Qi Node 1: 立春 Lìchūn (Spring Begins)

Yang Qi Reemerges, A New Year Begins

It might seem strange to have a picture of an icy twig for the Qi node named “Spring Begins,” especially since the name in English comes with lots of expectations of flowers and growing plants and abundance that will come later in the year. But each season in the Chinese calendar begins when the environmental aspects of the previous season recede enough to show the next emerging layer. In this case, the might of Yin Qi reached its zenith in December during Winter Solstice, and though Winter has often felt colder and heavier since then, the truth is that Yin’s expansion after Solstice is driven by the momentum of her growth and not by the potency of her qi. By the time we reach this Qi node, that momentum has been exhausted and Yin qi begins to recede back toward is dark, moist, and nourishing core. As it does so, the retreat exposes the tiniest aspect of Yang qi that has been hibernating deep within the enveloping Yin. This exposure causes Yang to stir and marks the change in the season and setting the stage for Yang’s growth and eventual dominion over Summer.

A NOTE ON THE WEATHER:
Most people associate the seasons with the weather. It’s a totally natural thing to do and often the weather corresponds nicely to certain qualities of the season. But weather is only an aspect of cosmological qi. It is a tangible manifestation of seasonal qi but is not the qi itself. If you live in a cooler climate and you use weather as your primary guide to seasonal shift, then it would be impossible to imagine that Spring begins in February when everything is still covered in feet of snow. Similarly, it was hard for folks in warmer climates to internalize the retreat and cold of Winter solstice when, in many places, they were wearing shorts and flipflops at Christmas. Weather is only an aspect of the qi, not the qi itself. With an increased awareness of this cycle, you will be able to feel the changes in the season irrespective of the temperature or humidity outside and the attitudes and conduct that embody that season will feel increasingly natural even if its 75 degrees outside in December.

Conduct During this Node

Don’t get too excited: While Yang qi has reemerged, it is an infant — weak and dependent on the nourishing presence of Yin. Even though there is a bit more light in the evenings and even though you might feel the slightest lift in your step, it is not the time to start training for your marathon. You can begin to plan your Spring garden, buying your seeds for sowing. You can start to organize your fitness goals for summer and imagine what the training regimen might look like. You can watch some videos about that new hobby you though about over the Winter. But at its core, Spring Begins is just a marker along the annual cycle. One that tells us that change is coming but is certainly not here yet. Going to be early, slow starts to the morning, easy activity, avoiding sweating, and all the usual Winter conduct remains but you can start to get up in the morning ever so earlier.

Renew social connections: much of winter is about retreat and restoration which is often done in small family groups or alone. It was seasonal to minimize social interaction and to not over-extend and so your social interactions are at their most infrequent at the end of Winter. Now it is time to slowly reinvigorate those connections. Have a few friends over for a simple dinner together. Go to a play or a music event with a few people. Start to rekindle the interconnectivity that will help encourage the growth of Yang over the coming. Remember to take it easy though. Baby steps.

Environmental qi is now best around 3am (which emphasizes the continued importance of sleep) and physical activities should remain indoors where it is warm and free of drafts.

What to Do:

• Continue with easy, non-exertive exercise

• Plan your Spring garden. Buy some seeds.

• Crack into your stored pickles from the Fall to access some of that delicious Summer vitality.

• Call your friends for a casual dinner hang

• Check in with your body and feel the very earliest shift toward lightness

• Feel the excitement of the coming Yang but resist the urge to run out into the cold and do too much.

What They Came In For: Frequent Colds

Sarah M. came in because she caught colds constantly. Every six weeks or so, sometimes more often, she'd come down with something. She'd tried vitamin C, zinc, elderberry, and more sleep, but the pattern continued. She wanted to know why her immune system seemed so much weaker than everyone else's.

This is one of the most common concerns people bring to our clinic. It's also one of the most misunderstood, because the problem usually isn't the immune system itself.

Modern immunology frames immunity in terms of defense: how well does your body identify and destroy pathogens? From this perspective, frequent illness suggests a failure of surveillance or response, and the solutions follow logically. Stimulate the immune system, give it more resources, train it to fight harder.

Chinese medicine asks a different question: does your body have the resources to maintain its boundaries in the first place?

In classical terms, we talk about wèi qì 卫气, often translated as "defensive qi." Wèi qì isn't a standing army waiting to fight invaders. It functions more like the integrity of a container. When wèi qì is robust, the boundary between inside and outside holds, and wind and cold and damp don't penetrate easily. When wèi qì is weak, the boundary becomes porous.

Wèi qì is produced by the body's deeper metabolic processes, rooted in what we call the spleen and lung systems. These aren't the anatomical organs but functional networks responsible for extracting energy from food and distributing it through the body. When those systems are depleted, wèi qì suffers and colds come easily.

This was the pattern we saw with Sarah. She ran cold, especially in her hands and feet. Her digestion was sluggish, with bloating after meals and low appetite in the morning. She carried a tiredness that sleep didn't fix. Her pulse was thin and soft, and her tongue was pale and slightly puffy with a thin white coat. All of this pointed to qì deficiency, particularly in the spleen and lung networks.

Treatment focused on building her up. We used acupuncture to support the spleen and lung systems, choosing points that strengthen qì production and consolidate the body's surface. We prescribed an herbal formula based on Yù Píng Fēng Sǎn 玉屏风散, Jade Windscreen Powder, from the Dānxī Xīnfǎ 丹溪心法 (c. 1347), which addresses this pattern of weak protective qì and susceptibility to wind invasion.

We also talked about how she was living. She skipped breakfast and ran on coffee until noon. She exercised hard several times a week despite being exhausted, because she felt she should. In classical terms, she was spending more than she was earning.

Chinese medicine takes the arithmetic of energy seriously. You have a certain amount of qì available each day, and you spend it on movement, digestion, thought, emotional processing, immune function, and repair. If you consistently spend more than you take in, your reserves erode. Sarah didn't need to overhaul her life, but she did need to stop draining herself unnecessarily. Eating breakfast, scaling back intense exercise, and resting when tired would make a real difference.

Over the following months, the colds became less frequent. When she did catch something, it resolved faster. Her energy improved and her digestion settled.

This is what constitutional treatment looks like. We weren't boosting her immune system in the way that phrase usually implies. We were helping her body rebuild the underlying vitality that makes healthy immune function possible. Sarah still comes in occasionally for a tune-up when life gets demanding, but she's out of that cycle of constant illness. Her body holds its ground now.

Qi Node 24: 大寒 Dàhán (Great Cold)

Sensing the Coming Change

Less sunlight, cold temperatures, dense rain, and often deep snow are some of the weather-based markers that have indicated this Yin time of the year. As we have talked about in the previous Qi nodes, we have been living in a time of expanding Yin power that came into its own grandeur during the Winter Solstice and has continued to expand itself outward, growing colder, wetter, darker, and more profound. We have talked about fatigue, natural melancholy, and self-reflective nostalgia as the physical and psychological markers that are common to this time of the year. And we have talked about leaning in to the natural rhythms of any part of the year so that we can have the fullest experience available.

Now with this last Qi node of the year, we can start to feel something slightly different from what has been “in the air” for last several nodes. Now that Yin has expanded to its fullest self, it has exhausted the last of its momentum and its decline accelerates. Yin in decay is a much different creature than Yang at the end of its cycle. While Yang can lash out with heat, intensity, and violence, Yin’s death throws are more like a vacuum pulling inward, or a whirlpool in the middle of the deepest, darkest lake.

During this final node of Yin’s dominance, it can be difficult to find our motivation to do almost anything. Activity is exhausting. Creativity is elusive. And feeling like a distinct individual driven toward goals and ends is less certain. It can sometimes even feel like the boundaries between what we are and what everything else is has become looser and less distinct. The great and expansive pool of Yin can dissolve our sense of “I” and turn us into the fertile ground from Yang is about to begin its rebirth. But despite this deep sucking inward, there is a change in the air. The grounds are beginning to shift because Spring approaches.

Navigating the Whirlpool

The wisdom necessary to experience the Qi of any given node without saddling ourselves with any preference or distain for one node or another is sometimes difficult to come by. Because of cultural pressures and sometimes overdeveloped senses of productivity and value, many people don’t want to be decoupled from their goals, however temporarily. And many of them definitely don’t want to feel awash in an eddy of universal inertia spiraling the metaphorical cosmic drain.

And yet this moment exists nonetheless. Feeling the pull toward dissolution and then resisting it is part of the human experience for most of us who remain embodied on this plane. Though some of us may resist less and end up exiting our embodiment, joining the flow of ancestors and history moving in the myriad directions of Dao. But most of us will pass through this cycle of Yin’s decline as we have dozens of times before and as our ancestors have done through countless cycles over countless eons.

Experiencing the “Ghost Nodes”

The feeling of disconnection is what marks this, and many of the Winter Qi nodes, as “ghost nodes.” Here I use the English word “ghost” because it’s perhaps the best word to capture what we’re going to discuss, but, like so many English words, it is loaded with expectations and is overly specific in meaning, especially as it tries to describe much more loose and open ended Chinese concepts. We’re talking here about the Chinese word 鬼 (guǐ) which is a literal ghost (ie the disembodied spirit of a former person), but it’s not Casper and it’s not poltergeist. The transition from living human to ghost is the normal process of dying from a Chinese Buddhist and Daoist perspective. These 鬼 (guǐ) exist as ancestors and continue to influence the living and will eventually “die” a second time as they dissolve into whatever is next for them. If you’re a modern Western person, this might sound something like a soul but that word isn’t quite it. 鬼 (guǐ) are not the “true” version of a person, finally manifest after they cast off their imperfect body. They are not divine in nature, and they don’t retire to any sort of heavenly reward (different Buddhist interpretations might include a Nirvana-peace plane for fully enlightened people, but we’ll stick with the folk Daoist folk tradition here). 鬼 (guǐ) are just people in a new form. Sometimes they last for a while and sometimes they don’t. Depending on circumstances they could also become 餓鬼 (èguǐ) or “hungry ghosts” and those are potentially more malevolent in nature (though still not horror movie ghosts).

One of the key components of 鬼 (guǐ) however, and how they relate to any group of Qi nodes, has to do with their inability to have dynamic human experiences as they did before they died. That is, their patterns become fixed or limited and/or they have a hard time distinguishing themselves from other things around them. This growing inability to define self or discern the nuances of appetite and conduct are key components of 鬼 (guǐ) and ultimately will lead to their dissolution and second “death.” It is even possible for living people to become 鬼 (guǐ) before they die, embracing certain disempowering philosophies or theologies or, on the other end of the spectrum, by overly asserting their “realness;” trying to hold on to power and purpose beyond its correct context. This is a sticky idea. I know.

The important part of the discussion is the idea that “humans” are dynamic creatures with complex and evolving appetites that exist as part of, and in relation to, the movements of the natural world. 鬼 (guǐ), by contrast, are limited in their choices and experiences. Their appetites have limited focus and their conduct no longer embraces the meta-principles of ebb and flow, yin and yang. These last several Qi nodes have taken on aspects of cosmic 鬼 (guǐ). That is, they have eroded our own sense of self and pushed us to confront the realm of past experience, old wisdom, nostalgia, and regret. The potency of these 鬼 (guǐ) qualities is such that it can feel like we will never emerge from the weight of them.

But of course we will. The cycle always continues turning. It is a circle after all, and not a line. Picking a beginning and an end is an arbitrary distinction. But knowing that all the elements of experience create the whole of this cycle is important to remember. January is not July, and each has its own distinct and important contexts to experience and embrace.

Foundations of Chinese Medicine: Understanding Deficiency

In clinical conversations, the word “deficiency” often provokes unease. It can sound judgmental or vague. People sometimes hear it as a verdict on the quality of their body or as a permanent label attached to their health. In practice, the term points to a much simpler idea. Deficiency describes a pattern in which the body lacks sufficient material, movement, or functional capacity to meet its everyday demands. It is a way of naming the state of the system at a given moment, not a statement about identity or destiny.

Chinese medicine talks about deficiency as a relationship between what the body has available and what it is being asked to do. A person with adequate circulation, strong digestion, and steady sleep may remain resilient through illness, travel, stress, and seasonal change. A person with fewer internal resources will feel the same pressures more quickly and recover more slowly. This difference reflects capacity rather than character. A system that starts with less to work with reaches its limits sooner.

Deficiency refers to patterns that develop when the body loses more than it replaces. Blood loss through menstruation or injury contributes to this process. Long periods of poor sleep do the same. Digestive weakness limits how much nourishment can be extracted from food. Chronic illness diverts energy toward managing symptoms instead of maintaining baseline function. Emotional strain, especially when prolonged, gradually draws from the same reserves. Over time, the body adjusts downward. It learns to operate with less.

Clinically, deficiency shows up through recognizable features. Fatigue that does not respond well to rest suggests that energy production itself has become limited. Dizziness on standing reflects diminished circulatory reserve. Dry skin and hair point toward reduced fluid and blood volume. Anxiety and poor memory often arise when nourishment to the nervous system thins. Cold sensitivity indicates that heat production can no longer keep pace with environmental demands. Frequent infections reflect depleted immune resilience. Each of these symptoms describes a system operating near the edge of its capacity.

Chinese medicine does not treat deficiency as a single thing. It differentiates among several kinds of inadequacy based on what has been lost and how the body is responding. Qì 氣 (qì) deficiency refers to limited functional energy. People with this pattern tire easily, experience shortness of breath on exertion, and frequently catch colds. Xuè 血 (xuè) deficiency refers to reduced blood volume or quality. Symptoms include pale complexion, dizziness, dry hair, and sleep disturbance. Yīn 陰 (yīn) deficiency describes depletion of cooling and moistening substances. It often appears as night sweats, thirst, dry mouth, insomnia, and internal heat sensations. Yáng 陽 (yáng) deficiency reflects weakened warming and metabolic function. People with this pattern feel cold easily, crave hot drinks, struggle with low back weakness, and often experience edema or digestive sluggishness.

These categories are practical rather than abstract. They describe different ways that deficiency expresses itself in daily life and guide treatment strategy. A person who feels cold and exhausted requires a different approach than someone who feels wired, flushed, and thirsty. Both may be described as deficient, but for different reasons and in different systems.

Deficiency develops gradually. Few people wake up suddenly deficient. The process unfolds quietly over years of output that exceeds intake, tension that outlasts recovery, or illness that draws resources faster than they can be restored. This cumulative drain often accelerates in modern life. Long workdays, inconsistent meals, bright evenings, chronic stress, and limited sleep place steady demands on internal reserves. Many people live in ways that would feel extreme to previous generations while assuming their bodies can adapt indefinitely.

Treating Deficiency In The Clinic

In clinical work, practitioners listen carefully for the texture of deficiency in a person’s story. They pay attention to stamina, sleep depth, digestion, emotional resilience, and recovery time. They examine the tongue for signs of thinness or dryness. They feel the pulse for weakness or lack of volume. These observations offer information about the condition of the system as a whole.

Treatment focuses on rebuilding rather than forcing. Tonifying herbs replenish what has been lost. Acupuncture supports circulation and organ function. Dietary changes strengthen digestion so nourishment can be extracted more efficiently. Sleep hygiene restores rhythms that regulate hormone production and immune response. Warming therapies support metabolism when heat production falters. Each intervention contributes toward restoring adequate supply.

But it’s important to remember that restoring an under-resourced body requires time. Deficiency does not reverse overnight, and the body requires consistent input to rebuild its stores. But if things are moving in the direction they need to be, improvements will manifest, even if they often appear slowly at first. The body rebuilds gradually, responding first by stabilizing its most basic operations such as sleep, appetite, and temperature regulation. As these foundations strengthen, energy becomes more reliable and mood begins to feel more even.

As treatment progresses, many people become aware of how long they have been functioning with limited resources. Improvements in sleep reveal what poor rest had been doing to concentration and emotional resilience. Better digestion exposes how much discomfort had been accepted as normal. Improved circulation reframes chronic coldness as a treatable pattern rather than an inevitability. Relief brings clarity as much as comfort. Healing makes the previous state recognizable.

Deficiency also frequently exists alongside patterns that look very different on the surface. A person may struggle with heat sensations, tension, or inflammation while also feeling depleted underneath. This combination can be confusing, especially when symptoms appear intense but stamina remains low. Clinical diagnosis sorts out which processes need calming and which need rebuilding. Treatment is adjusted accordingly so that nothing is suppressed while the underlying weakness continues unaddressed.

From a broader perspective, deficiency reflects how the body adapts over time. Life events such as childbirth, illness, prolonged stress, or significant loss draw heavily on internal reserves. Other periods allow replenishment if the conditions are supportive. Health depends in part on recognizing whether the body is in a phase of recovery or expenditure and matching care to that reality. Diagnosis becomes less about classification and more about timing.

Look At Deficiency Through A Chinese Medicine Lens

The language of Chinese medicine developed to describe these long arcs of change. Though the terms themselves are ancient, the patterns they describe remain familiar in modern clinics. Deficiency is common because contemporary life places sustained demands on attention, energy, and rest without always providing adequate recovery. People often pursue treatment for isolated complaints without realizing that the same underlying depletion contributes to many of them at once.

Understanding deficiency reframes fatigue, cold sensitivity, sleep disruption, and emotional strain as signs of a system asking for support rather than signaling failure. Care becomes something that builds capacity rather than something aimed at erasing symptoms. This shift alone changes how people relate to their bodies and to treatment.

Rebuilding takes time, but the process is reliable when approached consistently. Appetite becomes steadier, warmth returns more easily to the hands and feet, sleep deepens, and concentration improves. These changes accumulate slowly but with increasing momentum as the body regains its ability to maintain itself. People are often surprised by how long they carried the burden of feeling unwell before receiving adequate support.

When treatment succeeds, people commonly describe a sense of steadiness that had been missing for years. Energy no longer feels rationed. Sleep supports activity rather than merely permitting it. The nervous system responds with less volatility to stress. These shifts reflect the quiet restoration of internal resources.

It’s important to remember that one of Chinese medicine’s most core principles is that bodies and systems are dynamic. That is, they can change and evolve over time and that no matter who fixed something appears to be, that certainty is an illusion. Deficiency is not a verdict. It is information. It describes what the body needs in order to function better and live with greater ease. Chinese medicine provides a framework for responding to that information thoughtfully and thoroughly, respecting the time required for real replenishment.

Qi Node 23: 小寒 Xiǎohán (Lesser Cold)

Seeing with More than Your Eyes

Yin is the more subtle of the two interacting forces that shape the world around us. Remember that Yin is substance and form, heavy and deep, dark and complex and also remember that it is fundamentally mysterious. The nature of Yin collects and holds the wisdom of our ancestors, the knowledge of how life was lived and what was valued both for humans on this plane, and for every other being, and every other manifestation on every other wavelength and on every other dimension throughout time, space, and beyond. Woah! If you feel like you need to reread that sentence a few times — I had to rewrite it a few times so that it made any sort of sense at all. That’s because of the very properties of Yin the sentence is trying to describe. There aren’t any words that can capture it completely. How it works in our lives can be glimpsed and sometimes analyzed, but never truly known.

In particular, the dynamic of the 23rd Qi Node, 小寒 Xiǎohán, is even harder to discern. We don’t have the direct experience of an incredibly long night like at Winter Solstice, nor do we have the palpable change in the weather patterns that help us see the movement of Qi in the environment like in late spring or late fall. Instead, much of our ability to understand this node has to do with softer sensations like our emotional needs, our dreams (or lack thereof), and the reminiscence and reflection that move to the fore of this time of the year.

The Imminent Decline of Yin

A classic metaphor to qualify Yin at this Qi Node is the image of a dowager empress acting as regent for her young son. She has been ruling things for several years and her power is absolute (Qi Node 22: Winter Solstice), but the young emperor is getting older and it will not be much longer before she will have to cede the throne to her son. She is still very much in control of her surroundings, but she too is getting older and the knowledge that she will not be able to remain in her post forever is now undeniable.

This narrative helps us to understand the movement of Yin and Yang during this time of the year where Yin is still the dominant force, and its ability to shape everything in our environments is just like the powerful Empress Regent. Yang is young, just reborn at the height of the Empress’s power during solstice and is growing toward self-awareness every day. Yang is still vulnerable though and easily misdirected. It has little of its own identity and relies almost entirely on the nurturing depth of Yin to keep it safe. Yet despite this dependence, the Empress Regent Yin feels the drain of constantly nourishing her burgeoning young Emperor Yang more than she did in the past. Her resources are beginning to wane, and it is time to prepare for transition.

Experiencing 小寒 Xiǎohán

Often people start to inhabit an emotional space called the “Winter Blues” during this time of the year. It now even has a loose diagnosis called SAD or seasonal affective disorder and has been biomedically linked to reduced exposure to sunlight and lower levels of Vitamin D. In response to this biomedical explanation, there has been a proliferation of desktop lamps that mimic sunlight and an increase in supplements of Vitamin D to help “counteract” the effects of the season. Interestingly, even in more equatorial parts of the world where the variance in daily sunlight hours is much smaller than in more polar regions, many people still report feeling more melancholic, less-motivated, and nostalgic or regretful. Our modern desire to avoid these types of feelings has motivated researchers and product manufacturers to create tools to help us minimize these emotions and continually reorient ourselves toward activity and ebullience.

Why we are so driven as modern people to skirt any association with non-exuberant emotion is a much longer conversation of Western (read modern) people’s negative relationship with Yin stuff and the celebration, and even worship, of Yang stuff for thousands of years. For now, let me say that the movement toward inactivity, slower days, longer hours sleeping, deep reflection, a want to apologize for past transgressions, and a sense that there is a deep yawning void “out there” is completely normal and appropriate. It is the nature of Yin to stretch out endlessly in front of us during this time of the year, and as we stand on the precipice of that enormity, it can make us feel small, insignificant, and utterly without value in the great scheme of things. The beauty of looking at the movement of life through the various qi nodes and the seasons is that even in the face of Yin’s disconcerting profundity, we know that its overwhelm is temporary. It is a glimpse at what our, and many other’s, reality is made from and stitched with, but it is not an end in-and-of-itself. In fact, it is this very complexity that creates the nursery for Yang, for activity, for analysis, for execution of tasks and plans. So, sit with your reminiscence. Spend time with your feelings of inadequacy. Embrace your lack of motivation to do big things and make the things you do smaller. Take the experience of your past and the pasts of other people and begin the soft stages of imagining what the next year could be. Weave regret into the fabric of who you are so that you can rely on what it has taught you as you spin the cloth of a coming new year.

Conduct During the 23rd Qi Node

Historically, many Chinese people used this and the next qi node to begin cleaning the interior of their homes in preparation for the socialization of Spring. They spent time indoors and eschewed many social engagements (often because in Northern China it was literally too cold and snow-covered to go outside and travel anywhere), eating foods that had been long-cooked and then reheated or even eaten cold when the dish suited it.

For contemporary people, 小寒 Xiǎohán is an opportunity to think about the coming year. To take it easy and brew cups of coffee or tea to drink as you spend time with yourself or your immediate family and avoid overextending yourself in work, tasks at home, or social obligations. The time for revelry is coming in about a month, but it’s not here yet. Creative efforts should be limited to planning stages and brainstorming, but real creation, especially of anything new, should be tabled until later in Spring. Exercise should be slow and minimal, focusing on stretching, shaking, tapping, and simple calisthenics. Definitely no marathon runs or intense mountain hikes, and minimize your sweating above all else. That kind of vigorous activity demands that Yang qi get up from its nest and rise to the surface to provide the necessary energy and force to get those tasks done, and it is far too young and fragile to have such demands made of it. Yang will respond to your call (you are still alive of course), but the cost to its available resources later in the year will be greater and could reduce the amount of available Yang over the course of your life. It is much better to wait and sync those vigorous types of activities with the right seasons.

Take your time. Take your rest. Appreciate the constantly changing nature of your environment. After all, experience is the point of embodiment.

Everyday Alchemy: The Power of Gentle Warming

Winter changes how the body functions in ways many people notice physically. Blood flow concentrates closer to the core, which often leaves the hands and feet colder. Muscles and connective tissue tighten more easily. Digestion tends to slow, and appetite shifts toward heavier foods. Sleep becomes more irregular for some people and deeper for others, shaped by shorter days and colder nights. These seasonal changes emerge from familiar physiological processes involving circulation, hormone signaling, and metabolism. Within Chinese medicine, cold is understood as something that influences how well the body moves, transforms, and generates warmth internally. Over time, persistent cooling can appear as joint pain, fatigue, digestive discomfort, frequent urination, or a baseline sense of chill that lingers even indoors.

Modern life encourages people to push through winter without much adjustment. Homes remain brightly lit after sunset, heating systems hold indoor temperatures steady, and work schedules rarely reflect seasonal changes. The body, however, responds continuously to light, temperature, and activity level whether or not routines acknowledge those influences. Gentle warming practices provide a practical way to support the body during months that naturally place more demand on circulation and heat production. They encourage blood flow, relax tissues that stay contracted in the cold, and support digestion at a time of year when metabolic activity tends to run lower.

Foot Baths

Foot baths are one of the simplest ways to introduce warmth into the body in a sustained way. Immersing the feet in hot water draws circulation downward and outward, improving warmth in the extremities while easing tension elsewhere. Many people notice that their shoulders relax, their breathing deepens, and their sense of restlessness decreases after a single session. This response reflects how closely circulation, muscle tone, and nervous system activity are linked.

A foot bath works best when treated as direct care for the body rather than a symbolic or decorative act. Ten to twenty minutes provides enough time for meaningful circulatory changes to occur. Water should feel genuinely hot without being painful. Wrapping the ankles and lower legs in a towel helps retain warmth and extend its effects. In the evening, this practice prepares the body for sleep by raising core temperature and then allowing it to fall gradually afterward. Many people find that they fall asleep more easily and wake less often during the night after making foot baths part of their winter routine.

Find a foot soaking tub/bowl/pot/bucket that is deep enough to get water up to your mid-calf. You can get a decent effect from a classic ankle-deep foot tub but a deeper tub will warm you more deeply and in less time. You might also want to keep the just boiled kettle near to your soaking area so you can add little bits of hot water to the tub to keep the temperature warm throughout the soak. If you’re getting super creative: towel insulators, sous-vide circulators, and even warming trays can help to keep your soak toasty for the whole duration.

Hot Packs

Hot packs, or electric heating pads, offer similar benefits through simpler means. Placed on the low back, abdomen, neck, or shoulders, they increase local blood flow and soften tissue that tends to remain contracted during colder months. Heat in these areas improves flexibility, reduces pain, and supports circulation to underlying organs. For people experiencing menstrual discomfort, digestive upset, or chronic back tension, daily use often produces visible improvement in comfort and function.

Warmth also engages the nervous system directly. Heat encourages relaxation in skeletal and smooth muscle, opens blood vessels, and shifts breathing into a slower rhythm. These changes reflect increased parasympathetic activity, which supports digestion, recovery, and sleep. As winter progresses and dryness, cold, and reduced sunlight accumulate, many people neglect how much their nervous systems are working to maintain balance. Heat therapy offers a simple way to ease that load.

Moxibustion

Moxibustion introduces warmth through combustion rather than water or electrical heat. It involves the burning of processed Artemisia argyi near the body, allowing heat and aromatic compounds from the plant to penetrate the tissues gradually. The warmth produced by moxa reaches more deeply than most external methods. Practitioners use it to warm muscles, joints, and specific areas associated with digestion, circulation, and reproductive health. This form of heat often reaches tissue that remains cool even when covered with blankets or hot packs.

In clinical settings, moxa is frequently used for digestive weakness, chronic pain, low energy, and gynecological concerns related to cold sensitivity. People who become ill easily in winter or feel persistently chilled tend to respond especially well. The warmth develops slowly and remains after treatment ends. Many patients describe a deep internal warmth that continues for hours, sometimes longer.

Moxa also influences breathing patterns and nervous system tone. Treatment often produces slower respiration, reduced muscle tension, and a sense of physical settling. Over time, repeated treatments can improve resilience for people whose systems feel depleted by chronic stress or illness. During winter, when immune systems are under greater strain and circulation works harder to maintain warmth, these effects offer meaningful physiological support.

The General Importance of Warmth

What foot baths, moxa, and hot packs share is their direct influence on circulation and tissue tone. Cold reduces movement in tissues and blood vessels. Warming restores pliability and flow. Over time, these changes affect how nutrients are delivered, how waste is cleared, and how energy is produced. Temperature quietly shapes every aspect of internal physiology. When the body stays chronically cool, systems slow. When warmth circulates efficiently, function improves.

These practices also invite a slower rhythm into daily life. They give the body a clear signal that it is allowed to rest. During winter, when many people carry a steady undercurrent of tension, these moments of sustained warmth help reset baseline tone. A basin on the floor, a warm cloth across the abdomen, the faint scent of moxa smoke in the room. These experiences engage the body through sensation and attention rather than instruction.

People who respond most strongly to warming therapies often describe themselves as tired without knowing why, cold even indoors, or uncomfortable in their bodies in ways that defy clear explanation. Their symptoms develop gradually. Circulation thins. Digestion weakens. Sleep loses depth. When warmth is introduced consistently, these patterns begin to unwind. Energy stabilizes, limbs feel warmer, discomfort becomes easier to manage, and rest becomes more accessible.

Winter requires practical adjustments even when daily life does not permit major changes in schedule or environment. Gentle warming therapies offer support without complexity. A foot bath before bed. A hot pack during evening reading. Warm beverages throughout the day. These small interventions accumulate steadily, and their effects deepen when they become part of routine rather than reserved for moments of discomfort.

The body reorganizes itself each winter as part of its annual cycle, and sometimes, particularly in cases of age or infirmity, that reorganization can be unfomfortable if we don’t take speicfic steps to shape it to our needs. Gentle warming practices influence that reorganization directly and help us to maintain movement where stagnation might otherwise develop. They preserve warmth where cold would accumulate quietly over months.

Warmth communicates with the body in a way no instruction can. It influences circulation, muscle tone, breathing, and sleep simultaneously. During winter, these small signals add up. Foot baths, moxa, and hot packs offer a steady form of care that fits naturally into the season. They support the body’s tendency toward conservation and restoration rather than fighting against it.

Qi Node 22: Winter Solstice

Seeing The Qi All Around Us

The movement of qi in the environment is an endless and inevitable process. Yin and Yang are constantly interacting with one another in the smallest of circumstances as well as on a cosmic level. Solstice days are great opportunities to look at the annual cycle when it has more clear definition. That is, Winter and Summer solstice have visible and palpable qualities that virtually any human being can see or experience making it easier to understand what all this discussion of qi movement is really getting at.

The Peak of Yin

Yin is one side of the Yin Yang movement that is represented by various related qualities: Darkness, moisture, cool and cold temperatures, substance, form, heaviness, history, blood, ancestry, rumination, nostalgia. Yin is the definition of substance and it transcends the boundaries of what we think of us the world around us and connects all the substantive material of the universe. Yin qi is profoundly complex and because of that depth, it is intrinsically mysterious. Even if you could stare at it endlessly, analyze it and take it apart, Yin qi would always seem entirely familiar and simultaneously out-of-reach. Yin and Yang both ebb and flow at various times in the year and Winter Solstice is the time when the Yin qi has gathered and matured to fullest self. It is now a powerful feminine force that is both nurturing and demanding.

Winter Solstice marks the longest night and shortest day of the year. In many parts of the world the temperatures are cold and the ground is covered in snow. Even if the weather does not make it as easy to see the strength of Yin where you live, rest assured that the forces at work in our environment are much more potent than the temperature of the air or soil. Even in warm or tropical climates, the qi of the Winter is more retrospective and reserved, demanding that we eat differently, think differently and conduct ourselves differently than we do in the Summer.

Your Food Should Be Warm and Slow-Cooked

Because there is less Yang Qi available in the Winter generally, but especially around Solstice, your meals should be prepared in a way that deeply extracts their stored flavors and natures. Soups, braises, slow-roasts, and simmering are all great ways to use cooking to dig into what is hidden deep, making it available to nourish your body. Season your meats and vegetables with mild, warm spices like cumin, cinnamon, and nutmeg. Add some ginger and garlic to your sautee bases or in with your roasted vegetables. Take advantage of the squashes still stored from the end of the summer like Delicata, Kabocha, and Acorn. Drink a slightly salty broth with your meals or make a whole soup several times per week. This moisture helps to keep your digestion running smoothly. Avoid overeating as much as you can. No raw foods, smoothies, or salads this time of year.

Your Conduct Is Restrained

The enormity of Yin at the time of Solstice permeates our environs. People feel nostalgic or homesick, we yearn for connections with our friends and families, we are more oriented to naps and lazy days. These feels and inclinations are right and appropriate at this time of year. Yin gives us the opportunity to nourish ourselves from its depths — the same place that our lineage and memory come from. Even emotions that our Western culture categorizes as negative ones like sadness and regret are appropriate this time of year. Yin in its fullness makes it easier for us to reflect on the past and to glean wisdom from our actions both good and bad.

Significantly, the time around Winter Solstice is not the time of the year to start new projects, nor the time of the year to increase your marathon training regimen. It is a time for soft and mild activity that does not cause a person to sweat, for stretching and breathing. It is a time to imagine the possibilities for the coming year and to slowly organize your thoughts and goals. It is not time to plan exactly, just the time to wonder and hope and imagine. Let your mind be carried into the myriad variations of your life, your family, and your work.

Treating every month of the year as if it were July is like driving your car with your foot pressed hard on the gas. You can do it, but your fuel will not last and in many contexts, your driving will be dangerous. You can keep doing everything you do in the summer all through the winter but it costs more. You will require your diminished yang qi to rouse itself from its hibernation and to flare bright and strong for you to get things done the way you want. It will respond to your call but for how long and to what degree? Are you always fighting fatigue, drinking cups of coffee or cans of redbull? Is your hair thinner than you’d like? Your metabolism slower? your bowels less reliable? These and many more can all be signs of your yang qi being overextended and your body’s lack of yin nourishment. If we do what we’ve always done, we will get what we’ve always got. Can you begin to reorganize your life to allow for more replenishment? For more introspection? How can you take steps to ease the demands you place on your body? It can start with something as small as drinking tea while starting out your front window, thinking about the last time you spent with nothing on your mind.

What They Came In For: Sciatica

Susan came in with a limp and a grimace.

She’d been dealing with sharp, radiating pain down her right leg for weeks. It started as a dull ache in her low back — nothing she hadn’t dealt with before — but quickly evolved into something else entirely. A stabbing, electrical pain that shot down through her hip and into the back of her thigh. Sometimes it reached her calf. Sometimes it felt like her foot would go numb.

“I can’t sit for more than ten minutes without it lighting up,” she said. “And walking’s just… a negotiation with my body. Every step is a maybe.”

Susan was in her early 50s, worked part-time from home, and loved to garden. But lately, everything felt like a challenge. Standing at the kitchen counter to cook dinner made her leg throb. Sitting at her desk was impossible without a stack of cushions and a heating pad. She hadn’t touched her garden in over a month.

She’d seen her primary care doctor, who diagnosed it as sciatica — likely inflammation pressing on the sciatic nerve. They offered pain meds and referred her to physical therapy, but she wanted something more hands-on. Something that could address the pain now while also supporting her body’s healing over time.

She came to us out of desperation — but also hope.

Mapping the Pain

Susan’s pain was textbook in its presentation — but everyone’s version of sciatica is a little different. In her case, it followed the classic pathway from her low back into her glute and down the back of her thigh. But it was also unpredictable. Sometimes the pain was dull and dragging. Other times it was sharp and hot, especially when she moved from sitting to standing. At night, it ached deep in her hip and made it hard to sleep.

We used acupuncture to target the full length of the affected channel. Not just at the site of pain in the glutes, but upstream at the low back and downstream in the calf and foot — selecting points to release tight muscles, reduce inflammation, and encourage the body’s natural healing response around the affected tissues.

When we worked on her lower back directly, we needled not just where it hurt, but where we thought the problem originated. Sciatica often comes from compression or stagnation in the lower spine or gluteal area, and releasing those stuck layers makes a huge difference. Susan felt it right away.

“That spot — whatever you did there — that’s the one,” she said after the first treatment.

The Power of Consistency and Herbs

Sciatica doesn’t usually vanish overnight. The nerve needs time to calm down, inflammation needs to be addressed, and the muscular imbalances that contributed to the problem often need unwinding. But with regular treatment — and that’s the key — most people get real relief.

For Susan, we started with acupuncture twice a week for the first couple of weeks to get traction on the pain. It wasn’t just about reducing discomfort — it was about keeping momentum, helping the tissues recalibrate, and making sure every step forward stuck.

We also added in a custom herbal formula tailored to her specific presentation. Herbs to move blood, reduce inflammation, and support her constitution — especially her Liver and Kidney systems, which in Chinese medicine govern the sinews, bones, and the lower body. The herbs helped keep the pain from flaring between sessions and supported healing in the background, even on days she wasn’t in the clinic.

By the third week, Susan reported that she’d made it through a full afternoon in the garden — not pain-free, but mobile, present, and not paying for it afterward. By week five, she was back to walking her neighborhood loop in the morning. She still had some stiffness when she overdid it, but the electric shocks were gone.

Getting Her Life Back

Chronic pain has a way of shrinking your world. It steals simple pleasures. It makes your body feel like a trap.

When Susan first came in, she wasn’t just in pain — she was discouraged. She felt like her life had become a list of things she couldn’t do: walk, bend, sit, rest.

But after a few weeks of steady treatment, she started to recognize her body again. Not as a source of distress, but as something trustworthy. Capable. Responsive.

“I didn’t realize how much I was adjusting to the pain until it started to ease,” she told us. “Now I’m not adjusting — I’m just living.”

Acupuncture works best when it’s targeted, consistent, and supported with the right herbs and pacing. It doesn’t mask the pain — it helps the body untangle it. And in Susan’s case, it gave her back the rhythm of her days — and her garden, too.

Qi Node 21: Greater Snow Dàxuě 大雪

Yin Has Matured

Throughout the course of Fall and early Winter Yin qi has been growing and expanding, taking over the seasonal tasks and encouraging an editing and reflection on the work of Yang and the Summer.

The Peak of Yin

Yin is one side of the Yin Yang movement that is represented by various related qualities: Darkness, moisture, cool and cold temperatures, substance, form, heaviness, history, blood, ancestry, rumination, nostalgia. Yin is the definition of substance and it transcends the boundaries of what we think of us the world around us and connects all the substantive material of the universe. Yin qi is profoundly complex and because of that depth, it is intrinsically mysterious. Even if you could stare at it endlessly, analyze it and take it apart, Yin qi would always seem entirely familiar and simultaneously out-of-reach. Yin and Yang both ebb and flow at various times in the year and Winter Solstice is the time when the Yin qi has gathered and matured to fullest self. It is now a powerful feminine force that is both nurturing and demanding.

Winter Solstice marks the longest night and shortest day of the year. In many parts of the world the temperatures are cold and the ground is covered in snow. Even if the weather does not make it as easy to see the strength of Yin where you live, rest assured that the forces at work in our environment are much more potent than the temperature of the air or soil. Even in warm or tropical climates, the qi of the Winter is more retrospective and reserved, demanding that we eat differently, think differently and conduct ourselves differently than we do in the Summer.

Your Food Should Be Warm and Slow-Cooked

Because there is less Yang Qi available in the Winter generally, but especially around Solstice, your meals should be prepared in a way that deeply extracts their stored flavors and natures. Soups, braises, slow-roasts, and simmering are all great ways to use cooking to dig into what is hidden deep, making it available to nourish your body. Season your meats and vegetables with mild, warm spices like cumin, cinnamon, and nutmeg. Add some ginger and garlic to your sautee bases or in with your roasted vegetables. Take advantage of the squashes still stored from the end of the summer like Delicata, Kabocha, and Acorn. Drink a slightly salty broth with your meals or make a whole soup several times per week. This moisture helps to keep your digestion running smoothly. Avoid overeating as much as you can. No raw foods, smoothies, or salads this time of year.

Your Conduct Is Restrained

The enormity of Yin at the time of Solstice permeates our environs. People feel nostalgic or homesick, we yearn for connections with our friends and families, we are more oriented to naps and lazy days. These feels and inclinations are right and appropriate at this time of year. Yin gives us the opportunity to nourish ourselves from its depths — the same place that our lineage and memory come from. Even emotions that our Western culture categorizes as negative ones like sadness and regret are appropriate this time of year. Yin in its fullness makes it easier for us to reflect on the past and to glean wisdom from our actions both good and bad.

Significantly, the time around Winter Solstice is not the time of the year to start new projects, nor the time of the year to increase your marathon training regimen. It is a time for soft and mild activity that does not cause a person to sweat, for stretching and breathing. It is a time to imagine the possibilities for the coming year and to slowly organize your thoughts and goals. It is not time to plan exactly, just the time to wonder and hope and imagine. Let your mind be carried into the myriad variations of your life, your family, and your work.

Treating every month of the year as if it were July is like driving your car with your foot pressed hard on the gas. You can do it, but your fuel will not last and in many contexts, your driving will be dangerous. You can keep doing everything you do in the summer all through the winter but it costs more. You will require your diminished yang qi to rouse itself from its hibernation and to flare bright and strong for you to get things done the way you want. It will respond to your call but for how long and to what degree? Are you always fighting fatigue, drinking cups of coffee or cans of redbull? Is your hair thinner than you’d like? Your metabolism slower? your bowels less reliable? These and many more can all be signs of your yang qi being overextended and your body’s lack of yin nourishment. If we do what we’ve always done, we will get what we’ve always got. Can you begin to reorganize your life to allow for more replenishment? For more introspection? How can you take steps to ease the demands you place on your body? It can start with something as small as drinking tea while starting out your front window, thinking about the last time you spent with nothing on your mind.

Foundations of Chinese Medicine: Jīng 精

Your Inheritance, Potential, and Reserves

Among the foundational ideas in Chinese medicine, few are as rich—and as layered—as the concept of jīng 精. Usually translated as “essence,” jīng represents something both simple and profound. It is your inherited material, your deep reserves, and your capacity to grow, reproduce, and age. It animates the trajectory of life. And while jīng is not the same as genetics in the modern biomedical sense, there are compelling resonances—especially when we consider how experience can shape inheritance, and how our individual potential is both given and cultivated.

In classical Chinese texts, jīng is described as the foundational substance that underlies all life processes. It is the most condensed and vital form of material in the body—more refined than blood, deeper than qi. The Huáng Dì Nèi Jīng 黃帝內經 (c. 2nd century BCE), identifies jīng as the root of growth, reproduction, development, and vitality. It is closely associated with the Kidneys, which are not just a pair of organs in Chinese medicine, but a system that governs life force, constitutional strength, and long-term reserves.

Jīng is sometimes described as coming in two forms: pre-natal and post-natal. Pre-natal jīng is inherited from your parents at conception—it’s your starting endowment. It determines your constitutional strength, your basic developmental patterns, and how you’ll move through the stages of life. Post-natal jīng, on the other hand, is something you accumulate and refine through daily life—primarily through food, breath, rest, and experience. These two aspects are interdependent: the pre-natal sets the limits, but the post-natal helps determine how fully those limits are explored or sustained.

The idea that we inherit something at birth that defines our baseline health and longevity maps reasonably well onto the idea of genetics. Our DNA sets certain parameters—height potential, predispositions, vulnerabilities. But the Chinese medicine concept of jīng adds something important to the idea of baseline inheritance found in DNA because it recognizes that life doesn’t stop at that inheritance. Life is not only what we receive at birth, no matter how potent a genetic marker may be. Our lives shape us. And what we experience, how we live, and what we absorb doesn’t just affect us—it becomes part of what we might pass forward.

Modern Science Catches Up to Ancient Knowledge

Modern research in epigenetics reflects something similar. We now understand that while genes provide a blueprint, their expression is not fixed. Diet, stress, trauma, environmental exposure, and social context all influence how genes are turned on or off—and these changes can be passed to future generations. In this sense, what Chinese medicine describes as post-natal jīng—the essence that is created through experience and stored in the body—has a contemporary parallel. The life you live is not only shaping your health; it may also be shaping your children's inheritance.

This is where jīng becomes more than just an abstract concept. It helps explain why some people seem to recover easily while others are more depleted. It offers insight into why certain illnesses run in families—not just genetically, but constitutionally. It also gives us a way to think about aging, fertility, and chronic fatigue that centers not on specific diseases but on the gradual ebb and flow of core vitality.

In clinic, we often recognize signs of jīng deficiency by their depth and persistence. People may come in with symptoms like fatigue that doesn’t improve with rest, premature graying or hair loss, developmental delays, fertility challenges, or difficulty recovering from major illness. Sometimes there are no obvious biomedical markers, but there is a sense that the system is running low. These are the cases where jīng becomes part of the conversation, not to pathologize, but to guide treatment and expectation.

Supporting jīng isn’t about quick fixes. There is no single herb or point that restores it overnight. Because jīng is so foundational, its cultivation requires time and attention. Rest is essential. Deep, nourishing sleep gives the Kidneys time to store and restore essence. Food plays a role too—particularly in how digestible and sustaining it is. Warm, cooked meals that are easy to assimilate are more helpful to jīng than raw or processed foods, especially for those already feeling depleted.

Emotionally, jīng is preserved when life is paced. Long periods of overwork, overstimulation, or chronic emotional strain can gradually consume essence, even if we appear to be functioning well on the surface. This doesn’t mean we need to avoid challenge, but that recovery must be part of the cycle. When people talk about burnout, adrenal fatigue, or “hitting a wall,” these may be contemporary ways of describing what Chinese medicine has long understood as the exhaustion of jīng.

Sexual activity is another traditional consideration. In the classical view, excessive ejaculation or unmoderated sexual activity can deplete jīng, especially in men. For women, reproduction itself draws on jīng, particularly during pregnancy and postpartum recovery. The prescritions around sexual conduct are not about instilling a kind of prudishness, shame, or abstinence, but about recognizing that the creation and expenditure of life force comes with a cost. In modern terms, we might say that all significant biological investment—whether through stress, reproduction, or effort—calls on the reserves. When those reserves are limited, they’re expenditure needs to be modest and they must be restored with care.

And while we often focus on how jīng is lost, it's equally important to consider how it can be protected and refined. Practices like meditation, breathwork, and certain forms of qìgōng or tai chi are traditionally said to “nourish jīng.” So does time spent in nature, time spent in stillness, and time spent doing things that restore rather than stimulate. There’s no need to mystify this. When life feels less like it’s draining you and more like it’s filling you back up, you’re likely supporting your jīng.

It’s also worth remembering that jīng is not static. Even if your inherited essence feels thin, the way you live can make a difference. Small, consistent choices—restoring instead of depleting, warming instead of cooling, nourishing instead of rushing—help strengthen the post-natal side of the equation. Over time, that strengthens the whole foundation.

The concept of jīng reminds us that we are not just our symptoms. We are the unfolding of a deeper story—one that includes our ancestry, our choices, and our circumstances. Some of what we carry was given to us. Some of it, we shape ourselves. And some of it, we will pass forward in the form of our genetic code should we have children but also as our tones, rhythms, habits, and resiliency we model for all the people we encounter. That’s what makes jīng such a vital idea - it is the base note of our existence that echoes out to all the people we encounter.

Qi Node 20: 小雪 Xiǎoxuě (Lesser Snow)

The name of this node carries restraint: Xiǎoxuě 小雪, “Lesser Snow.” That first character Xiǎo 小 is the same character we use for “little” or for “small” in English. So it’s not no snow and not heavy snow. It’s just a hint of snow or in some climates the suggestion of snow, basically just enough to tell you Winter is deepening, but not yet in full expression. This node marks a subtle uptick in the potency of Winter—a refinement in the season’s character rather than a dramatic turn.

Lesser Snow does not mean lesser importance. It means the cold has arrived in earnest, but its most severe manifestations are still to come. The weather bites, but does not yet bruise. The frost lingers, but the earth has not sealed. It is Winter’s quiet overture, the first real layering of stillness over the surface of the world.

The descent of yīn qì 陰氣 has settled into structure. The days are brief and the light is pale. The cold is not momentary anymore—it is defining. And with it comes the seasonal instruction: simplify further, quiet more deeply, trust the small and consistent patterns.

Snow in Potential, Not in Force

Like all seasonal changes, Xiǎoxuě 小雪 doesn’t bring Winter in one dramatic stroke. Instead the season arrives in stages, like breath against a window—barely visible, but unmistakably present. In most climates, snow doesn’t yet accumulate in this phase, and in some, it doesn’t fall at all. But its possibility is in the air. The world smells different. The wind has lost all softness.

The presence of snow in this node is more symbolic than literal. It represents the crystallization of qi. The contraction of moisture, the compression of movement, the beginning of form born from stillness. Even when there is no snow on the ground, we can feel its intent settling in. The grasses stiffen. The trees stop speaking. Water loses its eagerness to flow.

There’s a tension in this potential—a coiled stillness that hints at what’s to come. It’s a teaching moment, cosmologically speaking. We’re asked to understand the value of potential energy, not just the kinetic kind. This qi node encourages us to learn how to sit inside a moment that isn’t fully formed, and to draw nourishment from what hasn’t quite arrived.

This is an ideal time for observing without interpreting and for sensing patterns before they become explicit. Just as snow rests in the clouds before falling, this moment asks you to rest in awareness before action. It’s a kind of pause pregnant with meaning.

Embracing the Subtle Descent

By Xiǎoxuě 小雪, the descent of the season is no longer theory—it is embodied. But unlike the dramatic drop-offs of equinoxes or solstices, this descent moves like sediment through water—slow, consistent, undeniable. You may not even notice how much has changed until you pause and look around.

The most vital aspect of this qi node is learning how to meet the descent without resistance. There’s a cultural reflex, especially in Western life, to brace against slowing down. We try to sustain brightness long past the natural point of dimming. But Xiǎoxuě 小雪 offers a different kind of intelligence—the kind that teaches us to lean into the weight of the season instead of fighting it.

You may notice yourself longing for more time alone, or becoming less interested in social plans, noise, or fast-moving schedules. These are not signs of burnout. These are signs of alignment. Your system is responding to the deeper pull of yīn 陰.

The descent also brings a subtle reorganization of the emotional landscape. What once felt urgent no longer commands attention. Certain worries lose their teeth. Your internal focus narrows. This is not retreat in the negative sense—it is return. Return to what matters. Return to the inner hearth.

To embrace the descent is to stop asking for permission to slow down. It is to inhabit the season as it is, and to trust that what is pared down is not lost, but clarified.

This is the node that teaches you how to be with what remains—and how to let that be enough.

Aligning Conduct with Xiǎoxuě 小雪

Let your actions now become smaller but more rooted. This is the time to keep your systems warm, your days simple, and your inner fire steady—not stoked, but tended.

1. Honor the Dry Cold

As temperatures drop, so does ambient moisture. This is taxing for the Lungs, skin, and sinuses. Nourish your system with foods that moisten and warm—pear with honey, roasted squash, barley with lily bulb and dates. Add sesame, walnuts, and small amounts of warming herbs like ginger and cardamom.

A humidifier in the home, especially where you sleep, can ease the transition.

2. Practice Short Outdoor Contact

Let your body feel the cold, but briefly. A ten-minute walk wrapped in layers. A few breaths on the back porch before tea. Contact with the elements now reminds your system what season it’s in—so it can adjust more intelligently. But don’t linger. Cold is to be acknowledged, not absorbed.

3. Protect the Periphery

Cover your neck and lower back. Keep the feet warm at all times. Avoid direct wind exposure. At this stage, drafts are not neutral—they’re depleting. Keep yourself sealed, as the trees now are, as the seeds underground have always been.

Warmth now is your shield, not your indulgence.

4. Refine, Don’t Rearrange

No more life overhauls. No productivity sprints. Let go of reinvention. Instead, hone what already exists. Refine your rhythms, reinforce your rituals. Let your habits become the bones of your day. This is not the time to start something new. It is the time to stay with what is working.

5. Nourish from the Bones Out

Continue cooking with depth: broths, stews, porridges, braises. Use bone-in meats and root vegetables. Think rich but digestible. The Kidney system, which governs Winter, thrives on long, slow nourishment. Avoid raw food. Avoid icy drinks. Cook with time, and eat with attention.

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Xiǎoxuě 小雪 is the most understated of the Winter nodes. But its wisdom is profound. It teaches that preparation is not always loud. That rest does not mean absence. That stillness is not stagnation.

Let this node guide you into the quieter center of Winter. Wrap yourself in rhythm. Choose warmth. Choose quiet. Choose the small, deliberate action over the dramatic shift.

Lesser Snow can remind you that subtle is not the opposite of powerful but is often its truest expression.

Everyday Alchemy: Keep Off That Cold Floor

There’s something grounding about walking barefoot, especially on natural surfaces—grass, sand, warm stone. But indoors, especially during the colder months, bare feet on hard, cold floors can be more draining than refreshing. In Chinese medicine, this simple act—just standing on a cold surface—carries more weight than it might seem. That’s because of how the environment interacts with the body.

Chinese medicine has always viewed the body as part of the world around it. We’re not closed systems. The qì 氣 of the environment—its temperature, dampness, wind, and seasonal patterns—moves in and around us. When we are strong and in balance, we can adapt to shifts with ease. But when we are depleted, overexposed, or chronically taxed, even minor environmental influences can begin to take a toll.

Cold is one of the six external factors (liù yīn 六淫) described in classical texts. It is considered a contracting, slowing, and stagnating influence. When cold enters the body, it tends to cause tightness, pain, or impaired movement. It often lodges in the lower body—joints, bladder, reproductive organs—and creates symptoms like cramping, stiffness, or slowed circulation. While we usually think of cold entering through the back of the neck, the feet are also a common entry point. The channels that run through the feet connect to the Kidneys, Liver, and Spleen—systems responsible for vitality, digestion, and hormonal regulation.

Of course, a single step on a cold tile floor isn’t likely to cause lasting harm. The body is resilient, and most people can tolerate brief exposures without issue. But repeated exposure, especially when the body is already under strain, can slowly erode vitality. Walking barefoot on cold floors every morning in winter, spending long hours standing on uninsulated concrete, or habitually having cold feet without warming them—these are the kinds of patterns that can gradually disturb internal balance. Over time, people may notice that they feel more tired, more prone to digestive upset, more susceptible to urinary discomfort, or more affected by cold weather in general.

It’s not that cold floors are dangerous. It’s that the body can only buffer so much before it starts to adapt in ways that may not feel good. The feet, being far from the core and in direct contact with the environment, are especially sensitive to these shifts. Cold feet can cause the blood vessels to constrict, reduce circulation, and draw warmth away from the digestive organs. For people who already struggle with poor appetite, slow digestion, or loose stools, this can quietly worsen things. In others, cold in the feet may manifest more as menstrual cramps, low back pain, or an overall sense of fatigue and heaviness.

Some people are more susceptible than others. Individuals with depleted yáng 陽—those who tend to feel cold easily, have low energy, or crave warmth—are more likely to be affected by cold exposure. The same is true for those recovering from illness, going through periods of high stress, or transitioning through life stages that draw on internal reserves, such as postpartum or menopause. For these people, a cold floor might not just feel unpleasant—it might be the tipping point that leads to more entrenched discomfort.

Don’t rip up your floor tile just yet

The goal here isn’t to sound an alarm about household surfaces. It’s to offer a gentle reminder that our everyday choices add up. If you’re someone who consistently walks barefoot on cold floors and also deals with chronic cold feet, sluggish digestion, or low energy, there may be a connection worth exploring. Putting on socks or slippers, warming the feet before bed, or simply pausing to notice how you feel after time spent barefoot can offer real insight. Sometimes the fix is that simple.

There’s also a cultural piece to this. In many modern households, going barefoot indoors is seen as normal or even ideal. Minimalism, clean floors, and radiant heating have made bare feet feel acceptable year-round. But not all bodies thrive in the same conditions. What feels invigorating to one person may be draining to another. And what works in summer doesn’t always work in winter. Chinese medicine always comes back to context—season, constitution, environment, and lifestyle all matter.

One of the principles in this medicine is that prevention is better than correction. Keeping the feet warm is a classic example. It may not seem like a major decision, but protecting the lower body from chronic cold exposure can help preserve energy, improve circulation, and reduce tension in other parts of the system. It also signals to the body that warmth is available—that the external world is not depleting its reserves.

Warmth in the feet often translates to warmth in the core. People who start wearing slippers or warming socks in winter often notice that they digest better, sleep more easily, or experience less back or abdominal discomfort. This is not magic. It’s just alignment—small choices that support the body’s natural efforts to stay balanced.

If you already have cold feet, there are a few simple ways to bring warmth back in. Foot soaks with ginger or Epsom salts, gentle massage with warming oils, moxa (if appropriate and guided), or simply a hot water bottle at the end of the bed can help. But the most consistent support comes from what you do day after day. Warm layers. Covered ankles. A pause before stepping onto cold tile.

These are not difficult changes. But they require attention. And that’s the heart of this practice—not doing everything perfectly, but learning to notice what makes you feel better or worse, and adjusting accordingly. Feet are the foundation of the body. When they’re warm and supported, the whole system tends to function with a little more ease.

So this is not a warning against cold floors. It’s an invitation to consider how something that feels small might actually be meaningful. If you’re someone who feels tired, cold, or off-balance in subtle ways, keeping your feet warm might be a worthwhile experiment. It’s a low-effort, high-return choice—quiet, gentle, and rooted in the same logic that guides so much of Chinese medicine: respect the body’s relationship with the world, and try to work with it, not against it.

Qi Node 19: 立冬 Lìdōng (Winter Begins)

It happens quietly, but definitively. One morning you step outside, and the light has changed. The dampness in the air is no longer soft or fragrant—it bites. The earth, once pliable and generous, begins to firm beneath your feet. You can feel it in your bones. Lìdōng 立冬 has arrived.

This is the beginning of Winter—not just by calendar, but by qi. The character lì 立 means “to stand” or “to establish,” and dōng 冬 means “winter.” So Lìdōng 立冬 literally means "Winter stands." It is no longer forming. It is here.

In this phase, the world doesn’t just get cold—it begins to embody Cold as a force. This is not a temporary chill. This is a new energetic dominance. Yīn qì 陰氣 is no longer growing or gathering. It now governs. This is the start of dà yīn 大陰—Big Yin—and the world is leaning into its long descent.

From Damp to Cold, From Metal to Water

The previous node, Shuāngjiàng 霜降, lingered in Earth’s holding pattern—dense air, early frost, soft ground soaked with Autumn’s letting go. But here, with Lìdōng 立冬, the qi shifts definitively from damp to cold, from yielding to firm, from Earth to Water.

What was heavy with moisture is now sharp with chill. The moisture doesn’t cling anymore—it recedes, stiffens, crystallizes. The fog no longer wraps gently around your ankles. Now it bites at the skin, whispering of ice. The world is paring down, not just shedding, but locking in. The wet decay of fallen leaves gives way to hardening soil. You may find yourself surprised at how suddenly it happens—how quickly the earth begins to resist your steps, how suddenly the plants go from golden to gray.

The Water phase begins here, not as element but as worldview. Water doesn’t push. It carves. It seeps. It endures. In the cosmological sequence, Water follows Metal. The clarity and refinement of Autumn now give way to depth, to stillness, to duration. There is nothing hasty about Water. And there is nothing quick about Winter. We are being called into the long game now.

Enjoy the Cold While It Is Young

Before the deep freeze settles in, there is a brief and often overlooked pleasure in early Winter’s clarity. The cold is not yet brutal. It doesn’t yet weigh down the spirit or stiffen the joints. It enlivens. You may find that the first truly cold morning of the season wakes you up in a way nothing else can. The air feels honest. The sky, newly scrubbed of humidity, offers sharp edges and long, clean light.

This early phase of Winter holds a kind of promise—a reminder that stillness can also be invigorating. There’s something deeply satisfying about bundling up for a brisk walk and returning to a warm room, a pot on the stove, the contrast between cold skin and inner warmth. It’s a moment of sensual awareness that doesn’t come in the seasons of abundance or even in the cozy depths of January. This is clarity with gentleness. A sharpness that doesn’t yet cut.

So walk in it. Feel it. Let it speak to your skin and your breath. Just don’t stay long. Lìdōng 立冬 is not about challenging the cold, but greeting it. You’re not meant to brave the elements. You’re meant to acknowledge them. Nod at the gate before going back inside.

Aligning Conduct with Lìdōng 立冬

This is the season to start acting like Winter is here, even if it doesn’t quite look that way yet. Begin reinforcing your internal systems. Your practices now should preserve, protect, and fortify—not push, extend, or challenge.

1. Keep Warm and Contained

Layer your clothing. Wrap your neck. Cover your lower back. These are not just comfort choices—they are energetic boundaries. Wind and cold are among the most invasive of the six evils in Chinese medicine, and this is the time of year they slip in when we’re not paying attention.

Even brief exposure to cold wind can throw off the system now. Avoid bare feet on cold floors. Wear socks indoors. Bundle early.

2. Reinforce the Evening Ritual

The quiet of Winter begins with early nights. Darkness falls sooner and should be welcomed, not fought. Begin your winding down process before the sun disappears if you can. Avoid screen time at night—particularly in the hour before bed. Let your eyes and nervous system recalibrate.

Now is the time to get excited about sleep. Not just as rest, but as restoration. Dreaming becomes part of your medicine now.

3. Eat Richer, Deeper

This is when the slow-cooker takes center stage. Cook with bones, roots, and warming spices. Focus on dishes that take time—soups, stews, porridges. Let the kitchen be a place of low, consistent heat. No raw foods now. No cold drinks. And minimize sugar, which can deplete the Kidneys, the core organ system associated with Winter.

Begin to include more seaweeds, dark leafy greens, black sesame, walnuts, and mushrooms—foods that nourish jīng 精 and support depth.

4. Start Your Winter Reading

Let your mind follow the season. It’s time to get back into the long books, the slow podcasts, the hobbies that don’t reward speed. Knit something. Paint something. Write something no one will read. Sit with silence.

Winter favors introspection. Let your inner world expand now that the outer one is narrowing.

5. Reduce Sweating and Intensity

It’s time to retire intense cardio, hot yoga, and anything that produces heavy perspiration. Sweating now leads to fluid depletion and weakens your ability to retain heat. Movement should be internal and conserving—tai chi, qi gong, gentle strength training, restorative yoga, walking.

Keep your body active, but never to the point of exhaustion.

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There is a confidence to Lìdōng 立冬. It does not beg for attention. It simply arrives. There’s a stillness that isn’t sleepy but poised—like a mountain at dawn. That’s what this node offers: the chance to begin deepening, to prepare without panic, and to enjoy the clarity of a season that makes no apologies for what it is.

Let the cold awaken you. Let the dark slow you. Let the season shape your conduct with its quiet instructions.

Winter is not on the horizon. It is here. Stand with it.

What They Came In For: Painful Menstruation

By the time Meena R. walked into our clinic, her period ruled her calendar.

She had been dealing with severe cramps and heavy bleeding for as long as she could remember. Every month, for five to seven days, her world narrowed: heating pad, dark room, extra clothes packed “just in case,” and a silent prayer that her cycle wouldn’t land on an important meeting, a social event, or a flight. Sometimes she bled through her clothes. Sometimes the pain made her nauseated. Always, she endured.

She had tried birth control pills, which helped at first but came with their own side effects. She tried prescription painkillers, which dulled the edge but left her groggy and bloated. She tried supplements, yoga, pelvic steaming, magnesium, cutting out dairy. Some things helped a little, nothing helped enough.

And every time she brought it up—at her annual exam, during doctor’s visits, in rushed urgent care check-ins—she got a version of the same message: “That’s just your period.”

Which felt a lot like being told to get used to it.

When Meena came to Root and Branch, she was skeptical—but also exhausted. She didn’t want a miracle. She just wanted one cycle that didn’t leave her drained, curled up, or rearranging her life around bleeding.

We began, as always, by listening and asking questions. When did the pain start? Was it sharp, dull, dragging, throbbing? What did she notice about clots, color, flow, fatigue? We asked about her cycle from beginning to end—not just the “bad” days, but what led up to them, what came after. We looked at her digestion, sleep, mood. Her tongue, her pulse. Her full picture.

She described herself as “a person who pushes through,” but her body told us otherwise. Her pulse was wiry and tight, her lower abdomen cold to the touch. Her period arrived like a flood—sudden, heavy, painful—followed by days of exhaustion and emotional crash.

We explained that in Chinese medicine, pain and heavy bleeding aren’t random—they’re signs of stagnation and weakness happening at the same time. The blood is stuck, but also not being held. There’s tension, but also depletion. And both need to be treated, in the right order, with care.

We started with a customized herbal formula. That was the cornerstone of her treatment. One blend before her period to move what needed to move and ease the buildup of tension. Another to take during her period to reduce pain and regulate flow. These weren’t off-the-shelf teas. They were carefully selected combinations meant to restore rhythm and clarity to her cycle. She brewed them twice a day, sometimes more during her worst days.

Alongside the herbs, we used acupuncture to move blood, release tension in the lower abdomen, and support her hormonal system. We placed needles with a focus on the Liver and Spleen channels—key players in blood regulation—and paired that with calming points to settle her nervous system, which had been bracing for pain every month for years.

The first cycle after treatment was still painful—but it was different: less intense and shorter. She didn’t bleed through anything. She went to work the second day, which felt like a small miracle.

By the third cycle, she wasn’t dreading it anymore.

“I’ve never had a period sneak up on me before,” she said, half laughing, half stunned. “It just… came. And it wasn’t awful.”

The bleeding slowed. The clots lessened. The pain, once all-consuming, became background noise. The fatigue lifted. Slowly, her cycle started to feel like something she could live with, rather than hide from.

What she came in for was fewer bad days.

What she got was a more balanced cycle—and a renewed sense of agency in her own body.

At Root and Branch, we see period pain often—whether from endometriosis, fibroids, hormone imbalance, or no clear reason at all. We treat what’s there, but we also treat what’s underneath. Because pain may be common, but it’s not “normal.” And heavy bleeding doesn’t have to be your monthly reality.

If your cycle has been running your life, we want you to know: there’s another way.

Qi Node 18: 霜降 Shuāngjiàng (Frost Descends)

Autumn Collapses into Winter

By the time we reach this final qi node of Autumn, the truth is unmistakable: yīn qì 陰氣 now holds the reins. Where Summer’s fire once dominated and even early Autumn carried echoes of light and outward movement, now those traces have vanished. What was once yīn growing is now yīn matured. This is no longer the season of transition. It is the season of arrival.

Shuāngjiàng 霜降 means "Frost Descends," and although literal frost may not yet have touched every landscape, the energetic frost has settled in. There is a stillness to this phase that feels heavier, more complete. The movement downward and inward is no longer emerging—it is established. This is yīn that knows its place. It doesn’t ask for permission. It doesn’t apologize. It draws the energy down with confidence.

In cosmological terms, this is the moment when Metal gives way to Water, when the refining, releasing work of Autumn gives over to the depth and silence of Winter. But as with all phase transitions, the stabilizing presence of Earth helps smooth the shift. Shuāngjiàng 霜降, like all last nodes of the season, carries an undercurrent of Earth qi—offering a kind of anchoring support so the descent into Winter doesn’t come with collapse or confusion.

Earth is always there, of course. It’s the foundation beneath the seasonal movements. But now, at the junction between letting go and lying fallow, we can feel its holding quality most clearly.

The Weight of Stillness

One of the most profound qualities of Shuāngjiàng 霜降 is its emotional honesty. There is no more illusion of Summer here. No lingering brightness to pretend we are still in motion. And yet, this honesty doesn’t have to feel heavy. It can feel clarifying. The descent into stillness is not a loss—it’s a relief. The push to do, to grow, to produce has finally passed. What remains is space. Not emptiness. Space.

This is the most powerful aspect of mature yīn 陰. It isn’t a lack. It is a presence. A deep, steady presence that makes room for reflection, nourishment, and rest. It doesn’t beg for attention. It welcomes silence.

You may find yourself craving quieter nights, richer foods, longer baths. You may begin to feel a magnetic pull toward your bed—not out of exhaustion, but because rest finally feels safe, even appealing. These are not signs of laziness. They are signs that your body and spirit are attuning to the qi of the season.

Aligning Conduct with Frost Descends

To align with Shuāngjiàng 霜降 is to honor both the weight and the wisdom of this part of the year. It’s not about productivity or even self-improvement. It’s about readiness. About setting your internal systems for the quietest, coldest phase of the year.

Here’s how to live with the rhythm of the frost.

1. Stay Warm and Out of the Wind

Even if the days are still temperate where you live, now is the time to avoid wind, drafts, and chill—especially around the neck and low back. These are areas where the body’s yáng qì 陽氣 is vulnerable. Wear scarves. Layer up. Avoid open windows or cold breezes on bare skin.

Warmth now is not a luxury. It is a strategy.

2. Embrace the Evening Ritual

The qi of the environment is now strongest around 8 p.m., but not for stimulation. This qi supports restoration—especially through sleep. Your evenings should begin to stretch out longer, with more softness and less stimulation. Turn off the screens. Dim the lights. Let your body unwind.

Create a nightly ritual: a bath, a stretch, a cup of herbal tea, a few pages of a book. Repeat it until it becomes a rhythm your body trusts. Let this ritual be the doorway into a deeper rest.

3. No More Raw Foods

This is not the season for salads, smoothies, or cold snacks. The digestive fire needs to be supported, not challenged. Favor slow-cooked meals: soups, stews, congee, braised vegetables. Use warming spices like ginger, cinnamon, garlic, and clove—but sparingly. Cook with bones, roots, and grains. If it simmers, it's seasonal.

A slow cooker or a Dutch oven should now be your best friend.

4. Prioritize Bone and Blood Nourishment

Cuts of meat with bone and tendon are especially valuable right now—osso buco, chicken thighs, beef shank. The longer they cook, the more deeply they nourish. This supports not just the physical body but the Kidney system, which governs Winter resilience.

Think broth. Think marrow. Think depth.

5. Return to Analog

This is the perfect time to rediscover a tactile hobby. Knitting, journaling, puzzles, calligraphy, even quiet crafts. Your hands want to move slowly. Your mind wants to drift. Reclaiming non-digital time in the evening helps bring your spirit into alignment with the slow descent of the season.

Let your mind wander. Let your attention soften.

6. Organize, But Gently

Get your warm clothing out. Make sure your winter boots are in good repair. Prepare your home, but not frantically. This is the moment to support the coming season, not brace against it. Bring in softness—blankets, warm lighting, familiar sounds.

Make your space a refuge.

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Shuāngjiàng 霜降 marks a true end of Autumn’s influence and thus the beginning of Winter’s cold embrace. It is the deepening of descent. The moment when yīn 陰 shows us not just what to let go of, but how to be with what remains.

And what remains can be beautiful. Stillness is not sterile. It is rich. It is full of memory and meaning. It holds the entire year in its arms and says: you’ve done enough. Now rest.

Foundations of Chiense Medicine: Wèi Qì 衛氣

Your Protective Barrier

In Chinese medicine, one of the most important—and often misunderstood—concepts related to immunity is wèi qì 衛氣, commonly translated as “defensive qi.” This is the aspect of qì 氣 that protects the body from external disruption. When people ask whether Chinese medicine has a concept of the immune system, wèi qì is often the first place we look. But while there are parallels between wèi qì and immunity, they are not the same. They come from different traditions, with different frameworks, and serve different kinds of understanding.

It is helpful to think of wèi qì not as a one-to-one equivalent of the immune system, but as a concept that expresses the body’s capacity to interact with its environment in a regulated way. It includes things that resemble immune activity—like fighting off colds, resisting pathogens, or recovering from illness—but it also includes temperature regulation, boundary-setting, and surface-level vigilance. Wèi qì is responsible for protecting the surface of the body, maintaining the integrity of the skin and pores, and helping the organism respond to change in the external world. It circulates in the space between the skin and the muscles, rising and falling with the time of day, and moving with the rhythm of the Lung.

The idea of wèi qì is deeply rooted in classical Chinese texts. One of the primary sources is the Huáng Dì Nèi Jīng 黃帝內經, or Yellow Emperor’s Inner Classic (c. 200 BCE). This text lays the foundation for the concept of defensive qi, describing it as circulating outside the vessels, governed by the Lung, and closely tied to the body’s relationship with Wind and other external factors. The Nèi Jīng speaks of wèi qì as fast-moving and yang in nature—it is active, protective, and constantly in motion. It enters the skin, flows between the muscles, and keeps the pores properly opening and closing. In this way, wèi qì is not just about defense; it is about regulation.

Because of this, wèi qì also has a relationship with things like sleep, energy, and even emotional steadiness. When wèi qì is strong, the body feels well-defended but not tense. People tend to sleep soundly, wake refreshed, and adapt easily to changes in weather or environment. When wèi qì is weak or poorly regulated, people may get sick more often, feel cold easily, or struggle with allergies, fatigue, or restlessness at night.

One of the confusing things about wèi qì is that it is both distinct and not distinct from other types of qì. Chinese medicine describes many kinds of qì—nutritive qì, ancestral qì, upright qì, and so on—but these are not separate substances. They are descriptions of function. All qì is just qì, but the way it behaves in different parts of the body and in different roles gives rise to different names. Wèi qì is simply qì in its defensive role, moving quickly along the exterior to keep things out. This is part of why Chinese medicine often avoids reducing complex systems to fixed categories. The same qì that protects the exterior can also, under other conditions, warm the organs or fuel movement.

The Lung is said to govern wèi qì, but the Spleen and Kidney also play important roles. The Spleen provides the raw material—the gu qì or grain qi—that fuels all other aspects of function. The Kidney provides the deeper constitutional fire that supports circulation and regulation. The Lung, as the uppermost organ, disperses wèi qì to the surface. If any of these systems are out of balance, wèi qì may become weak, scattered, or excessive.

Seasonal transitions often reveal the state of someone’s wèi qì. When the weather turns cold and damp in the fall, or swings rapidly in early spring, people with vulnerable wèi qì often experience colds, allergies, or increased fatigue. In these moments, it is not that a pathogen suddenly became stronger, but that the body’s interface with the environment—its wèi qì—was not able to adjust smoothly.

How “Strong” Is Your Wèi Qì?

In clinic, we support wèi qì in many ways. Acupuncture can help regulate its flow, especially when it has become stuck or erratic. Herbs are often used to tonify the Lung and Spleen, clear lingering Wind or Damp, and strengthen the body’s surface layer. Formulas like Yù Píng Fēng Sǎn 玉屏風散 (Jade Windscreen Powder) are traditional remedies aimed specifically at improving the quality of wèi qì and preventing recurrent illness. But we also rely on simple, daily practices: dressing appropriately for the weather, keeping the neck and feet warm, eating well-cooked food, maintaining regular sleep, and not pushing through fatigue with stimulants or stress.

There is also an emotional layer to wèi qì. In some interpretations, this protective layer includes not just physical defense but psychological boundary-setting. People whose wèi qì is thin may feel easily affected by the moods or demands of others, may find it hard to say no, or may feel constantly exposed. While this connection is more metaphorical than anatomical, it reflects the broader truth of Chinese medicine: the body and mind are not separate. How we move through the world physically often reflects how we navigate it emotionally.

When we talk about immunity in Western terms, we tend to focus on pathogens and antibodies, on viruses and white blood cells. These are important, and they tell a certain kind of story. But wèi qì tells another story—one that includes rhythm, texture, sensation, and context. It reminds us that defense is not only about fighting; it is about discernment. What do we let in? What do we keep out? When do we rest? When do we rise?

Understanding wèi qì gives us another lens through which to think about health. It invites us to consider not just whether the immune system is “strong,” but whether the whole system—body, mind, habits, and environment—is in harmony with the world it moves through. There is a tendency for folks to celebrate a body that “never gets sick” because its a sign of virility and potency. But being strong is actually a constellation of factors that include adaptability and resilience. When we attend to that balance, the body tends to defend itself more smoothly and with less effort. Having a strong immunce ssytem doesn’t mean we never get sick, but it means we recover more easily, adapt more fluidly, and feel less at odds with what’s happening around us.

In this way, wèi qì becomes less a shield and more a kind of informed presence. It is the outward expression of the body’s internal intelligence, always negotiating between the self and the world. And when it is working well, we often don’t notice it at all. We just feel like ourselves—connected, grounded, and able to meet the day.

Qi Node 17: 寒露 Hánlù (Cold Dew)

Yang Is in Its Final Retreat

The name is spare, but precise: Cold Dew. Hánlù 寒露 is not the frost. Not yet. But the promise of frost hangs in the air like the breath you can now see in the morning. The temperatures dip just low enough to remind you that the peak of Autumn has passed. The plants know it. The animals know it. And so do we, if we are paying attention.

This is the moment when yáng qì 陽氣—so expansive and dominant through the brighter months—begins its final descent. It has been withdrawing since the Summer Solstice, quietly, steadily. But now its presence above the surface is almost gone. What remains is the deepening strength of yīn 陰. What remains is stillness.

It is not yet Winter. But we can feel its shape forming.

The Season Withdraws

All around us, the visible world is stepping back. Leaves have begun to fall in earnest. Sap retreats into roots. Seeds harden and tuck themselves into the soil. The animal world moves underground—burrowing, storing, waiting. The bustle of Summer and even the golden exhale of early Autumn has faded into a slower rhythm. Life is no longer reaching outward. It is turning inward.

In Chinese medicine, we say that the body mirrors this pattern. In Summer, the yīn fluids are drawn up toward the surface to cool and protect us, especially through sweat. But in this phase, those same fluids begin to retreat. Moisture condenses and thickens, moving inward to preserve. For most healthy people, this shift happens without notice. But for those with latent imbalances—especially in the Lungs or digestive system—it may present as congestion, seasonal allergies, sluggish digestion, or emotional weariness.

This is not a problem to solve. It is a signal to heed.

Listening to the Silence

Hánlù 寒露 is not dramatic. It doesn’t shout. It doesn’t demand. It suggests. And the suggestion is this: continue to quiet everything.

Not stop. Not abandon. Just slow. Simplify. Feel for the rhythms that no longer serve and begin the gentle work of editing. This is the time to begin settling into rituals—not for productivity, but for stability. You don’t need to do more. You need to do less, but more intentionally.

The theme of Autumn has been quiet. But Hánlù 寒露 is something deeper. It is quiet that begins to lean toward silence. And in that silence is the opportunity to restore in a way that the brighter seasons simply do not allow.

Aligning Conduct with Cold Dew

The energy of the world is drawing down and in. Your conduct should reflect the same.

1. Let Your Mornings and Evenings Become Ritual

Now is the time to set—or reset—your daily rhythms. Begin the day with a cup of warm tea or coffee and a few moments of aimless thought. Let your mind wander without purpose. In the evening, dim the lights earlier. Put on socks. Read something old or familiar. Find a rhythm that carries you through the dark gently, not out of discipline, but out of care.

2. Solidify Inward Movement

Retire vigorous outdoor workouts, especially cardio that leads to sweating. Avoid cold winds and chilly conditions that invite xie qi 邪氣 (pernicious influences) into the body. Instead, focus on calisthenics, gentle strength training, and long, nourishing stretches. Qi gong, slow yoga, and bodyweight movement indoors are especially helpful now.

Even more important than what you do is where: indoors, away from drafts, and during the late afternoon to early evening when the qì is most balanced.

3. Conserve Your Moisture

Perspiration is no longer your ally. It is a loss of fluid you cannot easily replace during this season. Choose warm, moistening foods. Avoid raw salads and excessive spices. Congee, soup, roasted vegetables, and herbal teas will serve you better than smoothies or iced anything.

Think warmth, density, and hydration.

4. Harvest What Remains

If you have a garden, this is your final chance to bring in what’s left. Roots, greens, herbs—gather them in. If your harvest is metaphorical, the guidance is the same. What have you grown this year that still needs processing? What needs preserving? Canning, fermenting, jamming, pickling—these are not just seasonal chores, but energetic alignments.

Even restarting your sourdough mother becomes a ritual act of continuity—tying Summer’s abundance to Winter’s stability.

5. Tend the Inner World

Return to your favorite podcast or book series. Not necessarily to learn, but to nestle into something that carries you gently. Watch less news. Scroll less. Sit with stories. Sit with yourself.

This is the time to turn toward the inner harvest. What thoughts want to be tucked away for slow ferment? What projects need to be finished, not launched?

This is not the season for ambition. It is the season for practice.

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Hánlù 寒露 is the last whisper before the hush. It does not yet freeze, but it reminds us that we are not far from the frost. The world is still, but not inert. It is gathering. Thickening. Preparing.

So should we.

Make your life smaller, but fuller. Make your habits fewer, but stronger. Let silence guide you to the next thing—not the next achievement, but the next depth.

The Earth is folding itself inward. Follow.

Everyday Alchemy: Be Mindful of Cold Drinks

It’s a warm day. The sun is high, your face is flushed, and nothing sounds better than a tall glass of something cold. Maybe it’s iced coffee. Maybe it’s sparkling water straight from the fridge. Whatever it is, that chill feels like relief—and in the moment, it can be. Cold drinks are undeniably satisfying. But in Chinese medicine, they come with a caution.

This isn’t about forbidding anyone from enjoying an iced beverage now and then. It’s about understanding what cold does inside the body, especially when it becomes a habit. Digestion, in Chinese medicine, is powered by warmth. In the foundational medical texts, the Spleen and Stomach—the central organs of digestion in this system—are said to prefer dryness and warmth. They work best when food and drink arrive at body temperature or warmer. Introducing cold into this system slows things down. It’s like throwing a handful of ice cubes into a simmering pot. The whole process loses momentum.

Physiologically, this makes a certain kind of sense. The body must bring everything you consume up to its internal temperature before it can be broken down and absorbed. That warming process takes energy. If the digestive system is already compromised—through fatigue, stress, illness, or constitution—adding cold drinks can further impair its ability to transform food into usable nourishment. People often describe feeling bloated or heavy after cold beverages, or note a sense of stagnation in the gut. Sometimes it's subtle. Sometimes it's not.

This doesn't mean every cold drink is inherently harmful. Season and context matter. In the height of summer, when the external world is full of heat and the body is actively working to cool itself, a small amount of cold may be tolerable. Some people, especially those with robust digestion and plenty of internal warmth, can handle the occasional cold drink without noticeable consequences. But others—particularly those who tend to feel cold, have loose stools, or experience digestive sluggishness—often find that even modest amounts of cold exacerbate their symptoms.

The problem arises less from isolated choices and more from patterns. A daily iced coffee. Cold smoothies for breakfast. Ice water at every meal. These habits, common in many modern routines, slowly wear down the digestive fire. Over time, people may experience symptoms like fatigue after eating, chronic bloating, irregular stools, or a general sense that food sits heavily in the stomach. In Chinese medicine, these are often signs that the Spleen and Stomach are struggling to transform what they receive into usable qì 氣 and Blood.

One of the challenges in talking about cold drinks is that the culture around them is so strong. Iced coffee is practically a ritual for many people. Smoothies are often framed as health food. Cold beverages are routinely served in restaurants, even in the coldest months. So it can sound strange—maybe even a little rigid—to suggest that room temperature or warm liquids are better for you. But this isn’t about purity or punishment. It’s about support. About making choices that align with how the body actually works, rather than how we’ve been conditioned to expect it to behave.

Chinese medicine views health through the lens of pattern and tendency. That means not every guideline applies equally to every person at every moment. Some people may be able to drink cold brew in July with no ill effects, while others find even one iced tea leaves them feeling off. The goal isn’t to eliminate cold beverages completely. It’s to become more aware of how they affect you—and to adjust based on season, constitution, and context.

Making choices that support your health, wherever you are

If you’re someone who already struggles with digestive issues, especially ones related to cold or dampness—things like bloating, gas, loose stools, or fatigue after meals—shifting away from cold drinks can make a noticeable difference. Drinking warm teas, broths, or even just room temperature water allows the body to engage more directly with what it receives. Over time, this can strengthen the whole system, making it more resilient and efficient.

In the colder seasons, the argument for warmth becomes even stronger. Autumn and winter already call the body inward. The external environment becomes colder and wetter, and the digestive system has to work harder to maintain internal temperature. Adding cold drinks in this season adds stress to a system that’s already doing its best to stay balanced. That doesn’t mean you can’t have a crisp cider in the fall or a cold glass of water after a workout—but it does mean that the default should shift toward warmth.

There are also ways to enjoy cooler things more thoughtfully. If you really enjoy iced beverages, consider timing them to the warmest part of the day and the warmest parts of the year. Pay attention to what you eat alongside them—pairing a cold drink with hot, cooked food may be easier on the body than drinking one with a raw salad. Some people find that adding warming spices like ginger, cinnamon, or cardamom to cold drinks helps offset the chill. And when possible, let things warm up a bit before drinking—lukewarm is still better than ice-cold.

None of this needs to be absolute. Like many things in Chinese medicine, it’s less about rules and more about relationships. The body thrives on balance. If you’re constantly adding cold, you may need to add more warmth elsewhere—through food, movement, or rest. If your digestion is strong, you may tolerate some cold with little consequence. But for most people, especially those with sluggish or sensitive systems, reducing cold beverages—even by half—can have a surprising effect on energy, clarity, and comfort after meals.

Understanding the role of cold in digestion isn’t about giving something up. It’s about giving something back. A little warmth goes a long way. And sometimes the simplest things—like skipping ice in your water or choosing hot tea over a cold brew—can quietly support your body in doing what it’s already trying to do.

Digestion is an ongoing process. It works best when we work with it. That doesn’t mean never enjoying a cold drink again. It just means noticing what helps you feel more grounded, more nourished, and more steady. And adjusting accordingly.

Qi Node 16: Qiūfēn 秋分 (Autumn Equinox)

The Balance Tips

There is a moment in the year when light and dark meet on equal terms. When the days and nights are nearly the same length, and the weight of the year feels, if only briefly, perfectly distributed. This is Qiūfēn 秋分—the Autumn Equinox—and it is less a celebration than a subtle pause in the middle of descent.

It is a turning point. Not dramatic, but meaningful.

We tend to imagine balance as something static. As if standing evenly between opposites brings peace. But Qiūfēn 秋分 reminds us that balance is dynamic. It is not the moment when nothing moves, but when everything is held in temporary, delicate tension. The tipping point is here, and while the day may feel calm, the underlying qi is in motion. Descent has dominated for some time and now we see its effects. The dark grows stronger.

If the earlier Autumn nodes were the gathering of yīn 陰, Qiūfēn 秋分 is its quiet coronation. This is the season of harvesting what we’ve cultivated—not just the food grown from the Earth, but the internal practices, the mental shifts, and the emotional edits we’ve made along the way.

And just like harvesting crops, this work is both practical and symbolic. What are we gathering? What are we willing to release into the Earth again, to rot and reseed in seasons to come?

Equinox Conduct: Living with the Tipping Point

This time of year is not a peak. It is a slope. The descent into the darker half of the year becomes evident here, not with a crash, but with a lean. Aligning with this movement requires care—not urgency.

1. Do Less, But Do It with Intention

Qiūfēn 秋分 isn’t the time to push projects to completion or set major goals. Instead, focus your energy on maintenance and refinement. What systems are already in motion that could be adjusted or improved? What parts of your day feel rushed, uneven, or imbalanced? Use this node to smooth those places.

2. Rise with the Sun, Sleep with the Dark

Daylight and darkness are in equal measure now. Let that guide your rhythm. Wake up as the sky brightens. Wind down as it dims. A few minutes spent outside at dawn or dusk can reorient your body to the seasonal qi in a profound way.

Avoid artificial stimulation after nightfall. Let your evenings grow quieter. Sleep is becoming a primary form of nourishment now.

3. Eat What Balances, Not What Excites

Favor foods that nourish without overstimulating. This is the time for simple grains, roasted roots, and the lingering bounty of Late Summer vegetables. Add moistening elements to support the lungs—pear, lily bulb, sesame, or honey. Avoid extreme flavors or temperature contrasts. Let meals bring steadiness, not intensity.

Eat slowly. Digest fully. Let the act of eating reinforce your seasonal rhythm.

4. Walk More, Run Less

Movement should continue, but the pace should slow. Walks, especially in the morning or early evening, are deeply beneficial. Take in the shifting colors, the rustling leaves, the lowering light. Autumn is not a season for personal records. It is a season for attunement.

Stretching and gentle strength work can help maintain structure without overexertion.

5. Begin the Emotional Inventory

Now is the time to take emotional stock. What habits or thought patterns are you ready to release? What griefs have ripened? What joys do you still carry from the brighter half of the year?

Write. Reflect. Talk with someone you trust. Qiūfēn 秋分 opens a portal to deeper seeing. Let yourself look.

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The balance of light and dark will not last. Qiūfēn 秋分 offers a rare moment of symmetry before the tilt becomes obvious. It is the hinge on which the door of the year turns, opening us toward Winter.

Do not cling to the light. Do not rush the dark.

Just notice the balance. And let it guide you.

What They Came In For: Constipation

Bill came in because he was tired of feeling stuck. Literally.

For the past few years, his digestion had gotten slower and slower. At first, it just meant less regularity — a missed day here and there, nothing dramatic. But it crept up on him. By the time he showed up at the clinic, it wasn’t uncommon for him to go three or four days without a bowel movement. When things did move, it was slow, dry, and incomplete.

“It’s like my body just forgot how to do it,” he said.

He was 68, semi-retired, and pretty active — still walking his dog daily, still making coffee for his wife every morning. But this one issue had become a constant source of discomfort. He felt heavy after meals, bloated in the evenings, and often had to turn down food he would’ve enjoyed just to avoid the aftermath. He wasn’t in pain exactly, but he was never quite at ease.

His doctor told him it was normal at his age — just slow motility. He’d been told to drink more water, eat more fiber, and take stool softeners as needed. None of it really helped.

“It’s not like I’m eating cheeseburgers every day,” he joked. “I’m doing the right things. But my gut’s just not cooperating.”

When the Basics Aren’t Enough

Bill had already done the basics. He drank plenty of water. Ate oatmeal most mornings. Took a daily magnesium supplement. Tried psyllium husk, probiotics, even prune juice.

But none of it shifted his baseline. He still only had a proper bowel movement once every three days — sometimes longer. And the longer he went without one, the worse he felt. Foggy. Sluggish. Like things were backing up in more ways than one.

From a Chinese medicine perspective, constipation isn’t just a plumbing issue — it’s often a reflection of deeper imbalances. In Bill’s case, his pulse was thin and wiry, his tongue pale and dry, and his abdomen slightly firm on the lower left. What we saw was a pattern of dryness and depletion, layered with a bit of tension.

This wasn’t a case of excess heat or inflammation — it was about a system that didn’t have enough moisture, movement, or rhythm to keep things going. Over time, the body had lost momentum. The digestive fire had dimmed, and the fluids that should help guide waste downward weren’t doing their job.

Gentle, Steady Treatment to Restore Rhythm

We started Bill on a once-weekly acupuncture schedule to begin. The goal wasn’t just to get him moving once — it was to retrain his system to expect regular movement again.

We used points on the abdomen and lower back to stimulate the Large Intestine 大肠 (dà cháng) pathway and restore the downward flow. We added supportive points to nourish the Spleen 脾 (pí) and Kidney 肾 (shèn) systems — the internal organs responsible for transforming food into usable energy and fluid.

We also gave him an herbal formula customized for his constitution: one that moistened the intestines, gently promoted peristalsis, and tonified the underlying systems that had weakened over time. No harsh purgatives. No laxative effect. Just a slow restoration of internal balance.

After the first two weeks, things started to shift. Bill was going every two days without needing to think about it. The bloating had eased. His appetite was better.

After a month, he was having regular, easy bowel movements almost daily. No discomfort. No urgency. Just simple, quiet function.

A Return to Normal

“I never thought I’d feel this much joy over taking a normal crap,” he laughed.

But the truth is, this kind of change runs deep. Constipation isn’t just about digestion — it affects energy, mood, sleep, even mental clarity. Bill had started to feel more like himself again: less irritable, more comfortable in his body, and no longer thinking about his gut all day long.

Chinese medicine treats constipation not by forcing the body, but by reminding it how to move. Through acupuncture, herbs, and a steady rhythm of care, Bill’s system began to remember. And once it did, everything else started flowing again too.