Night Sky Acupuncture + Ideaphoria

Liz Greenhill, LAc.

Liz Greenhill, LAc. offers two types of services: Acupuncture and Creativity Consulting. State licensed and nationally certified as an acupuncturist and herbalist for ten years, Liz crafts your in-office Acupuncture sessions into a true somatic experience, with a magical combination of acupuncture, acupressure and guided visualization. Creativity Consultations are one-on-one experiences on the phone or in-person in which your creative project gets our full focus: ideaphoria, active listening, the application of eastern medicine’s energetics, principles, and theories, and creative visualization, so that you can learn to source new ideas and insights from an embodied and energized space. Hotel and house calls sessions and pop-up group experiences are available upon request. Liz travels to consult and co-create with artists and groups.

If you’d like to subscribe to Liz’s try occasional newsletter which includes guided visualization and tips and tricks for well-being, here’s the LINK!

YOUR INTERNAL ME TOO MOMENT – SPRING CLEANING 

I’ve noticed that a lot of people I know are going through their own internal Me Too movement. Myself included. It is as if we have been combing through our psyches for old patriarchal ideals we’ve accidentally collected and yanking them out like weeds. Have you experienced this as well? I’ve seen friends and clients begin to speak up for themselves, question unhealthy relationships, make big changes, begin to speak more kindly to themselves, treat themselves with more respect, and set boundaries to ensure more satisfaction and independence. We are becoming more aware of internal discord and seeking alignment. We are growing and changing. 

 

When you think of the term culture, you might think of the society we live in and you might also think of the goo in a petri dish or the composition of yogurt. Each is an environment in which the cell swims. We are each little cells swimming in this culture of America. In other words, we are affected by the societal ecosystem in which we live and in order to not absorb its toxicity we need to strengthen our boundaries and restructure our inner ecosystem to adjust for what we want, in favor of what is familiar. What does this have to do with Chinese Medicine? 

 

The entire body is fueled by qi, or living energy. Qi is allocated to different roles and some of it goes toward that energetics of the cell wall, of boundaries, of fortifying our qi again intrusion. That qi can help us become more aware of who we truly are and to notice and adjust when that integrity is out of alignment.  

 

How can acupuncture help? Energy medicine works on four layers: the physical, mental, emotional, and spiritual. Like when one drops a stone in a pond, there is a ripple effect through all depths of the water, even all the way to the shore. Acupuncture excels at moving stuck energy. Without having to rely on language and thought, acupuncture can help dissolve areas of conglomeration in the body where old narratives play on loop. 

 

Now is a time for investigating the root causes and stories we are holding onto that challenge our notions of feminism and for using self-care practices to dislodge those blockages. We have an opportunity to release the inner remnants of old ideals we picked up along the way that we might still carry around out of familiarity, old patterning, or negative self-beliefs. When we have less congestion we can more clearly see old patterns in which we question our value or abilities, or old errant beliefs that put us in positions of subordination to others. It is time we do some internal Spring cleaning!  

 

We can practice with a visualization. Find a comfortable quiet place to sit or rest for a few minutes. As you become aware of your breath feel your body settle softly downward with gravity. Take a deep breath and sigh aloud. With your eyes closed, use your senses to identify a place in your body where you feel stuck. It might coincide with a place where you have pain or an old injury or it might be more energetic. Just let your intuition show you a place. Visualize this place as a tangle of yarn. See your own hands like holograms toying with the tangle. Bring your breath right to that area. By that I mean, use your awareness to really feel breathing in that spot. As you breathe, imagine the tangle of yarn growing more stretchy, and each thread starts to loosen and have a lot more space around it. Let the tangle of yarn keep growing and stretching and loosening with your breath until it is wide and stretched between your fingers like a cat’s cradle game. Ask yourself what negative self-belief story this configuration holds for you, and listen for an answer. Sense what might be laced into the yarn’s design that is holding you back. For example, I will always have pain.Or, I don’t deserve happiness. Let that phrase know you’ve heard it and that you know it’s holding you back. Then imagine the yarn sizzling like sparklers and dissolving into darkness. See everything in that space as black, with your hologram hands empty. Imagine your fingers moving and wiggling in the darkness, suddenly free. Feel a sense of spaciousness and emptiness there in the quiet darkness of your body. Let that particular spot feel completely vacant. Write the opposite of that statement in the dark air, saying it aloud with your mind or scribbling it with your fingers. For example, I am not my pain, or, I am more than pain. Or I deserve happiness and I have it.Let these positive self-statements and wishes echo through your body and ring with clarity. 

Between Bodies and This Earth

After 911, I left the New York City art world where I’d been a studio assistant for several years, and went to graduate school to study Chinese Medicine. I had no interest in Science (sorry/not sorry!), I was interested in bodies—with their universal sameness and uniqueness all at once. Bodies strike me as living breathing art, and this field of study provided a complex academic forum for ways to evaluate bodies hands-on with a holistic perspective. Acupuncture school was grueling but I also loved it, mostly. There were so many Science classes though, and they were really challenging for me. In Western society I suppose Acupuncture is sometimes considered a Science, but it isn’t really a Science, it’s more of an Theory Based Practice, like Art. I think Chinese Medicine lives within a spectrum between Art, Science and Mysticism. It’s a Medicine. And the root of this medicine is especially old, ancient even, and it all boils down to an image: the body is a small earth, a little ecosystem, in which the sun and moon rise and set, rivers flow, and the seasons change.

 

Of course there’s a lot more to it. There are theories and protocols and diagnoses and a ton of textbooks and subtleties and all kinds of landmarks in the body and in the symptoms we look for. It’s different from Western Medicine in that it’s subjective and empirical. It’s based on listening and observing and recognizing patterns. There is no tech. There are no tests. We treat the body as it shows up at the session, per the patient’s self-report and per our own observations from looking and listening and feeling and touching.

 

Every body is a landscape. Every body is its own planet. Each of us can be seen, known, and understood by a series of metaphors that fit us all.

 

The heart is a torch. The liver is a forest. The pelvic bowl is an ocean. Rivers run down our limbs. Our bones are scaffolds of stone and mineral glimmering within the earth. The flesh is that earth, dirt, soil, and the micro-biome that blooms from it. If the forest does not have enough water to drink up through the soil, the wood becomes brittle and more likely to snap in the wind rather than bend. These are ways of understanding the ecosystem of the Heart, Liver, and Kidneys. Chinese Medicine has an image-laden foundation.

 

Chinese Medicine abounds with seeing the body in metaphor, symbolism, and poetry. Each body is a map of energy like rivers, and each river hones to an organ system, and that organ’s counter-part organ, and they all have sounds and smells and colors and emotions and thought processes and weather systems of affiliation. An imbalance in the organ systems shows through on multiple levels. Smells carried in the breath, the urine, the stool. We look for colors beneath the skin tone and tongue like a painting that’s been gessoed over but you can still see small evidence of the earlier draft. We look for layers and we draw meandering connective lines across each person’s map. The colors and flavors and emotions of each organ are therapeutic to that system in the proper amounts, but detrimental in excess.

 

The heart: red, fire, singing, bitter, rancid, joy, shame, and ego

The spleen: yellow, earth, sweet, nourishment, smothering, fog

The lungs: white, metal, grief, reflection, acrid, dryness, immunity, boundaries

 

The solar plexus can be pinched by anger or loosened with creative expression. The immune system is an army mobilizing just beneath the skin, which is like our cell membrane, and our pores are doors, and when we have allergies or a cold the doors are flimsy, flying open in the wind. Fire can burn the landscape of our bodies, in the throat, the stomach, beneath the skin—anywhere fraught with infection. Healing the earth after a fire requires enough support so that springs open and burble up from beneath the peaty crust. We have the equivalent of something precious and viscous like oil within us. It  imbues the sex organs and darkens the hair, keeps the skin plump, and naturally runs lower and lower the more we age. Some of the organs are called extraordinary because they do not have their own rivers and cannot be named by their land. The brain is one. The uterus another.

 

Yin organs are hollow and yang organs are full and always moving. Blood is assessed by the quality of it which you can tell by looking at the tongue and complexion and feeling the pulse. Is it: dry, stuck, depleted, too cold or too hot, or moving in the wrong direction?

 

Energy zips up our backs like sunrise, and slips down our fronts like moonglow. Every day is a twenty-four-part cycle of various small and large transformations.

 

Mapped on the body are 365 points on 20 channels often called meridians, which I liken to paths or rivers, and it’s fair and reasonable and helpful to sometimes find a point off-road and utilize it.  

 

When we place needles in the body, they are the width of a hair, stainless steel and disposable, and it is the most minimally invasive way to enter the channels to change a person’s energy flow.

 

The purpose of acupuncture and herbal medicine and therapeutic touch is simply to help the energy move from where it is stuck (pain, illness, and emotional distress), because when it is stuck in one area it is running low in another. Think of a river with a dam, or a fallen tree, and how the water level would be lower than normal downstream.

 

The purpose of acupuncture and herbal medicine and therapeutic touch is less-simply to: tame wild fire, nourish low levels of water or yin or blood or qi, warm up rundown yang, or sometimes anchor flyaway yang, balance fluids via the digestive system so that the soil is neither too damp nor too dry, clear congested qi as if turning a fan on in a stuffy room.

 

And what, you might wonder, even is qi? Qi is a word for energy. It is the energetics that runs through us. Those invisible rivers of energy we feel when a practitioner presses on (or needles) one point on the body and we feel it in another place all together. Qi is the mysterious thing that makes us alive, and makes every cell in our bodies alive. It’s funny that we don’t have a word for it in Western culture. It’s simple life, but with an embodied specificity. Qi is everywhere, it is also matter. There is qi in your desk or your wool sweater. But the qi in your body is different. It is adaptable, vulnerable, and resilient. The qi in our bodies is subject to fall into imbalance or illness, and it is also capable of great change and healing itself.

 

Think of the last time you cut your finger. Isn’t it a miracle that it healed? The skin was severed, the bleeding wouldn’t stop perhaps, and then it did, and then it scabbed, and eventually the scab peeled off, and there was a scar and then the scar dissolved to some degree, maybe entirely, maybe not entirely. Maybe you can still feel it.

 

There’s so much that we can feel in our body that we so often turn off. Right now, just right now, feel the soles of your feet. Not with your hands, just with your mind, your awareness. Feel the skin along the soles of the feel, let each pore recognize the temperature and the objects it touches and also the energy moving through it. We can’t deny there is energy. Always there is blood carried and cell regeneration, and electricity in the nervous system, the ability to feel pain. Each speck of our bodies brims with vitality.

 

Have you ever had a buzzing sensation in your body somewhere? That’s stuck qi. A real thick traffic jam, most likely. Have you ever had your body ache in a slight and deep way, not pain, just something deep beneath the skin, sometimes accompanied by a flutter or twitch? It’s a common feeling when getting acupuncture, but you’ve likely had it other times as well. That’s the feeling of the qi moving from where it was stuck. Like the slow churn of a traffic jam unfurling. Where movement enters into a place of stillness and disbands it.

 

I could talk about Chinese Medicine all day, and metaphors of the body, and the ways we understand each other using these ancient poetics, but that isn’t the point I’m going for. The point I want to make is that metaphor isn’t just something to be thought, it can be felt. Poetry can be a medicine. Image can be a medicine. They are medicines in that they affect the body and can assist in a curative way. Seeing the body as an illuminated map which we are in charge of interpreting and grafting can help us understand ourselves better and actually help us heal. What I’m getting at, is that to understand the body, we don’t have to dissect it or reduce it to make the comprehension of it palatable, we need to get creative and enter the imagination, to the crux where the body and the dreaming mind meet. When we are open to making surprising connections—between bodies and this earth—and surrendering to the mystery of it all—and being curious enough and committed to follow the trail that comes of it, this ball of yarn tumbling down a midnight hill running through your gently grasped fists, we discover new ways of seeing. Isn’t that what we always want—new ways of seeing—as artists and scientists and people dedicated to learning and growing?