Teaching Neijing Acupuncture

Nearly six years ago, I was ask to develop a short series of seminars to introduce the five systems of channels and vessels of acupuncture. I tried in good faith to organize such a series, and the plan ended up including eighteen weekends, most of which were conceived as three day meetings. My continuing education contact at Golden Flower, John, chuckled and noted that I wasn’t known well enough to attract people for such a long series. He concluded, “I wasn’t looking for the ‘master series,’ I just want an introduction.”

I looked back with a firm gaze and said, “Eighteen weekends IS the Introduction; you must want the Cliff’s Notes for the Introduction.”

John’s smile faded to reveal determination, “we can package and enroll a few weekends; just keep it down to a few.”

So, I set about writing a SHORT series to organize and convey the fundamental theory and some key clinical practices for using the five systems of channels and vessels. The result was a four weekend series, which eventually grew to five. I taught that series three times (2010-12), and prepared handouts that grew to nearly two hundred pages. I shared a huge amount of information, including instruction and guidance on using it. It was a massive undertaking, and it turned out to be far too much. By the end of my third time through the series (2012 in Santa Cruz), my participation in the usual information-based approach to teaching acupuncture felt a bit like putting a fire hose into the mouths of participants and turning it on, while inviting them to drink. Although I had tried to fulfill what I’d been asked to do, I finally realized there was a fundamental flaw; I’d allowed the direction of my teaching to be focused by the wrong question. I needed to find the right question(s).

Had I been among a select group of literate Chinese doctors more than thousand years ago facing such a challenge, I would simply have turned to Nèijīng for inspiration. While the texts of Nèijīng are now readily available for purchase, they are certainly not easy to study. My path has necessarily included study of classical Chinese, which is difficult, even for native speakers of the modern language, which I am not. Yet, I’ve worked with experts in classical Chinese who have helped me explore the language of these challenging texts, which were originally conceived only as companions to the oral transmission of teachings. How can one hope to understand them without receiving such practical teachings?

This apparently separate stream of work delving into Nèijīng during the past few years coincided with this quest for clarity around my teaching. I’ve been eyeball deep in various chapters from Nèijīng, both Língshū (which was long known as “Acupuncture Classic”) and Sùwèn, including its classical language and writing style. I’ve considered layers of connotation implied in Nèijīng, reflected on my experience, and frequently recalled seemingly random comments from a couple hundred weekends of classes with Jeffrey Yuen, during more than twenty years. In my search for the right question(s) about acupuncture, and I’ve been particularly inspired by ‘unpacking’ the first chapter of Língshū.

My confluence of many years of experience using lineage-based acupuncture teachings with study of the texts has begun to bear fruit. My experience with methods like the 鑱 (chán, chisel) needle technique from my lineage allows me to understand the frequently vague and suggestive language of the Classic differently from sinologists, even though I depend on them to help me understand the meanings of the characters, grammar and syntax. I believe my sensibilities as a practitioner will allow me to share topics from the classical language of Nèijīng particularly well for practitioners. This seminar grounds study of Nèijīng in experience, by sharing the chán needling technique, which simulates the first needle of Nèijīng, at the beginning of the weekend. We will learn about at least two implied hierarchies of needling, when the ‘small needles’ are introduced in the first chapter of Língshū. Do they remain important: why or why not?

Practicing the chán needling method is a wonderful clinical exercise, which is fundamental to studying Nèijīng acupuncture. The chán is the first of the nine ‘small needles’ introduced in Nèijīng, so it is naturally the first to master. The first chapter of Língshū clearly suggests mastering the chán needle to communicate with the channels and vessels, before moving on to more sophisticated applications, such as attuning points to various functions, as we see taught in acupuncture texts throughout the past five hundred years. Yet, practitioners who begin with the chán needle can deepen their relationships with the entire art of acupuncture.

After participants have learned and experienced this exercise, we will see that much of the beginning of the first chapter of Língshū is a shockingly literal and accurate description of its key principles. Yet, this seminal chapter is not a clinical textbook; while it share standards and values, it does not provide a description of how to practice needling this way. Such instruction was considered the exclusive purview of personal transmission from a teacher. Instead, after a few brief remarks to inspire practitioners to greatness at the beginning of this chapter, its theory and thinking process grows complex. This immediate shift indicates we must be ready to pay careful attention and work diligently to uncover the many layers of meaning in Nèijīng.

While I recognize the value of reading Língshū 1 from the beginning, I don’t want to get bogged down with those complexities from the outset. So, we’ll just skip over a few lines this time, and come back to study Língshū 1 from beginning to end, after we’ve ‘unpacked’ the peculiar ideas and worldview of the Classic. This seemingly arbitrary choice to skip those lines is supported by a phrase in the first line of this chapter, which we will discuss during this initial weekend seminar. That phrase can be construed to tell us the key topics of the lines we’ll skip are beyond the beginner. My pedagogical choice appears to align with the texts’ own suggestion for study. The sequence of each day of the seminar is fundamental to the teaching strategy:

Reflect on the Art (術, shù) of Acupuncture, by asking some penetrating questions about our work as practitioners
Learn and experience a new way to do, and thus to understand, acupuncture
Discuss some carefully selected passages from Nèijīng, which are both accessible and clinically relevant

On Saturday afternoon of this seminar, we will see how the needling exercise we learned and practiced during the morning is described quite precisely in selected lines from the first half of Língshū 1. Sunday morning, we will palpate for temperature changes in the skin, and learn a needling technique from Língshū to release superficial cold. The clinical skills we will explore during this initial weekend seminar all focus on identifying and releasing blocks in wèi . Sunday afternoon we will look at some passages from Sùwèn 13 and Língshū 47, which relate to the morning’s clinical exercises and build upon the material we studied from Língshū 1 the prior afternoon.

We will see that the còulǐ (anatomically, the skin) is an amazingly rich terrain for acupuncture. It is MUCH more than just the initial painful stage of insertion, which we learned to penetrate as quickly and painlessly as possible. Indeed, many practitioners choose to avoid it almost entirely, by using insertion tubes with very fine needles. Might we instead learn something important about acupuncture and human life, by learning to work with wèi qì in the còulǐ?

Yet, I don’t blame members of our profession AT ALL for using insertion tubes. I understand the impulse to decrease the pain of needle insertion. We are not taught to work with wèi qì, and especially the còulǐ, when we learn to needle in acupuncture school. What other choice does a compassionate practitioner have, especially when many experience thin Japanese needles inserted with tubes working as well as the contemporary Chinese needling methods we learn? Typical contemporary needling practices, either with or without insertion tubes, skip the concentration of wèi qì at the còulǐ. This oversight is particularly tragic, because it is exactly where the first chapter of Língshū tells us to start!

Might some practitioners and students of acupuncture wish to begin cultivating the art of acupuncture as Língshū suggests? Does such focus generate a substantially different service from the modern Chinese acupuncture we have learned? In a very practical sense, learning to free up wèi qì can allow practitioners to make many of their treatments effective, without having to draw on yuán qì through deep needling with long retention.

I believe we will advance the profession, by going past single-minded focus on finding effective treatments to explore how they work. If a patient’s condition dictates that we elicit yuán qì to make his or her treatments work, doing so well is a wonderful gift. On the other hand, if we can learn to use wèi qì effectively, so we draw on yuán qì only when truly necessary, we will preserve that precious resource. The first chapter of Língshū (line 11.7, included among the handouts for this first seminar) instructs that our treatments will weaken the patient, if we needle very deeply before releasing blockages of wèi qì (with perverse ) to the outside.

Língshū clearly suggests a hierarchy for engaging a patient’s , and it starts with wèi. Alas, the commonly taught modern Chinese needling practice for needle insertion and 得氣 (déqì, achieving the ) fails to recognize the profound nature of this ‘layer’ of an individual’s life. This seminar might be understood simply as a remediation, which introduces this critical first stage of acupuncture. I believe this seminar represents a step forward for our profession, by seeking wisdom from its classical roots.

Rather than trying to organize and convey a lot of theory, most of which is rather different from what we learned in acupuncture school, we start this seminar exploring the practice itself. We will discuss fundamental topics, and then launch directly into the first clinical workshop:

What is acupuncture? What are we doing with needles?
What is 得氣 (déqì), and why is it important? Who feels it? How does it feel?

During this first weekend seminar, I will share about fifteen (15) pages of my renditions from Nèijīng, and we will discuss both the language and clinical application of the text. Most of the theory I’ve tried to teach in the past, derives from working with my lineage’s transmission of Nèijīng, and I now realize one must develop a relationship with it over time. I still use all of it, I’ve simply realized that I can’t lead with that STUFF. If I want to share my understanding of acupuncture, I need to start from the beginning — as a healing art, based on ‘playing with’ the  and eliciting its response.

Share

Working with Sabine to Decipher Neijing

Classical Chinese is a difficult language, and I’ve been lucky enough to find the perfect person to help me undertake direct study of Neijing (The Inner Classic [of Medicine]) with all its beauty and challenges in classical Chinese. I wrote a little about Sabine and her background in a previous posting, but that brief review focused primarily on her external qualifications. Far more important than her literacy in classical Chinese, and even the specific usages of classical medical writings, Sabine has been willing to support me in finding my own reading of the text. While her reading of chapters of Neijing is informed by her long term work with classical Chinese medical writings, she is not a practitioner. While she shares the benefits of her  ‘literary’ reading, she does not impose it onto my process. Instead, Sabine challenges me to clarify my reading as a practitioner.

When I started working with Sabine last summer, I was nearly illiterate. Oh, I had been using a wonderful software Chinese dictionary for well more than a year, including to re-translate about eighty pages of excerpts from Neijing that Ed Neal had given as handouts for his series on “Neijing Acupuncture.” Although I had reworked his translations to correct many mistakes and misconceptions, and had grown familiar with a much larger vocabulary of Chinese characters, my knowledge of classical grammar remained rudimentary. None the less, that early work with the Chinese text convinced me to focus on translating whole chapters of Neijing, which allows any statements drawn from the classic to be understood in context. Almost ANY idea, including some very bizarre ones, can be supported by pulling specific lines out of context. It’s a bad idea, and fraught with dangers! I will only do so AFTER translating the entire chapter, which at this point includes going over it with Sabine (at least for me). Sometimes, scholarly discourse requires discussion of specific passages, such as comparing and contrasting different readings of a passage, as I’ve done below with Paul Unschuld’s translation of a short passage. However, I believe study of the text should focus on entire chapters, and consider the placement and role of each chapter within the text as a whole.

Most chapters of both Suwen (Simple Questions) and Lingshu (The Spiritual Axis) are snippets of dialogue, generally between the legendary Yellow Emperor and one (or in a few instances more) of his advisers. Context is everything! Yet, translating and studying whole chapters requires much more focus and intention than pulling out short excerpts to translate, and then using them as the basis for study. Working with entire chapters seemed to me the only responsible course, so while taking a year long series of seminars from Elisabeth Rochat, I started with a couple dozen of them. Elisabeth graciously spent a whole afternoon with me near the end of that series, as a sort of classical Chinese ‘boot camp,’ which convinced me that I needed to learn A LOT more classical Chinese syntax and semantics in order to do a credible translation of Neijing. I bought a couple books at her suggestion, and that recognition also led me to Sabine (who also encouraged me to expand my library).

Many chapters of Neijing (especially Suwen) are VERY challenging, even for someone well trained in classical Chinese language. A couple months ago, Sabine wrote back to me with some exasperation after working for an entire day on one short chapter I’d sent to her; she declared that I must be interested in only the hardest chapters! Well, I admit I’m particularly interested in the myriad conundrums presented by the classic texts, though only one type exhibits language that is particularly difficult for Sabine.

The three types of ‘conundrum’ one faces in studying Neijing:

  1. the grammar and/or usage is very obscure or complex; these passages are easily misunderstood, even for readers with good classical Chinese language skills
  2. the language seems fairly clear, but its ‘literary’ meaning makes little or no sense; a practitioner must find meaning based in his or her experience and understanding of the medical theory
  3. the language seems straight-forward, but the ‘obvious’ interpretation (of a literate reader) is limited or even misleading

The first of these requires someone with A LOT of experience with classical Chinese. Sabine has led me through several of these, and gradually I’m learning some of the many ‘quirks’ found in the classical language of Neijing. However, I can’t simply hire Sabine or any other academic sinologist to translate these texts. No matter how open they may be toward Chinese medicine, the last two types of conundrum are far too common. A practitioner’s reading, when informed by classical Chinese literacy, is qualitatively different from an academic’s reading.

While Sabine is highly skilled in reading classical Chinese, she is also refreshingly humble about Chinese medicine. Unlike some other sinologists who concentrate on historical Chinese medical texts, she recognizes that literary reading of Neijing by itself is incomplete. When she comes across a passage she doesn’t understand clearly, she simply says so. On a few occasions she has said, “the language of this passage literally means…; you’re going to have to use your clinical experience to understand what it signifies.” One of these in Lingshu 1, which I had not gotten by myself, astounded me — it was so specific and clear. I’d not realized the classic’s discussion of the theory of wei qi was SO explicit. As soon as Sabine gave me a clear literal rendition, I recognized the meaning of the statement in my clinical understanding, but without that experience the statement had little meaning.

I’ve found the third type of ‘conundrum’ even more interesting, and have already found a couple dozen of them. They are particularly interesting because they provide a wonderful way to obscure profound Chinese medical theory ‘in plain sight’ in the text. That is, ideas discussed this way are available to those who already understand them to some extent — at least well enough to look for them effectively, but are glossed over by most readers. Wow! Can this be real? Why would the authors do such a thing? Well, the ancient Chinese had already discussed the issue of transmitting medical teachings, which highlighted the central role of experience rooted in direct study with a teacher, who understands how to apply the subtle complexities of the texts, as the foundation for understanding.

The Benefits of Illiteracy

So, how does this third type of conundrum obscure the deeper meanings within the texts? While each case is individual, most have a rather obvious literary reading for those who is literate, which also misses some important piece of Chinese medical theory. One good example, which occurs many times in Suwen, involves the expression 時之序 (shí zhī xù). This is a VERY common expression used in a wide range of Chinese writings, where it refers to the intrinsic ordering or rhythm () of the timing (shí) of the four seasons — the 四時. This is the ‘literary’ reading of this phrase, which is generally understood ONLY in the macrocosm. The potential meaning of this expression within the microcosm are particularly interesting to the practitioner, who is constantly focused on the nature of life process within individuals — the Dao in microcosm. We are studying, after all, the Neijing — the Inner Classic. Might one consider (even give priority to) other internal aspects of studying Neijing?

My work with the text is very different from that of a literate reader. I’ve been working with interpreting and applying ideas from the classic for twenty years, yet am only now learning the language well enough to study the text. My limited literacy has forced me to devote a couple hundred hours to each short chapter I’ve studied carefully, so I’ve grown very familiar with their language and content. I’ve begun to discern an ‘inner’ network among chapters, where one chapter comments on another, sometimes where a chapter in Lingshu expands on an idea first mentioned in Suwen.

While I ponder the meaning of any passage, I think about my understanding of the medicine as well as the language. While 時之序 (shí zhī xù) SOMETIMES refers to the usual ‘sequence of the seasons’ in the “Inner Classic” (Neijing), it frequently refers to the “the rhythm of the timing [of wei qi ].” This ‘alternate interpretation’ considers 時之序 (shí zhī xù) within the microcosm of an individual’s life, rather than the literary interpretation in the macrocosm. The text gives only subtle clues of this ‘inner’ interpretation, including a few lines later in the chapter of Suwen discussed below, but it does not clearly indicate when to choose between these two fundamental interpretations.

Perhaps the best clue that one should consider this ‘inner’ interpretation is that the usual ‘outer’ one doesn’t make much sense. One example can be found in Suwen 3, lines 2.1 and 2.2 (of my translation):

蒼天之氣清淨,則志意治,順之則陽氣固,
雖有賊邪,弗能害也,此因時之序。

Professor Unschuld’s translation (volume 1, p. 60-1; his rendering devotes a new line at each comma, and places the first comma after 氣 rather than two characters later as in the text above):

The qi of the hoary heaven,
it is clear and pure, and as a result the mind is in order.
If one lives in accordance with it, then the yang qi is strong.
Even if there is a robber wind,
it cannot bring any harm.
This [is so because one] follows the sequence of the seasons.

My translation:

When the qì of deep dark Heaven is clear and clean, then the purposeful intent governs [well]; when one aligns with it, then yáng qì consolidates.
Although one is exposed to the thieving wind, it cannot harm, due to the rhythm of the timing [of wèiqì].

While this short passage demonstrates a few divergences in our translations, I’ll focus here on the meaning (in context) of the last three characters “時之序.” While Professor Unschuld and I render the first line somewhat differently, we agree that is describes the conditions that make a person’s yáng qì consolidated or strong (則陽氣固). Then, he renders the text to claim that when there is a robber wind, that is doesn’t harm such a person because he or she follows the sequence of the seasons. Really? That’s utter nonsense! There is no reason to switch scale in this passage from the microcosm to the macrocosm, and that change suggested by the ‘literary reading’ of this phrase simply introduces confusion and makes the classic appear incoherent. This is clearly an instance where 時之序 (shí zhī xù) should be interpreted within the microcosm of individual life as the “rhythm of the timing [of wèiqì].”

[Note: My translation of this short passage differs from Professor Unschuld’s in several other ways. One concerns the meaning and significance of 志意 (zhìyì). My translation of Lingshu 47 discusses the meaning 志意 (zhìyì), which I translated here as “purposeful intent,” with 魂魄 (hún-pò) and 精神 (jīngshén). These are the three complexes of 神 (shén-spirits) that animate the Three Qi.]

While Unschuld is a famous sinologist with unquestioned literacy in classical Chinese, he failed to recognize this ‘inner’ interpretation, and consequently his rendition of this passage is quite limited. By making the classic appear only oriented to the environment, rather than discussing the individual’s responsiveness to the environment, he missed important theory and a deeper stream of meaning. Alas, I’ve found too many such misunderstandings among the chapters of Suwen I’ve studied carefully, and I have A LOT more work to do with both that text and Lingshu. Collected together, professor Unschuld’s interpretations produce a literary translation that misses much of the incisive power of Neijing. While he and his team have done Herculean work in producing his two volume translation of Suwen, many of the historical comments he included were written by editors who were not primarily practitioners. Thus, their comments were limited to their own ‘literary reading,’ which didn’t substantially challenge or deepen the translator’s own reading.

On the first page of his Prolegomena, Professor Unschuld noted, “this translation was not prepared primarily with an eye on the contemporary clinical applicability of its physiological and pathological views, as well as the text’s therapeutic advice, provided by the authors of the Suwen…” Well, he got that right! Unfortunately, Professor Unschuld’s translation conveys his misconceptions concerning the content and meaning of the classic, misses its deeper logic, and consequently leaves the reader little opportunity to find its clinical value. Of course, that doesn’t matter to him. I understand Professor Unschuld considers the very concept, that we may diligently study today to practice ‘classical Chinese medicine,’ absurd. Might his translations not be our best possible resource for the Chinese medicine classics, especially when we are seeking clinical insight and inspiration?

Professor Unschuld also noted in his Prolegomena that Neijing is heterogeneous, while Nanjing is homogeneous. I agree completely, though he misinterprets the significance of that perception. He considers the tangled collection of contrary information in Neijing a sign it was still immature and confused, and that the later Nanjing clarifies Chinese medical theory and makes in coherent. On the other hand, I consider Neijing a complex tapestry of ideas and perspectives, which weave together into a profound investigation of life in health and disease. It is far more subtle and complex than the author(s) of the received version of Nanjing recognized. Unschuld believes Nanjing completes the evolution of Chinese medicine as a ‘medicine of correspondences;’ instead, perhaps it merely simplifies Neijing into a medicine of correspondences. He assumes the ‘progress of history’ brought clarification; I understand Neijing is much more subtle and profound than Nanjing, which exhibits only one approach in conceptualizing classical Chinese medicine.

While Nanjing presents one relatively accessible conceptual model for understanding and practicing Chinese medicine, doctors throughout history have returned to Neijing, for its ‘heterogeneous’ theory, when seeking clinical inspiration. In many circles of Chinese medical practice in the contemporary world, there is an emphasis on detailed discussions of theory and practice from the (relatively) modern Qing and Ming Dynasties (1368-1911). While those authors provide some detailed guidance, they lack the breadth and depth of insight available through studying Neijing.

The pervasive influence of Unschuld’s misunderstandings on the professional practice of Chinese medicine arise from our weakness, rather than his mistaken assertions, no matter how egregious. Can’t someone produce a careful translation of the Neijing based in practical understanding of the practice of Chinese medicine? [Everyone takes three steps backwards.] While academics scoff at Wu Jing-nuan’s translation of Lingshu, I used it for many years, and now that I’m working on chapters myself find that it portrays the meaning and import of the text with more fidelity than Unschuld’s translation of Suwen, which was produced according to his academic ‘rigorous philological principles.’ Yet, Wu’s work certainly lacks notes to help the reader explore the text’s textured meanings, he inserts some of his own interpretations into his translation, and it misses some subtle points; so, his work needs careful updating.

Maoshing Ni’s rendition of Suwen was published nearly twenty years ago. It seamlessly includes his interpretations and clarifications of the often challenging text. While it has made the classic much more accessible to an entire generation of practitioners and students, it has done so only through his interpretations, which were not clearly differentiated from the text itself. This is light reading.

The Yellow Emperor’s Canon of Internal Medicine, translated by Wu Liansheng and Wu Qi, benefits through including the Chinese text with the English translation. However, their English is poor, which severely limits their ability to convey the subtle meanings woven into the text. They insert their own interpretations fairly liberally, which limits the value of their translation, even if one wishes to weed through their obvious problems with English.

I look around, and it seems everyone has withdrawn from my imploring request for a ‘clean’ translation of Neijing that arises from a practitioner’s sensibilities, which thereby can convey the beauty and power of classical Chinese medical thinking. I seem to be standing by myself. Uhm…Oh my! I seem to have volunteered. Oops! How did that happen? What the…

Well, working with Sabine is a great help! I couldn’t do this without her support. She is stringent with me and insists on clarity and accuracy, yet she also supports my efforts to find wisdom for myself in the texts of Neijing, based in my experience and/or lineage training. As I struggle to understand the text’s syntax and semantics, I’m contemplating my nearly twenty years experience working with my lineage’s interpretations, and several years teaching the content and dynamic thinking process of our approach. Sometimes, I believe a certain passage in Neijing has multiple readings, where one is the ‘literary’ (or obvious) reading, and others share deeper ‘coded’ ideas or theory. I consider these ‘alternate’ readings little messages to the initiated — those who  understand medicine well enough to find and understand them. I’m discussing the ‘messages’ I find in my commentaries for the chapters I’m translating. It’s a BIG project.

Stay tuned for more news concerning my work on “An Acupuncturist’s Neijing.”

I’m already working on a posting focused on another ‘type 3 conundrum’ from the opening lines of Lingshu 52. The literary reading of that one is SO obvious it even ‘took me in’ for almost two weeks early last month. Shocking! Well, I hope I don’t grow too literate.

Share

Hail ISSCA?

Scholar’s Retreat a Huge Success (for me)!

During the past few months, I’ve grown increasingly involved with the International Society for the Study of Classical Acupuncture (ISSCA); we’ve recently had our second annual “Scholar’s Retreat” in Trout Lake, WA (near Portland, OR). It was a relatively small conference, as such gathers go, yet we had some fine presentations; and the four day gathering within the inspirational environment of Trout Lake Abbey was filled with opportunities for informal discussion and learning. I presented a paper just after lunch of the first day on the transmission of classical medical teachings, based on the biographical sketch of Chunyu Yi from the Western (Early) Han Dynasty. Then, late in the afternoon of the fourth day, I did a clinical demonstration with a patient of one of the young practitioners attending the retreat, who lives and works near Trout Lake. That was an interesting experience, in part because I decided that “when in Rome” (in this case, among Neijing practitioners), I would do “as the Romans do” — us larger diameter needles. In short, I’d learned that what I’d learned to do with mostly 36 and 34 gauge needles is MUCH more powerful with 28-32 gauge needles (as the number gets lower, the diameter is bigger).

ISSCA originally grew from a group of Dr. Ed Neal’s students in Portland, OR. He is a medical doctor who grew interested in acupuncture many years ago, and went to Italy to study with an Italian doctor who had learned from a pre-TCM acupuncturist who often referred to Neijing. During the early nineties, Ed had some health challenges that prevented him from doing very much other than working on translating the texts of Neijing. Dr. Neal has been working with direct translation of Neijing for approximately the same amount of time I’ve been studying with Jeffrey. While he has learned some interesting things from those efforts, he espouses many ideas than need careful review. I’ve taken his introductory series on “Neijing Acupuncture,” which explores some of the classic’s key language and concepts. His work inspired me to begin my studies of classical Chinese, so I could better understand the linguistic and  conceptual foundation for Jeffrey Yuen’s teachings.

The entire retreat was a wonderful experience, and next week I’ll be meeting with several ISSCA members in Portland, OR to discuss plans for my series on the channel systems to start there during the coming months. My early experience indicates that ISSCA is fertile ground for cross-fertilization, at least for me. I believe we can all learn a lot from each other — me from their scholarship of the texts of Neijing, and Dr. Neal and his students from my work learning ‘my’ oral lineage. While it has taken Dr. Neal a little time to accept the value of my work with my/Jeffrey’s lineage, my presentation at the 2nd annual ISSCA conference last month seems to have won him over. He was the first to ‘sign up’ for my series in Portland, when I saw him briefly a week after our retreat. I was in Portland to pick up my car, after flying back from being co-Keynote Speaker at the 37th Annual Conference of the International Veterinary Acupuncture Society (IVAS), but that’s another story. Stay tuned!

Update: I’m sorry to say that my associate with ISSCA has come to naught. I guess that either they decided by lineage wasn’t important after all, or that I wasn’t an adequate representative for their “scholarly” group. C’est la vie!

Share