Sinking In

I had a massage today. Massages are something I really like to have, but I only seem to indulge in one when I have some "found money". I was gifted some money recently by a grateful family in the church following the death of the matriarch, and I knew what I was going to spend it on as soon as I deposited the check.

First I soaked for about 30 minutes in an "infinity tub", which is very cool. After I settled in I turned off the colored lights (which I never really understood) and the jets (which aren't really powerful enough to make a difference) and sat there in relative quiet, sipping cucumber water, listening to the gentle lapping of the tub, and feeling really relaxed. And pampered.

I've never really asked any massage therapist, but I think I'm a pretty good client. I always let the therapist know where I carry tension and stress, warn them that massage on certain areas might elicit tears, and reassure them that I will tell them when the pressure is too much or not enough. And then I do. And I always practice good release breathing, from the very first touch. I know that good therapeutic massage is not something a client passively lays there and allows someone to do to them, but is a collaborative effort.

I learned release breathing many years ago, when I first began seeing a therapist/reiki practitioner. I first experienced her touch at an all-campus retreat in seminary. She was offering free 15 minute chair massages, and I signed up for one. As soon as I got on her chair, and she began to work on my shoulders I must have tensed up because in a second I heard her saying very softly in my ear, "Breathe in for three counts and out for four slow counts...sink into whatever I am doing. Fighting it never works." I found that by being distracted by counting to three and then to four, and concentrating on sinking into the motion of her hands kept me from tensing up, and felt almost magical.

Back at campus, for the next two years I saw her twice a month for a treatment that was a massage/reiki combination and we built quite a bit of mutual trust to the point that she could read what was going on in my life through her hands. Those were two of the most difficult years of my life but I knew that by sinking in, and releasing, I was not going through it all alone.

I thought of her today, as I was lying there on the table, sinking and releasing. The therapist today did a maneuver that I don't think I've ever had done to me. Standing near my head as I was on my back, she slid her hands under my shoulder blades and lifted--not my whole back, just my shoulder blades, probably just a half inch or so, but the sensation was amazing. I don't know what she aligned, but I felt powerful--as though I could do anything!

I'm entering a time in my life when I will need very badly to feel once in a while as if I can do just about anything. When sinking in and releasing will become important on a daily basis. I'm going to need to build trust, to accept the hands that reach out to lift and stretch and support me.

I'm going to need to remember that I am never truly alone.