“I want you to go see a different healer,” Doctor Helen was breaking into my consciousness with another recommendation. I had reached a plateau in the process of my physical repair.
“Someone else? Who?” I asked her. I felt some uncertainty about shifting gears. I had come a long way. Life seemed almost normal. I did not want to stop the healing process, the progress.
“I want you to go see a woman who used to work in the medical field. She works out of the healing arts building. When you call, tell her that I sent you. Let me write down her phone number.”
Going home with the number crammed in my pocket on a small slip of paper, I waited until late afternoon to make the call. The voice on the answering machine seemed ephemeral, other-worldly. Breathe. Relax. I left my information, indicating that Doctor Helen had recommended I call.
The call back came a day or so later. Again, I had that same sense that the person to whom I was speaking was somehow far away. We scheduled an appointment. When I made an inquiry as to her rates, I was amazed to learn that her services were more affordable than the first healer, with whom I had been working.
Given our tight, graduate-student budget, I wondered, “Why had Doctor Helen not sent me to this healer first?” Everything became clear during our first meeting.
Stepping into the home of my first official healer, I also step across the invisible threshold set up in my childhood, designed to protect me from illusion, traveling medicine wagons and promises of false cures.
“What an odd place to be,” I think.
The woman I am seeing trained with Barbara Brennan, which means she has done a substantial amount of self-work, as well as completing a full battery of academic science credits in anatomy, physiology and psychology. She also possesses the gift of second sight—the means by which she does her healing work; thus, she can “see” energetically. (Think Superman’s x-ray vision plus a clear view of all of the new-age aura phenomena.)
At some point during our interview, I realize that I have actually met her once at Doctor Helen’s, where she turned away from me as though I were a street-walker with a heroin problem who had just crawled out of the gutter intent on crashing Doctor Helen’s place for a plate of free food. I wondered what she was seeing. Her face readily confessed that, whatever she was seeing, it was not pretty. The reaction seemed peculiar to me as I lead a pretty laced-up existence.
And, with my ego in full form at that moment, I thought, “Healer or not, she certainly is no candidate for poker in Vegas.”
So, here we were, seated across from one another in her remodeled and meticulously kept office, having a brief interview about why I am interested in a session. Doctor Helen sent me. What do I hope to get out of the session? Better.
“Pragmatic. I must keep an open mind. I must remain pragmatic,” I am almost humming the mantra of the hour as I make myself comfortable on the healing table.
We begin and my third-eye flies open. This is amazing.
Watching as she works her way through my energetic centers, she starts with the base chakra. No serious stuff here. Second chakra is a little wobbly. Third chakra needs attention. The filter is completely missing. She realigns this energetic center, replacing the filter and giving me some tips about ensuring the filter’s proper placement and continued presence in my life. Moving up, my heart seems to be suffering from some road burn. I witness bits of gravel leaving. Throat is cranky, looking something like the tin-man’s throat chakra needing some oil.
My third-eye is amazing, the crown-jewel of my system. This would be my gift. I feel profound gratitude for my new ability to actually see what is going on spiritually. I will no longer have to rely upon merely sensing things, nor will I have to deal with people telling me I am excessively sensitive or, worse, that I possess an over-active imagination. Second sight provides something of a visual confirmation for that which is unseen. This is Reality. My healthy skepticism will provide a balancing counterpoint to my gift.
At the top of my head, my crown seems to be over-stuffed, metaphorically, with antiquated space junk, which is logical in light of the mantra on pragmatism I have been using to integrate all of the new modalities and information coming in. Where is the NASA clean-up crew?
We are finished. The session is over. I am left on the table with a timer ticking so that I do not rise too quickly. It happened all too fast. While I gel on the healing table, I hear water running in the sink upstairs.
And, although I am glimmering with Light, there is a fresh sorrow in my heart at not being able to stay in this state of Grace just a little bit longer.
Over twenty of us are seated around a large oval dining table, replete with all manner of edibles atop an antique-white tablecloth. It was a group effort to bring everything and everyone together in celebration for our hostess’ surprise eighty-somethingeth birthday.
Words of thanksgiving, honor and gratitude rise to the dining room’s tall ceiling, as we take turns telling stories about how Doctor Helen managed to grant us additional time and space to live in and with a variety of medical diagnoses “too advanced, incurable, untreatable, permanent condition or—sometimes—inoperable.”
Between tears of joy and gratitude, Doctor Helen gestures with her arthritic hands, uttering “Sh, sh. That’s enough.”
Despite her protests, the stories rumble on. And, we all celebrate living.
Over a year earlier, on the day I was scheduled to meet Doctor Helen for the first time, my husband stops the car outside of her home. I am not particularly hopeful or enthusiastic about seeing yet another MD. But, a trusted neighbor recommended her work. Technically, Helen is retired and practicing everything but traditional allopathic medicine. Coming from my recent experiences with allopathic medicine and from a skeptical, academic/medical home culture—where even spinal adjustments were considered akin to voodoo—I am not looking forward to visiting with any aspect of what Helen represents, whether it is traditional or alternative.
Before entering her home, my husband makes a point of turning off the vehicle and stopping me to establish eye contact.
“I want you to set aside all of your preconceived notions about medicine. I don’t know what she practices, but I do know she put the color back into our child’s face. I hope she can help you.” This is coming from the mouth of an old-school doctor’s son. I leave the car with this thought rolling around in my head.
Doctor Helen offers many new options to absorb, consider, experience, reject or embrace. Fortunately I possess a broad pragmatic streak and high level of innate curiosity. These two personality traits have allowed me to explore a broader range of alternative-care modalities than most individuals might normally consider. Yet, just as I found my new comfort zone in the realm of alternative therapies, Doctor Helen surprises me one day with another idea.
“I want you to go see a healer,” she announces.
“Why?” I ask in all earnestness.
“I think there are some old things that need to be addressed that the other treatments are not taking care of. I can feel it here,” she says rubbing her sternum with the heel of her hand.
And, because Doctor Helen is the doctor, I capitulate. “Okay, if you think that it is best, I will give it a try,” I respond dutifully.