A Magic Moment of Ki Healing
This story happened about twenty-five years ago. I was living half the year in Tokyo. I made friends with a restaurateur/chef named Koichi Yamamoto, whom I called by the diminutive Yamachan. He had a small, gourmet seafood restaurant in Kagurazaka where I dined at least once a week, sometimes more.
As a Buddhist, Yamachan believed in karma, and was certain that the two of us had been brothers in a former life. He said he had two lucky charms: hearses and me. Business was good on days when he saw a hearse and when I ate at his restaurant.
The restaurant had a counter that sat five, and three tables that could seat four each. The kitchen was narrow and on the other side of the counter, clearly visible from any part of the restaurant. When I was alone I always sat at the far end of the counter where I could chat with Yamachan’s waitress/wife.
This incident occurred on a Monday night. The restaurant was closed on weekends, and Mondays were a busy time for Yamachan. He had a lot of preparations to make. I arrived after work at 8:00, and there were six customers. By 9:00, a foursome had entered which made eleven people. The foursome ordered grilled fish. The gas grill was on a shelf above the refrigerator, and Yamachan had to climb on a step stool to light it.
He ignited the grill, stepped down off the stool, when a mouse who had spent the weekend sleeping in the grill, leapt out of the grill and into the breast pocket of Yamachan’s chef’s jacket. Yamachan cried out in surprise and put his hands over his breast pocket to keep the mouse from escaping.
Hearing Yamachan’s startled cry, the customers got to their feet asking what was the matter.
“My heart, my heart,” Yamachan yelled, and staggered out of the kitchen into the restaurant, where he fell supine on the floor.
The customers whipped out their cell phones to call 911, but Yamachan stopped them.
“There’s no time for an ambulance,” he said weakly. “That white guy at the end of the counter, he’s a ki healer. He can save me. Bring him over.”
Thinking that Yamachan was dying and entrusting his final moments to my care, I rushed to his side.
“What’s wrong? Where does it hurt?”
He pulled my ear to his lips and whispered, “Get this f…ing mouse out of my pocket and out of the restaurant without them seeing you do it.”
I stood up and ordered everyone to stand back and give Yamachan air. I opened the restaurant door to let in a breeze. I knelt over Yamachan so the customers couldn’t see him, replaced his hands with mine, and went through the motions of a CPR heart massage. Little by little, I got the mouse into my hands. I shouted, “This is the healing moment!”, and ran out of the restaurant into the street where I released the stricken mouse who probably did have a heart attack.
I returned to Yamachan and knelt over him, continuing my heart massage and mumbling healer-like words. I should have been wearing feathers and shaking a rattle.
Yamachan opened his eyes and exclaimed, “It’s a miracle. The white guy saved me. Thank you, thank you. I owe you my life. Dinner is on me.”
He got to his feet and dusted himself off.
“I haven’t felt this good in years,” he said, and went back into the kitchen.
The ten customers clustered around me, begging for my business cards.
That was the magic moment that jump-started my practice.
