Today's post is a contribution from Rinalda a local Trinidad and Tobago Licensed Massage Therapist who I have mentioned in a previous post.
Rinalda has graciously given permission for her articles to be shared in this blog. I find this pieces interesting for anyone involved with massage therapy. Read and comment if what she writes appeals to you too.
You can view Rinalda Site here.
Her article follows:
Namaste
Did I ever tell you that I had
twelve fingers?
The question was asked by one of my old friends (Lady M) at the
Home. I was massaging her arm, and she
was reflecting on her life. Yes, she had
told me that before, but it pays (sometimes) for me to have selective
Alzheimer’s so that I could listen with fresh ears to the (same) story. I invited her to tell me about it.
She
had the extra two little fingers that I remember being prevalent during my
childhood. Now I guess fertility drugs (the
excessive chemicals in our food) have done a good job at ensuring that the
foetus is configured correctly). In her
case, her father took her to a Doctor in Barataria to have the fingers surgically
removed when she became a young lady.
She’s in her 80s, so don’t even ask who was that Doctor.
After
finishing with her arms, I sat on a stool and placed her foot on my lap and
began working on it. As I did, another
lady (Lady D), came across and whispered that she did not get any lunch. Not a
morsel for the day. Her facial
expression bemoaned her situation and demanded that I do too. I was saved the need to respond when Lady M
said that she was lying. I am not
lying! Declared Lady D. And with that she held the chair handle and
went down on her knees swearing: Lord Jesus, if I am lying, kill me right
here! Please! I interjected. I could do without Lady D falling down in
front of me.
Lady
D got up and pointed her finger at Lady M and declared her a damn liar. Lady M pointed back her finger shouting: damn
you! Now, now, ladies and gentlemen...damn is not a word per se. It is a very specific command that esoteric
folks understand well enough not to use it casually. Unlike them, many mothers have messed up
their children’s lives by simply swearing it at them repeatedly. Not to mention their own, for having uttered
it.
According
to one of my Teachers, these Homes for the Elderly are departure lounges. For
whatever reason, my soul has business with souls who are on their way out to
catch their flight. Yes, I’m like a
prettily dressed waitress serving drinks and cakes, and mopping up spills in the lounge.
Just keeping the folks comfortable and in readiness for the sudden
arrival of their plane.
Lady
D again implored my help. She explained
that she was a staunch Catholic. (Uh-huh.
Remember her?) And, as a staunch
Catholic, she would not lie. Point
taken. Lady M explained that they were
both seated at the table a while ago having lunch and that Lady D ate all her
food. Me! Not me!
I had nothing (palm facing
out, her hand move like a windscreen wiper) for the day. You are lying.
Lady M insisted. And Lady D was back on her knees swearing:
Lord Jesus, if I am lying this day, don’t let me get up from here. I
asked Lady D to please arise.
I do not wish to be present the day that prayer is answered. She returned to her seat mumbling, and I was fine with that. Better than that the damning pointing exchange. It was verified that Lady D had breakfast, snack, and lunch. Her denial remained. There goes Alzheimer’s for you.
I do not wish to be present the day that prayer is answered. She returned to her seat mumbling, and I was fine with that. Better than that the damning pointing exchange. It was verified that Lady D had breakfast, snack, and lunch. Her denial remained. There goes Alzheimer’s for you.
No
offence intended, but if being a staunch
Catholic is going to get you into your 90s with a miserable attitude, you may
want to drop the staunch...from now. I
know a many regular Catholics, and
they are fine.
Over
to the men now. The guy who was alone in
the back room with the terrible temper and major kidney problem that partly
caused his feet to be hung on in a most mentally disturbing way, took his
flight. The Doctor came to see him one
day and took a blood sample. The next
day (after reviewing the test results) the Doctor called and suggested that
they immediately send him to the hospital.
The ambulance took him to the hospital and he was admitted. Less than 24 hours after he took his
flight. Hmmm. A strange bed can do that to you...make you
jump out.
The
other two guys are as one would prefer departure
lounge folks to be...pleasant, jovial, and the likes. They debated who should get massaged first,
as it was presumed that last person to get massaged, gets a longer
massage. Is that so? Yes.
They have observed that.
Hmmm. Mr R was done first. He has gotten quite pale. I suggested that he spend some time out in
the living room where he would get some sun.
He wants to go out in the gallery.
That is not allowed unsupervised, and a part of him has decided that
it’s that or nothing. I told Mr F that
he should encourage Mr R to leave the room sometimes and get some sun. Mr F said that he is accustomed to son, he
has five, but Mr R on the other hand has no children. Oh!
It
was then Mr F’s turn to have a massage.
He studied, in faraway places, subjects in the line of Sports, so he could
advise me on the appropriateness or inappropriateness of this and that,
including postures. He did his share of
Football managing and flew hither, thither and yond with teams. I’m not a sports person, so while he
enthusiastically shared, I listened, if only to have my ignorance
obliterated. And, as important as he and
his work were, I never heard of him before he showed up in the Home. This Earth we walk on is a very level playing
field...you are brought up, and you are brought down. Level.
Anyway,
he also likes to speak of things, uh, paranormal. He was born with a cord or coil or whatever
the correct word is. In English, his
psychic abilities are keen, too keen for his liking...a burdensome gift. More so now that he is lounging. Understood. The closer one gets to the other side, the
thinner the veils become. All is seen
for the One that it really is. He shared
a few experiences, to which I could have related, and the conversation would
have gone on forever, but I had a client on their way to my house and I needed
to be home before they arrived.
The
massage was good, but the conversation was better, said Mr F. It is good to have someone to talk who does
not make you feel like you are strange.
Strange? That’s my surname. I promised to get permission to sleep over
one night. We’ll jam the two beds
together and I will turn to Mr. R and talk a bit, then turn to Mr F and talk a
bit. The Matron was tickled. It is believed that the next morning they
will have to get a magnifying glass and a pair of tweezers to get Mr F out from
under my skin.
Speaking
of strange, I lay in bed one afternoon (recently) with my eyes closed and
immediately had a vision of a little lady (less than 2ft in height) standing in
the bedroom saying something to me.
These beings come and go all the time... I felt no inclination to engage her. She began speaking in a raised tone. Hmmm. I decided to open my eyes. I could not. Okay. I decided to sit up. I could not. I’ve heard perfectly logical explanations for what I experienced. It is okay for the man in the dark to feel that the thing coiled up in the corner is a snake. No point convincing him that it is not what he thinks it is. When dawn comes he’ll see it is a rope.
These beings come and go all the time... I felt no inclination to engage her. She began speaking in a raised tone. Hmmm. I decided to open my eyes. I could not. Okay. I decided to sit up. I could not. I’ve heard perfectly logical explanations for what I experienced. It is okay for the man in the dark to feel that the thing coiled up in the corner is a snake. No point convincing him that it is not what he thinks it is. When dawn comes he’ll see it is a rope.
One
of the things about these entities is their knack for obedience...to the
highest bidder. They (she was not alone)
came to me for something, and would not leave without it. Shutting my body down does not mean shutting
me down, because I am not my body. This
they already know, but it would be unlike them not to bluff. I engaged them mentally...otherwise called
spiritual warfare. If the weapons of our
warfare are not carnal, then our battles aren’t.
Knowing
the name of the entity reveals its function.
But I really did not care to know what she/it/them came to
accomplish. Before I dismissed her I asked
who sent her. That way I could do the Return to Sender thing without delving into the contents of the
parcel. Every craftsman is obligated to
initialling his work. It is basic
protocol. So a person can know at who
sent what to them if they simply flip the envelope and read the back. However, we are often too scared at the
appearance of these entities to do such.
These
are
the conversations that Mr F and I could have without anyone flinching.
And if you are gifted to see these entities
as regularly as he does, you will understand how distracting it can be.
Higher entities are also seen. But whether a sense of fear or awe is
induced, in the moment that it happens, it can interfere with the
regular
functioning of that person until they learn to control their reaction.
You cannot control what you see, but you can
control the way in which you respond to what you see. A sighting is a
conscious intersecting of
worlds/realities. Where there is an
intersection there are options...things can go good, or very bad.
I
went out to do a massage the morning in question, as I was on my way
back home...walking
up my street, I saw a vehicle approaching.
It belonged to a neighbour...with whom I have never had a verbal
exchange. There was another car parked
in the street, and I averaged that there would be insufficient space for
the
other vehicle to past near it and still leave room for me. So I stepped
aside and waited. The car inched pass and stopped near me. The window
came down. The driver, a mature lady, smiled. Hello, are you my
neighbour? Yes, I responded. With that she stretched her hand out of
the
vehicle to shake mine. I took it. She said her name. I said mine.
She drove off.
This
was the moment of exchange. The fleeting
handshake that led to that odd-looking little lady showing up in my bedroom. This neighbour of mine has been observing me
and decided at some point that she wanted some of whatever it is that I seem to
have. So she figured out a way to make
physical contact with me. Had I been the
only resident of the yard, it may have been easier for her to just leave
something for me to step on. And, had I
been differently configured, this could have ended with a Priest trying to sort
me out.
Of
course, my dear neighbour is aware that her strategy did not work because that
which she sent out would have returned to her.
It’s called boomerang...some call it obeah. Now it’s either she backs off, or doubles her
efforts. Supernatural bullying may be her
way of acquiring/maintaining her standard of living. Vampirism is real on all planes of reality, so
it is not for me to make this a personal issue.
She is doing what she probably came to Earth to do, and it behoves me to get on with my purpose too. The strength of a damn is not tested by a low tide...we all want to be surrounded by nice people, but a worthy opponent is invaluable. The Sympathetic Nervous System needs its Para counterpart.
She is doing what she probably came to Earth to do, and it behoves me to get on with my purpose too. The strength of a damn is not tested by a low tide...we all want to be surrounded by nice people, but a worthy opponent is invaluable. The Sympathetic Nervous System needs its Para counterpart.
If
you try to contact me and I’m unavailable, know that I’m busy tacking up the
holes in my aura. Handshakes are getting
tedious. Phew! A woman’s work is never done.
"If you can describe it, then it's not Zen."
