A Camel Through the Eye of a Needle

When I was a sophomore at Pitzer College, before I transferred to Evergreen, I was in a course called, "Analysis of Human Motor Skills," in which we looked through a neuroscientific and biochemical lens and used some very elementary principles of physics to deconstruct and understand human movement. At the end of the semester, we were assigned a group research and experimental project. In our research on the effect of intention on physical ability, we came across a researcher in California doing quantitative experiments in measuring Qi. The methods of his research indicated that this group was measuring Qi through correlates of blood flow, nerve conduction and very specific and sensitive measurements of temperature. Qi was being redefined in terms of the measurable, physical reality in which Western science excels.

Last week, I received a monthly email newsletter from Kripalu (the "mothership" for yoga and traditional healing therapies on the East coast of the US). In this edition of the newsletter, Kripalu was promoting a new program on "Evidence-Based TaiChi." Intrigued, I read the detailed description of the program which states, "in scientific trials, Dr. Yang and his colleagues have shown that the program improves strength, balance, immune function, and cognition." While the Kripalu website has no link or further information on Dr. Yang's studies or published papers, with some effort, I uncovered his research: five controlled, longitudinal studies, two of which were fully randomized control trials. The Randomized Controlled Trial (RTC) is the pinnacle of modern scientific experimental design- the gold standard.

In my last post, I wrote about Western scientists "and their little atoms." I received two different responses: one was a prompt to investigate why so many people and organizations are so keen to "put East and West into conversation," or why there is this trend to use one's standard to measure the other; the other response was a defense from the Western scientific perspective. Let me first address the language I used in the last post, quoted above. My intention was not to disrespect science or scientists, though I realize now that my word choice was a bit uncivil, and for that I apologize. My intention was instead to call into question the dogmatic belief in the primacy of matter, in the denial of other paradigms of thinking and knowing in favor of the singular Absolute, the analytical-- at the expense of holistic systems thinking, and the ability to hold two or more ideas at once, recognizing the validity of both. To quote my father, "It is the experimental method that defines western science, not atoms or Newton. Science is neither the worship of given wisdom nor even a body of knowledge. Science is a virtue. At least when it is at its best. It is a humble and self critical exploration on the edge of uncertainty. Science is common sense with publication of interesting results."

Science as a virtue, that is as an abstract quality of thinking, is something I admire very much. It amazes me daily how much we have come to know and understand about our world, the brain and the human body, but what frightens me- what leaves me skeptical and perhaps a bit cynical, is what I see in the application of this virtue. As I said, I aim to challenge the dogma that has grown around the current (and not so current) knowledge in science. A detailed discussion on this is beyond the scope of what I will write here, but let me give an example of what I am referring to. Half a century ago, the prevailing view of the brain was of neural circuits that were, for all intents and purposes, "hard-wired" and inalterable. This left thousands suffering with various forms of dementia and Alzheimer's with no hope, and implied that adults simply couldn't learn anything of significance. Ultimately, this neuroscience paradigm held that people cannot change their minds, and since the prevailing belief is that every behavior has a neural correlate, people cannot change, period. In the last fifty years, a huge mass of research has proven this perspective incomplete; it is now a widely accepted notion in the field of neuroscience and psychology that the brain is, in fact, highly plastic, flexible and continually renewing. This is where the BUT comes in. BUT, as neuroscientist V.S. Ramachandran states in his book, The Tell-Tale Brain, "generations of medical students were told that the brain's trillions of neural connections are laid down in the fetus and during early infancy and that adult brains lose their ability to make new neural connections." Many neuroscience and medical textbooks still make this claim, despite heaps of evidence to the contrary. Other scientists like Bruce Lipton (The Biology of Belief), Dr. Candace Pert (The Molecules of Emotion), Lynn McTaggart (The Field) and others who have challenged prevailing and persistent theories with new (and decades-old) research leading to radically different understandings of our world have been tacitly ignored or outright denied by the scientific and medical community at large while their research has been, for the most part withheld from public knowledge or general education.

Additionally, I see a denial of humanity in science that is not only offensive, but dangerous. On the one hand, the attempt to "control" for certain biases or influences is admirable in the light of seeking Truth. However, we must also recognize that scientists (as human beings) have biases; humans are story-tellers- it is how we create our identities and our perception of the world, but the Truth-seeking scientific method has no room for the multiple stories that are True for different individuals. The notion of one ultimate Truth (perhaps related to the West's preference for monotheism?), denies the possibility of coinciding, opposing/complementary and equally valid stories/truths/hypotheses. we have such a hard time accepting, understanding, and applying the knowledge that atoms behave both as particles and as waves because we have this illusion that there is One Absolute Truth (or God?). Perhaps this is the same reason that Dr. Huang claims the impossibility of integrating Traditional Chinese Medicine (TCM) and Western medicine.

It is typically encouraged before designing and conducting scientific experiments to make a list of assumptions or biases. The list is meant to make a scientists aware of his or her blind spots, but the problem comes when the scientist or peer reviewers have the same blind spots and thus, as the term implies, cannot SEE them, cannot become aware of them. In designing experiments to prove or disprove or measure Qi, there are enormous blind spots in the Western scientist's field of vision and so these experiments end up collapsing things they cannot see into things they can: Qi turns into blood-flow and heat, TaiChi turns into physical movement, and the Ayurvedic doshas are collapsed into elements of constitution or causes of disease.

Truth-seeking is a natural human drive, and an important and a good one at that, but we  have narrowed our vision (perhaps Dr. Huang has as well), and it is understandable that we attempt to make sense of things using the tools most readily available to us: current and comfortable definitions that map our reality. 

**This next bit may seem like an irrelevant tangent, but bear with  me**

There is a story of a rich man asking Jesus what he needed to do in order to secure his place in the kingdom of God. When Jesus told him to give up his worldly possessions and aid the poor, the man was frustrated and a bit ambivalent about following these instructions. Jesus then turned towards his disciples and proclaimed, "it is easier for a camel to squeeze through the eye of a needle than for a rich person to get into the kingdom of God.”

Michael Mervosh writes, "Stories have been told as far back as the 15th century about a gate used to enter into the walled city of ancient Jerusalem, after the main gate was closed for the day.  This gate was very narrow. Thus, a fully loaded camel had to have its baggage removed so it could pass through the gate and proceed to its desired destination." (source, http://www.herosjourneyfoundation.org/blog/) Thus, the image of a camel passing through the eye of a needle can be interpreted as the seemingly impossible journey to a desired destination, or perhaps more abstractly, to Truth. Just as the camel at the gate to Jerusalem, we must shed our "baggage," our preconceived notions, or ego in order to pass through the eye of the needle and attain a more holistic understanding, a more complete Truth. 

When we approach Truth with genuine science, we find immense value, as Jacob Brownowski put it, "By the worldly standards of public life, all scholars in their work are of course oddly virtuous. They do not make wild claims, they do not cheat, they do not try to persuade at any cost, they appeal neither to prejudice nor to authority, they are often frank about their ignorance, their disputes are fairly decorous, they do not confuse what is being argued with race, politics, sex or age, they listen patiently to the young and to the old who both know everything. These are the general virtues of scholarship, and they are peculiarly the virtues of science." 

However, we must also realize that for as objective as we may attempt to be, subjectivity is inescapable to the human mind, whether scientist or psychoanalyst. From the book, "Biology Under The Influence: Dialectical Essays on Ecology, Agriculture and Health" by Richard Lewontins and Richard Levins:

"One the one hand, science is the generic development of human knowledge over the millennia, but on the other it is the increasingly commodified specific product of a capitalist knowledge industry. The result is a peculiarly uneven development, with increasing sophistication at the level of the laboratory and research project, along with a growing irrationality of the scientific enterprise as a whole. This gives us a pattern of insight and blindness, of knowledge and ignorance, that is not dictated by nature, leaving us helpless in the big problems facing our species. This dual nature gives us a science impelled both by its internal development and the very mixed outcomes of its applications to understand complexity as the central intellectual problem of out time. But it is held back by the philosophical traditions of reductionism, the institutional fragmentation of research, and the political economy of knowledge as commodity."

Science, like Truth, is a virtue to strive for. Scientists are human, doctors make mistakes, and brains rewire. We must not hold too tightly to the maps science has drawn for us for they are not the territory. In order for the camel to pass through the eye of the needle, it must be stripped of all it wishes to carry in with it. What would happen if we were to approach every scientific inquiry with what is termed in Zen Buddhism as "the beginners mind?" Perhaps we would find that "pure science" described by Brownowski.

Resonance and Dr. Huang

(FYI, the first section of this post was written two weeks ago and I apologize for not submitting it sooner! The second half of the post was written after spending a couple of weeks at the clinic, therefore the first section is much more theory based and includes more references, while the second half is more subjective and reflects my experience in the application of the theory.)

I have drawn dots all over my body in pen. They all seem fairly understandable when I draw them during class when learning the Meridians with my teacher, but when class is over, the spots only mock my efforts to connect the dots. Slowly, as I keep trying to put the points in order, it begins to seem like any random spot on my body could be the next point and I start to look to myself like a painting of the pointillist school (or if you're unfamiliar with the art term, think of the body as made up of tiny pixels) and I open the text book to keep from getting more confused.

Acupuncture points lie on the Meridians, the pathways of Qi in the body. Acupuncture works by stimulating or calming the Qi at a particular point on a Meridian or, through a particular point, exerting some effect on the Qi of the whole Meridian. The Meridians flow through different layers of the body and through different organ regions and thus can have an affect on a part of the body not being needled. By using distal points on my feet, ankles, and lower legs, I can influence my digestion, headaches, or breathing because the point that I stimulate connects, via Qi flowing in the Meridian to another part of the body. In fact, in many cases, acupuncturists consider the distal points (from the elbow down and from the knee down) to be most effective.

So, let's backtrack for a moment; let's talk about Qi.

Qi is often translated as energy or life-force, but it is much more comprehensive than what those words communicate. Qi is the raw material of the universe with the properties of energy and resonance. The ancient Taoist philosophers had a grasp on the idea of resonance long before Western scientists were surprised to find it in their little atoms, and they elucidated how the resonating quality of things influence healing. In his famous book, "The Web That Has No Weaver," Ted Kaptchuck writes,

"The Qi of the sun, rain, and soil resonate with the Qi of the seed to bring forth a plant that already contains the germ of the plant and qualities that the sun, rain, and soil touch. The Qi of an illness can be transformed into healthy Qi by a medicine that resonates between the two particular states. Illness contains the seed of health. Resonance is the process "by which a thing, when stimulated, spontaneously responds according to the natural guidelines of the particular phases of vital energy engendered in itself and active in the situation." The Qi does not "cause" change; the Qi is present before, during, and after the transformation. One Qi elicits the propensity of another Qi that shares a similar kind of "frequency..." Through resonance, one Qi evokes another."

This concept is not unfamiliar to me, and is quite similar to the "prana" in the yogic tradition, but using the concepts of Qi or prana in diagnosis is fundamentally different from the mainstream western process of diagnosis. In fact, the word "diagnosis," can be split into the prefix dia, meaning "through" and the root gnosis, meaning "knowing, or knowledge," (and more accurately, referring to esoteric knowledge of a spiritual truth held my the Greek Gnostics). However, in Eastern traditions, there are a number of different kinds of knowing; one kind of knowledge is epitomized in labeling; naming and thereby creating and externalizing a separate entity, the other type of knowledge is outlined in Raja yoga (the "Royal Path" to wisdom and enlightenment). This second kind of knowing achieves a direct, empathic and subjective connection with or experience of something; it is the union of self and object achieved in meditation. However, the protocol of western knowledge and diagnosis is focused on labels and names and thus "is a refusal to know (in the sense of being one with); in fact, it is a way of not knowing by putting the cause outside of ourselves. Maybe instead of diagnosis, "through knowing," it should be called diaschizis, "through splitting"... For in this case we deal with out suffering by splitting off the cause- projecting it outside, making it something separate and distinct that we are not responsible for and cannot control" (Ballentine, 134.)

In Traditional Chinese Medicine (TCM) and acupuncture practice, the understanding is fundamentally different. Yes, external pernicious influences can and do invade the body, but only when the body's defensive Qi (Wei Qi) is weak. Yes, germs can be harmful and may create a diseased state of the body and so we protect against them by sanitizing acupuncture needles and taking precautions in preparing herbs, but not all germs are harmful and their effect will be different depending on the body they enter, and so no absolute statements can be made. 

Kaptchuck writes, "learning a [symptom,] A, for instance, is not worth much until the full circle of Chinese medicine has been traveled, at which time A will show itself to be rich and useful. The part can only be known when the whole is apparent...a pattern or a diagnosis is mainly an emblematic category that allow for an exchange of words. It is not meant as a label for people. It has no existence as an abstract "truth" that exists independent of the patient... [they] "function as allegorical resources for clinical thinking." The pattern descriptions... are a limited attempt to capture what is necessarily intangible" (176).

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The first time I went to Huang Laoshi's house for what is usually just a one-time, one-hour Q+A session, I asked about the relationship of Qi to the physical body and how acupuncture affects mental illness, depression, compulsions, etc. Dr. Huang paused, and then (it was translated to me) he discussed how the stimulation of the physical human body stimulates the Qi in a particular direction. He used the nervous system as the groundwork for his response and stated that imbalance or disharmony of the nervous system (i.e. mental illness) can be corrected by stimulating the Qi properly because Qi regulates the system. He continued, saying that mental disorder is less physical, less external, and more akin to "a knot in your heart." Acupuncture can loosen the knot by creating more open and smoother flow of Qi. Central to his response is the notion that the mind and the emotions live in the physical, in the Organs and in the Blood. It is written in some of the first books outlining TCM that the Shen, (mind-spirit, translations vary) lives in the Blood, and if a person is deficient in Body Fluids, Yin, or Blood, the Shen will not have a home, will be ungrounded and will float, causing a restless mind, difficulty sleeping or dream-disturbed sleep.

On my second visit to Dr. Huang's home, I asked him if he believes it is possible to integrate TCM and Western medicine. I asked him what he thought of the western-scientific studies attempting to measure and "prove" (or disprove) the existence of Qi. He leaned back on the couch, sighed lightly, and responded, "zhe shi yi ge hen da wenti," "This is a very big question."

Many acupuncturists, herbal and homeopathic doctors in the States also take advantage of Western medicine to a certain degree, even if only to use the western-scientific terminology to explain a remedy (as Dr. Huang did in discussing the nervous system- though he could have also been referring to an idea that is absent in the English language, like Qi or Shen, and the term, "nervous system" may have only been used in translation for my benefit. I shall never know.) Nearly every time I ask this question about the possibility of integrating western-analytic medicine with holistic approaches, my questionee responds at least somewhat optimistic, if only out of wishfulness. Dr. Huang, however, told me about the Chinese government's attempts in recent years (I suspect as a part of the ruthless desire for a "modern China"- See "This American Life's podcast on "Mr. Daisy and the Apple Factory") to combine TCM and Western medicine. There is a new department at the Yunnan University of Traditional Chinese Medicine (in Kunming) where students spend 2 years studying each medical approach, but in the end, the students must choose a field of medicine. Dr. Huang believes the government's attempt at integration has been a failure, he says they are two completely different paths, different ways of perceiving and understanding the body and the universe; they are incompatible. Regarding the many studies on Qi and the possible therapeutic affects of Taichi (and attempting to explain them), Dr. Huang replied, "you can't use an analytical standard to measure or validate a holistic framework and thought; you will destroy the center, or the soul of it."

______________________

Sitting in the corner of the small office of Yang Laoshi, nearly a week and a half after I started coming to the herbal clinic, it dawns on me: all the patients bring their own charts. I am reminded of my work shadowing a homeopathic doctor in Olympia, Wa. I spent much of my time there organizing patient files and preparing the charts for the doctor. This was the first time I really recognized the huge gap of knowledge between patient and doctor; these charts are nearly impossible to make sense of unless you know exactly what you are looking for (or are an M.D.). The information about the patient's own health might as well be in a foreign language (usually latin..); the patients are effectively illiterate about their health, about their bodies, about whatever a doctor may deem significant to determining their quality of life or quantity of years. This stands in stark contrast to what I see at the Acu/Herbal clinic. Patients carry their own little booklets in which the doctor will scribble the date, symptoms, pattern descriptions, and recommendations, and main acupuncture points used if applicable (the herbal prescription is separate). The patient takes this home with them; keeps his/her own records. The patient is the primary subject, the owner of their own story, literally written in a small book. As I just learned that my grandmother, in New Jersey, was recently admitted into the hospital, I am reminded of the frustration of having to deal with hospital record-keeping, paperwork and bureaucracy. What if we truly were recognized as being the owners of our own stories, respected for our unique subjective experience and validated for our own truths? 

However, I couldn't ignore the contrast of this system of medical literacy and individual access to health records and respect of an individual's story or experience of health or illness, juxtaposed to the denial of access to social/political information, disrespect of individual human rights, subjective story-telling and lack of social media literacy as evidenced by the "Great Firewall of China," (i.e. the reason I haven't been on facebook in nearly two months). 

__________________________ 

As a side-note, there have been fireworks nearly every night (beginning in the late afternoon and ending around 2am) for the past two weeks in anticipation for Chunjie, aka Chinese New Year (but literally translates to "Spring Festival"). I was awoken a week and a half ago on a Thursday night by a particularly loud and nearby barrage of fireworks that sounded loud and explosive enough to frighten me out of bed and to the window, shaking in fear for my life because I thought Kunming was under bomb attack. Yep, Happy Dragon Year!

__________________________ 

as another FYI, here's an overview of my new schedule!

Mon, Fri:

9:30-12:30: Acupuncture clinic with Dr. Huang (the director of the acupuncture clinic, but also a wonderful herbal doctor)

12:30-2ish: lunch break

2:30-5:30ish: Herbal clinic; rounds with a gynecology specialist, a Stomach specialist, a Liver specialist, and a pediatric specialist (note the capital letters!)

Tue, Thurs:

9:30-12: Taichi

12-2ish: lunch break

2:30-5:30ish: Herbal clinic - same rounds

Wed:

9:30-12:30: Acupuncture clinic with Dr. Huang

12:30-2ish: lunch break

2:30-4:30ish: Chinese language class.

Snakes, Circles and Fear

There are different kinds of fear. One kind of fear is useful; its the kind of fear you get when you're about to cross a street and suddenly jump back out of the way of a speeding car. This is the kind of fear we can thank our ancestors and our autonomic nervous system for. But then there's this other kind of fear; this socially taught, culturally biased fear like the fear of failure, or the fear of inadequacy or the fear of fat.

Studies have shown that young girls (as young as 6 years old) are more afraid of becoming fat than they are of war, cancer, or losing a parent, but there is a greater fear hidden behind the fear of fat. Disordered eating, from self-starvation to binge-purge cycles to compulsive overeating, has reached higher numbers than schizophrenia or Alzheimer's disease in the US, though research remains unfunded, treatment is routinely  not covered by insurance and the media continually distorts the image of both sickness and health. What could possibly be keeping our society from recognizing and confronting the issue? 

Author and clinical psychologist, Anita Johnston writes, "It is impossible to discuss the causes of disordered eating without questioning the experience of being female in our society today." It is interesting that on the spectrum of disordered eating, 95% of those struggling are female and it is almost* entirely ignored by healthcare providers, insurance companies and the government. The culture of the Western world has long devalued and undermined the role of the feminine. But let me clarify here. I am not only referring to women. On the contrary, as I've written previously, there is both a yin and a yang within all things including people, therefore it may be that issues of femininity affect those who identify with their yin side more readily. While the large majority of those struggling with disordered eating do identify as female, the 5% who do not are by no means insignificant. The phenomenon of disordered eating is indeed a denial of the feminine forces within and around us, but it is not only a women's issue.

The story we tell as a culture is based on a history of patriarchy, logic and domination. The masculine has been hoisted up on a pedestal, towering over the feminine aspect. We have disowned cyclical nature and emotional or intuitive knowing in favor of linear and analytical thinking, man-made inventions and structures have greater respect than the natural landscape and the goddess has been banished. We have, as a culture, continually denied and pushed the feminine out of our awareness. Thus, we have developed a cultural bias towards a naturally masculine shape of angular bodies and left-brain thinking over emotionality. Indeed, the parts of her body women most frequently cite as their "problem areas," are her belly, hips and thighs- precisely those parts of her body tied indissolubly to the feminine aspect of carrying and sustaining life. We hate our curves because we are taught to value only the linear. We are afraid of fat because we are afraid of the feminine. ("We" meaning ALL of us!)

The words health and whole both stem from the same root. For true healing to occur, we must embrace all aspects of ourselves; the yin and the yang. But that in itself is not enough because we must also recognize that within every yin there is a yang and within every yang there is a yin. Thus, as Rudolph Ballentine writes, "there are four of us in here. Inside me, besides the more apparent phallic/assertive masculine, there is also the more yin testicular. But that's just my first foot forward, my obvious persona, as Jung called our more surface identity. There's also my anima, my feminine side, and it has two aspects, too, the yin passive and nurturing and the yang [feminine]. Somehow I have to coordinate all four. No wonder there is so much confusion about gender roles and sexual identities!"

While I would probably alter his terminology a bit for myself, I think he makes a poignant point. In tantric and yogic vocabulary, the kundalini shakti is the creative feminine force opposing and complementary to shiva. This energy is represented as a snake coiled at the base of the spine; Ballentine continues, "when uncoiled, she will force her way upward, bursting through barriers to stir up feelings, emotion, and creativity, and to give life. She shatters the established order with her thrust toward evolution... Individual fears, social forces, and economic interests converge in an unconscious conspiracy to keep this kundalini shakti pacified- plugged into intoxicating consumerism, drugs, and workaholism- undermining the ecstatic electricity of her unleashed power." This feminine aspect is largely ignored in our society, and when it is recognized, is usually seen as uncivilized or even demonic.

Take a second look at that kundalini image: the snake. What kind of symbolism does the snake image hold for you? If you're like most Westerners, you think of frightening boa constrictors and fatal venom, then you might look a bit deeper and think of the trickery of the snake in the Garden of Eden; and this particular snake's trickery is often paired with the weakness of Eve for giving in to temptation. So the snake's image in modern Western symbolism is a mixture of fear, trickery, and the weak feminine (leading to the idea of a Fall from Grace and initiating the unending quest for salvation).

But remember that our modern Western culture is traced back to the Greeks. In ancient Greek gnostic mythology, there are a couple of snakes worth noting here who have a slightly different story to tell. These snakes are found in the creation myth of gnosticism where the goddess Sophia created a snake named Laldaboath who in turn created Adam and Eve. However, Laldaboath was not nearly as Divine as Sophia and when Adam and Eve began worshipping her, Laldaboath got jealous and forbade them to eat from the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil. Sophia then sent Ophis, another snake who's name means Divine Instructor, to instruct the two to eat of the fruit of the Tree.

I'm not much of a history buff so I don't know how exactly the Gnostic system of though evolved or was lost, but I know that there is little or no remains from this myth in modern Wester mainstream culture. And it's a pity. The trickery, temptation, and fear are only one side of the story; the yang masculine side, not bad in and of itself but unbalanced in the absence of the yin feminine/kundalini shakti. 

There is, however, one remnant of the Greek symbology of the snake in the modern day West: The rod of Asclepius. You would probably recognize this healing symbol, but perhaps don't know the name. This is the famous symbol of a snake winding up a staff; the symbol of medicine, still used ubiquitously in the healthcare industry. The image is strikingly similar to that of the Kundalini snake winding up the spine, and it is in this similarity that we can connect the Divine feminine to spiritual evolution and to healing.

This connection is particularly relevant to the healing process in disordered eating. To reconnect to the feminine force within and around us uniting with the internal masculine energy, allows for balance, growth, and healing. Johnston writes, "when there is balance and these two sides act in concert, we have what is called the "Divine Marriage," where the masculine honors and supports the feminine," and the feminine honors and nourishes the masculine, however, "we live in a society where the balance between the masculine and feminine has not been maintained... this imbalance has been internalized within our psyches... The epidemic of disordered eating... is clearly a consequence of the imbalance between the masculine and the feminine within society and within ourselves. Recovery from disordered eating calls for a deliberate, conscious attempt to reclaim our feminine side so we can bring the masculine side back in balance."

This is not a individual journey. May the growing numbers of people struggling with disordered eating be a call to all of society to bring back the goddess; Put the pieces of the Yin-Yang puzzle back together to integrate our whole selves and make society whole again.

Long Live Ophis!

(un)Learning Anatomy

WHEW! okay, a quick game of catch-up!

Acupuncturists stick tiny needles into acupuncture points (xue), which lie on the meridians, through which Qi flows in order to influence an Organ in a person's body.

What follows is a brief discussion on the TCM anatomy: Qi, meridians, Organs.

No one English word can capture the meaning and nuances of the word Qi. Everything in the universe, organic and inorganic, past and present (and future), is both composed of and defined by its Qi. In his famous book, "The Web That Has No Weaver," Ted Kaptchuck writes, "Qi is not so much a force added to lifeless matter but the state of being of any phenomena... Qi is the pulsation of the cosmos itself." Here we see a difference between the general Darwinian belief that consciousness is the epitome of evolution; a recent development that is bestowed only to the highest evolved creatures; us. But in traditional perspectives; Indian and Chinese included, energy with intention or consciousness of some kind is the basis for the universe, the most elemental aspect in the world as we know it (rather than the atom).

One of the keys of understanding TCM is understanding that the most general interpretation of Qi is by no means the only use of the word. While everything is composed of Qi and everything is connected by Qi, it is also important to take the leap (that I dread) to separating and identifying the various Qis in order to apply the concept to the complex world of healing. The sun has its own Qi, the Earth its own, Water its own, and Wood and Metal their own Qi as well. And just as the universe is made up of these elements, the human body is composed also of these elements and so we, too, have these various Qis within us. In this context however, they are given slightly different names:

Heart Qi (Fire)

Spleen Qi (Earth)

Kidney Qi (Water)

Liver Qi (Wood)

Lung Qi (Metal)

Just as Qi refers not to an entity or a form but to an energy, so too the organ system in TCM is not so concerned with the physical anatomy, or form. This can be dumbfounding for someone grounded in a Newtonian reality, and understandably so. In TCM physiology, each organ (with capital letters) is associated with its meridian (the pathway of Qi), and so represents not just the organ but a whole aspect of human function. In contrast to the Western-scientific medical paradigm, TCM diagnoses and treats (pattern identification, or bian-zheng) based on the energy of symptoms. TCM doctors speak of deficient Spleen Qi, Excessive Kidney Yang, or Heart-Yang rising. These are diagnoses (really called patterns!). But they are also the key to treatment. If you know that your Spleen Qi is deficient, well from there, its easy, you just need to tonify your Spleen Qi, and there are acupuncture points and herbs that do just that. Contrast this with the diagnosis of "functional hypothalmic amennorhoea." I was given this diagnosis last spring, and thankfully, because I know a thing or two about the body, I could parse this out to mean "we (the men in the white coats) don't know why (the "functional" part) your hypothalmus (an endocrine gland of which we also know minuscule amounts) is not operating correctly, causing your menstruation to cease." I was told to take calcium supplements to keep from developing osteoporosis. "Gee... thanks!" Here we see how a diagnosis in the Western medical paradigm can indeed be a dead end (please excuse the pun).

This kind of diagnosis by renaming- diagnosis by translating your symptoms into a dead language (usually latin i.e. laryngitis: inflamed throat, arthritis inflamed joints, eczema; boils/eruptions), serves only to disempower the patient.

Rudolph Ballentine (it may be fair to call him my best friend at this point) writes:

"This re-labeling communicates to the patient not information or insight, but rather the message "you are not in charge of this situation." Renaming is, in effect a ritual use of words. It formalizes a specific kind of relationship between the doctor and the patient. In an almost magical way, it transforms the doctor into the knower and doer, and the patient into the more passive receiver. By pronouncing mysterious medical words, the doctor asserts his knowledge, power, and dominion. If the patient accepts the complementary role, a sort of hypnotism might ensure: "By virtue of this ritual, you are now in control, Doctor. I am a helpless and passive recipient of your powerful interventions. By using a term that is not of my world, you have removed this transaction from the realm of what is knowable to me. I will accept your recommendations unquestioningly. If I were to show doubt or reservations, you would be justified in being indignant for I would have violated this covenant that we are now agreeing upon.""

(can you see why Ballentine in my best friend?)

So next time you go to your doctor with a sore throat and he says you have pharyngitis (or laryngitis), you can tell him/her: "I know, I just told you that

Let's look back at the TCM version of diagnosis-treatment, or pattern identification. As we said, TCM doctors don't spend much time externalizing; that is, they don't try to point a finger at a single causal entity, rather they embrace the whole picture of a person, find the pattern that fits and, follow the map drawn by that pattern back into harmony. This is sort of a glimmer of the yin-yang notion that within the yang is the seed of the yin, within the yin is the seed of the yang: within illness is the seed of health. Thus, "the lines of causality are bent into circles." (Kaptchuck, 144) Chinese medicine "never leaves the realm of signs and symptoms," to seek an externalized disease entity beyond reach not only to patients but also to many physicians ("you have syndrome x, there's nothing we can do.") "During the course of [examination], the physician simultaneously collects, interprets, and organizes signs- a complex, subtle perception that leads to an understanding of the physiological (and energetic) events taking place in the patient's body." Here, however, the physiology that the Chinese physician is examining is a bit different from the physiology of the Western medical system, and the outcome is drastically different. While the Western diagnosis may or may not lead to a treatment, the TCM approach to diagnosis is inseparable from the treatment- it is the roadmap from imbalance to harmony.

Kaptchuck writes, "The "cause" ... is not treated. Instead, the physician treats the approximate pattern generated at the moment by the particular configuration of manifesting signs. There is no "diagnosis," only the patient-physician encounter and therapeutic response."

This is how "functional hypothalmic amennorhoea" becomes "Deficient Spleen Qi." But even here we lose things in translation, as what is normally translated as Spleen, encompasses digestive capacity, blood production, thoughtfulness and ability to concentrate, transformation and transportation, muscle tone, and the root of Qi. You can see how "Spleen" (even with a capital S) doesn't quite communicate that to the Western-newtonian mind, especially considering the fact that Western medicine doesn't actually give much attention to the spleen (little s). Pattern thinking also helps to connect symptoms that in Western medicine would each receive their own diagnoses, and probably their own pills to boot: we can look at my own pattern where "functional hypothalmic amennorhoea," insomnia, history of anorexia nervosa and continuing poor appetite- is included in "Deficient Spleen Qi." And all of a sudden, I can breathe, it seems manageable, and not  only that, but I am gaining tools and understanding to heal myself. What is even cooler than all of this, is the fact that at the clinic where I am shadowing a TCM doctor and acupuncturist (another post on this later because it is WAY cool) they sell acupuncture needles. They sell acupuncture needles to the patients. This means that they are essentially encouraging patients to treat themselves (and they're cheap!). This is an empowering (self-)healing paradigm with the language of diagnosis and treatment methodology to match.

(oh yeah, and after two weeks on Chinese herbs to "tonify my Spleen Qi," I am sleeping better, and have resolved my amennorhoea.)

Happy New Year (to all of you who celebrate the circumcision of Christ)!

**Look out for a post sometime soon on resonance and the acupuncture clinic!

Speaking in Metaphors

Sitting on a bench across from mine in a small park outside of my apartment building is an old man. I say "hello," and "the weather is nice today," in my best Chinese, fresh from my first language lesson. He smiles, and gives me a thumbs-up.

Kunming is the largest city I've ever lived in, a hustling-bustling 4-million person population on bicycles, in buses, taxis, cars, and on foot; they share the road with seemingly equal senses of owning the pavement- I suppose that's communism in action, though the pedestrians are, granted, a bit more submissive. The buildings are tall and new, there are garbage cans and trucks that collect them, and I have both a washing machine in my apartment and a shower-head in my bathroom, not just a bucket. If you were to "dub" the city, like a movie, it would look like any stereotypical urban metropolis in the States. But the city isn't dubbed. The city speaks it's own language, the way it always has (almost), and although the scenery gives me a sort of false sense of being at home, I am really a fish out of water.

In some ways, coming to China from India was a step toward the "Western World," being a much more industrialized country, and having just bought the US's debt, China is ever-eager to do whatever it can to join the Big Boys' club of the modern, the first-world: the Western. India felt more foreign in many ways, but when I needed to communicate, I usually could, even considering how limited my Hindi is, English is more or less widespread in the situations I needed it most. This makes some sense seeing as English is one of the national languages in India, but as I was reminded recently, that's because it was a British colony. Oh, yeah- the "Western world."

China, on the other hand, had been one of the most powerful military forces among the ancient empires and has thus been one of the most enduring cultures. Yes, I could argue that that has a lot to do with how much it has integrated with other cultures through trade and conquest, and I recognize that China is chock-full of ethnic minorities, each with their own stories, who have been mostly swallowed into the generalization of "Chinese;" Tibet is the most current such story. BUT, my point is that this empire is not English-speaking, or at least not English-thinking- a contrast to what seems a prerequisite of being considered a "first world," "modern," "western" country. (Yes, even in Europe, English is hugely prevalent.) Many times when I was in India and would try to communicate in Hindi, I would get responses in English, when I would ask how to say something I was often told just to use the English word. I also noticed on a number of occasions when English was the spoken medium for communication that I was the ONLY native English speaker in the room- the only person who THINKS in English; it felt as though English was being used for my benefit and that made me uncomfortable. Why weren't we speaking in Italian, French, German, or Hindi? English was the default, and my being a native speaker and an English-thinker was a huge privilege (...or maybe a disadvantage..)- I didn't have to try so hard to understand. This frustrated me. I clung to the saying, "when in Rome, do as the Romans," and I was determined not to contribute to the colonization of the mind of which the prevalence of English is such a powerful example.

Words engraved on a plate here in Kunming. Go figure.

Here, its a whole other story. I have about a pinky-fingernail's worth of Chinese, and when I need to explain something in the market, beyond my pointing and saying "I want this," I use English. Hoping that the tone of my voice and facial expressions will be enough to communicate, the words are really just filler so that it is a more socially acceptable version of charades. The game soon becomes an unrelenting spitfire; each of us unable to understand the other, but if you can imagine this conversation as happening between the two languages themselves and the frame of mind they create and represent, instead of two individuals who speak those languages, it gets interesting.

As a primary force of socialization, language has a reciprocal relationship with the mind; having a word for something gives us the capacity to understand it, think, and talk about it, just as is often the case both in academia and in spirituality, once we have an insight into an idea, we have an irresistible urge to name it (thus the increasing popularity of many Western spiritual-seekers using terms from Indian cosmology or the vocabulary of Chinese spirituality). Each language, in this case, English and Chinese, have their own subtle and not-so-subtle political, spiritual, cosmological, and social implications imbedded within. The experience of the spitfire of English-Chinese-English-Chinese, while frustrating and partly due to the educational level of both of us, it is also a representation of the unrelenting power of both the English and the Chinese LanguageMinds- meaning everything included in the English-thinking mind and the Chinese-thinking mind. It could almost be seen as the power struggle occurring economically/politically between the US and China. All of sudden, I have the most intense desire to learn to speak and understand Chinese well- I do NOT want to be the representation of the English-mind monoculture. BU HAO. (not good)

So, as I embark on yet another spoken language journey, my body is also in for some more learning. While many principles in Traditional Chinese Medicine (TCM) and the Yoga/Ayurveda school are very similar, the body is viewed slightly differently. I will write more about this in a later post, but for now, suffice it to say that my Yogasana-trained muscles have some adjustments to make for Taichi. Here's a rough outline of my schedule while I'm in Kunming for the next few months:

9:30-12: 2-3x/week Taichi in a park with Yang laoshi (teacher). I usually start waiting for the bus around 9 because the first one that comes is either empty or completely full, in the latter case, I wait for the next bus around 9:15.
The other 2-3x/week this is Acupuncture class- learning the meridians and the specific points, their functions and clinical application.
12-2ish: lunch break
2ish-4ish: TCM class- general theory, including Yin/Yang theory and the Five Elements, and the organ systems. 1-2x/week I have Chinese language lessons.

After the first month, I will begin going to the acupuncture clinic for observation and experiential practical application of diagnostic skills, and treatment.

That's all for now! Zaijian!

Please Excuse Me While I Have a Conversation with my Piriformis

"The human being is a continuum- there are no tangible frontiers between the... body, mind, and soul."
--

My first yogasana teacher, Denise, used to say, "you may come to yoga class for the yoga-booty, but you come back for something else." There are, undoubtedly, physical benefits from the practice of yogasana, and pranyama (breath control), but what has been glossed over in the States, is the fundamental principles and original intention of these practices. Yoga is, at its core, preparation for meditation; a means for paving the way for introspection and spiritual connection. It is an assumption in the yogic tradition that physical health will be attained along the way to spiritual elevation- they are different stops along the same path, but stopping at the physical benefits is cutting yourself short of the possibility of greater awareness.

--
In his book, Light on Life, B.K.S. Iyengar talks about developing "body intelligence," the capacity for sensitivity, for being aware of both the internal processes of the body and the mind. Every pore of the skin, and every cell in the body becomes an eye looking inward, a way to see yourself as you truly are. Developing this kind of inner awareness is quite contrary to our habitual way of being. People move numbly through the world, going "from bed to car to desk to car to couch to bed, but there is no awareness in their movement, no intelligence. There is no action. Action is movement with intelligence." Learning to live in this way, to be in the world and move with intelligence, we create the momentum of energy for transformation; and not just to transform your body into a stronger, or a leaner body, but to transform your mind from chaos to peace, and to transform our world from destruction and carelessness to deliberate and creative change for the better. This is how yoga can change your mind, and change the world. It is unfortunate that the larger context of a yoga practice (beyond the asanas and the breathing) has been largely ignored in the US and the physical form has taken undue importance. Yoga emphasizes the value of balance, "if you say you are your body, you are wrong. If you say you are not your body, you are also wrong. The truth is that although body is born, lives and dies, you cannot catch a glimpse of the divine except through the body." Both Buddhism and Yogic philosophy have a precept of non-attachment at their core. So we must honor the body, respect it, nourish it and listen to it (limits, and flaws and all), but not become so overly indulgent in the senses, and remain connected to the larger context of which we are a part (community, universe, spirit) so as to create a small distance from the dramas of our everyday lives that threaten to sweep us away and off the path of transformation and radical healing.

Using all the inner eyes of the cells and pores of the skin, we begin to develop a deeply accurate sense of where the body is in space even with the eyes closed (close your eyes and touch your nose with one finger, see how accurate you are). We use the internal sense of self to guide us (connected to the intrinsic muscles of the spine), not only physically, but also through the decisions we make in daily life (do you go for second helpings of the delicious meal you just ate despite being satisfyingly full, or do you respect your body?) Instead of looking at the person next to you in the hatha yoga class to see what the pose "is supposed to look like," you can develop a sense of how to move in your body, into your expression of the pose. You work to deepen the posture to push your limits, and expand your mind's horizons, not to make the pose or the body more beautiful. Though, those are nice perks. I hesitate to call someone a yogi if they do not recognize the importance of this internal looking.
--

I remember a conversation with my father (an electrical engineer, firmly grounded in the Newtonian physical reality) where he challenged me with the question, "if you pass a flame from one torch to the next, is the first flame present in the 100th?" I stood my ground with a positive response, despite his pessimistic statistics claiming that there is only one in such-and-such a chance that any particle from the first flame will be found in the last. I couldn't argue with him in his language of Newtonian physics and math and resorted, unproductively, to my language of energy. The conversation ended with both of us significantly frustrated with the others' lack of insight.
I came across, recently, some writing by Tich Naht Hanh, a fairly well known Vietnamese Buddhist monk and author, and he used a similar metaphor to make the point that without the first flame, none of the other torches would be lit. In Ayurveda, the principle element of fire is responsible for our thoughts (think of the electrical impulses from one neuron to the  next, if you have trouble with thinking of the nature elements inside the body). If you think of lighting a torch as illuminating the mind, and passing the flame as transmitting knowledge, the way a good teacher does, you see how without your teacher's first teacher's first teacher, you could not have the flame of knowledge present in your mind. Take a breath, I know this seems convoluted, but it is actually quite simple. You are inseparable from the net of people around you, your environment, and your past. You are the culmination of all of your experiences, everyone you've known, loved and hated, and all of their experiences. I find that the best teachers, of yoga or otherwise, are the ones who recognize the importance of their context, but these are also the teachers who refuse to call themselves teachers because they have the humility and humbleness to know that their knowledge is only as good as all of their teachers and their teachers' teachers.

So, despite his best efforts to convince me to call him Swamiji, I am now off to China. Maybe I will have better luck in finding a "master," but for the meantime, I will humbly go forth, my Yoga Teacher certification in my back pocket; to continue to learn from my body, a student at heart.

"Not a Girl... Not Yet a Woman"

You could mine salt in my armpit hair, and I've only been here for three weeks. Feminism looks different here.

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Two Critical Questions

"A Natural Language"

I spent about an hour and a half in a sort of language exchange lesson with Bhimaji today. Bhima is a phenomenal cook and a wonderfully sweet and sincere human being. We got a white board, and got to it. He had all kinds of questions about future and past tense, and in trying to explain, using English words he knew and Hindi words I know, I was more able to recognize how difficult my mother tongue is. I had all kinds of questions about passive and active moods in Hindi. You can say "to heal," in both a passive and an active sense. One would refer to a doctor "curing" a patient (the verb karna), the other would refer to a person simply "getting better," (the verb hauna). Active is intervention. Passive, he explained is like... natural.
-----
In the book entitled, "Practical Spirituality," a Q+A session with Marshal Rosenberg, founder of Nonviolent Communication, NVC, he says, "I think it's a natural language. Do that which contributes to life."

NVC is a process of learning to communicate with each other and to deal with difficult situations by focusing on two critical questions:
1) What is alive in us?
2) What can we do to make life more wonderful?

According to Rosenberg, question number one relies on three levels of literacy:
1) Observations (what is or is not making life more wonderful for you right now- no evaluation or judgement)
2) Feelings (what is really alive in you right now?)
3) Needs (the cause of your feelings, and the basis for a request for something to make life more wonderful)

The process by which Rosenberg explains how to develop these literacies sounds a lot like Ayurveda:
"Ayurveda places much emphasis on understanding the ego and its inherent biases, so that our judgements remain balanced and our actions are for the greater good, which is ultimately our own good as well. Dissolving the ego (evaluation) cures all psychological diseases and many physical diseases as well." (my parenthetical) -From Yoga and Ayurveda, by David Frawley.
-----

"Shabash, larki!" he said. I felt my breath skip, and I consciously exhaled. I am not a girl. A few asanas later, he says, again, "well done, girl." This time, I say, with a smile on my face, but sternness in my voice, "Larki nehi hun, mei mehila hun." He laughs, and asks, knowingly, if I am married. My answer does not surprise him, and he says again, "then you are larki (girl)." Exhale again. I am remembering Marshal Rosenberg's writing about NVC, and I ask Raviji, "so what if I were never to get married?" He answers then, that I would become a bardi larki, a "big girl." I think of all of my experiences, and all of the stories I've been told and which I live out daily that deal with coming-of-age, womanhood, and maturity. I have "become" a woman at least three times. My conversation with Raviji continued in this playful but clearly meaningful way. He conceded to referring to me as a young woman, or a lady, but in English only. There is no Hindi equivalent, he told me; if I were to call a lady my age or older who is not married by the Hindi word for woman, she would be angry with me. In the story told in Hindi, a girl becomes a woman through the process of marriage only. (more feminist musings coming in another post)

This interaction occurred only a few hours after a rather heated exchange between another yoga student and Yogiji, during which I quietly and continuously adjusted my own breathing, and relaxed my facial muscles as I felt the tension physically. I reflected on their terse exchange relating to NVC and considering the fact that they were arguing (for lack of a better word) in English, which is a second or third language for the both of them. There were two cultures, two language roots, and two perspectives clashing, though they are all implicated in each other. I wondered how much could be attributed to the language inequality for the both of them (having had both of their minds shaped in two different cultures and two different languages, but communicating in another), and how much of their dispute was value-based (moral stance).(Not to mention that their disagreement was about time and privacy- both of which are social constructs that vary widely across culture and are framed differently in each language.) More than that, however, I was curious how each of them could use knowledge of NVC and understanding of the Sapir-Whorf hypothesis (that language shapes thoughts), in addition to a meditative approach of simply listening, dropping ego-attachment to stories, results etc., and a calm mind to make their perspectives better understood and actually come to a solution, which they weren't truly able to do.

I thought of the yogic precepts of honesty (satya), and non-harming (asteya). How can we be honest with one another in a situation when that possibly means pain for another? In my first class on Ayurveda, Dr. Amrita told me that one of the basic principles of Ayurveda is that one should never have pain. This made me a bit apprehensive. Recognizing that I come from a western background with the notion of "no-pain-no-gain" deeply imbedded in my history, but also having a sense of balance, I probed her further. She conceded that, yes, in some circumstances, a treatment may be unpleasant, uncomfortable, and even painful in order to achieve a higher state of painlessness or vitality. Most of our first discussion was grounded in the physical realm, but she did mention that another basic principle in Ayurveda is taking the psychology (mentality, emotionality etc.) of the person into account with EQUAL weight as their physical body. You get no oil from the olive without crushing it, or more appropriately for India; you get no butter without churning the milk. Sometimes you have to endure a bit of friction, a bit of pain, in order to come to a better place.

The question is: how much is necessary? I think NVC is a good foundation upon which to build conversations that push our cultural, lingual, and storied (not a typo; storied, as in we create stories and live them out as reality, but they may or may not be universal and so are prone to create what we know as culture shock) buttons. We need to keep the breath steady, the focus simple (2 critical questions, 3 basic literacies), and our energy present with one another. Another basic principle in Ayurveda is that all of nature, including ourselves, is composed of the elements; fire, earth, air, space, and water. Imbalances in our elemental composition may be expressed both physically and emotionally or mentally. In the heated exchange between Yogiji and the other student, the student's overabundant fire was being expressed verbally, which may be healthier for her than for it to manifest as indigestion, for example. However, the fire that was expressed was not done so in a nonviolent way, and perhaps put more stress on the community, or on the relationship between the two of them. The same can be said for the way Yogiji responded in the situation. So while one manifestation of elemental imbalance may be initially healthier for the individual, it may not be the best for the community or for relationships, which would ultimately end up creating more imbalance in all of the individuals in the community. I would like to put some of my eggs in the NVC basket as a possible middle ground.

Often since I've been here, I wonder what in the world are all of these yogis and gurujis are doing, just sitting around in their temples, on their cushions, in trance states, and concerned more with purusa (or spirit), as opposed to really contributing to this, our natural world or prakrti. (and to be fair, many are helping local people with family issues, and many are teaching western foreigners like me...)

B.K.S. Iyengar (yogi superstar) says in his book, Light on Life, "the demonstration of one's spiritual achievement lies in none other than how one walks among and interacts with one's fellow human beings," and while I take a bit of a small and semantic issue with the word "achievement," the statement sounds comfortingly similar to Ronsenberg's sentiment of, "I trust a spirituality that leads people to go forward and transform the world, that doesn't just sit there with this beautiful image of radiating energy. I want to see that energy reflected in the person's actions as they go out and make things happen. It's something you do, a practical spirituality."


So, just to tie it all together: spirit is both natural (hauna), and active (karna).

On the Side of a Train in Jalandhar

On the side of a wall of what I expect is a restaurant: Fish Fried Breakfast
On the side of a bus, indicating the company name: New Tantra
The name of the toll when crossing the Punjab/Himachal border: Shiva toll

Oh, India.

Updates:

-I own three salwaar kameez suits.
-I can now use present, present and past continuous, and completed past tenses in Hindi, albeit the last two with a bit of difficulty and usually my verb agrees with the subject when it should agree with the object, and vice versa, but people understand for the most part. Mostly I just ask questions. More often than not, I do not understand the answer.
-My vocabulary is extremely limited, but that is changing quickly.
-My last day in Mussoorie, after my classes, and after lunch, I shared a taxi with two other gents from the language school who were heading to Rishikesh They agreed to drop me off at the Dehradun train station where I would board an overnight train to Jalandhar. In typical Indian fashion, two taxis showed up for the job; one of which was requested, the other drove all the way from Rishikesh but had been told not to come. He was sent back.
-On my overnight train, my ask, in my best Hindi, what time the train will reach Jalandhar, so that I can set my phone alarm to wake me up 15 minutes prior. I am told three different times, each about an hour apart. I wake up every hour, and find someone awake to ask where Jalandhar is: kay aahgay ya kay peechay? ahead or behind?
-I get off the train at 5:45 am. My connecting train is at 1pm. Chai time.
-An excerpt from journal:
"Literally just spent7 hours at the train station in Jalandhar, the last two of which were spent with this Indian woman, her daughter, and her daughter's friend. At first, it was very nice, I tried practicing my Hindi, they asked me questions, and were very friendly. Then they suggested (or requested, rather) that I come with them. I said no, my train is coming, I need to say (or some approximation thereof in Hindi; I made sure to use "nahee" a bunch so as to reinforce my stance of "no"). They continued to insist, and I held my ground. Then they dropped it, fairly abruptly, and said it was time for lunch. They offered me some parantha, and I declined. Again, they insisted, and what with me not knowing the customs, I did not want to be rude, and accepted one. At this point, the mother was on the phone and I could understand enough of what she was saying to know she was telling someone about me. This freaked me out a bit, and it occurred to me that if I ate their food, I might be obligated to go with them. I stopped eating, said I was full. Seemingly suddenly, the whole scene of myself, and these women is a spectacle at the train station. There is a group of Indians surrounding me, and I can't understand anything. This makes me nervous and I begin to pick at my nails (a nervous habit I've kicked previously several times, but it reoccurs in situations like this) and I begin to bleed around my cuticle (not uncommon for me). Now, ALL of the women are distressed, wagging their fingers at me and repeating the phrase, "Achhaa nahee hay," "not good," over and over. I nod, and sit on my hands. Now, I not only want my train to arrive, I want them to leave me alone, and I am annoyed (as I am with anyone who addresses my nervous habit, particularly in a language I don't understand). Then train is late, and I am internally freaking out. I stand up, strap on my pack, and step a few feet away from the group, all of whom now know that I am an American student studying health, who is going to Pathankott and speaks very little Hindi. I remove myself until the rain comes, listening intently to the loudspeaker for my train number and any updates I can understand. I turn, and say "namaste," to the group when the train (finally) arrives. Now for those who are unfamiliar with India train protocol, every passenger's name is posted with their seat assignment on a paper outside of the car. My name is not on the list. I get on anyway, figuring that it's got to stop at Pathankott, and it's definitely better than the train station. Well, one point for me, because the first person the train that I ask about Pathankott, tells me that it does indeed stop there, and he is, in fact, getting off at that stop. No one asks for my ticket. So while I still haven't figured out how Indians know when their stop is coming up, other than just being familiar with the routes or looking out the window for a sign that may or may not be there indicating the station stop, I do know that I will not miss my stop at Pathankott: Chakki Bank."
It is at this point that I am settled on my top bunk and studying my Hindi notes, when I realize that my phone has died. I wonder how I will contact Shivam when I arrrive in Bhagsu, because he is supposed to take me to take me to my accommodations at the yoga school. I decide to deal with it later, and trust that it will be just fine. Meanwhile, I overhear the fellow on the bunk across from mine on his cell phone, speaking in English, and telling his friend about a white girl studying Hindi on the train. I laugh because he is using the pronouns he and she interchangeably. I do not take offense. I put my notes away and we begin talking, in Hindi. He asks me if I feel bold, traveling alone. Bold? Thoree thoree, a little bit, I tell him. Mostly, I just want a warm place to sleep tonight.
During my three hour and $30USD taxi trip, the very sweet driver let me borrow his phone to call Shivam. My phone turned on just long enough for me to jot down his number, Shivam answered, and agreed to meet me in town in an hour. A very steep hike up the stairs on the side of the mountain later, I am laying on the floor of the yoga hall, which is decked out with pictures of Shivam's Babaji, full of burning incense, and Sunil is playing the harmonious and chanting. The harmonioum is definitely in my top 5 favorite instruments. I am informed that dinner is ready, and I retrieve my daal (lentils), chawal (rice), and chapati (like pita, but better), and in the absence of utensils, I am in heaven, and I sleep like a baby.

A more structured and reflective post coming soon.

Om Namah Shivaya

घूमना-ing Around

A mini post on language.

I went on a hike yesterday with another language school student who is also from the states. It was a rather steep path that we were taking to another village named Kulti, about 10 kilometers away.

Well this other student, let's call him George, he has been at the language school for about three weeks and he is what you would call an overzealous student. The typical Landour Language school student takes about four classes each day. George takes 6. I felt very privileged to be on this hike with him; to be able to pick his brain on the Hindi language, and his experiences thus far.

A gem from our conversation:

To ask, "where does this path/road go?" the direct translation from Hindi would be, "this path tends to usually reach where?"
-The word order aside, I like this comparison in particular because it highlights a story we tell ourselves in the West. On the English side of things, there is an assumption within the question itself that this path always goes to one place- that if I am to follow this road, I WILL, undoubtedly get to one particular destination. The question is, in and of itself, destination-oriented.
My sister told me a story once from a conversation she had with a South African man close to the village in which she works. He told her that it upsets him when Europeans or Westerners come to his village and ask him, "How do I get to_____?" because, he said, it's the wrong question. One should ask, "Where is _____?" and then, based upon where they are and the context in which they find themselves, determine how they would like to get there. Asking, "How do I get to____?" assumes, first of all, there there is only one way to get there, and secondly, ignores the context of the individual.
The Hindi question, which uses the habitual tense, understands that this path may or may not get you to where you want to go; that it may have a tendency to reach to a particular village, but depending on various conditions, may not actually deliver you there. Furthermore, it almost seems to give the path a personality, a recognition of the ability for everything in nature to respond with subjectivity to its surroundings. This path is conscious- to what extent is clearly up for debate, but it seems that Hindi gives the path the benefit of the doubt, unlike English.

The best translation for hiking in Hindi is "to wander." (घूमना, "ghoomna")

All of this became particularly poignant on our return hike back from the village, as the path definitely does NOT always wind in the same direction; we were most certainly wandering through the river, and bushwacking up the hills on hands and knees. I have 10 leech bites to prove it.


A poem from Antonio Machado:

Caminante, son tus huelas,
el camino, y nada más;
caminante, no hay camino,
se hace camino al andar.
Al andar se hace camino,
y al volver la vista atrás
se ve la senda que nunca
se ha de volver a pisar.
Caminante, no hay camino,
sino estelas en la mar.
-translated-
Wanderer, your footsteps are
the road, and nothing more;
wanderer, there is no road,
the road is made by walking.
By walking one makes the road,
and upon glancing behind
one sees the path
that never will be trod again.
Wanderer, there is no road--
Only wakes upon the sea.

When Your Native Tongue is Their Second Language... And They Have Better Grammar Than You Do

A brief introduction to my thoughts on language.


Language is the "map" we have created over millennia to make sense of our surrounding world. It is the raw experience, disciplined. Just as our environment is constantly changing, our language evolves and adapts to continue to guide us. This is evident to any 10th grader reading Hamlet, or anyone who remembers when "neato!" was an acceptable affirmation.

Every individual, and every culture (from the super localized, to the global) creates a story (using language) to make meaning of our experiences. We have hundreds of stories; some we use in certain situations, and others in other situations; some we use all of the time, to the point that we aren't even aware of them being stories, and others we only use occasionally. Our individual lives, our social values, spiritual beliefs, and healing modalities cannot be separated from each other because they comprise that whole Self-identifying story. Think of identity as a fabric woven in a thread of your particular language. The thread being composed, in turn of each smaller thread of beliefs, values, history, etc. twisted around each other.

When we learn a new language (and I mean, really learn a language- not just from a book, but in its own context and from it's native speakers), we not only enter into the stories told in that language, we also engage in a process or writing a new story. We bring our own values, beliefs, fears, histories= STORIES- into the picture: a "mezcla," if you will (I don't know the Hindi word, yet). In his book, Narrative Medicine, Lewis Mehl-Madrona discusses the implications of 20th century quantum physicist, David Bohm's theory of "implicate order," and states,

"each individual consciousness unfolds the universe for itself... any high level of consciousness is a social process... [that depends] on language, which is social. The word, which is outside of the individual, evokes the meaning that is inside each person."

(Hindi HW, Day 1)

(Hindi Textbook, and flashcards, Day 2)

"Some of our maps have left out the roads to more desirable places than those we may have imagined." -from Narrative Medicine

So to even think that I could set up these discrete boundaries on this blog to separate my posts on "language," from my posts on, "community," from my posts on "healing," is glaring at me straight in my eyes like the monkeys on the street threatening and menacing. But more than that it's a challenge. Academia, the Western epistemology (or story) thrives on and demands categorized information and despises overlap- at least traditionally. Interdisciplinary is coming up and coming into it's own- slowly, but steadily.

Mehl-Madrona writes, "We will never be able to experience what ancient healing practices were really like. We are all stuck in our modernity with our prejudices, our romanticism about the past, our preferences about what we would like to believe and our skepticism and doubt that we have learned from Western society." There is something to be said for purity, as it were- keeping the traditions in tact- fencing off "untouched" communities, and keeping sacred what has always been, but we also live in this reality of globalization, and unescapable connectivity (whether it is "good," or "bad," is almost irrelevant, and the answer will be different based upon the perspective you take,) and perhaps a "mezcla" is precisely was is needed in our global community.

So then what am I to make of my experiences here? I was told once, by a professor from Orissa, India, who teaches dance and literature at my college, "When you've spent a week in India, you can write a book about it; when you've spent a month there, you can write an article; and after a year, you can say nothing."

I will do my best to continually reinforce the neural network connecting English and Hindi, somatic and intellectual knowledge, and my individual experiences to my broader community. Thank you, dhnyavaad and hugs to all of you who support me!