Right Timing

As with any unfolding over time, it'd be tricky to pinpoint exactly where this story begins. So in the fashion of the old Seinfeld episode about the India wedding, I think it's best if I start at the end and work my way backwards: start here, and move to "1 hour earlier..." then "3 weeks earlier..." and etcetera, concluding with "2 years earlier"--or in this case, nine.

The current "here" is deep into heavy duty restoration of a room in my home that is about to become a tranquil, sacred place of clearing and transformation for all who enter it. I abandoned this restoration project five or six years ago. But not before I had hired a man, for an agreed upon price, to finish this room (my office) and a bedroom. "Ready to paint" was the deal.

I never saw a man work so slowly. He exceeded the cap and then some, with all additional hours billed to me, and was still far from finished. I had hired him to begin with because I was exhausted. I had restored so much of the rest of the house with my own two hands, and these two rooms, in their terrible shape, did me in. I wanted nothing more than to surrender my putty knife, joint compound, sanding block, and the rest for all time. But I had to either break the bank or let him go. I let him go, which put the job back in my own lap, sinking my spirits and motivation to a new low. All I could manage was to close the door. Thankfully I could close the door. My temporary office on the cold side of the house turned permanent, and that was that.

Until now. The door is open, and I am back on the task with a new fervor. My sunny, sweet little corner room has a new purpose but is in no shape to serve it. I am on a mission to take care of that.

On December 7, a dear, multitalented friend will come secure and resurface its ceiling, while in the interim I will have a window sash rebuilt, finish plastering the walls, sand the woodwork, then paint everything in sight. I could not force myself to do this on any one of the days of the last six years. Now, nothing can keep me from it.

I am inspired by the clear vision of healing/treatment room, an inspiration that took physical form yesterday when I bought, from a most beautiful man with very good energy, a gorgeous Stronglite professional massage table. A month ago, I had no need for such a table. I have never once thought of owning such a table. Its purchase, its presence in my midst, is completely unpredictable.

What happened? Treatment room, massage table: for what?

For Reiki, in fact, my most recent "of course" along the way of listening and following. What Reiki? The Reiki I am now trained to conduct, the Reiki I am administering daily to myself and all who ask for it. How did this happen?

Nine Novembers ago I took a Therapeutic Touch training, prompted by the reading of a gifted astrologer friend. She told me I had healing energy in my hands. "Whether or not you use it, it's there very strongly in your chart." The T.T. training confirmed this in spades, as did the occasional treatments I've done since. Yet I never figured out over the years how to move this energy work from the edges to a more central place in my professional life.

Flash forward to early October, 2009. I shake a woman's hand at a party and before I've let go, she's saying, "Oh, you're a healer, too." This from a stranger with nothing more than a handshake to go on. Which prompted a conversation that left me decided: I would learn Reiki, something I'd never expressly experienced and about which I knew next to nothing. This is how I would fulfill the intention I declared at the start of the year, to "Use the energy in my hands. Invite more of it. Channel lots."

As with the Jerry, Elaine, George and Kramer adventure of the Indian wedding--like so many adventures in life--one thing has led to another. How gracefully I found the perfect teacher in the perfect environment with the perfect classmates. How clearly I see that I have been preparing for this posture and practice for decades. How perfectly this fits my path, fits me. Astrology leads to T.T. leads to Reiki leads to Craig's list leads to John Bondlow who would pass his table and "torch" to me by way of a hug he offered, and I engaged, to keep the good energy going, healing artist to healing artist: tacit, intuited, precisely right.

I cannot explain right timing. I only know that when it strikes, I act. I don't think and weigh, hem and haw; I simply act. Love puts the hands in motion, in service, in use. Suddenly their labors aren't labor at all, and their fruits are rapturously abundant and ever so sweet.