When trying to fit in is difficult.

For most of my life, I felt like I didn’t belong—in a country, a job, or even in my family.

I’ve been a foreigner since I left Belgium at eight. Living in Venezuela meant growing up with the Spanish side of my family: ultra smart but more interested in business than art or philosophy. When I was 13, I used to scare the hell out of them by asking, “What are we going to do? Capitalism doesn’t work! Neither does communism! There is no viable economic system!” Or… “Where does the universe end? Is there anything beyond it?” (I gave up on the former but still wonder about the later one.)

Moving to New York was awesome. It gave me the freedom to be whoever I wanted but did little to improve my sense of belonging. We were all drifters.

A few years into my Reiki practice, however, while deep in meditation or offering a session, a sense of connection and wellbeing would settle over me and the words “I am home" would pop into my head.

Home in my own body and mind, but connected to everyone and everything.

A fleeting feeling, it’s true. But a feeling that has given me a sense of belonging anchored in myself, not in temporary situations, relations or possessions. A feeling that allows me to let go of the need to define who I am to others and even myself.

Now when my family thinks I am a Hare Krishna who goes around New York with a begging bowl singing “hare, hare,” because I meditate, I smile. (This is not a joke, they actually do.)

What makes you feel like you are “home”? What gives you a sense of safety and warmth? I would love to hear about it!

Love and light,
Nathalie

Every Sunday evening, I teach a Reiki + Meditation community class at YES, a lovely yoga studio in Ridgewood. It’s one of the highlights of my week. Most of the attendants are young, joyful, and very chatty.  As soon as the class starts, however, they go quiet and put on a solemn, “peaceful” expression. It’s too tempting. I make them do the silliest of shakeouts. Regulars now do it laughing, but every week I see the newbies giving me the side eye while thinking, “Is this a joke? Is she for real?” Until we really start... and they discover the class is not about easy guided meditations or Reiki sparkles. By the end of the class, their eyes open in wonder about how good they feel.

Joy is often misunderstood as lack of seriousness or depth when it comes to Western spirituality, probably the influence of more Judeo-Christian approaches. Yet—when we go back to Buddhism—joy is the fourth factor of awakening, just behind energy.

Joko-san, the abbot of the meditation hall in Japan where I spent three weeks, kept repeating every time he saw: “just enjoy breathing, enjoy!” In other words: just breathe, clear your mind from anger and fear, and learn how to embody joy. For yourself and others. And if that sounds pretty much like the Reiki precepts, it’s not a coincidence: Buddhism is one of the roots of Reiki practice.

A few days ago, I spent a whole week with my teacher and mentor Frans Stiene. He is a very joyful teacher. He makes jokes all the time, dances, sings, pokes fun at the shy students. He’s never ashamed of being silly. But he is also one of the Reiki teachers with more knowledge, depth, and compassionate energy I’ve met. Joy makes his teaching approachable. It also makes it easy to sit for hours of training and feel safe to ask the most absurd questions.

Frans many times has said that to offer Reiki, you need to overflow with the energy. That the end goal of the practice is to integrate it into real life. Spreading joy is, in my opinion, a great way to do it.

So, next time you take a meditation class, get a Reiki session, or even a massage, smile and let me know if it made a difference.

Love and light,
Nathalie

I don’t know about you, but my family doesn’t really get the whole Reiki practice thing. My mom, who’s from Spain, thinks it’s some sort of Japanese santeria. She doesn’t say it in so many words, but her not-so-subtle eye-rolling every time I mention Reiki makes it evident. She was visiting me a few days ago, and we started chatting. When I said the word Reiki, boom, there it was: eye rolling.
—But Cotufa—Cotufa or popcorn is my nickname for her—it’s not santeria, it’s just breathing and connecting with your body.
The word breathing caught her attention. She has emphysema.
—What do you mean, breathing?
—Using your breath to align mind and body.
I left out the word energy on purpose to avoid the famous Cotufa eye rolling.
—Breathing into your body? That makes no sense. You can only breathe with your lungs.
—Think of breathing more in terms of awareness. You use your breath to bring your awareness to different parts of your body: hands, feet, skin.

Blank stare.

When we’ve been practicing for a long time, we start using terms like breathe with your whole body or create spaciousness. But these terms sometimes feel very vague and esoteric to people who have not practiced any mindfulness techniques.
In the case of my mom, simple facts caught her attention more than terms like non-duality or balancing energy systems. Her eyes came awake at the idea that they’re 100 million neurons in the gut and that, when you breathe and expand your belly, you relax that area. Or that creating spaciousness could be taken as using your whole nervous system versus just your brain.
I’m not saying that Reiki talk should become all about science. It’s, after all, a beautiful spiritual practice that goes beyond that. But there are many layers to this system. You can practice Joshin Kokyu Ho for years and still discover new depths to this meditation.
Simple, down to earth facts may prove appealing to some. For others, it may make the practice to sterile and be a complete turn off. It is up to us, as teachers to go deep enough into our practice that we can provide the right guidance.