Tales From the (Massage) Table: "Doing" Love

No, it's not a typo.

I didn't mean "making love." I'm not that kind of blogger.
And I didn't mean "doing what I love."

I'm talking about what it feels to give a massage. I'm certainly not falling in love with my clients, or really even getting to know them enough to truly love them. Somehow, I feel that to love someone, I have to know them. But I am "doing love."

Recently, a return client came in (I've just seen her a few times over a year or so), and said that she just needed to chill the heck out. Stress! Frustration! Tension! She was frazzled.

You know that I grew up in a family of artists, right? So even though I'm a musician by trade (and, of course a massage therapist), I think in images often. As I stand outside my massage room, waiting to enter, I close my eyes and take a few deep breaths and empty my mind of images, of words, and I stand with my palms facing the door, letting myself focus on the feeling of my own energy in my hands. After a few moments of this, sometimes I feel the skin on my face prickle a little, sometimes my tongue. I have no idea if it's real or my imagination, but it's become a tradition for me. Focus. Empty. Wait. Feel.

The moment I walked into the room, I could feel her zingy, frayed breath. I stood by her head and centered myself again. My palms warmed and felt sparkly, and as I began the massage, she sighed and settled in. Eyes closed, it felt like she was a black velvet jewel box.  All I could feel on the outside was the fuzzy surface, but there was something inside.

Halfway through the session, I had her roll over so she was face-up, and I began luxuriating through the scalp and shoulder massage. I love this part, because by then, the client trusts me and can deeply relax. A thoroughly relaxed person is beautiful in the way no one can be when awake and alert. It's a pure beauty, a simple, glowing shine.

Working through her hair, I closed my eyes again, and and image began to form again.  The jewel box was opening, and inside was a star. The star was shining through the cracks of the jewel box, and I felt it like sunshine on my face, warm and healing. Her skin was fizzing with life, and my hands rejoiced. Her hair was energized and springy. Her shoulders were pliable. She let out a long, gusty sigh and fell into sleep. I could feel it when it happened. The floating thoughts and worries and wonders and busybusybrain fell away, and there was just space and serenity and childlike contentment.

When I finished at her feet a half hour later, I spent a moment suspended between her energy and mine. I hovered my fingertips over the tips of her toes and breathed deeply, feeling the double current running through me. Silently, I asked her to release me to my own self, and thanked her for trusting me. As though a magnet had been turned away, my hands floated away, and I breathed again. Just me by myself, in that breath.

Flicking my fingers at the sky just in case there were lingering threads connecting us, I opened my eyes and whispered to her that it was time to rejoin the world. She smiled and sighed happily.

That, to me, is "doing love." It's finding my own spark, my own current, and touching another's with the intent of doing good, and then separating again, each better off than before.

Tales From the (Massage) Table: You Know What's NOT Relaxing?

In the parlance of the day, I shall write this in the form of an open letter.

DEAR MASSAGE/MEDITATION MUSIC PRODUCERS:

In my recent quest to avoid almost certain repetitive-music-induced narcolepsy, I have been delving into a colleague's stash of "relaxation" CDs. After a few days of sampling the more frequently-used discs, I would like to submit a list of things that are not, in fact, relaxing to hear during a massage.

• Loud, sudden, frightening thunderclaps that inspire a client to bolt upright and cry, "DAMN, THAT WAS CLOSE!"
• Crickets.  I know, they seem like they'd be soothing.  They are not.
• Monkeys. Really, does this need explanation? Actually, primates of any kind.
• Dogs and/or wolves. And possibly bears.  Barking, baying, howling, and growling.  That caused my pleasant foot rub to seem like something out of a Goosebumps movie.
• Percussion.  No matter how gently played, a hi-hat is disruptive. Also tom-toms, snare, triangle, and any other percussion toys.
• Tornado winds. Scary.
• Finally, cows.  I am not kidding here.  I know they're gentle and have big brown eyes, but hearing one mooing in the distance is disconcerting.

Thank you for your attention in this matter. 

Sincerely,

Everyone

Tales From the (Massage) Table: Doing The Work Of Angels

Recently, I met with a mentor massage therapist woman who is one of the most grounded individuals I've ever encountered.  She lives a completely different life than I do, in that she does not have the same reference points as I do.

I have kids, and am a teacher to kids, so my words and actions are being watched by them (and their parents), and I try to keep things PG.  She does not.

I'm into the modern world of TV, Netflix, cell phones, Facebook, blogging, etc.  She does not even own a TV, and just recently figured out how to text.  She's pretty bad at it.

She finds it easy to believe in many things that I can't yet bring myself to entertain, such as plant spirit healing, all kids of alternative and holistic therapies, lots of 'crunchy' hippie-ish stuff.

However difficult I find some of that stuff to believe, I can't dismiss the experiences I've had, and so I have to try to understand.

For instance, I've had the experience of being in a near-hypnosis state during a massage (giving one), and suddenly notice that I'm experiencing a thought or an emotion that was utterly out of the blue and not me-like at all, then the client will say or do something that reveals that the thought or emotion I had been feeling had been theirs.  Was I just picking up subtle clues from their still, quiet body?  How?  I have no idea.

So, getting to the title of this post, I was recently working on a lovely woman who was a new client for me.  She was holding lots and lots of tension in her upper back (which is typical for most folks), but as I worked and became more relaxed myself, I started thinking about children.  Toddlers.  And cold houses.  And fear.

Then the client shifted and started talking. She is a social worker of some variety, and she works with families with children from birth to age 3, and one family in her care had recently revealed to her that they had lost the heat in their house, and the mother was afraid to tell people for fear they would take her children.  So she was keeping them all in the living room around the fireplace, bundled in blankets.

This client had immediately begun to make phone calls, and within a day, they had their heat restored, had a social worker visit the house to make sure everything was ok with the kids, and they had been given vouchers for a local food pantry. But she was running that scenario over in her mind, being disturbed.

As I put hot stones onto her back, I found my mind repeating "you do the work of angels" to her (silently).  She gradually relaxed enough that she fell asleep, and woke refreshed and relaxed and feeling cared-for.

=======
So, how do you explain that?  Is it magic?  Psycho...something?  Telekewhatever?  Does it matter?  Maybe not, but this stuff weirds me out sometimes. And other times, it seems as normal as anything else in my everyday life.

What do you think, though?

Tales From the (Massage) Table: Pregnant Lady

I've given several pre-natal massages (massaging pregnant ladies), but this week's was even more special than usual.

She's about, oh, 6 months pregnant.  She was perfectly healthy, not her first pregnancy; a young beautiful woman, just having the usual lower back discomfort typical in this part of pregnancy.

Not actual client, FYI.

Whenever I begin a massage, I stand for a moment, hands either hovering just above or lightly touching my client's back or head, taking the measure of the day.  Is she stressed? Angry? Sad? Tired? Hurting? Joyous? Relaxed?

She was calm, receptive, and happy.  So happy.  As I loosened tight muscles and mobilized overworked joints, I felt her energy.  It was ... pregnant.  Full. Brimming.

It was like looking at a rich, thick blue fabric, but when you get close, you see the tiny pink pinstripes worked into it.  Multi-layered.  And she was so beautiful.  It was more than just a pretty face, although she would be considered lovely in any situation.  But her skin was so full, so curved. She said it would be ok for me to gently massage her belly, so I did, first mentally asking permission.  Hello, Baby.  I'm helping Mama feel nice.  Sleep well, Baby.

She slept through much of the massage, and upon emerging from the room after the massage, stretched luxuriously and smiled sleepily.

I think she'll be back.

Tales From the (Massage) Table: First, Do No Harm. In Fact, Be Gentle. Really, Really Gentle.

There is a wonderful, lovely woman.  She has lots of health issues, and as a result, goes to lots of doctors, therapists, x-ray people, and so on.  It hurts her to stand, to move, to sit, to ... pretty much everything hurts.

When I first saw her, she had been to a physician, a radiologist, and another healthcare person.  The first had scolded her, the second had rushed her and moved her body abruptly for the scans, and the last tried to be calming, but still insisted on prodding her (probably for good reason -- who knows?).

Bu the time she got to me, she was looked like she had been dragged through a hedge backwards. She was suffering, and not just physically. She was breathless, wild-eyed, worried, panicky, and limping.

The recommendation from one of her providers was that she "needed deep work on her glutes, etc."

Then I heard as her husband helped her get on the massage table, propping her with pillows, adding an icepack onto an aching limb, and positioning her just so. She was nearly crying with pain.  She sounded so hopeless, so upset.  So frantic.

When I came in, she was breathing hard, and talking at me about her aches and pains. Not to me.  At me.  Protecting herself with words.

I stood near her, still.  I said that the recommendation was that she needed "deep work," but perhaps that the last thing she needed today was someone else hurting her.

She stopped talking for a moment.

"What?"

"Well, I thought that perhaps instead of doing anything that would cause you distress or pain, I could just help you feel a little better."

"Oh. Well, ok."

I began lightly, gently, to apply warmed lotion to her back. As I moved over her back, shoulders, and arms, I tucked the other parts into the warm, fluffy blanket so she stayed warm.  I kept my movements steady, rhythmic, gentle.  Her shoulders and arms didn't hurt at all, so I spent some time kneading them, taking advantage of the fact that making something feel good can release endorphins in the body.  Endorphins can start a wonderful cascade of relaxation leading to enjoyment, leading to more relaxation.

Within minutes, I heard her breath slow; I felt her relax.  I gently started working on the "problem areas" on her low back and glutes.  They initially tensed up.  I told her quietly that I was only going to do what the muscles let me, and that I would not try to "fix" them, but just warm them up and help the blood flow more easily.  Before long, her surface muscles let go, and then the deeper muscles began to be more flexible.  I did not attempt any deep pressure or any "goal-related" work.  I just tried to let her muscles know that someone out there was not planning on hurting them today.

After our 30 minute massage (that was all she thought she'd be able to handle), her husband helped her off of the table.  He came out while she dressed, saying, "I can't believe it.  She got such relief in just 30 minutes!"
She came out and hugged me, thanked me, and then walked -- WALKED, not limped -- out.

They came in the very next day for another massage.  This time, she looked like an entirely different person.  She had her hair done, some lipstick on, and she actually looked right at me and smiled.  No talking at me.

This massage was different.  She trusted me immediately, and before long, fell asleep.  At the end, I gently shook her shoulder and said that it was time to rejoin the world she was amazed she had slept.

Because she got such tremendous relief from just a 30 minute massage, she has scheduled two to three short massages a week for the next few months.  I can only hope that she continues to feel better.

Tales From the (Massage) Table: Lessons In Hot Stone Massage

I recently bought myself some basalt stones to start incorporating hot stone massage into my practice.


A few important things to remember:

1: Rocks don't glide well when they're not oiled or anything.  (I should totally have seen that coming, I suppose.)

2: If you've already lubricated the person's back or the stones with oil or lotion, that's fine.  However, said stones will not stay put on the person's back if you let go of them (like in this picture):

They slide right off. You can pretend that is a new "chakra-enhancing automatic sliding hot stones" technique if you want, but I doubt they'll believe it.

3: If you decide to re-position the stones, and so pile these rather large stones all into one hand whilst getting a squirt of lotion with your other hand, DO NOT  -- I repeat -- DO NOT clutch those couple of large, slippery, hot stones in one hand DIRECTLY ABOVE YOUR CLIENT'S HEAD. Please remember that point.

[No clients or therapists were actually injured in today's massages. Just a little discombobulated.]

Tales From the (Massage) Table: The Tragedy That Is "Massage Music."

I've been trying to find some music to play during massages, but, being a musician, I have some rather stringent guidelines.

1: NO. ENYA.  See here.

2: No symphonic music.  I have played so much of it, I get caught up in it. I find myself accenting along with Berlioz, much to my client's dismay.


3: No panpipe.  For god's sake, no panpipe. I feel like we should go all Terminator and go back in time and sterilize Zamfir's mother.  (I wouldn't kill her -- she may have had other non-panpiper children--wait.  That wouldn't work either.  I'd think of something.)


4: No synthesized covers of pop music.  My ears wanted to suck themselves back into my skull when I heard -- get this -- Greatest Hits by the BEATLES -- on PANPIPE. With synthesized backup. I shudder at the memory.

5: No 'classical' music played (synthesized or real instruments) at excruciatingly slow tempi "because it's for MASSAGE music. That will be so sooooothing." Except for the flutist/massage therapist who is slowly asphyxiating because I always tend to breathe along with the phrases of things I've played. Somewhere out there is an oboist with whom I need to have some serious words. Entre'acte from Carmen (Bizet) is supposed to be Adagio.  Not molto Gravissimo.  (That's not even a real tempo marking)

6: No religious/pentecostal/gospel music hiding as background music.  I recently got to the end of a massage, having used a borrowed CD to try it out.  My client commented that the music had been really upsetting, since it brought to mind years of being forced to go to "Revivals" at his parents' church. Oy.  I had no idea that music was anything but boring, cheezy Muzak (no, the CD case did not say anything about the origins of the melodies. I checked.).



7: Nothing with "surprise accents" or sudden percussion interludes.  Many a comfy massage-trance has been broken by ill-advised use of high-hats, triangle rolls, pings of gongs hit with hard-tipped mallets, or random bird chirps.  Which leads me to...

8: Crickets.  GodDAMN, I hate the crickets.  Does anybody really find that soothing?  Even bird chirps can be intensely irritating.  Anything that comes out of the blue, starts abruptly, and leaves you worrying about when the next occurrence will be is OUT.


9: This is a late add.  THE HAUNTED HOUSE. Just yesterday, I was using a perfectly lovely ooohhhh-ahhhhhhh, bonggggggbonnnnngggggoooooohhhhhh pseudo-asian thing, when ALL OF A SUDDEN, it went all Haunted Mansion on me.  These voices? Sounding like a bunch of ghosts who found some pot and got all stoned and were trying to go around scaring people at the local mall for kicks.  It was truly bizarre. I assume it was synthesizers, since I cannot imagine any singers who would be willing to record themselves making such sounds.  Unless they were also baked.  Possible, I suppose.


As you can see, I have my work cut out for me.  This is why I'm working towards creating, playing, and recording my own music.

At least I know that I won't use any frickin' crickets.

Tales From the (Massage) Table: Afraid to Hurt Her Tattoos

I have no tattoos myself, nor do any of my family members, so basically, I have no idea how it feels to have one. I really have no desire for one due to my aversion to having stuff poked into my skin with needles, and because -- just nope. Don't want one.

This does not mean that I don't admire well-executed skin artwork on others, though.


 I have been caught inspecting the arms and shoulders of people ahead of
 me in the line at the grocery store, someone standing near me at a party, or sitting near me at a concert.  Some of the artistry and composition is remarkable.

There is a client who comes for near-weekly massages, and she has spectacular tattoos on her lower- and mid-back. It's an underwater scene with anemones, seaweed, and a few sea creatures.

Week after week, she has a super tense, spasming muscle on one certain spot on her back, and her turtle's head is right on it.  I have become fond of her turtle, because it's just gorgeous. I can't bring myself to really dig in to her poor turtle's head, so I find myself closing my eyes and working by feel so I don't worry that I'm hurting the little guy. Silly, no?

Also, I have named him Eduardo. Eduardo the Turtle.

Tales From The (Massage) Table: Art Restoration

Today, I was giving a massage. (Shocking, I know)

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."


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.

Tales From The (Massage) Table: Doing Some Good In The World

Today, I did some good.

I worked on an old farmer (the same one), a woman with a chronic autoimmune disease and a spinal problem, someone recovering from a car accident, someone who cares for a sick relative, someone very nervous about selling her house that day, a person who had nothing good to say about herself, and cared for a care-giver.

Possibly I made them all feel better.  They certainly said they felt better. I relaxed the tense, valued the feeling-unvalued, comforted the hurt, cared for the exhausted, and loosened the tight.

And all it took was my hands. And my heart.

Tales From the (Massage) Table: Farmer

(Taken from a facebook post)

Recently, I massaged a retired farmer. Cows. He raised cows. He loved it! 

He was in because he had some pain and tension in his shoulders and upper back. He tells me this is because of his 'retirement job.' He apparently delivers 55-gallon drums of oil to other farmers. He loads them onto his pickup, straps them in, and then unloads them. And he doesn't like to work with helpers, because "they always seem to get hurt or squashed." 

So here he is, rolling these ginormous drums up onto a truck. And then he started telling me about his GREAT GRAND babies. seven of them, all under two years old. He loves holding them, loving on their tiny little hands, their soft cheeks, their round bellies. Then I thought for a moment, and asked , "How old ARE you?" 

"Oh, around 78."

He's 78. Loading oil drums because he wants to do something he believes in. He likes this oil company.  They had been the one he used for years and years on his farm, and he knows they do right by their customers. 

And he holds and cuddles and strokes his great grand babies. And lives deep in the country "where, in summer, you can't even see the house because of all the green, green trees." His hands were so rough, so hard, so callused. I wonder how he can even feel the skin on these babies. But he does. Oh, he does. Maybe with his heart, but he feels them.

Tales From the (Massage) Table: Alopecia

So, I've been a working massage therapist since about mid-August (about 10 weeks), and I've enjoyed getting to know -- to feel -- so many different types of bodies, so many types of skin, hair, bones, and energies.

There is a disorder called Alopecia.  It is a condition that causes hair loss, sometimes all over a person's body, sometimes in small patches.  There are lots of possible causes, and sometimes it's permanent, sometimes fleeting.

However
To feel the skin of a person with this condition is heavenly.

I'm fully aware that losing any of one's hair can be stressful, sad, difficult, and angering. I am not in any way trying to dismiss or diminish the reality of those feelings. But to me, it's better than stroking a baby's skin. Babies feel fragile. Even their skin feels fragile and delicate; kind of loose, and you can feel the surface layer separately from the underlying chub. With folks with alopecia, their skin is ... how to describe? The word that comes to mind is "rich." It is velvety, but deeper than that. If you had a piece of very thick-napped velvet and held it in a bowl of water, so it was smooth and glidey and just a bit resistant, that might be it.

And instead of that super fragile feeling you get from baby skin, it's strong.  So strong and resilient. Not porous, not spongy, not careful.  To me, it's the way skin would feel if somehow science in about 200 years figured out how to make skin strong and injury-proof, but still sensitive to touch.

To all my clients (past, present, hopefully future), I enjoy and respect your skin. I hope you do too.