Tuesday, November 15, 2011

reiki #2 and #3 (m)

I finished my three Reiki sessions with Kristin.  Cost $200 for three sessions, a savings of $40 versus a per price session of $80.  It was well worth it.

Allow me to explain.

Recall that in session #1, Kristin noticed I had "layers of emotional dust."  She made large, sweeping motions as if wielding a broom on a dirt-covered floor in Plymouth Plantation.  Sweep...sweep...sweep.  By the end of the hour, she was exhausted but satisfied that she had "removed most of the layers."

In session #2, Kristin told me that Helen said I was "a good egg."  Who, you ask, is Helen?  I shall tell you.  Helen is a long-deceased woman whom Kristin used to care for.  Kristin was delighted to hear from Helen as she had not heard from her "in a long, long, time.  If Helen thinks you are a good egg, well, that's a real compliment."

I left session #2 feeling happy that such a discerning person as Helen felt compelled to reach out from the beyond to say I was a good egg.   My enthusiasm wasn't even diminished by my brother Phil who had his wife call me, pretending to be Helen, the night my husband was out of town.

In session #3, we discovered I have a gift.  Kristin feels I was put on this earth to help people in transition.  You mean like a career counselor? I asked, a little pissed that should be my calling.  "No, no...someone who can help people who are dying cross over to the other side.  Have you ever been with someone right when they died?"  I thought about this.  I counted 8 people and one pet dog.  That's nine.  Wow.  I felt my skin crawl.

Last night, my aunt X called to ask if I would help a friend of hers.  The woman has stage 4 liver cancer and, now, a heart problem, too.  She needed a ride to Mass General Hospital for an appointment.

Today, I take D to the appointment.  D is an only child, lost her fiancee to a heart attack many years ago, and has no children.  She is all alone in the world save for a few friends.

The appointment is tough, as D is told she is in atrial fibrillation and not a candidate for a procedure given her advanced cancer.  She gets out of breath just walking across a room.

As we get in the garage to drive home, she turns to me and asks, "M...are you afraid of death?"

I want to say, "No, I'm afraid of my gift."

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