Energy. (Archive)

This was originally published in March of 2009. Soon to come are two new essays: "Teenaged" and "Worry".


I made my cat sick. It wasn’t intentional, of course. Delaney (the Cougar), a stunning orange-striped 8-lb. beauty, laid calm on my chest for hours on end, days in a row. I was remarkably ill, unable to function in any other capacity than keeping myself alive. She stayed still as did I. I studied her hue because there wasn’t much else to do. Orange, though a wonderful word and exciting color, didn’t do justice. Parts of her fur are the color of marmalade, fading into what matches the bark of sequoias. Maybe some sorrel, threads of caramel, and a rich brown, not like chocolate, but more like truck-stop coffee. The white on her chin and around her eyes has a depth to it, more matte than gloss, kind of like chalk. Near-sighted and without glasses or contacts, I studied strands of fur while she was trying to heal me.

Here’s the deal: for a very long time, my method of overcoming sickness was a trough of hooch and an internal bawl out--- my bloodthirsty, jackhammer-voiced drill instructor thrashing my yellow-bellied, sniffling pansy. Pill-popping was rare; doctor appointments never happened; health ailments equaled weakness and weakness equaled vulnerability. I was determined to never be assailable, thus I could not admit that I didn’t feel well. If I wouldn’t admit that I was sick, then the concept of treatment, whether conventional or alternative, was wasted time. What changed all of that was serious illness, debilitating illness, life-threatening illness. Facing the prospect of premature death, I found the appeal in all possibilities of wellness. My attitude changed from thinking they were looped-up wah-hoo to thinking, “Hey, let’s give this a whirl.” Suddenly, therapies I may have previously sneered at took on the aura of miraculous. My closest friend, Lara, has always been open to the mystical possibilities of healing. She is a massage therapist, a maker of essential oil ointments, and a witch. She is a good witch, but unlike Glenda from “The Wizard of Oz” she isn’t creepy sweet and swathed in light and white. Her pagan rituals and appreciation of ancient healing arts have in the past made me smile; I found them cute. But then, I hadn’t needed additional methods to provide relief from pain, stress, and a physical downward spiral. Desperation is an excellent eye-opener.

Through my studies of Taoism, I have an understanding of Chi, the flowing energy circulating through the universe, inherent in all things. Motion and heat and coolness undetected by vision, balanced or imbalanced, powerful yet calm. A side note: for those golf enthusiasts who haven’t read about Taoism, Chi is entirely different than Chi Chi Rodriguez. Wanted to clarify that. Onward. Lao Tzu wrote frequently about water; indeed, it is an excellent example of Chi. A prime example of its energy is the Grand Canyon, formed by the Colorado River over a period of six million years, continual flow of channels working their way through solid rock formations eventually creating a gorge a mile deep. Now, that there is some powerful energy. Water, something we can effortlessly step into and through when it is in its liquid form, used its flowing touch against the atoms of the rocks, reshaping minerals to create one of the most magnificent natural wonders of the world. Well done.

When I am ill, my energy doesn’t flow with the power and grace of water. Mine seems to have more of a slime essence. There is no efflux through my body, but rather a sticky mucous leaching around nonsensically. I trust Lara implicitly, and when she suggests energy work, I am more than ready. She can explain polarity and Therapeutic Touch to me time and time again. I will listen dutifully, but my head is thinking, ‘Make me better. Make me well.’ That’s a tremendous amount of pressure to put upon someone, thus my thinking as opposed to talking. Whether she is rebalancing my essential energies or meditating upon my energy field to remove blockages, I stay still and await her magic. Lara has magic. People sometimes mention others who have an aura about them, those who radiate a distinct power, those who emanate some intangible striking quality; she is one of those people. I consider her a healer. As a registered massage therapist and student of naturopathy, she has studied many methods of sanative remedy. She’s not a flaky nutter, though, summoning snake gods, spinning round like a Stevie Nicks record, and chanting humpback whale ditties. Once she took a class on reiki, thought it was screwy bullshit, and stopped. Not everything works for everyone; we all know this to be true. And, some things are just plain frightening, such as Rolfing which scares the crap out of me. I’ve seen those pictures in alternative health magazines, that little boy in his saggy BVD’s, first all twisted and weird and contorted and then straight as a board. I always think something really not right happened. Plus, it’s a stupid name that I can’t take seriously. One website actually has a link that reads, “Become a Rolfer.” Um… no. Icky.

Days after Delaney tried to heal me, Lara visited. I mentioned that my dear feline friend was lethargic, eating very little, and just didn’t appear to feel well. Lara held her for an hour, performing energy work on this small wonder. Shortly thereafter, she was up and about, spunky and back to playing with her favorite toy, a squishy stress plaything shaped like a politician. It seemed a marvel, the quick transformation, the power of touch from the right hands. Through therapy from Lara, Western medicine, rest, nutrition, friendship, prayers, well wishes, and most significantly, time, I overpowered my illness, too. My body stopped attacking itself and reverted to its natural state of repairing itself. I have continued on the road to wellness: exercising, resting, eating, resting, regular follow-ups with my doctors, resting. I still have the continuous battle with MS, but no longer have to wearily fend off viral and bacterial invaders.

Delaney and I had a talk recently; I informed her she can no longer attempt to extract disease from my being, that it was under control and she could go back to continually grooming herself. She took the role of nursemaid seriously, though, and still watches over me. When I rest, she purposefully touches my pulse points. Her paws, the size of quarters, seek out my arteries, delicately monitoring my blood flow, making sure I have one. The radial arteries and aortic arch are of comfort to her. Mostly though, she reaches her forepaw to my carotid arteries, nails retracted, never leaving a mark, her digital pads performing a feline effleurage. That’s the thing about energy, it’s always there, flowing from one being to another, unbroken continuity, smooth and graceful, the intense force of vitality.