Usually, that is enough to satisfy the questioner and over time I’ve learned to simply accept that the general public associates mastery of acupuncture with being Chinese and being able to read Chinese characters – even if it is also true that there is an abundance of skilled practitioners from other countries and races. It is honorable to respect elder wisdom and the source of knowledge and no doubt good for American egos to learn a little humility and accept that other cultures have something of value to contribute to the world.

But the question touches on a deeper misconception which became clear to me during my recent visit to Taiwan: The intellectual and scientific cultural milieu which dominates modern thinking today tends to create a culture of expertism. Reduced to its most blunt (and probably unconscious) stereotype – it supports the view that wisdom and skill in any field come from external sources – books, schools, authorities, acclaimed masters, etc. In doing so, it minimizes and denies the intuitive wisdom potential within every living being. It also ends up being racist in my opinion, since the elevation of the scientific view tends to minimize the value of other views – which though often based on rational thought, don’t necessarily fit the parameters of modern western research science– for example, the Iroquois concept of basing any decision upon the potential effects seven generations into the future.

My wife’s family is Taiwanese and they always make great effort to ensure my visits there are both delightful and meaningful. This last time, “Shi Fu sister” told Upel, my wife, about a master acupuncturist they knew who practiced in the city of Hukou, and wondered whether I would like meeting with him and perhaps asking some questions.

“Yes”, I replied. Although I don’t speak Chinese and would need a translator, certainly I would learn something, and of course, there would always be plenty of good tea and food. I did learn some new points, observed his needle technique (made everyone jump!), and there was plenty of excellent tea and food.

Sitting in the large shadow of the Master though, for a brief moment, I began to doubt my 15 years of experience as an acupuncturist and the thousands of satisfied patients I’ve helped. I wondered whether I should request an apprenticeship with the Master. Then I came to my senses and remembered to trust the path that I am on. The road to knowledge and understanding is long with many obstacles and dead ends. One always needs to remember humility, balance, patience. There are many systems of healing, many schools of acupuncture, and many ways to truth.

Yesterday, I had breakfast with a scientist friend and our conversation turned to global warming and the future of humanity on Planet Earth. I was inspired by his ability to recognize that while technology held a lot of promise for break through innovations which could be game changers for modern civilization, that there was also a need for an inner revolution not led by scientific experts but by awakened hearts.

Of course, there are “masters” and “experts” that can teach us many skills – in acupuncture and in modern life in general, but we should be wary of self-doubt or being misled by shiny packaging or charisma that says mastery and definitive truth should appear in a certain language, with a certain price-tag, hair cut, color of robe, or that it requires digital readouts and microprocessors.

Visitors to CommuniChi will note that I prefer to hang beautiful art on my walls rather than diplomas and certifications. It’s my way of stepping aside from the ego-expert game. You – the patient, the person reading this – you are the expert – in our view. Our job at the clinic is to help reveal that to you….and then get out of the way so that you can truly shine.

As I thought about meeting the laoshi, I had no expectations. Traditionally, any great Master would necessarily check out the disciple before revealing any deep secrets or imparting any knowledge which could be used ignorantly or with harmful intent. Quick possibly, I would fail the test. Additionally, I have never found the time to learn Chinese so everything would need to be translated by my wife – another potentially serious strike against me. At least there would probably be some good tea to be enjoyed and if I payed attention, probably I would learn some tea table etiquette or something.

Sure enough, as the last few patients were filing into the treatment room, the doctor’s wife led us all upstairs to a traditional tea table and began pouring small cups of tea and passing peanuts and sweets around. I do not often drink tea, but found myself drinking the smooth tasting brew almost as quickly as each successive cup was filled.

The nuns joked that I had not learned Chinese yet and diligently set about correcting that deficiency, peppering me with little bits of conversation that I barely understood and my wife patiently translated. Eventually the doctor entered the room. Everyone stood up to greet him. He was a short man with thin but jet black hair, a bit of a paunch belly, but a noticeably powerful aura of Chi about him. He leaned forward with enthusiasm as he spoke and laughed often.  He asked me if I could guess his age, and though I had already heard he was in his seventies, I figured it would be polite to guess low so I said sixty five. I acted surprised to learn that he was 74 years old. He did look very robust and healthy for his age. He had been working for the last 4 hours with only a 30 minute break but did not show any signs of being tired.

At first impression, he struck me as having a slightly inflated ego, but very soon, I changed my opinion, deciding that he was simply sharing his joy of practicing the healing arts.  We watched several short videos of him from years before performing external Qi Gong on patients, some with cancer. One patient with stomach cancer was given a few weeks to live by regular doctors and after Dr. Chen’s treatment’s, he lived another five years. In the videos, the patient was always seen lying prone on a table, Dr. Chen was waving his arms and fluttering his fingers, almost like conducting an invisible orchestra, with the patient’s limbs flailing about in synchrony with his gestures. He never touched the patient.  I had never seen anything like it before, and had I not studied Chinese medicine and Qi Gong myself, I think the video would have seemed spooky – like some kind of dark magic, or perhaps just faked.

He asked me how I inserted the needle and I gestured my typical needle tap with tube. He laughed a bit and seemed to shake his head in disdain, but upon answering a few other of his questions, I seemed to have passed some sort of test as he then began receiving my questions.

Although he used herbs, he said that acupuncture can be effective as a stand-alone modality. Once the needles are inserted, at that moment, the medicine enters the channels and begins to balance the Chi and Blood. He typically only used 2 or 3 needles for most conditions, with direct needle insertion (no tube), and went for powerful stimulation, unless the patient was weak and then he would use lighter stimulation. Treatment times tended to be short, 5 to 15 minutes of needle retention, and he saw the patients one by one.  I frequently heard him say “Jing, Chi, Shen” – the Three Treasures of Chi cultivation. He always assessed each patient’s Chi to determine the treatment using four traditional methods – visually inspecting, smelling, palpating, and listening (including asking questions and listening to the answers).

One of the nuns had a headache and upon a short discussion, she lay upon the table whence he thrust a needle quickly and nearly up to the hilt in the vicinity of Hegu (LI4). She gasped in obvious pain but quickly relaxed afterwards. I told him that I would lose half of my patients after the first treatment if I went for that much Chi stimulation. I also remembered the community acupuncture principle of allowing the charged energy field of a room full of patients to do the work of balancing the Chi in each patient rather than relying on few special points strongly stimulated.

As acupuncturists and practitioners devoted to alleviating suffering, I think it is important that we accept that there will always be different methods which are more suitable in some cultures and communities. This is simply called using skillful means. Asians have a long standing acceptance of acupuncture and aren’t deterred by the strong Chi technique that is commonly used by doctors in that part of the world. In America, the situation is different. It may be true that the chi of Americans tends to run closer to the surface of the skin.

We need to employ flexible thinking if we wish to be of service to others, avoiding rigid dogmatism. Also, we need to be open to learning. We need to not be lazy, avoiding being satisfied with any limited achievements our ego may wish to stand upon. Learning is endless. I’m going back to visit Laoshi Chen for lunch in a few days. I can’t wait to get back to CommuniChi.

This month’s story begins with something His Holiness the Dalai Lama said recently while addressing a conference of 300 doctors from India and Nepal: “Don’t be like machines, treat patients with care and warm heartedness. Love is important.”  We are trained to be so technical and professional in American life in general and the medical arts in particular. A more enlightened awareness that does not look at life as simply a series of business transactions is too often lost.

A patient walks in – someone who has challenged the community spirit of the clinic in the past, and my own patience.  I’ve asked her – as a courtesy to other patients – not to smoke immediately before coming into the space as many people are sensitive to toxic odors on her clothes, but she can’t seem to process that request. Her life is possibly overwhelming and fortunately, the clinic has enough space that challenging people can usually be accommodated without causing waves.

Her face looks puffier today as she trudges up the stairs to the clinic. She remarks cheerfully how she had found a new route to the clinic on the train and we engage in some light conversation to connect our spirits. I don’t want to say “small talk” because what may seem small on the surface could be really big and enduring if the intention behind it is powerful.

She tells me that it’s good to be back. She misses the acupuncture. Then she whispers that it has helped her kick her heroin habit. As I put the needles in, I again notice her pockmarked flesh, the bruises on her limbs, her uncombed dry frizzy hair.  So easy to judge people by their appearances, their outer shells, and fail to honor the courage, the determination to live and be happy, the silent inner perfection that resides within everyone. That’s what we at CommuniChi try to awaken with the delicate placement of a dozen needles – plus or minus. The doctors have told her she only has a matter of months to live, but perhaps they’ll be wrong. While I can offer opinions and projections on the future too, I try not to spend too much time there. Healing is always ever in the present moment.

As we are talking and I am starting to place the needles, it suddenly dawns on me  that she is a native American. She had never told me so, but I recognized something in her accent and after asking her, she said she belonged to some tribe from North Dakota.  “Sioux?” I ask. “Yes, I think that’s it.” She starts to tell me about her mother, but another thought interrupts her.

I remember family stories about my great grandfather, General James Van Voast, pursuing Red Cloud of the Oglala Sioux – a very sad chapter in our nation’s history, and one that is still playing out in front of me in the life story of my patient. There is so much suffering in this world – oceans of tears. We have two choices in response – turn a cold shoulder and complain about difficult patients and people, or open our hearts with compassion.

As I finish placing the needles, I tell her there are only good spirits in the room. She smiles and thanks me, quickly drifting into a deep relaxed nap. Silently, I thank her for the privilege of connecting with her beneath the superficial layers of illusion and connecting with the true spirit of healing – love and acceptance.

One of my passions in life besides acupuncture and meditation is exploring my cultural conditioning – the stereotypes around race, class, gender and materialistic thinking to mention a few of my inner shadows. The work of dismantling my internal hard wiring is essential if I wish to break free of dysfunctional patterns that hold me prisoner in a small minded view of the world. As I participate with others to facilitate a broader healing in the world, peeling back the layers of my personal history, the onion sometimes brings sadness and pain, but always a sense of new life, a freedom that has never been realized following the well worn paths of running away from problems, or running towards temporary sensory bandaids of which our culture provides many.

Last week, while preparing for a diversity meeting, I remembered an old friend from high school around 1976 – Jim – (not his real name) with whom I was partnered in tennis doubles. He was tall and although I was generally the steadier player, occasionally he would unleash a powerful serve to win us the point. The boys all affectionately called him “Jigga”, although I never understood until a year or two ago that nickname originated as an extremely hurtful racial slur used against black people, even though recently popularized in rap music. Come to think of it, even the tennis coach called him that, and he had a Doctorate in Psychology. I confess to feeling a little angry about that.

He had slightly brown skin and dark kinky hair, but I don’t remember him as black. He was just someone who looked slightly different. Of course, it makes sense that I don’t have any racial memories from that period of my life. My world view was white, untouched by the views of a huge portion of humanity beyond my New England fairy tale world.  My small Maine town had no people of color that I was aware of. 

Fast forward to 2012 after years of inner work, third world travel, and study, I’ve begun to see things from a broader perspective, but the garbage is still in there deep and packed down really hard by centuries of dominant cultural messaging. Unlearning institutional racism isn’t like updating your hard drive. If it were as simple as popping in a new CD, we could come out of a weekend workshop and skip all the painful hangovers of realizing how stuck we are in pre-programmed cultural messaging. With the push of a button, we could delete all the painful memories of hurtful things we’ve done or said or the memories of the kind deeds and words that we haven’t done or said, merely because we were afraid to step away from our privilege, our family, our peers, and listen to our heart.

It isn’t easy. It’s a life long gradual journey, and maybe that’s a good thing because human minds and hearts are extremely delicate things and too much change too fast can cause them to rip apart and break. We need to be gentle, take it slow, breathe in, breathe out, and take steady but sure steps on the path to freedom.

So as I was thinking about my friend Jim from 35 years ago and it occurred to me that I could probably track down Jim and at least apologize for the times that I ignorantly repeated hateful, demeaning language, raising the consciousness vibration in tune with the anti-hatred awareness sweeping the nation of late.  I found Jim’s name online in the white pages, still living in the hometown of my youth. I punched in the numbers on my cell phone, which already felt odd because when I left Yarmouth at age eighteen, we were still using rotary dial telephones. Was I out of my mind? What if he resented my apology? Was he in denial about his own racial oppression? These thoughts raced through my mind as I reconnected with my heart and my pure intention to reach out beyond the past and connect on a higher plane of truth.

A woman picked up the phone, the accent unmistakeably Maine. “Hi, my name is Jordan and I used to be on the tennis team at YHS with Jim and wondering if he is around?”  “Hey Jim, it’s for you.” We exchange some light banter over the fact that neither of us have played tennis in 20 years and then he lines up for an overhead smash: “So what’s the reason for this call?”  My meek high school persona cowers for a moment, but then I make a daring lunge and keep the ball in play:  “I’m sorry for calling you Jigga back then, I only recently realized how hurtful my speech was.”

He laughs somewhat abruptly and tells me no need for an apology. “I’m a Caucasian”, he says with a mixture of pride and defensiveness.  Okay, part Hawaiian he admits when I ask about his brown skin. “But why do people always have to play the race card? There’s no such thing as racism anymore, it’s all just a bunch of politics.” Another smash, but I saw it coming and return the ball to the middle of his court, giving him room to work:

“You know Jim, I’ve been teaching meditation in prison lately…did you know that that the prisons are full of people of color? I went to Haiti a few years ago to do trauma acupuncture after the earthquake and it brought me to tears to see so many people – all dark skinned – living in tent cities made of ripped plastic and blankets, and walking barefoot through the mud and rubble. You can’t tell those people that race is just a political football.”

Oops, did I put the ball away? Is Jim still in the conversation with me, or has he walked off the court? Suddenly an unscheduled patient walks into the clinic and I hastily move to wrap things up. The awkwardness factor is feeling pretty high. I tell him it was great to hear his voice and he cheerily shares similar sentiments.  I feel sad about the gulf in understanding between us, but perhaps my words planted a seed.  I invite him to contact me if he ever wants to continue the conversation. I know we will meet again, maybe not this life, but the path to freedom is very long. May all beings be peaceful and free from the internalized oppression of either imagined racial superiority or racial inferiority. May we all awaken to our true unlimited potential, capable of seeing every other living being as something of unique beauty and intrinsic value. May this world be free of suffering.

High fees attract only the most committed patients and consequently have the highest chance of success, and thus referrals. This is especially true where patient involvement is necessary. For example, a patient who is willing to pay $300 for a “stop smoking” treatment is likely more committed to stopping than one who pays $10 for the same treatment.

Acupuncture Today February, 2012, Vol. 13, Issue 02; “Many Offices, Many Lessons”.

This is the totally recycled BS that I have been hearing from one corner of the acupuncture profession since I began school in the early 1990s – insinuating that wealthy people value their health more than working class citizens of more modest financial means. Only an ignorant fool would pay $300 for one acupuncture treatment, believing that somehow a) quick fixes for our health imbalances are available at a price, and b) people who don’t have that cash to throw around somehow value their health less. This is privileged nonsense.

Community acupuncture clinics like CommuniChi offer acupuncture on a sliding scale of $15 to $35 per treatment, with a one time evaluation fee of $10 on the first visit. We assume that you care about your health deeply regardless of how much you choose to pay on our scale.

Our clinic receives no federal subsidies, no grants, and we do not participate in any insurance networks. We are totally dependent upon the community we serve, and our satisfied patients who tell their friends and family about this low cost, self-empowering, ancient medicine.

On Wednesday, February 1st, we are celebrating our 5 Year Anniversary and offering free acupuncture to new patients. Make an Appointment.

Thanks for your support.