Today, I had the opportunity to try Watsu, Shiatsu in the water. My friend, Heidi, has been telling me for over a year that I will “love it,” and she was right.
I don’t like pools. I have sensory issues, I have a body temp of 94 degrees and I hate chlorine. But, I kept an open mind.
Heidi was amazing. She had clearly studied up on Lyme Disease. Knew more than any practitioner I had ever seen, sans the Lyme Literate Docs. She listened. She was truly interested in what I had to say and what I’m living through. At no point did she act like she was about to tune me out or run out the door, scared she might catch my bad luck.
After the quick check in, the session began.
I leaned back into Heidi at the opening of the session. And, I surrendered. I felt the grief from all the days, months, years I’ve felt unsupported. And, there I was, in full trust. Completely supported.
I wasn’t afraid. I was held. She floated me. I trusted the flow completely. Within seconds of the enormous rush of grief, I was at peace. And, I was completely safe. I knew, without a doubt, what death was like. I remembered.
It was so much like the moment when each of my parents died. Beauty. Safety. Love.
I was okay. For the first time in many, many moons, I was okay. Sure, that was sandwiched in between many, many moons of not okay, but in that moment, I had it. I had a moment of okay.
In that one moment, I knew that there would be more moments like that. There will be more moments. Even if I don’t believe it, it just has to be true.
I got out of the session and walked out with Heidi. I said, “It’s like dying.” She said, “Most people talk about it being womb-like. You went to the other end. . .”
Yep. Death is the other end of the first breath. That’s all. It is the same energy. Bliss. Joy. Peace. Safety. Unending support. I know, without question, that death is beautiful. I don’t know what will be there to greet me, and I don’t expect it to be soon, no matter how often I wish that it would be. I’m guessing, with my luck, there will be some sort of acrobatic clown spraying confetti all over my soul. Or St. Peter might usher me in for a lifetime of hand washing dishes, which I happen to think is the greatest meditation of all.
Entering into this session, I had a vision of increased mobility in my hip. Nothing shifted. Nothing changed. No increased mobility, today. But, I had the opportunity to remember what it feels like to be safe. To feel joy. To trust. To be okay. And, I think that I can surrender into the process and see what happens.
I want to do this again. And again, and again, and again. If the tears continue to flow from now until next time, I think that will be okay.