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.