This is a true story. No names have been changed to protect the innocent. It starts, not with “Once upon a time,” but, instead, with a brief primer; a backstory, if you will. Read on. You’ll get the message.
A Brief Primer
Reiki (ray-key) is a natural healing practice. It promotes relaxation and balance in the body, which can then lead to healing. It involves the gentle touch of the practitioner’s hands on her client using a learned series of hand placements. Practitioners can deviate from, or add to, those placements as desired.
More Than Meets The Eye
Usui (you-sue-ee) Reiki, in its original form (which I practice), is that simple; nothing more than my statement above. I am much more complex than Reiki. I was born with bells and whistles that I’ve only recently begun to tap into. In the quiet simplicity of Reiki, those bells and whistles sometimes sound.
Once Upon a Time
Last Sunday, I practiced Reiki on my friend Linda at our Ya-Ya gathering. I stood behind her as she sat at her dining table, placed my hands on her upper chest, just below her shoulders and just above her breasts, and continued to participate in the lively conversation.
In that animated setting, with the restful peace of Reiki presiding over my inner calm, this message appeared before me:
It was not as pretty as what I manufactured for this post. I saw it as though someone had hand-written it on poster board and held it up in front of me. Next, I heard it. It was spoken by a male, and the jovial tone of his voice indicated there was no need to worry. Finally, a man’s face, lit up with a big, friendly smile, came into view.
I knew him. He was Linda’s beloved boyfriend who died of an aggressive and fast-moving cancer in August of 2009, not even two months after diagnosis.
The delivery of the message lasted only a few seconds. Think of it in terms of a rapid, three-slide slideshow, with audio as the middle slide. It was not unusual. I’ve received many a message in such a way, and they’re never alike – not so far.
I continued to practice Reiki and converse with my Ya-Yas. When I returned to my chair and a lull afforded me the opportunity, I said to Linda, “Everything’s going to be fine. Rubin said, ‘Everything’s going to be fine.’”
The import of the message wasn’t overlooked. We walked hand in hand with Linda through Rubin’s illness and death. We were there at the hospital the night he died, and in that dim, chill room with her just minutes after he drew his last breath, crying, laughing, hugging. She had received little signs from him in the days, weeks, and months following his transition, and a message from him through me that fall.
Linda, who was diagnosed with cancer late this past fall, went through two months of chemo and radiation, followed by six weeks of catch-your-breath-and-regain-your-strength. On Wednesday, March 13, she had surgery to remove the root of the tumor in her rectum. The estimated three and one-half hour-long surgery took seven hours, and it was a complete success.
The Ya-Yas gathered in room 222, in the intensive care unit last night. When we arrived, Linda was sitting up in the chair beside her bed, chewing ice and sipping juice and looking for all the world as though she was just hanging out there visiting someone – except for the tell-tale johnny, IV, and heart monitor.
She announced she was being moved up to the fourth floor because she wasn’t “sick enough” to stay in ICU. Her recovery and healing are happening at a vastly accelerated rate, according to her doctors and nurses.
She still faces another round of chemo, but it looks as though Rubin is right:
Everything’s going to be fine.
Thank you, dear Rubin, for that message of assurance just when it was needed. You are missed.
Have you ever been gifted with a timely message?