Carpals.
Metacarpals.
Phalanges.
Hands.
Sensitive information gatherers of my world. The world of fascia, muscles and soft tissue. As a body worker and healer, along with my heart, they are my most precious tools. Objects of wonder.
My hands have eyes and ears and a mouth. Oh, they're not visible to others. That would be quite scary. But, I know they are there. They see and listen to what the body I'm working on needs. They tell me what to do.
Soft tissue speaks. Perhaps "communicates" is a better word. It makes its injuries and wishes known to those who can become still enough to hear. As I work, I don't need to see with my physical eyes. For me it is better to shut out any external stimulus that could confuse my senses and intuition. Shutting my eyes, I disengage my brain and let my hands wander the hills and dales of muscles, tendons and bones.
I feel the tissue become warm and malleable as the blood comes into an area. I find trigger points, round, hyper-irritable spots, in the muscles. I sense pulses, softer than a whisper. Pulses different than those of the heart and the breath. Pulses that traumatized tissues send as invitations to my hands causing them to linger until the pain and throbbing ceases. Spasmed muscles melt under my hands as I coax them into submission. I can feel a headache through my fingertips. My hands know the instant the body relaxes, lets go of the outside world and moves into the calm "eye of the storm" that is always within us.
People thank me when I am done. I take no credit. I am only the open vessel through which the Creator sends this flow of healing energy. The conduit. The channel.
I am humbled by my gift.
I give thanks every day.
I am in awe of my hands.
