This past week, my cousin initiated my husband and me into the world of spiritual healing. This cousin, a master teacher of Reiki, has been practicing this energy artform for some 20 years. It suits him: he is slow to anger, easy to be around, and exceedingly patient.
He was visiting us overnight, giving of himself and his time to help his mother-in-law through a mild medical procedure. He began telling us stories about healing. We had spoken briefly about his work years before, but this time, at ease on a languid summer's night, we had the leisure to indulge. So, accepting our interest while casting aside our poorly disguised skepticism, our cousin graciously offered to give us a taste.
It just so happened that he had his Reiki table in his car with him (a wonderfully comfortable folding massage table which allows him to travel to clients wherever they are).
Reiki is a technique for inducing calm, relieving stress and helping revive and soothe a person's spirits. It enables us - the clients - to enjoy the benefits of meditation without a large investment of time or the hard-won accumulation of skill. We just lie down, let go and put ourselves in someone else's hands, literally. (Some claim that Reiki can also promote healing of a physical nature. While not repudiating this attribute, the best of masters are cautious and circumspect in what they promise.)
Still, if our cousin was willing to help either our bodies or souls, or perhaps both, right there in our living room, after the dinner's dishes were cleared away, it was definitely worth a try. At best it would be a success; at worst a pleasant diversion. After pointing out one or two minor aches and pains of our own, my husband and I each submitted to a treatment.
I went second. I got up on the table, lay down, stretched out, closed my eyes, and tried to give myself over to the moment. My cousin focused, chose one spot as the point of contact, cradled that spot in his hands, and sat there. And sat there. For twenty minutes he did not move. He simply held on, radiating warmth with unflagging attentiveness, concentration, energy and care. I was less disciplined. My mind was dashing about from thought to thought. Yet despite my contrary energy, his focus and grasp did not vary. They were steady throughout.
The lessons I took away from this experiment were more about my cousin than about me. Or more about what Reiki does for him than it did for me. He was the epitome of constancy and care. Where I was restless, he was at peace - meditative and centered - overcoming my skeptical, questioning, unsurrendering vibes. What a gift to be able to enter that zone, day in and day out. For the practitioners, if for no one else, Reiki is remarkable.
As for me, I cannot tell you that I was healed - either body or soul. I got off the table after a 20 minute treatment with the same pain I had when I got on. And I was in a pretty good mood, deep down, when I lay down, so I cannot say that any spiritual healing visited me when I got up.
What I can say is this: it seems wonderful for my cousin.
And it seems wonderful for Elul.
Elul - the Hebrew month we are in now, the month that precedes Rosh Hashanah - is a time of healing. Healing what is broken; healing what is tattered. Healing the bonds we have ruptured and the bonds ruptured by others. Elul is about forgiving well and letting go.
During Elul, we are reminded of the powers we hold in our hands, and those we don't. Elul is a paradoxical month of calm and frenzy, inviting both quiet and energetic spiritual concentration. We must seek to both mend and amend ourselves, and to soothe the hurt of others. The two in fact are tied. As we seek the spots of pain in others, and cradle them in our hands and hearts, we ourselves become healed. Like my cousin.
It is so very hard to open ourselves to this work, so hard to know when our overtures of healing will be accepted. Which is why we need Elul, to create this bubble in time, this shared season of openness and vulnerability. And healing.
May we all feel the magic and power of Elul and heal the pains that abide in our midst.
0 comments:
Post a Comment