In the human digestive system, we need to ingest a certain variety of nutrients to stay alive. Generically speaking, we need to eat carbohydrates (sugars and starches), proteins, and fats, as well as fiber, vitamins and minerals, and of course water. Different foods will provide different proportions of these nutrients, and of course, regular, well-balanced meals are the foundation of a healthy digestion.

So that’s nourishment on the dense, material level. Here’s my thinking: On an energetic, psychic level, we have the same kind of needs. We need to absorb psychic energy that’s quick and easy to digest, like simple sugars. We need to absorb energy that’s more difficult to digest but more nourishing in various ways, like complex carbohydrates, or proteins, or fats. We need trace amounts of specific types of energy, like vitamins and minerals.

The psychic analogue to simple sugars is the type of resonance that’s mentally and emotionally easy to digest. That’s interaction with that aspect of the world that’s most like ourselves — other human beings and their products: light conversation, easy company, entertainment like television shows and movies or reading. Just as everyone has different dietary needs and preferences based on their constitution, chemistry, and dietary upbringing, everyone has different psychic needs. Some people will be easier to “take” than others. Some social activities will be nice for some people, too “sweet” or not “sweet” enough for others.

Read the full post

I play lip service to the idea that all things are meaningful, that “everything happens for a reason.” But I’ve realized lately that my behavior and my actions reflect a deep underlying belief that the world is, essentially, a random, chaotic violent mess where anything and everything could happen. And the only way to defend against randomness, chaos, and violence is to expect them, to build them into my psyche, so that at least I won’t be caught by surprise.

And this is a dead end, because I find myself trapped in a corner, victim to the very chaos and violence I fear, unable to escape because I have at some level embraced them in order to maintain a sensation of safety. Keeping an eye on “the enemy” traps me as well as my enemy.

It’s interesting reading some of my old posts, when I use the metaphor of dancing with the hurricane to describe my process of growth. The process involved becoming free enough to move freely and even gracefully amidst tremendous pressures. But what I am beginning to realize is that many of those pressures have their roots in a very deep and very old set of beliefs about reality, so invisible that they masquerade for reality itself.

Read the full post

I only have seven months left to go until I graduate from acupuncture school. It’s the home stretch.

I only entered clinic last year, almost exactly a year ago. There has been so much stress about recruiting patients, and no doubt I will have some of the same stress when I start my own practice. But for now, recently, a remarkable thing has happened:

I’m booked.

Read the full post

When I was in my sophomore year at Stanford, I lived in a dorm called Terra. Technically, I guess it wasn’t a dorm; it was an on-campus co-op. I chose it because I wanted to have my own room, and their two-room doubles (you had a roommate, but each of you occupied your own room) were the closest I could get.

Terra is Latin for Earth, and it fit who I was at the time that I joined what was basically a hippie house. Everybody pitched in on the workload: cooking, cleaning, etc. Every week I helped wash dishes Thursday nights; that was my job.

One of the interesting things about these hippie co-ops was their liberal policies about gender mixing. Primarily: The bathrooms were unisex. And it was funny, because the urinal was right by the door, so quite frequently I would be standing there taking a piss and a girl would walk in and start brushing her teeth or something. We all took it in as a matter of course.

Another interesting thing about Stanford, or any of those Ivy League level colleges, is that some famous people go there. Tiger Woods dropped out of Stanford. Fred Savage graduated from there, as did John Elway. (Off the top of my head.) I remember seeing then-Olympic gymnast Kerri Strug (the one who injured her leg) sitting a few rows in front of me in a class. (She was very short.)

My closest encounter, though, was with a political pseudo-celebrity.

Read the full post