Acupuncture with
Leah
“Hi, Ardi. How are
you today?”
Her smile radiates a
light and loving heart.
“Hi, Leah.
Relaxed. And anxious.”
In the 15 minutes
since I entered this darkened room, reclined in a Lazy Boy, covered
myself with a soft throw to the hush of a sound machine and heavenly
music—I have started my descent into an alternate reality, perhaps
a slightly aberrant one.
After hearing my
wife Marily's appropriate interjections at precise and pin-pointed
therapeutic events, I await my fourth session with the second and
sweetest acupuncturist I know.
“Oh? How are your
emotions today?” I had mentioned last time I seemed to be more
concerned than usual with some extreme acts of violence in today's
world.
“Pretty good. I
think it's more what's about to happen on my body in the next few
minutes than in Iraq or Syria the past few weeks.”
She asks about the
pain in my knees and other concerns since last time while taking
notes on a tab. She'll start with my right hand and wrist. I know,
because that's where she is positioned on her rolling stool.
I tense up.
“Let's check your
pulses.” She gently palpates my wrist. Her touch is the kiss of an
angel. Again relaxed, even knowing I have about 10 seconds.
Now another caress
to the base of my thumb, I close my eyes. I can do this. She strokes
the joint for exact positioning. I hear the rustle of a wrapper as
she removes the needle. Mental attention toggles from the peace of
her presence to the concept of torture by voodoo.
Owe! I thought I
felt, but not. No pain. Yes. I can do this.
My mental state
calms again with her sweet touch. More rustling. A slight prick. Not
so bad. One or two more on that hand. A sting. I let my guard down.
Recover. Take control.
I can do this.
Mind has yet to
grasp the subtle reality of rejuvenation almost missed in its racing.
Back and forth. Peace and pain. Yet the pain is less than its
intellectual hold.
She rolls to my
right foot. Tension. Rustle. Tension. She fondles my ankle. Thumbs
and fingers of both hands. Paper crinkles. I can do this. Not so bad.
It continues, the
rolling, the rustle, tension and touch. Relax or yelp under my
breath. Or twitch of toe. Some with pain, Others I barely notice.
Left foot. Left hand. Rigid, relax. Angel or ouch.
She moves back to
the right of my head. I speak. “I have a question.”
“Yes?”
How far do the
needles go in.
It depends. On the
hands the are not deep. Other areas like in the muscles or behind a
tendon, the can be about like this, as she meters out about an inch
or more between finger and thumb.
She shows me the
length of a needle and says it can go in all the way to where it is
held.
Damn!
“Have
a good rest.”
“Thank
you, Leah.”
Yeh,
about as good as the last time I slept with a porcupine.
Not
so bad, really. Amazingly there is no pain. Just that damn itch on my
nose.
Okay.
I can lift my left hand. I see a few pins protruding. If I lift may
head to meet it my itch is relieved. Back down with my arm. Head
back. Ouch! The needle in the top of my head, set very shallow,
flopped back first. Ohh! Owe, owe… I turn it to the side a bit. But
in about10 minutes I have a kinked neck. Attempts at lifting and
flopping back in place not too successful, but I’ll live.
Okay.
Just relax. Think of someone I love. Something I love to do. Making
love to that someone.
Is
that her snoring in the recliner next to me? How can she sleep
through such agony?
How
about a warm beach? To counteract the AC that just went on. Leah had
covered me again after properly protecting the needles in my knees
and feet with rolls of blankets.
But
after visualizing, and praying and contemplating and love on the
beach. And flopping and re-flopping blankets and needles, again there
is peace and comfort.
I
wonder about the phenomenon of healing. This kind of healing.
Before,
I had asked how acupuncture works. A cerebral grasp of the process
would certainly help me control the mental battle. The micro
irritation by the needle's point stimulating a response that
increases circulation and other chemical and electrical activity in
the area... That's what I heard, or something like that. Kinda
makes sense. I love science. Biology. Human physiology. Have a degree
in electronics engineering technology. The needle as a conductor.
Electrolytes controlling fluid balance in the body. Makes sense.
But
it is that point of the needle. Stabbing my flesh. Mind
switching from peace to pain. Let it go. Release the pain. Release
the mind. Reclaim the vision, the love. Peace of body and mind. It
works. Relax. Ahhh.
Until
my left foot feels restless. It wants to run. I
wanted
to run. To keep it from jerking, I stretch and stiffen my foot. Feels
like a deep puncture wound. I recall the nail through a 2x4 I stepped
on as a kid. The flip-flops I wore afforded no protection. A piece of
blue foam rubber was implanted, but I didn't know it till it festered
out a few day later. I know these 4 or 5 needles protruding to the
center of my foot were goading my appendage to another agonizing
paralysis.
Oh
God, please. where is Leah? When is the Angel
returning?
The hour has got to be about up. I hear her talking to the client two
seats to my left, the other side of Marily. Talking, Talking.
Endlessly talking. Enough already. Move on to Marily. Pull her pins
and get over here. I may need 911.
I
flop some pins and lift my head to turn and see her. Maybe I can
signal my urgency.
Not
there! I hear her, but she’s not there. Everyone in that direction
is sleeping. One is snoring. Am I loosing it? Flop. Relax. Ouch!.
Lift. Flop. Relax. Twitch. Damn. My altered state of mind and soul is
of a near-death experience, but not the peaceful one in which fear of
death is dissolved. No detachment here. Death does seem a better
option.
So
many thousand milliseconds later, Leah speaks: “How was your rest?”
Distracted
from the pain by her presence and speaking with a surprising
calmness, I tell her of my concern/trauma. I wonder if my eyes show
the residual agony from the event. I remember the deer that totaled
our Nissan one dark and stormy night in Montana. We heard the
guttural last gasp of the doe as she slid up over the windshield.
But
all traumas eventually pass, and life becomes normalized with time.
If time doesn't stop with death.
Relaxed
again by Leah's presence. Her voice. Her smile. Her touch--that
painlessly removes the needles. Feet and knees. Hands and ears. And
the top of my head. Like a butterfly gathering nectar the bumble bees
forgot.
Healing.
A continuing process to forestall the eventual leaving of this body.
How much is our choices of body—physiological? Our activity or
lifestyle? What we consume? What aid we accept? What about the
practitioner or healer herself? What about the mind and the heart?
I
feel the demeanor and care and loving heart of Leah is responsible
for the effectiveness of the therapy, while I must take
responsibility for the mind switch. Isn't it the vibration of love
that true healers exchange with the patient that affects healing of
body and mind? Yes, an exchange. We must accept the healing with
gratitude and love. The mind can overcome conditions of the physical
entity, but it is the opening of the heart to love and re-radiating
that love that assures lasting health. The body heals itself, and love is the healer.
I
smile. “Thank you, Leah.” Relaxed and grateful.
As
she leaves my side, I gather my keys, my phone, my watch and other
pocket junk. Put on my sandals and head for the door. Like a
pincushion ready for dry-cleaning. “See you Saturday.”
I
can’t wait.
We’ll see.
©
2014 Ardi Keim
