Archive for the ‘Classical Chinese Theory’ Category

Autism as a Shao Yang Disorder: A Chinese Medicine Perspective




Autism: A Brief Synopsis

Current Chinese Medicine Thinking




The Shào Yáng and Autism









The Autism Awareness Ribbon




“Autism Fact Sheet” (

“DSM-V Diagnostic Criteria” (

“Frequently Asked Questions” (











DAOM defense

Doctoral Research Presentation and Defense


Professor Yanzhong “Kevin” Zhu (Five Branches University)



Barry Xin (Pacific College of Oriental Medicine)


  3. It is impractical and fundamentally flawed.


Whilom, as olde stories tellen us,
Ther was a duc that highte theseus;
Of atthenes he was lord and governour,
And in his tyme swich a conquerour,
That gretter was ther noon under the sonne.

—The Canterbury Tales



Once on a time, as old tales tell to us,
There was a duke whose name was Theseus:
Of Athens he was lord and governor,
And in his time was such a conqueror
That greater was there not beneath the sun.

—The Canterbury Tales



Heaven is not sufficiently present in the North-West.
Hence the North-West is yin,
The earth is incomplete in the South-East.
Hence the South-East is yang,
—Unschuld, 2011, p. 116

Here’s the same passage translated by Elisabeth Rochat de la Vallee:



—Rochat de la Vallee, 2011, p. 122

…And the same passage translated by Ilza Veith:



—Veith, 1965, p. 122



—Major, 1993, p. 62



Long Hu Shan (Daoist Monastery)

Long Hu Shan
(Daoist Monastery)



Click to read part 2…





John Major, (2010). The Huainanzi




Edward Schafer, (2005). Pacing the Void




Ancient Chinese Medical Theory 101: Why Study Ancient Chinese Medical Literature?

My doctoral research focused on the Huáng Dì Nèi Jīng—the foundational text of East Asian medicine—so students and colleagues frequently ask me why the ancient medical literature is important. I have been thinking about this subject for some time now, and I am looking forward to sharing my own answers to this question over the coming weeks. Special thanks to the students, colleagues, and friends who have challenged me to think and rethink my position on what I believe to be a vital issue in our field.


Why Study Ancient Chinese Medical Literature?

The Yellow Emperor as depicted in a tomb from the mid second century AD.

This is a question I get asked frequently, but it is also one of the most difficult to answer. As a result, I have given much thought to an appropriate response, because I recognize that people want more than, “Ancient Chinese medical literature is the foundation of East Asian medicine.” These days, practitioners want to know precisely how the classics will make them more effective in the clinic, or how it will directly benefit their patients. I have never studied the ancient literature to achieve any practical clinical goal, so it is hard for me to answer from this perspective. My own journey into ancient Chinese medical theory was based purely out of curiosity and a desire to understand the roots of the medicine I was studying. As I mentioned above, I have given this question a lot of thought, and despite my own biases, the best answer I can presently give is, “Whatever you want to achieve in East Asian medicine, the ancient literature will take you there.”

On the surface, this new answer may appear just as vague as the original that I was trying to improve, but allow me to explain further; whether you practice TCM, Worsley-style Five Element Acupuncture, Japanese Meridian Therapy, Qigong, “integrative medicine,” or “functional medicine,” studying the ancient medical literature will benefit you. A few weeks ago, I published an article entitled, The Crisis of American TCM, in which I laid forth a number of my concerns about the overall state of academia in our field. One of my primary concerns is the lack of higher-order learning objectives being taught in many TCM and OM programs. Without going into too much detail, I feel that many of these programs are only giving students a surface understanding of foundational concepts like yīn-yáng theory and Five Phase theory. As a result, many students feel frustrated and/or confused by what seems to be an incomplete theoretical foundation on which to rely. The teachers in these programs do not bear sole responsibility, however, because the majority of them were trained within the TCM educational model—which only scratches the surface of what East Asian medicine truly has to offer. My concerns were validated by an outpouring of support and correspondence from former and current students of the medicine.

My Experience with Ancient Chinese Medical Literature

I was introduced to the Huáng Dì Nèi Jīng early in my Chinese medicine education, and for that, I am extremely grateful. Up until the point that I discovered the medical classics, TCM felt like a vapid shell comprised of disparate and often conflicting theories. Thanks to my teacher, Yanzhong Zhu, the classics became an adventure. He challenged my colleagues and me to cast aside the logical rationalism that has come to define our culture, and enter an ancient world of sages and immortals. In many ways, the divide between modern TCM and the ancient medical texts is as wide as the divide between modern biomedicine and the Hippocatic writings. Ironically, having read the Hippocratic writings, they seem to bear far more resemblance to ancient Chinese medicine then they do to modern biomedicine! But I digress…

The ancient Chinese medical texts helped to fill in the holes created by my education in modern TCM. Even more than that, they caused me to rethink my relationship to the world around me. Yīn-yáng theory is not as simple as we are taught in school. From the perspective of our universe, the interplay between yīn and yáng creates vortices, toroids, and wormholes. From the perspective of physics, yīn is potential energy and yáng is kinetic energy. In general, the nature of of yáng is to expand outwardly, and the nature of yīn is to contract inwardly.

Professor Yanzhong “Kevin” Zhu

I remember a specific time when Professor Zhu led me to a deeper understanding of yīn and yáng. I was traveling with a good friend of mine—who was also in the same TCM master’s program, and a scholar of the classics in her own right—to Hawaii for winter break. Before we left, Yanzhong, or Kevin as he is known to Five Branches University students, challenged us to: “Think about yīn and yáng in Hawaii. How are they different than here (Santa Cruz, CA)? How are they the same?” This challenge inspired a discussion on the beach several days later. My friend and I were contemplating the relative yīn-yáng dynamics of the landscape around us, which led to the question, “Which is more yáng, the beach, or the ocean?” The knee jerk TCM reaction would be: the ocean. After all, one of the primary manifestations of yīn—after Earth—is Water. On the other hand, while the beach may be warmer (yáng), the ocean is in constant motion (also yáng). Ultimately, we determined that the ocean, despite being Water (yīn), was more yáng than the beach, due to its unceasing motion. Whether this answer is definitive or not is of no concern. What matters is that we were challenged to think beyond the simple and basic associations that had been taught in our TCM Foundations class. I share this story with the hope that my experience may benefit others and inspire them to contemplate yīn and yáng.

As I continued through the master’s program, I became the teaching assistant for Professor Zhu’s Nèi Jīng class, and I did my best to share my passion for the classics with the students. I also realized that “the truth” about yīn and yáng or the Five Phases cannot be taught—it can only be understood through our interactions with the world around us. Yanzhong Zhu never told me what to think, he simply taught me how to think, using the mind of the ancients as a guide. For that, I will be forever grateful, since it lead me to where I am today. From the initial spark that was Professor Zhu’s class, I began reading not just the medical classics, but the philosophical classics of Chinese culture that were written at roughly the same time. I have now amassed a vast library of Chinese literature: with multiple translations of the Yì Jīng, Dào Dé Jīng, Zhuāng Zǐ, and Huáng Dì Nèi Jīng. My wife often jokes that the one thing we will always need more of is bookshelves!

I recognize that I have not yet given any specifics as to how the classics benefited my own practice of Chinese medicine, because the more I think about it, the more I realize that the value of the classics is beyond articulation. By reading the classics—even in the form of translations—we begin to see certain similarities with the descriptions of a particular concept across multiple texts. We begin to have an almost intangible understanding of this ancient wisdom, almost as though a portal has opened in the space-time continuum. There is something inherently mysterious or spiritual about this type of transmission that spans thousands of years. Having grown up on the East Coast, I recognize how un-academic and New Age-y that may sound, but it is my experience, nonetheless. Every time I read the Nèi Jīng, I find something new, or see something I hadn’t noticed before. Indeed, in my experience, the ancient texts seem to evolve as we do. This is my relationship with the classics, however: I don’t know what effect they will have on you. As I mentioned above, I never had any particular goal in mind when reading these ancient texts—I did it solely out of curiosity and a desire to better understand Chinese medicine. I cannot definitively tell you: “After reading the ancient literature, my practice volume increased by 10%, I used 27% fewer needles, and my patient retention rate improved by 7.3%.” For all I know, the ancient literature won’t have any effect on your practice—it may instead make you a better parent, or a better mountain biker, or a better person.

How Ancient Chinese Medical Literature Can Benefit You


Image from Wikipedia

Despite my apparent inability to articulate the relevance of the classics outside of my own experience, I can say with some certainty that a familiarity with this ancient literature will deepen your understanding of the medicine. As both a student and a practitioner, I have observed the crucial role that intention plays in the clinic. In fact, scientists recognize the role of intention as well: it is the primary reason that the “gold standard” of scientific research is the double-blind placebo controlled study. Scientists recognize that if the researchers or the research subjects know who is in the control group or in the experimental group, the results of the study will be unreliable. What reason, other than intention, could account for this type of interference? A deeper understanding of yīn-yáng theory and Five Phase theory—or simply a better historical understanding of why we use certain points, herbs, or formulas in the clinic—will add more weight to our intention and, by extension, our clinical result. We will embody this knowledge during our verbal and non-verbal interactions with patients: effectively harnessing the same intention that scientists try to avoid in their research! Further, for those who practice “integrative medicine” or “functional medicine,” an understanding of the roots of Chinese medicine will enable you to more accurately integrate the theories of East Asian medicine and biomedicine. In order to create a functional model of integrative medicine, a knowledge of the ancient literature is essential; otherwise, the model will be built on the relatively weak theoretical foundations of “brand-name” TCM. According to the medical anthropologist Paul Unschuld:

The efforts…for a…legitimation of certain practices (i.e., acupuncture, application of drugs, and various other techniques)…may, in the long run, have provided more harm to the interests of traditional practitioners than benefit.  The elimination of the theoretical background of systematic correspondence threatened the existence of traditional Chinese medicine as a conceptually independent alternative, thereby contributing to a further, and potentially final, stagnation of this ancient knowledge (Unschuld, 1985, p. 261).

Supporting the New Generation of American Scholar-Practitioners

Unschuld wrote those words almost 30 years ago about the TCM model that America inherited from China. Traditional Chinese Medicine is the primary source of information for the boards and thus, American master’s programs. I still have hope that the stagnation brought about by the TCM model is not, as Unschuld posits, final. My hope lies in the students, who I believe are ready and eager to assimilate this ancient literature into a more complete system of East Asian medicine. This generation of students is currently being underserved, and while I am not advocating for a drastic overall of the entire American TCM juggernaut, I do hope that our schools can nurture this eagerness and enthusiasm before it is lost. Previous generations of practitioners have made significant progress toward greater pubic awareness of acupuncture and East Asian medicine as legitimate healthcare modalities; I believe that today’s students and practitioners must work to gain the same level of acceptance in both the biomedical and greater academic communities. This goal can be achieved through the creation of a new generation of scholar-practitioners, who deeply understand the theoretical underpinnings of the medicine. Only then can a high level of integrative medicine come about, in which East Asian medicine practitioners do not have to sacrifice the theoretical foundations on which our medicine rests. Further, by fostering a higher standard of academia within our own community, we will be better equipped to interface with other scholars—Anthropologists, Sinologists, Historians, and Linguists—who have been studying East Asian medical literature for decades and who may provide new insights into the history and practice of this great healing art. Ancient Chinese medical literature can play an important role in this process by inspiring future generations of students to gain a more in-depth understanding of Chinese medical theory than most master’s programs currently provide: thereby facilitating a renaissance of East Asian medicine in America. To quote Zhongjia Deng, a highly esteemed modern Chinese practitioner and educator:

The true nature of Chinese medicine comes…from a time that is a time of synthesis…the only way to do this justice is to find a type of educational model where you read the classics of this medicine that were written at the time when this synthesis occurred (Deng, 2005).

As I mentioned at the outset, this article is just the beginning discussion of a much larger topic. In the coming weeks and months, I will be detailing the specific texts and chapters for a number of topics, including: yīn-yáng theory, Five Phase theory, and herbal medicine. I am also considering a monthly group forum—an ancient Chinese literature book club, if you will—for those who would like a more interactive discussion of these topics. If you are interested, please sign up for my email list, and I will provide you with additional details when they become available. For those of you who would like to see how the ancient literature can be useful in your practice, I invite you to explore the texts and chapters associated with the following topics:

  • Chinese medicine as preventative medicine: Huáng Dì Nèi Jīng Sù Wèn Chapter 1
  • Yīn-yáng theory: Huáng Dì Nèi Jīng Sù Wèn Chapters 2, 3, 4, 5, & 6
  • Five Phase theory: Huáng Dì Nèi Jīng Sù Wèn Chapters 2, 3, 4, & 5
  • Herbal theory: Huáng Dì Nèi Jīng Sù Wèn Chapters 3, 4, 5, 9, 10, 14, 22, 23, 67, 70, 71, & 74.
  • Worsley-style Five Element Acupuncture: Huáng Dì Nèi Jīng Sù Wèn Chapters 2, 3, 4, 5, & 8; Huáng Dì Nèi Jīng Líng Shū Chapters 1 & 64; Nán Jīng Chapters 64 & 69


Zhongjia Deng, (2005). Chinese Medicine Past and Present: Problems and Solutions. [Video file]. Retrieved from

Paul Unschuld, (1985). Medicine in China: A History of Ideas


The Tài Jí Tú (Yin Yang Symbol): History and Fallacy

Tài jí tú 太極圖 (yìn-yáng 蔭陽 symbol) at Lóng Hǔ Shān Daoist monastery

Tài jí tú (yìn-yáng) symbol at Lóng Hǔ Shān Daoist monastery

Few elements of Chinese culture have captured the minds of Westerners like the Diagram of the Supreme Ultimate (tài jí tú 太極圖), aka the yìn-yáng (蔭陽) symbol. Indeed, this symbol has become a pervasive image in our own culture: appearing on everything from surfboards, to t-shirts, to bumper stickers. Acupuncturists and practitioners of Chinese medicine are particularly fond of using it on their business cards, logos, and marketing materials. What does it mean? Where did it come from? The answers are not as straightforward as some believe.

Definition of Terms

The term, tài jí, is mentioned in several ancient texts, including the Zhuāng Zǐ (庄子) and the Xì Cí Zhuàn (繫辞傳) commentary to the Yì Jīng (易经) (Robinet & Wissing, 1990).  In both cases, tài jí is the state that follows Dào (道). The Hàn Shū suggests that the term “encompasses the Three in One” (Robinet & Wissing, p. 395). Looking at the black and white swirls of the tài jí tú, this definition makes sense—it encompasses yìn, yáng, and the transformations that result from their interaction. Other sources describe tài jí as: “the upper limit beyond which a process or concept can no longer be developed…the very Principle of the reversal of each thing into its opposite” (Robinet & Wissing, p. 398). Obviously, this is a complex term that—like qì—is difficult to render into English.

Allen Tsai’s Theory: The Gnomon and the 24 Solar Terms

Visual Representation of Allen Tsai's Theory

Visual Representation of Allen Tsai’s theory

I originally encountered Allen Tsai’s theory as a master’s level student of Chinese medicine. According to his theory, the tài jí was created by recording the shadows of the gnomon (sundial) throughout the 24 solar terms of the Chinese calendar. On the surface, Tsai’s theory seems quite plausible, because several ancient texts mention the gnomon in relation to astronomical observations (Major, 2010; Field, 1999; Ho, 1985). An early reference to the gnomon can be found in the Book of Odes: “Blessed was Chief Liu. He measured the breadth and length of the land; he measured the shadow and noted the hills, observing the sunshine and shade” (Field, p. 14). According to Stephen Field, a professor at Trinity University, “Liu was measuring the shadow of the gnomon, or sundial, to determine the cardinal directions” (Field, p. 14). In addition, the Huáng Dì Nèi Jīng 黄帝内经, the foundational classic of Chinese medicine, mentions the 24 solar terms in Sù Wèn Chapter 9.

The Huái Nán Zǐ (淮南子), a text that was written during the Han dynasty, states: “When the gnomon shadow is long, yìn qì is dominant. When the gnomon shadow is short, yáng qì is dominant” (Major, p. 124). Looking at Tsai’s diagram, the meaning of this passage is clear: the gnomon shadow will gradually lengthen from the summer solstice to the winter solstice (during which time yìn qì dominates), and will gradually shorten from the winter solstice to the summer solstice (during which time yáng qì dominates). The astute observer will recognize that Tsai has modified his diagram: the shadow lines are drawn from the center of the circle toward the outside of the circle between the winter and the summer solstices, and drawn from the outside of the circle toward the center of the circle between the summer and the winter solstices. He made these modifications based on standard yìn-yáng theory, which suggests that yáng has an outwardly expanding motion, and yìn has an inwardly contracting motion (Tsai). On the surface, Tsai’s theory seems like a cogent explanation of the tài jí tú: it is based on a method of calculating the shadows of the gnomon that has been around since at least the Zhou dynasty (1046–256 BC). Why, then, did this diagram not appear anywhere in Chinese popular culture until roughly the Ming dynasty (1368–1644)?

Historical Evidence of the Tài Jí Tú

Tài jí tú with xiān tiān trigram sequence

Tài jí tú with xiān tiān trigram sequence

I imagine some of you are shocked by that last revelation—I know I was when I first encountered it! Let me reiterate: the earliest historical evidence of the tài jí symbol, in the form of the black and white swirl, does not occur until roughly the 14th century (Louis, 2003). Furthermore, the earliest examples of this diagram almost always include the Pre-Heaven (xiān tiān 先天) sequence of trigrams around the outside of the circle. The eight trigrams are visual representations of the natural phenomena that exist in the world (Cheng, 2008). Each of these trigrams is composed of yìn and/or yáng lines, the combination of which suggests the qì dynamic of the natural processes they represent. Allow me to shatter another common misconception: the Post-Heaven (hòu tiān 后天) sequence of trigrams, which is traditionally attributed to King Wen, is older than the Pre-Heaven sequence of trigrams that is traditionally attributed to Fu Xi (Louis, 2003). I mention this historical fact not only to rectify a commonly-held misconception, but because it bears direct relevance to the tài jí symbol. Examine the order of the Pre-Heaven sequence around the tài jí, and you will notice that the trigrams of the four cardinal directions are directly related to the black-and-white swirl. At the top, where the diagram is most yáng, we find the trigram for Heaven (qián 乾). At the bottom, where the diagram is most yìn, we find the trigram for Earth (kūn 坤). To the left, where the diagram is equal parts yìn and yáng, we find the trigram for Fire (lí 离). Finally, to the right, where the diagram is also equal parts yìn and yáng, we find the trigram for Water (kǎn 坎). According to Zhu Xi, a Song dynasty scholar: “The position of qián and kūn is at the top and at the bottom, while kǎn and lí descend between them…this image has the form of a city wall and its rising and descending sides are like the revolving wheels on the naves of a chariot axle—one at the bottom and one at the top” (Louis, p. 165 n. 50).

What does all this mean? It means that the tài jí tú is closely related to the newer Pre-Heaven sequence of trigrams—of which there is no historical record until the 10th century, at the earliest (Louis, 2003). In fact, historical records indicate that the Pre-Heaven trigram sequence predates the tài jí tú (Louis, 2003). It also suggests that Tsai’s analysis of the origin of the diagram may be correct, but misleading: the diagram may have come about much later than the knowledge of the gnomon. Still, the trigram associations at the cardinal directions match perfectly with Tsai’s hypothesis. At the top—or South—we have the most yáng trigram (qián 乾), corresponding to the summer solstice. At the bottom—or North—we have the most yìn trigram (kūn 坤), corresponding to the winter solstice. To the left—or East—we have the trigram with one yìn line surrounded by two yáng lines (lí 离), corresponding to the vernal equinox. Finally, to the right—or West—we have a trigram with one yáng line surrounded by two yìn lines (kǎn 坎), corresponding to the autumnal equinox. As stated in the Huái Nán Zǐ (Chapter 3): “The unified essences of Heaven and Earth are yìn and yáng. The concentrated essences of yìn and yáng are the four seasons” (Schulz & Cunningham, p. 290). The tài jí tú and xiān tiān trigram sequence are a wonderful visual example of this much older statement from the Huái Nán Zǐ, but there is no historical evidence to suggest that they were known during the Han dynasty when the text was written. Similarly, though Tsai’s analysis seems to match well with this later diagram, we should resist the conclusion that the diagram is as old as the gnomon.

The Other Tài Jí Symbol

Zhou Dunyi's version of the tài jí

Zhou Dunyi’s version of the tài jí

Perhaps some of you are familiar with the other version of the tài jí symbol, as illustrated by Zhou Dunyi. This version of the symbol, while historically older than the more popular tài jí tú described above, still utilizes the Fire and Water trigram positions of the Pre-Heaven sequence. On the left is the trigram for Fire, and on the right is the trigram for Water. The characters to the left and right of the symbol say: “yáng, motion” and “yìn, repose” (Louis, 2003). The center of the circle represents wú jí (無極), a balanced and undifferentiated state of yìn-yáng (Wikipedia), loosely translated as “there is no extreme” (Schuessler, 2007), or “no ridgepole” (Robinet & Wissing, 1990). While this particular diagram is attributed to Zhou Dunyi, there is an older symbol that is quite similar.Zong Mi Tai Ji This older symbol is attributed to the Buddhist scholar, Zong Mi, of the Tang dynasty, who used the symbol to denote a balanced consciousness in which “the true and the false” are blended (Louis, p. 177). Although Zong Mi was Buddhist, some scholars have suggested that the diagram itself may not be purely Buddhist in origin, due to the fact that the original colors were red and black (Robinet & Wissing, 1990). Red and black are the traditional Chinese colors for Fire and Water, respectively, suggesting cultural influences beyond Buddhism. Furthermore, since this diagram was a product of the Tang dynasty, the Daoist ideas of nèi dān (内丹) or inner alchemy, were already established (Robinet & Wissing, 1990).


Shield insignias of Roman soldiers (4th Century)

Obviously, despite the work of scholars to decipher the origins of the tài jí tú, the history and inception of this iconic symbol are still somewhat of a mystery.  While it is still entirely possible that this symbol originated in the gnomon measurements of the ancients and was passed down secretly for centuries, there is no historical evidence to support such a claim.  Based on all available evidence, the symbol has its origins during the Tang dynasty, at the earliest. Perhaps the mysterious nature of the “Diagram of the Supreme Ultimate” is only fitting for a symbol that expresses the inexpressible. We could engage in endless amounts of speculation, though the answer may never become any clearer. I will leave you with an even more puzzling thought: how did this symbol find its way onto the shields of 4th Century Roman soldiers—before it was ever recorded in China (Monastra, 2000)?


Chung-ying Cheng (2008).  “The Yijing as Creative Inception of Chinese Philosophy”.  Journal of Chinese Philosophy, vol. 35(2).

Stephen Field (1999).  “The Numerology of Nine Star Fengshui”.  Journal of Chinese Religions, vol. 27.

Huáng Dì Nèi Jīng 黄帝内经

Peng-Yoke Ho (1985). Li, Qi, and Shu.

Francois Louis (2003), “The Genesis of an Icon: The Taiji Diagram’s Early History”.  Harvard Journal of Asiatic Studies, vol. 63(1).

John Major (2010).  The Huainanzi.

Giovanni Monastra (2000).  “The Yin-Yang Amongst the Insignia of the Roman Empire?”.  Sophia, vol. 6(2).  Translated by John Monastra.

Isabelle Robinet & Paula Wissing (1990). “The Place and Meaning of the Notion of Taiji in Taoist Sources Prior to the Ming Dynasty”.  History of Religions, vol. 29(4).

Axel Schuessler (2007). ABC Etymological Dictionary of Old Chinese

Larry Schulz and Thomas Cunningham (1990). “The Seasonal Structure Underlying the Arrangement of Hexagrams in the Yijing”.  Journal of Chinese Philosophy, vol. 17.

Allen Tsai, “Where Does the Chinese Yin Yang Symbol Come From?”

Allen Tsai, “The Secret of the Chinese Yin-Yang Tai-Chi Symbol?”


Depression and the Death of Robin Williams: A Chinese Medicine Perspective

Robin Williams

Robin Williams



“Extreme joy damages yáng.”

“If joy causes harm, it damages the heart.”




Double yáng reverts to yīn; double yīn reverts to yáng


Extreme joy damages yáng

If joy causes harm, it damages the Heart


Bernini's Ecstacy of St. Teresa

Bernini’s Ecstasy of St. Teresa


The Heart as Emperor


The Role of the Spleen (pí) in Depression


Etymology of the Character Diān ()


Closing Thoughts

Huáng Dì Nèi Jīng 黄帝内经

Thomas Cleary, The Taoist Classics: Vol. 1

Anshen Shi, Internal Medicine

Teresa of Avila

Axel Schuessler, ABC Etymological Dictionary of Old Chinese


Leo Tolstoy, A Confession

Nigel Wiseman and Feng Ye, A Practical Dictionary of Chinese Medicine





Here’s a video of my doctoral research presentation:






Creative Commons License








Huáng Dì Nèi Jīng 黄帝内经

Callum Coats, Living Energies


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