This year my beloved acupuncturist, Dr. Wu, retired. I could sing you love songs about Dr. Wu. He took such good care of me these past 4 1/2 years of long covid. He often gave me extra time and let me sleep on the table (every acupuncture treatment put me to sleep!)
When a needle would go in and my body would have a strong reaction, he'd always reassure me, "That's good! Very good chi." I would exhale a bit, my trust restored that my body knew what to do and how to heal.
On his last day in the office, I was one of many people who came by for a treatment or with a gift to say good bye. In addition to his acupuncture clinic he'd also been a professor at the local acupuncture school. So there was so much love in the office that day - so many patients and students who lined up to thank him for his help.
Good bye parties are such mysterious things - full of sadness about the ending and gratitude for what you've received. All of us - his patients and students - felt a kind of kinship, a camaraderie in our shared love for Dr. Wu, and visited with one another while we waited for our turn to give Dr. Wu a good bye hug.
One of his students had brought a tray of pepper plants that she'd grown from seeds. I oohed and aahed over her plants like meeting a newborn baby - especially since our attempts to grow plants from seed had met with failure after failure. What were we doing wrong?
What she taught me about seeds, I later realized, is as true for humans as it is for plants. Her words continue to help me be gentle with myself, just as Dr. Wu taught me to be gentle with myself. I hope they help you be gentle with yourself, too.
Sprouting seeds
Holding a tray of new pepper plants
I asked her how she did it. She
patiently explained the requirements
of seeds: warm light to coax them from
their dark caves, steady moisture to crack
the heart seam down the middle, a fan of
blowing wind to create sturdy limbs;
Generous space for roots to spread
their dancing fingers. I thought planting,
water and sunlight were enough. But
now I understood why my seeds had
failed to bloom. When seeds don't
sprout, we don't blame the plant. We
explore the whole. As I walked away
I thought about my own dormant
seeds. I longed to hold each unripened
heart with a gardener's generosity,
a sharp spade of possibility. I wanted
to know: what new life could grow
in that good green earth?
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With a grateful heart, Karly