I listened to my massage therapist the other day
as she listened to my body,
its messages guiding her warm hands to pull and push and knead
muscles, tendons, ligaments… and spirit.
Ouch! I say. It hurts there – and there – and over there, too!
Shall I let up on the pressure? she asks.
And I say, Yes! Please!
And then, No, it’s OK – just wanted to let you know what I’m feeling.
Then I comply, focusing on relaxing rather than resisting her efforts.
I feel my muscle loosen.
She feels it, too – Ah, there you go, she says.
As she works, she describes how muscles extend
to tendons, which fasten to bones,
which are connected to other bones by ligaments.
Connections, all of one whole.
I’m loosening up – letting go of toxins,
trusting the sure hands and warm heart of my massage therapist.
How does it feel? she asks.
OK, I say…. So far, anyway.
I trust her to proceed carefully…
pushing no farther than I’m willing to let her go.
She lets me know I’m in control here.
How much like a massage therapist are spiritual directors, I reflect,
listening for the dynamic interweaving
of God’s presence
in memories and experiences and meanings,
held in body and mind and spirit, all of one whole.
A directee describes memories of a loved one gone now many years.
Tears flow, her throat constricts, she hesitates.
The director waits quietly,
listening to voice and gestures and posture.
When it seems right,
the director asks gently where she is holding the pain,
knowing that focusing may help her honor her grief.
And she waits, since the directee is the one in control.
She takes a deep breath.
OK, she says, but it hurts so bad!
He died so long ago – it feels like yesterday.
Where has God been in all this pain?
And the director leans in to listen,
so aware that God is holding them both in this sacred space,
seeking to bring healing to deep wounds
held in body and mind and spirit.
My massage therapist listens carefully to the body and mind and spirit.
She gives counsel on exercises
to stretch and lengthen muscles and tendons,
to loosen up those constricted into knots.
She asks, You know what the eleventh commandment is?
Eleven? No, I heard there are ten.
Ah … the eleventh commandment… is this,
Thou shalt not knot!
I laugh as I leave.
I have learned to trust her competence and her compassion.
I’m glad she listens carefully.
