 立夏 (Summer Begins) marks the arrival of full-fledged Yang qi. Gone are the tentative stretches of Spring—Summer is here, urging everything to expand, push forward, and burn brightly. If you’ve been following this Qi Node series, you already understand that Chinese cosmology sees time as fluid and cyclical. Each season transforms into the next, each moment carries the momentum of the one before. Lìxià is more than just a shift in temperature; it is an invitation to move in harmony with the season’s momentum.

Summer belongs to Fire (Huǒ 火) in the Five Phase (Wǔxíng 五行) system, a phase associated with warmth, passion, transformation, and outward expression. Fire spreads, radiates, and consumes—it is a force of movement, encouraging both literal and metaphorical heat. In the body, Fire is governed by the Heart (Xīn 心), which in Chinese Medicine is more than just a circulatory organ. It is the seat of Shén 神, or consciousness—the part of us that experiences joy, connection, and clarity of mind. When Fire is in balance, we feel alive, inspired, and deeply engaged with the world. But when Fire burns too hot, we can become overheated, restless, or emotionally scattered.

The arrival of Lìxià calls for movement and engagement. After Winter’s deep stillness and Spring’s cautious expansion, Summer demands that we fully show up—whether that means stepping into social interactions, taking action on creative projects, or embracing new adventures. This is a time for expression—to speak, to create, to experience. But like any fire, it must be tended carefully. Too much intensity can lead to burnout, while too little can leave us feeling sluggish and disconnected from the season’s natural rhythm.

Balancing the body’s internal heat becomes essential during this time. Cooling foods such as watermelon, cucumbers, and mint help regulate temperature, while bitter greens like dandelion or arugula support the Heart and circulation. Summer is the perfect time to enjoy light, fresh, and hydrating meals, avoiding heavy or greasy foods that weigh down digestion. Hydration is key, but excess ice-cold drinks can weaken the digestive system, making it more difficult for the body to process nutrients effectively. Instead, gentle cooling—through food, rest, and mindfulness—helps regulate the Fire within.

Physical movement aligns naturally with the season’s energy, but it, too, must be done with awareness. Summer encourages activity, exploration, and social connection, yet it’s important to listen to the body’s needs. Particularly as the seasonal Yang qi expands and Fire becomes more dominant, exercising early in the morning or in the cool of the evening can prevent overheating, while taking breaks to rest ensures that the Fire phase does not burn unchecked. In the same way that Fire requires both oxygen and containment to be useful, our own energy thrives when we find a balance between engagement and restoration.

Just as Fire’s physical expression must be tempered, so must its emotional and mental manifestations. Lìxià is ruled by joy and excitement for the exansion in activity and recreation, but excessive excitement can lead to restlessness, anxiety, and difficulty finding stillness. The Heart’s spirit, Shén, thrives not only in moments of exuberance but also in times of quiet reflection. Taking time in the evenings to slow down—through deep breathing, gentle movement, or simply watching the sunset—can help regulate the intensity of Summer’s high energy. Presence, rather than excess, is the key to balance.

At its core, Lìxià asks us to step into our fullest expression. Fire is the element of truth and visibility—it burns away what is unnecessary and reveals what is real. This season encourages us to speak openly, laugh loudly, connect deeply, and live fully. But like any powerful force, Fire must be tended, not allowed to run wild. It is the difference between a steady flame that warms and inspires and an uncontrolled blaze that leaves us depleted.

Aligning Your Life with Lìxià

To move in harmony with the season’s energy, consider these practical ways to integrate Lìxià’s Fire into your daily life:

Embrace the Outward Flow

• Accept invitations and engage in social activities.

• Reconnect with old friends and strengthen relationships.

• Take action on creative ideas or long-standing projects.

Support the Body with Seasonal Eating

• Eat cooling foods like watermelon, cucumbers, and fresh mint.

• Incorporate bitter greens (e.g., dandelion, arugula) to nourish the Heart.

• Stay hydrated, but limit excess ice-cold drinks to protect digestion.

Move in Alignment with the Season

• Balance activity with rest to prevent burnout. Fire is taking control, but it’s not fully there yet.

• Spend time outdoors—swimming, hiking, dancing, or exploring new places.

Balance Joy with Rest

• Take time for quiet reflection in the evenings.

• Meditate or practice mindfulness to settle restless energy.

• Enjoy laughter and excitement without overextending yourself.

Honor the Heart’s True Fire

• Speak your truth and express yourself authentically.

• Foster deep connections—with loved ones, with nature, and with yourself.

• Recognize when your Fire needs tending—avoid both overindulgence and depletion.

---

Lìxià is not just about heat—it is about life in full expression. This is the season to expand, explore, and radiate warmth, but also to maintain the steady glow of sustainable energy. Let the Fire of Summer illuminate rather than consume, and find the balance that allows you to move forward with joy, clarity, and vitality.

What They Came In For: IBS

When Josh L. first came in, he was embarrassed to talk about what was going on. Not because it was a secret exactly—he’d already been to his primary care doctor, a GI specialist, and a nutritionist. He’d Googled more than he wanted to admit. He’d tried cutting out gluten, dairy, coffee, sugar. Tried probiotics, peppermint capsules, digestive enzymes. Nothing really helped.

But still, the idea of describing his digestion out loud to a stranger felt like crossing a line. “I just don’t want to be that guy,” he said. “You know, the one who won’t shut up about his stomach.”

His symptoms had been going on for over two years by then—long enough to start shaping how he lived. Some days were fine. Other days, he’d eat something perfectly normal—grilled chicken, a salad, a bowl of rice—and suddenly be doubled over with cramping and urgency an hour later. Sometimes he was constipated for days. Other times, everything ran straight through. He couldn’t predict it. Couldn’t track it. He just always had to be near a bathroom, just in case.

The GI doctor told him it was IBS and ruled out anything more serious. Which was reassuring. But also… not.

“It kind of felt like getting diagnosed with a shrug,” Josh told us. “Like, well, it’s not cancer, so good luck out there.”

By the time he came to Root and Branch, he was tired—of managing, of second-guessing every meal, of pretending like everything was fine when it wasn’t. He didn’t necessarily expect Chinese medicine to fix it. But he figured it couldn’t hurt to try something different.

We started, as we always do, by listening. We asked about his symptoms, yes—but also about his story. About how long things had felt off. About how stress landed in his body. About the nights his gut kept him awake, and the strange way everything tightened during even minor decisions. In Chinese medicine, IBS isn’t a single condition—it’s a pattern. And patterns are about relationships, not just symptoms.

We looked at his tongue, felt his pulse, asked questions that might seem unrelated—about his energy, his sleep, his ability to relax after meals. His body was sending clear signals: a digestive system stuck in a state of overreaction, with underlying weakness and cold. A gut that had lost its rhythm—and was now swinging too far in both directions.

That’s where the herbal medicine came in.

We formulated a custom blend just for him—something to gently warm the center, regulate the bowel, and calm the overactivity without suppressing it. Not a one-size-fits-all gut cleanse. Not something to mask the discomfort. But a formula crafted to meet his body exactly where it was, and help guide it back toward balance.

That formula became the foundation of his care. It changed as he changed—adjusted every few weeks to respond to how his symptoms shifted. It was the steady thread that helped his gut relearn how to behave with consistency, how to regulate, how to heal.

We paired it with acupuncture to support the nervous system and settle the emotional undercurrents. But it was the herbs that did the heavy lifting. Within the first week, his urgency calmed. Within two weeks, his bowel movements had begun to normalize. Meals felt less like a risk. The panic around food started to dissolve.

“I didn’t realize how loud my gut had become until it got quiet,” he told us one day. “I feel like my whole system is less reactive now. Like I finally have a little space between what I eat and what happens next.”

That’s one of the things we hear often in the clinic: not just that people feel better, but that they feel more in relationship with their bodies again. Less like they’re fighting themselves. More like they’re being heard.

Josh’s symptoms didn’t disappear overnight. But over time, his gut stopped being the loudest voice in the room. He started trusting his digestion again. Started eating meals without bracing. Started going about his day without needing an exit strategy.

What he came in for was relief.

What he got was something deeper: clarity, regulation, and a sense of being understood.

If you’re struggling with digestive issues that seem invisible to everyone else, know that you’re not alone—and you’re not imagining it. And if you’ve been told “there’s nothing else to try,” we’d like to gently offer: there might be.

Because we don’t just treat IBS. We treat people. And your body is always telling a story. We're here to help it tell a different one.

Qi Node 6: 谷雨 Gǔyǔ (Grain Rain)

This is the first of the interseasonal transition nodes in the year. Each season belongs to one of the five Chinese phases of qi movement:

Spring: Wood

Summer: Fire

Fall: Metal

Winter: Water

But what of the fifth phase, Earth?

The nature of Earth is to hold space, to be the literal ground upon which everything else is built. It functions as the counterpoint to the ephemeral nature of Heaven by being solid, heavy, and slow to move. This constancy is exactly what is necessary when the qi of the seasons shifts. Moving from any one seasonal qi to another would be jarring without a stabilizing force. The upward and outward movement of Wood, for example, would be severely exacerbated by the intense vertical nature of Fire and would likely result in stronger heat pathogens, more violent storms, and irregular plant growth that could result in die-offs and less yield. All these problems are prevented by the nature of Earth, which presents at four qi nodes throughout the year, each placed between seasons so that Earth can be a neutral meeting place, a context for one season to hand off its reigns to the next season without jostling for control or position. Grain Rain is the first of such Earth influenced Qi nodes.

Of course, this node has its own flavour beyond being an Earth node. It represents the increasing warmth of Yang qi and thus infuses the growing process with a tendency to expand and to replicate. Blossoms appear everywhere, nectar-rich fruit trees call the pollinators from near and far, and the ground is abuzz with activity, promising future abundance. The booming sound of thunder forecasts a healthy coming season and functions to welcome the potency of Summer Yang Qi.

Now is the time to make your own transitions:
Graduate from school, take that new promotion, move to a new house,
play music, and dance.

Special Note: All Earth aligned transition qi nodes pose potential health problems related to Chinese medicine dampness. For Grain Rain, this usually means Wind Dampness showing as nasal congestion, dry throat, seasonal allergies, and indigestion. In many ways, your experience during this node highlights your conduct from last autumn and your investment in cultivating the qi of Spring. If you find your health to be less than optimal, this Fall will provide you another opportunity to make a shift that could benefit you next Spring. Each part of the cycle gives us insight into the way we have adapted to previous parts of the year and provides the opportunity to conform our conduct to our circumstances. Every moment is an opportunity to leverage our activity and headspace in the service of our own wellbeing.

The Cosmic Cycle: Yin and Yang

Years ago I listened to a recorded lecture from one of my favorite Chinese cosmological teachers, Liu Ming, where he off-handedly talked about Yang as an emperor of China. That is, he had crafted a neat metaphor for the movement of qi through the lens of Chinese imperial intrigue. He never fully told the story, but you’d get little snippets here and there that gave me a little taste for this remarkably vivid tale of cosmic enfolding. So, I decided to finally write it out. Below is a storybook telling of the endless cycle of Yin and Yang. Thanks for the inspiration Ming, you are deeply missed.

A Tale of Yin and Yang Through the Seasons

At the waning edge of winter, atop frozen soil and beside deep snow drifts, the palace lies quiet. In its dim corridors, Empress Yin rules through the pull of her intrinsic gravity. She is composed, ageless, elegant. She wears robes the color of smoke and old bone, and she walks with the authority of someone who has seen many cycles. The court respects her deeply, though few understand the depth of her wisdom. She watches the land with calm eyes, aware that her time is nearing its turn.

Beneath her care, a subtle fire barely glows in the brazier of Heaven's hearth. From a glowing ember, a child is born. He is small, restless, always moving. This is Yang, a prince of heaven, but still just a seed of what he will become. She wraps him in thick robes, feeds him warm broths, keeps him close. She sees in him not just potential, but inevitability. The future will be his. But not yet.

As the calendar turns toward spring (Lìchūn 立春 ), the air still holds winter's bite. Yang, the young prince, plays carefully in cold courtyards, his laughter muffled by woolen layers. He presses his hands to the frost-covered windows, watches birds stir in bare branches, and kicks up dry leaves still left from autumn. His breath fogs the air. He is not ready to bloom, but he is watching, waiting, and learning the rhythm of the light.

Empress Yin keeps him close to the hearth. She feeds him rich congee, wraps his small hands in silk, and murmurs old stories about the seasons to come. She is still in full command, her court steady and dignified, her presence the axis upon which the world turns.

As the days grow longer, the garden soil begins to warm. Buds swell, and small green shoots push through cracks in stone paths (Jīngzhé 惊蛰). Yang grows stronger, his voice louder. He sheds his layers more eagerly now, dashing barefoot in moments, though still called back to warmth when the wind rises. His laughter returns to the courtyards with a new brightness, his curiosity sharpening as he questions the guards, the gardeners, and the scholars who pass through the halls.

By the time of Spring Equinox (Chūnfēn 春分), Yang stands taller. His movements are confident, his energy infectious. He begins to take small roles in court life, bringing light and warmth with him. The empire stirs under his presence. Though Yin still governs, her posture has softened and her courtiers begin to include the young Yang in their discussions. She watches his rise not with worry, but with knowing.

Empress Yin Stokes The Ember of Yang

Yang Plays Under Yin's Watch

Growing Yang Inspires Spring

As the weather reflects a real warmth the people associate with Spring (Gǔyǔ 谷雨), Yang is now a young man. The trees explode with flowers, anticipating the fruit that will grow and spring crops push through soil with excitement. Yang begins to speak in council, not just to learn but to lead. His clarity, his vision, his energy inspire the court, and people feel more alive around him. Empress Yin has grown more grandmotherly—her presence softer now, more distant. She no longer walks far from her chambers, but her gaze remains sharp. She watches as her grandson comes into his power and smiles softly to herself.

As Summer begins (Lìxià 立夏), Yang is crowned Emperor, and he sits upon the throne of Heaven. He is golden and tall -- his robes shimmering like sunlight on water. Under his rule, the empire blooms and fields overflow; rivers rush. Trade, laughter, and labor all dance in the heat of his glory. He builds bridges, leads hunts, reforms old laws. Artists and philosophers flourish under his protection. Festivals stretch into the night, and the common people sing his praises in poems and songs. He is not only powerful, but admired—a symbol of vitality, purpose, and light.

Empress Yin no longer appears in court. Her strength has waned. In her final days, she watches the gardens from her window, her hands folded, her face serene. Just before solstice, she slips away without fanfare, returning to the Earth she once ruled.

At the peak of Summer (Xiàzhì 夏至), Yang reaches his zenith. His courtiers sing his praises in endless scrolls. The empire is dazzling. The land pulses with vitality. Yang stands at the center of it all—radiant, resplendent, unstoppable.

But something in him has begun to flicker. At night, he dreams of cold winds and quiet halls, waking with unease. He notices new lines at his temples and a tremor in his fingers after speeches. He begins to wonder—who will come next? Will they honor what he has built, or sweep it away?

Yang Matures And Begins To Lead

Yang Inspires The Kingdom To Action

Emperor Yang Presides Over Abundance But Doubts Begin

He feels his hold on power growing soft, so he tightens his grip. He grows wary of succession. Questions in council grow sharp, and he rewrites old laws — not to be more just, but to preserve his influence. His greatness has not vanished, but now it counsels agression and control rather that generosity and growth.

Yang's smoldering paranoia begins to burn too hot (Dàshǔ 大暑 ). The more he clings, the more the fire turns inward. Ministers walk in fear. The once-lively court grows hushed. Where once he inspired, he now watches shadows on the walls, convinced they conspire against him.

What he built now feels fragile, something easily taken by a greedy successor, and the weight of preserving what he has made presses heavily on his shoulders. His sons whisper in the corridors. He hears their voices, but never their words, imagining them discussing how to take his throne and cast him out. His meals are tasted three times. His sleep is broken by dreams of the scrolls detailing his mighty deeds burning to ash — the smoke obscuring his vision and leaving him in darkness.

He lashes out, throwing goblets and shouting in anger. He storms through halls in the dead of night. The land dries, fires spark, storms become violent. Crops wither. Even the sky grows weary of his rage.

He begins to consider darker things -- rewrites to the rules of ascension; purges of his heirs and theirs. His legacy looms large, but he can no longer see where it ends and he begins.

In a quiet corridor of the palace, a child coalesces from the darkness and a mild evening breeze. She is barely more than a whisper: Yin reborn. Not the old Empress, but her descendant. She wears no crown. She carries no sword. But her presence cools the air.

When she takes the Emperor's hand, something stirs deep within him—an echo of a memory, soft and piercing. He sees the old Empress Yin, his grandmother, as she once was: her steady gaze, her warm bowls of broth, her hands wrapping his in silk. He remembers the way she ruled—not through command, but through presence.

The child does not speak. She does not need to. Her silence contains the weight of lineage, the rhythm of seasons, the calm inevitability of change.

Yang looks into her eyes and realizes that the changes he has been fighting are not a threat, but are part of an infinite continuity. The shifting focus is not erasure, but remembrance. His fire, long untamed, begins to settle. The roar within him quiets to his own steady heartbeat. The raging heat in his chest gives way to a soft, aching warmth.

He weeps—not in despair, but in relief.

And he begins to fade.

Emperor Yang Will Not Accept His Decline

Child Yin Reminds Yang Of His Purpose

The season turns and Autumn begins (Lìqiū 立秋). The whole empire’s posture changes, becoming softer as its leader shifts. Yang no longer commands attention, but walks with quiet dignity. He has rescinded his violent orders and made space for child Yin's training and encouragement. He watches her growing stronger. Yin asks questions. She studies the stars and the scrolls. Her mind is sharp. Her movements graceful. The court begins to notice her—not as a novelty, but as a presence.

For some people in the court, Yang's decline feels like a loss. They miss his vibrancy, his potency. But Yang reminds them that this is not a time of mourning, but of transition. As Yang fades, Yin blossoms. Her elegance deepens. Her voice is low, steady. She is a student of history and a keeper of lineage. She walks with her grandmother’s memories in her blood.

This is not the end of Yang. It is the maturation of Yin.

Yin ascends to the throne as Winter begins (Lìdōng 立冬). There is no parade of trumpets, no grand decree—only the silent, seamless knowing of the court. She does not seize power. She inhabits it. Her posture carries the gravity of the ancestors. Her crown is delicately woven silver studded with opals and saphires. Her presence is cool and luminous, a lantern in a long corridor.

Under her rule, the palace deepens (Xiǎoxuě 小雪). The music grows slower, more intricate, more complex. Dignitaries speak in lower tones. Rich foods—root vegetable stews, glutinous rice, spiced broths—are served with quiet reverence. She recalls the lineage of rulers past, weaving their memory into her counsel.

Yang, now fully faded, lingers only in warmth—by the hearth, in dreams, in the firelight of her gaze.

Young Yin Grows in Wisdom While Yang Encourages Her

Yin Is Crowned Empress And Mother Of All Creation

In the deepening dark of Winter (Dōngzhì 冬至) the palace glows with lantern light. The air is cold, but the halls are full. Empress Yin presides over a court rich in song and ceremony. Musicians play ancient melodies. The scent of braised meats and warm grains fills the air. Elders share stories beside braziers. Children recite poems beneath embroidered banners. Time slows.

There is no shouting, no striving—only a deep, reflective stillness. A quiet majesty. Her reign is one of nourishment, memory, and depth. She gathers the past into the present like a cloak and wears it lightly, beautifully.

Yet even after Solstice, Yin's power expands. The days remain short, the wind sharper (Dàhán 大寒). Snow thickens on the stone steps of the palace, and frost etches the windows with delicate, unspoken truths. Her court grows even quieter, not with absence but with reminiscence.

Yin moves through the chambers like a dream remembered. Her presence invites silence, reflection, restoration. It is a time of keeping close, of drawing inward, of sitting with what is real. The foods are darker now—black sesame, fermented beans, strong teas. The songs echo farther in the cold, their notes clinging to the walls like stories.

She does not seek stimulation, only stillness. She does not resist the coming end. In this, she is different from Yang. She will not fight the fading of her influence, because she knows it is not an ending. It is a return.

And in the quietest room of the palace, she watches the hearth. And at its center, a single ember stirs again.

The cycle begins anew

Empress Yin Encourages Restoration

Empress Yin Presides Over Reminiscence

Empress Yin Watches Yangs Ember

The Whole Story

What Can We Help With?

There is a moment we see often in clinic. It usually happens between the second and third visit, during a quiet pause between questions, or sometimes after the first few needles are placed. The patient exhales, softens, and says something like, “I didn’t know you could treat this.”

It’s a common misunderstanding. Many people believe that Chinese medicine is only for back pain, stress, or problems that have not responded to anything else. That it is a last resort, or something to try when nothing else has worked.

But Chinese medicine is much broader than that. While we are not considered primary care providers in the legal or conventional sense, we often function in that role for our patients. We are the person someone calls first, the one who tracks the bigger picture, and the one who remembers the story—not just the symptoms. For many people, that feels like primary care. Because it is care that comes first, and it considers the whole person.

We treat pain, of course—back pain, headaches, neck tension, joint aches. But we also treat the quieter things: the digestion that has never felt quite right, the sleep that comes but doesn’t hold, the cycles that are irregular or painful, the hormones that feel off. These are the kinds of issues that may not show up clearly on lab work, but still affect day-to-day life.

We often support people through the in-between times. When you are not acutely ill, but not quite well either. When things are not “urgent,” but they are persistent. We see people with low energy, foggy thinking, fluctuating digestion, lingering fatigue, or recurrent infections. These concerns may not seem serious at first, but they can quietly interfere with your quality of life. We work to help shift those patterns in a lasting and gentle way.

We also treat acute conditions—colds, coughs, stomach bugs, seasonal flus. Some people come in at the first sign of something, hoping to recover quickly or avoid antibiotics. Others come in afterward, when a lingering cough or fatigue will not go away. Chinese medicine can help at both ends of that process: it supports the immune system, clears what the body is having trouble resolving, and helps people return to a place of ease.

We treat cycles—menstrual, emotional, seasonal, and those that arise from major life changes. We work with people during menopause, postpartum recovery, chronic stress, and fatigue that builds from years of doing too much. These are slow processes. We meet them with patience and consistency.

We approach anxiety not as something to be erased, but as something to be understood. We treat it by working with the nervous system, the breath, and the body’s deeper rhythms. We don’t promise to “fix” anxiety. But we can help regulate the systems that underlie it. That work is meaningful, and often transformative over time.

Our medicine is not built around quick fixes, although sometimes relief comes quickly. Most of the time, change is gradual. We listen, we track, and we respond. We pay attention to how the body speaks through patterns, timing, and symptom clusters. We are not just looking for what hurts. We are trying to understand why now, and how it all fits together.

If you have ever wondered whether Chinese medicine could help with what you’re experiencing, the answer is probably yes. Not because it is a cure-all, but because it is a system designed to understand the whole of a person. It meets you where you are and works from there.

Some people come in with one clear concern—headaches, reflux, painful periods. Others come in with a collection of things that seem loosely connected—fatigue, poor sleep, low mood, or trouble focusing. Some come in because they want to feel more like themselves, more balanced, or more steady. All of that is welcome.

You do not need to have a diagnosis to start. You do not need to explain everything perfectly. You just need to have the sense that something could feel better, and the openness to explore that with us.

So what can we help with?
Quite a lot.

And if you are not sure whether your concerns fit, that’s okay too. Reach out. Ask. Share what has been going on, even if it does not fit neatly into a category. We are here to listen.

We may not carry the title of primary care provider, but many of our patients rely on us in that way. We are here for the long-term relationships, not just the acute flares. For the slow improvement, not just the symptom management. For the full complexity of your life, not just the parts that feel medically urgent.

That is the kind of care we offer. And for many people, it is exactly what they have been looking for.

Qi Node 5: 清明 Qīngmíng (Clear and Bright)

Clarity, Renewal, and the Brightness of Spring

From the equality of Yin and Yang during the previous Spring Equinox qi node, now Yang qi emerges as a pure and glowing pristine version of itself, fully reborn into all its active and moving glory. The lengthening days are very obvious now and there is more energy and motivation to spur new growth and the coming abundance of Summer. Yang is fully leading the calendar now. From this node until Summer Solstice, Yin will continue to fade into the background, which should remind us to be mindful of our Yin resources as they are not as abundant through the warm and energetic months of late Spring and Summer.

Classical painting of Chinese people participating in a QingMing ancestor ritual

The arrival of 清明 Qīngmíng marks a moment of profound transformation in the seasonal cycle. Often translated as “Clear and Bright”, this Qi Node signals the full awakening of Spring, when the world is washed clean by rain and illuminated by the returning warmth of the sun. The stagnation of Winter has fully dissolved, and the landscape is alive with movement, color, and fresh potential.

This period is deeply tied to the idea of clarity, both in nature and within ourselves. The rains cleanse the earth, nourishing the growing plants, while the increasing Yang energy invites us to shed the heaviness of the past and embrace renewal. Culturally in China and other parts of the diaspora, Qing Ming is a festival time that involves abundant rites and sacrifices for the Ancestors, one of two major festivals focused on respecting the relationship between those that are alive and those that are not. Qing Ming is a celebration of the Revered Dead (Yin aspect), a thank you from the living (Yang aspect) for having made it through another Winter. Graves are swept, flowers laid, incense burned, and stories are told. Simultaneously, Qing Ming festival is a time for planting seeds, flying kites, getting outside, and spending time with friends and relatives. It is the perfect opportunity to remember what has past and be hopeful for what is coming. It is a season that calls us to look both forward and backward, to clear away what is no longer needed while recognizing the foundation upon which we stand.

In the body, this is a time of movement and lightness. The sluggishness of Winter begins to lift, and the Liver—the organ most associated with Spring in Chinese Medicine—continues its work of circulating energy and clearing stagnation. When the Liver is in balance, we feel motivated, energized, and emotionally steady. When blocked, we may experience irritability, frustration, or a lingering sense of heaviness. Just as Spring rains refresh the landscape, Qīngmíng encourages us to release what is stuck, whether physically, emotionally, or mentally.

This is the season to move, breathe, and open up. Spending time in nature, breathing deeply, and engaging in gentle cleansing practices all help to align us with the fresh, unburdened quality of this moment. But just as Spring’s winds and rains can be unpredictable, it is also a time to stay flexible—to move forward with intention, but without rigidity. Qīngmíng is not about forcing change, but rather allowing it to unfold naturally, like new leaves unfurling in the morning light.

Practically, the arrival of Qing Ming marks the perfect opportunity to finally pull the trigger on all the projects, ideas, and activities we have been planning and preparing for. If the weather is harmonious and the frosts have passed where you live, it’s time to start putting some plants in the ground that you prepared these last several weeks. It’s time to begin the light training for that marathon you are going to run this summer. It’s time to break ground on that expansion or to start producing the test versions of that new product you want to develop.

Aligning Your Life with 清明 Qīngmíng

To move in harmony with this season of renewal, focus on practices that support clarity, movement, and release.

Refresh the Body with Lightness and Flow

• Eat fresh, green, and seasonal foods to support the Liver’s function.

• Incorporate bitter and sour flavors (e.g., dandelion greens, citrus) to aid in natural detoxification.

• Drink plenty of water and light herbal teas (e.g., mint, chrysanthemum) to clear internal heat and stagnation.

Move with the Energy of Spring

• Spend time outdoors—walk, hike, or practice qìgōng 气功 in fresh air.

• Stretch daily to keep the body open and circulation strong.

• Begin more dynamic movement (e.g., jogging, dancing) to align with the rising Yang energy.

Clear the Mind and Emotions

• Let go of lingering frustrations—journal, meditate, or practice breathwork.

• Engage in Spring cleaning, clearing both physical and mental clutter.

• Honor the past while embracing the future—visit ancestors’ graves, reflect on personal growth.

Prepare for the Season Ahead

• Adapt to changing weather—Spring can be unpredictable, so dress in layers.

• Be mindful of wind and sudden chills, which can disrupt the body’s balance.

• Set new intentions for the months ahead, aligning with the season’s fresh momentum.

Qīngmíng is a time of purification and possibility. It reminds us that just as the rains nourish the earth, we too must allow space for cleansing and renewal. By embracing the season’s clarity, movement, and openness, we align with the natural unfolding of life—stepping forward with lightness, vision, and fresh energy.

Remember too though that while the vigorous and moving activity of the warmer seasons can begin with this qi node, your conduct should still crescendo at the summer solstice in June. Learning how to modulate our enthusiasm is one of the great challenges of modern life. We treat a lot of things as on or off; do or don’t; when, in fact, healthy living follows gradual increases and decreases over the course of the year. So even though it’s exciting to finally get to do some of the things you’ve been anticipating since January, slow your roll. It’s happening. No need to shove.

What They Came In For: Pain from an Motor Vehicle Accident

When Sara M. first came to our clinic, she didn’t have high hopes. Not because she didn’t believe in Chinese medicine—she just didn’t believe anything was really going to help.

Three months earlier, she had been in a car accident. It wasn’t major, but it was enough to jolt everything. Her neck had snapped forward, her shoulder jammed tight on impact. At first it felt like soreness. A few days later, it turned into a kind of constant stiffness, and within a week it was pain—sharp, stubborn, and spreading into her upper back and arm. She couldn’t sleep well. She couldn't sit through meetings. Driving triggered it. So did picking up groceries. So did reaching behind her to grab her seatbelt.

She did what most people do. She saw her doctor, who referred her to physical therapy and gave her muscle relaxants. She tried chiropractic. She iced it. She stretched. She rested. And still, day after day, she felt like her body was stuck in some kind of aftershock.

“I just felt like I was doing all the right things,” she told us during her first visit, “and nothing was changing.”

By the time she found her way to Root and Branch, she was exhausted. Not just physically, but emotionally. She was tired of retelling the story, tired of appointments, tired of feeling like her pain was being treated like a problem to solve—rather than an experience she was still stuck inside.

We began, as we always do, by listening. We asked her to describe what she’d been feeling—not just the pain, but the ways it had changed her day-to-day life. We had her move her head and arm in a few different directions so we could see what hurt and what didn’t. Simple movements that, in her case, were no longer simple. Turning her head was difficult. Lifting her arm made her wince. Even breathing deeply seemed tight.

We gently pressed around her shoulder and upper back, not just to find the painful spots, but to understand how her body was holding the tension. Muscles that should’ve been moving freely felt locked down, like they were guarding something. Her body had been trying to protect itself for months—but now it didn’t know how to let go.

We asked about her sleep, her digestion, her energy, her stress—not because those things were “the real cause,” but because pain always has context. And part of our job is to understand the full picture.

Then we treated her.

We used acupuncture to settle her nervous system and help the muscles around her neck and shoulder begin to release. We added a few points to improve circulation and reduce inflammation, and supported the places where her body was still bracing.

After the needles came out, we did some gentle bodywork—a few small, slow movements to help her shoulder and upper back remember how to move without pain. We used a technique called counterstrain, which helps tense muscles relax by putting them in a position of comfort. Nothing forced. Nothing intense. Just a quiet invitation to soften.

We sent her home with an herbal formula to support her healing between clinic visits, and a few simple breathing exercises—not to stretch or push anything, but to give her nervous system something steady to follow. A new rhythm.

When she came back a week later, her eyes were wide.

“I can’t believe how much better I felt,” she said. “Even after the first appointment. I felt clearer. My pain wasn’t gone, but it felt like something had shifted. Like my body had finally exhaled.”

Week by week, that shift deepened. The tension unwound. The pain softened. Her sleep improved. The headaches she hadn’t even mentioned at first started happening less often. She started feeling like herself again.

It wasn’t instant. It wasn’t linear. But it was real.

And more than that—it felt like someone was finally treating her, not just her pain.

We love stories like Sara’s not because they’re miraculous, but because they’re so common. Many of our patients come in with pain that hasn’t responded to other forms of care. They’ve seen multiple providers. They’ve done the protocols. And they’re still hurting—not just in their bodies, but in the quiet places where frustration lives.

What makes Chinese medicine different isn’t just the tools we use—it’s the way we use them. With attention. With curiosity. With the understanding that the body wants to heal—and that sometimes, it just needs a new kind of invitation.

If you’ve been stuck in pain, and you’re not sure what’s next, we’re here. We may not be your first stop. But we can be the one where things finally start to shift.

Qi Node 4: 春分 Chūnfēn (Spring Equinox)

Equality of Yin and Yang

At the Spring Equinox, Yin and Yang are equal, insofar as there is an equal number of daylight and nighttime hours on the day of the equinox itself. Yang has been agitating and quivering since the last qi node, and as a weakened Yin submits to Yang’s movement and growth during this qi node, Yang is able to finally stand up on its own. At this point in the annual cycle, Yang has acquired enough maturity to direct itself in a particular direction and no longer needs the direct guidance and control of Yin, now an aged grandmother. Ironically at the moment when Grandma may not remember all the details of the past or when she might be less able to physically engage with the world is exactly the time when young Yang has realized that Grandmother Yin has a lot of experience and wants to take time to ask her questions and have her help him understand his role. When Yin was potent and endlessly supplying this wisdom, Yang was dormant or too young to grasp the importance of its lineage and its heritage.

It is important to note that though we talk about an equality of Yin and Yang at the equinox, we do not mean that there are equal parts yin and equal parts yang in the cosmos. Yin as a force is always the larger and substantive body while Yang is much smaller in scale but more frenetic in power. That is, even at equinox when we think of the force of Yin and Yang having come to some sort of balanced proposition, there is still vastly more Yin than there is Yang in the firmament. Hence the irony in the metaphor from earlier: Yin is touching all things in all directions, and at the moment when Yang is strong enough to take advantage of that knowledge and reach, Yin is less able to provide counsel and comfort.

Using the Natural Rhythm to Prepare Ourselves

While the changing dynamics of the Yin and Yang relationship can read as ironic and unfortunate to our human sensibilities, the reality is that we have observed this change year after year, and we can leverage those observations to our benefit. We know that the short days of winter are a time for introspection and reflection. We know that there is wisdom hiding in the dark hours of winter evenings and that the time often spent with family and dear friends is an opportunity to learn and absorb their experience. We know that has we move into the late days of the Winter season and the daylight begins to return, we will feel the energizing effect of the coming Spring. We know that we will feel more motivated and inspired to “do,” and we know that if we used the Winter to expand our wisdom then we will be able to carry that knowledge into the potent activity of Spring and Summer.

Human beings are the bridge between Yin and Yang, between Earth and Heaven, Terrestrial and Celestial. By virtue of this position we are able to learn and evolve so that the natural movements of the seasons can serve our health and happiness goals — so that we are not the Yang princeling realizing that his aging grandmother can no longer teach him what it is to be a good king. We know that Yin will decline and Yang will return and so we can use each season to reflect on our past efforts, organize our activities, make our hopes manifest, and then gather and store the fruits of our labor.

Conduct of the Spring Equinox

1. Plans and actions are deepened and enhanced

   1. Finalize the garden layout and the summer project list

   2. Start learning a new skill or hobby; do a deep dive into academic or intellectual study

   3. Find new recipes that feel comforting and tasty

   4. Begin the new expansion in your career or your business

2. Winter’s lethargy has relaxed

   1. Start exercising a little more intensely, adding in heavier resistance

   2. Get back to mild cardio for short bursts

   3. Till the garden and move the soil

3. Neigong for the qi node is best at 6am

   1. Face the rising sun and inhale deep into your belly

   2. Imagine that you are inhaling the the pure Yang qi from the sun as it crests the horizon

   3. Watch it flow into your lungs and as you exhale it is pushed throughout your body, refreshing your organs, limbs, and joints.

Qi Node 3: 惊蛰 Jīngzhé (Insects Awaken)

“And the ground began to tremble…”

This qi node is a time of awakened movement, the earliest stirring from life that has been in a state of partial awareness — the half-dreaming quality of the time before sunrise. While the return of Yang qi was marked with the beginning of Spring one month ago, it is not until this qi node that the yang qi has truly opened its eyes and begun to stir. In many places there is a subtle wind that blows regularly but is not particularly strong and has a green, fresh quality that belies the eventual coming of Spring.

This qi node is a significant turning point for many people’s emotional and motivational headspace. In many parts of the world, Winter has an exhausting quality (mostly because we modern people have a hard time embracing the slow and constrained tempo of Winter, and our modern social and economic structures do not allow us to take more time for ourselves and our families in any consistent and impactful way.) But at this point in the early new year, many of us can see the changes in our physical environment enough to know that the Yang we have been craving these many months is on the rise.

Like much of early Spring however, people should still be very cautious during this time of the year because we can mistake the early stirring of Yang qi for its full and mature self, inspiring us to vigorous jobs, hours in the garden, or longer hours at work. Even the smallest taste of the qi that Yang promises us, and we are suddenly trying to put a new roof on our house with only a rickety ladder and an old hammer. Even though you can now feel that something is different, that the warmth of summer is indeed going to return, resist the temptation to immediately start making big moves.

Now is still the time of planning and organization but in a more concrete way than the brainstorming sessions from a month ago. You can start to write the list of seeds and plants you want to buy for your garden, maybe sketch out its layout for the year, take measurements for home or yard improvements and spend time online costing out your projects, hunt online for the best reviews of books for a new hobby you want to start or do some comparative shopping for tool or equipment upgrades you’ve been considering. You can leverage some of this new Yang qi for more focused planning but if a baby reached out to touch the stove, you’d admire it’s tenacity but certainly correct its activity to prevent harm. You are the baby right now.

Dragons Wake from Hibernation and The Winds Return

View fullsize

Chinese style blue dragon dyed onto silk

There is an ancient image associated with this time of the year as well where the dragons who have been hibernating in the high mountain lakes begin to stir from their deep winter slumber and will soon break through the thawing ice weakened by their agitation. This annual escape marks the return of thunder and lightening to many observed weather patterns and an increase in windy and blustery days. Also, because the dragons represent potent Yang Qi, this classic story reminds us that just as the dragons have brought yang back to the atmosphere, we too can observe the return of Yang to our daily lives in a meaningful and useful way.

With the beginning of Spring one month ago, Yang was a seed just beginning to germinate, but now it is pushing toward the surface of the soil (and maybe the melting snow). As it shows itself above ground over the next few weeks, it will still require tender care and protection from cold and frost just as we humans must ease back into activity and avoid the temptation to run around in shorts and tanktops at the first sign of a sunny day. Yin is contacting from is dominance at the end of January and it’s strength is spent, but that doesn’t mean Yin’s power has completely receded, and unwary exposure to drafts and the stirring winds of Spring can set us up for congestion, headache, watery eyes, and fatigue through out the Spring and Summer.

It is worth noting as well that some of the symbolic representations for this qi node depict the agitation of worms as they wriggle toward the surface of the soil. The movement of these insects stirs the qi of the soil and encourages the seed of Yang to germinate, just as the Dragons’ stirring encourages Yang in the atmosphere. Interestingly, the Chinese word for an earthworm is dì lóng 地龙 which can be translated into English as “earth dragon.” And so form follows function, even at the level of language.

Qi Node Quick Notes

Best Time for Qi

5 am
The hours just before dawn.

Phase

Wood
Movement upward and outward.

Direction of Activity

Neigong facing the rising sun
Don’t exert yourself. Just play and experience it.

Qi Node 2: 雨水 Yǔshui (Rain Water)

The second qì node of the year, Yǔshuǐ, arrives as winter begins to loosen its grip. The literal meaning—“rain water”—marks a clear transition: the world is no longer dominated by snow and frost. Now, water returns in a different form, falling from the sky in softer, more frequent rain. The air still carries a chill, but there's movement again, a murmur of life beginning to rise from the dormant soil.

This moment in the calendar falls not long after the new moon of the Lunar New Year. It is the first seasonal node to carry a sense of outward movement, even if tentative. While Lìchūn 立春, the beginning of spring, opens the gate, it’s Yǔshuǐ that begins to push qi forward in a more noticeable way. Think of this as the time when the snowmelt starts to trickle, the early bulbs swell underground, and animals stir a little more boldly.

The quality of this time is awakening, but it's not yet firm or clear. There's a vulnerability to early spring, when it still feels like winter, that is easy to overlook if we rush ahead. In clinic, we often see patients come in with colds that linger, flares of old patterns—especially those related to the Liver and Spleen—and a kind of irritability that isn't quite definable yet. These aren’t just accidents of weather or luck. The upward push of spring qi meets whatever has been stuck, and in that encounter, things move—but not always gracefully.

This is a good time to begin gently reintroducing movement into your routines. Not the full sprint of spring cleaning or new plans, but simple, flowing actions: stretching, walking, spending time in the changing air. It’s also a time to be mindful of wind. In Chinese medicine, wind is the great instigator—it enters when we’re unguarded and can stir up both physical and emotional disruption. Scarves are still your friend. So is warmth at the feet. The chill hasn’t fully left, and early movement can create vulnerability if we’re too quick to abandon the protections of winter.

Dietarily, this is the moment to shift very slightly away from the dense, deeply warming foods of winter. Begin to lighten broths, introduce slightly more green vegetables or pickels, and wake up the palate. Pungent flavors like scallion, ginger, and citrus peel help disperse lingering stagnation without shocking the system. This is not the time for detoxes or dramatic changes—it’s a time for coaxing, encouraging, and watching how your body responds.

Yǔshuǐ also brings attention to water itself. How does it move in your body? Do you feel fluid or swollen? Dry or sluggish? The rains that fall outside mirror internal processes. Now is a good time to check in on hydration, but not just in the modern sense. Are you drinking warm things? Are your fluids moving? Is your digestion helping or hindering that movement? Is your mind flowing—or circling the drain?

Emotionally, Yǔshuǐ is often an unsteady time. It may bring unexpected tears, odd dreams, a sense that something is rising that you can’t quite name. That’s part of the shift from the deep yin of winter toward the yang of spring. We are each thawing. Not all at once. Not evenly. But something inside begins to move toward light again. Try not to judge the pace.

In Chinese cosmology, spring belongs to the Liver, and this node reminds us that Liver qi, like the season it governs, wants to move freely. Anything that clogs it—stress, overplanning, repression, excessive control—can cause irritation and misalignment. But freedom doesn’t mean chaos. It means ease. It means responding rather than forcing. Let your schedule breathe. Let your body speak. Let the water fall where it may.

Aligning Your Life with the Qì Node: Yǔshuǐ 雨水

Dress for changeable weather. The wind is still sharp, and the damp can penetrate easily. Keep your neck, feet, and low back covered, even on the milder days.

Let things move, gently. Begin stretching, walking, or shaking off winter’s stillness. Think flowing, not forceful.

Eat with an eye toward lightness. Start tapering off the heaviest stews and meats. Add scallions, fresh ginger, or lightly cooked leafy greens to your meals.

Warm your fluids. Sip hot water or teas made with chen pí (aged citrus peel) or fresh ginger to help transform internal dampness and move qi.

Watch your mood. Irritability, frustration, or sighing may signal liver qi constraint. Don’t push through it—move with it, or let something go.

Reassess your pace. If your schedule or mindset is too tight, things will start to snag. Make room for change by easing up on rigid plans.

Keep an eye on dreams. This is a transitional time. Unusual or emotionally charged dreams may be your subconscious adjusting to the new season.

Qi Node 1: 立春 Lìchūn (Spring Begins)

When the Ice Cracks and the World Begins Again

It’s quiet, but it’s not still.

Lichun arrives each year not with fanfare or dramatic transformation, but with a subtle shift. A sense that something has changed—barely perceptible, but undeniably present. It’s the first qi node of the new year in the Chinese lunisolar calendar, often translated as the “Beginning of Spring,” though that translation doesn’t quite capture its nuance. It’s not yet Spring in the way we often imagine it, full of blossoms and warmth. It’s something earlier, more tentative. A soft return to movement after the long exhale of winter.

There’s something sacred in that subtlety. Lìchūn marks the beginning of upward motion, of Yang returning after its deep winter slumber. And in a world that often celebrates only the boldest gestures of change, it’s worth pausing to acknowledge the importance of these smaller, quieter beginnings.

While the weather may not yet embody the change, nature is already in motion. Beneath the frozen ground, roots are waking. Tree buds, though still tightly curled, are starting to form. Migratory birds begin their subtle shifts, sensing what we cannot yet see. The days, just barely, stretch a little longer. Lichun isn’t a season—it’s a moment. A threshold. One we often miss if we aren’t paying attention.

This phase corresponds to the Wood element in Chinese medicine—a phase characterized by growth, movement, and vision. But like all beginnings, this movement is not without its discomfort. Think of it as the feeling in your body when you’ve been curled up too long and start to stretch: it’s awkward, maybe even a little painful, but it feels necessary. There’s a restlessness here, a desire to begin moving forward, even if you’re not quite sure where you’re headed.

This is the energetic mood of Lìchūn. An invitation to engage, to begin emerging from stillness—but gently, without rushing.

On Not Forcing Spring

It’s tempting to respond to any New Year—or new beginning—with intensity. Set goals. Make plans. Transform everything all at once. But Lichun teaches something different. It suggests a slower rhythm, one aligned with the barely waking Earth rather than our cultural drive for instant reinvention.

If Winter has been a time of reflection and conservation, Lichun is the first stretch toward renewal. Not with force, but with curiosity. It’s a time to notice what ideas or desires are beginning to stir. What has been incubating during your quieter months that might now want light?

In Daoist thought, and particularly within the framework of Chinese medicine, health is not something we chase with discipline or self-denial. It’s a relationship we tend, slowly and consistently, through alignment with the natural world. And this time of year is not about dramatic action—it’s about orientation. It’s about feeling where the new growth wants to emerge.

Rather than charging ahead, this season invites us to take stock. To ask ourselves, softly, where we’re headed. And more importantly, why. The energy of Wood longs to move forward, to grow, to create. But it moves best when it has direction—not rigid, but intentional.

We often associate Spring with cleaning, with purging, with detoxing. But Lìchūn doesn’t require us to be harsh. The impulse to "clear out" is natural, but the method can be gentler. What we’re really doing is making space—for movement, for vision, for change. And just like in nature, not everything needs to be uprooted at once. Some things need to stay a little longer, to finish breaking down, to become part of the fertile soil of what comes next.

What To Do:

This early part of the year is a beautiful time to align your daily habits with the returning energy of the world around you. Here are some ways to step into the Lichun season with care and intention:

Move with Purpose, Not Pressure

You don’t need to launch into an intense exercise routine right now. Instead, look for movement that feels like a stretch—not just physically, but emotionally and energetically. Gentle yoga, long walks in changing weather, qi gong, or just a few minutes each day of free movement to music can help your body re-engage with flow after winter’s stillness.

If you can, move outside. Even if it’s brisk. Just don’t work up a sweat exposed to the elements. Let your body feel the season, and let your senses begin to wake up with it.

Support Your Digestion with Seasonal Foods

As your internal systems begin to re-activate, your digestion will appreciate foods that are both warming and gently activating. Light broths with scallions and fresh ginger, young greens sautéed with sesame oil and rice vinegar, and lightly fermented vegetables can support your Liver system and help encourage healthy movement of qi.

This is also the time to reintroduce a bit of sour flavor into your meals—lemon, vinegar, pickles—all of which help stimulate the Liver’s transformative function. Think less “cleanse” and more “tend.”

Make Space, Not War

You don’t need to deep-clean your entire home or empty your closet Marie Kondo–style. But consider clearing one small area: a corner of your desk, your nightstand, your kitchen table. Not to punish yourself for winter’s messiness, but to open a little room for something new. Lìchūn is a great time to begin rearranging—not just physically, but mentally. Reassess what commitments, obligations, or assumptions might need a little pruning.

Reconnect with Vision

In Chinese medicine, the Liver is associated with both physical vision and our capacity for long-term planning and dreaming. What would it look like to gently reawaken your sense of direction—not as a set of goals, but as a feeling tone? Maybe it's a color. A landscape. A phrase. Something that points you toward growth without demanding it.

You don’t have to know the full plan. Just begin to imagine the shape of it.

Enter The Yin Wood Snake

Each year in the Chinese calendar is shaped by the layered dance between an animal from the zodiac and one of the ten Heavenly Stems. In 2025, we shift into the energy of the Yin Wood Snake (戌木蛇), and it will be nothing like the year we are leaving behind. If 2024, the Yang Wood Dragon (甲木龙), was a thunderclap—big, bold, and burning with expansive ambition—then 2025 arrives as a whisper. A rustle in the undergrowth. A slow coil. The Snake invites us not to soar, but to soften. To shed, to digest, and to begin weaving what comes next.

Snake Years

Snake years are subtle. There is wisdom in them, but not the kind that announces itself loudly. This is a year of behind-the-scenes intelligence, of coiling inward to examine what lies beneath the surface. In Chinese cosmology, the Snake is refined, strategic, and deeply internal. It listens before it moves. It calculates. It waits.

And so in Snake years, things tend to shift quietly. What looks like inaction may turn out to be transformation. What seems like distance might be discernment. The Snake does not waste its energy. Nor should we. This is a year for planning more than leaping, for cultivating personal refinement, and for seeking transformation through discipline and grace.

This is also a year that may feel at odds with the dominant cultural current in places like the United States, where action, productivity, and forward momentum are often equated with success. Our culture doesn’t always have patience for the slow turn inward, for the pauses between breath. And so we may see a rising tide of existential discomfort—feelings of stuckness or inadequacy not because something is wrong, but because we are being asked to move in a rhythm that diverges from the one we’ve been conditioned to chase.

Trying to force a Snake year into the mold of linear productivity is like yelling at a seed to sprout faster. It only leads to frustration, burnout, and deeper disconnection. In a society where doing is everything, learning to simply be—strategic, slow, reflective—can feel destabilizing. But that dissonance isn’t a sign of failure. It’s the edge where something deeper might take root. That quiet edge, though, can feel sharp if we’re not ready for it. The discomfort of slowing down, of listening rather than producing, can stir a kind of unease that’s hard to name. It’s in that stillness, in the space between doing and being, that the shadows begin to stir.

Snakes can be secretive. Withdrawn. Prone to second-guessing. They might hold their tongue too long, or hide things even from themselves. And when the emotional pot does boil over, it's often because pressure has been building in silence for too long. A Snake year can bring tension just beneath the surface, especially if we try to force things to move faster than they want to.

But if we move with the rhythm of the year—if we learn to follow its slow, elegant arc—there is so much to gain. Real change. Quiet strength. A sense of clarity that comes not from declaration, but from discernment.—if we learn to follow its slow, elegant arc—there is so much to gain. Real change. Quiet strength. A sense of clarity that comes not from declaration, but from discernment.

Yin Wood

The elemental influence this year is Yin Wood (戌木), sometimes imagined as bamboo, a vine, or a blade of grass. It is not a mighty oak or a towering pine. It is the kind of growth that adapts, that bends, that seeks the light even in difficult places. Yin Wood is quiet, but not weak. It is enduring. Patient. Inwardly alive.

Yin Wood doesn't force. It finds its way. It teaches us that resilience isn't about rigidity; it's about the ability to move with grace even when conditions aren't ideal. It invites us to stretch gently toward what nourishes us and to let go of what no longer fits.

So this year, Wood gives us the urge to grow, but Yin tempers that urge with softness. Instead of pushing forward, we may find ourselves curling inward, composting old ideas, tending to the roots of projects and relationships we started in flashier, louder times.

The snake year, as all of the animals in the zodiac, carries its own elemental signature of Fire and each of the elements have relationships to each other — come controlling and limiting the force of another (controlling relationship), while others augment the potency of an element (the mother relationship), while yet others can siphon the intensity of an element (child relationship). Wood is the mother of Fire, and so there is a tendency for the Heavenly Stem of this year to increase the strength of Snake’s intrinsic qualities. That force multiplier is not as strong as if it were a Yang Wood Stem (dry hardwood certainly adds more to a bonfire than grass) but it encourages the fire nonetheless. Thus, Snake and Yin Wood together create a particular flavor: strategic but flexible, wise but quiet, constantly growing but rarely in ways others can see.

The Shift from the Dragon

Last year, the Yang Wood Dragon ruled the skies. Dragons are always big and bold. They are the only celestial creature in the Chinese zodiac and they are deeply connected to history, knowledge, and the omniscience of Heaven. Dragons have plans written with a cosmic viewpoint and so they have a tendency to not take much of our human needs into consideration. That power is often leveraged in a Dragon year for great changes but it can also feel like people are being steamrolled by unfeeling change. So, last year was largely made of bold moves, rapid expansion, high-stakes plans, and vision boards so large they barely fit on the wall. Some of those visions bore fruit. Others burned out under their own intensity. The Dragon was full of purpose and forward motion, but it left many people scattered, tired, and unsure where to land. The Yang Wood of last year also had a containing effect on Dragon (Earth is the Dragon’s element and Wood Controls Earth), so you can only imagine what it would have looked like if we were in a a Fire Stem and that qi would have fed the Dragon’s most intense impulses…

Now comes the Snake, asking us to come home to ourselves. To narrow the focus. To reflect, refine, and move with care. If the Dragon was about declaring your kingdom, the Snake is about asking who you really want in it. If the Dragon pushed everything into motion, the Snake invites a long, deliberate exhale. Snakes are not social or particularly compassionate zodiac animals. They are reflective but not introspective. They love pondering, exploring, and wondering at the movements of the universe but they are not particularly interested it what that all means for them, just what it might mean in general. In many ways, Snake qi is a fitting successor to the Dragon because Snakes are still not particularly concerned about human affairs or needs, they are just way less intense about it: What might it all mean? But do we need to be so loud about the search?

This year asks: What have you begun that now needs pruning? What relationships or ambitions were sparked in the fire of last year but now require patience and tending? What needs composting before anything else can grow?

This is a shift not just in pace, but in direction—from expansion to integration, from speed to stillness, from action to contemplation.

Health in the Snake Year

The body this year may speak more softly but more insistently. Tension that used to be tolerable now demands address. Fatigue that once passed with a good night’s sleep might linger. Our nervous systems are more tender, our digestion more reactive. The Liver system, in its yin wood expression, reminds us that not all movement is visible. Circulation, emotional clarity, and subtle regulation matter more than big performances of health.

We might find ourselves more sensitive to the effects of stress. There may be more headaches, tight shoulders, vivid dreams, or digestive murmurings that point to emotions needing expression. This isn't the kind of year where powering through works. The body wants partnership, not domination. It wants us to listen early, adjust often.

This is a good year for quiet restoration. Bitter greens, slow walks, acupuncture that opens the channels without stirring up chaos. Qigong over HIIT. Broths and teas that gently move and warm without overstimulating. Health this year is less about conquering symptoms and more about cultivating conditions in which vitality can quietly return.

Emotionally, Snake years can be complex. Feelings that have been lingering below the surface might rise, but not always with clarity. There is a tendency to circle, to revisit, to hold things close before they are named. It can feel introspective, even isolating, if we’re not prepared. There may be a sense that no one fully understands what we’re going through. And sometimes, that’s true—because we ourselves are still trying to understand it. This is not a year for emotional performativity. It’s a year for honesty, and that kind of honesty often takes time.

That said, it's also a year of tremendous psychological insight. Therapy, journaling, dream work—these are not just supportive, they are aligned with the spirit of the time. The mind wants depth this year. It wants to untangle old threads and find meaning.

You might find yourself needing more solitude, or more time with people who can hold complexity without trying to fix it. The best friendships and partnerships in a Snake year are often the ones where presence matters more than words. Snake energy doesn't care much for surface-level socializing. It wants connection, yes, but it wants real connection. The kind built on shared values, long conversations, and quiet trust.

This may be a year when certain relationships fade, because not all connections are meant to be carried forward indefinitely. And other relationships will surprise you by deepening unexpectedly, often in moments of stillness or shared reflection. Love may look less like fireworks and more like steady warmth. Friendships may become fewer, but more essential. If you're building new connections, give them time. The Snake does not reveal itself quickly, and neither should you.

Moving With the Year

The Yin Wood Snake doesn’t want you to hide. It wants you to become intentional. It wants you to choose your direction deliberately, to move through the world with presence, and to trust that slow growth is still growth.

Let this be a year of tending. Of coiling inward when needed, and then expanding with care. Of taking the time to ask yourself not just what you want, but what actually nourishes you.

Let yourself be strategic without becoming hard. Wise without becoming cold. And most importantly, let yourself be soft where it counts. Resilient in the quiet, supple in the unseen. Because just like the Snake, your transformation this year may not look dramatic to the outside world.

But it will be real. And when the time comes to shed your skin, you’ll know you’ve grown exactly as you needed to.

This is a year to write the plan, not announce it. To whisper truths into your own ear before offering them to anyone else. To see your own internal rhythm as sacred—and trust that those who matter will attune to it. You don’t have to be loud to be strong. You don’t have to be fast to be wise. Give yourself permission to pause, to reflect, to grow at your own pace. Make space for daily rituals that return you to center—lighting a candle, brewing herbs, walking under the trees. Stay close to the things that help you listen.

If last year burned too hot, let this year be a balm. If last year asked too much, let this year give you back some of what you lost. We are not predicting the future when we write about the qualities of a year. Human activity and choices can always seem like they are disconnected from the Qi of any given year, as if that year is not holding up its end of the bargain. But the rhythms are always there, and how we relate to them, how we cultivate our conduct in alignment with those rhythms, is the only real metric of success in any given year.

If you’ve been moving too fast to feel anything at all, let the Snake wrap around your shoulders and remind you: wisdom takes time. So does healing. So does trust.

Welcome the Snake. Let it show you how powerful it is to be quiet. How healing it is to move with care. How whole you already are, when you stop trying to be something louder than yourself.

May it guide you with grace.

To Sleep Like A Baby

By

Travis Cunningham LAc. MSOM DICEAM

(The Elusive) Good Night Of Sleep

How long has it been since you’ve had a good night of sleep? Can you remember what it was like?

Do you remember falling asleep? Staying asleep? Or, how you woke up? Do you remember the dreams you had? Or, do you only remember the feeling of restfulness upon waking?

One of the most challenging things to consider when we contemplate sleep, is just how unconscious a good night of sleep can be. We require nothing to sleep well. All humans must sleep. But how much? And, to what quality? What is required and what is optimal? What does sleep do for us? And, how can sleep be corrected if it becomes problematic?

If we take the basic premise that sleeping well is a natural process, we encounter our first problem…

“If a good night of sleep happens unconsciously, how can we consciously change it?”

And thus, (the internet) spawns a million suggestions. Searches, studies, science - all seeking to answer the same basic questions.

One of my teachers used to say that “if we look at the disease, we will find one thousand medicines to treat it. But, if we look at health, we will find only one cure.” Before we can learn to treat a problem, we must first understand what it is like to have no problem. So, what is healthy sleep?

Defining Healthy Sleep

The first thing that one might notice in the analysis of healthy sleep is that sleep - all sleep, is a rhythm. Just like breathing, eating, urination, defecation, movement and rest, sleep is a rhythmic process. When a person generally sleeps well, one night of poorer sleep doesn’t bother them so much. When a person generally sleeps poorly, one night of good sleep doesn’t benefit them so much. Many people who have chronic insomnia will actually report that they feel worse, when they (rarely) get a full night of sleep. We can make sense of this fact with the simple understanding that sleep is rhythmic. And, the effect of a single “beat” of sleep, is not nearly as impactful as the timbre of a repeated rhythm.

When we compare sleep to other rhythms, like eating, we find that sleep is a longer rhythm. Sleep is longer; both in the time that it takes to engage in, and the time that it takes to influence as a habit. When we are younger, we can live with poor sleeping habits for a longer period of time without feeling the negative effects on our vitality. As we age, poor sleeping habits catch up with us more quickly and become much more difficult to correct once they are set. In the traditions of East Asia, this is explained by the concepts of Yin and Yang.

In youth, we are more Yang. We have access to more energy and are able to make changes in our lives more easily. As we age, we become more Yin. We become more stable, (hopefully) more grounded and wise, but with less capacity to quickly change and shift. It is advised that we establish good habits when we are youthful because it is easier to keep these habits as we get older. While I believe that any habit is changeable at any stage life, sleep is a rhythm that is easier to correct in our earlier years.

It is important to discuss the longer rhythmic nature of sleep right away because if we wish to change a longer rhythm, we must expect that it will take a longer period of time to shift than other activities. When I work with adults in the clinic for sleep, I tell them to expect that it will take a minimum of three months to shift the basic pattern and possibly longer if there is a standing history of insomnia. Good sleep takes time. It takes effort to create a positive sleeping habit, before good sleep can become effortless once again.

Sleep & Time

Sleep, just like any rhythmic process is inextricably connected to time. The connection to time has two aspects. First, we have the duration or amount of time a person is sleeping within a day or night. Second, we have the time during the 24 hour day that a person chooses to sleep. While at first, these two aspects of time seem to be separate topics, at a closer glance we will find that they overlap and influence each other.

In East Asian medicine, there is a keen interest in the efficiency and quality of nature. Ancient people observed that all creatures followed the circadian rhythms of day and night. Human beings tended to sleep during the night time and stay awake for most of the day. Humans generally followed the cycles of the Sun, and were more active when the Sun radiated its light from the sky.

As human beings evolved with the Sun’s cycles, our physiology “learned” to become more efficient when we follow them. We have naturally more energy to act during the day and more proficiency to restore ourselves through resting at night. In modern times, we can easily live outside of or contrary to these natural rhythms. But we inevitably pay the price through inefficient restoration and a challenged expression of vitality.

Many modern people may push against the idea that for optimal vitality, we must adhere to the circadian rhythm - resting and waking with the cycles of the Sun. These people may insist that they feel better staying up late at night, and waking in the late morning or early afternoon. I can honestly say that I have not (yet) seen a single person in clinical practice to make this claim who has not obviously damaged their health because of it. Sleep, as we saw before, is a longer rhythm. It is harder for most people to see the damaging effects of an inefficient sleep habit in the short term. But over the course of weeks, months and years, the deficit will show itself.

So what does a sleep deficit look like? For some people, it can simply mean that they require more hours of sleep to function normally than they might. The lack of efficiency in restoration means that the body needs more time to recover than it could otherwise. In traditional medicine, we think of a healthy sleeping habit to (generally) require between 6-8 hours of sleep within a 24 hour cycle. Most people trend closer to the 8 hour mark with what they need, then the 6 hour one. This need can also fluctuate with the seasons - trending a bit longer in the winter and a bit shorter in the summer.

Problem One: Needing More Sleep

If a person finds that they need more sleep than 8 or 8.5 hours to feel rested, it is a sign that their sleep is inefficient or in deficit. I’ve treated patients who claim to need 11 or even 12 hours of sleep per night to feel rested. This is a sign of a profound deficiency of vitality that the body is trying to rectify by sleeping more. In traditional medicine we would say that the body is having a difficulty storing its vitality. The need to sleep for this many hours obviously effects the person’s daily life. I’ve also noticed that a huge percentage of these patients struggle with depression. In these cases, there is good news. If we can help to restore their vitality, the person will generally need fewer hours of sleep and their depression will either lift or at least be less problematic for them.

In East Asian medicine, we see this pattern of sleep coincide with feelings of cold in the body, weak digestion and malaise or fatigue. We call this Yang deficiency with Yin sinking. The warm and active quality of Yang is deficient and unable to transform or utilize the nutritive substance of Yin. This Yin substance “sinks” in the digestive tract, causing looser stools and a general feeling of heaviness in the body. The remedy for this pattern is treatment which targets warming the Yang, making it strong enough to transform the Yin substance and lighten the body.

Problem Two: Being Unable To Sleep

The other possibility for inefficient sleep or sleep deficit, is that a person may be unable to sleep or unable to sleep deeply. These people generally learn to sleep for fewer hours than the 6-8 that is considered normal or healthy. They basically never sleep well or feel rested, but may report feeling worse when they (rarely) do get a decent night of sleep.

While this may appear different than the first type of problem, it is actually the same. Both problems come from inefficient sleep or a lack of restoration. In East Asian medical diagnosis, I find that most of these patients still qualify as Yang deficient. In these cases the Yang is not only deficient, but also floating. These people can tend to have an overactive mind when they lay down to sleep, feel warmer at night or experience night sweating and have very vivid dreams. Underneath the superficial heat, there is cold. Sometimes you can feel this cold when you touch their feet or lower abdomen, especially when compared to the temperature of the neck.

These people would be treated differently than the first type, given that their presentation is not the same. I find that working with these folks can be a bit more challenging, because they will often feel more tired when we start treatment. These feelings of tiredness are often what they have been avoiding during the day, by use of stimulates or stimulating activities. Unfortunately, they must begin to feel their body’s fatigue in order to restore their vitality through sleep.

Can It Change?

In every case of insomnia, inefficient sleep or sleep deficit that I’ve seen thus far, the answer has been yes - it can change. The more important question is how much of a priority is the person willing to make their sleep? Sleeping well is a by-product of living a life where good sleep is possible. If we live contrary to the body’s natural rhythms, we cannot expect our sleep to be efficient or restorative. But if we are willing to change, so can our sleep. So how can we get our sleep back on track?

Step One: Empty The Stomach

A famous Chinese medicine doctor once said, “if a person tells me that they have a problem sleeping (any problem sleeping), I tell them the same thing: No food after dark. If they can adhere to this rule alone for two weeks, about 60% of sleeping problems will resolve.”

This one sounds a bit strange at first but when we take a closer look, it makes quite a lot of sense. When we go to sleep at night, our heart rate decreases and our body’s surface becomes cooler. A complex chain of events begins to happen involving many organs, nerves, blood vessels and the hormonal system. In East Asian medicine, we call this phenomena Yin ascending, Yang descending or the communication of the Heart (Fire) and Kidney (Water).

If we go to bed and our stomach is still full, our body has to ramp up its metabolism to digest the food. Our heart rate increases, and it can even feel uncomfortable to lay down. When our stomach (Earth) is full, the pathway for the heart (Fire) and kidney (Water) to communicate is “blocked.” This can inhibit the quality of a person’s sleep or even prevent sleep from occurring at all. The first and clearest step to getting better sleep is to increase the amount of time between your last meal or snack and your bed time. I recommend people work toward 3 hours between the two, if possible.

Step Two: Create A Slide

If you have any difficulty getting to sleep, its unlikely that you’ll be able to do so for awhile without a routine before bed. So create one. This routine will look different for every person. But the routine should include the general feature of moving from more activity to less. I call this “creating a slide.”

Keep in mind, that by activity, we don’t only mean physical activity. Modern people are less and less physically active as our work becomes more closely engaged with technology. For some of us, our evening routine may need to include physical movement to release the activity in our nervous systems. There are many great practices for this - from gentle Qigong, to Yoga. My favorite is actually just walking. Remember the cheesy phrase: Whatever it is that you do to unwind, make sure to include your body and mind.

Step Three: Swing Out To Swing In

Many people have a difficult time sleeping because they lack basic movement or exercise during their day. But by engaging in a short exercise routine, people can dramatically enhance the quality of their sleep at night.

There are many studies that have been done on this subject alone. Some of these studies have analyzed specific data on the cycles of hormones and the assistance that day-time exercise can provide.
In East Asian medicine, we can summarize this phenomena quite simply: Yang activity benefits Yin restoration. Swing out, in order to swing in.

Step Four: Create A Break In The Static

So many cultures around the world take a siesta or a mid-day nap. Interestingly enough, if we look at the times of the day that most cultures take siesta (1-4PM), these are the clock-opposite times that most Americans struggle to sleep at night.

If you ask people about how they sleep, many people who can fall asleep easily will struggle to stay asleep between 1-4AM. East Asian medicine is a medicine that looks at opposites (Yin & Yang). If there is a problem that regularly occurs for someone at 3AM, we might look at adjusting the person’s conduct at 3PM to change it. For example, If a person is regularly waking up at 2:30AM and unable to fall back asleep, one way to change this dynamic would be for the person to take a short nap at 2:30PM. It sounds strange, but it totally works!

Another way to think about the helpfulness of mid-day rest is what I call, creating a break in the static. First, imagine that during the work day, we accumulate stress or a type of pressure in our nervous system. To me, this stress feels like static electricity, so I call it static. As the static builds without a release point, our nervous system continues to get more and more stimulated. If this continues all day, when we reach the day’s end, we may experience the “tired but wired” phenomena. We feel very tired, but we cannot sleep.

By taking a mid-day nap or short resting period, we can provide a natural release valve for our accumulated stress. Now before you instantly write off this idea by telling me that you don’t have time, hear me out. A break even as small as 5 minutes can significantly shift the state of accumulated stress within the nervous system. I’ve worked with all types of busy people. If you prioritize it, you can create the time.

What can you do with this time? The best thing that I’ve found, short of a quick nap is a mindful breathing practice or a shaking exercise (scroll down the page to see the exercise). If you make the time and participate every day, you will feel the changes.

Step Five: Get Help

If you’ve been struggling with your sleep for a long time, or even a shorter period of time, the quickest way to get better is to receive help. I’ve specialized in helping people with their sleep since beginning my training in East Asian medicine. Not being able to sleep efficiently is a huge burden - one that I know from my own experience.

It is possible for your sleep to improve if you are willing to receive help and participate in the process. If you’d like to take the next step, follow the links below to read more about treatment for insomnia or sign up for your first appointment today.

Treating Seasonal Allergies With Chinese Medicine

A Spring In Your Step

Dear reader,

I am writing to you in early Spring. The weather is still cold here. Frost covers the ground at night and is breached by sun in the early morning. It is still too cold to wear a light(er) jacket. And yet, the first flowers have started making their appearance.

As I notice the crocuses waking up on my morning walks, I find myself contemplating the meaning of Spring. In the historic and cultural medicine of China, human beings witnessed the transitions of nature. The qualities that belong to these transitions were described as Qi.

I think people make too much of the term Qi. If we just look at how things move and change, it follows to use a word that describes the quality of this change. That which moves behind the appearance of things, could be a simple definition of Qi.

The Qi of Spring is said to be like wind. Wind is movement or a quicker form of change. In Spring, we transition from the cold Qi of Winter to the hot Qi of Summer. What force can propel such a change from one opposite to the other? Wind. Wind necessitates change. It propels our bodies to find a new balance of adaptation with the environment around us. The Chinese say, that the fluids of our body have to become thinner in Spring. Traditionally, the density of our body’s fluids have to do with their ability to hold heat. In the cold Qi of Winter, the body must have the thickest fluids. In the hot Qi of summer, the body’s fluids must become thinnest. In the Spring then, the fluids must begin their thinning process.

The pressure to adapt to nature is seen as a necessary part of life in traditional medicine. There is no way to become immune to change. A failure to adapt to the circumstances outside of our bodies creates an adversarial relationship with the Qi of nature. This adversarial relationship is called a “strike” in traditional medicine. An external strike against the body is the body’s failure to adapt to the new circumstances surrounding it.

From the perspective of the body, this dynamic feels like the Qi of nature is striking it. It’s important to understand that there is no malicious intent from the Qi of nature. The body simply interprets the change as a strike because it isn’t prepared for the shift. The body then goes into a defensive and adaptive process. This process, we know as disease. In some cases, the form that this disease takes is called allergies.

Allergic to Adaptation

In biomedicine, we understand an allergy to be a reaction from the body’s immune system toward a particular substance that the body comes into contact with. The immune system recognizes this substance as a hostile presence and mobilizes its resources to attack. The following symptoms we are all familiar with…

• Itching

• Sneezing

• Coughing

• Phlegm or congestion

• Dry/tearing eyes

• Dermatological or digestive problems

• And more…

Regardless of the type of symptom, traditional medicine views the cause of this disorder to be a failure of the body to adapt. The remedy then, must not only be about treating the above mentioned symptoms, but helping the adaptation process of the body to complete in live time.

If the nature of a problem is adaption, our next question would then be, “how can we aid the adaptation process?” Luckily, there are many answers to this question. Some, are actions we can take ourselves. Others, require aid by a trained practitioner in the arts of Chinese medicine.

A Simple Exercise: Shaking

Many of the ancient practices of China that have been crafted to assist the body and mind to adapt are not esoteric or outlandish. These practices often fall under the category of hygiene. Though, in this context, we don’t only mean getting cleaner. We mean instigating the vital forces of the body toward a more appropriate kind of circulation.

1. Stand in an even posture with the feet shoulder-width apart.

2. Allow for a very slight bend in the knees (making them “active,” and not locked)

3. Close your eyes and begin gently bouncing - allowing the whole body to pulse and move.

4. Allow the mind to drift to the various parts of the body - especially places of tension. Shake loose any feeling of stuckness.

5. When you feel your practice coming to a close, stop shaking and remain still.

6. Allow the mind to become quiet and feel the residual waves of internal activity.

7. When you are ready, gently re-open the eyes.

This shaking technique is often performed at the beginning of a Qigong practice. Its purpose is awakening the movement of Qi and blood in the body and to release blockages within the channels. The first time you do this practice, it is recommended to do so for only one or two minutes. After you get comfortable with the practice, you can increase the shaking time to five or ten minutes. In certain styles of Qigong practice, adept practitioners will even shake for as long as forty-five minutes to one hour! For our purposes, this amount of time is unnecessary.

The practice of shaking can be done on its own without any other practices or intentions. It can be practiced any time of day or in any season, but it is most beneficial to practice first thing in the morning and in the Spring season. This is because in both of these times be it daily or seasonally, the Qi of nature is beginning to move once again. If we instigate a similar quality of movement in our body, it helps the body to adapt and line up with the quality inherent in nature at that time.

This gentle practice of alignment prepares the fluids of the body for proper balance for that day. If we continue this practice for many days consecutively, it prepares the fluids of the body for proper balance for that week, month, and season. This is an excellent technique to use to help the body adapt to the seasonal transition and prevent complications like colds, flus, and the present of seasonal allergies.

Traditional Medicine Interventions

Depending on the person’s constitutional tendency as well as the status of the vitality in the body, more intervention may be required than simple hygiene practices. The medical interventions of herbal medicine and acupuncture are uniquely equipped to aid a person in this adaptation process to a deeper level. If done well, such interventions can not only alleviate the symptoms of conditions like allergies, but help the body to adapt and therefore, prevent the symptoms from reoccurring in future seasons.

In order for the intervention to work, each treatment must be individualized to the person and their circumstances. All generalized patented formulations and protocols of medicine are flawed. These formulations are unable to comprehend the needs of the person in the here and now. It’s for this reason that we do not recommend any medicines for general supplementation but suggest that each person be evaluated through consultation with a qualified practitioner.

If you are interested in this personalized type of care, click on the “schedule now” button below to book an appointment at our clinic in Portland, Oregon.

If you’d like to read more about how we treat seasonal allergies clinically, click the link below to access our clinic’s allergy treatment page.