Me Scurvy
Crew: Plunder my treasures: |
Thoughts on Massage People who come in for massages come in all shapes, colors, and varieties. Sometimes, I am truly in awe of the variety of individuals I meet in a given week. Like the biker guy with 9 tattoos that were visible to me, long blond hair that went downt to his mid-shoulder in a pony-tail, complete with tan cowboy boots and a Harley shirt. He reminded me of my father, and was one of the most pleasant people I met all week. Or the man who also had long hair down to his shoulders and kept calling me "baby" during the massage and then tried to hug me afterwards. It is hit or miss with long-haired men, I guess. And the women- there are women who are thin and have body issues, women who are heavier and have no body issues, women who flinch every time they are touched- they worry me the most. I want to give them what they came for- a relaxing experience- but sometimes I get the feeling that they have come to reconcile something within themselves- old wounds of the flesh that they feel may heal if they are touched with caring, non-sexual compassion. I really want to do right by these people in particular. I worked on a woman, in her thirties, who was widowed in July when her husband just keeled over from a heart attack. More importantly that the muscles we work, the relaxation we give, is the connection we offer to another human being. Responsibility as a therapist, in my mind, is to be present and compassionate and to simply be there for the client. To BE for the client. In that hour, to let the world revolve around them, their needs, their lives. It is a precious gift to give, the gift of a gentle hand, open heart, and silent witness. said the Dread Pirate Ro at 8:02 AM on October 09, 2004 Aarrgh! 2 scurvy dogs said "Ahoy, matey!"
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Starboard Shiver Me
Timbers
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