青柳诊所手记35

今天早晨天似乎要下雨但却并没有下雨。一大早我们就去诊所把露台上的无花果摘下来。这些无花果都是阿里医生亲手种植的，它们大多又青又小，看上去其貌不扬，但做草药却是好材料。我们把它们一个个弄干净，放在火炉前烤干。

D和J要搬到另外一个城市去了，以后要见到他们的机会大大减少了。虽然认识这对夫妇并不久，但他们脸上诚挚的孩童般的笑容给我们留下了深刻的印象。在他们走前，我们给他们准备了一些草药。我还花了半天时间给他们缝制了两个小草药包，希望在严冬时分，它们可以帮他们抵挡一点风寒痹痛。

已经有不少人跟我们讲过：你们的诊所跟其它的诊所很不一样。

到底哪里不一样呢？我故意问他们，他们又答不出个所以然出来。

我们当然跟别的诊所不一样，我们心里知道得很清楚。

首先，诊所里的两个主治医生都是有些怪异的人。大师兄比我更怪一筹。不说别的，到现在为止，他连手机都没有。

梭罗说：“我宁可坐在一只大南瓜上，由我一个人拥有它，也不愿意和别人挤在天鹅绒的垫子上。”

梭罗要是在世，我打赌他也是一个不爱用手机的人。

大师兄压根儿就不会用手机。诊所的手机响了，我正在忙着，我说：你接一接电话吧？

他就茫然地看看我：按哪个键啊？

他有驾驶大卡车的执照，但却从不开车。无论去哪里，他都是握着一叠厚厚的地图，一格一格数着他要找的目标。

他说他是一个山顶洞人，我觉得一点也没有夸张。

我当然也是有点怪的。我每天四点准时起来静坐。皑皑的黑暗中，我站在阳台上练功时，近处的森林边上总有一只郊狼或者黑熊站在阴影里静静地看着我。我不但不害怕它们，反而感到跟它们的亲近。在这万籁俱寂之中，除了它们，还有谁跟我共享这日月星辰宇宙？

喜欢来我们诊所的人，大多也是有些奇怪的人。比如A， 他一进诊所的门就俯卧下来，喋喋不休地告诉我们他最近的经历：“啊，你们不是说要有柔软心吗？我告诉你们，我在都市里心就焦躁不安，但只要一去爬山，心立即就柔软下来了。那个时候，周围一个人都没有，我静静地在山坡上攀着，听着我的狗在后面呼哧呼哧赶上来。秋天的叶子在我身边飞舞，我仿佛看到山里的众神灵们都在微笑都在跟我低语。这时候，你说我的心怎能不柔软？……”

病人有时来找我们治病时，我给他们扎上针，就给他们做气功。做气功并不是人为地给他们气，而是用我的叙述把他们带到一个平静祥和的地方，比如一座高山上，一朵莲花里。当他们出来时，此时的他们往往不是彼时的他们了。

这就是我们的诊所，跟你想象的也许不大一样，但它非常特别，也非常简单，简单得就如我现在手心里捧着的一颗无花果。

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.