Chinese Organ Networks: Pericardium

The twelve organs of Chinese medicine are a way of dividing the world--the world as seen through human eyes--into twelve sections.  Everything in the world, then, falls into one of these sections, just as every cherry in a pie will end up in one slice or another, unless of course it gets cut in half and ends up straddling two slices.  That happens with the organs, too--in fact many phenomena have multiple organ affinities--but we'll leave aside such complications for now.  The point is that the twelve organs are a convenient and powerful lens through which to view things, and not least medical things.  We already have a two-fold division (yin and yang, night and day, male and female, etc.) and a three-fold one (heavenly, human, and earthly realms), a five-fold one (the 5 "phase elements" of wood, fire, earth, metal, water), and even a six-fold one (the six levels or conformations).  Each of these lenses has its utility; with the leap up to twelve, we have the most specific, fine-grained lens of all.  It encompasses all of the levels before it, for each organ is associated with yin or yang, with one of the three realms, with a phase element (or multiple elements, if we look closer), and with a conformation.  Twelve allow for complexity without going off the deep end.

Yet despite the universal appeal of the number twelve, early Chinese medical texts speak of the "five zang (solid organs) and six fu (hollow organs)."  The focus of this article, the Pericardium, was conspicuously absent from this picture.  And indeed, if you had to choose 11 or 12 organs to represent the entirety of the human universe, the membranous sac around that surrounds the heart would not likely be one of them.  There are so many...more substantial structures to choose.  So it's fair to ask: what's the deal with the Pericardium?

Actually its status as the added-on organ is key to its nature.  The Pericardium was brought into the picture, in a sense, to keep the lonely sixth fu organ company.  This is a clue to what the Pericardium is all about: relationship, intimacy, vulnerability.  Qi Gong teacher Bill Frazier explains the late arrival of the Pericardium in another way: this "heart protector" (a common translation of the PC) only became necessary when humans began living in such dense proximity that we no longer knew all our neighbors. When we lost the deep communal connection synonymous with tribal or small-scale pastoral living, we began to need to guard ourselves in a new way.  Suddenly it was dangerous to share our innermost selves; amongst strangers who knows who might take advantage of such open-heartedness?  In this little myth, along came the Pericardium to guard the gates of the Heart.

It's not hard to recognize the necessity of a Heart Protector, a body guard or watchdog to mind the Heart-emperor, who's too busy tuning in to the heavenly mandate to look after his or her own damn self.  But in modern Traditional Chinese Medicine, this guardian role of the PC may be over-emphasized.  The flip side of the Pericardium's role is to open the Heart, like the dog who allows trusted people entry to meet his master.  We all need protection, safety, security, but too much of these things cuts us off from other people, from potential fellowship and communion.  We need walls around our Hearts, but we also need gates that can open.  The Pericardium is this gate, and it might just as well be called the Heart Opener.

On the calendrical scale, the PC is associated with post-equinox autumn, and in the context of the day, with the post-sunset hours or approximately 7-9 PM.  These are times of darkness overpowering light, of inward-turning.  And also of intimacy.  As Heiner Fruehauf, my source for virtually all of this cosmology, points out, who goes out on a romantic lunch date?  The dinner hour is the intimate one, the one charged with romantic potential.  Looking at the larger yearly cycle, it may be less obvious how the dark, chilly month of (roughly) November carries such sexy connotations.  It is, no doubt, also a season of death: nature dies back, and following her lead, humans course through the woods to hunt.  Yet this was once the traditional wedding season in China.  It is after all the time when the leaves fall: the forests are undressing to reveal the mountains, the bare breasts of nature.

It will come as no surprise, then, that the anatomy most closely associated with the Pericardium is this region of the chest.  One Chinese name for the Pericardium is Xin Bao, "heart wrapper;" another is Dan Zhong, "chest center."  The quintessential pericardium point is, more specifically, the midpoint between the nipples.  This is a vulnerable area of the body, no doubt, and an intimate one.  To whom do we bare our chests, our breasts?  Well, to a lot of people, maybe.  But out culture's schizophrenic relationship to nudity and sex can be seen as symptomatic of a larger Pericardium pathology.

As discussed, the Pericardium controls how open our hearts are at any given time.  In love, the Pericardium relaxes and dilates, we let our guard down, and are able to share ourselves completely with another person.  Part of the potential of love is to take this openness out to the world; to come from a place of safety in vulnerability and expand outwards to face everyone and everything in our lives with open hearts.  Of course there is the risk that when our open hearts are betrayed or wounded, the Pericardium sits bolt upright like a bodyguard that had been snoozing and battens down the hatches.  We shut down emotionally, put up barriers, simultaneously protecting ourselves and cutting ourselves off.  Back now to modern PC pathology: though we need to open and close our hearts appropriately, most people are stuck too far to one end of the spectrum.  There are those who, through trauma, have their Pericardia on permanent lock-down mode--scared, nervous guard-dogs who don't recognize friends.  Though it's rarer, some people fall into the opposite category: they are too open-hearted, have trouble delineating boundaries for themselves, and get into trouble because of it.  Perhaps more common than this is the confused Pericardium: we may be too open on the outside and shut down or exhausted within.  A healthier model might be the reverse of this: a reserved, moderate exterior containing a passionate heart.

This whole time our model for the Pericardium has been the dog: guardian, yes, but also faithful companion, playful puppy, tireless servant.  In fine symbolic fashion, the best and worst of the Pericardium are summed up here.  Our source of joy, innocence, and playfulness can also translate to a lack of seriousness, as in a puppy who only wants to have fun.  The antidote to this, perhaps, is the training that turns a pup into a mature, loyal and selfless companion.  Represented here is the channeling of heart energy towards away from simple pursuit of pleasure and towards a higher calling; the act of sacrifice.

(<-- Not a puppy, I realize, but an equally heart-opening furry thing)