Someone I admire just launched a new clothing line with designs based on finds from the Bronze Age, both European and Scandinavian (here). In exploring their social media presence I saw a powerful element to their page in the form of a phrase in Latin which read, “Sol Lucent omnibus,” the sun shines for everyone. As a lover of ancient language I found myself moved by this. Latin is one of my favorite ancient languages. The idea to incorporate a company’s ethos in Latin struck me as effective and powerful, especially once I did the translation. In fact, I was so moved by this that I felt called to explore the ethos that informs my work; that of sacred shamanic bodywork.

I began to reflect on what it is to touch. How I apply, or withhold touch. The impact of my touch. The power of my touch. It wasn’t until after my time in Hawai’i (which I write about here) that I began to really slow down, tune into my breath, feel the flow of energy from the earth, and “see” with my fingers. The flow of Lomilomi allows for either fast or slow movement over the undulation of human landscape. When I gave myself permission to go slow I began a romance with this technique I did not know was possible. In going slow I began to close my eyes while I worked. This. Changed. Everything.

In closing my eyes I am forced to amplify all of my other senses. The security of my footing on the floor. Where my hips are relative to the table. The positioning of my head can be more upright therefore taking strain off my neck. What’s the point of “looking” down when your eyes are closed? When my eyes are closed the tips of my fingers take in more information. This is how, seven years into my practice, I finally understood what arthritis feels like. All because my eyes were closed. I also find myself focusing more on my breath when my sight is removed from the session. In Lomilomi we use breath as a means to move stagnant energy from the body. In “going blind” during a session my inner vision also comes more alive. Some of my most powerful downloads have shown up because I had my eyes closed. If you have any type of bodywork or well being practice where it is safe to close your eyes I would encourage you to start playing with this as a way to deepen your experience.

As I reflect on this process that I have stepped into I am also aware of whom I have touched throughout the course of my career. I have touched those in the brightest times in their lives, in the days before marriage or birthing a baby. I have touched those who are actively dying. Some mere hours before they passed. I have touched the young. I have touched the elders. A few years into my career I touched the top of my daughter’s head as she exited my body on a night of heavy heat in early September. Seven years into my career I knew what it was to touch someone and feel like home, that man is now my husband. I have felt the crunching of inflammation. I have touched the hollowness of a person riddled with cancer. My fingers have run through hair as long as a mermaid’s and danced on bare heads that reflect the sun. I know what it is to feel the power of a person’s pulse under my fingertip. To witness blood rise to the surface of someone’s skin while I move energy up from their sacrum, along their spine, and out through their occipital joint. I have felt the stillness of a human vessel moments after a last breath was taken. I have learned how to gently move scar tissue after mastectomy or years after cesarean section. My hands have learned how to rise and fall along the length of a person’s body relative to connective tissue and where it creates tender joints. I could go on but I will stop here. Suffice to say that for me touch is both a language and a way of seeing. Tangere est videre. To touch is to see.

[unsplash image: Luigi Boccardo]