Adventures in Acupuncture


I’ve been going to an acupuncturist for a few weeks now. She’s very tolerant of the perverse joy I’ve been taking from being stuck up with needles (or hickied-up with the glass vacuum cup). It’s like the old joke about the octogenarian who has sex with his girlfriend at the doctor’s office because Medicare pays for the visit; I get to have psychedelic experiments (covered by insurance) without the headache of wondering what my drugs have been cut with or hanging out with the assholes who seemed to be the company that tags along when you’ve got a stash.

This week, we did a generalized course of qi flow, and as she was doing the points in my hands, legs, and feet, I felt like I was filling up with water. Each needle opened up another artesian source, and the water (which was thick and blue) was starting to bubble out my eyesockets (because I had filled up that far). I was getting ready to leave the table, and I was considering if I had enough energy to go look for the deepdark, when she spikes me through the Ren Meridian and all the water vanishes. I feel like a butterfly pinned to a mounting board and, when she leaves me there to quietly consider how fastened I am to the table, my eyes start spontaneously going into fits of Morse Code blinking. I can’t even replicate it consciously.

Which is different from the last time where I developed what felt like a pretty severe head twitch in a clockwise direction.

Anyway, it took me a while to find the water again, but I could never summon it back up to the level where it was before. That Ren Meridian point, by the way, is the one that regulates the water balance in the body. I found this out later, but I’m not terribly surprised.