CHAPTER 13
His workshop at Dominic and Lily’s retreat center was very well received. Brother Francis interacted with a group of about fifty people each day for five days. He cycled through the classic five elements, discussing one each day. Thus Fire, Earth, Air/Metal, Water, and Wood were presented consecutively. He included the physical organs related to each element, actually each energy, and commented on the sense organs, tastes, positive and negative emotions, healing sounds, and psychological archetypes that were associated with each element of Chinese medicine and cosmology.
The monk never ceased to marvel at how unified Chinese medicine is. There is absolutely no distinction between physical and psychological medicine. After his talk, the monk taught the group a qigong movement for the element being presented that day. By the end of the workshop the participants were familiar with a complete qigong form, one set of moves for each of the five elements.
The people paid for the workshop on a sliding scale as they were able. The monk’s favorite “fee” was a pineapple given to him by a smiling man who seemed to have little in the way of material possessions but who radiated a quiet joy—which no money could buy.
The visiting monk read the twelve pulses of some of the participants--one pulse for each of the twelve ordinary meridians. (The pulses for the eight extraordinary meridians, discovered later in history, are not typically read or treated in the same way as the more frequently mentioned ordinary meridians.)
He really didn’t need to read the pulses by pressing the wrists at this point in his ministry. Most of the time the monk simply sensed the pulses of the meridians in his dan tian, or lower abdomen. This area is considered the center of the human person in classical Chinese medicine.
The very last person to have his pulses taken before the workshop ended evoked a deep reaction in Brother Francis. The monk felt strong pulses, especially the one associated with the heart meridian. He intuited that the man had recently lost an adult son in an accident. Brother Francis had the sense that the son wanted his parents to know that he was grateful to them and that he was well. The monk told the man just that as gently as he could, and a woman in the first row wept bitter sweet tears in response.
The workshops ended with lots of smiles, hugs, and some private sessions with the doctor monk. It was time for Brother Francis to move to a small motel on the beach for about five days of quiet and study prior to the Martin Luther King ecumenical service in which he had been invited to participate.
He never tanned in his life—lots of sunburn though. In recent years his skin was less likely to burn to the point of pain. Brother Francis was now taking supplements, including doctor strength multivitamins and minerals. He attributed his more resilient skin to that.
Meditation, walks on the beach, quiet writing, reading, and study were like heaven to the monk. Just below his second story room was a mound of dark boulders, each about four to five feet wide. The mound itself stretched out to a circumference of about twenty yards all around. A simple wooden sign posted on a two-by-four driven into the ground in front of the rocks contained a brief account of some local history.
“HAUOLA (“Dew of Life”) is the name passed down from ancient times for this place at the mouth of the Wailui River. Historical accounts suggest that this was a place of refuge where one could escape punishment and find safety during war.”
History relates that if a Hawaiian had done something that was forbidden, or if someone belonged to a defeated army, that person could gain entry to a sanctuary such as the one outside of Brother Francis’ room. After going through some sacred rites, the person was then permitted to return home safely.
Peace and pain radiated from that hallowed spot--and into the dan tian of the monk. Most of the time he could ignore it, but once each day the monk stopped and prayed for everyone who had ever had any association with that sacred place of refuge. Then it was back to fun!
The closest Brother Francis ever got to any sort of regular recreation was when someone gifted him with a free month long subscription to Netflix. He ordered some movies on DVD for the community and watched one or two on the computer in his office as well. It was great fun but a month of that was more than enough.
The monk enjoyed life, but when he had to stay in a hotel or was treated to something special, it eventually felt like he had eaten too much sugar. He enjoyed the experiences to the hilt but then needed to stop and reflect upon what had happened—digest the adventures in a sense.
Abbot Francis had just moved into the hotel so he was not feeling cloyed yet. He made a reservation for the show a popular magician was to perform that evening. It was being touted as an extra special event. It seems the magician was now telling the reporters that he was going to exercise a little known gift, the gift of communicating with the dead.
The mystery monk had no idea if the magician was simply playing with words, doing a little public relations stunt, or if he actually meant that he was going to communicate with someone from the other side in his act that evening.
Since Catholic Christians believe in life after death, Brother Francis believed that he communicated with the dead regularly. Sometimes he prayed to God through the intercession of various saints—holy folks whom the Church publicized as role models for the faithful. Wasn’t that communicating with the dead? He carried on a non-verbal dialogue with Jesus throughout the day, another example of communication with the dead in one sense.
The local newspaper, The Garden Island, was still echoing with stories about the death of a psychic woman who used to alternate with the magician who called himself “David the Illusionist.” She collapsed on stage during her act—which really wasn’t an act in her mind. Madam Wu considered her ability to read the hearts and minds of others as a gift of the Holy Spirit. It was given to her to be used for the good of others she believed.
The psychic died in her hotel room several hours later due to a wound to her left temple. No one was certain if the wound was a result of her collapse on to the hard wood stage, inflicted later on in her room, or both. Rumors abounded.
The sleuth in Brother Francis was stirred up by the articles. Anything was possible but he was not about to get mixed up in this series of events—or was he? His community had told him to take some time for himself and to relax between giving his workshop and presenting at the Martin Luther King ecumenical celebration. Additionally, the local Bishop back in Pennsylvania had gently asked him to try to keep a lower profile.
True, the monk did wind up in the middle of bizarre scenarios at times, but he didn’t seek them out. They sort of came to him. This time he was just going to mind his own business. Unfortunately, that’s what he always did and it never really stopped the course of events that eventually led to articles in the media about this semi-cloistered mystery monk.
Intuition was one of Brother Francis’ strongest gifts and he had an intuition that he had met the late lady in the newspapers at some point in his life. He didn’t remember the name “Madam Wu” but did have an inner sense that their paths had crossed somewhere along the line. Modern physicists say that once two objects are connected, they stay connected on some level forever. He had met her somewhere, but where?