Whispering of Willows 35

How nice – despite appearances, it didn’t rain this morning. We went to the clinic early to pick figs on the terrace. These figs were planted by Dr. Ali himself. Most of them appear green and small, sort of unattractive, but they are an excellent herb. One by one we cleaned them and put them in front of the fireplace to dry.

D and J are moving to another city; we know the chances of seeing them in the future will be greatly reduced. Although we have not known them long, the sincere childlike smiles on their faces left a deep impression upon us. Before their departure, we prepared some herbs for them. Hurriedly I sewed two small herbal bags for them, hoping this would help them withstand some cold days in the interior’s harsh winter.

Many people have told us: your clinic is different from other ones.

What's the difference? I asked them in a teasing way, but few ever gave us a clear answer.

We are certainly different from other clinics; this we know very well.

First of all, the two doctors in our clinic are somewhat eccentric people. Dr. Wang is even more so than me – while he may disagree. Not to mention anything else, up to today, he doesn't have a cell phone.

Henry David Thoreau said: " I would rather sit on a pumpkin and have it all to myself, than be crowded on a velvet cushion.”

If Thoreau were alive today, I doubt he would have a cell phone.

Dr. Wang doesn’t know how to use a cell phone either. A few times, when the clinic’s mobile phone rang, and I was busy. I said, "Could you pick it up?"

He looked at me blankly: Which button should I press?

He had a license to drive any large truck but has never owned a car. No matter where he goes, he carries a thick stack of maps and searches for his target by searching all the little squares.

A caveman, he mocks himself.  I don't think he was exaggerating at all.

Of course, I'm a little eccentrical myself.  For the last twenty-five years every day I get up at 4am to meditate. In the darkness, when standing on the balcony practicing qigong, often I see a coyote or black bear standing in the shadows on the edge of the nearby forest, watching me silently. Not only am I not afraid, I feel a closeness to them. In this total silence, besides them, who else is sharing the earth, the moon and the stars with me?

Many people who frequent our clinic are also somewhat pleasantly unusual. For example, A. As soon as he entered the clinic door, he lay down on his stomach and opened his chatterbox about his recent experiences: "Ah, didn't you say we should have a soft heart? Let me tell you, never did I have a soft heart in any noisy city. When I go hiking, however, my heart immediately softens. At that time, no one is near me; clamping quietly on the hillside, my dog catching up panting and heaving. The autumn leaves dancing around me, and all the deities in the mountains seem to be smiling and whispering to us. At this time, how could my heart not be softened?..."

Sometimes when patients come to us for treatment, I put needles in them and then start doing qigong for them. Doing qigong is not to transfer qi deliberately, but to use my narrative to bring them to a calm and peaceful place, such as onto a high mountain or in the petals of a lotus flower. When they come out, they are often not the same people as when they went in.

This is our clinic. It may not match your expectation, but it is a very special place; very simple, as simple as the fig I am now holding in my hand.