As I sit down to write this final chapter, it’s the beginning of September. We’ve just entered the fifth phase of the year: the harvest season. Harvest is a time of abundance, and here in northwestern Vermont, our local farms are overflowing with food. Corn, squash, tomatoes, melons, kale, eggplants, and zucchini fill the farm stands. Our community-supported agriculture (CSA) share from the small, organic, family-run farm down the road provides us with bags full of these foods each week. Not only are they nourishment for the body—it’s also a visual feast. The vibrant hues of yellow, orange, green, purple, and white fill our plates each day.
In our garden, harvest is also at its peak. The tomatoes and greens I wrote about planting over the summer in chapter 8 continue to provide us with an incredible amount of food. Our chard plants are four feet high, each with at least a dozen big, dark-green delicious leaves. Many of our tomato plants don’t even seem like plants any more—four feet wide and seven feet tall, having even outgrown their six-foot stakes, they have become bushes, with dozens of small, sweet, orange and red cherry tomatoes hanging from their branches. Some of the tomatoes are so large they completely fill my hand. As I’ve done for many years, we’re growing some of the older, nonhybridized heirloom varieties this year. It’s another example of the value of the old and the traditional: the Brandywine and beefsteak tomato plants produce an incredible amount of food. Some of the tomatoes weigh nearly two pounds, and their dense, sweet fruits are one of the great pleasures of gardening in Vermont.
Outside our garden, at the edge of the forest that I look at as I write, the wild plants are telling the same seasonal story. The several varieties of goldenrod that grow at the transition between the trees and the grass are three to four feet tall. As their name indicates, they have large golden-yellow flowers that can be a foot and a half across. I can see whole fields of dense, flowering goldenrods that create acres of bright yellow all around our house. And with all these flowers comes pollen and nectar. The bees and hummingbirds love to visit the goldenrod this time of year, as it’s so prolific and one of the few abundant wildflowers in this season.
It’s not only all the food that’s available and the abundance of flowering wild plants—the sounds in the woods and fields are also telling us it’s late summer. The cicadas have been singing nonstop day and night for the past three weeks. They will get quiet if it is too hot and bright during the day, but you can still hear them continuously if you listen closely. When it’s cool and dark, especially from sunset to sunrise, the sound of the cicadas is one continuous high-pitched song. At night in our yard, which is surrounded by woods, it’s a nearly constant hum that undulates slightly up and down in pitch and volume.
The weather also tells us that it’s harvest season. While a few days in the past week have been in the high eighties—hot by Vermont standards—over the last three weeks you can feel that things are mostly starting to cool down. During the day, temperatures are in the high seventies, while at night they’re in the high forties to low fifties. With lower temperatures comes increased humidity, and over the last few weeks, outside has been thick with moisture, where you can walk outside and feel the air.
These are all signs it’s the fifth season—the harvest—which Chinese medicine associates with Earth. This phase is associated with abundance, as is the case in our garden and the farm down the road. The sound of the harvest is singing, as with the continuous chorus of the cicadas. Dampness characterizes the climate of this season, found in the heavy humidity in the air. And the color of the harvest is yellow, which we can see in the abundantly flowering goldenrod.1
This is the time of year when we reap what we’ve sown, at all levels of our lives. Just as the tomato and chard seedlings planted in our gardens have become the fruit and leaves that we’re now eating, our beliefs and how we have been living can come to fruition at this time of year.
An important component of Chinese medicine is that this seasonal bounty comes from the descending energy at this time of year. In other words, the decrease in sunlight and temperature allow the harvest to happen. As we talked about in chapter 8, summer is the season of heat, sunshine, fun, and activity—when everything is at its peak. And as we discussed in chapter 6, spring is when things come back to life, and energy expands and rushes upward and outward as we depart the cold and dark of winter.
Without the descent that occurs in the Earth phase, the expanding Qi of spring and summer would never cease. It’s the decreasing energy of the harvest that allows the vegetables that are so prolific this time of year to ripen. If we look at the seasons’ function from the view of Yin and Yang, the new growth and warmth of spring and summer act as Yang, and the decreased temperature and sunlight of the harvest act as Yin. Just as Yang continues to be vital to our personal and societal health during this era of climate change, the coolness of Yin is also essential to our well-being and the health of our country. The issue, as always, is one of balance.
To look more closely at what Chinese medicine’s understanding of the Earth phase can tell us about sustainability, let’s return to the image of our garden. In addition to the satisfaction of seeing something grow from a small seedling into a huge bush, the tomatoes my wife and I are now eating are both a nutritional feast and a delight to the senses. Each type of tomato has a different size, shape, color, and taste. The cherry, Brandywine, and beefsteak tomatoes all look and taste like tomatoes, of course, but they vary widely in terms of their juiciness, sweetness, and texture. The Brandywine is the rich hue of red wine; the beefsteak is dense and thick, the tomato equivalent of a piece of meat; and the cherry tomatoes are small and sweet.
What allows this richness of color and flavor to build in the tomatoes is the slowing down of the season. If the tomato plants were to continue to grow quickly, as they do in the spring, this ripening would not happen. If they continued to expand, reaching upward toward the hot sun as they do in summer, again, this ripening could not occur. It is the reduced growth and expansion that the cooling temperatures and decreasing sunshine of the Earth phase that allows the tomatoes to become the sweet, succulent delights that they are. And this descent in our own lives is of equal importance.
As we’ve talked about in earlier chapters, we have a large-scale cultural overemphasis on expansion, and we have structured our economy based on our belief in continuous growth. We’re comfortable with waging medical warfare in how we treat conditions like cancer, and we are encouraged to see nature as a place of continuous competition. In addition to this excess of Wood, our country lacks wisdom and is experiencing a significant deficiency of Water. Culturally, this translates to a lack of foresight, exemplified by continuously burning oil even though there are clearly negative consequences. Individually, many of us are also jing-deficient, exemplified by a dip in the back of our tongues.
In both ourselves and our country, too much Wood is also compromising the Metal, which provides lasting inspiration and is our connection to something larger than our individual lives. In an ill-advised effort to keep our economy growing continuously, we’re encouraged to value quantity over quality. In other words, to keep the economy constantly growing, we’ve had to weaken the effects of the Metal—the sense of the sacred—to maintain this unsustainable economic growth.
Given this overstimulated spring energy of Wood, it’s not surprising that the way we communicate is also overheated. The quantity of emails, texts, and tweets we send speaks to the condition of our Fire, often creating heat rather than meaningful connections. Knowing that all phases are interconnected, it also comes as no surprise these imbalances in our lives and our culture mean that the Earth phase is affected as well.
If we don’t allow our internal temperature to decrease and our internal sunshine to wane, we cannot experience a substantive harvest within our lives. It might seem like the more-is-better, doing-is-better, new-is-better slogans we’re encouraged to live by provide us everything we need. But much of it is a hollow shell of real abundance. Having more new things that we don’t need and being busy constantly might give a short-lasting sense of having prosperity in our lives. But it is the decline and the slowing down that comes with the harvest that provides us real, long-lasting nourishment.
The difference between an internal harvest that actually nourishes us and one that only feeds us superficially is similar to the difference between a ripe tomato from your garden and one that’s shipped thousands of miles to your grocery store. They both look like tomatoes—but a closer look easily uncovers the differences. The tomatoes that are shipped from around the world to your local store are red and round. They’re probably smooth on the outside, firm to the touch, and have some moisture in them.
But once you cut it open, the differences between the grocery store variety and the homegrown tomato are clear. While both the local and far-off tomatoes are red, the one that’s shipped thousands of miles was likely picked when it was green. Harvesting it before it was ripe might make sense in terms of increasing sales, but the richness of the flavor and the sweetness of the taste are gone. Instead of an inside that is juicy with vibrant shades of red and orange, they’re often dried out, with washed-out hues.
This tradeoff—between the juicy, tasty, colorful local tomato and one shipped from a far-off place—is also a good analogy for the trade-off we’re encouraged to make with the rest of our lives and the health of the planet. We’re led to believe that the personal and societal equivalents of a dry tomato with little flavor and color are all that there is.
We’re taught that doing is better than not doing, more is better than less, and new is better than old—all of which speaks to our overemphasis on Yang and devaluing of Yin. We’re also told expansion is better than contraction, and that for the economy to be healthy, it needs to grow forever. We’re encouraged to believe that medical warfare is the best way to treat serious conditions and that nature is a place of conflict, which speaks to our overemphasis on Wood. This excess of Yang and Wood cannot create health or balance in us, our country, or our culture. Put simply, too much Yang and Wood simply doesn’t work—at least not if we’re interested in personal health, a satisfying life, and environmental sustainability.
As we talked about in chapter 2, there are over twenty-five years of research that clearly indicate that the planet is warming. A vast amount of science from around the world currently continues to show that our planet is rapidly warming and losing its ability to maintain climate stability.
With the stark realities of climate change, there are deep-reaching, potentially life-threatening consequences. When I talk about the ideas and research in this book at conferences and classrooms around the country, one question I’m often asked is how I remain optimistic. Those who ask these questions are likely feeling a range of emotions that come with an honest assessment of the state of our climate: fear, despair, and hopelessness.
While there’s nothing necessarily wrong with any of these emotions, it’s possible they’re coming from our more usual Western, contemporary view. In particular, these feelings can arise from the perspective that issues of sustainability and unsustainability, and concerns about health and sickness, are in opposition. For example, for many of us, rising global temperatures, increasing greenhouse gas levels, and more severe storms indicate that we are moving away from environmental viability toward possible catastrophe.
It is true that more greenhouse gases in the atmosphere mean that the climate will continue to warm. It’s also true that massive worldwide deforestation will decrease the amount of greenhouse gases that trees can absorb, again increasing warming. And increased loss of glaciers and ice sheets also means that more sunlight will be absorbed by the soil and water, again contributing to warming. Without diminishing the severity of the condition of the climate, however, it’s essential to recognize that this is only a partial view of the climate picture—one that is based on a linear perspective of the world.
The modern Western vantage point tells us that sustainability and unsustainability, and health and sickness, are on different ends of a spectrum. If we get the flu more often or cancer cells continue to grow, this must be telling us that we’re moving toward sickness and farther away from health. From this same perspective, the worse the condition of the climate and global warming becomes, the more we’re moving away from sustainability and toward unsustainability.
But if we take the same climate data and look at it from an Eastern perspective, a very different picture emerges. If we understand our lives, the climate, and nature from a view of circularity—as with the Yin-Yang and Five Phases circles—we can see that when something reaches its full expression, it eventually transforms and become something else.
For example, when the sunshine and warmth of day has reached its peak, it’s at the pinnacle of Yang in the twenty-four-hour cycle. After this peak, it begins to get darker and colder, which is a decrease in Yang and increase in Yin. This increase in cold and dark and decrease in light and warmth eventually becomes night. In other words, when the Yang of day reaches its peak, it’s the beginning of the Yin and the eventual transformation into night.
Similarly, from the Five Phases perspective, the peak of each season leads to the next. In spring, when the season has reached its full expression, it then begins the transition into summer. As we talked about in chapter 6, for example, spring is associated with Wood and wind. If we look at the transition between spring and summer, when spring is at its peak, we often have the most severe seasonal winds, which is a harkening to a change into summer. It’s the apex of each season that speaks to the coming movement of the next phase of the year.
Looking at our health, the condition of our country, and the state of the climate, the same idea applies: one thing leads to the next. Rather than being contradictory or oppositional, sickness and unsustainability can naturally transform into health and sustainability. Not only is this possible, it’s a much easier transition than trying to prevent it from happening.
The current condition of the planet tells us that we’re at an extreme point—one marked by a heavy imbalance in our climate. Similarly, our wide-reaching overemphasis on certain parts of our lives also tells us that we are already very far down a particular cultural path. While it’s certainly possible to try to avoid addressing the deeper issues of climate change and continue in the direction we’re headed, the natural tendency is for things to change.
Our belief in having more, and in newness, expansion, and conflict, have reached such a far extreme that we are now at or very near the peak—and the strong tendency for what happens next is movement into the next phase. This is the natural transition from the Yang of day to the Yin of night, and from spring and Wood into the other seasons and elements.
There are many things that need to be done to heal our warming planet, such as covering our rooftops with solar panels, eating local food, and not buying things we don’t need. Our work toward sustainability also includes addressing our often unquestioned beliefs, especially the value of medical warfare, seeing nature as conflict, and believing that the economy can grow forever. And yet, another crucial aspect of treating the sickness of climate change is simply allowing the Qi in our own lives and in our country to follow a more natural, unimpeded trajectory. Just as day becomes night and spring becomes summer, we are in the midst of a natural transition from Yang to Yin. To address climate change, part of what we need to do is not stand in the way—instead, we can allow it to happen.
A major influence that keeps us stuck in our imbalanced lives is the time, money, and Qi we direct toward perpetuating our Wood and Yang excess. From the lens of Chinese medicine, we can see the hundreds of billions of dollars injected into the U.S. economy after the housing collapse of 2008 as a clear example of a systemic attempt to maintain continuous growth.
As noted in chapter 3, the effort spent on advertising is another example of this culture-wide attempt to maintain our excess. The time and money directed toward convincing us that what we have is not enough is one way we are encouraged to cling to our Yang belief in more and newness at the expense of the Yin of satisfaction and contentment.
In our effort to maintain continuous growth, our drink of choice in the United States has become ubiquitous—coffee. We drink so much coffee because it fits so well with this imbalance. It heats us up, amps up our thinking, and overstimulates our emotions and our organs. It’s a dietary example of what’s happening to us individually and collectively. And the 150 billion cups we drink each year in the United States is a mirror of the dramatic overheating that’s occurring globally with climate change.
If we were able to slow down our continuous, frantic efforts to perpetuate the untenable status quo, this would allow the natural tendencies we see in nature to work through us and our institutions.
In addition to the doing of Yang, it’s vital that we recognize the Yin of allowing. Along with all the work that needs to be done to address climate change, an essential remedy for our warming planet is to allow the natural rhythms to continue. The continuous movement of Qi in nature also happens within us and our country. Even though so many of us feel separated from nature, the influences that occur in the world around us fundamentally affect us as well. Just as day naturally becomes night, Yang naturally becomes Yin.
This transition doesn’t occur because of our optimism. If you wake up one morning discouraged about the state of the world, it’s still going to get dark and cool at night after the warmth and sunshine of day. And whatever season you’re in, it will eventually transition into the next season. These changes happen not because of how hopeful we feel, but because there are larger cycles that are constantly in a state of movement. Looking at our culture and our country, the question isn’t if these transitions will happen, it’s how and when.
Even though the unsustainability of our individual, internal condition and the imbalances of our external, cultural institutions have reached such an advanced state that it’s affecting the entire planet, the rhythms of nature continue. The storms now are more severe, sometimes winter doesn’t get cold, and sometimes summer can be blazingly hot. Around the planet, there are an increasing number of places that have too much water, resulting in floods, and locales that have too little water, creating droughts. But even with all of these severe, life-threatening results of climate change, the influences of the Five Phases and Yin-Yang are still plain to see—the tendencies in nature that Chinese medicine has been keenly observing and writing about for millennia endure.
An important way to provide context for all of the important work that needs to happen to address climate change is that there is tremendous inertia encouraging us to make the transition. The natural tendency now would be for us, personally and collectively, to move from overemphasizing Yang to valuing Yin. Rather than seeming like an impossible fight against consumerism and its related overemphasis on new and more things, we can take solace in that day eventually becoming night. And rather than railing against an economy based on continuous growth, we can recognize that spring naturally becomes the other seasons.
Historically, Chinese medicine is fond of using water analogies. For example, one common description of meridians, which we talked about in chapter 1 as external pathways connected to internal organs, is that they are rivers of Qi.2 Thinking about the condition of own lives and the state of our country, the river is clearly flowing in certain directions. Paying attention to the movements of these currents can help us promote lasting personal health and deep-rooted cultural sustainability.
Rather than feeling like we have to fight against it, rest assured that the flow of the river is taking us where we need to go. In the spirit of this water analogy, think about your life as traveling along a river in a canoe. As with any significant change, be it personal or cultural, there can be times when the water gets rough. There will be moments when traveling gets rocky and the canoe feels unstable. There may even be times when the canoe starts to take on water from high waves lapping against the sides or from rain.
Yet even with these difficulties, there can be a real and tangible sense of moving in the right direction. Essential to this feeling of movement is pointing ourselves in the direction of the flow of the river. Maybe the water is rough, maybe some of it is coming into the boat, and maybe the canoe doesn’t always feel stable. But it’s much easier, less tiring, and more productive to travel the river in the direction of the current, instead of feeling like you have to constantly paddle upstream.
This is not to imply that there isn’t work to be done. If you’re navigating down a river with its flow, it’s still essential that you pay attention to what’s ahead of you. You still need to be aware of the rocks, where you are in relation to the riverbanks, and how fast the water is flowing. Even when you’re moving downstream with the current, you still need to keep paddling, both to maintain speed and to help control the direction of the boat. And, of course, you need to make sure that the boat is in good shape and doesn’t have any holes in it.
Likewise, to balance the climate, there are many things that need to done. Much of it is of urgent importance, and we don’t have the luxury of generations or centuries to make the changes—it’s a matter of years or a couple of decades. We must address the vital issues related to how we create electricity, source our food, perceive economic health, and approach medicine. But rather than being in opposition to climate health, all of the current data about climate change can actually be leading us back to health.
The transition from the Yang to the Yin is coming. The only real issue is how gracefully we’ll make the transition. Not only are these essential changes for the healing of the climate, they’re fundamental to our individual health and the well-being of our country and culture.
To turn around a common phrase and add the wisdom of Chinese medicine, the day can be its brightest and hottest before the dark and cool of night.