I’m not usually into massage. I think it’s because 7 years ago, I had an especially intense rub-down of the Ayurvedic variety and woke up the the next morning to greet my first of 40 some-odd kidney stones. Now granted, the massage didn’t give me the kidney stone. When they did an MRI, my kidneys were so chock-full, they looked like a 1960’s fallout shelter – just substitute cans of tuna and beans for tiny, jagged rocks.
What the massage did do was take me from my deliriously innocent state wherein I was 29 and believed myself to be the picture of health (and immortality). The massage moved things along, it encouraged my body to release and let go of some nasty stuff (well, one little nasty stuff on that day).
But the thing was this: I didn’t know there was a blockage that needed to be cleared, or a fullness that needed to be released. Why? Because it’s a slow road to the tipping point here…like the formation of rust stains around your bathtub drain.
I know some of you are screaming, ‘Catalyst! The massage was a catalyst’ at your computer screen. And you’re right.
When I think about writing (and yes, life in general), I think about all of the ways that we get blind. Let’s see, we often don’t see clearly our:
Getting stuck, blocked, over-full? Just the kind of thing that sneaks up on a person in light of this blindness. And the massaging can come in handy. At the time, I cursed that catastrophic massage (okay, I’m still a little, teeny, tiny bit bitter). But, honestly, I’m grateful, it forced me to look at something. It was painful, but it was fruitful. It was a momentous passage in my life.
In eastern medicine, the kidneys symbolize fear. When I went to see my homeopath, all those years ago, to tell her about the stones and find out what was wrong with me, she looked me right in the eyes and said, “There’s nothing wrong with you. Not many people get to face their fears, overcome them, and then watch them leave their bodies, you know.”
No, not many people do. Nothing like a little affirmation that says, Kid, you’re doing okay. Even if it does hurt like a bitch.
This post is dedicated to my wonderful massage therapist who massaged some fantastic stuff out of me yesterday. Thanks, Jason…
I’m sending out a little musical juice with this post this morning…because it’s Friday. Listen to it loud. (Don’t watch the video, it’s nowhere near as good as the song – sorry Ms. Harmer.)
Image credit: JMazzolaa