Massage Therapy

cover photo by: @THEPULPGIRLS on IG

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Lights tinged orange like the sunset. A plush bed in the center of the room beckons me to strip down, to bare myself, to expose my truth, inviting me to audition for death, to surrender. I climb in, settle, eyes heavy, limbs tense with anticipation. My thoughts lead me anywhere but here, an unwanted tour guide through the rat race of capitalism. What should I do after this? Who needs my energy now? Is this really a good use of my time? Well, of course, honey, She says, in a voice so soft, so sweet, so damn powerful. She always knows what to say. Never misses an opportunity to remind me of what’s real, what’s divine, what nourishes the soul. An earthy scent rouses my senses. Cedarwood? No. Patchouli? No matter. Warm, soft hands return me to my body, deliciously guiding me into the here and now, pressing my vessel deeper and deeper into that liminal space, that world between worlds, where ancestors dance, sing, rejoice, where the past, present, and future collide, where every breath feels like eternity and no time at all. I fight to release the tension baked into my DNA, to reclaim my body from the constraints of the plantation. I consciously soften, my ass and thighs carrying the brunt of my generational unrest. I melt. Fascia yields. Muscles, tense and tender, give in. Skin flows like water. Fat rolls follow the directions of butter-soft authority, moving this way and that, pulling and tugging, kneading and rubbing, stretching and smoothing, all bringing me back to myself, to the magic of this vessel, to this altar I created in the womb of my mother. I dive deep, subconscious blending with the conscious in a utopian haze. Soft hums escape my mouth, unbothered by outside opinion, evidence of the bliss delivered by hands working their destiny magic. Too soon, gentle whispers of gratitude lull me back, wrapped in a warm cocoon of pleasure and remembering. A smile etches itself onto my face, pleased with the multidimensional work we did together. A bow of grace. A cash transaction. A knowing look. “Do you want to schedule your next appointment?” Well, of course, honey.