The Burn and the Detoxification
This period of study had continued for more than half a year when an incident brought it to an abrupt halt.
One day my husband came home with ten jin of pork fat and asked me to render it into lard. After returning from Mount Putuo I had stopped being nauseated at the sight of meat, though I alone still ate vegetarian while my husband, the housekeeper, and the child ate meat. That morning I placed all the fat in a wok and heated it. Once it had fully rendered, I poured the oil into a large basin. By that point the oil was smoking blue, and the basin was filled to the brim. I set the basin on the kitchen counter, then thought: this spot is too low — if the child came to play and accidentally knocked the basin over, the consequences would be terrible. My mind must have gone momentarily blank, because I picked up that brimming basin of boiling oil and went to place it on the narrow window ledge. The ledge was barely the width of a hand — even a child would know that putting a basin on such a ledge was impossible. And yet I did it.
The moment I placed the basin it tilted to one side. As the oil began to spill I reached out to steady it. The result: the entire basin of oil poured over my right arm. I cried out and found myself somehow in the living room without knowing how I had gotten there. When I came to my senses I was sitting on the floor holding my right arm with my left hand, weeping in pain. My right arm was turning red rapidly, my right hand curling inward like a claw. As the heat of the oil drove poison deeper layer by layer, a new piercing stab of agony came every few seconds. I sat on the floor kicking my feet against the ground, crying without restraint — no composure, no mindfulness — while the terrified housekeeper ran up and down the hallway knocking on neighbors’ doors asking for burn ointment.
After applying some burn ointment I could bear the pain slightly better. I suddenly thought of Li Shizhen. I quickly closed my bedroom door and sat. I didn’t seem to enter fully into samadhi, but I clearly saw Li Shizhen pour a full kettle of boiling water over my arm — this is a meditative state; do not attempt to replicate it — and then produce a bowl of red paste he had prepared, applying it bit by bit along my arm. I felt the whole arm gradually growing cool, the suffering considerably reduced. Now blisters were forming on my hand and arm. Li Shizhen continued applying medicine while reassuring me: “It’s not serious, you’ll heal quickly.” I was afraid my right hand might never fully extend again. Then the Master arrived and said: “This is your appointed karmic trial. We have already done our utmost to reduce it to a minimum, but you must still endure the physical suffering. Be at ease — you will fully recover.” The Master then added: “Your scream just now startled a friend of mine out of samadhi.” In that moment I found myself in a cave in the meditation vision. On a cushion in the cave sat a Taoist practitioner with long unbound hair. His bone structure was extraordinary, his eyes gleaming with vitality as he looked at me, then said to the Master: “That was close — almost caused a serious disruption!” He stood, bowed deeply to an ancient-looking book resting on a stone ledge beside him, then reverently took the book and presented it to me. On the cover were the characters for the Yellow Emperor’s Classic of Internal Medicine. I sat before him and he began explaining the contents. I drifted in and out, not knowing how long had passed before coming out of samadhi.
With the help of the Masters, and some burn ointment from the hospital pharmacy, things progressed. A week later the large blisters had all gone and my fingers could extend freely again, but the skin began to ulcerate. The Master said: “The burn has triggered a full release of the toxins stored in your body — they must all exit through your hand. This will continue intermittently for about three years. There will be itching. You’ll need to endure it.” I thought: itching is surely more bearable than pain. A little anti-itch medicine and I’ll manage — I can even scratch if it gets bad enough. I was far too hasty with that conclusion.
The itching was like countless ants crawling over every inch of skin. The moment my hand or arm began to itch, my entire body responded — even my tongue and heart. There was nothing to be done except roll around in bed; it was beyond endurance. Pain can be sat through for a few minutes, but itching — not for one second. Fortunately the episodes followed a pattern, generally peaking around noon and midnight. In the evenings I tried to sleep as early as possible. When midnight came, no matter how deeply I had been sleeping, I would be jolted awake by the itching. My husband was away on a work trip at that time, and only an elderly housekeeper stayed with me to help — I remain deeply grateful for her care. The moment she heard me groaning in the night she would be up immediately, filling a basin with boiling water from the kettle and dissolving a large handful of salt in it. I would slowly lower my arm into it. The flesh was mildly raw and ulcerated; the itching was so overwhelming that the heat of the water hardly registered. Each episode lasted roughly half an hour, and afterward yellow toxic fluid would seep from the ulcerated skin. Since it was detoxification, the Masters could only stand by and watch, offering comfort. Once I said to the Master: “The itching is unbearable. I want to cut this arm off with a knife.” The Master looked at me with an expression of tender concern but said nothing. I thought this time there was truly nothing even the Master could do.
But a few days later the Master came in high spirits, bringing someone with him. The Master addressed this person respectfully as “Master.” He appeared younger than my Master. He looked at my arm and said: “Let us begin.” The Master asked me to sit quietly, and the two of them sat before me. The moment I settled I heard the sound of an ancient guqin zither — in front of my Master a guqin had appeared and he was playing it, while the other Master held a pipa lute in his arms. My Master’s guqin produced deep, resonant tones. The pipa emitted a sound like wind, a low sustained humming.
In an instant, countless rays of golden light poured from the two instruments and enveloped me. My entire body surged with heat. I saw my energy channels emanating brilliant white light that merged with the golden light. The music in my ears grew more and more intense. I was pierced through and dissolved by ten thousand beams of golden light, disappearing into the radiance. In that moment I suddenly understood: the two Masters were using the five tones to drive out the toxins in my body — and then I knew nothing more. When I came to, the two Masters were gone. I looked at my arm — it had visibly improved. From that day on the severity of the itching was greatly reduced: only the burned area itself would itch; the rest of my body no longer joined in. I didn’t know what to say to the Master. Tears fell quietly.
The Master later suggested that to help the arm’s toxins clear more quickly, I could practice tai chi. I found a Master and studied tai chi and tai chi sword for several months — not executed precisely, but it did contribute something to my arm’s recovery.