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"Your body responded so eagerly to my touch. It is ready and open to heal," she smiled. After more than an hour of her stroking my swollen, congested lymph nodes, gently holding my spine and head, talking me through some of what she found and felt, she stopped suddenly and decided that that was enough for today. That my body had a lot to deal with, and a lot to let go of. To drink a lot of water, rest, take a bath, and take some deep breaths. I could do that. I live to do that. Already my neck and jaw felt better, like a release of a lot of pressure. Like a flow was instigated again on a very subtle level, a flow I long for, to release this illness and pain. As I lay there, I broadcast inside myself, and to whoever/whatever was listening, my intention: "Let the highest good happen for me. I will move out of the way. Let my body heal. I am ready." How many accidents, I wondered? How many falls? And which one triggered some of this holding and tension? When C2 and C3 got some compression and started their store of painful memory? When I no longer could walk and close my eyes, afraid of an impending slam against my forehead? Was it the hard land on garage concrete falling from the rafters, forever changing my spine from the tailbone up? Or was it something else? And what emotional hurt went with it? There's a slow leak going on way down deep, and I can't ignore it. A certain sadness and hurt that is beginning to be felt, rather than avoided. Like a giant ball in my gut. And because I no longer run and seek distraction, I sit with it in wonder and surprise, letting tears fall where they may. And when I start to go down there, I feel as if on shifting ground, in my body, in my mind, in my sense of self, and in my sense of personal history. I feel curious but timid, amazed at the messages I'm finally receiving from my soul. But sharing it. That's another matter altogether. No longer timid, I'm downright fearful. I start to speak to Scott, gentle and loving Scott, and walls fly up in fast-motion--Scott on one side and me on the other. And there we sit, both of us, amazed at my fear, amazed at the wall. Tonight she said that there is a lot of imbalance and injury in my body, and little wonder I've had such ill health. "But your body is ecstatic about healing. And that's not the case with everyone." I told her of the special prayers of my parents and their sacrifice on my behalf, that I would heal. And then I pointed to Scott. "Other people, too, have made huge sacrifices for me. I do not take this lightly. It's time for me to walk this path, without hanging out for too long at familiar pitstops of fear and self-pity." As we were leaving, she asked, I knew where she was going with that--the pushing and pushing, until finally your body gives way and crashes, until rest is forced upon you. "Used to be," I said, thinking that the most true response. Scott and I exchanged glances and smiled. "I've been called many times in the past 3 years to rest, and to rest inside myself, and for the first time in my life, I'm listening." With that, Scott squeezed my hand, we said our good-byes, and we stepped out into the fog. Lymph Drain, ck [2004-12-18]
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