I had given about seven yesterday, most of which had been 30 or 45 minute massages, and my first two today were also short. I marveled that I did not get bored after being asked, yet again, to "focus on my upper back, shoulders, and neck."
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As I worked the kinks out of yet another set of rhomboid muscles, another levator scapula, I noticed that I was still entranced. "How is this possible? Why am I not bored to tears? I've had the same basic requests for two days running."
The first thought was Art Restoration. A person restoring the Old Masters to bright, beautiful glory would not get bored when asked to clean another Rembrandt, another Degas.
If they were asked to stabilize the pages on a Book of Hours from the Medieval age, would they complain when they got to the eighth page?
"Geez. ANOTHER illuminated manuscript. Le sigh."
No. Of course not. Having the ability, the training, the talent to touch something of great value, significance, and beauty with your own hands and your tools and restore it? It never gets old.
These beautiful, imperfect, aching people... works of art. Helping them return (at least to some degree) to bright, beautiful glory is my job. And it is entrancing.
2 comments:
Just wanted you to know that I've been reading and enjoying your blog for a while. I was a little surprised, silly since I don't know you, by your decision to become a massage therapist. I see that it is a true calling for you. Music and healing touch, what wonderful skills, conduits for the soul's work. Thanks for sharing. Blessings be.
That butt, though. (I'm sorry)
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