CHAPTER 14
“That’s right, that’s right,” barked David the Illusionist to the strong and patient stage hands. His tall and lanky body didn’t look quite as handsome or mysterious in cut off denim shorts and a torn gray tee shirt as it did in the tuxedo he had rented to perform in this evening. He raked his boney fingers through his thick black hair. “Just make sure that the scrim is pulled tightly so that it works properly under the lighting.”
The sometimes transparent piece of cloth was stretched between two poles which were connected to it with rings at the top and bottom of the cloth. The scrim took up the entire back of the stage, leaving a few yards behind it for people and props. Most of the stage was thus left for the performers in front of the scrim.
When the stage was illuminated from the front, the scrim looked like a wall of light blue, and when lighted from the rear the audience could see whatever was placed behind it. The material was porous enough so that machine-produced fog could be blown through it, and underneath it, in order to create a surreal effect as needed.
The crew tested their handiwork. A worker in a dark blue jumpsuit and tool belt—which strained at his gut—stood behind the scrim. His colleague turned the back lights on and there he was—visible to everyone. When the lighting switched to the front stage lighting he disappeared.
“Great job guys. Now just keep your mouths shut and everything will be fine.”
Mister Wu dialed the front desk. He was restless and afraid. Maybe there was ‘a doctor in the house’ as Westerners would say—as his dear wife had said in the past. The pleasant and almost too perky young lady at the desk said that a Christian monk from the mainland, Pennsylvania she thought, was some sort of natural doctor. Would she like Mister Wu to call the monk for him?
Mister Wu felt better already. Being Asian himself, and very comfortable with the old ways, he was partial to Eastern medical care. Monastics of any tradition were also people he liked to be around.
Brother Francis was out on his little balcony just above the boulder field which made up the sacred pace of refuge. He was luxuriating in some extra meditation. This was not everyone’s cup of tea, but it certainly was his.
He had a deceased Jesuit friend who once said that he didn’t believe in reincarnation, but if he did he would like to come back as an old Italian lady’s cat. He just wanted to sit in the sun, be petted, and lap up some milk. The monk felt like that cat. He was beginning to unwind from a busy life. Then the phone rang.
“Brother O’Neil? Brother Francis? I’m sorry. I’m not sure what to call you.”
“No problem. Brother Francis is fine. O’Neil is my family name. It’s used for legal matters but that’s about all. We emphasize our Baptismal names as monks these days. Years ago we took a new name when we became novices, symbolic of our new life, but not so today. Now I’m sorry. I told you more than you needed to know and you must be a busy lady.”
“Not at all, Brother Francis. It’s fascinating. One of our guests is in need of a little medical attention. It’s not an emergency or anything, so I wonder if you might take a look.”
Brother Francis felt a little hesitation in his gut. It was not because he did not want to minister to someone in need, but he did want to honor the advice others had given him about slowing down. He also had a sense that he might be drawn into something bigger than a headache or upset stomach.
“I would be happy to help, but isn’t there a house doctor available?”
“There is, Brother, but this is what you might call a special case. You see, the man in need is the husband of the late Madam Wu. Perhaps you’ve read about her in the newspapers.”
“Indeed I have.”
“Well, he’s a very gentle spirit and I think he might actually need your clinical psychology skills as much as your Chinese medicine.”
“You seem to know a lot about me. How’s that?”
“Well,” she sounded embarrassed, “I read about you in the The Garden Island. I’m sorry if I disturbed you. We usually don’t make such requests, but somehow this one just seems right. You know?”
“No problem at all. It’s good to listen to one’s intuition—usually. I would be happy to see this gentleman. What is his name and room number?
The girl gave the monk the needed information and he called Mister Wu’s room and then went to pay him a visit.
Mister Wu’s dark eyes shifted nervously up and down the corridor as he let Brother Francis into his hotel room. He combed back his thinning dark hair with his fingers and smoothed out his multi-colored Hawaiian shirt. His navy blue shorts revealed skinny dark legs.
“Please sit down dear Brother. It is so kind of you to do this.”
“It’s my pleasure Mister Wu. I’m sorry that you are not up to par but let’s see what we can do about that.” While he was speaking, Brother Francis unobtrusively and automatically, performed the “Four Diagnostics” of Chinese medicine.
He interviewed (asked the man about his symptoms and took some general history), observed (the color of Mister Wu’s skin, whites of his eyes, and his fingernails), he listened (to the sound and quality of the patient’s voice and breathing), and he touched or palpated (simply by shaking Mister Wu’s hand and patting him on the back).
The monk learned that Mister Wu was hyper-vigilant, found it difficult to sleep, had a long-standing headache, and was finding it increasingly difficult to turn his “monkey mind,” or thinking brain, off. He noticed a reddish flush on his patient’s face and eyes. His nails appeared normal. Mister Wu spoke in a slightly high pitched and quavering voice, probably higher than his normal tone.
Brother Francis pressed on Mister Wu’s wrists, taking the twelve pulses of Chinese medicine. He then held the man’s wrist up to his nose and sniffed. The heart pulse was elevated and the aroma emanating from the man’s skin smelled bitter and sweaty. All of these indicators suggested an excess of the Fire element. The obsessive thoughts (referred to as “over thinking” in the Chinese system) suggested an elevation of the Earth element also.
The doctor monk pulled a few bottles of An Shen Bu Nao out of the black bag he used to carry his medicine in, especially when traveling. He often found that the most ancient Chinese formulas worked very well and very quickly. The patient price was usually only about five dollars a bottle and there were just about no negative side effects.
This particular formula was fashioned into little pills and had a Western name, but Brother Francis forced himself to think in and use the Chinese name. His hope was that maybe in a few decades he would be able to speak Mandarin with more ease.
The medicine contained Fo ti, dried root tuber, Polygonatum rhizome, Licustrum fruit, Dong Quai root, Polygala root, Silk tree bark, Eclipta, and Jujube seed. What’s not to like?
After instructing the ailing man to take three pills three times daily on an empty stomach he went to the sink and filled a cup with lukewarm tap water, opened a bottle of the medicine, and handed Mister Wu three pills along with the water.
Once his patient had consumed his medicine, Brother Francis taught him a simple qigong move used to enhance the Water Element, thus dampening the excessive Fire Element burning within this man.
“Visualize the color blue, Mister Wu. Color, like sound, is comprised of various wavelengths, so technically, it moves. Let that color move or vibrate within you and around you. Western physicists are presently calling this concept of vibration ‘string theory’ but the Chinese have known about it for millennia”
This instruction was not lost on the gentle little man. He closed his eyes as he leaned forward raising his hands to the heavens and scooping imagined water from above and letting it pour down over him as he leaned back. He enveloped himself in a sea of blue color through the gift of his mind. His smile was like the dawning of a day, slow, steady, and eventually quite bright.
“It looks to me as if you are getting some relief,” Brother Francis observed.
“Quite right Brother. I continue to believe that if I were hit by a bus I would want Western medicine, but for most other things I look to the East—and maybe now to Pennsylvania too!”
“You are very kind sir. If you feel up to it, would you like to join me tonight to see David the Illusionist perform?” Just as soon as he said it, Brother Francis remembered that the auditorium where the performance would take place was most probably the ballroom where Mister Wu’s wife had collapsed less than a week earlier.
The Asian man slowed down his qigong movements and said with some courage: “Yes Brother. I think that I must face a few things that may happen there this evening.”
“Wonderful. Please get a little rest now and I’ll meet you in the lobby in about two hours. In the meanwhile I will pray to Jesus for your continued healing, and reverence the Dao as I do so.”