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As a young adult I often stayed at the beautiful Marin Headlands hostel just north of San Francisco. I was there one weekend while a large group of missionaries was passing through. We were all sharing the same kitchen space and I was chopping some broccoli when a cute young woman around my age approached me. We started talking and I thought it was going well. I have always enjoyed conversing about spirituality and religion, even with people of different beliefs than my own.
At the time I was immersed in learning about Advaita – nondualism – which was blowing my mind. Nondual philosophy asserts that, although we perceive many things that may feel separate, in reality everything is an expression of a single Oneness experiencing itself in infinite ways.
Some people call this Oneness God or Goddess or Source or Divine or Dao. What’s important isn’t the name but the experience of this connection, and how it redefines how we see reality.
I had in my suitcase a book called Aghora in which an eccentric spiritual teacher explains that since everything is God, both sex and eating are simply acts of “putting God into God.” So, when this missionary woman asked me what I was doing, I guess I thought I was being clever by replying, “Oh, just chopping up some God.”
She was clearly taken aback, so I explained that if the whole universe is an expression of one God, then broccoli was of course included, and therefore I was chopping up some God to put into God (myself). She was speechless for a moment, then said – a bit louder than was called for, I thought – “God is not broccoli!” and walked away.
There were several lessons for me in this story, starting with (1) nobody likes a smug person pushing their buttons, and (2) if you truly want to make a difference in the world you need to meet people where they are. But aside from my social failure, maybe the most important lesson was that there’s often a huge difference between the description of an experience and the experience itself. In other words, to understand something intellectually tells us nothing of how we’d be affected by experiencing it.
In lectures, I used to explain how physics seems to “prove” nondualism, hoping that even the nonspiritual types in the class would be won over. I’d point out that while each of us feels we’re separate from everyone else in the classroom, we and the world around us are all just different configurations of the same fundamental stuff – subatomic particles or even more fundamental fluctuations of energy. It’s a powerful idea, but I doubt it’s caused many people to conduct themselves differently towards their neighbors.
For me and most people I know, life changes have come through direct experiences of this Oneness in non-ordinary states of consciousness facilitated mainly by meditation, yoga, ritual, self-inquiry, immersion in nature, music, acupuncture, art, pain, dance, conscious breathing, interpersonal connection, and entheogenic substances. Ordinary reality (even with impressive-yet-unactualized spiritual concepts) appears random and soulless by comparison.
I didn’t have the chance to ask, “If God is not broccoli, what is broccoli?” We tend to draw vague, subjective lines around life and then deem one side worthy of our reverence and the other unworthy, but the abolition of such lines isn’t automatically liberating. I’ve seen people, myself included, latch onto the idea that everything is Divine and then fall into nihilism. Because, if it’s all God, why try? Why care? Why choose one path over any other?
This kind of thinking is a sure sign that we’re operating from a mental concept and not actually experiencing what it represents. It would be similar to take a psychedelic mushroom and hold it between your teeth, telling yourself, “So this is what psychedelic mushrooms are all about. Meh.”
Your homework is to determine whether or not broccoli is God. Since “God” is a spiritual concept, it can’t really be assessed in ordinary reality. Everyday thinking needs to fall away. You can get there using any of the approaches I mentioned above.
Be well,
Peter
P.S. I’d like to share one of my favorite quotes on nondualism from Tantra scholar Christopher Wallis in Tantra Illuminated (slightly abridged for space):
“Since reality is One, and everything is equally an expression of the one divine Light of Consciousness, every experience by definition is an experience of God… If we propose that some things are more God than others, like concentrated orange juice versus watered-down orange juice, then we must propose the existence of something that is not God that waters down divinity. But no such thing can be found, at least in this philosophy, because 1) the definition of God here is the unbounded Light of Consciousness, 2) everything that is known to exist is an object of experience, and 3) every experience is by definition pervaded by consciousness. Therefore, this – whatever is happening right now – is as God as it gets. Now, if you are in a miserable or banal life situation, you may be disappointed by this announcement. But notice I said, ‘This is as God as it gets,’ not, ‘This is as free as it gets.’ Freedom means actually experiencing the divinity in each moment.”
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I am often asked, “What’s the difference between acupuncture and dry needling?” So, I thought I’d answer the question for everyone in our community who might be interested, and offer some history and science along the way.
“Dry needling” is a term that has grown tremendously in usage over the past decade because it’s a newly adopted practice by many physical therapists. It essentially consists of inserting acupuncture needles into tight muscles. In many states, acupuncturists have fought physical therapists’ attempts to expand their scope of practice to include this procedure. However, physical therapists outnumber acupuncturists by about seven to one, which means stronger state organizations and greater legal power.
Acupuncturists argue that physical therapists are essentially stealing their medicine and calling it something different. In some states physical therapists can practice dry needling with no training in it; in others they typically complete a 55-hour course. By comparison, a licensed acupuncturist generally receives about 500 hours of instruction in the acupuncture-specific portion of their training.
For a few centuries in the West and a couple millennia in China, observers of the human body have known about nodules that occur in tight muscles and are associated with chronic, complex pain patterns. You might just call them “knots.” In the mid-1900s a doctor named Janet Travell coined the term myofascial trigger point to describe this phenomenon. About 90% of them are found at the locations of acupuncture points, which were mapped out on bronze statues at least 1,000 years B.C.E.
Travell explained that myofascial trigger points are irritable regions in our connective tissue (muscle and fascia) that get stuck in a contracted state. They make muscle fibers taut, reducing muscle strength and range of motion, and causing pain, numbness, and other symptoms that often spread to areas far from where they originate. In many cases, what we perceive to be a visceral problem (heart attack, ulcer, migraine, irritable bowel, urinary tract infection, etc.) is actually the symptom of one or more trigger points. I believe trigger points are responsible for most of the physical pain humans experience.
Travell and her colleague David Simons went on to chart the locations and symptoms of trigger points in every major muscle. Travell became John F. Kennedy’s doctor (the first female presidential physician) and his family credited her with saving Kennedy’s political career by curing his back pain through the release of myofascial trigger points.
Travell (and researchers before her) discovered that it’s possible to release a trigger point through a simple procedure she called “ischemic compression.” It basically entails pressing firmly on the center of a trigger point for about half a minute until it softens. Travell’s maps and manual techniques for releasing trigger points were adopted by physical therapists over the following decades. (For what it’s worth, body workers have probably been doing ischemic compression for ages, without calling it ischemic compression.)
Travell also found that she was able to release trigger points by injecting them with numbing agents or saline. However, it emerged that the most effective aspect of this practice wasn’t the injection of fluid, but the mechanical act of probing at the trigger point with a needle. That is, a release could be accomplished even with a “dry” needle, without injecting anything.
Based on this new expression, one could say that all acupuncture is “dry needling.” This is precisely what acupuncturists have always done, although the insertion of needles into these local epicenters of pain is generally just one aspect of an effective acupuncture treatment. What makes an acupuncture treatment holistic (i.e., addressing the whole person) is that the treatment also addresses the underlying mechanisms that led to the surface issue (e.g., stress, diet, digestive problems, more global structural or energetic imbalances, etc.).
In the 1980s, an osteopath and acupuncturist named Mark Seem, founder of Tri-State Acupuncture College in New York City, began integrating Travell’s trigger point maps into traditional acupuncture. He met with Travell and demonstrated his approach. Travell immediately recognized the value of using a much thinner, solid, and springy acupuncture needle (which has a cone-shaped tip), as compared to the hypodermic needles she had been using (which have a scalpel-like hollow beveled tip).
Over the following decades, physical therapists gradually discovered that “dry needling” with acupuncture needles is often a faster and more effective trigger point release method as compared to the various forms of pressure, friction, stretching, exercise, and structural education that have been part of the physical therapists’ palette for their hundred-ish year history. In court cases between acupuncturists and physical therapists, PTs often argue that the insertion of needles into trigger points is a simply an extension of these “manual therapies” described in their scope of practice, and the decision comes down to whether or not the judge agrees.
The other common argument by PTs is that there are many differences between dry needling and acupuncture. In my opinion, having observed PTs doing dry needling and having studied many styles of acupuncture, there’s clear evidence that acupuncturists have been doing everything encompassed in dry needling for a very long time. PTs have insisted that because they know nothing of the acupuncture meridians (energy circuits along which acupuncture points are located), dry needling therefore isn’t acupuncture. But this is like saying that because you haven’t studied anatomy, when you cut into someone with a scalpel you’re not actually doing surgery. Further, there are many systems of acupuncture, several of which don’t utilize meridians.
Enough about the arguments. My purpose isn’t to determine whether or not it’s right for physical therapists to do dry needling, but to clarify the differences in the consumer’s experience.
While acupuncture is great for pain, not all acupuncturists are pain specialists, and most acupuncturists don’t specifically target the trigger points mapped by Travell. If that’s what you’re looking for, it may be worth seeking out an acupuncturist who specializes in pain. Or you might be happy with a skilled physical therapist who does dry needling.
Both acupuncturists and physical therapists run the spectrum from mediocre to brilliantly talented. I have no doubt that there are some masterful PTs out there who get great results doing acupuncture (dry needling) – perhaps better for structural issues than an average-level acupuncturist. I have had patients ask me to “fix” them after a painful dry needling session from a PT that worsened their condition, and I’ve had other patients report good results from dry needling.
If you are skittish about needles, you may not enjoy dry needling from a physical therapist, since it tends to be more intense than the average acupuncture treatment. That said, any form of acupuncture that specifically focuses on releasing trigger points is unlikely to be painless. Regardless of the style of acupuncture I’m performing, I always tell my patients I’m not the person to see if they don’t want to feel anything; I believe a certain degree of sensation is productive.
If you’re someone who cares about how much training your practitioner has received, perhaps it’s meaningful to you that an acupuncturist typically spends ten times as many hours learning their craft than a physical therapist spends learning dry needling. (And virtually all of the acupuncturist’s continuing education will be in acupuncture as well.)
If your primary concern is having your treatments covered by insurance, you’re more likely to get this from a physical therapist. There are some acupuncturists who bill insurance, but more often it will be up to you to submit your receipts and hope for reimbursement.
If it’s important to you that your treatment gets to the root and addresses the whole you, including non-structural issues, you’ll probably be more satisfied with treatment from an acupuncturist. The common experience of “going to acu-land” as some of my patients call it – i.e., becoming deeply relaxed or even having a transcendent experience – isn’t part of the dry needling session. Some would consider the peaceful effect of acupuncture merely a pleasant bonus, but I believe it’s often much more instrumental in the overall outcome than people realize. How often do we stop, rest, and drop all of our concerns? It can be akin to the benefit of a session of deep meditation. The alleviation of stress and a nervous system “reset” is no small thing, especially when stress is the root cause of so much pain.
That said, I find that many patients honestly aren’t concerned with a holistic treatment, and that’s fine. They want a practitioner who will get right into the painful area and work the hell out of it. It might be intense and they might feel beat up afterwards, but there’s a time and place for this kind of work if it’s effective. Personally, I don’t mind receiving aggressive treatments. Occasionally they’ve been miraculous (other times they’ve left me temporarily crippled with no relief). And of course, if the pain itself is one’s primary stressor, one could argue that getting rid of the pain should be a higher priority than alleviating stress (though we don’t have to choose one or the other). In my experience it’s a slight minority of acupuncturists who work this way, while it’s quite common for a physical therapist.
Whew! That was a long-winded exploration of this topic. I thought about removing parts of this article to shorten it, but having had this conversation so many times, I’ve found that many people are curious about all the facets of this subject. I hope I offered some clarity.
Be well,
Dr. Peter Borten
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I had been hearing about an impressive tai chi teacher named Gregory Fong since moving to Portland in 1997. It was about five years later that I convinced Briana to join me one evening and we drove to Chinatown to check out his class. Sifu (“master”) Fong, as everyone called him, was probably not more than about five feet tall, but there was something intimidating about him. He welcomed us warmly, then said, “I have two questions for you. First, do you like pain?”
Do I like pain? What is the appropriate answer here? I mumbled something like, “Maybe if there is a good reason.”
He smiled. “Question two. Do you like to work hard?”
Oh boy. I thought about asking him to define the word “like,” but instead responded with, “I guess?”
He chuckled. “Alright, you don’t know if you like pain or hard work. Just sit down on that chair then.” He pointed to a wooden folding chair against a wall covered with framed portraits of Chinese men. “Rest your hands on your thighs. Don’t lean back. Lift your feet off the floor just high enough for one sheet of paper to fit under them. See you later.” And he walked away for a long time. You can try that right now if you’re sitting.
Years later, having done a lot of hard work and endured much pain in his classes, I reflected that I did in fact like to work hard. I still didn’t like pain, but I had learned the difference between avoiding it versus using it and finding a way through it. And I decided that those two questions are useful preliminaries before almost any endeavor.
They came to mind as I was thinking about the upcoming launch of our Sacred Expansion course. It’s a required program for all of our life coaches, and worthwhile for anyone interested in growing beyond their self-imposed limitations and releasing blocks to having an exceptional life.
In the context of Sacred Expansion, if I were to ask, “Do you like pain?” what I mean is, are you willing to voluntarily experience discomfort as part of discovering what’s holding you back? Are you willing to experience the tension of psycho-spiritual growing pains? Are you willing to be uncomfortable in the short term in order to release the long term discomfort you’ve gotten used to? Are you willing to use your pain to initiate a breakthrough?
As for the question “Do you like to work hard?” what I mean is, are you willing to stick with the work of unraveling your inner knots even when it’s difficult? Are you willing to choose a higher purpose – for instance: freedom, peace, spiritual connection, joy, service to your species and planet – over and over and over? Are you willing to break some habits? Are you willing to challenge your own thoughts? Are you willing to explore parts of yourself you aren’t comfortable with? All of these tasks represent a certain form of work.
By liking hard work, I don’t mean that you get points for having a hard life or that there’s merit in making things unnecessarily difficult. In fact, a core principle Sifu taught was that hard work and peace aren’t mutually exclusive. We can be at ease while simultaneously working our hardest. Regardless of the form that our work takes, there’s no getting around the importance of consistent effort in the direction of our dreams if we want them to come to fruition.
If you’ve even thought, “I know I have greater potential than this” or, “I feel like I’m missing out on my superpowers” or, “If I could release all this baggage, I could finally feel free!” read more about Sacred Expansion. We’d love to have you join us.
Be well,
Peter
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As a young adult I often stayed at the beautiful Marin Headlands hostel just north of San Francisco. I was there one weekend while a large group of missionaries was passing through. We were all sharing the same kitchen space and I was chopping some broccoli when a cute young woman around my age approached me. We started talking and I thought it was going well. I have always enjoyed conversing about spirituality and religion, even with people of different beliefs than my own.
At the time I was immersed in learning about Advaita – nondualism – which was blowing my mind. Nondual philosophy asserts that, although we perceive many things that may feel separate, in reality everything is an expression of a single Oneness experiencing itself in infinite ways.
Some people call this Oneness God or Goddess or Source or Divine or Dao. What’s important isn’t the name but the experience of this connection, and how it redefines how we see reality.
I had in my suitcase a book called Aghora in which an eccentric spiritual teacher explains that since everything is God, both sex and eating are simply acts of “putting God into God.” So, when this missionary woman asked me what I was doing, I guess I thought I was being clever by replying, “Oh, just chopping up some God.”
She was clearly taken aback, so I explained that if the whole universe is an expression of one God, then broccoli was of course included, and therefore I was chopping up some God to put into God (myself). She was speechless for a moment, then said – a bit louder than was called for, I thought – “God is not broccoli!” and walked away.
There were several lessons for me in this story, starting with (1) nobody likes a smug person pushing their buttons, and (2) if you truly want to make a difference in the world you need to meet people where they are. But aside from my social failure, maybe the most important lesson was that there’s often a huge difference between the description of an experience and the experience itself. In other words, to understand something intellectually tells us nothing of how we’d be affected by experiencing it.
In lectures, I used to explain how physics seems to “prove” nondualism, hoping that even the nonspiritual types in the class would be won over. I’d point out that while each of us feels we’re separate from everyone else in the classroom, we and the world around us are all just different configurations of the same fundamental stuff – subatomic particles or even more fundamental fluctuations of energy. It’s a powerful idea, but I doubt it’s caused many people to conduct themselves differently towards their neighbors.
For me and most people I know, life changes have come through direct experiences of this Oneness in non-ordinary states of consciousness facilitated mainly by meditation, yoga, ritual, self-inquiry, immersion in nature, music, acupuncture, art, pain, dance, conscious breathing, interpersonal connection, and entheogenic substances. Ordinary reality (even with impressive-yet-unactualized spiritual concepts) appears random and soulless by comparison.
I didn’t have the chance to ask, “If God is not broccoli, what is broccoli?” We tend to draw vague, subjective lines around life and then deem one side worthy of our reverence and the other unworthy, but the abolition of such lines isn’t automatically liberating. I’ve seen people, myself included, latch onto the idea that everything is Divine and then fall into nihilism. Because, if it’s all God, why try? Why care? Why choose one path over any other?
This kind of thinking is a sure sign that we’re operating from a mental concept and not actually experiencing what it represents. It would be similar to take a psychedelic mushroom and hold it between your teeth, telling yourself, “So this is what psychedelic mushrooms are all about. Meh.”
Your homework is to determine whether or not broccoli is God. Since “God” is a spiritual concept, it can’t really be assessed in ordinary reality. Everyday thinking needs to fall away. You can get there using any of the approaches I mentioned above.
Be well,
Peter
P.S. I’d like to share one of my favorite quotes on nondualism from Tantra scholar Christopher Wallis in Tantra Illuminated (slightly abridged for space):
“Since reality is One, and everything is equally an expression of the one divine Light of Consciousness, every experience by definition is an experience of God… If we propose that some things are more God than others, like concentrated orange juice versus watered-down orange juice, then we must propose the existence of something that is not God that waters down divinity. But no such thing can be found, at least in this philosophy, because 1) the definition of God here is the unbounded Light of Consciousness, 2) everything that is known to exist is an object of experience, and 3) every experience is by definition pervaded by consciousness. Therefore, this – whatever is happening right now – is as God as it gets. Now, if you are in a miserable or banal life situation, you may be disappointed by this announcement. But notice I said, ‘This is as God as it gets,’ not, ‘This is as free as it gets.’ Freedom means actually experiencing the divinity in each moment.”
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[is_category] => 1
[is_tag] =>
[is_tax] =>
[is_search] =>
[is_feed] =>
[is_comment_feed] =>
[is_trackback] =>
[is_home] =>
[is_privacy_policy] =>
[is_404] =>
[is_embed] =>
[is_paged] =>
[is_admin] =>
[is_attachment] =>
[is_singular] =>
[is_robots] =>
[is_favicon] =>
[is_posts_page] =>
[is_post_type_archive] =>
[query_vars_hash:WP_Query:private] => 38077fd4366a515c1892b424ca1fd55d
[query_vars_changed:WP_Query:private] =>
[thumbnails_cached] =>
[allow_query_attachment_by_filename:protected] =>
[stopwords:WP_Query:private] =>
[compat_fields:WP_Query:private] => Array
(
[0] => query_vars_hash
[1] => query_vars_changed
)
[compat_methods:WP_Query:private] => Array
(
[0] => init_query_flags
[1] => parse_tax_query
)
)