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[post_content] => I grew up in the 1980s, when some of the most common insults we used were “homo,” “faggot,” “queer,” and “gay.” Clearly, we were deeply fearful of what we didn’t understand – and the ostracism that went with it. Even though I wasn’t gay, this uptight culture caused me to avoid doing anything that might be construed as gay – like touching other males. It wasn’t until college, when we all relaxed a bit, that I recognized how much I enjoyed casual touch.
Given my past, it didn’t come naturally to me. I knew warm people for whom touch was easy and comfortable. But anytime I was in contact with another human, my attention would be drawn to that point of contact. If we were talking I might just stop mid-sentence if the other person rested their hand on my shoulder (people tend to think that’s weird).
Maybe this inability to multitask with touch was a product of my American socialization. There was a fascinating study of touch done by a psychologist named Sydney Jourard in the 1960s. He watched friends in conversation in cafés in different countries. In England, there was zero touch over the course of an hour. In the United States, friends touched an average of two times. In France, there were 110 touches in an hour. And in Puerto Rico, friends touched an average of 180 times! Doesn't it seem like Americans and Brits are missing out?
In grad school, as I practiced physical exams and bodywork techniques, I had a forum to safely and thoroughly explore the potential of touch. I got a lot more comfortable with it, and for the first time in my life, people told me, “You have healing hands.” My professor of Zen Shiatsu (a Japanese form of massage) noticed this aptitude, too, but saw it merely as a prerequisite. “You’re pretty good at finding the jitsu,” she said. “Now you need to work on the kyo.”
She explained these words, jitsu and kyo, in terms of an amoeba. The amoeba, she said, departs from a state of balance through the emergence of a need – hunger, for instance. This is its kyo – an emptiness, weakness, instability, or deficiency. In response to this kyo, the creature bulges itself toward something it perceives to be edible. This bulging, the action of attempting to acquire and consume, becomes its primary focus and drive, its jitsu. Jitsu is also translated as hardness, protectiveness, fullness, or stagnation. When the amoeba’s bulge encompasses the food, its kyo – and the jitsu that arose in response – are resolved.
Humans aren’t that different from amoebas, we just like to make things more complicated. We mostly see each other’s jitsus, which are the outward responses (tension, volition, drive, armor, etc.) to an inner kyo. At best, the things we're prompted to do are accurately connected to our kyo, and we achieve something that restores balance - at least temporarily. More often, we feel an urge (jitsu) without an understanding of the kyo beneath, and we deal with it in a misguided way that never truly heals the core issue.
In the context of massage, my professor was trying to convey that the places that are begging for attention – the knots, like the amoeba’s bulges – are expressions of jitsu, a hardening of the surface in response to an inner weakness. Pressing on them is a bit like pushing that bulge of the amoeba back inward. It makes things look more balanced from the outside for a little while, but it usually doesn’t get to the root cause.
If we’re exhausted from stress (kyo) we might mount tight shoulders (jitsu). When our lower back locks up (jitsu), it might stem from weak abdominal muscles (kyo). While most practitioners work exclusively on the jitsu – the tight shoulders or back – my professor emphasized the value of addressing both the jitsu and the kyo. When a shiatsu practitioner works on a patient’s kyo, specifically intending to fill it up and stabilize it, this causes an immediate softening and opening of the jitsu.
I went through a recalibration period as I learned to look deeper, and I saw that this dynamic goes way beyond massage. It could be expressed, for instance, as a relentless pursuit of money, food, or possessions due to a deep inner void. And of course, it might show up as boys perpetually attacking each other as “gay” because of their own insecurity.
This learning process affirmed my belief in the value of touch and humans’ need for it. And, despite my training, I don’t think there’s anything wrong with getting those shoulders or back massaged - even if the practitioner knows nothing of jitsu and kyo. But I would like to encourage you, the next time some part of your body is screaming for attention, to look inside and see if there’s an even deeper place that needs to be touched.
Stay tuned for more.
Be well,
Dr. Peter Borten
[post_title] => How To Heal By Embracing Your Inner Amoeba
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[post_content] => One evening several years ago, I was taking a walk and saw something big flapping in the wind. As I got closer, I realized it was a giant plastic bag that was stuck to a tree. I thought to myself, “Someone should clean that up,” and I walked on.
It was one of those thoughts where you actually hear the specific words in your head – Someone should clean that up. And one word in particular stuck in my mind: Someone.
Then it felt like my body was compelled to slow down, and a higher part of my consciousness seemed to be telling me, “Look more closely at this pattern.”
Someone should deal with what I dislike. Make it better for me.
I turned around. I disentangled the bag from the tree. I balled it up, found a nearby dumpster, and threw it away. And though it was just one bag, it was symbolic of a shift. The shift wasn’t that I now pick up all the litter I see wherever I go. It was a recognition of how I want the world to be different without participating in the process, and it was a reminder of my ability to choose my perspective and to act on my own behalf.
Then there was one more insight from that soul place: This is (part of) what being an adult means. As children we expect our caregivers to make the world right for us; as adults, we act on our own behalf. It struck me that growing up has little to do with how many years you’ve been alive. You could be 80 years old and still expecting the world to make things right for you.
Over the following months, I paid closer attention to people who were active in consciously shaping their world. It was so inspiring. I noticed that sometimes this approach to life issued from an attitude of optimism and empowerment, like, “I have gifts to share!” or “I want to be an active participant in changing my environment.” And other times it came from an attitude of mistrust and pessimism, like, “You can’t count on anyone; that’s why you have to do everything yourself” or “People are going to mess it up if I don’t step in.”
Gradually, another characteristic of growing up was revealed: letting go of fixed positions. In those who strove to improve their world, there was always flexibility and a willingness to see more than one side of an issue, because the truth is rarely black-and-white. Children like things in absolute terms: this superhero is good and the other guy is bad; broccoli is healthy and candy is unhealthy; sharing is the right thing to do and not sharing is wrong. But adults recognize that such formulaic ways of thinking often fall short. Only by engaging with life openly and organically, with a strong appetite for the truth, do we stand to grow and evolve. This brings lots of grey and apparent paradox, but the adult mind can handle it.
How do you define growing up? What challenges you about being an adult? Share in the comments section below.
Be well,
Dr. Peter Borten
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[post_content] => It’s been about a decade since I wrote a series of articles about the “Chinese clock,” and I’ve been asked about it recently by several students and patients, so I decided it was time to revisit the topic. The “Chinese clock” is a concept of diurnal Qi movement in Traditional Chinese Medicine (TCM) – meaning, the way energy ebbs and flows through the body over the course of the day. There are twelve main organs and each has a two-hour period of the day when its energy peaks. Paying attention to this cycle can help us achieve better health and can also offer clues about where problems may originate.
Before we explore the significance of each two-hour block, it’s important to note that I’ll be discussing the organs from a TCM perspective, which is a bit deeper than our Western understanding. Through this expanded view, each organ has both physical and mental functions, and it encompasses not just the internal organ but an energetic circuit called a channel or meridian.
5:00 to 7:00 AM – Large Intestine Time
According to Edison Research, among people who wake up before 10 AM, 30% are awake by 6:00. Another 23% awaken between 6:00 and 6:30, and 13% more wake up between 6:30 and 7:00. So, 66% of morning-wakers arise during Large Intestine Time. And to put it bluntly, this is the ideal time to poop. If you’re constipated, sometimes you can reset your bowels by simply sitting on the toilet during this period and waiting. (You can improve your chances by drinking a glass of hot water.)
The expanded version of the large intestine is that it represents our capacity to “take out the trash” – that is, to recognize and let go of the garbage we’re carrying around: thoughts, beliefs, habits, and attachments that burden, disempower, or degrade us rather than serving us. Anytime is a good time to let go, but during these two hours, before most of us get busy, before we check our email, get on Facebook, read the news, and start filling our minds with data, we have a special capacity to release.
When you have a bowel movement (regardless of whether or not it’s between 5:00 and 7:00 AM), you can intend that you’re letting go of anything you’re done with, even visualizing that you’re directing it into your intestines. The large intestine also has a close relationship with the lungs, which can facilitate letting go through the breath. Every exhale is a letting go and deepening the breath while relaxing the belly can help promote the wringing (peristaltic) movement of the intestines.
7:00 to 9:00 AM – Stomach Time
The stomach is the organ that first receives the food we swallow, and begins the process of breaking it down so we can absorb its nutrients. In the broader TCM concept of the stomach, it represents our ability to receive and accept nurturing and support, to recognize the fruits of our labors, and to allow ourselves to be mothered.
The peak period of the stomach is from 7:00 to 9:00 AM, which is the ideal time to have a fortifying meal. Your body is most likely to process this meal efficiently, which lends some credibility to the saying that breakfast is the most important meal of the day. In order to make the most of this special digestive mojo, it’s actually a great time to have some vegetables and protein, rather than, say, the empty calories of a bagel and coffee.
Meanwhile, set aside at least a moment in the breakfast process to consciously choose to be nourished and to receive the abundant gifts in your life. Close your eyes, savor the tastes and textures of what you’re chewing and be grateful. Of course, you can exercise your metaphoric stomach at any time by bringing your consciousness to the “harvest” that’s available to you.
9:00 to 11:00 AM – Pi Time
Following the stomach, our food passes into the small intestine where enzymes from the pancreas and bile from the gallbladder further prepare it to be absorbed and distributed. Most of these digestive functions fall under the role of the organ called the pi (pronounced “pee”) in Chinese Medicine. (It’s often mistranslated as “spleen,” an organ that has nothing to do with digestion.) The pi has two main jobs – the transformation of food into something the body can assimilate, and the transportation of these nutrients throughout the body.
To extend this idea beyond nutrition, the pi represents your capacity to nurture and hold the many parts of yourself, your life, and your world – people, projects, career, etc. The pi is associated with the earth element and works for us much in the same way that Mother Earth holds, supports, and feeds everything that lives upon her.
During this time of day, imagine that the energy from your breakfast is making its way into all your cells, fortifying your body, and strengthening and stabilizing your mind. You can facilitate this process by avoiding stress and intense exercise at this time. Consider the whole world, even the parts you dislike or disagree with, as an extension of your own body, and exclude nourishment from none of it.
I’ll discuss the remaining time periods over the next couple weeks, but for now, I wanted to avoid giving you too much new information to digest. Think about just these three time periods in the morning, and see how you’re affected by bringing consciousness to these phases of your day.
Be well,
Dr. Peter Borten
[post_title] => Tick Tock: How to Follow the Clock of Life
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[post_content] => I grew up in the 1980s, when some of the most common insults we used were “homo,” “faggot,” “queer,” and “gay.” Clearly, we were deeply fearful of what we didn’t understand – and the ostracism that went with it. Even though I wasn’t gay, this uptight culture caused me to avoid doing anything that might be construed as gay – like touching other males. It wasn’t until college, when we all relaxed a bit, that I recognized how much I enjoyed casual touch.
Given my past, it didn’t come naturally to me. I knew warm people for whom touch was easy and comfortable. But anytime I was in contact with another human, my attention would be drawn to that point of contact. If we were talking I might just stop mid-sentence if the other person rested their hand on my shoulder (people tend to think that’s weird).
Maybe this inability to multitask with touch was a product of my American socialization. There was a fascinating study of touch done by a psychologist named Sydney Jourard in the 1960s. He watched friends in conversation in cafés in different countries. In England, there was zero touch over the course of an hour. In the United States, friends touched an average of two times. In France, there were 110 touches in an hour. And in Puerto Rico, friends touched an average of 180 times! Doesn't it seem like Americans and Brits are missing out?
In grad school, as I practiced physical exams and bodywork techniques, I had a forum to safely and thoroughly explore the potential of touch. I got a lot more comfortable with it, and for the first time in my life, people told me, “You have healing hands.” My professor of Zen Shiatsu (a Japanese form of massage) noticed this aptitude, too, but saw it merely as a prerequisite. “You’re pretty good at finding the jitsu,” she said. “Now you need to work on the kyo.”
She explained these words, jitsu and kyo, in terms of an amoeba. The amoeba, she said, departs from a state of balance through the emergence of a need – hunger, for instance. This is its kyo – an emptiness, weakness, instability, or deficiency. In response to this kyo, the creature bulges itself toward something it perceives to be edible. This bulging, the action of attempting to acquire and consume, becomes its primary focus and drive, its jitsu. Jitsu is also translated as hardness, protectiveness, fullness, or stagnation. When the amoeba’s bulge encompasses the food, its kyo – and the jitsu that arose in response – are resolved.
Humans aren’t that different from amoebas, we just like to make things more complicated. We mostly see each other’s jitsus, which are the outward responses (tension, volition, drive, armor, etc.) to an inner kyo. At best, the things we're prompted to do are accurately connected to our kyo, and we achieve something that restores balance - at least temporarily. More often, we feel an urge (jitsu) without an understanding of the kyo beneath, and we deal with it in a misguided way that never truly heals the core issue.
In the context of massage, my professor was trying to convey that the places that are begging for attention – the knots, like the amoeba’s bulges – are expressions of jitsu, a hardening of the surface in response to an inner weakness. Pressing on them is a bit like pushing that bulge of the amoeba back inward. It makes things look more balanced from the outside for a little while, but it usually doesn’t get to the root cause.
If we’re exhausted from stress (kyo) we might mount tight shoulders (jitsu). When our lower back locks up (jitsu), it might stem from weak abdominal muscles (kyo). While most practitioners work exclusively on the jitsu – the tight shoulders or back – my professor emphasized the value of addressing both the jitsu and the kyo. When a shiatsu practitioner works on a patient’s kyo, specifically intending to fill it up and stabilize it, this causes an immediate softening and opening of the jitsu.
I went through a recalibration period as I learned to look deeper, and I saw that this dynamic goes way beyond massage. It could be expressed, for instance, as a relentless pursuit of money, food, or possessions due to a deep inner void. And of course, it might show up as boys perpetually attacking each other as “gay” because of their own insecurity.
This learning process affirmed my belief in the value of touch and humans’ need for it. And, despite my training, I don’t think there’s anything wrong with getting those shoulders or back massaged - even if the practitioner knows nothing of jitsu and kyo. But I would like to encourage you, the next time some part of your body is screaming for attention, to look inside and see if there’s an even deeper place that needs to be touched.
Stay tuned for more.
Be well,
Dr. Peter Borten
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