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Wracked with a year and a half of very melodramatic and lonely insomnia, I finally sought out the wisdom of my friend who is an accomplished Spirit-Needler, well actually she would say “I am an Acupuncturist”, and I would sit next to her nodding with an embarrassed smile-veil on my face, trembling through a cold chilly light sweat because there are 4 needles in my belly, one in between my breasts, one in each thigh, and two on the tops of my ankles.
I would be smiling with a serene, cult-member pre-Kool Aid sheen because I am very terrified of my skin being penetrated by metal things. My psychic therapist says that this is because I was tortured and murdered allot during many of my previous lifetimes, this is a digression.
My Spirit-Needler is my friend, someone I have known for several years and who I actually am the hairdresser of- she has trusted me with her haircut and the power relationship of Healer to Healee has traditionally been the reverse of what it was today, so, OK, everybody just sit tight.
See the thing is, she doesn’t have to be in her underwear when I cut her hair, and for that reason today I am feeling even more vulnerable because I am in my underwear in front of her and I forgot to wear my Nice Ones, these are stretched-out and faded pink cotton and have approx. one to three holes in them. I know she isn’t judging me, however, also I have more sweat-inducing things on my mind, like, there will be tiny pieces of metal sticking in me pretty soon.
Needler explains to me that she is not actually making a new hole in my body with these needles, but in fact is simply placing a feather-thin piece of metal plug into a miniature electrical outlet that already exists in my body! This makes me feel relieved at first, but when she goes on to explain that “This Is Why It Will Be Uncomfortable” I start to sweat in my palms, soles of feet, and armpits, hard.
Bach is streaming in the window from somewhere outside, “I Wonder If That Dude Contemplated Energetic Healing?” or did they even talk about such far-out tryyper concepts in 18th century Germany.
Those needles were in there for approximately 45 minutes, and she sat next to my head the whole time, I turned my head so we could make eye contact, it almost felt like what I’ve thought those Polio Machines would have felt like, the ones in Time Magazine where the babies are laying in the tanks with only their heads sticking out, perfect curly ponytails dangling.
She wanted to ask about my boyfriend allot, and then that lead to us talking about How Does Activated Partnership Work, and my usual style of conversation is such that I try to shove 17 concepts regarding one topic into one sentence, which inevitably becomes a mangled swamp of excited word-confusion. This time, because my Chi is apparently busying itself with renovations, new carpet, innovated light fixtures, etc., I am saying these sentences that are calm, short and concise and I can feel my eyes shift into grey-blue instead of blue-grey, my skin is turning into crepe paper and I am sweating on my upper lip. She is seeing all of this and acting very calm, like she knew it was going to happen. She kept telling me how Love is an Action, not a Feeling.
I kept staring at her bangs and telling myself to be more attentive to them next time, also I am staring at her soft and beautiful crow’s feet, also at the collar of her shirt. She feels like my Mom, then she feels like my Sister, then she feels like someone else’s Baby.
There are black dots where each needle was, she drew those before the needles went in. My belly looks like it has a crude constellation on it, and feels like a hot rock melted inside it. I made an appointment to go back next Monday and am already feeling excited, anxious and full of dread, typical byproducts of concerted self-improvement.
The Ends Justify My Sweaty Means.
