I’M A HEALER
I’m a healer.
So, what does that mean? Do I lay my hands upon people and the lame walk, the blind see, or the dead rise? Do I prescribe drugs or perform surgical procedures to cure them?
Well, since I don’t have a medical license, prescribing drugs or performing surgery are out. And as far as laying my hands and getting instantaneous results, well that doesn’t happen either. It might work for advanced spiritual beings like Jesus, Buddha, and a whole host of others who are lesser known and even unknown. But, I’m not one of them.
Even the term “healer” is misleading. None of those people described above actually heal, even doctors. All healing manifests within the patient’s own body. It taps into an available energy that fuels the physical systems already present within each and every one of us.
Healers merely assist the body. We help in some way to enhance the reception of that energy, which directly works within the human body to regenerate health.
Doctors do that by providing medicine or some therapy, which battle the effects of disease waging war against a person. This gives the immune system a foothold to regroup and spread its healing powers to where it’s needed. Even surgery fits into this plan. It eliminates diseased tissue that’s too much for the immune system to fight, or corrects some abnormality. Then the body utilizes the immune system to strengthen the repair. But the healing energy itself does not originate in the doctor. Doctors simply help direct its flow.
Spiritual healers work on opening blockages that trap the healing energy. Once released, it goes on its way and assists the immune system in its work. But again, that energy does not originate in the spiritual healer. Healers only help navigate its flow.
If a spiritual healer can help direct this energy, then why ever visit a doctor who only introduces foreign chemicals into the body or performs invasive procedures that run the risk of further infection? Well, we’re both physical and spiritual beings. If a condition manifests in physical form, then seeing a doctor is the best course of action. The best way to fight a physical condition is by using physical tools. Spiritual healers are most effective in matters related to spiritual and emotional well-being.
That’s not to say that spiritual healers can’t help with physical conditions or that doctors are unable to assist in emotional disturbances. There exist many recorded incidents of miraculous physical healing taking place with faith healers. Religious texts, like the Bible, document most of them. But many are also discussed in secular forums, even in medical journals. Furthermore, some branches of medicine deal with emotional issues. Psychiatry is a field that has enjoyed success. But each mode of healing more effectively deals in its own realm. Also, the results highly depend on the individual patient.
So, how am I a healer?
I work in that spiritual realm, relieving blockages which trap the healing energy. When ritual is appropriate, I practice reiki and shamanism. But usually I work on a much more informal level.
I try to let my caring come through in my interactions with others. Feeling “cared for” naturally makes a person more open to accepting the healing energy. It softens the bitterness a suffering person feels. They let down their defenses which block so much of the healing energy. Letting someone know they are not just important to you, but through actions help them feel important in the world, is generally sufficient to allow that healing energy access to where it’s needed most.
I’m a healer. Can you be one too?
If you're enjoying this over coffee, tea, or whatever, please consider buying me a cup!MARCHING BAND
Being a high-school band member required participation in marching band. And boy, did Mark and I hate that.
Like most high schools, we had a football team. Along with the cheerleaders and water boys, we’d don our uniforms and perform every week. We practiced our marching routines on Saturday mornings and developed some clever half-time shows. At least, we thought they were.
But whenever we played, either silence or weak applause greeted us. My parents never came to see Mark and I perform at a football game, though they attended our concert performances. I’d like to think it was because it was too cold to be outdoors.
No one in band (even Jay Lowenstein before he moved) was ever invited to any of the post-game football parties. These were held by the football team members mostly at an abandoned stone quarry called, imaginatively enough, “The Quarry.” It was a local hang-out for the “in” crowd.
I always wanted to go. My hopes soared when I briefly dated a football quarterback. I didn’t date Andy for that reason. But he did nothing to actually get me invited. So when Andy got creamed during a particularly tough game, I felt he deserved it. And I let his new girlfriend, a cheerleader, rush to his side.
Our band performances were really not bad, but we did suffer from a few handicaps.
Lakeland High endured years of budget cuts. Mr. Haines said we were lucky to even have a music program, let alone a marching band (yeah, or he would have been long gone).
We barely had enough uniforms and the ones we had, “reeked.” My uniform was huge. The sleeves fell over my hands making it difficult to play. On Mark’s uniform, the pant legs were so short the cuffs flapped as he walked. When he tried to execute a high-step, his entire shin was exposed.
There weren’t enough funds to buy luxury items like those clips to hold the sheets of music in place as you march. We were forced to improvise. And it wasn’t pretty.
Paper clips and rubber bands frequently came off. Sheets of music were trampled before you could even retrieve them. I couldn’t easily attach anything to my instrument. A piccolo doesn’t have a large surface area. So I tried to memorize most of my music. Unfortunately, others didn’t.
When anyone lost their music, the entire marching routine suffered. Besides the obvious loss of musicality, it was easy to miss marching cues. The cues were a series of choreographed hand signals and whistle blasts. They told us when to move or stop, when to turn, and in what direction. The cues are necessary to execute various formations, like a football or a turkey.
The last time we missed our cues at a game, it was a disaster.
It was cold and windy. My fingers were sluggish, along with everyone else’s. We tried to play a quick, bright march just to warm up. But it sounded like music for a funeral procession. My improvised clip, holding new music I’d yet to learn, collapsed.
I broke out of my row, trying to grab the music as it sailed away. The wind picked up. More band members lost their music. Mr. Haines blasted his whistle frantically to bring us back to order. But we were too scattered already for that.
That’s when it started snowing . The snow grew heavy. The football game ended. And mercifully, so did our aborted performance.
If you're enjoying this over coffee, tea, or whatever, please consider buying me a cup!
