I went to an Intestines Healing session today in Coolidge Corner taught by a Korean Instructor in her excellent yoga studio… now, the last time I was in a yoga studio was with my sister, in the front row of the class & out of my element… i can barely sit Indian style (have narrow hips) yet the Instructors seem to always focus on me and pay me special attention, as if my energy aura were green yellow & purple and that’s not such a good thing… Anyway, the class begins with the teacher writing two words on a large pad: healing intestines.
Working with the Professor as my partner, I located my stomach, liver, kidneys, large & small intestines… pressed them, rubbed them, drummed on them, struck them repeated blows, soothed the gut-nuggets, repeat repeat repeat… oh, and also I kneeded, breaded, pretzeled and buttered the Professor’s abdomen, and at one point even lit him up with a finger touch to this Heart Chakra… the Professor had been in a bizarre & jarring bike accident on the way to the Yoga Joint in which he rode head on into the back door of a stopped minivan.
My belly (especially my purple liver) needed T.L.C. having just survived a larrying night of the Beer/Champagne high life, or whatever the advertisers wrote on the labels of that Watery Poison. Sure enough, the Instructor singled me out to discuss with me my Concussed Liver. She pushed Ethan aside to take over the Intestinal Massage. At one point she asked if I worry a lot and I said that yes, I do… the Instructor is always calmly right about me (I was once diagnosed with a broken tailbone by a young Yoga Instructor who himself had a broken tailbone). She kindly defibrillated my guts. “It’s good when the organs vibrate,” she said. “When they stop moving, are you alive?”
After the class, while I tied on my vintage green Marhall’s Larry Bird Converse Allstars, hustling towards the street and my first cigarette in two hours, the Instructor appeared before me. “Arthur…” she said, (she remembered my name 🙂 “Don’t worry.”