On Reiki

It has a certain sort of irony I'm still trying to accept as typical: here in Thailand, where massage is almost as integral as noodles, I've found myself compelled to define and defend Reiki to anyone I've told about it.

Unfortunately, I'm enough of a left-brained analyst to credit the doubts and think, "Correlation is not causation, and nothing works unless you want it to.:

Despite that, here's what I can say for Reiki: after my first treatment, I found my smile. I was given chlorophyll to help cleanse the system--1.5 liters of water with a packet of green per day--and meditation exercises to add to my current hour of walking and metta meditation.

I went back to learn Reiki, and after the second week, when I started practicing on myself every morning, my ankles returned to normal, provided aching twigs of bone and sinew can be called normal. But the edema subsided, and it is glorious.

After the third session, I found myself smiling and enjoying being alive while racing away from a black thundercloud. Even more bizarre was an urge to do something: for months, I have wanted only to go home, have a meal, and sleep. To think about visiting a waterfall, going for a walk, or simply putting laundry all the way away (which involves extra trips up the stairs), to feel interest in the world and an urge to experience it, is a welcome refrain from a bygone part of life.

So credit the chlorophyll, the daily decade of egg whites, the dream about a white lady carrying me away, meditation, Reiki, or my body simply trying to recover. I don't care. I'll take any relief I can get.