The Mountain Surgery
Between snow and blood, the body healed like a robot remembering its design.
Long ago, in mountains remote from all services,
skiers chased pristine snow between cliffs and boulders.
They carried only radios for emergencies,
and among them was my friend, Dr. Shin -
a physicist who lived between Universe and God.
One evening, a young woman crashed badly.
Fog sealed the peaks, the helicopter postponed till dawn.
Her luck was that a surgeon skied with them.
He examined her wounds and said:
“Without surgery tonight, she will not survive.”
No one wished to face blood,
but Dr. Shin stepped forward:
“I will assist you, doctor.”
By lantern light, the surgeon began.
With minimal tools, he assembled her body -
vessel to vessel, nerve to nerve, bone to bone -
not with stitches, but with faith in nature’s design.
“The body heals itself,” he said.
“We only help it remember.”
Shin watched in awe,
a physicist witnessing biology’s quiet miracle.
At dawn, the helicopter carried her away.
Years later, he met her again.
Scars remained, but her movements were whole.
She only said: “I no longer ski. Fear holds me.”
Shin, shaken by the power of healing,
turned from physics toward the body’s secret maps.
He studied acupuncture, built a device
to chart the active points of flesh.
At midnight he called me, astonished:
“We are robots.
We are drawn on boards by someone.
Every point is fixed, symmetrical,
a design beyond belief.
Why did I spend years on physics,
when medicine holds this mystery?”
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