“Tell me about the color red,” Laura, my holistic counselor asked on behalf of my guardian angels.
“What? Red? Man, I just don’t know,” I replied. “I know it’s the color of our root chakra and I know I don’t really like it all that much.”
Pausing, I let my mind search, and then laughed, “I have been eating a shit ton of cinnamon Jolly Ranchers and Red Hots. They’re red. Could that be it?” I asked even though I knew she wouldn’t have the answer.
True enough, she shrugged and replied, “It’s been coming up a lot for you lately.”
Continuing, she said, “They are asking you to ‘help someone out.’”
Wrong thing to ask.
“Help someone out?” I stammered and shook my head in disbelief, tears of frustration pricking my eyes. “I already do pro bono work, I put my desires on hold, I reach out to those who are going through difficulties even though I’m way deep in the shit myself. I sorta wanna give my angels the finger for that comment. I’d like to help myself out for a change.”
She, no stranger to cryptic angelic missives, smiled and nodded, letting me know she heard and understood me, but that she was powerless to do anything.
After leaving her office, I headed for another appointment at a local plasma donation business. The idea of donating plasma had been floating around my consciousness for a few months but didn’t fully click until I had taken our daughter to an outdoor children’s event in June. It was there, after roaming freely, we found ourselves in front of their kiosk.
Imagine that! I thought, followed by, I wanna do this. Impulsively I grabbed a business card and the next day I made an appointment. It would be several weeks until I fully understood why.
Those weeks passed and I found that I kind of liked donating plasma, mainly because it was the one place I was forced to relax – errands or chores couldn’t be done while tethered to a blood-sucking machine. Instead, when I was sequestered in a comfortable chair, it was one hundred percent me time. I listened to the ambient conversations, read a book, daydreamed. Is it any wonder I asked if I could donate more than the maximum of twice weekly?
Currently, I was thinking about the lucky people who would be receiving my super-duper, Reiki-infused, maximum-healing plasma when a young phlebotomist greeted me. I glanced at her ID tag and thought her name was beautiful.
“Hi, Amara.” I chirped.
“Oh, you pronounced my name right! So many people mess that up. How are you today?”
We exchanged pleasantries while she attended to business and since I’m always curious as to why people work the professions they do, I asked her. She answered and then added, almost as an afterthought, “I can’t donate, though. I have a disease that prevents me from doing so.”
With that seemingly random utterance, unsolicited intuitive information flooded my brain. Startled, my eyes broke contact and I stared at the wall grappling with what to do.
Dammit, Guys, I internally hissed, You know I hate doing intuitive work outside of session. You know that!
Their response: Help someone out.
Aw shit. You’re kidding me, right? No. No, no, no, NO! Don’t ask this of me. I can’t possib–
“Okay, Melissa. You’re all set. Feeling okay?” Amara asked.
My eyes snapped back to hers and I nodded absently, thinking, Oh, sweet girl, I can feel how swollen and hot your abdomen is and how your fluctuating moods take their toll.
After she left, I whispered, “Shit!” and then once again to myself.
Again, the Guys spoke: Help someone out.
This presented a dilemma. Do I break my self-imposed rule of not doing Reiki or intuitive work outside of session or do I keep my yapper shut?
I took a deep breath and began pumping my fist with more force than was necessary. For several minutes, I stared without seeing, thinking about what to do, and when my vision regained focus, I was looking at my blood making its journey through the clear tube, and into the collection bin. It was then my worlds collided.
(“Tell me about the color red.”)
Oh my God. RED!
(“It’s been coming up a lot for you lately.”)
Ho-leeey shit! And just like that, I knew why I had found my amazing Trailblazing Communications counselor (I couldn’t quit staring at her picture on Facebook’s “People You May Know”), and why I sensed there wouldn’t be many, if any, future plasma donations.
With that mystery solved, a relieved smile broke out on my face, my eyes closed, and my head lolled backward. Two things became clear: I was here for Amara, and, without question, I needed to help her. I took a few minutes to think of how I could do that while still maintaining my professional standards. The answer came just as Amara was returning.
Now or never, Guys. Help me.
“Hey,” I said after taking a deep breath. “Have you ever considered – or would you consider – taking a probiotic for your lower abdomen?”
“I had a friend who did that and she had good results, but I’ve not thought about it. Why would you suggest that?”
Danger. Danger! “Oh, I’ve heard (I wasn’t lying!) that it might make a difference. You do have issues with your gut, right?” It wasn’t a reach, especially since I knew a little bit about her illness, still, I do love me some validation.
“Uhhhhh yeaaaaah,” she replied hesitantly while wrapping the bandage around my arm and giving me a side-long questioning glance.
I know that look, I thought. She thinks I’m an alien. I gotta be careful or she’s gonna shut down and I’ll have lost another one to Ditech.
“Well, if it feels right, maybe google it or look into it.” Easy, breezy.
“Um, okay. I will. Thanks.”
With that, I barely contained a mega-watt smile. I felt slightly rebellious and more than a little euphoric from having pulled off the coup. It wasn’t until I was out of her sight that I fist-pumped the air and unleashed my grin.
God, that felt goooooood, I thought and then tears of happiness and gratitude filled my eyes. With a blink, they spilled over. I wiped them away, not caring who saw, and understood that maybe instead of trusting, as I have always done, that those who need my services will find me, it might be my turn to find them.
Four months had passed since Amara’s cameo appearance, and just as I’d suspected, I was unable to return for more donations. I wanted to, but life had other plans. Now it was mid-November and I was at the dentist’s office where I had been told I’d cracked a tooth and needed a crown.
I couldn’t even joke about it. In fact, my first thought was that somehow I had gotten old because only old people need crowns. My logic was faulty; it was based on seeing my own mother’s shiny gold and silver-filled mouth, not supported by facts.
For the first of two appointments, Dr. McToothfairy’s (you like?) energy was that of a very stressed person. Again, I don’t try to do my intuitive work outside of session, but laying there, staring up at a bright light (or the ceiling), while clenching my hands into fists, bits of data floated in.
I glanced at him and he was, as always, the epitome of comfortable professionalism; nothing about his physical appearance gave away that he was in excruciating pain. It was on the tip of my tongue to ask him if I could give him Reiki, but I chided myself and let it go.
Later that night, as my ground-down, temporarily capped molar began to throb, I felt eager anticipation wondering what good would come from this. And much like Amara’s story, I didn’t have long to wait.
At my next appointment, Dr. McToothfairy was getting ready to place my permanent crown when I’d had enough of the Should I or Shouldn’t I game. “Thomas?” I asked. “What did you do to your shoulder? It’s . . . incredibly painful.”
Poor Thomas. He pushed his stool away and looked like a deer caught in the headlights. I had all I could do to keep from laughing. He stared at me for several seconds (probably trying to decide how to play this, I thought), then blinked his eyes and responded, “Yes. Yes, it is. About five years ago I was in an accident and it’s been incredibly painful ever since. How did you . . .”
“Because I can feel it. Oh my God, I can feel it!”
Dr. McToothfairy knew what I did for a living, but he didn’t know. I watched as his lips parted and confusion flashed in his eyes. It was then I asked if I could do energy work on him and that meant I would lightly place my hands on the front and back of his shoulder and give him Reiki. I added that I knew he was busy, so I’d be careful not to take up too much of his time.
Another blink followed by a pregnant pause, and then as if he was talking himself into it, “Uhhhh. Okayyyyy? Well, sure!”
I explained what Reiki was and how he might feel during and afterward while I was administering it. After three minutes, I knew I had done all I could.
“There you go!” I said, removing my hands and flashing a smile.
“Wow! I think that did reduce the pain. Thank you!”
I didn’t know whether to believe him or not but within minutes he said, “You know? I think I have more mobility in my neck, and I swear my pain has been reduced. That’s amazing! Thank you!” This time I knew he meant it.
Then it hit me. That’s why I cracked my tooth so that I could help him! Then, with a message for my angels, Did you really hafta have me break a tooth to accomplish this? Jeez! This is effing expensi–
“I just can’t believe it!” Thomas said. “I may have to come and see you!”
Flustered, I rushed my response, “Dr. McToothfairy, noooo . . . that’s not why I did it. I’m not trying to drum up business, I swear! I could just feel your pain and felt drawn to asking you if I could try to help.”
He continued, “Well, I’ve tried massage, physical therapy, you name it, and I’ve not gotten much relief, but this . . . Wow! I haven’t felt this good in years!”
His excitement was contagious, and I found myself smiling from ear to ear. The next day I received a voice mail from him saying, “I just have to thank you again for what you did yesterday. I slept great and feel even better today! I don’t know exactly what it was that you did, but I sure am thankful.”
Of this, I did not doubt since I, too, was deeply thankful.