Qi Node 11: 小暑 Xiǎoshǔ (Little Heat)

The Rising Heat and the Art of Staying Cool

At first glance, it might seem logical that the Summer Solstice (xiàzhì 夏至), when Yang energy reaches its peak, would also mark the hottest time of the year. After all, in the cosmological framework of Yin and Yang, the Solstice is the zenith of Yang, the point at which it is most dominant before beginning its gradual decline. Yet, paradoxically, the hottest days of the year are still ahead.

This seeming contradiction is part of the dynamic flow of natural energy. While Yang has reached its peak in terms of light and expansion, heat itself is still accumulating. The Earth, the oceans, and the atmosphere continue to absorb and store warmth, intensifying as Summer progresses. Heat lingers and builds, even as the cosmic tide begins shifting toward Yin. This period—when Yang is technically in decline but its effects are still intensifying—creates a natural tension between momentum and transition, between the height of the season’s power and the first subtle signs that change is inevitable.

It is within this energetic space that we find 小暑 Xiǎoshǔ, meaning “Lesser Heat.” This Qi Node marks the steady climb toward the most extreme heat of the year. While the name suggests that the full intensity of Summer’s heat has yet to arrive, the signs are already unmistakable—long days, warm nights, and an atmosphere thick with rising Yang energy. The world is at its most vibrant and expansive, yet at the same time, it carries the underlying awareness that cycles are turning, that excess will eventually give way to balance once again.

With life fully unfurled in the heat of the season, plants grow rapidly, insects hum in the thick air, and the body naturally craves movement and stimulation. Yet, with this outward expansion comes a challenge—how do we stay balanced in a time of such intensity? Too much heat, whether from the sun or from overexertion, can leave us feeling irritable, exhausted, and drained. Xiǎoshǔ teaches us that in order to thrive in high Summer, we must learn how to release heat, conserve energy, and remain fluid like water in the face of fire.

This is a time of openness, movement, and abundance, but also a time when the body and mind must work to regulate heat and avoid excess strain. If we align ourselves with the rhythm of the season—honoring both its brilliance and its challenges—we can move through this peak of Summer with resilience and ease.

Aligning Your Life with 小暑 Xiǎoshǔ

To maintain balance during this season of rising heat, focus on practices that cool the body, calm the mind, and regulate energy.

Cool the Body from the Inside Out

• Eat light, hydrating foods such as watermelon, cucumber, mint, and mung beans.

• Incorporate mildly bitter foods (e.g., dandelion greens, bitter melon) to clear internal heat.

• Avoid excess spicy or greasy foods, which can increase heat and sluggishness.

Regulate Energy and Avoid Overexertion

• Exercise in the early morning or evening to prevent overheating.

• Prioritize gentle movement (e.g., swimming, walking, qìgōng 气功) rather than intense workouts.

• Allow for midday rest or naps to recharge rather than pushing through fatigue.

Keep the Heart (xīn 心) Cool and the Mind Clear

• Practice breathwork, meditation, or cooling visualization techniques.

• Avoid overstimulation and excessive screen time, which can add to mental heat.

• Spend time near water—lakes, rivers, or even cold foot baths can be incredibly soothing.

Adjust to the Changing Season

• Dress in light, breathable fabrics to allow heat to escape.

• Drink room-temperature or cool beverages, avoiding ice-cold drinks that shock digestion.

• Pay attention to seasonal mood shifts, releasing irritation before it builds into stress.

Xiǎoshǔ reminds us that while Summer is a season of vitality, connection, and joy, it is also a time when balance requires conscious effort. By staying cool, regulating activity, and embracing the fluidity of the season, we can move through the peak of Summer with strength, clarity, and ease—allowing the Fire of life to burn bright, but never out of control.

Everyday Alchemy: Understanding Your Heart

In Chinese medicine, each season is associated with a particular organ system, and each organ system governs more than just its anatomical function. It holds emotional qualities, mental tendencies, physiological rhythms, and relationships with the natural world. Summer belongs to the Heart. Its element is Fire, its direction is south, and its emotion is joy. The Heart governs blood and vessels, houses shén 神, and provides the conditions necessary for consciousness to reside.

We are used to thinking of the heart in terms of circulation, and that’s not wrong. In Chinese medicine, the Heart is indeed responsible for moving blood through the vessels. But the Heart does more than deliver blood and oxygen. It has a dimension that expands beyond its anatomical reality to other aspects of the human experience. It governs presence—our ability to be aware, to make sense of experience, to relate to others with clarity and warmth. The Heart is considered the emperor of the body not because it controls everything directly, but because it must be well-regulated for everything else to function smoothly. If the Heart is unsettled, the whole system feels it.

The term shén 神 is often translated as "spirit," but this can lead to confusion and conflation with Western notion of a soul or of something intrinsically you that persists beyond embodiment. Instead it is more accurate to think of shén as consciousness, awareness, or the organizing intelligence that allows a person to be themselves. It is indeed a collection of functions we think of as an idividual, but the Chinese concept doesn’t extend that individuality beyond the terms of your embodiment, ie beyond death. Shén includes the capacity to think clearly, speak coherently, connect with others, and experience emotions in a regulated way. Shén is not a separate part of you—it is the quality of your presence when all the systems are working together well. And the Heart is where that presence resides.

In the natural world, Summer is the time when everything is at full bloom. Plants stretch toward the sun. Days are long and bright. People tend to stay up later, move more, and gather together. It is a season of fullness and activity, and this matches the energetics of the Heart and Fire. When we are in balance, this expansion feels easy and joyous. There is a natural generosity to summer, a warmth not just in temperature but in temperament. It is often easier to connect, to laugh, to forgive, and to share meals or conversation without effort.

But Fire, by its nature, is volatile. It can nourish, but it can also overheat. And when there is too much Fire—whether from lifestyle, emotional intensity, heat in the environment, or internal imbalance—the Heart becomes agitated. Instead of joy, we get restlessness. Instead of connection, we get emotional overexposure. Instead of clear thought, we get racing minds or difficulty sleeping. This is the shadow side of summer, and the part that many people don’t recognize until they are already overwhelmed.

In clinic, this often shows up as insomnia, anxiety, irritability, or heart palpitations. The person may not feel particularly “stressed” in the way they think of stress, but they describe a kind of internal fluttering, an inability to settle, or a sense that everything is just a little too much. There may be vivid dreams, difficulty falling asleep or staying asleep, or emotional lability that seems out of proportion to events. This is often a sign that the Heart—and the shén—are not well housed.

The classical texts say that the Heart houses the shén when the blood is sufficient, the yīn is anchored, and there is not too much internal heat. The blood provides a kind of resting place for consciousness, a cool and quiet chamber for the awareness to dwell. When blood is weak, scattered, or hot, the shén becomes unmoored. We start to feel untethered. It becomes harder to organize our thoughts, regulate our emotions, or rest deeply. Over time, this kind of low-level overstimulation can wear on the body and mind in quiet but significant ways.

Part of the challenge is that many of the behaviors that cause this imbalance are encouraged, especially in Summer. Long days, high stimulation, constant socializing, late nights, alcohol, and screen use can all accumulate. Individually, these may seem harmless—or even enjoyable—but taken together, they tax the Heart’s capacity to stay regulated. The body may begin to show small signs of disturbance: subtle chest tightness, dryness in the mouth, irritability in the afternoon, or shallow sleep. These are not dramatic symptoms, but they are signs that the Heart may be overheating.

There are also emotional patterns that create internal heat. Unexpressed frustration, too much excitement, or a tendency to overextend one’s emotional energy can all produce Fire. It is not just anger or grief that affects the organs; excessive joy—or rather, a kind of manic drive toward positivity—can also unbalance the Heart. In this view, even good feelings must be contained appropriately. The goal is not to suppress joy, but to cultivate a steady warmth rather than a constant blaze.

So what helps keep a heart balanced?

The first step is recognizing when the Fire is starting to tip from nourishing into agitating. If sleep is disrupted, if the mind feels cluttered, if interactions begin to feel draining instead of enlivening, these are cues to slow down. Summer encourages us to go outward, but we still need inward time. We still need coolness, rest, and rhythm.

Simple choices can make a difference. Going to bed before midnight helps protect the Heart and preserve blood. Drinking enough water—not ice-cold, but room temperature or lightly cool—supports fluid balance. Eating bitter foods like dandelion greens, lettuce, or citrus peel can help clear Heart heat. Avoiding overly spicy, greasy, or stimulating foods reduces internal Fire. And creating boundaries around stimulation—screen time, social time, even just how many things we ask of ourselves in a day—can help the shén stay anchored.

Quiet moments are especially important. The Heart thrives on stillness just as much as it enjoys movement. Taking a walk without music or podcasts, sitting outside in the evening without a phone, or even just sipping tea in silence can provide the Heart with a chance to regulate. These small acts of intentional pause create the conditions for the shén to rest, even in the fullness of summer.

It is also worth noting that for some people, the emotional expansion of Summer brings its own challenges. Not everyone feels like being social. Not everyone finds joy easily accessible. If you are someone who tends toward internal processing or who feels overstimulated by light, heat, or interaction, summer may not feel like your season. That, too, is something to honor. Joy doesn’t have to be loud or visible. In Chinese medicine, joy is about harmonious movement of the Heart qì—a sense of internal openness, even if quiet.

As with all things in this medicine, the aim is balance. Fire is not the problem. Fire is what allows us to connect, to express, to engage. It gives life to our days and color to our experience. But fire needs tending. It needs containment. Without it, the flame goes wild and consumes rather than warms. And when the Heart is consumed, it becomes difficult to rest, to relate, or to feel clear.

By paying attention to how summer—and the Heart—are showing up in our own lives, we can make gentle adjustments. We can create small buffers between ourselves and overstimulation. We can recognize the difference between joy that fills us and joy that depletes us. And we can learn to carry the warmth of Fire without letting it burn too hot.

In this way, the Heart stays steady. The shén stays housed. And the joy of Summer becomes something we can actually live with, not just chase after.

Qi Node 10: 夏至 Xiàzhì (Summer Solstice)

Yang Is in Control

Yang qi has finally achieved its position in leadership. For many months it has been growing in strength and clarity. Initially emerging from the heavy weight of the Winter’s dominant Yin, the seed of yang burst from the Earth as the upsurgent growth of Spring. Yang developed and matured as Yin continued to decline — the teenage boy holding grandmother’s hand as they cross the street. By the beginning of summer several weeks ago, Yin had all but vanished and Yang was a young adult, asserting his dominance and sure in his righteous abilities. By the time we reach this Qi Node, Yang has grown into a mature adult. His a leader of industry, a general of armies, the chef de cuisine at a high-end bistro. Yang’s energy is directed, intentional, and forceful. Up early in the morning and late to bed at night, he is able to get things done like no other time in the year.

In modern Western culture, Yang’s characteristics are often the most celebrated qualities we aspire to as people. We are surrounded by popular attitudes that tell us to do more, be more, reach for more; that rest and relaxation, idleness and flights of fancy, are the purview of the weak-willed who are not likely to ever achieve their goals. Even among people who actually take time away from work, DIY tasks, overwrought family vacations, and on-going social engagements fill the space. Thus, Summer seems like a perfect season for our culture, one that we can more intuitively understand and which fits our tendencies more directly. And that is mostly true. Certainly better to be burning the candle at both ends when Yang is available to assist your efforts. But what happens when Yang’s counterbalance, Yin, is so very weak as to be almost forgotten? What do we risk by allowing Yang’s dynamic activity to drive all our activity when Yin cannot restrain Yang’s effects on its own?

Striking a Balance

Like so much of Eastern philosophy broadly, Chinese Medicine and the Daoist/Confucian cosmology upon which it is built urges us toward a kind of reciprocity, a give and take disposition that encourages us to conduct ourselves in such a way as to not allow any part of our experience to pathologically dominate any other. During this Qi Node, that means taking steps to leverage the power of Yang to our advantage while still throttling the intensity that unbridled Yang will bring. It means that we should lean in to the extra energy and motivation many of us have to get up and do things during the summer season: working in the yard, DIY projects, hikes and camping trips, playing with the kids or the dogs at the park. But it also means that we avoid direct sun exposure at the hottest parts of the day. It means that we stay hydrated and take long rests in the shade. It means giving ourselves license to lounge around and it means remembering to eat whole meals even when the weather is particularly warm. All of these more Yin aspects of our daily lives help to protect the hidden seed of Yin Qi while Yang is raging and also serves to anchor some of the strong Yang force so it doesn’t whip into a truly pernicious frenzy and cause health or wellness problems related to heat and toxicity. Just like needing to avoid intense activity in the dark part of winter because Yang is not available to support that movement, so in Summer we must actively engage in Yin nourishing activities because Yin is too weak to restrain Yang on its own.

Yin and Yang are not the Same

While Yin and Yang stem from the same source and they are mutually dependent and mutually transforming, they are not the same thing. Yang is active, moving, hot, and bright. Yang does not want to rest, to sit still, or to stop. It is endless expansion, growth, creation, and consumption. Yin, by contrast, is heavy, substantive, cool, and wet. It wants to contain and to nourish, to fill and to restrain. Yang is resistant to the natural cycle of ebb and flow while Yin relaxes its grip on dominance with relative ease. It is for this precise reason that the time of Yang dominance demands even more caution from us that Yin dominance. The explosive force of Yang qi is disinclined to let go of its superiority as summer wanes and can become reckless and damaging if we expose ourselves to it. While Yin at its height poses danger to good health, it allows itself to fade into spring with infrequent death throes while Yang continues to trumpet its superiority long after it has declined in Fall.

Practically this means that we are more at risk for heat conditions causing acute health problems like heat stroke or dehydration but also for that heat to linger in the body, contributing to heat conditions in Fall and Winter like upper respiratory infections, sinus infections, influenza, and other unpleasant diseases. Additionally, the mismanagement of our conduct during the pernicious nodes of Summer can lead to more insipient conditions like cardiac diseases, irritable bowel, and anxiety but allowing too much of Yang’s defiant nature to linger in our bodies.

What to do

• Design, create, renew.

• Cook outside, not in direct sunlight.

• Eat whole meals, even if you’re feeling hot.

• Drink lots of water with cooling ingredients added like cucumber or lemon.

• Make a salad of fresh garden ingredients like tomatoes, eggplants, and basil.

• Enjoy some fresh cheese and a glass of rose or a cup of green tea.

• Exercise earlier in the day keeping your heart rate from getting too rapid.

• Rest often, in the shade or anther cool place.

What They Came In For: Long Covid

“I just want to feel like myself again.”

That’s what Thomas K. said when we asked him what brought him in. Then he paused.

“And the truth is, I’m not even sure I remember what that feels like.”

He’d had COVID ten months earlier. It was his second time getting it—the first had been over a year prior, and he’d recovered easily. A few days of fatigue, some sniffles, and then life went back to normal. He was vaccinated. He’d done everything “right.” So when he got it again, and it started as a mild case, he wasn’t too worried.

But this time, the recovery never came.

The fever passed. The test turned negative. But the fatigue stayed. Not the kind you push through with coffee or a good night’s sleep—the kind that settles into your bones. He started needing to lie down in the afternoon. Sometimes his chest felt tight—not dangerous, just off. His brain felt foggy, like he was trying to think through static. He forgot words. Simple tasks took longer. His mood got flatter. His sleep got worse.

He kept waiting to bounce back. But the weeks turned into months, and nothing changed.

He’d had all the tests. Labs normal. Lungs clear. “You're just stressed,” one provider said. Another called it post-viral syndrome and offered antidepressants. He wasn’t against medication. He just didn’t feel like anyone was really listening to what was happening in his body.

That’s when he found his way to Root and Branch.

What he wanted was simple: clarity, energy, and the ability to trust his body again.

We started with the big picture. When did the fatigue hit hardest? How did he feel after meals? How had his digestion been since the illness? What about temperature regulation? Sweating? Focus? Anxiety? We looked at his tongue, felt his pulse. Beneath the surface, his system told a familiar story: a body still caught between recovery and defense. Weakness at the core. Stagnation in the chest. A nervous system on edge.

We explained how long COVID presents, through the lens of Chinese medicine, as a pattern of post-viral depletion and dysregulation. Energy isn’t just “low”—it’s blocked. The body isn’t just tired—it’s stuck in a pattern it can’t exit.

So we built a treatment plan to help guide it out.

At the center of that plan was a custom herbal formula—one tailored to nourish the body’s energy without overstimulating it, to open the chest, support lung and spleen function, and gently recalibrate the nervous system. Not a stimulant. Not a sedative. Just medicine that knew how to listen to what the body actually needed.

He took it twice a day, every day. And we adjusted it often—because as his body changed, the formula needed to change too.

We paired it with acupuncture designed to support his recovery on multiple levels: points to regulate his sleep, clear the lingering heaviness in the chest, restore cognitive clarity, and rebuild his sense of groundedness. After each session, he’d say the same thing: “I didn’t know I could feel this calm anymore.”

After three weeks, his fatigue began to shift. Not all at once—but there were longer stretches of clarity. Mornings that started easier. Fewer naps. More consistency. His brain fog started to lift. He could read again, focus on a conversation without drifting.

After six weeks, he said, “I feel like I’m finally climbing out of something.”

We continued to treat the fluctuations—days where his energy dipped again, or sleep became fragile—but overall, the direction was steady. Upward. Back toward himself.

What Thomas came in for was his energy.

What he found was recovery—and something more: a renewed relationship with his body, one built not on pushing through, but on paying attention.

At Root and Branch, we’ve worked with many long COVID patients, each with a slightly different picture. Some come in with chest tightness. Others with digestive distress, insomnia, hair loss, anxiety, or relentless fatigue. No two cases are identical—but the approach is always the same: track the pattern. Treat the root. Support the whole person.

If you’re living with long COVID symptoms that just won’t let go, know this: there is still healing available. It might not be fast. But it can be real.

And we’re here for the long arc of it.

Qi Node 9: 芒種 Mángzhong (Grain Matures)

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

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

The Season of Awakened Action

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

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

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

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

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

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

Aligning Your Life with Mángzhong

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

Stay Light and Hydrated

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

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

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

Move with Awareness

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

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

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

Balance Productivity with Rest

• Work efficiently but set limits to prevent exhaustion.

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

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

Manage Emotional Heat

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

• Practice cooling breathwork or meditation to regulate internal heat.

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

Prepare for the Height of Summer

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

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

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

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

Foundations of Chinese Medicine: Pattern Differentiation

What Is a Pattern? Understanding biàn zhèng 辨證

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

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

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

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

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

Bìng Jīng 病經: The Channel of the Disease

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

For example:

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

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

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

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

Bìng Yīn 病因: The Root Cause of Illness

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

Bìng yīn can be:

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

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

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

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

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

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

Patterns Are Relational, Not Categorical

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

For example, a person might have:

• Headaches

• Irregular bowel movements

• Cold hands and feet

• A wiry pulse

• Tension in the ribcage

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

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

Why This Matters to Patients

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

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

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

And armed with that understanding, real change becomes possible.

Qi Node 8: 小满 Xiǎomǎn (Grain Sprouts)

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

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

The Season of Small Fullness

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

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

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

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

Aligning Your Life with Xiǎomǎn

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

Nourish Growth with Gentle Support

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

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

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

Balance Expansion with Rest

• Don’t overextend yourself—progress happens gradually.

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

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

Move with Intention

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

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

• Stretch and breathe deeply to encourage circulation without strain.

Practice Contentment in the Present Moment

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

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

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

Prepare for the Coming Heat

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

• Keep your living and sleeping spaces well-ventilated.

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

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

Let’s Talk About That Sleep Score

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

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

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

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

Let’s take a closer look.

What Are Sleep Trackers Measuring, Really?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Validation Studies: The Data Doesn’t Quite Match

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

The most common issues include:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Psychological Toll of Quantifying the Unconscious

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

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

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

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

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

Who Benefits from This System?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Returning to the Wisdom of the Body

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Sources*

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

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

Lim SE, Kim HS, Lee SW, Bae KH, Baek YH. Validation of Fitbit Inspire 2TM Against Polysomnography in Adults Considering Adaptation for Use. Nat Sci Sleep. 2023 Feb 28;15:59-67. doi: 10.2147/NSS.S391802. PMID: 36879665; PMCID: PMC9985403.

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

Why Word Of Mouth Matters

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

Two women talk over breakfast

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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What They Came In For: Peripheral Neuropathy

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

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

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

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

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

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

We listened to her story and her details and then we starting mapping the disorder on her body.

We had her close her eyes while we gently touched different parts of her feet and lower legs. She pointed to the places she could still feel—sharp here, dull there, nothing at all along the outside of her heel. We marked the edges, tracing where sensation faded and where pain flared. We were trying to learn the landscape of her body—what had gone quiet, what was still speaking, and what might be trying to come back online.

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

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

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

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

Each week, we repeated the map, touching the same places. and tracking what was coming back.

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

And that was everything.

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

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

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

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

If you’re living with numbness, tingling, burning, or strange sensations that no one has been able to explain, know that there are still options. We don’t promise overnight results. But we can offer care that pays attention to you and that tracks changes to see how your body is changing.

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

Qi Node 7: 立夏 Lìxià (Summer Begins)

Leaning into the Fire of Summer

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Aligning Your Life with Lìxià

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

Embrace the Outward Flow

• Accept invitations and engage in social activities.

• Reconnect with old friends and strengthen relationships.

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

Support the Body with Seasonal Eating

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

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

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

Move in Alignment with the Season

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

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

Balance Joy with Rest

• Take time for quiet reflection in the evenings.

• Meditate or practice mindfulness to settle restless energy.

• Enjoy laughter and excitement without overextending yourself.

Honor the Heart’s True Fire

• Speak your truth and express yourself authentically.

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

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

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

What They Came In For: IBS

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That’s where the herbal medicine came in.

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

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

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

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

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

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

What he came in for was relief.

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

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

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

Qi Node 6: 谷雨 Gǔyǔ (Grain Rain)

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

Spring: Wood

Summer: Fire

Fall: Metal

Winter: Water

But what of the fifth phase, Earth?

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

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

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

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

The Cosmic Cycle: Yin and Yang

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

A Tale of Yin and Yang Through the Seasons

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

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

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

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

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

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

Empress Yin Stokes The Ember of Yang

Yang Plays Under Yin's Watch

Growing Yang Inspires Spring

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

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

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

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

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

Yang Matures And Begins To Lead

Yang Inspires The Kingdom To Action

Emperor Yang Presides Over Abundance But Doubts Begin

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He weeps—not in despair, but in relief.

And he begins to fade.

Emperor Yang Will Not Accept His Decline

Child Yin Reminds Yang Of His Purpose

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

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

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

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

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

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

Young Yin Grows in Wisdom While Yang Encourages Her

Yin Is Crowned Empress And Mother Of All Creation

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

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

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

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

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

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

The cycle begins anew

Empress Yin Encourages Restoration

Empress Yin Presides Over Reminiscence

Empress Yin Watches Yangs Ember

The Whole Story

What Can We Help With?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So what can we help with?
Quite a lot.

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

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

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

Qi Node 5: 清明 Qīngmíng (Clear and Bright)

Clarity, Renewal, and the Brightness of Spring

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

Classical painting of Chinese people participating in a QingMing ancestor ritual

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

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

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

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

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

Aligning Your Life with 清明 Qīngmíng

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

Refresh the Body with Lightness and Flow

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

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

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

Move with the Energy of Spring

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

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

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

Clear the Mind and Emotions

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

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

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

Prepare for the Season Ahead

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then we treated her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Qi Node 4: 春分 Chūnfēn (Spring Equinox)

Equality of Yin and Yang

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

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

Using the Natural Rhythm to Prepare Ourselves

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

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

Conduct of the Spring Equinox

1. Plans and actions are deepened and enhanced

   1. Finalize the garden layout and the summer project list

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

   3. Find new recipes that feel comforting and tasty

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

2. Winter’s lethargy has relaxed

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

   2. Get back to mild cardio for short bursts

   3. Till the garden and move the soil

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

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

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

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

Qi Node 3: 惊蛰 Jīngzhé (Insects Awaken)

“And the ground began to tremble…”

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

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

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

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

Dragons Wake from Hibernation and The Winds Return

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Chinese style blue dragon dyed onto silk

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

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

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

Qi Node Quick Notes

Best Time for Qi

5 am
The hours just before dawn.

Phase

Wood
Movement upward and outward.

Direction of Activity

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

Qi Node 2: 雨水 Yǔshui (Rain Water)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Aligning Your Life with the Qì Node: Yǔshuǐ 雨水

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

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

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

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

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

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

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