Yesterday I visited my superbly skilled acupuncturist, Neena Barua. My chief complaint? Something I can’t remember having experienced for decades: nightmares. The Chinese medicine theory of dreams is closely aligned with Jungian theory, or rather, Jungian dream theory closely aligns with the ancient Chinese medical theory. During the process of falling asleep, wei qi, also known as defensive qi, moves from the yang sinews, that is, the external musculature, causing the body to become relatively immobile. The gathered defensive qi is brought into the center of the chest where it creates an energetic defense structure for the heart, so that the heart is shielded from the potential traumas of the dream state. Then the Jungian resonance: A part of one’s spirit, specifically the aspect of consciousness that is called the Hun, is then able to enter the collective unconscious and freely process the events of the day. The collective unconscious is a vast field where anything is possible: secret doors, talking plants, aliens, unimaginably vivid colors, total black and white, staggering abilities such as breathing under water, speaking in all languages at once, possessing genius level skills in unknown modalities, being able to fly, being pure light, talking to people no longer alive—it goes on. The purpose of journeying into these realms is to engage with a type of energy that allows a reset of the mind to a place where, at the very least, the events of that day are sorted out, or processed, or understood. This function is carried out by the channel known as Yin Wei Mai, the Yin Linking Channel, which lifts the events of the day and major life events out of thinking consciousness, and places them in its trailing wake—a kind of invisible woven tapestry or document of personal history that floats from the back of the head, and feeds processed experience into the collective unconscious. In this way, one’s experiences become history rather than something nagging at or playing on the mind. The beautiful result is that past experiences become a source of wisdom for self and for all. This is how we mature.
Natural life, by human design, seems to have been intended to occur at a certain kind of rate. Getting up with the sun, taking care of the young and senior members of the tribe or community, gathering food, cooking, eating, engaging in the activities of the culture, and going to bed with the sun. This natural rate includes loss and disappointment, but we are not designed for constant bombardment of stimulus of disturbing nature. When that does happen (for example, when living in a situation of frequent or constant terror, fear, threats, oppression, famine, flood, and war), there is too much intensity of experience for the dream state to handle the day’s experiences every night. This overwhelm manifests as nightmares.
For the past couple of weeks I’ve sat on a Grand Jury. It’s one of the sterling aspects of the United States legal system and there is no functioning true equivalent remaining in any other country. The function of the Grand Jury is to determine whether the government— referred to in court as “the People” since the government represents the people—possesses enough evidence formally to accuse a person of a crime and thereby bring the charges to trial. It’s a mechanism designed to prevent those in power from bringing false cases in order to incarcerate people they would like to make disappear. The Grand Jury hears evidence from various witnesses and from the office of the District Attorney. There are over 500 Assistant DAs in Manhattan. Then the Jury deliberates, meaning the jurors discuss the evidence presented, and when they are ready, they vote to indict or they vote to dismiss. It’s a felony to talk about what happens inside a Grand Jury, of course, but I can say that the Grand Jury I am currently a part of comprises 23 astute people and it’s an honor to be there.
Grand Juries hear many cases a day, and watching the evidence can be grueling. In my case, my dream state couldn’t keep up with the overload. When we sleep, with every heart beat, up to 70% of our blood volume congregates in the liver. In classical medicine, the liver is the home of the Hun—the collective unconscious—and it is from there that the Hun performs its nightly duties. If the demand for processing exceeds what the liver can handle, a tremendous tension arises. Since relaxation of the muscles is dependent on the relaxation of the liver and the liver’s smooth flow of qi, the resulting tension can cause a dreamer to wake mid-process. This is what we call a nightmare. The liver has two major branches: one to the back of the eyes, and one to the brain. It is along these branches that the sleeper, having awoken at an inopportune time but still partially asleep, is able to experience the essential work of the Hun, seeing vivid and terrifying images and feeling the accompanying emotions.
On Thursday night I had a glimpse of why people awakened by unbearably horrible images who do not have access to classical acupuncture, would hunt around at 3AM for some kind of sedative to calm themselves. But drugs are superficial and short-lived. The pharmaceuticals, in the short term, will create changes in the brain that lead to a feeling of calm, but later, the drug, which is a toxin, must be processed, and it is the liver that does that job. This creates strain and tightening in the the very organ that must be relaxed to maintain a state of sleep while performing this all important emotional processing. The drug toxins prolong the sleep disturbance, creating a cyclic dependence with diminishing effectiveness.
Acupuncture, on the other hand, has no side effects and is monumentally powerful. The channel Yin Wei Mai, if indicated, functions to bring events to conclusion in the mind. After my visit to Neena, I could remember things I saw in the courtroom if I thought about them, but they no longer had any trigger. I was free. They were woven into my history like books in a library. Such is the absolute marvel of this medicine. I wish I could have shared this with each colleague on the Jury, but all is secret in the Jury Room. There are no names, just temporary juror numbers, and a job to do, then to be forgotten.
Ann Cecil-Sterman
Manhattan, New York City
December 7, 2025