青柳診所手記35

今天早晨天似乎要下雨但卻並沒有下雨。一大早我們就去診所把露台上的無花果摘下來。這些無花果都是阿里醫生親手種植的，它們大多又青又小，看上去其貌不揚，但做草藥卻是好材料。我們把它們一個個弄乾淨，放在火爐前烤乾。

D和J要搬到另外一個城市去了，以後要見到他們的機會大大減少了。雖然認識這對夫婦並不久，但他們臉上誠摯的孩童般的笑容給我們留下了深刻的印象。在他們走前，我們給他們準備了一些草藥。我還花了半天時間給他們縫製了兩個小草藥包，希望在嚴冬時分，它們可以幫他們抵擋一點風寒痹痛。

已經有不少人跟我們講過：你們的診所跟其它的診所很不一樣。

到底哪裡不一樣呢？我故意問他們，他們又答不出個所以然出來。

我們當然跟別的診所不一樣，我們心裡知道得很清楚。

首先，診所里的兩個主治醫生都是有些怪異的人。大師兄比我更怪一籌。不說別的，到現在為止，他連手機都沒有。

梭羅說：“我寧可坐在一隻大南瓜上，由我一個人擁有它，也不願意和別人擠在天鵝絨的墊子上。”

梭羅要是在世，我打賭他也是一個不愛用手機的人。

大師兄壓根兒就不會用手機。診所的手機響了，我正在忙着，我說：你接一接電話吧？

他就茫然地看看我：按哪個鍵啊？

他有駕駛大卡車的執照，但卻從不開車。無論去哪裡，他都是握着一疊厚厚的地圖，一格一格數着他要找的目標。

他說他是一個山頂洞人，我覺得一點也沒有誇張。

我當然也是有點怪的。我每天四點準時起來靜坐。皚皚的黑暗中，我站在陽台上練功時，近處的森林邊上總有一隻郊狼或者黑熊站在陰影里靜靜地看着我。我不但不害怕它們，反而感到跟它們的親近。在這萬籟俱寂之中，除了它們，還有誰跟我共享這日月星辰宇宙？

喜歡來我們診所的人，大多也是有些奇怪的人。比如A， 他一進診所的門就俯臥下來，喋喋不休地告訴我們他最近的經歷：“啊，你們不是說要有柔軟心嗎？我告訴你們，我在都市裡心就焦躁不安，但只要一去爬山，心立即就柔軟下來了。那個時候，周圍一個人都沒有，我靜靜地在山坡上攀着，聽着我的狗在後面呼哧呼哧趕上來。秋天的葉子在我身邊飛舞，我仿佛看到山裡的眾神靈們都在微笑都在跟我低語。這時候，你說我的心怎能不柔軟？……”

病人有時來找我們治病時，我給他們紮上針，就給他們做氣功。做氣功並不是人為地給他們氣，而是用我的敘述把他們帶到一個平靜祥和的地方，比如一座高山上，一朵蓮花里。當他們出來時，此時的他們往往不是彼時的他們了。

這就是我們的診所，跟你想象的也許不大一樣，但它非常特別，也非常簡單，簡單得就如我現在手心裡捧着的一顆無花果。

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.