As a child, I saw too much. The grief inside the kind man. The lineage trembling beneath the perfect family. The light folded into people who only knew themselves as broken. I didn't have words for it then. I just felt it, and I tried to be small enough not to disturb it.
Reiki found me before I found it. A pair of hands placed on my shoulders one afternoon, and something inside me — old, patient, watching — exhaled. I trained, then trained again. Each lineage gave me a different vocabulary for the same conversation: the body remembers, the field remembers, the soul has been here longer than the wound.
The labyrinth is complex; the way out is simple.
Underneath this lifetime there are others. I don't say that to mystify — I say it because the body confirms it. A pattern that won't move, a fear with no story, a love that arrives without explanation. Numerology, dragons, ancestors — these are languages for what is already happening. I just translate.
I do this work because I would not be here without it. Because someone, once, sat beside me in the dark and did not flinch. Because the part of me that wanted to disappear was met with such tenderness that it chose to stay. I want to be that for you, if you'll let me.
I do 50%. You do 50%. That is the only way this works.
Healing is an onion and a labyrinth at once. Layer after layer, turn after turn. I'll hold the lantern. I'll mark the walls. But the legs that walk it are yours, and the becoming is yours, and the day you no longer need me — that is the day I have done my work well.
I am not your guru. I am your team — one of many. Doctors hold the body. Priests hold the religious dimension. I work in the energetic field. We are not in competition. We are companions on the same long road home.
