Anyway, by wonderful serendipity, Charlie and I were placed strategically to be offered free 50-minute Swedish massages by a profession-in-training. Profession masseuse, by the way, not the other kind you might find in Waikiki or in Wahiawa. It was glorious and the first I'd ever received other than a shiatsu Charlie bought for me in 2005 when I was getting all these headaches. I thought it would be weird being mostly nude and having a stranger rub her oiled hands all over the parts of skin normally reserved for sunscreen applications by my husband, but it wasn't. And you can go to this link to read about the benefits of Swedish massage, but the really wonderful thing that day was that it happened at all.
Charlie and I had to go separately, obviously, because she couldn't possibly massage the both of us at the same time with any degree of efficiency or accuracy, so afterwards it was only natural that we compare notes. Did you feel strange? Did you fall asleep? What did you do when you had to roll onto your back and risk actual eye contact with the masseuse? Did she say anything to you? As it turns out, both times we saw her, she complimented me-- the first time she marveled at the smoothness of my skin ("You must drink a lot of water!"), the second time, the bulk of my leg muscles ("You must walk a lot."). She complimented Charlie less which, of course, I revel in. We mused what it could mean (nothing, probably), but then I hit upon it! Her touch nourishes my body, her compliments feed my spirit. I'm sure it's nothing so deep as that, just her remarking on an observation, but it's a pretty thought that I'm sticking to.
The other thing has nothing really to do with the massage, and is way more complex to write about. I can fumble for words if I were talking to you and it wouldn't seem very odd, just a little annoying. I can't ramble in writing and hope you get my meaning. I also don't want to get new-agey on you, which is likely since to me this is all kind of abstract.
Bare hands on skin is so soothing and reassuring and uplifting and comforting. When my husband runs his hand on my back, for example, it is a loving gesture and I feel loved. I feel cherished and close to him. And then it finally hit me at the age of 36: I think I've learned what intimacy is (it doesn't just mean sex, you know) and I've decided that it's integral to my life. This lesson, while it may have been something you learned long ago, is a new revelation to me and it is life-changing. It makes me reassess my priorities and my responses and my usual behaviors. Changing my bad habits to invite in more love seems worthwhile to me.
But our masseuse taught me that sensuality isn't only about sex, either. Her touch is intimate and relaxing and is geared expressly for my enjoyment. She's not trying to please me sexually, and there's nothing at all erotic about the massage, but it is physically pleasing. Her hands are gentle and firm as she coaxes my muscles to relax and everything about the situation is orchestrated for the same purpose. From the dim lighting to the soft instrumental music to the cool temperature and warm sheets, the message is clear: Kanani, we want you to trust us so we can help improve your quality of life. And it is intimate and close and you feel vulnerable, but if you're lucky, you'll also feel confident in your decision to put your trust into your masseuse or masseur, and your life will be better for it.
So I guess it's kind of just a vocabulary lesson in which I've learned to expand my understanding of a couple of common words. What's intimacy? What's sensuality? And it's also another example of how life-long learning can truly improve your life, even if you're not looking for it (though it might help to be open to it).
No comments:
Post a Comment