sùchí or sùzhì (速遲)

Sabine has assured me that the correct reading of 速遲 in Língshū 1.3.1 is sùchí, and the correct translation is either as a conjunction “fast and slow,” or as a complex “speed.” Her reading previews Língshū 1.6.6, where the text offers the following instruction, using different characters for ‘fast’ (疾, jí) and ‘slow’ (徐, xú):
The “Great Guidelines” says: Slow then fast results in filling (shí); fast then slow results in emptying (xū);”
It is indeed common in Nèijīng that one passage may preview another, and reframing an idea with different vocabulary is a common way to accentuate its importance. I agree that a literate person, without substantial training and experience doing acupuncture, would read 速遲 as ‘sùchí,’ so certainly agree with Sabine that reading should be rendered either as a conjunction “fast and slow,” or as a complex “speed.” My idiosyncratic reading of this line is based on my practical experience of cultivating needles for déqì (得). The fact that Sabine was unimpressed by my reading may not have as much bearing on the merits of this issue for practitioners, as a practitioners scholarship is based on contemplating his or her experience working with a subtle and responsive dynamics of qì, rather than the academic standard of relying on the accumulated evidence of written words alone. I believe various practices working with qì, including needling for subtle déqì (得) has bearing on the scholarship of practitioners, and am looking to discuss my reading of this passage with people who are willing and able to evaluate it from both the perspectives of language and experience with needing for déqì (得). As individual characters:
速(sù) usually means “hurried, quickly, to urge or urgently,” though it can also mean “to invite.”
遲 is usually read chí, which means “to be slow, dilatory, or late; to delay or be tardy;” on the other hand, 遲 can also be read as zhì, which means “to wait, or to look for.”
My reading, which I do not consider exclusive, takes 速遲 as the conjunction sùzhì. I recognize this is peculiar, and even somewhat far-fetched, for a literate reader. Is it actually incorrect, especially when one learns to needle with the patient’s embodied spirit (jīngshén (精神)) rather than on his or her body (xíng (形))? What if one doesn’t consider speed a particularly subtle (wēi (微)) aspect of needling, but rather a fundamental and obvious one? While I don’t consider the conventional reading incorrect, it also isn’t very deep or interesting. Might this phrase be an example of a ‘secret’ teaching being encoded into the text for people who have received teachings and specifically have experienced and learned to work with subtle déqì (得)?
I believe this passage contains a ‘deeper harmonic,’ which tells us that needling is not about the techniques we do to the patient’s body, but about what response that can be elicited from his or her embodied spirit, and THAT is done through presence and timing, rather than technique. Needling is a kind of ‘push hands’ exercise, where the needle is inserted through sinking/relaxing (sōng (鬆)), rather than forcefully asserting it to pass through the skin, either by tapping on the top of the handle with a guide tube or poking the needle in without one. Needling is not poking, or even really ‘insertion,’ but a process of interacting with a patient’s qì (氣), and waiting for it to open, then sinking into his or her embodied spirit.

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