The Clearing

by Annie Donwerth Chikamatsu

So which tree?

Mona says he practices under an evergreen in the clearing near Meiji Shrine on Fridays. Yeah, okay, right. It’s summer. Every tree here is green. So now what? I can just hear her say, “Kathy, you’ll know him when you see him.” 

Hmm, there’s a guy under a tree. Alone. About my age. But, that can’t be him. He’s wearing a raggedy basketball T-shirt with a slogan about levitating and flying. That’s way too lame for the most powerful healer Mona’s ever met.

He’s in meditation, lotus position, hands in prayer, fingers entwined, index finger pointing skyward. It’s gotta be him.

I drop my bag. Plop down in front of him. Fold my hands like his. He opens his eyes. Our eyes meet. But I’m not sure he sees me. I rotate my wrists, fingers pointing upward.

“Here’s the church. Here’s the steeple. Open the door and see all the people,” I say.

His face shows no expression. He didn’t get it. Mona says he grew up in China with a Chinese dad and an American mom. Surely, he knows some English. I stick to the English tutor training I’ve learned—Keep talking. It’s amazing how much they pick up with keywords—and jump into my life story. Besides, Mona says he reads minds.

“I’m here about my hands. They hurt. And what are these?” I show him the nodules on my wrists.

“No meaning,” he says.

Is this guy for real? Mona says there’s meaning in everything.

“Mona says my energy’s blocked. She read that young women who don’t express themselves have pain in their hands. She says I should’ve gone somewhere else to get teaching experience. Tokyo’s first on her list of cities needing a cosmic enema. Except the pain started way before coming here. My grandmother had pain in her hands, maybe it runs in the family,” I say.

“No telling,” he says.

He scans me from a distance, tracing circles in the air from my head to lap.

“No moving,” he says.

Oh. I must’ve been talking with my hands like I usually do. I sit on them.

“Sorry,” I say.

“No. No moving. No BM. No good,” he says.

“BM? Oh! Ha! Irregularity. I’m definitely blocked that way—all that white rice—but that’s not why I’m here,” I say.

He stands.

“No telling,” he says.

I tighten my legs and close my eyes. I’m incredibly still. I can tell.

“Is this okay? What should I do with my hands?” I say.

“No telling,” he says.

Oh, he wants me to be quiet. I bite my lip. I shut my eyes again.

Now what do I do? Clear my mind? I’ve heard Mona say that. But, how will it feel? Mona says he can move clouds.

I peek. He’s just standing there. One hand’s pointing toward me, the other’s pointing skyward. So that’s how he moves energy. 

I close my eyes again. Nothing’s happening. Wait, it’s getting really warm. What’s all this orange? Mona says orange is healing. Am I lifting off the ground? Awesome!  Are those feathers above?  I hear feathers above. No more pain! I’m cured!

OUCH! What the…

Acorns, half-digested muck, sit in my lap. I look up. Crows flap high overhead.

“No meaning,” he says.

Crow crap! No meaning!

What will Mona will say about that?

 

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