A Moment's Rest

Form follows thought. This is the first and driving principle behind the healing technique, reiki. The concept had always remained vague for me until I was scrubbing toilets in a guest house this morning. It’s been a rewarding but challenging experience for me to begin working a little bit again, here at the retreat in Hawai’i, rewarding to feel the satisfaction of accomplishment, challenging because even the smallest task can still somehow seem overwhelming for my limited energy. This morning was particularly difficult. I took a dose of methotrexate yesterday—it always makes me tired—and reported for duty at eight-thirty am. By ten-thirty I had exhausted my energy, and I still had an hour to go before a lunch break. Feeling considerable guilt for abandoning my cleaning team, I staggered wearily to a friend known around here simply as “C”, who had mentioned that she practiced reiki. I asked if she would take a minute to help me quiet myself and see if I could regain some strength. She agreed enthusiastically, helped me lay down in a quiet loft in one of the guest houses, and began quietly moving her hands across my limp body.

Suddenly I am running quickly, forcefully, leaping over rocks and crevices, darting at lightening speed. Ahead of me lies the tallest peak of a mountain, and I can feel my body racing towards it, each muscle aching with delicious fire. I pant and heave and sweat, tearing up the steep landscape, feeling alive. I reach the peak and feel my pulse pounding in my neck. It feels good, fantastic even. And the view is spectacular. I stretch my arms out wide, lean my head back and yell with mighty energy.

C’s instruction was simple: dare to imagine yourself completely healed, completely rid of any toxins in your body, all presence of disease and drugs a distant memory. Feel your strength. The execution of this direction was more difficult. I’ve hesitated for some time to visualize moments of boundless energy, afraid of how sad it would make me feel. The tears came up again as she gently rocked me, my heart wanting deeply to be able to do what my body could before. She noticed and quietly invited me to let go of this sorrow bred from attachment, and to believe—if I wanted—that I was where I needed to be in this journey.

C finished and got up slowly. I thought about how long I’d been lying there, and the chores I’d left the group to take care of without me. I wanted immediate strength, but my body remained still, exhausted by the emotional release and appreciating the rest. “You know,” C said, “you could stay there lying down for a while if you wanted and none of us would mind. In fact, you could believe if you wanted to that lying there on the blanket is exactly where you should be right now.” I smiled as she left the loft, laid back down and closed me eyes, enjoying exactly where I was.