Brian the massage therapist arrived right on time, and brought in his table and CD-player and other goodies. Zen was very interested by the whole thing, and had to be scooted out of the way several times while he was setting up. I had no idea what to expect from a professional massage, and said as much, as well as requesting “medium” pressure from a selection of medium, firm, and deep – much like Thai food, only the “deep” in Thai means “deep damage to mucus membranes”.

Time slows down, speeds up, line-dances in the Moose Lodge of my soul whenever I am required to Relax and Take Deep Breaths. That’s when the inner cinema starts, too. This time, I had a vision of myself sitting in a very small movie theatre, watching a grainy black-and-white film about redwood trees. I can only assume this had to do with my phoon in the redwood grove that I submitted to earlier today.

There’s this whole gentle rocking motion I hadn’t expected, which sounds odd but feels very comforting and good in practice. I remember something about it being called “trager” but as I was hallucinating at the time I can’t be sure. The lower-back pain is gone, at least for now, and my legs feel all interesting and muscle-happy. Not to mention my hands: I had a distinct sensation of my forearms being squeezed like old toothpaste tubes so that my fingers would at first curl inwards and then stretch outwards. Weird. Great. I love this stuff.

It ended with a lovely head-neck-scalp massage, at which point we had to laugh at what seemed like Zen’s horrified curiosity. “Put the foodgiver’s head down now!” I think she was just jealous not to be the center of attention for an hour.

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I acknowledge that I live and work on stolen Cowlitz, Clackamas, Atfalati, and Kalapuya land.
I give respect and reverence to those who came before me.