The Hyggelig Journey

I struggled with the word. It lingered, soft yet insistent, waiting to be understood. Deafening — yet silent. Sharp — yet delicate. Crude in its rawness, yet rich with meaning, as though it had carried the weight of centuries while remaining as fresh as the morning air. Saudade. It is not merely a word but a feeling that breathes within, settling beneath the ribs, winding through the marrow of the bones, pressing gently against the skin from within. A presence intricately woven from absence. A longing that does not mourn but remembers, does not grieve but honours. For saudade is not only about what was, but also about what might have been — the beauty of imagined possibilities, the tenderness of dreams not yet lived. And yet, it is a gift. However much it pulls at the soul, however much it calls us back. I could neither reject it nor escape it, for it had taken root in me, filling empty spaces with warmth rather than ache. The more I welcomed it, the more it flourished — not like ivy c...

Machado de Assis once wrote, “There is no joy that does not pay alimony to sadness.” The saying lingers — a quiet murmur of inevitability — as though every moment of happiness were merely an advance on some future sorrow, a loan taken out against the certainty of loss. But what if it were the other way around? What if sadness, inexorable as it may seem, were not a price to be paid, but rather the fleeting shadow cast by a joy that always, in time, finds its way back? Life does not unfold in debts and punishments. There is no great celestial ledger where laughter is weighed against tears, no unseen hand ensuring that every happiness must be counterbalanced with sorrow. What there is, instead, is movement — a rhythm, a cycle, a perpetual ebb and flow. Warmth and cold, presence and absence, elation and stillness. Sadness does not arrive as a debt collector; it arrives as a tide, shifting the landscape, reshaping the contours of who we are. It strips away the old, makes sp...

The patient entered with a sigh, shaking his head. It had been a difficult day — nothing had gone to plan, which, in all fairness, seemed to be exactly the kind of plan the day had in mind. Expectations had fallen like dominoes, except that dominoes at least fall in an orderly fashion. His pulse flickered between breaths, rapid but uncertain, as if caught between deciding whether to panic or simply give up and take a nap. Outside, the rain poured relentlessly, its rhythm filling the room, steady and indifferent, the perfect background score for existential crises everywhere. The consulting room, usually a space of quiet refuge, felt different today, as though the storm had followed him inside. The air was thick with the scent of rain-soaked clothes and the unspoken weight of things not quite said. The rain drummed against the window, tracing long streaks on the glass, as if jotting down notes on the conversation yet to unfold. He sat down heavily, his body sagging into th...

It was an ordinary morning, one of those where the light slants through the window, turning the air into a suspended promise. What moves me today? What moved me yesterday? These questions swirl around me like restless phantoms, whispering answers only to vanish into the ether, resisting answers altogether. Yet, something lingers — an invisible thread, a latent desire to cling to a motive. Because without motive, who are we? Perhaps it is hunger. That primal, essential hunger gnawing at the body, bending the world before a hot plate of food. An instinct that drives us before thought even takes shape. Hunger is not just for sustenance; it is for life itself, for survival, for the next breath, the next step forward. Or perhaps it is fear. Fear of what? Of not being seen, of being seen too much, of existing without leaving a mark. Fear shrinks us yet protects us. Hunger and fear — so primal, so alive, as old as time itself. They guide us in the shadows, shaping our choices before we even...

Life weighs, yet it does not. It slips through your fingers like water, and just when you think you have grasped it, you find you were holding only the wind. There is no fixed form, no final certainty — only desire, thrumming beneath the skin, always just beyond reach, dissolving the moment you try to name it. You wanted meaning — something solid, something to anchor yourself to, something you could hold without fear of losing. A truth that would not shift with time, would not vanish under scrutiny. But the truth — and it was truth because it hurt — is that life is too light to be held. It is insubstantial, elusive, impossible to contain. And it is this lightness that unsettles you. If everything is possibility, where do you stand? If you are free, then who are you? Freud would say you desire what you cannot have. Jung would remind you of the shadows you refuse to face. Lacan would laugh and tell you that you are nothing but lack, a hollow space forever seeking fulfilment. ...

One day, something I wrote ended up somewhere unexpected. It travelled unbidden, without direction, without a map. It drifted through the digital ether, carried by unseen currents, until it landed on the screen of someone I had never met. It lingered there, silent — perhaps unnoticed, perhaps read and forgotten in an instant. And then, just as suddenly, it was gone. I am not an influencer, nor a teacher, nor the bearer of any particular cause. I don’t chase trends or craft strategies. I write simply because I must — because the moment demands it, because something stirs within me and insists on being set free. But social networks are fickle creatures — like shifting winds, unpredictable and untamed. One day, they carry you far; the next, they bury you in obscurity. Their algorithms are vast, faceless voids — spinning, swallowing, indifferent. You cast a word into them, and it vanishes without a trace. You cast another, and inexplicably, it crosses an ocean. Many try to ch...

The evil they do to me does not harm me, for it is not the pain imposed by another that defines me. Pain is fleeting, transient, a passing ripple in the vast river of time. It may sting in the moment, but it dissolves into the past, becoming nothing more than a distant echo. What truly transforms me is the evil I choose to commit, for it is my own actions that carve the contours of my being. I am not shaped by what is done to me, but by how I respond, internalize, and allow it to influence my path. And so I observe. I watch the silent unfolding of existence, where men drift like shadows against the walls they have built themselves, prisoners of their own design. They believe themselves bound by fate, yet it is their own fear that keeps them shackled. The weight of harm is not in the hands of another — it rests in the choices we make, in the decisions we allow to shape us. A wound is but a whisper against the skin, a fleeting reminder of a moment that has passed. A mark that...

Acupuncture harmonises the body and mind, fostering mental clarity and emotional maturity. These benefits naturally support three fundamental pillars of human and social progress: understanding the world, self-reflection, and transforming knowledge into action. As a result, acupuncture patients often distinguish themselves in society, developing a broader perspective, making more conscious choices, and maintaining a balanced approach to life. The first pillar centres on expanding knowledge and deepening understanding of the world. Those who actively seek learning overcome limitations and drive transformation. However, stress and emotional burdens can obstruct this process, making it difficult to absorb new information and think critically. This ancient practice alleviates tension, improves mental clarity, and enhances cognitive receptiveness, allowing the mind to fully embrace new ideas and innovations. By fostering a sense of openness, acupuncture helps individuals perceiv...

Kaizen is a quiet hand, adjusting what seems unchangeable. It does not rush, does not force — just refines, shaping everything with time. A philosophy of small steps, daily refinements, imperceptible at first, but transformative in the end. Traditional Chinese Medicine (TCM) follows the same rhythm, seeing health not as a fixed state but as a constant dance, a delicate balance in motion. Yin and Yang shift like the wind, never still. Qi moves through the body — sometimes freely, sometimes obstructed, needing space to circulate. When imbalance settles in, illness whispers before it shouts. TCM listens early, adjusting with subtlety, never imposing, only guiding. Like Kaizen, it does not seek abrupt change but gradual realignment, a quiet return to harmony. A small shift — an acupuncture needle barely felt, a slight change in diet, a deeper breath — can echo through the body like the steady rhythm of a heartbeat. What seems trivial today becomes, over time, a foundation of ...

"Hello, professor." I say it as soon as someone crosses the threshold. I say it without thinking, like breathing. But behind these words, there is time, a journey, a memory. It was at the Hospital do Servidor Público de São Paulo that I first learnt to truly see teachers. They would arrive carrying invisible notebooks — not in their hands, but in their bodies. Their necks bent from years of looking down at lesson plans, their shoulders heavy with the weight of knowledge given away day after day. They would sit before me, their minds full of wisdom, their spines full of pain. And I would listen. And I would learn. Perhaps that is why I never stopped saying "professor." It does not matter who you are or what you do. Life itself is a classroom, and every person, knowingly or not, is a master of something. The body teaches through its aches, silence teaches through its absence, even pain imparts lessons — whether we ask for them or not. And so, the word stay...

Life is not just an equation to be solved. In fact, life is no equation at all. Because living escapes any exact calculation, it slips through the fingers, vanishes into corners. What remains? What disappears? I don’t know. But there is a point where everything converges: what we love, what we know, what the world needs, and what keeps us standing. The Japanese call it ikigai – a beautiful name for something that often has no name. And where do we find this point? Is it in a sudden flash of enlightenment, a spark in the middle of the day? Or is it built slowly, like someone stitching their own skin without realising it? I know that some spend their whole lives searching and never find it – perhaps because they expect a bright light, a visible sign, a message written in the sky. But purpose does not shout. It whispers. And one must be silent to hear it. Childhood tells us we can be anything. But time, oh, time... it narrows us, prunes our excesses, fits us into moulds. Work...

You saw it in your hands before you saw it in the patient. The pulse — small, insistent — whispered a secret no one had spoken. There was a tremor in the skin, a shift in the air between you. Before the words, before the symptoms, before diagnosis clothed itself in logic — you already knew. It was not a thought — it was a feeling. Thoughts are slow, they need shaping, but this knowing arrived whole, needing nothing. The meridians do not speak, yet you hear them. The body does not argue; it simply reveals itself, a quiet confession given freely to those who know how to listen. Your fingers rest, light as a breath on the surface, and the needles follow — not merely where they should be, but where they must be. There is no hesitation, no deliberation — only a call, and you answer. Not with reason, not with proof, but with certainty that is older than both. Intuition does not shout, does not ask permission, does not knock at the door. It is a river that already knows its course,...

Life is a journey of learning and growth – not a race for perfection. Each of us, at some point, will stumble. Whether through mistakes, failures, or unforeseen hardships, we all experience moments where we fall short of our own expectations or those of others. Yet, it is in these very moments that we gain the deepest understanding of what it means to be human. Those who have fallen know the pain of disappointment, but they also discover something greater – the power of compassion, both for themselves and for those around them. Every setback carries within it an opportunity for growth. When we falter, we come face to face with our vulnerabilities, our flaws, and the limitations of our current understanding. However, rather than seeing these as signs of weakness, we can choose to view them as invitations to learn. The experience of struggling – of standing back up after a fall – teaches us patience, humility, and, most importantly, empathy. Once we recognise how difficult t...

In Traditional Chinese Medicine (TCM), illnesses progress through three stages: energetic, functional, and anatomical. This reflects a growing imbalance in the body, moving from subtle disruptions in energy flow to functional impairments and, eventually, structural damage. However, by recognising and treating these imbalances early, it is possible to restore harmony before they develop into serious conditions. The first stage, known as the energetic phase, presents subtle signs that may not yet be considered symptoms of illness. People may experience unexplained fatigue, emotional fluctuations, or difficulty sleeping — indicating a disturbance in the body’s vital energy, or Qi . At this stage, conventional medical tests often show no abnormalities, yet the person already feels out of balance. TCM sees this as an opportunity for early intervention. Acupuncture, dietary changes, and Qi Gong help restore the smooth flow of energy, preventing minor disharmonies from becoming ...

Unresolved trauma can manifest in many different ways — anxiety, insomnia, chronic tension, or even unexplained physical pain. These symptoms often develop gradually, without an obvious connection to past experiences, making them difficult to recognise as part of a deeper emotional wound. Instead of surfacing as clear memories, trauma frequently lingers in the nervous system, shaping how we react to stress, process emotions, and experience the world. In Tradicional Chinese Medicine, trauma is not seen as a purely psychological issue but as an energetic imbalance that affects the entire body. The mind and body are deeply interconnected, meaning that emotional distress can influence physical health just as much as physical imbalances can impact emotional well-being. Healing from trauma requires an approach that goes beyond intellectual understanding — it must also address the body’s response to past experiences. Acupuncture plays a vital role in this process by helping regula...

I looked at the other and saw an abyss. But then, I looked again. There was something there that called to me, something that belonged to me without my knowing. What was it? Alterity. That strange word that, in the end, only means: you are not alone. The other has always been here. At the street corner, in the reflection of a window, in the glance that meets yours for a fleeting moment before vanishing. The other is the unknown that unsettles you, but also the child within you that once needed comfort. You think you are you because you feel your skin, but what if your self is far greater than you imagine? Because, you see, without the other, you do not exist. Your voice is only heard because someone listens. Your gestures have meaning only because they are seen. Your story matters because it can be told — and every story needs someone to hear it. Alterity is not just about respecting the other; it is about realising that they shape you. The trouble is, we think of ourselves...

Grounding is a practice that involves direct contact between the feet and the ground, such as walking barefoot on grass, soil, or sand. In the West, it is associated with reducing inflammation, improving sleep, and maintaining the body's electrical balance. In Traditional Chinese Medicine (TCM), this connection with the Earth is linked to the flow of Qi (vital energy), the balance of Yin and Yang, and the strengthening of the meridians. In TCM, Earth is one of the Five Elements and governs the Spleen and Stomach, the organs responsible for digestion, nutrient absorption, and emotional stability. Walking barefoot strengthens this energy, supporting digestive function and mental well-being. In modern society, excess Yang — caused by stress and a hectic routine — is common. Contact with the ground calms the mind, reduces anxiety, and balances energies by introducing more Yin, which is associated with stillness and coolness. Another benefit is the reinforcement of Kidney Qi...

Enthusiasm is a breath from within, a spark that, once lit, makes each step feel lighter. It cannot be explained, only felt — like a wind that sweeps away the dust of monotony and makes space for the quiet brilliance of ordinary things. Motivation is something else entirely. It comes and goes, a fleeting impulse dependent on something outside of us. A desire, a promise, a goal to be reached. But without enthusiasm, motivation tires. And what tires too much, eventually gives up. Disinterest, on the other hand, is a dead weight. An emptiness at the centre of the chest where nothing grows. Life passes by, and one merely observes, without the will to reach out and touch it. The body senses it: shoulders sag, the gaze loses its light, breathing becomes shallow. Energy stagnates, time drags on, and everything feels like an unnecessary effort. But enthusiasm — ah, enthusiasm! — it has roots of its own. It needs no applause, no encouragement, no reward. It arises when we find me...

Empathy is often interpreted as the ability to put oneself in another’s place, but this simplistic definition does not capture its depth. Empathy is not merely feeling what another person feels; it is understanding their experience without becoming lost in it. This balance between connection and discernment is essential, particularly in professions that require rational decision-making without emotional burdens clouding judgement. In acupuncture, for instance, the practitioner must attentively listen to the patient’s complaints, grasp emotional nuances, and understand their pain without absorbing it. An acupuncturist who is overwhelmed by a patient’s suffering may lose the clarity needed to determine the most appropriate treatment. Conversely, a lack of empathy results in a cold, mechanical approach, reducing the patient’s trust in the therapeutic process. Neuroscience shows that empathy is not merely an emotional response but also a neurological function. The brain has spe...

The paper sleeps, still, indifferent. The ideas, locked away in the dark, stir restlessly. Writing is this: a muted clash between the empty page and the overcrowded mind. No agreement, no truce — only a stubborn chiselling, word by word, until something at last breaks free from the chaos.

In the half-light of the clinic, there is a moment when silence weighs like an ancient secret. The needle touches the skin, and the body responds before the mind, as if it knows something that thought has yet to grasp. Pain, anguish, insomnia — the invisible knots of existence — are all there, woven into the meridians but also into unspoken words. And then, a conversation begins. Not just any conversation, the kind that drifts absent-mindedly between time and urgency. But a deep listening, a thread of thought unravelling precisely where the body seeks relief. Acupuncture opens doors the mind has unknowingly closed, and cognitive therapy steps in to organise the chaos, like someone gently sweeping dry leaves from a garden. Because touching the body is not enough if the mind remains trapped in old labyrinths. Pain is born as much from what happens to us as from what we do with what happens to us. Thoughts weave our emotions, and more often than not, they are what tighten th...

Hygge is a Danish concept that describes the feeling of comfort, cosiness, and well-being found in simple, pleasurable moments. In Brazil, it can be felt in the gentle sway of a hammock on a veranda, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee, the warm breeze flowing through an open window, or the lush greenery of tropical plants. More than just a lifestyle, hygge is a state of mind that fosters relaxation and emotional balance. I first encountered hygge twenty years ago when one of my best friends, Kasper Nymand , introduced me to the concept. Since then, I have understood how deeply it aligns with the principles of Chinese Medicine, particularly in relation to the balance of Shen (mind), the most subtle manifestation of Qi (vital energy). When Qi becomes scattered or stagnant due to stress, symptoms such as insomnia, anxiety, and mental fatigue emerge. Creating a welcoming environment and embracing moments of pleasure and rest are essential to restoring this balance and st...

There are certain afflictions in the human spirit that creep in like damp seeping into the walls of an old house, slowly eroding its structure until, one day, it collapses without warning upon its own foundations. Resentment is one such affliction. It feeds on bitterness, thrives in the shadows of unease, and burrows so deeply into the soul that no doctor or apothecary can prescribe an effective remedy. Science, ever diligent in its quest to unravel the body's mysteries, has already shown that rancour is no harmless thing. It seeps into the blood, quickens the pulse, devours sleep, and weighs upon the chest like lead concealed in a traveller’s pocket. Forgiveness, on the other hand, dissolves that burden, soothes the restless tides within, and restores to the face the serenity long lost. But let it be said plainly: to forgive is no careless gesture, nor a favour bestowed upon the offender. To forgive is to unshackle oneself, to sever the chains that bind us to a past ...

I have observed a curious phenomenon. Fingers slide across the screen with an almost instinctive haste, as if fleeing from something or racing toward an uncertain destination. They do not touch, they skim; they do not see, they merely pass through. Perhaps it is just a reflection of the world outside, that incessant whirlwind where everything moves, but little lingers. Emotional intelligence, that delicate subject, unsettles and provokes. Some approach it with curiosity, while others recoil, as if standing before a mirror reflecting something they would rather not face. Not everyone can bear to see themselves fully. And I understand: there are moments when consciousness weighs heavier than one can endure. As for deep reading, that poor thing has almost become a museum relic. People seek what is ready-made, pre-digested, reduced to the least effort. Time is short, they say — but is it really just time? Or has thinking, that solitary and uncertain exercise, become an uncomf...

Happiness is a landscape hidden in the details. It does not arrive with trumpets, but in whispers: a ray of sunlight slipping through the window, the scent of morning coffee, the hush before a burst of laughter. We live in an age that mistakes happiness for grandeur, as if it depended on spectacular achievements or material possessions. Yet, its essence lies in the opposite—in the ability to notice what is already there, nearly invisible, yet full of meaning. There is an irony in this. While we chase ambitious goals—promotions, travels, recognition—we overlook what the philosopher Epicurus called “simple pleasures”: a conversation with a friend, the joy of an unhurried meal, the quiet sense of belonging when watching the sunset. Neuroscience reinforces this idea: small moments of connection or contemplation trigger neurotransmitters like serotonin and dopamine, responsible for our sense of well-being. Happiness, then, is not a destination, but a way of walking. Part of its subtlety l...