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This has been an odd week, one in which several unrelated events seem to be telling me something, but the meaning of these messages remains elusive. Twice in the last few days, I’ve found myself ruminating over fingerprints. Well in one case fingerprints, in the second, claw marks. But in both cases I am ruminating over the marks we leave behind as we pass through the world.

Let me start with the fingerprints. A week ago in the wee hours of a snowy night, an enterprising individual dispatched a window from my daughter’s 1998 Honda CRV and removed the car’s stereo. As a similar fate befell several other cars on the block, the police speculate that we were the victims of a contest between individuals desiring to join a fraternal association striving to see who could collect the most car stereos in one night. The following evening two gentlemen from Denver’s volunteer CSI unit came to our home and diligently dusting CDs that had been in the car, looking for fingerprints. One clear print was found, lifted and dutifully run through their database. Most likely it was left either by my daughter, one of her friends or possibly me, and not the person who removed the stereo.

Later in the week, this same precious daughter accompanied me on our annual ‘hut trip’ organized by the naturopathic professional association in Colorado. Those of you not from Colorado may need some explanation of what a ‘hut trip’ is. In Colorado there exist things called ‘huts’ that are built and maintained by a prosperous non-profit group based in Aspen called the 10th Mountain Division Hut Association.

The term hut is a poor descriptor as in fact these structures are large, beautifully crafted buildings, situated in gorgeous spots in our National Forests. [Then again, relative to the houses in Aspen, they are huts.] The ‘huts’ were originally built for winter travelers, though the Hut Association now rents out sleeping space year-round; demand is so high that a lottery system is used to allocate reservations fairly.

We traveled in to this particular hut by ski through a wonderland of freshly fallen snow, climbing almost 3,000 feet over the six-mile trip in. A three thousand foot climb might not sound like much, but as the last trudge uphill was at an elevation over 11,000 feet, we were feeling it.

Early on our journey we crossed a clearing with a single tall Aspen tree in the center. Pausing to catch our breath and adjust our packs, I found myself staring at what first seemed to be random scars on the tree’s bark. Slowly, these markings coalesced into a recognizable pattern; a bear had once climbed high in the tree and each step of the way its claws had dug deeply into the bark. Probably a frightened bear by how deep the marks were and how high up the tree they went.

A criminal’s finger print, a bear’s claw print, our hands leave their traces as we move through the world. All of us, be we petty thief or frightened bear, leave our mark on the things we touch whether we mean to or not.

There are those people who are driven to leave a mark on the world, to leave some lasting legacy so they are not immediately forgotten. There are other people who prefer to go through life quietly, leaving few footprints, be they literal or carbon.

It is this idea that we leave a mark on the world that is central to these two stories. Whether we mean to or not, our passage through this world leaves traces of ourselves that linger on into the future. These traces may remain long after we cease to live in this world or perhaps like ski tracks in the snow, fade quickly after we pass by.

How shall we move through the world then? Thinking of the traces we leave to minimize our impact, or striving to leave a deep mark that future inhabitants will trace back to us? Neither approach feels right to me. Rather, if I had some say in this, I would rather my passage be a gentle ripple, a movement, a catalyst, that leaves little trace, but changes what it touches for the better.

As I think about this it probably isn’t the things we touch where we leave our deepest marks but the people we come in contact with. We are always touching others, physically, emotionally, intellectually, whether with our hands, our words or our gestures. These touches can contain an idea that may act like a seed and sprout, take root and grow within the person we’ve touched.

From the opposite perspective, we are constantly being touched by the world; people and things are leaving their imprints on us. Is it possible to discriminate and decide which of these will take root within us? Can we weed out those fingerprints that lead nowhere good and nurture those that we would prefer to see flourish? Can we in our words and actions plant seeds that we would wish to see bloom?

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I had planned to write this blog submission as a reflection on my three days attending the Integrative Healthcare Symposium (IHS), which just concluded in New York City this past week. I was brimming with cutting editorial analysis about the keynote speakers, and the content, and the panels, and the vendors, and the commercial and political negotiations that take place in hallways, at dinner tables, and in bar booths. A curmudgeon’s commentary about the same faces, same speeches, same arguments and same deal making as last year and the year before that and undoubtedly returning to afflict us again next year.

But something changed for me during the flight back to California. Perhaps instigated by the fatigue, or the frustration, or the unexplained pain in my right hip. An insight, one might say, into the reality that there are, and never will be, any definitive answers, or solutions, or final agreements that address the issues that have been with us since the first caveperson argued with the second caveperson at the first Integrative Cave Conference (ICC) about who’s rock was going to best cure the physical and political ills of the cave community.

What I began to understand, and have begun to accept, on that long flight home is that we will never solve this healthcare conundrum. Ever. Not with legislation, or research, or drugs, or botanicals. In fact this whole process we have been battling over is not about therapies, or modalities, or titles. Its not about who gets the most money or power. It’s not about anything found in the conference brochure or the behind the scenes deal.

It’s about us.

Its about how we respond to the people and information put before us, and how they and it are the same as last year and the year before only because we am the same as last year and the year before. And how continuing to work within this system and attend these conferences can remain of interest and worth year after year only if we find the capacity to see things in a different light each time.

I must confess that one of my greatest teachers here has been our own Karen Howard, who I have watched work relentlessly for an outcome, and, when finding that it has slipped away through universal serendipity or someone else’s stupidity, has the capacity to hold the situation in wonder along with the inevitable frustration, and then let it go and move on to the next beautiful disaster. It really is a study in grace, and I hope to achieve even a fraction of it before I leave this field of endeavor.

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Photo by norwichnut via flickr, used under the Creative Commons License.

A very fit and clear-eyed gentleman introduced himself to me at the recent Integrative Healthcare Symposium. He appeared to be in his late 60’s or early 70’s. He was of medium build and thin. He was wearing a bright yellow sweater that fit tightly over what appeared to be a toned chest. He was wearing running shoes which cushioned his energetic stride as he walked toward me.

He began the conversation with questions. He reached into his conference bag and pulled out a sample bottle. He proceeded to ask me about its particular virtues. I gave him my best explanation. He appreciatively nodded his understanding and followed this with more questions. He listened patiently and appeared to appreciate my explanations. He then commented about his long-standing way of living – relying on whole foods and daily exercise as the mainstays.

He reached back into his bag and pulled out a worn looking printed cardboard.He handed this to me and I read the cover of a book that he had authored in the 70’s about healthy living. Abram Hoffer had written the foreword and was his friend, this gentleman sadly told me as he lamented his death. He then pulled out a magazine which featured a write-up of his next book - yet to be published – on cholesterol. He explained his central thesis about the medical myths related to cholesterol with fervor.

Meanwhile, I had been doing some calculations and I finally had to ask. “How old are you, if you don’t mind my asking?” “I don’t mind. I am 85 years old.” All of sudden, I realized that I was talking to the real thing. Here was an outstanding specimen of the human life form, who was, in addition, passionate to his very core about natural health, and who had stayed the course over decades of change and transformation in the natural healthcare industry and in medicine.

I had, admittedly, found myself somewhat bemused by him at first. Now, I was seriously and, gratefully, humbled. I realized, as I listened to this humble and clearly fervent elder, that I still have so very much to learn.Furthermore, most of what I have left to learn is likely very simple – those things which form the foundations of our health – such as diet, passionate living, movement.

It is, I reflected, quite easy to become engrossed in the myriad of details attendant to the progress of medicine. While valuable, and, in fact, essential to safe and effective practice, modern understandings and therapeutic rationalizations do carry the danger of distracting us from the foundations of health. Untethered, we can become adrift amidst our bits of information. I think was somewhat adrift. It took a spry 85 year old in a neon yellow sweater to help me touch back down again. As our conversation concluded, I wished him well and thanked him for his contributions and inspirations.

Watching his lively figure stride away, I smiled and felt a little lighter on my grounded feet too.

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LANGUAGE – it seems like such a simple thing, we all learn it to one degree or another, starting at a very early age, and we use it to communicate simple needs, ideas, and interests. But can anything be more complicated, used to abuse, and be misinterpreted? It’s not always easy to say what we mean, to hear what is meant, or to repeat what was said.

Perhaps a few examples might better illustrate my thoughts. Recently, a local journalism student interviewed a number of health care providers about detoxification diets, and published her report. The article, as so many interviews go, reflected the journalism student’s understanding of what was said and what her own ideas were about the topic, but was not completely reflective of the intent of those interviewed. We see this often, as so many of you I am certain have experienced. The wealth and breadth of language is sweet, and also the door to the chaos of interpretation.

Another example is the interpretation of a patient who was informed that he would receive some of the health care services at no cost to him. His response was that if there was no cost, the value of the service must be limited. Hence, cost equals value. I admit, I have often hinted at something similar to that when discussing the quality of supplements with patients. This sadly sends me to thinking about health care reform, health insurance… I am not entirely clear about my thoughts on these issues, what with all the rhetoric we are subjected to on a daily basis. These are very complicated issues, and it is not just language that is abused in the attempts to “win” the arguments. It is however, another example of the twisted use and dark side of language.

I recently was given, by a friendly, supportive surgical oncologist, a copy of the January edition of Clinical Oncology News which contains an article about the Children’s Oncology Group (COG) multi-center double-blind placebo controlled trial using Traumeel for mucositis. I don’t want to debate the study itself here, but rather to illustrate the use of language to communicate. The second sentence states that “the study was a rare effort to subject alternative medicines, which are now widely used by cancer patients, to the same rigorous, evidence-based examination used for conventional treatments.” I get that “rare” is used here to communicate relatively uncommon from his perspective, but the more common interpretation is that it is highly unusual. While I agree that we certainly need to be more demanding in our evaluations of “alternative” approaches, I think that “rare” simply reinforces the common perception that “alternative” approaches are almost never researched and are certainly not evidence-based.

To be fair, the article’s author did communicate some of the challenges in conducting trials of this type, testing “homeopathies”. He also mentions the wide use of this therapy by “homeopathists” to treat inflammatory diseases. But where is the information from the providers who know this medicine and the language to make clear the details about the therapy? There are many things that I appreciate about the article, but the author’s use of the language that influences readers should be edited with the support of those who speak that medicine’s language, for the sake of clarity.

I have a number of other examples of the misuse of language to communicate our ideas, and I tend to be most sensitive to those misappropriations of language in the field of health care, politics included. But I won’t trouble you with them today. I’ll just turn my attention to the television coverage of the Olympics. Surely the reporters there are unbiased and objective.

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