In December, back for another massage, I followed up with Becky, the massage therapist. Here’s what I learned:
✨At the time of the incident of the lights, the ceiling lights were off and the salt table lamp was on.
✨Not only did the salt lamp in our room go out, the salt lamps in three other massage rooms also went out. But the salt lamps did not go out in all the massage rooms. (I didn’t ask how many massage rooms there are.)
✨After the salt lamp was out, when the room went pitch black and I saw that blinding flash of light, Becky did not.
I don’t know what to make of it, so rather than ponder, I’ll share what happened yesterday.
Becky had finished with my back and I’d flipped over, that miserable moment when you force your body to turn but feel like a flopping fish on a dock.
Becky worked my neck, the tops of my shoulders, my arms.
Then she put a few fingers of one hand on my left hip and with the other, covered my left hand.
My hand warmed as if under a heating pad set too high.
“Does your hand feel as hot as mine?” I asked.
“Yes.”
(Becky is a therapist of few words.)
Then she moved her fingers from my hip to the small of my back. Tears ran from the outer corners of my eyes, down my cheeks. I could feel my face contorting, as if in pain.
“Let it go,” she said.
I didn’t know what I was letting go. The tears ran until they finished. My body calmed. I felt quiet.
At the end of the massage, I asked, “Does that happen often?”
“Yes.”
…pause while I waited for more…
“But not always like that.”
I must have looked puzzled.
“Sometimes it’s a burst of laughter… or a sharp pain… or… something else.”
She called it ‘somatic release.’ I don’t get it, but I don’t have to. I can be like my mom with her jigsaw puzzles.
I can just appreciate it.
Chewing the Cud of Good
Thankful for my warm home.
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