Raising my hands over my friend’s heart, I could feel the familiar tingling, the energy moving and needing to move. I could feel, as I moved my hands over her chakras, the energy centers of her body, where there were emotions that could be let go, and where she needed release. All of this I’ve felt before, because I’m a healer: I’ve done this for a few years now and for many, many people, helping them with trauma, with old wounds, with things they had no idea I would know about but that come up while I put my hands in their space and take out what they don’t need, so that they can heal pain, sadness, old connections.... Whatever their spirit wants.
This healing was different because I was so nervous, initially. We were in the heart of her religious space, in her office; the office of a very trusted and well-regarded priest. The church sat around us like a giant, timeless hug, the parish hall wide and cavernous and empty, the church mostly empty. And us, our tiny hearts beating in this huge building.
How can I heal a priest? Someone one who works with God every day, multiple times a day? Who delves into deep prayer and communion with the divine? Why am I here? What does she need?
In my college days I was friends with my Catholic priests and nuns. These humans, from their forties to their eighties, were among my favorite people, and they crashed my 20th birthday. Yes, three priests and two ancient nuns joined a house full of twenty-something college students, and they were so funny and welcome, teasing me about my clothes, my too-short t-shirt (gasp! An inch of skin exposed!). My next religious birthday was shortly after that, when I celebrated on the roof of the Vatican, communing with the statues of saints and marveling at the heart of Rome that lay out before us.
I know the sudden smell of roses in monasteries where there are none; I’ve been there, in the stairwells, as a bouquet of invisible roses just hit me (apparently that’s a sign of the Virgin Mary). I’ve considered these marvelous holy beings--the priests, the nuns, my friend now--as my people. Though I was never called to the ministry, I felt called to call these people my friends.
The nervousness and fear--who am I to do this?--fell away when we began, because it became doing what I do every time: the same, though different, healings. Similar work. Familiarity. The thing is, we are all sacred and holy. And we’re all made of the same, incredible, spiritual energy. We’re all spiritual beings.
When I work with someone, I’m often in so much awe of the beauty before me. It’s breathtaking. And being able to help in any small way is such a huge gift for me. It’s an honor.
Sometimes, it feels like my job is just reminding someone of that. That this moment in time isn’t the last and only moment. That this identity isn’t everything. That we’re also so complex, so divine, so full of beauty and spirit.
At that healing, I was reminded of the divine in all of us. It was another lesson and a gentle reminder. I’m grateful.