tingo
“Moonlight floods the whole sky from horizon to horizon; How much it can fill your room depends on its windows”
Acupuncturist Appointment
Mariko - May 25th - 14:00
Part 1.
Is there such a thing as the heart being too open?
I don't think so.
I arrived seventeen minutes early to my appointment wearing a leather belt and a pair of grey linen shorts that ballooned at my waist. I've lost weight, and not for any insistence of trying. Orange blossoms paved the pathway, and in my body, hummingbirds sang by beating their wings.
Furiously! I do nothing half-heartedly and everything full-tilt!
You have much heat in your body, Mariko said with her hands on my abdomen.
It's the passion, and I am so full of it that I cannot eat!
I climbed the three flights of stairs to door six. Floor-to-ceiling mirrors decorate the corridors, and I strode straight ahead with my gaze anchored on the marble floors. I couldn't care less about how I appear in the reflection. I dress for the Goddess. Does this make me vain? I always put on glitter before I leave. Sometimes, under my eyelids. Other times, when I feel less obvious, I dust my clavicle and the tip of my nose.
The door was very heavy. I could tell by the wood. I grabbed the gold handle and knocked three times. I heard footsteps, and a woman appeared in a white robe with a blue scarf on her head.
Salam.
Salam.
I stepped inside.
The couches are too deep. Leather. Loveseats that could easily fit four persons. Sandalwood incense burned, and I went to the dark washroom to wash my palms and wrists.
I've become attached to rinsing my hands and feet whenever I enter a new space. Part of my wanted to slip my toes from the leather espadrilles and prop them in the sink. I decided that would seem a bit odd and settled for washing my neck and shoulders.
I had a sunburn. Just the tips.
I'd biked to the park between my home and Mariko's and thought to read Adhora in the shade while I waited for 2pm to strike. In the evenings, the area is crawling with children. Swallows sweep overhead, and the kids kick rubber balls and dance between skipping ropes.
By day, it is a refuge for adolescents. Couples sat quietly, tongues urging and hands silently slipping beneath cotton and jeans. Without a lover, I felt terribly out of place.
I wound up at Mariko's early to wash and sink into the sofa. I amused myself by looking around the studio. I could hear bells tinkling and someone washing dishes. The clatter of utensils gave the space a homey sort of fellowship. I rarely cook, and when I do, it is something sauteed in a pan, just for me. Kitchen sounds remind me of a childhood I once had with people I once knew. It is nostalgic in a sad sort of way.
Misery is the easy route, and when I am tempted by memories from a past, I fill myself with a mantra. I'm currently sitting with Om Mani Padme Hum. May all beings be light, happy, loving, and free.
A long wooden desk sits in the middle of the waiting room, coupled by a wooden chair with red leather padding. It is ugly, though the environment feels grounding and spacious. The walls are bare, save for a few crinkled posters of the human body with the Acupuncture Meridian System outlined and the Five Elements Theory.
A door opened, and a small Japanese woman with short dark hair and a long blue skirt appeared. She smiled and nodded at me. Salam. Salam. She went to the desk and began writing things down on a yellow slip of paper. She had small hands, slender fingers and hummed to herself as she wrote. An elderly woman wearing a yellow sundress emerged from the same room moments later. They spoke in French at the desk, and the Japanese woman handed the yellow slip to the woman in the dress. She took it and folded it into a small square before putting it in her brown satchel. The older woman had a perfumed way of moving. She was light yet focused. Soft, yet pointed. Direct and discreet. Elegance embodied. I hope I learn to move in such a way as I age. It comes from the mind, such grace. The body adapts to the mental direction. This woman had decades of diligent practice welled up within her.
The Japanese woman bowed behind the desk and then walked around to escort her client to the door.
As the woman's steps pattered down the marble stairwell, Mariko appeared. Her dark hair was tied back in a bun, and I could see gold earrings glittering at her earlobes. Her outfit was blood red. The sleeves were rolled back, and she wore soft slippers with no socks. She bowed to me.
Salam, I am a bit behind. A few more minutes.
I nodded.
She, too, went to the desk and wrote a few things on a white sheet of paper. I heard a click, and down the hallway, I spied a person coming towards us from the room. Mariko had exited a few minutes before. As the woman strode into the light, I saw she was very French. She had short, dark, curly hair and large brown eyes. Tight pants with a loose chemise and a perfect manicure. Her fingers lacked a cigarette. She was nonchalant as she met my gaze.
The French never say hello, not in my experience.
I smiled and nodded. She did not receive or return the offering.
Ah, The French.
I watched what I now consider routine, cordial dance. The slip of paper was handed over; a few words were exchanged, a bow, and an escort to the door.
The French woman's patter down the stairwell, and Mariko turned to me.
I will reset the room, and then you may come in.
I nodded.
It took a few minutes before I heard bells chime five times. Mariko poked her head into the darkened hallway.
Ok, you can come in now.
I walked quietly down the hall into the small room. I faced a wide window as I stood at the door. The small table for me to recline faced South. A small pillow perched waiting for a head was positioned toward the light spilling through the glass. Don't ask me how I knew that the angle of the cusion was south-facing; I just knew.
To my right, there were two wooden chairs and a mirror. I set my bag down on one of the chairs and took off my shoes, slipping them beneath the same seat.
Mariko stood by the window.
You can disrobe if you are comfortable.
I nodded. To my left was a dresser with many small, white drawers. On top of the dresser was a shrine, an altar of sorts, with various instruments, crystals, figurines, feathers, flowers, oils, and wooden blocks. It was a well-organized space, small, with plenty of room for Mariko to move.
Please, undress. Are you comfortable?
I nodded.
I removed my leather belt, billowy shorts, loose beige blouse, and rings. I stood in my lace underwear and a tight top decorated with dark purple and green flowers.
Mariko came over to me and put her hands on my shoulders.
My English is not very good, so we will see without Google Translate. She smiled. Now, let me look at you.
Photo source.
