Yesterday I had one of the best days in my massage career in Louisville.
The day started with a visit to a hospice client*. I spent a half hour moving slowly around her as she rested in bed, breathing deeply and slowly falling asleep. Her skin was pale and papery thin. I could see the round outline of her knee through her sheets. This person, this frail body, needed nothing so much as my focused attention. I softened my hands and laid them gently on her arms, shoulders, knees. I held her hands in mine and gently moved her fingers. I held her head while she breathed and relaxed her arms. the thought came to me slowly, in the way that you might realize light has come into your bedroom in the morning. The thought was: how wonderful it feels to be exactly where I ought to be.
Later in the day, I worked with a few clients at my office, “healthy” clients who did not require the same kinds of adaptations as the morning client. Even so, some part of the stillness from the morning stayed with me, as did the sense of peaceful presence. With the people I had worked with before, I noticed a new layer of quiet reverence. The stillness in me brings forth and honors the stillness in you.
As I am reflecting on this good day, I am remembering something a friend told me. She came to visit for a weekend, and scheduled a massage with me during her visit. We used to trade on a regular basis when I lived in Chicago, so she has received numerous massages from me. After her massage, she hugged me and she said,”Your hands feel different. It feels like your touch has come into its own here. This place suits you.”
And she is right. This place suits me. Not just this physical place, but the place that holds the kind of work I did yesterday. The place of calm ease and stillness. The place where presence is so much more important than pressing.
*–any names and identifying details have been changed