I have two good friends and a cousin in California who are Reiki masters but I needed someone closer to home (and less close to me) to do some massage on my busted soul.
Aside: During brunch at Strawberry Fair many months ago, I was telling some pals about the Reiki masters. A distracted Cameo replied, "What? Reggae Masters? You mean like Rastafarians?"
After some online research and a flurry of emails, I found a practitioner nearby, a woman who does Reiki, Acupressure and Craniosacral massage interchangeably. She also had a number of glowing testimonials from cancer patients. The therapist told me she could come to my house but I thought it would be more helpful if I got out of my daily element, i.e., the hulking pile of laundry in the corner, rugs encrusted with Honey Nut Cheerios, Vito whining by the fridge, etc.
She said her studio in the woods offered a great healing environment -- “if you don’t mind rustic." Now, I’m not a big fan of rustic but can handle it in small doses if it's within driving distance to Dunkies or Starbucks. I scribbled directions on the back of a Hannaford's receipt and headed out.
Aside: Google Maps pinpointed three DDs and two Starbucks between here and there and it was only a few minutes drive.
Per her directions, I pulled onto a dirt road with no street sign. An adorable yellow lab freaked out in the first yard on the right (also per her directions). As I drove deeper into the woods -- and way, way up a hill -- the road became narrower, the brush thicker. The leaves and branches hung lower and lower over my car brushing past the windows like the bristles in a car wash. I started thinking that you could not only hide a body up here, but also an entire car. I drove a few more yards and then stopped the car, thinking I'd bail on this half-assed holistic mission. Are this many trees necessary for chilling?
But then the therapist appeared a little further up the road. She was a tall woman with very broad shoulders. Her hair, grayish brown, hung past her waist; her bangs were cropped severely across her forehead. She was part Kevin McHale, part Danielle Rousseau from Lost. She raised her long arm, beckoning me to pull my car up a little further.
I glanced at her directions, which I'd scribbled down verbatim: “Pull to the very end of the road. Cut the engine.”
Cut the engine?! Her choice of words suddenly struck me as alarming. I decided I would tuck my iPhone under the floor mat in my car so the police could track me on the GPS if I went missing. I pulled my car forward. Then I decided I should probably keep my phone close by in case I needed to call 911. She signaled for me to stop. I was convinced I'd wandered into the lair of some insane Craig's List killer or a scene from the book "Lovely Bones." In a few months, that yellow lab would dig up my elbow or femur.
Then I remembered to breathe: A) I didn't find her on Craig's List. b) She came highly recommended, and it was my idea to come here. c) Relax.
I wasted a little time pretending to rifle around in the front seat and then stepped out of the car. She walked ahead of me, not speaking.
I degenerated into inane nervous chit chat: "So, how long have you been up here?" “Wow, is that your horse over there?"
She answered me, Rousseau-style, one-word answers: "Twenty years." "Yes."
Her studio, outfitted in a small log cabin, was cozy and warm. And once inside, she became a different person, very soothing and personable. Or maybe I finally tuned out my irrational mind.
For the entire two hours, she explained in great detail how energy healing works. She discussed blocked chakras and the flow of chi and the power of visualization. She said she knew of a woman who actually cured her own cancer by picturing two doves flying around inside her body, pecking at corn kernels that represented cancer cells. When the corn kernels were gone, so was her cancer.
Aside: Ok, definitely skeptical about that one but I've decided to visualize Ms. Pacman and a pack of German Shepherds -- because why not.
She also shared techniques for dodging the shards of negative energy, however insignificant, that bombard us daily. From the news to DBs at Derby Street to road ragers to the Octomom, even the small things, overtime, can pollute the soul. And they're harder to dodge than you think (without imaginary German Shepherds).
Aside: Herein, the phrase "it is what it is" earns you a bombardment with New Age crystals.
Driving home from the massage, I was teeming with chi, caffeine free, no need to stop for coffee when you have Reiki. The rhyming and healing continues...