The Zen of Touch

     Overdue for a dose of touch therapy, I scheduled a massage. What one doesn't know is that when you get on that table, you're not the only one who occupies that space. All the stress, a world-weary body, and competing thoughts jump on that table with you thinking that they are going to have a piece of the action. What one also doesn't know is that these free-loaders do not like one thing... stillness.

      Surrendering myself to the table,  she of the hands with heart start to work her magic on me, and slowly these restless companions get impatient, bored with the nothingness and start leaving the table. One by one until I am by myself, I, and me. An ideal massage is much like an assisted meditation in motion. Sheer poetry in itself. She with the healing hands slowly work their way through my bodyscape, unhurried, never challenging, always with Tai-Chi like movements. As I follow with my mind where those hands touch, I find myself sinking, melting into the table. All alone with no thoughts, no movement on my part, just my breath, just me, just myself. More surrendering. And melting. And sinking.

     I truly think our bodies can re-adjust itself if we just give it time, if we just give it space.  My head is moving on its own, like it's slowly trying to put itself back on top of my shoulders, finding a space that it's comfortable with. Every now and then, I find myself taking a deep breath and sinking again, melting some more. I know I am not asleep, and yet my eyes won't open. At the end of this taste of heaven I try to tell myself to get up but my body refuses before it's ready. And when I finally do, I find myself again, ready to take on the world once more, and them intrusive thoughts begging to come home with me though I try to say, "Not yet. "

     A massage with heart negates a foggy mind, a foggy world, a rainy day, the gloom and doom that looms.
Until I join the world again.

With gratitude Cecile.


"Mooomm... I left my planner and homework at school!"  Sigh.