A great massage goes to the core of who we are. Not only does it feel good, but massage teaches us the art of being without doing—the secret of contentment. In the right hands, massage releases much more than our muscular tension. It allows us to relinquish our fears, let go of pent-up emotions, feel our untapped joy, work through grief, and surrender the old, conditioned responses and ideas that no longer serve us. The perfect massage is a work of art, a Picasso supine on the table. With the right ingredients, a massage can ascend to the pinnacle of true perfection.
So what is the recipe for the perfect massage? Start with expertise. I want my massage therapist to have strong, confident hands that have racked up plenty of massage miles. She or he should be forthright in approach, clean and modest in person, punctual and passionate about massage. I want to feel safe and know the therapist has good boundaries—a sensitivity to where we both begin and end. The setting needs to be uncluttered and serene. I don’t mean fancy, and I don’t rule out those singular touches that reflect the personality of the therapist. After all, a massage shouldn’t be robotic and distant. It must have a heart, but at the same time be free of emotional attachment. In a way, it is the perfect relationship.
Massage is a team effort. I miss out if I’m distracted, not breathing in synchronicity with the movements of the therapist’s hands or neglecting to focus on the waves of body sensations. I retrieve my wandering mind when I catch myself planning and problem-solving, whereas I turn myself loose to journey freely in the dreamy, restful states that spontaneously arise as I relax more deeply. Here is an opportunity to release stresses long buried in my body, mind, and spirit.
I like to know a little about my therapist, but I try to discourage conversation during the session, as tempting as it may be. An overly chatty massage therapist is the worst. Might as well have a thousand ducks waddling around the room in full quack.
Communication is paramount. I need to convey my likes and dislikes in a gentle, non-bossy way. Sounds like a primer for living well in all of our day-to-day interactions. And what better training ground?
Many years ago, I took the plunge and purchased my own massage table. I love being at home, greeting the practitioner in my caftan, and having my dog, Mumbles, sleeping nearby (and on occasion, licking my nose through the hole in the headpiece). Sometimes I want background music, but I also prize silence and the soothing sounds of nature—rain, crickets, songbirds, the fountain flowing, the wind chimes blowing.
I haven’t always enjoyed this luxury. Many a massage has taken place in unusual, exotic, dull, even seedy locations.
When I am in pain and unable to exercise or move freely, massage is a panacea for my ills. In grief, the massage table has proven to be a safe place to let the energy of sadness and longing break up and flow through me like a purification. After open-heart surgery, when only my scalp, face, neck, legs and feet could be touched, massage helped me to heal. When I have writer’s block, a good rubdown often coaxes my muse out of hiding. Massage has been an antidote to depression. I am always a happier and nicer person after a good massage.
We all need to be touched in a loving way. Massage is the art of loving touch—truly a spiritual experience. Maybe that’s the answer to peace on earth—a proliferation of massage tables. What better journey on which to embark than the search for the perfect massage?
Courtesy of Body Sense ~ Spring/Summer 2010 by Mari Gayatri Stein