Last night the Boddhisattva and the Woodland Creature came down for the weekend — lovely to see them, also a pleasant reminder that it is much nicer to see friends when one doesn’t live with them. We went for lunch to the nearby noodle spot, slightly better than adequate this time, and then on to the Martial God Temple and the Chihkan Tower. As with all Chinese sites, seemingly, they are at their best at night and I do wonder why more temples etc aren’t open longer when the harshness of the day is gone.
This morning we turned up at the Japanese place of a couple of weekends ago early, half an hour before opening time, to queue to put our names in their book. By the time we got to the front of the queue the wait was two hours, but happily as we put our names down and started walking away, they ran to us and told us that someone had cancelled and we could come back in an hour.
To while away the hour we went off to the nearby double temple we’d visited the last time as well, with the Budhist and the Taoist wings. The Taoist wing is dedicated to Baosheng, the emperor of healing, and there were rows upon rows of drawers which, I was told, contained traditional Chinese medicine prescriptions for various ailments. Since the Boddhisattva was there, as a Mandarin speaker, I said I would like to have my eczema cured. At first, not knowing better, we lit some incense and I drew a medicine stick. It was numbered 247, and we looked in vain for a drawer of that number. Clearly, however, it was the god telling us we were doing it wrong and we should start over, as when we consulted one of the temple volunteers, he told us that we couldn’t just take a stick like that, we had to consult the healer properly.
So I did it (more or less properly): first I lit three vividly pink incense sticks and told the emperor my name, date of birth and address, told him I had eczema and asked if he would kindly diagnose my ailment. Setting the incense to one side, I threw the poe and was answered: one facing up, one facing down, ‘yes’. (Here I admit that I forgot to tell the god my date of birth and instead of asking if he would diagnose my ailment I asked if he would cure my eczema, but given the clear answer he didn’t seem to mind). I was given a stool and made to sit before the altar with the three incense sticks laid across my right wrist, the fingers of the god reading my pulse. I sat still, waiting for the first line of ash to drop from each one, and when they had dropped, I switched to the other wrist. The second wrist took much longer for some reason, at least the third of the incense sticks. Meanwhile I sat staring up at the altar, dazzled as usual by the sheer amount of colour, tinsel, and imagery one sees in a Taoist shrine, but able to make more sense of it than I had in the past.
At last the final bit of ash dropped from the incense stick, so I could move. I threw the poe again to ask if the god was finished taking my pulse. Yes, came the answer. I waved the incense in thanks and planted it in the sand. Then, as instructed, I threw the poe to ask, should I take a prescription? No, came the firm answer. Disappointing, but then the temple volunteer said I should ask if instead I could take some holy water for the eczema. This time the answer was a yes, so I was given three small bottles, each a cupful, and told to wave them over the incense. I did so, thanked the emperor, and now have three bottles of holy water in the fridge. My intention is to drink one, dab the contents of the second onto the affected skin, and pour the third into a bucket with seven different types of flowers and then pour it over my body in the shower. I was also praised by the volunteer for my seriousness which was not at all put on – I find it quite easy to inhabit belief, even when I don’t feel it.
Just in case this does not provide immediate relief, I have also purchased a small steroid tube. I suspect, however, that the god’s power, along with leaving hot, humid Taiwan, will do the trick.
Lunch was delicious, with some excellent uni, but also quite uncomfortable as the 10 seats are set along a counter in a very narrow space, so anyone wishing to walk along to wash their hands, say, has to squeeze behind one. At the counter I did also take the opportunity to watch them cleaning the whole shrimp and took mental notes.
On the way out we happened to pass a rather odd statue, of what looked like the God of Minions. It turned out to be a temple of sorts, with its leader a rather shifty looking person who called himself the Emperor Buddha who had seen the God of Minions in a vision. An acolyte spotted us and asked if we wanted to see some special stones. Absolutely, I said. So we were taken into the depths of the temple (basically a shop) where, in three dark closets were three statues: one of Maitreya Buddha, one I think of Guanyin, and one of a three-legged toad. We squinted a bit and realised there were streaks glowing green in each of them and were told, with great pride, that they were under ultraviolet light. There was a plinth of the same stone lying in the corner – it looked like granite – and she told us to put our hands on it to absorb its energy. I put my hand flat but felt nothing, though perhaps I should have since the green was presumably radium or something. She asked if we would go upstairs to see the master’s art, but, having seen the statue at the entrance, we declined.
We strolled to the City God temple and then took a cab straight to Kaffun for a relaxing coffee and again I used the Boddhisattva’s translation services, this time to convey to the cafe owner how I appreciated his crockery – not necessarily the most beautiful, but each item clearly designed for comfort in the hand.
Eventually, back, and out for dinner where I was reminded of the irritation of going out for meals with people with limited diets. However, I ordered a chicken liver skewer (it turned out to be heart) which put me in an excellent mood as it doubtless replenished my iron levels.