青柳诊所手记31

最早的一个病人八点来，我提前两个小时就到诊所了。关上门，仿佛怕惊扰了那些露水下的花朵，我蹑手蹑脚来到洒满朝霞的露台上。

先静坐一会儿，然后在那古老的木地板上来来回回散着步。 不远处是一排高楼大厦，更远处是青翠的森林和大山。

除了花草，我们的好友阿里医生在露台上还种了很多的果树：李树，梨树，苹果，无花果…… 在树前面沉思的是几位穿着石头衣裳的天使和佛菩萨。当树叶毫无理由地颤动起来时，我就知道：那里藏了一只偷窥我的小鸟。

此时此刻，所有的这一切都让我感到无比亲近。虽然身处闹市，我恍然觉得正如《方丈记》里面那个远离尘嚣的隐士一样，知己知世，无欲无往，心里除了感恩别无一念。

今天有好些个病人在等着我们，包括两个眼科病人。该给他们的药头一天都准备好了。有的内服，有的外敷，每一样药都得花相当长的时间制作，但我一点都不介意。我不大爱做饭，但却觉得制药是一件相当令人愉快的事。

新冠肆虐好几年，我们也算帮助了不少的本地人改善了症状，这是我们为之欣慰的。与此同时，无论在医术还是心灵方面，我们的病人们也在帮助我们成长、成熟，就如挂在枝条上的那些青涩的水果一样，它们在阳光和雨水中一天天长大。

几天前一个病人问我：赵医生最近生意怎么样？

我微笑着反问他：生意？什么生意？

说真的，我从来不觉得我们的诊所是一个生意场。它是一个疗愈之地，既疗愈别人，也疗愈我们自己。至于赚不赚钱，我们从来不觉得那是主要的。一个诊所如果老不赚钱肯定维持不下去，但如果赚钱是我们的终极目标，那就一点儿也不好玩了。

这是我常常想象的一个镜头：

咚咚咚！

谁啊？

让我们进来，我们需要一点帮助。

啊，是黑暗中迷途的人！

打开洞门把他们领进来。饿了，给他们吃点东西。渴了，给他们一点水喝。冷了，让他们在我们的火炉边烤一烤身子穿上烘干的靴子。然后再告诉他们该往哪个方向去，目送他们消失在路的尽头处。接下来的路，还得他们自己去走。

一个年轻的女孩，饱受抑郁症的折磨，问：安娜医生，为什么我会这样敏感呢？

我笑着答：一个人的敏感就是他的天分。你只需要把这个敏感放到你认为的最恰当的地方就好了。

一个四岁的女孩告诉我她常常不小心摔痛了膝盖。

我问她：那痛的时候你怎么办呢？

她歪着头小脑袋想了想，说，“我们家有一个玫瑰花园。我疼的时候就蹦到玫瑰花面前唱歌。我一唱歌就不疼了。“

这又让我想起了雨果说的那句话：’一只栖息在枝上的鸟儿，身下颤悠悠的枝条让她摇摇欲坠，但她依然不停歌唱，因为她知道自己有一双翅膀……’

这个小女孩不就像雨果笔下的那长了翅膀会唱歌的小鸟一样吗？

你看，小小的孩子，心里也藏着大智慧啊。

流水已去，飞鸟不归，人生似乎充满了无奈与不圆满。而使得它圆满起来只有一个方法：找到被你自己不小心弄丢了的翅膀，然后学会像鸟儿一样歌唱，就如那个老摔伤膝盖的四岁的孩子朝着玫瑰歌唱一样。

A Doctor’s Whisper

The earliest appointment today is 8am, but I arrive at the clinic two hours early. Closing the door soundlessly behind me, as if I am unwilling to disturb the flowers laden with dew, I tiptoe to the terrace adjacent to the clinic bathed in the morning glow.

For a while I meditate, and then I stroll back and forth on the rustic wooden floor. I am standing not far from a cluster of high-rise buildings, just a bit further away from a verdant forest and a mountain range.

In addition to flowers and shrubs, our dear friend Dr. Ali planted many fruit trees on the terrace: plum, pear, apple, fig... in front of which are several angels and Buddhas each in their own reverie, clothed in stone. When the leaves quiver for no apparent reason, I know a bird is peeping at me from under the branches.

All that inhabits the space in front of my eyes seem so dear. Though in a boisterous city, I feel more like the Japanese hermit in Hojoki, far away from earthly hustle and bustle. Aware of myself and the world, having no desires or wishes, in my heart arises not a single thought but gratitude.

Some patients will be waiting to see us today, including two eye patients. The herbs that will be given to them are all ready made in advance, some for internal use, some external. Each formula must be prepared meticulously, but I do not mind at all. Cooking is not my cup of tea, but making an herbal formula is such a joy!

During the last few years of the pandemic, we were glad we had opportunities to help people reduce their symptoms. Our achievement is gratifying, and at the same time, our patients helped us grow and mature, both medically and spiritually. We are like those green fruit on our terrace, hanging on the shaky branches and due to the care of both the rain or shine, becoming a little bigger day by day.

A few days ago, a patient asked me: Dr. Zhao, how has your business been?

I smiled and asked: business? what business?

Seriously, we never see our clinic as a business. It is a place for healing, both for others and for ourselves. As for making money, that is never our priority. Sure enough, a clinic cannot survive in the long-term without making money, but if making money is our sole goal, it is only unsatisfactory.

Here is a scene I often imagine in my mind:

Knock, knock, knock…

Who is there?

We are lost, please let me in, help is needed!

Ah, lost travellers in darkness!

Wide the door opens; in they are let. If hungry, they are fed; if thirsty, they are provided with water; if cold, they warm their feet by our campfire until their boots are warm and ready to hit the road. Then we show them the direction they ought to head in, and watch them vanish at the end of the road. To their destination they have to walk, we don’t walk for them.

A young girl, suffering from long term depression, asked: Dr. Anna, why am I so sensitive?

I smiled, “One’s sensitivity is one’s gift. You just need to use this gift in the most appropriate manner you can think of.”

A four-year-old girl told me that she often accidentally fell and hurt her knee.

I asked her: What do you do when your knee hurts?

She tilted her little head thoughtfully and said, "In our home we have a rose garden. When I have a booboo, I hop to a rose bush and sing songs to it. Once I sing, the owie goes away."

This reminds me what Hugo wrote: ' Be as a bird perched on a frail branch that she feels bending beneath her, still she sings away all the same, knowing she has wings…’

Isn't this little girl like a singing bird with wings?

Yes, little children often have greater wisdom.

The running water does not turn around, nor the departing bird return. It seems that on the wall of life, helplessness and imperfection creep. There's only one way to perfect it: discover the wings you accidentally lost, and then learn to sing like a bird, just like that four-year-old child who forgets her knee pain by singing to the roses.