Yesterday, I participated in a study session held among the fellow practitioners of acupuncture treatment. Attention was focused on how we should guide the acupuncturists of the younger generations on the basis our experiences. The study was centered on the observation of the physical surface of our body, attempting to detect the possible dysfunction of the internal organs through watching the points, the color of the skin and face and the tongue, and checking the pulse.
One principle of our acupuncture research group of Oriental medicine is to “aim at the salvation of the body, mind and soul.” So, this experience of exchanging mutual “treatment” among us who share this principle was extremely meaningful and enjoyable.
Acupuncturing is my profession, but when I had my body surface observed by another acupuncturist, I discovered quite a few things that transcended the clinical hand technique. The importance of touching the points, taking the pulse and even feeling the fear of touching the body of patients always occupy my mind when I try to observe the health state of my patients.
At this particular study session mentioned above, I felt immensely calmed and stabilized the moment that an acupuncture specialist took my pulse. It is my belief that at the time of the pulse-taking, his soul and mine impulsively responded to each other. This experience had great impact on my soul.
Our mentor once told us that there is always love at the bottom of clinical observation procedure. The patient receiving treatment from us definitely senses the love we entertain toward him or her, the love emanating from our unpretentious heart and soul. At this study session, my determination was re-strengthened to pursue my profession based on this pure-hearted love toward our patients.
One factor by which we can guess the character of somebody is the “eyes” of the person we meet. The eyes of a person who is engaged in his or her work look serious as well as attractive.
Last year, I happened to see on the media somebody whose eyes struck me strongly. That person was Ms. Eiko Ishioka, an art director residing in New York. Her look, while she was at her work, glued me to the scene and gripped my heart with its attractiveness transcending her age. Her look reminded me, if I’m allowed to say, the personal atmosphere that my late mother had always created. It closely resembled that of my mother. It was so impressive that it even made me yearn for an opportunity to meet with her if I had an opportunity to visit New York.
It was therefore a sad surprise for me to learn at the end of last year that she died of cancer of the pancreas. She went at just about the same age as my mother did. Her serious look was also that of my mother who had never given up fighting against the same illness. Ms. Ishioka’s serious look, while alive, spoke of the same hard struggle that my mother had sustained, too.
When I’m treating my patients, I am not able to see my own eyes, of course, but we look mutually into the eyes of each other from time to time. The eyes of my patients are honest and seriousness itself. Each time I feel the pulse of my patients, I ask myself if I deserve their seriousness and how responsibly I should respond to it.
I sincerely pray that Ms. Ishioka’s soul will rest in peace, while I seriously long for the day to come when my own eyes strike the heart of each patient as Ms. Ishioka’s eyes did mine.
