( a little look at the business of healing arts)
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A Still Point
With a tendency to compensate
for disruptive changes
she felt that a trip to the brain doctor
was imminent
It was Shavasana she wanted
a corpse pose
some metabolic equilibrium
mid tide long tide
cellular breath
homeostasis
so she phoned her
a maintenance call
booking a still point
at the earliest convenience
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The Placebo Prayer
“Rest” she said, placing her hands around my brain. “Healing occurs through resonance, through reconnection to the original matrix.” I wish she hadn’t said that. ‘Reconnecting’ suddenly measures the lengthening thread of my detachment. Her hands search for Mid Tide, a tidal rhythm. I remember 2.5 cycles per minute. Soon, she will search for Long Tide, blossoming from dynamic stillness. Has she already felt I am not really here?
“Inertia is perceived as shapes followed…” I wonder if she has felt my concrete edges of resistance, my distance. Does she perceive electrical radiance, wind and the expanding horizon? I must relax. The Breath of Life in 8-14 cycles per minute. If I breathe in and out, meditate, and let her search for tides and bottles and shells, may be I will come back – believe more in the Placebo Prayer, this one, cranial-sacral motion sensed in touches; I wonder…
“Rest.” Is she sensing reciprocal tension movement, in the tissue and fluid of my brain? I must relax. Long Tide in 90-second cycles. Healing. A restoration of tissue and fluid mobility. Why is it so hard sometimes, just to breathe out and in?
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Iridology
Iridology. A consultation, a first lesson, a first session. She says she sees imbalance as cause and symptom written in shape, iris and pupil dilation, colour, hue, and scaring; and to the left and to the right, all things are measured, and what is felt is verified when treatment begins. A woman in the front row faints and is escorted to a hard wooden bench on the perimeter and sits, breathing out and in, beside the clinic doorway. In the patients’ waiting room, a buxom nurse tends to the line of clients with their backs against the wall.
She shows slides by projection. It is what comes forward, and what retreats, all in a gaze. This, she explains is not so much about age, it is about health. A Volunteer holds up a slide. There is maturity here, and intelligence there, that she can see in a child or in a grown adult. This, she tries to explain, excusing herself for being unscientific, is something to do with what some might understand as mind or soul. A rasping objection from the crowd, but she waves a hand dismissively, and continues.
Look at any object, at the light and the dark, the push and pull of it, to see the same. A poem on love has both eyes, and the third, for one to see the space between the words; the right hand beckoning or raised to say stop, the left palm open to kiss or be kissed; and it may appear to be in perfect balance, but what is the feeling that spills from the white canvas between the dots on the page? This is what she says she sees in the study of the eyes. She says ‘Ki’, the Japanese symbol for energy, for the shiatsu students - their fingers busy taking notes - so they hear the same idea when reading the depletion and resistance of flow along a body meridian. She listens to the body by the rune stone of each eye.
There are some with a right eye to be wary of. There are some with a left so underdeveloped it is as if the right eye is not born of a human child. A Volunteer gasps, shocked. She pauses, and continues by stating that both project in allegory, a lurking alien being, reticent and appearing throughout history in full Technicolor, as inhuman…
Someone guffaws. Another goes and sits on the hard wooden bench. She inhales and exhales deeply. It is referred to on page 35 as the inhumane gene, she explains. Then the shuffle, there is a cough, a crinkle of a crisp packet, and someone excuses themselves and heads for the restroom facilities. She pauses for stillness, and continues. Most however, are aware, sentient; and imbalanced only by a most human reticence, formed in lifetimes and born in this one, of mistrust.
Silence.
Her eyes scan the room, and she opens the floor for questions. Some stand open mouthed, some turn to the exit, some begin to ponder, and some fall in.
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