青柳診所手記31

最早的一個病人八點來，我提前兩個小時就到診所了。關上門，仿佛怕驚擾了那些露水下的花朵，我躡手躡腳來到灑滿朝霞的露台上。

先靜坐一會兒，然後在那古老的木地板上來來回回散着步。 不遠處是一排高樓大廈，更遠處是青翠的森林和大山。

除了花草，我們的好友阿里醫生在露台上還種了很多的果樹：李樹，梨樹，蘋果，無花果…… 在樹前面沉思的是幾位穿着石頭衣裳的天使和佛菩薩。當樹葉毫無理由地顫動起來時，我就知道：那裡藏了一隻偷窺我的小鳥。

此時此刻，所有的這一切都讓我感到無比親近。雖然身處鬧市，我恍然覺得正如《方丈記》裡面那個遠離塵囂的隱士一樣，知己知世，無欲無往，心裡除了感恩別無一念。

今天有好些個病人在等着我們，包括兩個眼科病人。該給他們的藥頭一天都準備好了。有的內服，有的外敷，每一樣藥都得花相當長的時間製作，但我一點都不介意。我不大愛做飯，但卻覺得製藥是一件相當令人愉快的事。

新冠肆虐好幾年，我們也算幫助了不少的本地人改善了症狀，這是我們為之欣慰的。與此同時，無論在醫術還是心靈方面，我們的病人們也在幫助我們成長、成熟，就如掛在枝條上的那些青澀的水果一樣，它們在陽光和雨水中一天天長大。

幾天前一個病人問我：趙醫生最近生意怎麼樣？

我微笑着反問他：生意？什麼生意？

說真的，我從來不覺得我們的診所是一個生意場。它是一個療愈之地，既療愈別人，也療愈我們自己。至於賺不賺錢，我們從來不覺得那是主要的。一個診所如果老不賺錢肯定維持不下去，但如果賺錢是我們的終極目標，那就一點兒也不好玩了。

這是我常常想象的一個鏡頭：

咚咚咚！

誰啊？

讓我們進來，我們需要一點幫助。

啊，是黑暗中迷途的人！

打開洞門把他們領進來。餓了，給他們吃點東西。渴了，給他們一點水喝。冷了，讓他們在我們的火爐邊烤一烤身子穿上烘乾的靴子。然後再告訴他們該往哪個方向去，目送他們消失在路的盡頭處。接下來的路，還得他們自己去走。

一個年輕的女孩，飽受抑鬱症的折磨，問：安娜醫生，為什麼我會這樣敏感呢？

我笑着答：一個人的敏感就是他的天分。你只需要把這個敏感放到你認為的最恰當的地方就好了。

一個四歲的女孩告訴我她常常不小心摔痛了膝蓋。

我問她：那痛的時候你怎麼辦呢？

她歪着頭小腦袋想了想，說，“我們家有一個玫瑰花園。我疼的時候就蹦到玫瑰花面前唱歌。我一唱歌就不疼了。“

這又讓我想起了雨果說的那句話：’一隻棲息在枝上的鳥兒，身下顫悠悠的枝條讓她搖搖欲墜，但她依然不停歌唱，因為她知道自己有一雙翅膀……’

這個小女孩不就像雨果筆下的那長了翅膀會唱歌的小鳥一樣嗎？

你看，小小的孩子，心裡也藏着大智慧啊。

流水已去，飛鳥不歸，人生似乎充滿了無奈與不圓滿。而使得它圓滿起來只有一個方法：找到被你自己不小心弄丟了的翅膀，然後學會像鳥兒一樣歌唱，就如那個老摔傷膝蓋的四歲的孩子朝着玫瑰歌唱一樣。

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.