07/03/2018
It is time! For the Early Summer Article written by our amazingly knowledgeable Naturalpathic Physician; Margaret Hammitt-McDonald!! Check it out!
Early Summer: The Passion and the Calm
On a hike with my five and a half-year-old daughter, we stopped at our halfway point, a wooden bridge, for a favorite activity. Luthien gathered fallen twigs and leaves to drop one by one over the bridge into the stream below. On this hot early summer’s day, we lingered in the shade and cheered for the leaves and sticks as they made their way downstream, through riffles, around a bend, and out of sight. The finale involved a kid-sized armful tossed in all at once. With the rains so sparse now, the water level had dropped and the flow had narrowed. The water had warmed enough for a refreshing wade, and the current’s speed and strength had diminished to a lazy, child-safe flow. Tall reeds and raspy marsh grasses flourished along the banks, though. We dipped scratched-up feet into the cool current, which healed as well as refreshed.
Our morning at the stream typifies the qualities of early summer: heat and lush vegetal growth. In spring, new life emerges; in early summer, that growth accelerates and then leafs out, becoming more verdant and abundant. Everything vibrates with strength, vividness, and intensity. That vibration manifests in the pulsing colors and the throbbing songs of crickets, cicadas, and frogs. Yet amid this lively clamor, early summer entices us to slow down, drift, and linger. That’s the paradox of fire, the phase element for this season: fire burns and provides heat, but it also sheds light and symbolizes clarity, calm, and spirituality.
The part of China that’s the birthplace of this natural philosophy is a temperate region where early and late summer represent two distinct seasons. Early summer is hot and humid, bursting with vegetative exuberance. Late summer is a golden time, drier and mellower, when the first harvests occur. Here on the Oregon Coast, in early summer, at the tail end of the rainy season, you can feel fire’s heat interacting with the waning waters of the late-spring rains.
Chinese philosophy establishes a continuum between the human body (the microcosm) and the natural environment (the macrocosm). Each season on Earth corresponds with an organ network and its associated channel in the human body. Six pairs of organ networks regulate the body’s activities: a solid Zang organ to concentrate vital essences valuable to the body and a hollow Fu organ to carry out the functions of these precious substances. Qi (life energy, manifested in all bodily processes, such as digestion and respiration) and Blood travel through, unite, and coordinate all six organ networks.
Yet Chinese natural philosophers were presented with a conundrum: how could one fit six networks of paired organs into just five seasons? They studied the natural environment to formulate an answer and found it in the unique qualities of fire, early summer’s paradoxical element of incandescent tranquility. But they also had to turn back to human society for a complete answer. Believing that human social organization reflected natural rhythms, they determined that fire comes in two varieties, Imperial Fire and Ministerial Fire.
Imperial Fire shines at the luminous center of our being, in the Heart (the Zang/solid organ that provides a material anchor for our spirit) and the Small Intestine (the Fu/hollow organ that fulfills the Heart’s mission to imbue the whole body-mind with light). Imperial Fire inspires us with the essence of the Junzi, the person of noble character, the Emperor or Empress within us all. This monarchical image might be difficult for some to accept—I’ve struggled with it myself—but unlike in a historical imperial society, in one’s body-mind, as in C.S. Lewis’ Narnia, everyone’s a king or queen. It’s not about exerting power over other beings or over “lesser” parts of ourselves; it’s about achieving our highest Self, our connection with the heavenly order—enlightenment and/or self-actualization, not domination.
Imperial Fire remains at the heart of our being, as Chinese emperors remained ensconced in the Forbidden City, the heart of the realm. These rulers relied on ministers to go out to the furthest reaches of the empire, to convey instructions and to receive information and goods. The role of Ministerial Fire in the body is similar. The Ministerial Fire organs, the Pericardium and Triple Burner, carry the Heart’s radiance to the furthest reaches of the bodily “empire.” This fire is hot and dynamic, speedy and powerful enough to travel everywhere in the body.
The Triple Burner (also called the Triple Heater or Triple Energizer) is a concept unique to Chinese physiology. It’s both a distinctive structure and an organizing principle for the body. The three burners represent three interconnected transformative centers. The upper burner, inhabited by the Lungs, Heart, and Pericardium, takes in air and transforms it into Qi to power respiration and circulation. The middle burner, where the Spleen, Stomach, Liver, and Gallbladder reside, performs the same metabolic process with food, which it alchemizes to Qi and Blood. The lower burner carries out two functions: linking us with our ancestral inheritance, posterity, and the universe as a whole (the duty of the Kidneys) and excreting the byproducts of Qi and Blood metabolism (the task of the Bladder, Small Intestine, and Large Intestine).
The Pericardium is the membrane that surrounds the Heart. It serves as both the dwelling place for the Heart and the Heart’s most intimate confidante and servant, like a royal chamberlain, bodyguard, and valet all rolled into one. The Pericardium both protects and opens the heart and exemplifies a balanced blend of strength and vulnerability. It’s in charge of our personal boundaries, offering access to the Heart to any who proves worthy by demonstrating pure concern and love for us. The Pericardium nurtures healthy relationships and oversees their beginning, flourishing and, when necessary, their ending.
Fire’s red color embodies its creative tension between passion and calm. Its opening into the world is the tip of the tongue, reminding us to speak from the heart and to use discernment in speaking. The heart teaches us that, if we’re about to say something neither kind nor true, it’s better to be silent. Its associated aspect of spirit is Shen, translated as “spirit” and representing the overarching principle that coordinates the other spiritual parts: po (the basic drive to live), hun (the soul), zhi (the will), and yi (the intellect). Shen can be disturbed, clouded over and even, with overwhelming trauma, lost. The body structures Fire governs are the blood vessels; it’s in charge of circulation, both physiologic and energetic.
The emotion connected with Fire is happiness. Like all the other emotions—anger, fear, worry, and sadness—one can experience excesses in the Fire emotions as well. But what’s “excessive happiness,” which a hidebound medical-school administrator accuses Patch Adams of harboring? How can one be too happy?
Imagine the frantic, scattered, self-destructive energy that comes from getting so giddy and euphoric that one disconnects from reality. A person can become so wrapped up in bliss that they forget to eat, sleep, and take care of the body-mind’s necessities. This person’s “checking out” of life can manifest as mildly as flakiness and as severely as delirium. Passion can also devolve into fanaticism, especially when one gets caught up in the surges of emotion that rush through crowds like wildfire, pushing them forward in a mindless wave to attack whatever “Them” they’ve excluded from their “Us.” That’s passion and solidarity gone awry.
Early summer is the peak of Yang in the seasonal round. With all this daylight, we feel exultant, exuberant, ready to rush out into the sun, playing hard and fervently creating. This is a perfect time for energetic physical activity, for building and making, and for friendly competitions like dragonboat races, traditionally held around the summer solstice. Yet we need to remember that this abundant Yang isn’t inexhaustible. We must shepherd our reserves for the lean seasons to come. This is the time to enjoy fresh greens, berries, other fruits, corn, beans, and all the light-filled foods one can eat raw or lightly cooked. (Many Chinese medicine practitioners are hesitant to recommend raw or cold-natured foods, even in summer, as it takes extra digestive fire to heat them up and ready them for assimilation…not by the Borg, by the digestive organs. However, in my experience, raw/live foods can be prepared in warming ways that simulate the heat from cooking—for example, through fermenting and other preparation methods.)
This is the time to flourish, to bask, and to enjoy. So go find yourself a stream and a place to settle down a while and watch the water flow by. In this tranquil, receptive state, you’ll be amazed at what grows within you.
References:
Larre, Claude and Rochat de la Vallee, Heart Master Triple Heater (1998) and The Heart (2004), Norfolk: Monkey Press. Books by this duo—a Sinologist and a Chinese medicine practitioner—are rooted in classic texts (primarily the Yellow Emperor’s Classic of Medicine), poetically written, and both informative for the specialist and accessible to the novice.
