Writing about Reiki is something I want to do, but it’s hard to find words. I don’t want to reduce Reiki to the inadequacy of language, but here I am, trying.
Reiki begins to feel more aggressive when my hands are on my beleaguered back, like it has to work hardest there. It pulses like a drumbeat. What is it doing? Reorganizing cells? Softening muscles? Moving traumatic memories out? We can speculate. All I know is my back needs my Reiki hands, so I linger longer in each position, and relax into the rhythm of it. I feel comforted.
Now I look out at the downy blanket of fresh snow, anticipating my day. In this moment I am not worried. I feel tender toward myself, which is such a relief, such a kindness. Reiki waters the tender shoots of gratitude in me, and rejoices to watch them grow.