Lexington Avenue, Manhattan
New York, NY
Closing down the clinic space in New York has been a big decision. The space has been the home of healing a thousand souls. But, for their sake, and for the sake of future patients that will come hopefully, upon my return to New York, I must take a break, to heal my own soul.
New York, NY
Closing down the clinic space in New York has been a big decision. The space has been the home of healing a thousand souls. But, for their sake, and for the sake of future patients that will come hopefully, upon my return to New York, I must take a break, to heal my own soul.
People can see it. Occasionally, patients exhibit the
audacity to mention it. The good doctor looks unfit. Weight gain. Hair loss.
Imperfect skin. While many doctors my
age look this way, I know I have a different challenge. Ayurveda must prove to me its validity
through its work on me. I want to learn
the deep lessons and then transparently show them through the laboratory that
is my body. To do this, I have to leave
the stress of running a private practice, a school, two households and a clinic
space that costs me $2500 a month, entertaining countless visitors, writing two
books, having no time for my relationships, and running all the errands that
are required to clean out my life and keep it clean. The time for exercise,
fresh food, and routines is deferred on many days. Admittedly, I love the fast lane. But it is
making me wilt.
It has been decided that the clinic furniture will be put
into storage. I look around, and talk to my chief counsel, my power attorney,
quick-thinking, sharp, and straightforward.
She is also my sister. “Pay it
forward,” she says. “Give it to the Universe and allow it to come back to you
in another form. The clinic’s value is
not the couch, the cabinets, the heavy furniture. The value is in the faith of
the patients, the invaluable collection of books, the herbs, the knowledge. Let
the rest go back to the Universe.” I
wistfully agree to return the material wealth to the Universe and give away as
much as I can. My tendencies to collect and hoard are facing a welcome
challenge.
A few pieces go to use by friends and students. The books
cannot be disrespected by putting them in the dead space of storage: they go to
the willing bookshelves of students who will enjoy them. The herbs come to my home apartment, which
bulges with fullness. All else goes to storage.
After three weeks of packing and cleaning, the clinic closes on July 15.
A doctor colleague asks me the next day if I would like to
share a clinic with him in Manhattan upon my return. Somewhere in the same
area. Am I interested? I smile. The
Universe is responding. Onward and upward.