Robert Louis Stevenson saw
the value in a quiet mind. He said this:
“Quiet
minds cannot be perplexed or frightened, but go on in fortune or misfortune at
their own private pace, like a clock during a thunderstorm." I must say, this sounds beyond lovely. Ah for a mind that is not tossed about like a
ship on a stormy sea! Doesn’t it sound
completely blissful? Well, this summer I
endeavored to quiet my brain. I slowed
down the pace of life, took walks along peaceful wooded trails, and lounged in
the summer sun on a hammock. Then school
resumed and the noise swelled to a crescendo all over again. Sigh….
My husband and I enjoy
getting occasional massages at a local massage therapy school. Last Saturday we gleefully drove out to the
school for a true luxury…90 minutes of blissful quiet while having all the
tension and stress rubbed out of our muscles.
We were practically giddy with happiness as we waited in the lobby,
awash in the scent of lavender candles and mint lotions. We were greeted by our lovely
therapists-in-training and led to our curtained cubicles of quiet. I tucked myself beneath the blankets, placed
my face in the cradle, and prepared to silence a week’s worth of static that
was buzzing through my brain….
“Please
let me know if the pressure is not right,” said my twenty-something angel of
mercy in a soft, relaxing voice.
“I
will,” I said, and then I prepared my body and mind for 90 minutes of quietude.
5 minutes later…
I caught myself thinking
about school and listing all the things I needed to accomplish before the
weekend was over. Alright, I told myself, hush
up and just relax. Think about nothing…
I tried focusing on the massage. She was
working on my shoulders where I carry most of my tension, so I began to direct
my attention to how good it felt to have my knots smoothed out. Then I heard a door open and close, and a man
was brought to the curtained cubicle adjacent to mine. I listened to the instructions he was given,
the rustling of shoes, their conversations about undressing to a “comfortable
level” and the initial consultation. Okay Solsvik, (yes, I refer to myself by
my last name…rather like a football coach barking orders at his players), get back to relaxing…just quiet your
mind. You’ve got 80 more minutes of
bliss…
3 minutes later…
The woman behind the curtain
on the other side of me began talking to her therapist about her shoulder knots. “I tried to work on that myself,” she said, “but
I couldn’t reach it.” Her therapist
replied that he could feel a large knot there.
I missed some of the woman’s reply, but I picked up that she was under
great stress because her daughter was sick.
I began to wonder about the daughter.
How old was she? What was she
sick with? Cancer? Oh, I hope it’s not cancer. How
terrible it must be to watch a family member suffer with cancer. I then began to wonder about this woman,
my massage neighbor. What did she look
like? Based on her voice, I tried to
conjure up an image. Hey, Solsvik, you’re supposed to be
relaxing. I tried to regain my
quietude, but couldn’t shake that woman from my thoughts. Poor
thing. So I said a prayer for
her: Lord,
please be with that woman and her daughter.
She sounds so nice, and I have no idea what her days are like, but
please hold her up and help her daughter to heal. After my Amen, I resumed my efforts at stillness…
10 minutes later…
The lilting spa music was
playing, and I was actually doing a pretty good job of finding peace. Clearly
the man next door was not having the mental gymnastics problem I was having
because I heard a faint snore drift through the curtain. Then another, a bit louder, and then a
third. He was really relaxed, and I was all I could do to not giggle. I began to wonder if my husband had fallen
asleep yet (he usually does, at least for a minute). Hey,
Solsvik, shush your mind. Live in the
now. Enjoy this massage and stop
thinking!
Perhaps 10 minutes later…
The therapist working on my
female neighbor gently whispered that he could bring her a hot towel for her face. Immediately my mind snapped back to a trip
that my husband and I took to Hawaii, where our airline went bankrupt on the
fourth day we were there. We had to race
to the airport, abandon the remainder of our trip, and buy flights off the
island before we became stuck there for days.
The place was jammed. Ticket
prices were climbing each hour like stocks at the exchange. We finally broke down and bought two first
class seats when the ticket attendant told us that the prices were only going
to get worse. “Do it,” she said, “or you
might have to wait until next week. We
don’t have extra planes to manage all travelers who have been stranded.” Once we were in the air heading for LAX, a
flight attendant came by offering us hot towels for our faces. It was my first introduction to the sheer and
utter joy of a hot towel. Who knew that
something so simple could be so relaxing and just plain nice? “How much did we have to pay for these seats?”
I asked my husband. Upon hearing his
reply I said, “We’re taking everything they offer us. And I mean everything.” Two hot towels, a dinner (complete with
actual silverware), a cookie, two glasses of wine (real glasses in first class,
people, not those plastic things), a movie, and a pillow and blanket later, we
arrived in LAX, broke, tired, but fairly relaxed. As my stroll down memory lane began to lead
me to the hipster couple having a fight in the baggage claim at 5:00 a.m., I
remembered where I was. Hello….Solsvik….this is quiet time….shhhh….
5 minutes later…
Time ran out for the neighbors
on either side of me, and after hearing them leave I thought, Okay, now you have no distractions. You have 30 minutes left. Make the most of it…But, of course, my
brain is like a wild mustang with no fences, and within mere minutes I realized
that I had just enjoyed 60 minutes of glorious massage. Are my
poor therapist’s hands getting tired? I
wonder if she has had to give other massages today? Maybe she works a job on top of this. I wonder if her hands are sore at the end of
the day…
“Okay,” my soft-voiced Samaritan whispered, “I will
have you move onto your back now.” I
flipped over and the light, though dim, seared through my eyelids. “Would you like a pillowcase for over your
eyes?” she asked.
“Yes,
please. That would be great,” I replied.
I felt rather like a chick that had just hatched from its cozy, dark egg. Okay,
focus on the music, Solsvik. Get back to
your quiet place.
2 minutes later….
A new neighbor moved into the
curtained cubicle to my right. More
consultation questions, rustling of curtains.
I began to wonder who had moved in over there. The sound of unzipping boots. Must be
a girl…or a motorcyclist….Shuffling noises.
The therapist asked what kind of pressure to use during the
massage. “I carry my tension in my
shoulders,” said the female voice. I wonder what kind of boots she is
wearing. I began to thumb through an
imaginary boot catalogue, mentally dog-earing the page of a cute pair of black
equestrian boots I had seen at the mall, but I lost my train of thought when the
therapist asked the new neighbor if she worked at a computer all day. “New job,” she replied. “It’s really stressful because I’m an
investigator in a new office. I really
needed this massage today.” Investigator? Like a crime investigator? Do we actually have crime that requires an
office for investigating? Jeeze. I wonder what kind of crime she investigates…I
halted my revelry mid-stream, largely because thinking about whatever crime in
our area requires investigators was not conducive to relaxing, said a prayer
for this poor soul and her new, very stressful job, and tried to resume my “quiet
mind practice.”
“Okay,” said my soft-voiced therapeutic angel of mercy, “would
you like a hot towel for your face?”
“Yes, please. That
would be great,” I replied.
After a final shoulder rub, I
emerged from beneath my hot towel, stretched, and donned my clothes. I don’t know if I mastered the fine art of
quietude, but I did feel a lot better and more tranquil. I walked slowly to “preserve the squish” as
my husband and I like to call it, and met him out in the lobby.
“How was your massage?” asked my husband, who looked
quite relaxed and sleepy.
“It was great,“ I replied. “How about you?”
No comments:
Post a Comment