Today, I made a customary visit to the clinic of Mr. Rempu Fujimoto, my acupuncture mentor in Nara. Ten years have passed since I became his disciple. At first, I intended to study under him for 10 years at the longest. But now I realize how short it was as I have come to feel I am still at a staring point. So, I would like to have it extended with no end.

Every time I observe his way of treating, I am moved not only by his consistent passion for acupuncture but also by his skill and uncanny manner in conducting his job. I came back from the visit refreshed and enlightened anew. Feeling refreshed and reawakened is a great thing. I myself am occasionally treated by the mentor, which is the best way to learn from him. I should say I owe my present health to the care received from him.

The effect of my mentor’s acupuncture has become so remarkable that even some patients whose conditions are considered beyond the medical attention at university hospitals are resorting to the help from my mentor. This makes me wonder why my mentor’s acupuncture is so miraculously effective. The answer to this question can be noticed here and there in his weblog titled “Soliloquies of an Acupuncture Maniac,” updated every day.

I have just had an opportunity to read his newly published book titled “Living Manifold Lives” (Tankyu-sha pub.), which will make its first appearance at bookstores next week. Its contents are from my mentor’s blog entries, and I’ve read the whole book in one sitting. It exudes his great life power here and there through words such as “… obstacles as a springboard…” or “…the flame of life power….”

Of all the words that moved me intensively, let me introduce one complete passage that came out in entry 168: “Whence did we come and whereto are we headed? We have no knowledge. But one thing is for sure. We live here and now. Losing sight of this truth means losing everything. I’m firing up my life to the full at every moment of my life and with intricate thoughts crossing my mind. And I feel grateful and look forward to what’s going to happen in life, all of which, I’m sure, will contribute to enhancing the diversity of my own life. I cannot help putting my hands together in gratitude.” The passage touches the depth of my heart and soul.
His each thought being introduced in short sentences, it touches my heart and soul no matter which page is opened. The book is a treasure of my life.

In his weblog today, my mentor wrote, “Those who are not equipped with delicacy are unable to listen to the voice of a living body, no matter how long they practice.” This remark by my mentor delighted me a lot for so accurately targeting at the core of this profession.

I say I was delighted because the matter of delicacy had occupied my mind for some time, too. So much so that I often checked the meaning of the word “delicacy” in Kojien, the popular Japanese dictionary. It defines the expression as “delicateness and sensitive considerateness toward others.” Delicacy (sensaisa in Japanese) is an absolute requirement in all medical treatments and for those who are in a position of medically treating people.

In Japan, however, the relationship between patients and physicians is still such that the former often constrain themselves to refrain from asking questions they want to ask of the latter, especially about matters they are seriously worried about. This causes lack of communication between patients and doctors.

Then how can we improve this relationship and help enhance better communicative relationship between the two?

Those who treat patients are often made to delude themselves into thinking that they stand higher than the treated just by being addressed as “sensei.” Medical professionals unconsciously commit the mistake of feeling superior and even arrogant if they regard the patient as somebody weaker who is seeking help from them.

One gains thoughtfulness for others and modesty only after one experiences illnesses, I believe. Isn’t our soul cultivated and enriched when our heart is torn facing our loved ones suffering from ill health?

In acupuncture, the relationship between the patient and the acupuncturist is bridged and built by the needle used for the treatment. In this sense, I always remain grateful
to my patients and the needle I use, and try to dedicate my life to this profession based on an excellent relationship with the people who come to me for treatment.

Oriental medicine takes it for granted that in general we acupuncturists carefully watch and observe the reactions of the acupuncture points of the people we treat. In consequence of this practice, we practitioners inevitably become sensitive to their appearance such as the dress they wear, their complexion, hairstyle, deportment, standing up or sitting down, walking manners, and even their writing style.

As I have repeatedly said by now, oriental medicine considers body and mind as one united entity. To put it more generally, our body is connected with our soul inseparably. This makes one’s invisible inside visible through one’s outside appearance.

In my case, I have become very attentive to the manners of the people I come into contact with. My mentor often says that by imitating the manners or behavior of the patients we meet, we can understand where they have pains. For instance, when we meet with a patient complaining of a leg problem, we should try to walk like he or she does.

What is more, my mentor seems to be always observing the deportment not only of his patients but also of his disciples. Watching their masculinity and femininity, and even the way they pick a piece of rubbish on the floor, evidencing his adeptness in observing human characters.

At my clinic, a couple of male and female staff members are assisting me. Without having any specific instructions from me, they treat the visiting patients with admirable considerateness, which is rewarded with lots of words commending them. This makes me feel quite happy.

At our workplace, I have much interest in observing their legs. To further explain this,
the male assistant looks somewhat effeminate and the female staffer somehow masculine. For instance, this morning the one was sitting formally while the other was sitting with one knee drawn up, biding their time for visitors.

Mr. Matsumoto, the male staffer, has recently updated his blog (take a look), in which he introduced his own photo completely assuming a pose of a white stork at the Kounotori Garden in Toyooka. I could not help laughing at this photo, while another acupuncturist said this is a real white stork laying eggs. I burst out laughing and understood what it meant. Watching the demeanor of both members, especially their legs, I thought the male one had a womanish element in him, while the other had a mannish element in her.

Such a state of our workplace helps me a lot, because there is no “male intimidation,” while the business atmosphere is much enhanced by the great female “dispatch,” keeping the workplace craftsmanship well balanced between the two.

Thus, casually watching the deportment of people around me helps me discover lots of things about human beings, myself included.

Some people talk about their unbelievable talents such as being able to see things that are not seen by ordinary persons, to witness unmovable things moving or to make 100 percent correct predictions about things happening. In many cases, these people are not telling lies or boasting. Their stories are true and honest.

Oriental medicine, which makes a big point of the oneness of body and mind, seeks to explore the depth of the human mind and attaches importance to developing theories and enhancing sensitivities side by side, thus giving an impression of spiritualism in some cases.

Honestly speaking, I myself have no such “special talent” at all. Neither have I ever wished to have such talents. At best, I have only an ordinary “talent” of having some occasional dreams that come true.

In oriental medicine, some professionals theorize that such “special talents” result from a lopsidedness in the liver or in the lungs which control our sensitivities. In fact, when I am treating my patients, some of them show stronger reactions when the related acupuncture points are touched.

By the way, a book which I read recently made me think a lot in this connection. It was written by a noted clinical psychologist, the late Dr. Hayao Kawai, whom I greatly respect. In the book, he refers to the supernaturalism or avenging spirits written in “The Tale of Genji,” which he confidently defines as “something completely realistic.”

He says half jokingly to a patient suffering from psychological problems, “You’ll never be cured, but there is always a chance of accident of healing in anything. I bet on it and try my luck.” Actually, according to him, unbelievable accidents do happen which help cure his patients. “When I talk about this reality, few people believe my words. Instead, they believe in the “inevitable state” of reality as how it should be. This is a very odd belief, indeed…” he says.

He writes in the book, “My trade is to wait for an accident or coincident to occur. Many people lack the ability to wait for the accidental phenomenon to happen. Instead, they only try to cure problems, employing some inevitable treatment or system. And they fail in almost everything they try. I wait for an accidental encounter instead of making an attempt to “cure.”

Coming from none other than Dr. Kawai, these words sort of shocked me. But they also gave me a clue to solve a certain mystery.