retinal perspectives

how you feel matters

(everything) I think about Reiki

I've had all these things rolling around in my head for a while now - things I want to tell you about Reiki. On a hike with the pup this morning - where we saw a squirrel that sounded like a bird! - they gathered themselves into a single post. Let's hope it actually makes sense.

Yes. It's true. I don't understand how Reiki works.

When I started this blog, I wrote a post in which I explained Reiki. I gave the explanation I heard in class. You know how you can tell when someone is saying something that they don't really believe? Yeah. That's what I hear in my voice when I try to give that explanation.

Later, I wrote a post in which I explained Reiki again. I said that I felt the original explanation made Reiki seem confusing and inaccessible. (I still think this.) And I explained that what Reiki did for me was to help me feel safe and supported enough to start learning who I was and what I needed. (I still think this as well.)

But even in that post, I didn't come right out and say the thing I was thinking. I was afraid. I was afraid that people wouldn't want to work with a Reiki person who doesn't know how Reiki works and isn't sure she believes the reason she was taught.

But that is the truth of it. I don't know how Reiki works.

Sometimes I wish I knew how Reiki worked, but mostly I don't really care.

Maybe it works the way they say it does - that it's spiritually guided energy that comes through me and into the receiver.

Maybe it has something to do with large clusters of nerve endings or accupressure points and somehow they can be affected even without direct touch.

Maybe there are chakras or an aura and it has something to do with one or both of them.

Maybe energy really does follow thought.

Maybe there is something in Quantum Physics that explains it. I know I've read a few things that make me think, "Hey! That could totally explain how Reiki works!" (I immediately proceed to forget them which is why I am not mentioning any specifics.)

Maybe it works because the power of the mind comes into play and we cause something to happen because we are expecting something to happen.

Maybe it's one of them or all of them or none of them. I don't know.

Hows and whys aside, I believe there is something magical about creating space for things to happen.

There is something to be said for setting aside time where your focus is on you and your well-being.

There is also something to be said for knowing that - for that same period of time - someone else's focus is on you and your well-being.

Our bodies want to talk to us. They are trying to talk to us all the time.

I do believe that even the simple act of giving them a space where they know we are open to hearing from them can cause something to happen. (This is also why I am so fond of the idea of doing a series of Reiki sessions instead of a single session. It's lovely to set aside that time once. It's even more lovely and magical to set aside that time again and again.)

And yes, even if I don't know how Reiki works, I do believe that it does work.

This entire blog stemmed from me wanting to share my experiences with Reiki. Either they are direct experiences, or they are indirect experiences, in that the practice made me more mindful and aware.

In the end, I don't think you need to believe that something will work in order for it to be useful for you.

I didn't believe Reiki would work when I started and it has given me so much.

At the same time, I do think you need to be open to the idea that maybe something will happen. If you're thinking of trying something solely because you absolutely positively believe that it doesn't work and you want to prove that it doesn't, maybe it would be best to save your money and your time for something that you feel a bit more positively about.

Along with that, I don't think it really matters whether you believe that something works how people say it works in order for it to be useful for you.

The hows and whys of things are interesting, but they're not all there is. What is even more interesting is your experience with something and your feeling about whether it was useful for you.

For me, visualizations are another good example of this. I've done a few of them (like the time I tried to talk to one of my fears). I can't say that I've ever actually seen anything during a visualization, but when I have to describe what I'm "seeing" in the visualization, the words come out. I often wonder if I'm just making everything up, but the information that comes out is always useful and helpful so I decide (yet again) that it doesn't really matter whether I'm making it up or not. What matters is that I'm getting the information I need.

Just for fun, do you want to know how I really think Reiki works?

I like to think of it as a little flashlight that's going through me, shining a light into dark and dusty and dim spaces and saying, "Oh, sweetie .. you really are ok. And if you're interested, here's something you might want to look at."

Yes. Like that.

you are loved more than you even know

remember that

what I like

Ever since I read The Happiness Project, I've been thinking about what I actually like and what actually makes me happy, versus what I think I like and what I think makes me happy.

For example, whenever I write a list of dreams, one of the things I list is that I want to live in Italy for three months every year. (No doubt inspired by an intense love for Italy as well as years of reading Under the Tuscan Sun.) It's a lovely dream.

Except I have a dog. And I can't imagine not having a dog. And I can no more imagine flying my dog to Italy than I can leaving him (or her) behind. In other words, my dream wouldn't really make me happy.

I do, however, like longer vacations. Three months is definitely too long. Six weeks was too long. But maybe one month. Or two weeks. I also like the idea of a home-away-from-home-with-dog within driving distance. Those things would make me happy.

On a similar note, I like the idea of a truly mobile business. That was part of the appeal of self-employment. I like the idea of traveling around and working from wherever I am. The teeny tiny thought that crept into my mind when I decided to open an etsy shop was, "Oh no! Now I'm not mobile!"

Except I don't want to be mobile. I like my home. I like being home. I don't want to move away from Oregon. And as we've already discovered, I don't want to travel and travel and travel. This thing that I think would make me happy would make me very unhappy.

On the other hand, I like sending presents to people. I like packaging them. I like having a stash of supplies that I can use to package them. I like sending them out. It all makes me very happy.

On a smaller scale .. Hmmmm. For some reason, I'm drawing a blank on smaller scale examples right now. That aside, I am finding the act of thinking about this and noticing it to be awfully helpful in making sure that I spend more time doing the things that really do make me happy and less time wishing I would do the things that I only think will make me happy.

permission granted

things I've learned from the pup

Almost seven years ago, I brought home a cute little puppy. (Seven years! Seriously. Where does the time go.) Truth be told, I was totally unprepared. I had done some pet-sitting, but I was totally unprepared for the reality of day-in day-out life with a clever and active puppy in the house. If I had known what I was in for, I don't know if I could have done it. And yet, I would do it again in a heartbeat, and I will do it again in a heartbeat when Atlas leaves me someday.

When I brought Atlas home, I knew that I would love and adore him forever, and that he would bring fun and laughter and furry companionship into my life. What I did not know is that he would teach me so much about living and being. It never would have occurred to me that a dog could be a fabulous teacher, if I were willing to slow down and listen.

I thought I'd slowly write down the things that I have learned from watching the pup over the years, in case they are of use to others. Here are a few of them.

Whatever you are doing, do it to the fullest.

If you are smelling, smell. If you are eating, eat. If you are napping, nap. If you are wriggling on the grass, wriggle on the grass. If you are chewing a stick, chew a stick. If you are watching a cat, watch a cat.

If you want something, ask for it.

If you ask for it, you just might get it. And if you don't get it, that's fine too. If you really want it, you can ask someone else or ask again later.

Life is an adventure.

Even a walk to the garbage bin can be exciting. You never know what you'll come across. And even if everything is exactly the same, it's an entirely new moment.

When the weather is hot, take the time to sit on the grass in the shade.

It's cooler there. And it's nice to just be for a while.

You are worthy, for no other reason than because you exist. And exactly how you are, is exactly perfect.

Somehow, dogs know this instinctively.

I hope the pup sticks around for another seven years. Maybe by that time I will have fully absorbed all his lessons and be able to apply them.

remember

be a contribution

I am reading The Art of Possibility by Rosamund and Benjamin Zander. It lists a set of practices that help you change the assumptions you live by in order to bring the art of possibility into your life. I am really enjoying it.

The practice I just got to, the one that inspired me to pause my reading and share, is about being a contribution. To quote:

"The steps to the practice are these:

1. Declare yourself to be a contribution.

2. Throw yourself into life as someone who makes a difference, accepting that you may not understand how or why."

Yes. I like this. It seems like a good way to shift myself away from worrying overmuch about success/failure or comparing myself to others and finding myself wanting (or finding them wanting, though I cringe to admit it), and towards a deeper level of care for others.

it's time for tea

I like to cook. Not all the time. Not everything. But when I am in a cooking mood, I thoroughly enjoy it.

I also like baking. But even when I am in a baking mood, I don't bake. I find a recipe and get all excited and sometimes even buy the ingredients and then something comes up. (The exception being the odd batch of cookies and the occasional holiday dessert and two attempts to make bread.) I think about baking. I bookmark recipes to try someday. But I never actually try them.

I figured it was one of those things where I liked the idea of me as a baker more than I liked the act of baking. Or that I'd bake (more) if I had one of those lovely KitchenAid stand mixers. (Sadly, I can't test this theory because they stopped making the shade of orange I wanted.) Or that it was because I didn't always need or want a whole batch of something. Or that it's a lot of work. Or that if I really wanted a dessert, why would I bake something when I can just buy a slice of something from the bakery.

As it turns out, I was wrong on all counts. The other day, I realized that the reason I don't bake is because baking feels special. Not the act of baking itself, but the results of baking. So, unless it's a special occasion - an occasion that involves other people - I can't bake. I can't bake because I don't think that (on my own) I'm special enough to bake for.

This seems rather sad. This also seems like something - given that I'm working on showing love and kindness to myself - I can experiment with. So, I am playing with the idea of instituting tea-time. I'd like to bake something delicious, and then take the time to enjoy whatever it is in the middle of the afternoon. Doesn't that sound lovely?! I'll let you know how it goes.

In the meantime, I'd love to hear if this seems at all familiar. Particularly the general idea of not doing something you enjoy or think you'd enjoy - maybe for other reasons other than what you tell yourself.

sometimes we need the reminder