There Are Days WhenIt's Really Good to Be Me & My Body

My body and I have agreed to a cease-fire today. Self says to body, "I'll stop insulting you if you promise not to embarrass me during our massage today."

A massage? You're going to let someone touch me? Oh I see. It must be a man who will be giving us the massage. You use me to punish men. OK. What do you want me to do--thicken up around the middle, release the stubble batallion, massive pimple eruption? What?

"Just don't do anythng. No farting, hair-growing, zit-making, epidermal scaling or leaking anything from anywhere. Can you just be normal for one hour, just one hour out of one day?"

Nor-mal. OK. I'll be good. But Self, you have to breathe, I mean really breathe, and allow me to be there.

"Breathe? I only breathe on Thursdays and Fridays, and only because by then, I have to. You know that."

Make an effort, will you?

And so the body and I swore to a truce and gave ourselves over to Jay Alvaro, LMT for an hour.
Because of said war between the flesh and the spirit, third parties are seldom introduced into the conflict. But poor Jay would be knee and elbow deep in this battle. Even so, he managed to subdue both sides with much-needed effleurage, stretching, kneading, really giving both of us a good knocking around.

I told Jay beforehand that I have a high pain threshold, and will allow a therapist to knead me black and blue. So after summarily informing him that I kind of like pain, onto the table and under the cozy blankie I went.

"OK body--remember--be cool."
OK self. Breathe. And shut up.

Oh--MY-- GOD--

That's the spot--right there. Ahhhh

His touch firm and sure, Jay pulled and pushed, bent and rocked and stretched, and administered AK47 percussion rivaling Tommy Lee and Lars Ulrich. I always forget how physically demanding giving a massage is. As hard as Jay worked, I selfishly wished I was taller, or wider--to draw out the session just a little longer.

I kept thinking about the kind of body a massage therapist needs to do this taxing work. Where do they get their strength? I've received massages from different-sized therapists, and each brings his or her own gifts to the session. Jay works, wholly present, listening to my body with his hands. And he has a vast wing span. I lay there amazed as he stretched and pulled my legs with one hand, while he smoothed out stubborn muscles in my back and shoulders with the other. That's efficient.

And, it's a delightful stretch--Jay's expansive reach along the whole side of the body. I was taffy in his hands.

Every aching, knotted square inch of me received attention--from the top of my head to the tips of my toes--body and soul were gifted with the warm and deliberate touch of another body and soul.

And no one was punished.


Epiphanies? Ah, so this is how to lotion up all those places I can't reach!