A 7-Letter Word for Maudlin

It started like any normal day, but then most do. Have you ever heard of a bad day, when someone retells it, where they expected everything to go sideways? “I woke up just knowing dad would have a heart attack and die today.”

No. Those kind of days always start like a normal day. This day was like that. Normal. That’s why they always say “I never suspected anything.”

Nick had left for work and dropped the kids at school on his way. I sat down for my morning coffee and crossword puzzle before I would tackle the task at hand: cleaning the basement.

“Hmmm. A 7-letter word for maudlin.” Macabre. Yes, that fit.

Several blanks left and the mug empty, I put on a sweater and my shoes, opened the basement door, flipped on the light switch, and headed down with my supplies: paper towels, rags, cleaning solvents, and my tools. Cleaning an old basement meant pulling up mildewed linoleum, cleaning the tiny windows just above my sight line, and (worst of all) unclogging the sump pump. The standing water in that corner smelled bad, looked murky, and made my stomach turn. I’d save that for last.

I put my earbuds in and listened to some 80’s rock to keep me moving and motivated. Bon Jovi filled my head.

The one bare bulb hanging from the ceiling pathetically lit this part of the house. Windows would be first, then. I dragged an empty bucket to the first window, flipped it over, and climbed up. The bucket shook under my weight, and I had to grab the sill to steady myself. Great. Now I had a sliver in my finger. Well that would have to wait until I could get back upstairs to wash it out.

Glass cleaner and paper towels did a lot to let more light in. The place looked brighter already.

I turned my attention to the linoleum. What may once have been kinda pretty was yellowed and curling at the edges. “Tripping hazard,” I thought aloud. 

I got to work with my putty knife, sliding it under the edge and working it up a bit at a time. Inches turned to feet and before long I was making progress.

That’s when I saw it. Some writing under the old flooring. Looked like it had been painted on the cement.

I grabbed hold of the edge and pulled hard, stepping back unexpectedly into the disgusting sump water, the filth seeping into my shoes more quickly than I could have imagined. 

I turned to look at the puddle. It seemed darker somehow. And in spite of the light bulb and clean windows there was no reflection: just a dark morass. It seemed fathomless. 

I stepped closer, the linoleum still in my hand.

Suddenly the water was up to my ankles. Something grabbed my feet. I tried to scream but couldn’t even get a breath before I was dragged to the murky depths, holding a putty knife in one hand and the edge of the ancient flooring in the other. 

Then it all went black.

****

Nick picked up the kids from the tutor’s on the way home from work. Sam and Willa talked nonstop all the way home. “At least they aren’t fighting,” he mumbled.

Walking through the door, there was no dinner cooking. A half-done crossword and empty coffee cup sat on the table. The basement door was open.

Nick made his way to the top of the steps and yelled “honey, are you down there?” No reply. She must have her ear buds in, he thought.

He plodded down the stairs. Lexi was nowhere to be found, but on the floor he saw this written: 

Into the abyss

We never miss

In the murky depths

Eternal rest

Theophany

This Christmas time is here at last

As it has come in times long past

The air is chilled, the roadway glassed

And yet I am forlorn

A child walks across the street

I see the print left by his feet

He hurries on - his friends to meet

I watch and I am torn

I know he hurries on to church

The choir loft to be his perch

My eyes look up in endless search

An angel sounds the horn

And as they all begin to sing

The children's voices sweetly ring

The joyful sounds of caroling

Upon this Christmas morn

A host of angels from the loft

Do utter heavenly anthems soft

But I draw tight, as I have oft,

This mantle I have worn

The visions that draw nigh to me

Are little comfort for you see

What I once thought was meant to be

Was never to be borne

Then comes to me in vision clear

Angelic guidance drawing near

My mantle does he take to bear

Beneath his crown of thorn

My soul rings out from blessed cure

And feels the blessing of the pure

And knows the love with feelings sure

No longer will I mourn

Heavens Upside Down

From my window looking down

Constellations on the ground

As towns light up and cities glow

The lights aboard my ship are low

We climb above a floating cloud

The engines singing oh-so-loud

And though the nose is heaven-bound

A wonder-world I have found

The earth's resplendent, sparkling gown

Constellations on the ground

The twinkle lights give comfort feeling

To one whose thoughts are flying, reeling

In the belly of a sky-bound whale

Imagination thoughts set sail

All fear and trepidation drowned

By looking out - look all around

The darkened earth is jewel-crowned

With constellations on the ground.

Not Music Class

Tick…Tick…Tick…Tick…

Sharona stared out the window. The teacher droned on. Something about Uganda. Main export: coffee. Currency: Ugandan shilling. Population: who cares?

To her left a fat red-haired boy was tapping the eraser end of his pencil in counterpoint to the clock’s ticking.  Tick…tap…tick…tap…tick…tap…

The cute boy who sat behind her–the one with the wavy brown hair and bright blue eyes–was snoring softly creating an underlying bass.

“And the two main languages of Uganda?” The teacher’s monotone raising only slightly to indicate that he was actually asking a question. “Anyone?”  Hearing no response he continued “English and Swahili.”

Outside the window Sharona watched a squirrel climb a tree. “Lucky squirrel,” she thought. The sun was shining brilliantly. The school lawn was lush and green, and by the rustling of the tree’s leaves she could tell there was a slight breeze. Inside the school the windows wouldn’t even open – in spite of the lack of air conditioning. A rivulet of sweat ran down between her shoulder blades. Lucky squirrel, for sure.

“Over 36 million people live in Uganda…”

She picked up her pen and drew flower petals around the holes in her notebook paper. Then she added stems and leaves.

“Uganda gained independence from Britain in 1962…”

Sharona glanced at Katie in the next row and a few seats forward. She was intensely writing something on a slip of paper. She carefully folded that slip into the smallest little cube of paper Sharona may have ever seen. Sharona watched as Katie waited for the teacher to turn toward the board and then snatched her hand across the row depositing the note on Rachel’s desk.

Katie and Rachel were cheerleaders. On game days they wore their flouncy little skirts and bare midriffs to every class. Lacy ankle socks inside their matching tennis shoes. Hair piled up in a ridiculously large bow on the top of their heads – like matching fountains spewing unrealistic curls.

Cute boy must have caught himself as his head slid toward the desk in deep sleep. He practically jumped up and yelled “yes, sir!” as he wiped the drool from his chin. OK – maybe he wasn’t always cute.

“Mr. Foster, did you have something to add?” the teacher raised an eyebrow in cute boy’s direction.

“Um, no, sorry…” cute boy muttered and sat down again.

Sharona smiled to herself, stifling a giggle. Sad that this was the most excitement to be had in history class today.

“Tobacco is also a large export for Uganda.” The teacher picked up where he had left off.

Sharona turned her attention back to the window. Except for a few fluffy clouds, the sky was a bright blue. Oh to be outside right now.

Tommy, a boy Sharona had known since she was little, squirmed a few seats ahead. His feet starting to scrape back and forth on the floor.

Tick…tap…scrape…tick…tap…scrape…

Sharona picked up her pen again and began to make random triangles over the notebook paper. Inside each triangle she made different designs…swirls, stars, squiggles... She carefully colored around them, creating patterns and doodles like it was her job.

“Uganda is one of the poorest nations in the world…”

“Right about now,” Sharona thought to herself, “I would trade places with anyone in Uganda to get out of this class.” She continued drawing.

Rachel raised her hand. “Mr. Smith, can I go to the bathroom?”

Mr. Smith never stopped talking while pulling the bathroom pass from his desk and handing it to her.

Rachel exchanged a knowing look with Katie as she skipped out of the classroom, the little wadded up note in her hand, ankle socks flouncing, curls bouncing, and midriff showing.

Sharona remembered that there was to be a pep rally at the end of the day. The cheerleaders would perform whatever dance they had been learning, shaking their pom poms, and showing off their spankies as they cartwheeled and flipped across the gym floor. The football players would parade out of the locker room in their jerseys inciting the crowd to cheer. There was a home game tonight.

But Sharona didn’t care about any of that.

Tick…tap…scrape…tick…tap…scrape…

Sharona glanced at the clock again. Four more minutes about Uganda. She could make it through that.

She watched the clock. Two minutes.

Now the sounds in the room were less rhythmic. Papers shuffling. Books closing. Students leaning forward in their desks…poised for the last minute.

The passing bell rang. Sharona watched as 23 students burst forth from the classroom bottlenecking at the door. It was like watching toothpaste burst out of the tube if you stepped on it.

There was a steady stream of students all making their way to the gym for the pep rally. Sharona looked around to see if there were any teachers monitoring this area of the hall. Seeing none, she ducked out of the nearest door and into the great outdoors.

Now, where was that squirrel?

Intention

I have taught business, communication, ethics and law to massage therapists for the last five years.  I am not a massage therapist, but I work with them, I work for them, and I educate them.

I am not a massage therapist, but what I have to say is important.

Every class I meet I always take the opportunity to get up on my soapbox. What do I talk about when I’m up there? Intention.

I start the soapbox talk by stating the obvious. I am not a thin woman. I have been called fat, overweight, obese, Rubenesque, voluptuous, plump, fluffy, and more. I know that this makes some people uncomfortable to talk about, but that’s the point. If you, as a massage therapist, are already thinking about it, then it should be okay to talk about it. Further, any aspect of your business as a massage therapist should be open for discussion – especially the way that you interact with your clients.

I know (because I’ve experienced it for most of my life) that there is a prejudice against overweight people. People judge. They have preconceived ideas about how an overweight person lives their life, about their intelligence level, about their abilities, and, ultimately, about their value in life. If this does not apply to you, I am glad. Unfortunately, though, it does apply to many.

Let me state here and now that there is no place for judgment in a massage treatment room.

The moment we begin to judge a person, our treatment of them changes. Whether in the way we speak to them, how we look at them, or how we treat them physically. When we judge someone they may seem “less worthy” to us…but in reality we cease to be worthy of them.

In massage we must practice non-judgment. We must value each person for who they are. We cannot discount a person because they are overweight. We cannot discount a person because they are too thin. Or have back acne. Or sweat a lot. Or have stinky feet.

And guess what? If, when I am on your massage table, you are judging me, I can sense it. Your hands speak louder than you may think.  I can tell if you are not focused on me and my muscles. I can tell if you are making shopping lists in your head. Or if you are worrying about your laundry. Or your kids. Or what you will have for lunch.

Every person who enters your treatment room deserves your undivided attention. There is more to massage than affecting muscles. The power of human touch transcends the treatment of muscles and tissues. There are somatic responses to touch that heal more than the body – that reach deeper than the deepest massage. And every client deserves to experience them.

Your clients pay you real money to experience therapy – not judgment, not disdain, not disgust. Clients pay money to be administered to in a healing way and in a healing environment.

So check your judgment at the door. Shake off your distractions. Enter your treatment room with intention. Intend to heal. Intend to affect. Intend to reach. Intend to use the power of touch in a truly powerful way.

Your client deserves no less.

(Permission granted for use in massage therapy schools, with credit given to the author, Michelle Ames, New York Massage Alliance.  For additional information, contact Michelle at michelle@marketedbymichelle.com.)

Graduation Speech December 2010: Dream Catchers and Paper Cranes

Long ago an old Lakota spiritual leader was on a high mountain and had a vision. In his vision, Iktomi, the searcher of wisdom, appeared in the form of a spider. Iktomi spoke to him in a sacred language. As he spoke, Iktomi the spider picked up the elder's willow hoop which had feathers, horsehair, beads and offerings on it, and began to spin a web. He spoke to the elder about the cycles of life, how we begin our lives as infants, move on through childhood and into adulthood. Finally we go to old age where we complete the cycle.

But, Iktomi said as he continued to spin his web, in each time of life there are many forces, some good and some bad. If you listen to the good forces, they will steer you in the right direction. But, if you listen to the bad forces, they'll steer you in the wrong direction and may hurt you. So these forces can help, or can interfere with the harmony of Nature. While the spider spoke, he continued to weave his web.

When Iktomi finished speaking, he gave the elder the web and said, this web is a perfect circle with a hole in the center. Use the web to help your people reach their goals, making good use of their ideas, dreams and visions. The web will filter your good ideas and the bad ones will be trapped and will not pass through.

The elder passed on his vision to his people and now many people have dream catchers above their beds or hanging in their windows to sift their dreams and visions, allowing the good to pass through and capturing the bad in the web, where they perish in the light of the sun.

The first symbol of the School from which you graduate today, was the dream catcher. At one time or another, for each of you, the dream catcher allowed the massage therapy dream to sift through …knowing that it was a good dream for you. Today, that dream is realized as you celebrate the completion of 1000 hours of hard work and dedication to your dream.

There are many things that we can represent with the number 1000. We know that 1000 hours is equal to 41.67 days. We know that 1000 heartbeats carry us through almost 15 minutes of life. 1000 steps average just under a half mile. 1000 massage strokes will carry you through a massage or two. 1000 smiles will light the world.

You came to school 1000 hours of education ago. You stepped foot in the classroom eyeing each other, wondering how you’d remember everyone’s name. I told you that day to look to your left and right. I asked you to look across the circle and take in all the faces. I promised you that these people that now sit next to you ready to graduate would become your friends, indeed, your extended family. You may not have believed me then, but now you realize the truth in those words.

We recognize the sacrifice that you make when you undertake 1000 hours of education and training. We also recognize the sacrifice made by your loved ones. We know that this program has not only given you knowledge and skills, but also a new way of looking at things. One cannot help but grow and change along the path to this ceremony today.

And yet…as commencement speakers have said millions of times over…today is just the beginning. The beginning of new adventures, new hopes, new dreams, and new careers. It has been said that the journey of 1000 miles begins with one step. As you set foot from this venue tonight, be reminded that it is the first step toward your new career.

You may also be familiar with the concept that we do not live and die alone…but with the help, companionship, and connection with one another. The new logo of our school is a modified yin yang – one with hands representing your profession. The concept of yin yang is that we complement each other – filling in each other’s weaknesses, supporting one another, helping one another, with a little bit of one another carried within ourselves. I bet that sounds familiar to you. You came to this school not knowing those who sat there with you – you leave as colleagues and friends, ready to take on the world one trigger point at a time.

There is a Japanese saying that one who has 1000 paper cranes will be granted a wish. With your diploma today you will receive one paper crane. One step toward your next dream. May you continue to collect cranes, and find your wishes and dreams fulfilled.

June 2011 Graduation Speech: On Mandalas

Indulge me for a few moments, while I introduce you to something that today’s graduates learned about in Energy class with Paula Schank: the mandala.

There are many types of mandalas – presented in many ways – stained glass windows like the famed Notre Dame Rose Window, tattoos, coloring pages, and even a child’s kaleidoscope.

Mandalas occur in nature – snowflakes, whirlpools, hurricanes, and even a snail’s shell.

Mandalas are used for and representative of so many things.

Most mandalas are contained within a circle. A circle can symbolize many things. Circles have no beginnings and no ends. They are continual…cyclic. In this they represent life, nature, the earth, and more. So many things we use or see daily are circles…coins, the sun, the moon, wedding bands and other rings, even manhole covers. Circles are smooth. They can be carried in the palm of your hand or be as big as the sun itself.

Mandalas are colorful. The colors are used according to the meditational choice of its creator and may be selected based on what the artist wishes to convey – inner feelings, hopes, dreams, or based on the symbolisms, icons and graphics contained within.

Mandalas can be abstract…or can include any number of pictures, motifs or icons. Some mandalas contain Asian influences – dragons, lotus blossoms, and the yin and yang. Some include sacred symbols representing gods and ancestors. Some include symbols from nature – flowers, animals, butterflies, or the tree of life. A more recent direction that mandalas have traveled is to include Celtic symbolisms in the form of Celtic knots and crosses.

Tibetan monks create sand mandalas over days. Painstakingly using tubes, funnels and scrapers, holding their breath when close to the design, the monks build the layers of sand, creating beautiful and intricate designs. Silently working in a cordoned-off area, under the observation of passersby. People travel miles to see the creation of the masterpiece, in awe of the work being done.

Once complete – the mandala is on display for those who want to see it – as a source of inspiration, meditation, awe and wonder.

When a specified period of time has passed, the monks, in full regalia, begin the destruction ceremony. Using scrapers, paper and their hands, they ritualistically begin to move the sand from the outside of the circle inward. Once the sand has been pulled to the center of the table, it is removed by hand and placed into a jar. It is transported to the nearest moving water – a stream or river – where it is poured into the water – never to be used in the same creation.

The creation and destruction of a sand mandala is truly representational of life – it has a beginning, a birth. It has an end, a death. It reminds us that to everything there is a beginning and end…and that the time in between has the potential to be beautiful.

The students we celebrate this evening are like that mandala. From different backgrounds, geographic locations, ages, genders, and beliefs, they were drawn together into a journey – the journey of becoming massage therapists.

At orientation the beginning was scary. Looking around the circle, they wondered who they might connect with – how they might touch one another’s lives both literally and figuratively. The first layer of sand had been laid.

As the months went by other colors were introduced…deeper parts of themselves – their passions, strengths, weaknesses. Tragedies pulled them together in support – exciting happenings drew them together in celebration. Designs and patterns were introduced…routines were represented – clinic, studying, even 5-toed shoes!

But like the sand mandala – our student mandala, too, has an end. Also like the sand mandala, we have drawn them to the center – the culmination – graduation. After this evening, they will spread out into the stream, scattered in their own directions, beginning a new journey – having always been part of this something beautiful.