The Massage
Some adventures can only be found within.
I never thought I would become a “massage person”, in no small part due to the expense of the sessions… However, after taking a chance to explore my reactions in these spaces through the care of trusted professionals, and with the generous gift of massages from family members, I can honestly declare myself a convert. I wholeheartedly recommend this work to anyone and everyone.
ADVENTURE ART CLUB | DAY 27 | 9.27
SOMEWHERE PEACEFUL IN
MISSOULA, MONTANA
I’ve always been one to override how I physically feel to do “what needs to be done”. Montanans in general have a can-do attitude that comes with a great deal of grit. We solve problems, no matter what. Sometimes that’s because we have to… in real life or death situations. Sometimes it’s when we have to make do with less. Sometimes it’s because there’s no one to call to do the job for you or there’s no extra money to pay a professional. I also grew up in rural Montana, where physical discomfort didn’t get you out of following through with the task at hand. Animals still need to be sheltered and fed, even when you’re tired or the weather is bad.
I think Artists, especially, are trained to ignore our physical discomfort to engage in long hours of creation. I went to art school, and in no way were we taught any “proper ergonomics” for working or physical therapy strategies to use for recovery, even though our bodies are the tools we use to make our work. Every Artist I know, including myself, has terrible posture or a pain problem resulting from repetitive actions - hazards of our profession. Self care is not something many Artists set as a central focus, to our detriment. Sometimes I think that attitude is changing. At least… I hope so.
If I said you could gain several more years of creating by taking better care of your body, your tool, would you make changes? It seems like a no-brainer, “Yes”, but slowing down to have enough awareness of how we feel and what we need in any given moment is so much easier said than done. I’m as guilty as anyone of neglecting my self care.
The flow of creation makes it so easy to forget our physical bodies. I cannot tell you the number of times I have set my paintbrush down and walked away only to suddenly and instantaneously become aware of a pain in my neck or how ravenously hungry I am. When I’m making something, I often forget my body entirely, but I’m now working on building in pauses…
I didn’t know how much physical pain I carried in my body as a constant before I got my first massage. Leaving the building at the end of that session, I felt….so much lighter…as if a physical weight had been lifted from my shoulders. I noticed my hypervigilance had eased somewhat. I felt solidly present in my body. My shoulders weren’t pinned to my ears with tension. I felt bubbly and happy, no longer constricted. I thought to myself….how much have I been carrying around with me?! How much of this weight is mine to carry…. The realization of how much I was blind to brought tears to my eyes that night. To say that massage was transformative would be an understatement.
When we become accustomed to carrying something - worries, struggle, tension, inherited patterns, the weight of the world - we can forget how heavy it is. …Until someone kindly takes that weight away from us for a time. The vision of a world that’s much lighter is what therapeutic massages have given me over the last few years. I don’t get a lot of them, but when my body and heart is particularly bound up in knots, I go to this place to get help with unwinding them.
Tonight, as I settle my aching body into the soft surface of the heated massage table, and I try to quiet my mind, somewhat unsuccessfully. I’m always rushing to these appointments, which does not lend itself well to the zen mentality I’d like to adopt in these mindful spaces. I’d like to start paying more attention to the ways I transition.
Still, as my massage therapist (the only one I see) gets to work, I notice the transformation begins. At first, every touch registers as pain. My body is wired with tension it has knowingly placed here and there for tending to later. I try to remind it that this is that tending…and when I resist, I remind myself that pain is a label I’m giving to a physical sensation. Remember to breathe. So, the pain starts to ease.
All elements come into play in this liminal space beyond time. Fire in the heat of the stones J places on my body. Air in the current of my breath in my lungs. Water in the flow of her movements. Earth in the table that holds me. Spirit in the visions that greet me when I let my mind and heart wander together. In this case, I imagine an eagle circling overhead in the clear blue air above me, drifting to and fro. I watch for a while.
I don’t know if this happens for others, but I often have thoughts or images present themselves to me, as if from nowhere, in moments of mindfulness. Tonight, a phrase drifts into focus. “Let go. You can let go.” With it comes an image of a girl letting rocks fall from her hands by the water, over and over. They fall to the ground with a thud. Then, she’s lighter.
Simultaneously I notice the craft of the person caring for me. Her artistry. She deliberately maintains a point of connection with me as her hands travel from shoulder to arm or back to my side. It’s as if there’s a thread she is tracing whenever she changes direction. Her movements are intentional and deliberate, like a choreographed dance. At the same time, she’s responding intuitively in the moment to a knot she finds here, a point of tension there, adopting different strategies to ease the burden. An elbow. Her forearm. A piping hot stone.
I’m struck by an awareness of all the women who care for me in my life, whether that be for my body, my heart, or my mind. I’m reminded of my acupuncturist’s expertise and care in a similar context…how her immense knowledge of anatomy is abundantly clear in the way she pinpoints exactly which tiny spot in my muscle is clenching tightly and obstructing the flow. Working with her over the years has taught me a level of proprioception I could never attain before.
The practice in both of these spaces seems to be one of embodiment.
Both practitioners constantly check in with you, and the process demands that you check in with your body as well. It requires a level of presence. How did that feel? Was that too much? Where do we need to go next? What is the intention today? How are we adapting that thought to what we see in the moment? How do you feel now at the end compared to the start?
When I first started engaging in these spaces, I could barely answer those questions. I had overrode myself so many times that I couldn’t begin to tell you how I physically felt. Since then, I’ve travelled great distances within, all while resting in stillness.
Sometimes the adventures we need the most are the ones we avoid:
Seeking silence. Standing still. Staying present. Resting fully. Letting others care for us. But…. if we can take one step along that path to the unknown within, and then another, we look up down the road and find ourselves transformed. I’m on that journey now.
As tonight’s massage draws to a close, I feel a sense of joy fluttering into the space that was cleared by the dropping of stones. Life is supposed to feel good. We are not supposed to feel burdened, constantly. Massages remind me of this natural state of joy and ease. They give me something to reach for. Once she leaves the room, I wrap my arms around myself and feel some gratitude. I’m not always gentle with me, but when I am, I take note. Thank you.
Stepping out of this timeless space, I try to tread softly into my life again. My body needs time to adjust to a new way of holding itself, without bracing. I know it will find old patterns too quickly, but, for a time, I’m reminded of different ways of being…and how good it feels to be lighter.
I’ll keep seeking reminders, until that’s a constant.
Love & Gratitude,
- Christina
