Happy Winter Solstice!
I find myself anxious for this year to end...
...but this has been a year to remember and to NEVER forget.
A year to grieve and a year to practice our individual paths, whether spiritual or philosophical. A year to re-connect with our patients and to remember why it is we became manual therapists to begin with.
Locked down and self-confined for months on end it has been a painful journey of inner reflection and transformation.
Claustrophobic thoughts inwardly spiraling... a shift from a hyper-focused attention on each and every single one of my aches and pains (physical and emotional) to the torturous darkness of loss and grief so many on our beautiful planet have suffered.
It seems the true path to freedom, the essence of it all is the "other".
As manual therapists we are fortunate to have this great blessing to reach out to others in need.
I want to share with you some bits from a message Jean-Pierre Barral sent to the BI teachers.
"It will be difficult to forget 2020. It’s certainly a warning for us about our fragility. Normally we know we are fragile but we did not know the whole world was so fragile and ephemeral. Each person after a bad accident and illness is aware life is not given to us, but lent.
We have this unique and precious chance to be able to help the other. You are not only here for you, but for the physical and moral help you can offer to your patients.
We must go beyond the selfish pleasure of focusing on the result, and ask yourself what more and better can be done."
And some poems to gently remind us of what is most important....
Loss and Gain
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
When I compare
What I have lost with what I have gained,
What I have missed with what attained,
Little room do I find for pride.
I am aware
How many days have been idly spent;
How like an arrow the good intent
Has fallen short or been turned aside.
But who shall dare
To measure loss and gain in this wise?
Defeat may be victory in disguise;
The lowest ebb is the turn of the tide.
No Loss No Gain
The candle melts itself,
And the wick burns itself,
Just to give us away its light.
The incense stick ashes itself,
And turns to smoke itself,
Just to give us its aroma.
The sandalwood grinds itself,
And a paste, it becomes itself,
Just to give us away its scent.
The rose crushes itself,
And in water sinks itself,
Just to give us its flavor-drink.
The sugar cane crushes itself,
And becomes crystal itself,
Just to sweeten our food.
The field takes the seeds itself,
And turns them into plants itself,
Just to give us rich corn.
The tree labors itself,
And grows tall itself,
Just to give us its juicy fruits.
The cocoon spins itself,
And then unwinds itself,
Just to give us its silk.
The milk curdles itself,
And again churns itself,
Just to give us its butter.
The mother suffers pain herself,
But still smiles herself,
Just to feed the baby with her milk.
The camphor fumes itself,
And turns black smoke itself,
Just to illuminate the Lord.
One can gain something,
Only by losing something,
That's the law of nature.
Yes, the sacrifice's the mother,
Of what, in our life, we gather,
As the fruit of our labor.
So, grieve not over your loss,
A stepping stone to your success,
If you want to remain happy always.