Qi Node 15: 白露 Báilù (White Dew)

Yin Descends to Take Charge

Young girl leads her grandfather by the hand

The yáng 陽 energy of Summer is no longer fierce. Its bright enthusiasm has faded, and its sharp edges have softened with the turning of the season. In its place, something subtler begins to rise. The early morning dew appears like a whisper—gentle but insistent—reminding us that cooler months are approaching. Although the sun still warms your shoulders at midday, the evenings now bring a chill, and the heat of the day fades more quickly than it did just weeks ago.

This is the time when yīn 陰 energy coalesces. It is no longer a distant presence. No longer hidden behind heatwaves and long days. Now it steps forward—not to dominate, but to quietly take command.

At this point in the cycle, yáng 陽 is not absent, but it is no longer steering the movement of the year. It is slowing, retreating, and allowing yīn 陰 to rise. This transition is not marked by conflict or abrupt change, but by the natural rhythm of exchange between these two fundamental forces. One of the clearest metaphors for this moment is that of a young girl taking her aging grandfather by the hand. He forgets things—where he left the keys, when he last ate—but she is his helper. Though slower now and less certain, he carries stories and memories that she listens to carefully. Her presence brings clarity and reordering. She helps him recall who he has been, even as she quietly shapes what will come next. This is yīn 陰 not as darkness or absence, but as a guide and stabilizer.

Aligning Conduct with the Descent of Yin

Báilù is a moment to begin preparing for the interior months. The shifts need not be large, but they should be conscious. Below are a few ways to align your lifestyle and choices with the season’s changing qi.

1. Preserve Body Fluids

As the air becomes dry and the wind picks up, the body becomes more vulnerable to depletion. Avoid strenuous exercise that leads to heavy sweating. Instead, favor gentle, fluid movement—stretching, tai chi, slow walks, or restorative practices that promote circulation without overexertion.

2. Let Activity Follow the Light

Begin winding down earlier in the evening. Try to finish eating before 7 p.m. and resist late-night tasks that demand high cognitive or physical effort. Yáng qì 陽氣 is weakest in the evening, and pushing against that low tide only leads to depletion. Let the outer dark remind you to retreat inward.

3. Favor Moist and Warming Foods

This is the time for broths, stews, and lightly cooked vegetables. Enjoy the last of the tomatoes and squashes, and begin to incorporate grains like millet and barley. Potatoes, corn, and sweet roots provide gentle sweetness and grounding. Avoid raw and cold foods that tax digestion, and begin to minimize greasy, spicy, or heavily stimulating meals.

4. Explore the Dew Ritual

For those managing latent heat or damp-heat conditions, take a few moments each morning for a barefoot walk through the dew. Bundle up, step outside, and walk gently through the cool, wet grass. Let the morning qi settle into your feet. Then return inside, dry them thoroughly, warm them with your hands, and put on socks. This simple practice aligns the body with the cool clarity of early Autumn and helps guide heat down and out.

5. Begin the Harvest of the Mind

You’ve likely been editing your internal life in small ways—letting go of unneeded habits, shedding a few things that felt heavy. Now is the time to gather what remains. Begin organizing your thoughts and intentions. What routines are sustainable? What behaviors feel aligned? What insights want to stay?

This isn’t about goal-setting. It’s about noticing the contours of your inner landscape and preparing to live with them more fully in the months to come.

---

Yīn 陰 descends now not as silence, but as structure. Not as absence, but as remembering. It brings with it the opportunity to reconnect with what supports and sustains. Let your choices soften. Let your movement slow. Let your attention settle into the subtler rhythms that are already calling you inward.

The year is turning again. Let yourself turn with it.

Hungry Ghost Festival: When the Dead Show Up Starving

Every year, as the seventh lunar month deepens, a peculiar hush settles across parts of East and Southeast Asia. It’s a quiet that lives in alleyways and courtyards, broken only by the rustle of paper flames and the low murmur of offerings spoken into the dark. It is said that during this time, the gates between the realms of the living and the dead swing open, and what comes through is not just memory or metaphor—it is longing.

This is the Hungry Ghost Festival, a cultural and spiritual event that marks a specific time in the lunar calendar—typically the fifteenth night of the seventh month—when spirits are believed to roam freely among the living. But not all spirits are honored ancestors or celestial visitors. Some are the forgotten. The neglected. The unremembered. They are the éguǐ 餓鬼—hungry ghosts.

And they are starving.

What Does It Mean to Be Hungry?

The term “hungry ghost” is more than a dramatic flourish. It’s a precise designation. In both Buddhist and Daoist cosmologies, the world is layered—visible life atop a vast substratum of unseen realities. The realm of hungry ghosts is one such layer. It’s not Hell in the fire-and-brimstone sense, but it is a place of torment. Not by punishment imposed, but by craving unfulfilled.

A hungry ghost is often described as having a huge, distended belly and a neck too thin to pass even a grain of rice. It is the very image of insatiable desire paired with the inability to ever be satisfied. These beings are not evil. They are pitiable. They wander, not because they want to harm, but because they are desperate to remember who they were or to be remembered by someone, anyone.

In this way, the Hungry Ghost Festival is not a horror story. It is an act of compassion. It’s a recognition of how thin the veil between nourishment and neglect really is—how easily one can become unseen.

Origins and Mythic Threads

A classical chinese painting of a hungry ghost with a distended belly and a tiny throat

The festival has roots in both Buddhist and Daoist traditions, although the stories and interpretations vary depending on the source. In Buddhist telling, the origin lies in the story of Mùlián 目連, a disciple of the Buddha who sought to save his mother from the torments of the hungry ghost realm. She had, in life, accumulated karmic debts through greed and selfishness, and in death was condemned to a state of perpetual hunger. Despite his powers, Mùlián could not feed her. Every offering he made would turn to flames or ash in her mouth.

Eventually, the Buddha instructed him to gather the monastic community and make offerings on her behalf during the seventh lunar month. Through the transfer of merit, her suffering was lessened. This narrative reinforces a foundational value in East Asian culture: filial piety. It suggests that even in death, we have responsibilities to our kin. It also hints at a wider truth—our actions ripple outward, touching not only the living, but those who linger beyond our reach.

In Daoist practice, the same festival is called Zhōngyuán Jié 中元節 and is connected to the cosmological belief that this is the time when the heavens open for divine judgment. The underworld’s gatekeeper, Dìguān Dàdì 地官大帝, descends to record the sins of the living and offer reprieves for the suffering dead. The festival thus becomes both a moral checkpoint and a moment of shared obligation between the living and the deceased.

But even with mythic backstories and ritual protocols, the festival is deeply human. It’s not just about ghosts. It’s about memory, loss, and the deep ache of disconnection.

Rituals of Nourishment and Remembrance

During the Hungry Ghost Festival, the rituals are as much for the living as for the dead.

Food and incense laid out on an altar for the ancestors

Families prepare altars of food—not for their own consumption, but for the spirits. Dishes are laid out carefully, incense is lit, and prayers are murmured into the smoke. Outside homes, especially at crossroads and open public spaces, people burn joss paper—symbolic offerings shaped like money, clothing, and household goods. These are sent to the spirit world in hopes of easing the discomforts of those trapped in liminal existence.

In southern China and parts of Southeast Asia, lanterns are floated on rivers or released into the night sky. The idea is simple but haunting: help the lost find their way home. Even street performances—operas, dances, or puppet shows—might be staged with front-row seats left conspicuously empty. Those are for the guests who no longer walk in flesh but are welcome all the same.

Yet, for all the care shown, there is also caution. One does not casually walk home late on this night. One does not speak ill of the dead or turn over earth needlessly. The ghosts are hungry, yes—but they are also fragile. Unpredictable. Their needs are vast, and the boundary between honoring and offending is thin.

Why This Matters Now

For modern Americans, the Hungry Ghost Festival may seem distant, a piece of folklore from another time and place. But if you look past the burning paper and the moonlit ceremonies, the relevance is startling.

We live in a culture increasingly marked by disconnection. The dead are tidily buried in cemeteries we rarely visit. Grief is expected to resolve itself in polite time. Elders are often sidelined. Memory fades quickly, not from cruelty, but from the sheer pace of modern life. If someone is not directly in our feed, we may not even realize they’re missing.

The Hungry Ghost Festival presents a radical alternative. It asks us to remember deliberately. It gives space—ritual, symbolic, literal—for the unspoken griefs and unacknowledged lives. And in doing so, it suggests that forgetting has consequences—not just for those passed, but for us.

In psychological terms, the hungry ghost is unresolved trauma. It is inherited pain. It is the part of our family history that no one wants to talk about, now roaming unaddressed through our decisions and relationships. In ecological terms, it is the consequence of living in a world where we extract endlessly without reciprocating. The world itself becomes a hungry ghost—parched, burnt, hollowed.

And yet, the response is simple: remember. Feed what is hungry. Sit down at the table with your ghosts—those of family, culture, and self—and offer something nourishing. Time. Attention. Acknowledgment.

A Contemporary Practice

You don’t need a joss paper bank or a lunar calendar to honor this season. You only need a moment.

Light a candle for someone you’ve lost. Not just the beloved dead, but those who left quietly. The ones you didn’t grieve properly. The parts of yourself you abandoned out of necessity. Write a letter. Cook a dish someone used to love and set a portion aside. Say their name.

If you feel brave, take a walk at dusk. Reflect on what you have inherited—not just your grandmother’s smile or your father’s stubbornness, but the silence, the questions, the ache. What stories were never told? What hungers were never fed?

And then, as best you can, feed them. Feed with attention. With ritual. With small acts that say: I remember you. You mattered. You still matter.

The gates are open during this time. Whether that means spirits of the dead or simply the hidden parts of our own inner lives depends on your view. But something rises. Something comes looking. And not with malice. With need.

The Hungry Ghost Festival is not a celebration of fear. It is an invitation to compassion. To memory. To reckoning.

And perhaps, in this time of endless distractions and chronic forgetting, it is exactly the kind of feast we need.

Qi Node 14: 處暑 Chùshǔ (Heat Ends)

The name tells you everything and nothing all at once. Chùshǔ—“Heat Ends” (处暑)—suggests relief, a cooling off, a return to balance. But in practice? The heat doesn’t always end on cue. The air might still hum with humidity. The sun, still insistent. And the body, caught between wanting to let go of summer and still clinging to its long, light-filled days, doesn’t always know how to respond.

This is the paradox of Chùshǔ: we’ve crossed a seasonal threshold, but the world hasn’t caught up yet.

We’re entering the last phase of Late Summer—a strange, in-between time in Chinese cosmology. It’s not quite Fall, not really Summer. It’s transitional. Earth phase qi is still humming from the transition period between 大暑 Dàshǔ and 立秋 Lìqiū , which means the concerns of the Spleen and Stomach systems—digestion, nourishment, stability—are still impacted by conduct in this period. But quietly, almost imperceptibly, the energy is beginning to sink. The outward push of Summer is yielding to inward motion. The descent has begun.

When the Season Hesitates

What makes Chùshǔ especially interesting (and occasionally frustrating) is the way it resists a clean break. After all, it’s not called “Fall Begins” or “First Frost.” It’s “Heat Ends,” which is more of an intention than a certainty. In many parts of the Northern hemisphere, it’s still pretty hot during this qi node, but remember that qi nodes express shifts in the qi not necessarily in the weather. These shifts portend changes in the future more than an immediately observable change. For Chùshǔ, it’s a transitional moment when the qi in the environment starts to pull downward, but we’re not quite ready to follow it.

This is the season of lingering.

Tomatoes are still on the vine. Kids aren’t back in school yet—or maybe they just started, but summer break energy is still in the air. Vacations taper off. Work resumes. The fire of summer isn’t out, but it’s starting to burn lower. And there’s often a sense of restlessness as we try to find our rhythm again.

Cosmically, Chùshǔ isn’t telling us to stop. It’s asking us to start considering what it means to shift.

We often think of seasonal transitions as clean slates. But more often, they are layered. Old expectations overlap with new intentions. We still feel warm and outwardly focused while being asked to begin preparing for inward movement. It can feel awkward. Confusing. Tiring.

And that’s completely natural.

The Descent Begins

Chinese medicine views this period as a crucial turning point. The yang qi, which has been rising and expanding since early spring, is now preparing to descend. But it doesn’t plummet. It spirals down slowly, recalibrating as it goes.

Chùshǔ marks the beginning of that descent. Which means this is the time to soften your pace, simplify your routines, and prepare your body and mind for a quieter, more introspective season ahead.

All seasonal change is moderated by the Earth phase, but Late Summer in particular has the most direct alignement with the Qi of Earth: represented by the center—physically, emotionally, and energetically. It’s a time to ground. To stabilize. To gather yourself before the winds of Autumn arrive.

And because we are, in many ways, still warm, still moving, still doing, this qi node is also about recognizing when we’ve had enough. Not out of exhaustion or failure—but because seasons are meant to change.

How to Align with Chùshǔ (处暑)

This is not a time for dramatic transformation. It’s a time for attunement—small shifts that help you match pace with the season’s changing rhythm.

1. Ease into Routine

Start rebuilding rhythm. Think regular sleep, consistent meals, and a little structure—not rigid, but supportive. Your Spleen system loves routine. Offer it a bit of predictability after the spontaneity of Summer.

2. Ground Through Food

Earth phase loves food that is simple, warm, and comforting. Late Summer produce—like squash, corn, carrots, and sweet potatoes—supports both digestion and transition. Keep it cooked, lightly spiced, and balanced. Avoid too many cold or greasy foods, which can burden an already tired digestive system.

Try soups with barley, stewed mung beans, or roasted root vegetables. Tea with ginger and orange peel is a lovely seasonal ally.

3. Create Space Gently

This is a good moment to start editing—not purging but letting go of small clutter, unnecessary tasks, or mental noise that has carried over from the peak of Summer. This isn’t the active and forceful cleaning and clearing of Spring but instead the first evaluation of what you’d like to keep and to let go as you prepare for Winter.

4. Observe Instead of React

You might feel a little unsettled right now. That’s part of the transition. Instead of trying to fix it, watch it. Track your moods, cravings, and thoughts. Let the internal landscape shift without needing to define it just yet.

5. Prioritize Rest Before You Feel Exhausted

Just because you're not crashing doesn't mean you're not ready to slow down. Begin to reintroduce rest into your days. Go to bed a little earlier. Take more time in the morning. Schedule less. Rest isn’t just recovery—it’s how we match our pace to nature’s.

---

Chùshǔ (处暑) is a quiet invitation to begin the journey inward. Not as retreat, but as rhythm. It reminds us that not all endings are final. Some endings arrive gradually, with warmth still in the air and leaves still on the trees. But that doesn’t make the shift any less real.

This is your moment to begin the descent—gracefully, intentionally, and with full presence. Let the heat end slowly. Let yourself linger at the edge. Let the season take its time.

And take yours, too.

Qi Node 13: 立秋 Lìqiū (Autumn Begins)

The Quiet Arrival of Something New

It is still hot outside. The sun still rises early and lingers late. The air still hums with the weight of summer. And yet, something is changing.

This is the qi node of Lìqiū, “Autumn Begins.” The name alone feels implausible. How could autumn already be here?

But Chinese cosmology doesn’t wait for the leaves to fall to announce the shift of season. It listens earlier, more carefully. It marks the moment Yin begins to rise.

It begins slowly, almost imperceptibly. The mornings are cooler—barely, but enough to make you notice. The breeze carries a different edge. The crickets sound thinner. The world doesn’t feel quite as outward as it did in July. Yang has begun its descent, and Yin is stirring from its long sleep.

The First Turning Inward

In the Daoist calendar, this is not just the start of a new season. It is a turning of the entire cosmological tide.

Where summer was a time of expression, expansion, and manifestation, autumn begins the return toward refinement, containment, and reflection. If summer is the fullness of fruit on the branch, autumn is the seed within that fruit—small, hidden, holding potential.

Lìqiū invites us to begin the long, slow process of turning inward. Not all at once. Not dramatically. Just a gentle shift—a lessening of outward striving, a softening of urgency, a reorientation toward what lies within.

In the natural world, trees begin to draw sap back toward their roots. Grains start to dry. Insects begin to burrow. Life contracts in preparation for rest. So should we.

Unresolved Summer and the Burden of Lingering Heat

The classics warn that if summer heat is not properly released before autumn begins, it can lead to disease. Heat that lingers in the system may combine with the dryness of fall and produce patterns that are difficult to resolve—dry coughs, skin eruptions, stubborn constipation, unprocessed emotional agitation.

In this sense, Lìqiū is not just a threshold—it’s an audit. It shows us what remains unprocessed. What hasn’t cleared. What must be addressed before the descent continues.

If Yang has not been allowed to recede, it may now stagnate. If we refuse to soften our activity, the transition can become jagged. And when we treat this time as an extension of summer, we miss the invitation to begin shedding what we no longer need.

The Philosophy of Restraint

Modern life rarely makes space for seasonal restraint. We are taught to push through, stay productive, plan ahead. But Lìqiū offers a different kind of wisdom: one that values clarity over volume, precision over pace.

This is the season of distillation—of editing your life down to what still matters. It is the beginning of discernment. The first whisper that says: not everything you gathered in summer will serve you in fall.

To align with Lìqiū is to begin listening for what is essential.

What to Do

This node calls for a quieting—not a full retreat, but a subtle downshift. Begin to treat your body like the season is changing, even if the temperature hasn’t caught up yet.

• Wake slightly earlier. Mornings now carry the clearest air of the day.

• Start to eat more simply. Warm grains and lightly cooked foods support digestion as the air dries.

• Ease out of raw fruits and salads. Cooked apples, pears, and steamed greens begin to replace summer’s melon and cucumber.

• Drink teas that clear lingering heat. Chrysanthemum, mint, or mulberry leaf can help.

• Protect your lungs. Avoid late-night outdoor exposure and breathing in too much dry air.

• Walk at dusk. Let the evening wind remind your body of its own rhythm.

• Let go of one thing. A habit, a task, a demand you’ve outgrown. Not in grief—just in rhythm.

Qi Node 12: 大暑 Dàshǔ (Greater Heat)

When Yang Refuses To Yield

Since the solstice, yáng qì 陽氣 has gradually begun to recede. There’s no sudden collapse or dramatic turn—just the steady turning of the seasonal wheel, as the arc of a force that reached its height now begins its slow decline.

Still, Yang is not inclined to yield easily.

We are now in the qi node known as Dàshǔ 大暑, or “Greater Heat,” the final seasonal node of summer. At this stage, Yang is no longer growing, but it hasn’t yet dissipated either. Instead, it becomes resistant—less dynamic, more forceful. In classical texts, this state is sometimes referred to as yǒuhài 有害—harmful Yang, a form of excess that oversteps the bounds of harmony. Rather than warming and ripening, this phase of Yang has a tendency to overheat, pushing beyond what is beneficial.

The broader seasonal cycle continues. Autumn will arrive, Yin will gradually take its place. But for now, Yang pushes back against the inevitable transition, and in doing so, it can begin to strain the systems it once supported.

The Final Bloom Of Excess

Earlier in the summer, Yang was expressive and purposeful. It inspired action—bringing us outdoors into sunlit landscapes, into gardens and rivers, toward late evenings filled with movement and momentum. That energy helped bring to life the intentions we set earlier in the year.

Now, as the seasonal crest gives way to decline, Yang doesn’t taper off with ease. Instead, it intensifies. The heat becomes less supportive and more oppressive. The ground hardens. Dampness, once settled, begins to rise under pressure. Crops approach ripeness, but so too do underlying patterns of stagnation and reactivity.

This is the challenge of Greater Heat: the same force that encourages completion can also tip things toward disruption.

We see this in the environment—through wildfire risk, sudden storms, or erratic temperature swings—and in the body, where excess heat might show up as rashes, digestive discomfort, poor sleep, or a general feeling of restlessness or irritability. For others, the effects are more subtle: heaviness in the limbs, low-grade tension, or a vague emotional unease that’s hard to explain.

Conduct, Cosmology, and the Limits of Control

Traditional cosmologies remind us that human life is not separate from the world around it. We are animated by the same cycles that govern sky and soil. And yet the rhythms of modern life often obscure that fact.

We tend to treat time as uniform, asking the same level of output from ourselves in every season. We exercise according to schedule, not environment. We keep lights on late into the night, skip meals when busy, and expect productivity even when our bodies are calling for rest.

Yang, like all forces, has a lifespan. Its presence is vital, but it is not meant to be constant. Sustained health depends not only on growth and achievement, but also on the ability to respond to change, to shift gears, to step back when it’s time. When we ignore this need for modulation, we risk weakening the very foundation we rely on.

The body can accommodate these misalignments for a time. But over the long arc, it seeks to restore balance.

What to do

The medicine now is simple: do less. Cool down. Don’t match the world’s fire with more of your own.

Brightly colored fruit on a plate: blueberries, raspberries, melon, and pineapple

• Rest in the shade. Seek stillness, not just shelter.

• Don’t skip breakfast. Anchor your qi early.

• If you’re going to miss a meal, let it be dinner. The day should begin with nourishment, not end in depletion.

• Drink plenty of water, especially with cooling additions like cucumber, mint, or chrysanthemum.

• Favor simple grains. Cooked white rice is ideal—light, moistening, easy to digest.

• Enjoy fresh fruit like melons between meals or at least several hours after eating.

• Exercise in the early morning. After midday, your body needs to slow down, not speed up.

• Take a cool shower. Wash your hair. It helps release trapped heat from the head.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Qi Node 7: 立夏 Lìxià (Summer Begins)

Leaning into the Fire of Summer

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Aligning Your Life with Lìxià

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

Embrace the Outward Flow

• Accept invitations and engage in social activities.

• Reconnect with old friends and strengthen relationships.

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

Support the Body with Seasonal Eating

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

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

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

Move in Alignment with the Season

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

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

Balance Joy with Rest

• Take time for quiet reflection in the evenings.

• Meditate or practice mindfulness to settle restless energy.

• Enjoy laughter and excitement without overextending yourself.

Honor the Heart’s True Fire

• Speak your truth and express yourself authentically.

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

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

---

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

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

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.

Qi Node 4: 春分 Chūnfēn (Spring Equinox)

Equality of Yin and Yang

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

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

Using the Natural Rhythm to Prepare Ourselves

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

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

Conduct of the Spring Equinox

1. Plans and actions are deepened and enhanced

   1. Finalize the garden layout and the summer project list

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

   3. Find new recipes that feel comforting and tasty

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

2. Winter’s lethargy has relaxed

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

   2. Get back to mild cardio for short bursts

   3. Till the garden and move the soil

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

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

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

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

Qi Node 3: 惊蛰 Jīngzhé (Insects Awaken)

“And the ground began to tremble…”

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

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

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

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

Dragons Wake from Hibernation and The Winds Return

View fullsize

Chinese style blue dragon dyed onto silk

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

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

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

Qi Node Quick Notes

Best Time for Qi

5 am
The hours just before dawn.

Phase

Wood
Movement upward and outward.

Direction of Activity

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

Qi Node 2: 雨水 Yǔshui (Rain Water)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Aligning Your Life with the Qì Node: Yǔshuǐ 雨水

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Qi Node 1: 立春 Lìchūn (Spring Begins)

When the Ice Cracks and the World Begins Again

It’s quiet, but it’s not still.

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

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

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

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

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

On Not Forcing Spring

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

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

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

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

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

What To Do:

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

Move with Purpose, Not Pressure

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

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

Support Your Digestion with Seasonal Foods

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

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

Make Space, Not War

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

Reconnect with Vision

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

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

Enter The Yin Wood Snake

Each year in the Chinese calendar is shaped by the layered dance between an animal from the zodiac and one of the ten Heavenly Stems. In 2025, we shift into the energy of the Yin Wood Snake (戌木蛇), and it will be nothing like the year we are leaving behind. If 2024, the Yang Wood Dragon (甲木龙), was a thunderclap—big, bold, and burning with expansive ambition—then 2025 arrives as a whisper. A rustle in the undergrowth. A slow coil. The Snake invites us not to soar the skies, but instead to coil and wait. This contracted posture allows us to think and to digest our experience as we plan for what comes next, ultimately shedding what needs to go in order to get where we want to be.

Snake Years

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

And so in Snake years, things tend to shift quietly. What looks like inaction may turn out to be transformation. What seems like distance might be discernment. The Snake does not waste its energy and neither should we. This is a year for planning more than leaping, for cultivating personal refinement, and for seeking transformation through discipline and grace.

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

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

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

But if we move with the rhythm of the year—if we learn to follow its slow, elegant arc—there is so much to gain. Real change. Quiet strength. A sense of clarity that comes from discernment.

Yin Wood

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

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

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

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

The Shift from the Dragon

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

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

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

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

Health in the Snake Year

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Moving With the Year

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

May it guide you with grace.

Behold the Mighty Yang Wood Dragon

The Chinese calendar is among the oldest continuous timekeeping systems in the world, with roots reaching back more than two thousand years. Closely tied to agricultural rhythms, dynastic history, and celestial observation, it has always been both a practical and symbolic structure. Its foundations are astrological as much as astronomical, blending planetary cycles with cosmological insight. The calendar is built around patterns of transformation and change, reflecting not only the passage of time but the qualities of time. Each year is not merely a unit on a timeline, but a container for particular dynamics, images, and movements of qi. Through the interplay of cosmic forces expressed in very specific mathematical calculations, the Chinese calendar allows us to understand the character of a moment, and by extension, how to live in harmony with it.

Each year in the Chinese calendar is built from a combination of two systems: the Ten Heavenly Stems (天府, tiān gān) and the Twelve Earthly Branches (地支, dì zhī). Together, these create a repeating 60-year cycle known as the sexagenary cycle (庚支, gānzhī), which assigns a unique combination of stem and branch to each year. While the Heavenly Stems rotate through the five phases (wood, fire, earth, metal, water), each appearing in both a yin and a yang form, the Earthly Branches correspond to the twelve zodiac animals. In 2024, we enter the year of the Yang Wood Dragon (甲辰, jiǎ chén).

To understand what this means, it helps to break down each component. The Dragon is the fifth of the twelve Earthly Branches. Unlike the other animals in the cycle, the Dragon is a mythical creature and the only one capable of flight. It holds a special place in Chinese cosmology as a symbol of power, potential, and transformation. Dragons are often seen as auspicious and are associated with the emperor, the heavens, and the ability to move between realms. In terms of qi dynamics, the Dragon is associated with the phase of yang earth, which is stabilizing, expansive, and generative.

Chinese Classical Qing-Ming Dragon

Hexagrams, Yì Jīng, and Other Esoterica

In addition to the stem and branch pairing, each year in the Chinese calendar can also be associated with one or more hexagrams (卦, guà) from the Yì Jīng (易經, Book of Changes). These hexagrams offer symbolic insight into the energetic and developmental processes unfolding during the year. For the Yang Wood Dragon year, two hexagrams are commonly associated with this combination: Hexagram 1 (乾, Qián) and Hexagram 34 (大壯, Dà Zhuàng).

Hexagram 1, Qián, is often translated as "The Creative." It is composed of six solid yang lines and represents pure, undivided yang energy. It reflects a time of initiation, clarity, and dynamic force—qualities that resonate deeply with both yang wood and the expansive nature of the Dragon. This hexagram suggests that the year may be filled with opportunities to assert one's creative potential, but also calls for moral integrity and persistence. As with all strong yang expressions, there is the danger of becoming too forceful or unyielding. The advice of Qián is to remain steady in purpose and grounded in virtue.

Hexagram 34, Dà Zhuàng, means "Great Power" or "Great Strength." It describes a situation where strength has reached its peak and must be guided wisely. This hexagram speaks to the danger of excessive force and the need for restraint, echoing the caution already present in the Dragon year dynamic. While there is the energy to make significant changes and bold moves, success depends on maintaining a clear sense of timing and appropriateness. It encourages us to act from a place of inner alignment rather than ego-driven ambition.

Yang Wood Dragon Vibes

Dragons in general represent big potential and big impact. Their energy is often charismatic, forceful, and difficult to ignore. But because of this strength, Dragons can also be unpredictable. They don’t always know their own power. Sometimes they soar above the clouds, and other times they crash into the ground. In a Dragon year, the mood is generally one of movement and expansion. There is an opening up of possibilities, but also a need to stay grounded amidst that surge.

Each Dragon year inherits an additional layer from the stem it is paired with. In 2024, that stem is 甲 (jiǎ), which is Yang Wood. Yang Wood is associated with the image of a tall, sturdy tree—something upright, direct, and full of growth potential. It is the start of the cycle of stems and represents initiation, youthfulness, and creative force. Where yin wood is like a creeping vine or a flexible bamboo shoot, yang wood is strong, driven, and expansive.

So the combination of Yang Wood and Dragon yields a year that is infused with upward movement and outward growth. Yang Wood feeds the Dragon’s innate boldness and desire for transformation. It amplifies the qualities of ambition, vision, and dynamic change. But it can also bring volatility, overextension, and impulsiveness. A tree grows upward toward the light, often without regard for what lies in its path. The Dragon, powered by that same upward thrust, can charge ahead with great force but little concern about what it impacts.

In terms of its position in the cycle, the Wood Dragon opens a new 10-stem cycle. The last time this exact configuration appeared was 1964, and it will return again in 2084. As the beginning of a stem cycle and a year associated with the Dragon’s expansive energy, this is a time marked by beginnings, initiatives, and visionary leaps. It is not a year of small adjustments. It is a year that wants to start something big.

A wheel calendar depicting the sexagenary cycle of the Chinese calendar

Emotionally, Dragon years can feel sweeping. There is often a collective sense of possibility, sometimes veering into overconfidence or bravado. For some, this is energizing—a welcome break from inertia or heaviness. For others, it can feel destabilizing, especially if the energy tips into restlessness or scattered movement. Because the Dragon is associated with Heaven and yang earth, it pushes upward while still needing a solid foundation. That tension between aspiration and grounding is one of the core dynamics of the year.

Planning, Decisions, and Health

Planning in a Dragon year benefits from clear intention and some sense of direction, even if all the details are not in place. This is a good year for planting seeds, launching projects, or turning ideas into action. But it is not a good year for flying blind. The combination of Yang Wood and Dragon can give people the feeling that they can do anything. And while it is true that this year supports bold moves, the danger lies in moving too fast or taking on more than can realistically be managed. Ambition needs structure. Vision needs support. The Dragon can fly, but only because it knows how to ride the currents.

Decision-making this year may feel more urgent or inspired than usual. People may find themselves saying yes to things they would normally take more time to consider. This is not inherently a problem—some opportunities really are worth leaping for. But it is worth remembering that excitement is not the same as clarity. The yang wood impulse to grow must be balanced with discernment. Not all growth is beneficial. Not all movement is progress.

From a health and clinical perspective, Dragon years tend to stir up the middle burner. The earth phase corresponds to the digestive system, and when paired with wood, we often see tension in the liver-spleen relationship. People may experience more symptoms related to digestion, stress, irritability, or muscular tension. The upward, expansive movement of the year can create internal friction if not given appropriate outlets. Movement, breathwork, creative expression, and rest will all be important ways to regulate this rising energy.

It’s also useful to keep an eye on excess. Yang Wood and Dragon energy are both expansive and can tend toward doing too much. This can lead to burnout, over-scheduling, and strain on the nervous system. Especially for people who are constitutionally more yin or who have had a difficult time recovering from the past few years, pacing is key. Rest is not a luxury; it is part of the rhythm. In order to grow well, a tree needs deep roots and steady nourishment.

People, Politics, and Passions

In relationships, the Dragon year can bring both excitement and upheaval. This is a time when people may make bold declarations, start new partnerships, or take relationships in unexpected directions. There is a kind of idealism in the air—a belief in possibility. But again, this needs grounding. Romantic and interpersonal shifts that happen quickly may not always be sustainable unless they are rooted in shared values and mutual support. The Wood Dragon loves a grand gesture, but real connection often grows more slowly.

Economically and politically, we may see large swings. Dragon years tend to be dramatic in their scope. Because they invite bold moves, they also invite bold mistakes. Leaders may feel emboldened to take risks. Some of these may pay off, but others may have wide-reaching consequences. On a societal level, this is a year when big ideas take the stage. It will be especially important to stay discerning—to ask not just whether a vision is appealing, but whether it is wise, necessary, and grounded in reality.

For creative work, the Dragon year is a boon. This is an excellent time to pursue artistic projects, start writing, perform, teach, or create new structures for sharing ideas. The Wood Dragon supports originality, courage, and taking up space. If you have been waiting for a year to take your creative work more seriously, this is it.

In summary, the Year of the Yang Wood Dragon is one of renewal, expansion, and possibility. It invites bold action, but it also requires thoughtful pacing. The Dragon flies high, but it needs direction. Yang Wood pushes growth, but it needs deep roots. This year can be exciting, energizing, and transformative—so long as we remember to stay connected to the ground we are growing from.

Happy Lunar New Year! The Reign of the Yang Water Tiger

Year Highlights

• Tiger years are years for changes in direction, for passion, for excitement, for doing

• Yang Water quality of the Tiger year will make the Tiger’s natural tendencies even more apparent

• Change is guaranteed but the quality and impact of that change will depend on how we used the stable, predictable energy of the Ox this past year

• It will be easy to get over excited this year and to make quick and passionate decisions. We should lean into those feelings but remember to not let our larger goals be undone by the potency of the Tiger year

And so the cycle begins again, an ever-turning wheel backward and forward through all of time and all of space, pushing and pulling all of creation inexorably through its own experience. Dramatic, right? A little flashy, right? Maybe a little egoistic and overwrought? Well, the Tiger year brings with it a kind of dramatic intensity that we haven’t seen in a while and, combined with the Yang Water modifier, gives us a coming year with a lot of potential for explosive change and intense shifts in trajectory.

In order to understand how this Tiger year is likely to feel, it might be best to put it in the context of the Yin Metal Ox year we just finished. The ox is a beast of burden, focused on getting the job done no matter the weather, the demands, the level of exhaustion. As a year, it is intensely focused on getting through and preparing the way for the next thing to come along. Oxen represent an adherence to tradition, to the ways that things have always been done, and they provide a kind of continuity with the past that is essential for building strong foundations for the future. Oxen are confident and strong, but they are not aggressive, not self-starters.

Many of us felt that plodding quality throughout much of 2021. The pandemic stretched on endlessly, work and activity fell into a kind of complacent repetition and the idea of going out and doing new things, traveling to new places, starting new projects, for many people felt exhausting and distinctly uninteresting. Better to just keep on keeping on. That Ox energy was compounded by the general qualities of the Winter season where we are drawn into reminiscence and nostalgia; reflection and melancholy, by the natural depth and intensity of the Yin portion of the year. By the time Lunar New Year rolled around this year, I know a lot of us were ready for a change.

The Tiger year, in general, is a stark departure from the traditionalist continuity of the Ox year. That this Tiger year is a Yang Water Tiger, further indicates the that the aggressive transformative energy of this year will be even that much more potent. Let me explain:

Without getting too deep in the weeds, it’s important to remember a few basic tenants of Chinese cosmology:

1. There are 12 animals that represent the qualities of a standard 12 year annual cycle: Rat, Ox, Tiger, Rabbit, Dragon, Snake, Horse, Goat, Monkey, Rooster, Dog, and Pig

2. Each of those animals is assigned a Yang or Yin Quality and a qi phase (sometimes called element) in an alternating order: Yang/Yin Wood, Yang/Yin Fire, Yang/Yin Earth, Yang/Yin Metal, Yang/Yin Water.

3. The combination of an animal and a Yang or Yin marker and a qi phase creates 60 unique combinations that repeat over and over again. This larger pattern is called the Sexagenary Cycle

This cycle is derived from some complex math rooted in the movements of celestial bodies like Jupiter and the Moon. Those astronomical observations served as pre-modern time-keeping devices and allowed ancient people to observe that seasons, environments, individuals, and societies were influenced by the qi present during their gestations and life spans and that such effects were repeated and somewhat predictable.

Now it is important to note that CHINESE COSMOLOGICAL WORK IS NOT ABOUT HOROSCOPES AND FORTUNETELLING. I know we have a predisposition to seeing a discussion of trends, norms, and pronouncements through the lens of carnival charlatans and UsWeekly horoscopes, but instead, try to couch the qualities of any upcoming year or season in your own experience. What do you feel in your body? What is the state of your mind? Are you motivated and if so, by what? Knowing more about the qi qualities of any particular moment in time can help us to compare our experience to what is happened around us and inform us if what we are experiencing makes sense with our context or if it is somehow aberrant, something for us to take a look at and maybe correct.

So back to the Tiger Year. Tigers in general are strong, quick, and aggressive. They are flashy in their coloration and historically, Tigers occupied the apex predator position with humans, often themselves responsible for human deaths. Tigers stalk their prey and can be patient in the pursuit of such a lofty and important goal nabbing their next meal, but by their natures, Tigers pace and stalk, they don’t sit and wait. This behavioural variance is the root of the shift from Ox to Tiger. While Ox was content to walk forward in a straight line, doing what is right and good and reasonable, the Tiger has no such patience. Tiger is ready to move, to do, to pounce. Thus, the Ox helped to carry the energetic hoarding of the Rat year forward to build a strong and resourceful foundation so that the Tiger has the best perch from which to take action.

Additionally, Tigers express complimentary but sometimes opposing qualities. They are primarily solitary creatures, but they have a strong urge to mate. Tigers present with aggressive posturing like growls, glares, and fang-baring but in fact rarely fight among themselves, instead choosing the show over the actual event. Tigers are incredibly quick and strong but also spend a lot of time relaxing and lounging. This type of opposing energy manifests in a Tiger year as well, where we can easily be caught up in something and taken to new places or levels of excitement, but we can just as easily find ourselves bored with the new activity and disinterested, looking for the next big thing. Tigers are a mighty force but are fundamentally unreliable, favoring action and passion over stability and predictability. This propensity for forceful and expansive movement has earned the Tiger image an association with the Wood qi phase (which also has an upward and outward movement) as well as the Yang quality (which is active, agitating, and ephemeral). Thus, all Tiger years are rooted in Yang Wood qi.

All of these Tiger qualities are all the more emphasized because, while all Tiger Years are Yang Wood years, each of them is further modified by its position in the sexagenary cycle, which gives this Tiger Year the addition of the Yang Water quality. In the 5 phase cycle of qi, Water is considered the mother of Wood, providing the necessary resources for qi to transform from the internally focused and contracting quality of water to the expansive and outwardly moving quality of wood. In this case that means that all the natural qualities of a Tiger year (action-oriented, impulsive, impatient, passionate, enthusiastic, dramatic, flashy, etc…) are made more obvious and more pronounced because water encourages wood to grow and expand. Add to that mix the Yang marker for the water part of this Tiger year, and we have an even more potent boost to Tiger’s natural qualities. In fact, the combination of all these particular pieces of the puzzle put the Tiger’s qi into an excessive position, asking all of us to pay extra attention to the flow of our bodies, minds, and emotions in this upcoming year because it will be very easy to be swept up into the intensity of the Yang Water Tiger.

These last few years have been challenging on so many levels and while the Tiger Year promises to help break us out of our rut, exactly which way that break will fall remains to be seen. Change is guaranteed but depending on how solid a foundation was built during the Ox’s tenure, will certainly shape how productive this Tiger change will be. All things must end though so even if the change is destructive and far reaching, it will be part of our challenge this year to incorporate that energy into our experience, not minimize judgement of one type of activity over another, and to recognize that nothing is exempt from the cycle of qi.