Before joining the Zen monastery in Japan for my training, I started reading Buddhist texts, specifically the teachings of Master Dogen, the founder of the Soto school of Zen in that country. In his texts, and later on other Zen writings by the likes of Dainin Katagiri, there were mentions of “transmissions” between Zen master and student. 

“Just understand that when a master who has attained the way with a clear mind authentically transmits to a student who has merged with realization, then the wondrous dharma of the Seven original Buddhas, in its essence, is actualized and maintained. This cannot be known by those who study words.” —Dogen Zenji.

These silent, energetic transmissions and the fact that they help establish your lineage in the Buddhist tradition, felt so close to Reiki’s initiation or attunement process that I was utterly surprised. 

Later, studying with my mentor, Frans Stiene, he mentioned the link between attunements and a Shingon Buddhist ritual called kaji. Although commonly translated into English as “blessing,” in Shingon practice, it means far more: adding the power of Buddha and holding that power—as implied by its characters ka (adding) and ji (holding). 

“The Shingon practice of kaji is generally understood to be a mutual empowerment of self and Buddha. This… definition, however, neglects the important role that kaji has historically played as a hands-on healing technique,” explains Pamela Winfield in her study Curing with Kaji: Healing and Esoteric Empowerment in Japan.

Hands-on healing. Empowerment. Healing. Wordless transmission of wisdom. Finding and holding our Buddha-nature (true essence, bright inner light). All the elements of the Reiki attunements are present in these rituals. Given that Mikao Usui, the founder of Reiki, trained in many of these spiritual practices, it’s not surprising that transmissions and kajis could be the basis on which he evolved the concept of attunements.

The beauty of retracing the origins of attunements is that it points the way to a deeper understanding of the ritual. For example, in the West, we often see attunement as the master empowering and offering a gift (connection to the Reiki energy) to the student. However, in these Japanese traditions, the student is already enlightened. The blessing helps her or him shed the layers of false perceptions that obscure this knowledge. 

Furthermore, the translations of the characters that compose the word Reiju (Japanese for attunement) point directly to the concept of no giver, no receiver:

霊 Rei – How to give, spiritual

授 Ju – How to Receive, receive, hand down, give, impart, instruct, grant, offer, bless.

During Reiju, nothing is given; nothing is received. It’s an opportunity for both student and teacher to awaken, to be aware of what exists deep within.

The Japanese origins also point towards the fact a Reiki master can share this ritual of attunement or Reiju any time it feels appropriate, not just for initiations. “If by performing Reiju a student were to become magically enlightened, have an energy centre ‘opened,’ or ‘receive’ a specific level of Reiki (these are just some of the claims made about the modern-day attunement), why is it that the Usui Reiki Ryôhô Gakkai performs Reiju at every single meeting between student and teacher? It is because magic is not the answer, but rather the commitment to personal practice from both the student and the teacher,” explains Bronwen Logan Stiene in her article Everything About Reiju.

Often Reiki 3 practitioners see the teachings at this level as tools to be shared with others. Performing Reiju, however, is also a form of self-empowerment and exploration. By letting go of the preconception that we are blessing just the student, we can open the door to that exploration. The ritual of Reiju then becomes a personal practice, one that takes us deeper and deeper into our Reiki journey. 

Performing Reiju.

These past few weeks, I’ve been thinking about the use of the human voice. In part, because as a Reiki practitioner, the pandemic has taken my “hands-on” practice away and left me with a screen instead. But also because I’ve discovered that you don’t need to be a musician or sound healer for your voice to carry the energy of love and compassion.

Because of my thick accent and high-pitched tone, I never used my voice very much in Reiki practice, especially the first few years when most of my activities were centered on hands-on healing. Voice as a healing vehicle was—in my head—the domain of musicians, sound healers, or chanting the reiki mantras to deepen my spiritual journey.

The first time I became aware that I could use my voice differently was while demoing Reiki practice at the New York Jets. One of the athletic trainers told me after waking up from his session: “I liked this touch thing, but what really soothed me was your voice.”

I put it up to my Spanish accent and the idea that he was imagining Sofia Vergara whispering in his ear for him to go to sleep. However, the more classes I taught, the more I noticed there was a direct relationship between my state of mind and people’s reaction to my voice—and that by being more conscious of this fact, I could use my voice more mindfully. That my voice wasn’t just carrying words—it was helping me hold the space for others.

Your voice carries energy
There is a term in esoteric Buddhism called San-Mitsu, which represents three mysteries: body, mind, and speech. At a deeper level, it means that since all beings have a Buddha-nature—albeit hidden by the illusion of separateness—all beings are the mystic body of that Buddha, all sounds are his mystic voice, and all thoughts are his mystic mind. Speech is the link between body and mind.

In practice, the mystery of the body means the forming of mudras; the mystery of the mouth refers to the recitation of mantras, while the mystery of the mind indicates meditation. Through these three practices, anyone can remember their true self.  

I used to love this concept, but in my head, it was very elevated, relegated to my practice. Now it has become a concept I am trying to apply to every moment of my life: using my voice as much as possible from a state of mind that is open, calm, and compassionate, from a body that is healthy and able to both give and receive freely.

What about you?

@copyright Nathalie Jaspar - heart energy

How do we explain to our clients or friends what happens during a remote session? And how do we do it in a way that makes sense? It's a difficult question to answer and one that, as everything in Reiki, will vary from lineage to lineage and to whom we communicate. 

The first step is to answer that question for ourselves as practitioners. 

As a starting point, we could ask ourselves, what happens during an in-person session? Are our hands doing the healing or are they helping us focus our energy and remember that deep sense of interconnection in which healing takes place?

If the healing happens by the union of our heart-mind, then a remote session is just one in which we don't use hands as reminders. We enter a space of deep concentration and interconnection in which time and space are irrelevant, and healing takes place. 

In more Western lineages—where the practitioners are channelers of the universal force, not an embodiment of the universe themselves—it's still all about interconnection. Although hands are used to "send Reiki energy" to recipients through the use of proxies (dolls, pillows, etc.), if you think about it, they are not really touching the person or pointing in the direction so that Reiki vibes reach the right location. 

Our hands are, once more, tools for awareness and focus, for remembering our interconnection with every living being (in the case of the remote session, with one in particular.) The remote session protocol is, therefore, a ritual to let go of mental limitations like time and distance and remember our true interconnected essence. 

These concepts are pretty high-level and may not make sense to many of our clients. Developing a sense of what to say is an interesting exercise. In my case, I keep it very simple. This is one of my favorite explanations: 

Reiki practice is based on the concept that we are all interconnected. During the session, we'll enter a meditative state where time and distance are irrelevant. I will hold the space energetically and offer everything you need to empower your own healing process. 

If you have not done it yet, I would like to invite you to write a description of remote sessions in your own words, based on your direct experience. Do it just as an exercise, it doesn't need to be shared in public, and see what comes up for you.

Love,
Nathalie

PS: When you sign up for my Patreon, you get access to exclusive content like this + over 75 classes and meditationS.

How does life a Frans Stiene make? Was it a case of nature versus nurture or a delicate combination of both. Did he Reiju people from his pram? Photo-bomb selfies before selfies were invented? Drive his parents nuts saying that, since they were all one, the fact that he ate all the croissants was irrelevant because, in a way, he was them? 

To find out, I decided to go back to the original source. No, not the Universe. Mrs. Stiene, his mom, who from now on will be called Eukie (short for Eucalypta, a cartoon character with whom she shares a joyful, slightly cackly laugh and big hands). 

But first, I have to confess two things: number one, I fell in love with Eukie as soon as she made fun of Frans right at the start of the interview. Until now, only Alexa, my AI-assistant, had bested him. Two, Eukie is not the stereotype of the elderly, sweet mom. If you have seen Frans on a rampage of funny—and sometimes very sexual jokes—, you have a better idea of Eukie than imagining her as a sweet lady crocheting doilies. 

Me: How was Frans as a baby? 

Eukie: He cried a lot.

Me: What?!? 

Eukie: Yes. Then he became very sweet. Cuddles would always calm him down.

Note to hosts based on personal experience: you may want to trade cuddles for croissants if you are into boundaries or are afraid the neighbors will think you are having an affair.

Eukie: He was a very handsome baby. I was pushing the pram, and this woman stops and looks first at the pram, then at me, then back at the pram, and says: “You must have had a very good looking husband.” 

Note: Eukie laughs like it’s the best joke in the world. I would have slapped the woman. I realize I have a long way to go in my Reiki journey. 

Me: So people were already falling in love with Frans?

Eukie: Oh, yes! I used to tell him, “You must have a ‘Golden Manhood’ because you have so many women!”

Note: As Eukie said this, I started laughing like a madwoman. In part, because she didn’t use the polite term ‘manhood.’ In part because Frans blushed as I had never seen him do so before. But mostly because the question of nature versus nurture was a mystery no longer. Frans and his mom are basically twin souls. The one difference? She doesn’t blush. 

Me: When Frans was young, did you imagine he would become a meditation and Reiki teacher.

Eukie: [Laughs, and laughs… and laughs.] No way. He drank so much! I worked as a midwife. Sometimes I would leave the house at six or seven in the morning and see him coming back from his parties totally wasted. Once some friends brought him back home, and I got there just in time to stop him from getting sick in my good cooking pot. I gave him an old bucket instead! 

But he was very honest. When he said he didn’t do something, I knew he hadn’t. We talked about everything: drugs, sex, relationships, etc. 

And he was very caring. So much so, I thought he would become a nurse. 

Me: Well, he kind of is. He’s just nursing the lot of us in a different way. What has not changed in Frans in all these years?

Eukie: He is the same joyful, playful person. 

Me: What has changed?

Eukie: He just has to look at a mirror.

Ouch. But hey, they both laugh. So do I. I’m getting used to the Dutch directness. Eukie goes on about some pranks and naughty behaviors of Frans. But these were eclipsed by Frans telling a story about Eukie herself. When Eukie was in her early twenties, she and her sister took their mom for a walk through Haarlem’s red-light district. Eukie knocked on the window where sex workers exhibited their charms, waved, and then ran away. Classic Frans! One scary thought came to me. It’s already an “experience” to host Frans. What would it be like to host both Frans… and his mom. With my mind now focused on survival, I asked Eukie one last question.

Me: What is your advice for the kind, quiet people hosting your son all over the world?

Eukie: Just let him talk and do his thing.

Wise, very wise. May this be the precept that guides Frans’ host actions in years to come. May he talk and do his thing, bringing us joy, inspiration, and invaluable insights. Meanwhile, I have to go. I’m preparing the paperwork to request my adoption by Eukie.

Frans & Eukie.

I've always liked the physicality of Reiki. Of bringing mind and body together through hands-on healing, chanting, or the breath. I've been reading an excellent book about body awareness. I wanted to share a few insights about kinetic sense, feelings of being embodied, and wellbeing that really felt relevant for Reiki practice.
In the simplest explanation, your kinetic sense allows you to feel where your body is and to manage movement. That implies vast amounts of data being processed. For example, if you are walking on an incline, the brain will sense through the body all the necessary adjustments to be made for walking efficiently. Your kinetic sense also allows you to feel muscle pain, tension, and relaxation.
Your kinetic sense, however, goes beyond sensing your body. When you are stressed out about something, you notice your abdomen tightening. A kinesthetic experience is, therefore, an emotional experience. People who can't listen to their bodies are not fully connected to their emotions. And by being less in touch with their bodies, they may also suffer from a lack of muscle flexibility, which in turn can affect their perspective in life.
"Kinesthetic awareness affects your physical and emotional flexibility. These two types of flexibility are not separate; they support one another. When your kinesthetic sense is clear, you can experience your feelings as they occur. Essentially, this means you know yourself. As a result, you are more flexible in dealing with stress and better able to make choices about your life circumstances," explains Craig Williamson in his book Muscular Retraining for Pain-Free Living. "We would need to understand the importance of kinesthetic awareness, to stop being disembodied people, and to become embodied people."
Many times we believe that the hand-positions order or sequence is one of the most relevant variables in a Reiki treatment. But when you read this, it points towards awareness as the crucial element of this practice. To use our hands to listen to both our bodies and our emotions. To soften our muscles, and make us more flexible in every sense. To be fully present, to detect worry and anger so we can let them go, to connect with gratitude and compassion. In a few words, to literally embody the precepts.

Every Sunday, I organize a Reiki circle with the lovely Andrea Kartika Deierlein from Thrive Reiki (in my community, Reiki circles are the new Sunday brunch). Before we admit people in the Zoom Room, we spend a few minutes chatting about the day’s theme or meditation.
Last Sunday, we were talking about how we can’t make plans for the future. This is hard on us: we both have family members in Europe, and we used to look forward to those visits.
It made me think about how I am pretty much a “looking-forward” kind of person. Looking forward to the day I would graduate and start working encouraged me to push through years of boredom at university. When I worked full time, looking forward to a Reiki retreat or a vacation allowed me to get through long days of insane stress.
Looking forward to meeting someone, got me through some terrible dates (every New Yorker goes through these—it’s like a rite of passage to test your grit.)
In hindsight, however, I realize that—on many occasions—the “looking forward” also made me stay in situations that were not worth it: toxic relationships, jobs with poor boundaries, etc. I tend to live in the future instead of the now, and that sometimes limits my ability to make changes that would allow me to live the present with more ease.
Of course, I am looking forward to this pandemic madness to end, loosen up, or whatever term you would like to use. But, given the current uncertainty, it’s probably the first time in my life I have no plans, nothing to look forward to or, should I say, nothing to escape too. I am just drifting.
And although this lack of things to look forward to in the future feels horribly depressing at times, it’s also very rich in gifts. I am more present when I eat and enjoy food a lot more (and I am an average cook at best). Washing the dishes feels like a meditation. I even discovered that I walk with most of my weight on the right side (why?!?), which is probably the reason I struggle with my left side in martial arts. Weird insightful experiences that only happen in emptiness.
As I see the world opening up from my computer (we in New York seems to be trapped in this lockdown forever) I wonder if, as soon as I can book a ticket, this ability will vanish, if I will trade the present once more for a future to look forward to or if I will find the right balance.
How are you dealing with the uncertainty? I would love to hear. You can reply to this email or DM through Facebook or Instagram.
Sending much love,
Nathalie

The sensations we feel when offering a Reiki treatment (heat, tingling, pulls, swirls, colors, etc.) are called Hibiki in Japanese. These are meant to guide our hands during a session: to the “right” placement, letting us know when to move, etc.
For many of us, feeling a Hibiki is an indicator that “something is happening” during the sessions, and we become engrossed by these feelings. Sometimes, paying more attention to them than to hold the space for our clients from a place of openness.
It’s important to remember that Hibiki in Japanese literally means “echo.” The reason why these sensations are called Hibiki is that they are not real. In essence, an echo is empty, like a reflection or an illusion.
Like we do with our thoughts during meditation, once a Hibikis has served its purpose of guidance, we need to let it go. Without analyzing it, or trying to understand it.
We need to bring our mind back to our client, holding the space compassionately.
Energy follows the mind. If our mind is thinking of all these beautiful things we are feeling, where is our energy?
Additionally, the way we experience healing sessions as practitioners changes over time as we deepen our understanding of the Reiki system. If we get attached to a specific form of Hibiki, we may unwillingly stop our growth as practitioners. Or become worried if we start experiencing different feelings during a session and think we are doing something wrong or that our energy is out of whack.
Welcome Hibiki, but hold them with an open hand, without grasping, without attachment.

(This post was one of many previewed exclusively on my Patreon newsletter. To subscribe, visit patreon.com/diveintoreiki)

This post was written originally for Reiki Rays.

When I learned Reiki, almost 15 years ago, I took a weekend course that included the first two levels. I loved it, but the following years made me realize that there was a lot more to Reiki practice than what my teacher was able to provide on that weekend. Here are five things I wish I had known from day one.

1. The need for self-practice

That first training was fun, emotional, and magical. But also all over the place, cramming information at warp speed and leaving out some fundamentals. For example, although we took the time to practice hands-on healing on others, we didn’t go over self-care protocol. We were just told to practice.

As a result, I focused mostly on offering sessions, which left me weirdly drained and emotional.

Another teacher pointed towards the importance of self-practice, and it changed my Reiki journey. I became more grounded and started to shed layers of anger and worry, and offer a brighter light to others.

2. The meditation side of Reiki

I went to many classes—most focused almost exclusively on hands-on healing. The only meditation we were taught was Gassho, and we probably did it for like… three minutes.

I still remember one teacher saying, I practice Reiki and meditation. She meant it as separate practices.

But Reiki is meditation. During hands-on healing, we need to be mindful, to be focused and fully present. On top of that, there are several specific Reiki meditations to stimulate and connect more deeply with energy. For example, Joshin Kokyu Ho (Purifying Breath), Seishin Toitsu, or meditating with the mantras and symbols. Even the Reiki precepts can be tools for contemplation.

Adding these meditations to your Reiki practice helps you experience the system beyond hands-on healing and take it to a deeper level: reconnecting with your true essence.

3. I am not doing the healing; I am holding the space for healing

I spent my first years trying so hard for people to feel better, blaming myself if they didn’t. My energy wasn’t “strong enough,” “I didn’t place my hands in the right places,” etc. Understanding that my job as a practitioner was to do my own work first in order to be able to be fully present during sessions, was a complete game-changer.

4. Reaching a plateau is ok

Sometimes our practice becomes blah for a bit. No significant insights, few sensations, just regular, old practice. And that is good! We are processing and integrating. It usually ends with a big aha (you only need patience). If it lasts, it may be a sign that it’s time to reach out to our teacher or mentor who can provide guidance to help us move forward. Which leads me to…

5. The need for mentoring and continuing education

When I did my certifications, I was told that that was all the training I needed. The rest was practice, practice, practice. The thing is that when you practice, that’s the moment questions pop up.

When I was researching to do my Reiki master, it hit me: Mikao Usui studied Japanese spiritual practices for decades and we expect to learn his system… in a couple of weekends? So I called my teacher and asked if she would provide long-term mentoring. She answered that it was not needed. That if I felt stuck, she would be happy to give me a chakra balancing session.

After taking Reiki level 3 training four times, attending many retreats, and training in Japan, I understand – she wasn’t able to provide mentoring because she literally didn’t know any more than what she taught in those two weekends.

Reiki practice seems simple. You get an attunement, learn a few techniques and voila, you’re done. But this simplicity is deceptive. There are many layers to the understanding of the system. We need to shift our mindset towards one of continuing education. Of questioning and contemplation of the practice. Of having a mentor and serving as a mentor.

Think about it; it happens in yoga, martial arts, and most practices. Why not Reiki?

If you just started your Reiki practice, I hope these five lessons I learned the hard way, help you have a smoother road towards a deeply fulfilling practice.

As the weeks go by, it amazes me how fast we can adapt to the new normal. I do what I need to do, and then my new chill time consists of texting with my niece about which face masks are the cutest, watching martial art movies, and indulging in some social media binging. 
On these binges, I see many posts like “anxiety is a choice,” “anger is a choice,” “gratitude is a choice.” I totally get and agree with this sentiment. But I also wonder, is it as simple as that? Do we have a choice when our nervous system is in overdrive? When our survival brain is pumping adrenaline like mad into our bodies to keep us safe from what it perceives as aggression?
So perhaps it’s not really a matter of choice, but a practice, like in martial arts. Instead of repeating a move over and over until it becomes second nature, we learn how to come back to our breath when we lose it. To our bodies. To the present. Over and over. To let go of the future, of over planning, of anxiety. To forgive ourselves when we become angry or forget to be grateful. Over and over, until it gets easier.
Remembering that, like in meditation, getting distracted by anger or anxiety is not a “fail.” It is part of the practice.
That the healing is in the return.
Not in being always perfectly centered.

It feels like day 813205 of the lock-down. It's rainy. I am not feeling that great. And that's OK.
Sometimes, I try to justify all of this madness by thinking of all the good things coming out of it. I am practicing a lot. Becoming closer to friends and family who live far away. And—because of my niece's obsession with a psycho-socialite that teaches killer workouts—I may even end up with a soupcon of abs for the first time in my life.
But staying positive all the time can feel exhausting. On those moments, I need to let go. To understand shit happens, and there is no need to justify it. To eat pancakes for dinner. To take a day off Zoom and listen to my worries, my anger, my grief. To hold space for these feelings that are often overwhelming, often enlightening.
Because balance is only found in that tiny space that lies between our joy and our grief, our hopes and fears, our OKness, and not OKness. Without darkness, there is no light.
Love,
Nathalie

My Belgian family has a knack for weird stories. Fake suicides that become real. Covering up for Russian spy networks during WWII, and marrying exotic dancers with fake names stolen from novels. They lost many houses to gambling, and many lovers to drink. No wonder they ended up ruined.
But despite their madness, they were also survivors. A great, great uncle survived close to two years in a concentration camp at 60. When he was released, he avoided the issue by joking that the “simplified meals” helped him get rid of gout.
My great uncle made his way out of occupied Belgium and France bribing guards with cognac.
And my grandparents and father survived 13 days in a lifeboat with scarce food and water after their boat was sunk by a German U-boat.
Through the years, they have been my inspiration. All of them…except my grandmother. She is reported to have spent the 13 days in the lifeboat putting foundation powder on her face to look immaculate while repeating “this can’t be happening” like a mantra.
She made it through in one piece. And now that the first thing I do every morning is to put on lipstick, I have a newfound understanding and respect for her. Like her, this simple routine helps me feel like myself again.
We all are different. And we all have our ways to cope. For me, it’s lipstick and meditation; for you, it may be yoga, and, for others, it's a zoom happy hour. The important thing is to check with ourselves:
What do we need to feel more calm and centered?
What brings a little bit of happiness and joy to our life right now?
Is it reasonably healthy for us emotionally and physically?
Is it respectful of other people’s well-being?
And then go for it, without self-judgment and with loads of compassion.
Love,
Nathalie

[Excerpt from the upcoming Reiki Healing Handbook].

Imagine the universe and everything in it: humans, animals, plants, mountains, and even stones. All of it has energy—yes, even the stone! Although invisible, this energy is unlimited and all-encompassing. While science is now demonstrating the impact of energy in our lives, ancient cultures have been aware of this fact for centuries. Known as Chi in China, Ki in Japan, and Prana in India, energy has been and continues to be the basis for many healing modalities.

How does energy healing work? Well, imagine your energy flow is a river. When it flows freely, you function optimally—feeling good, energized, and inspired. However, life’s challenges can affect your energy. Worries, fears, anger, and trauma pile up like stones and mud in the river, obstructing its flow until only a trickle is left. You may feel drained, disconnected, and can experience physical pain or disease. So, how can you get your energy flowing freely again and, by doing so, jumpstart your body’s innate ability to heal? Meet Reiki, a century-old Japanese practice that combines hands-on-healing and mindfulness techniques to restore the flow of energy, promoting balance and well-being at all levels: body, mind, and spirit.

The word “reiki” can be translated from the Japanese as “universal life force” or “spiritual energy.” By connecting more consciously with this energy, or Ki, through the Reiki system of healing, you can feel more relaxed, centered, and improve your overall health. You may also start an incredible journey of self-discovery, self-forgiveness, and self-acceptance—letting go of anger and worry to discover a life filled with gratitude and a sense of purpose.

Originally developed as a spiritual practice by its founder, Mikao Usui, Reiki has become one of the most popular energy healing modalities in the West because it’s simple, effective, and can be performed by anyone. It is a nonreligious practice. It is also non-invasive, which means it won’t interact with medications. Reiki practice consists of five elements:

1. Precepts—To meditate upon or use as guidelines for the other aspects of the practice.

2. Hands-on Healing—The placement of hands on key points of the body to balance energy.

3. Meditations—To center the mind and build energy.

4. Mantras and Symbols—To connect to more specific types of energies or achieve a determinate state of mind.

5. Attunement—To significantly increase the flow of energy. It is also a way for a Reiki master to transfer wisdom to a student.

All of these—except the attunement, which is performed by a Reiki master—can be practiced on the self. Self-practice is, in fact, the cornerstone of Reiki practice. Because when we heal ourselves, we heal the world. This may sound like a bit much. But think about it: When you feel calm and happy, every person around you benefits from it. You also make more conscious choices at work or as a consumer, thereby helping the whole planet. And it all starts with a simple practice: Reiki.

My mom, my godmother, and my aunts live in Belgium. They are four women in their 80s, and I call them the Golden Girls. My Godmother is Blanche Dubois, still flirting at 83. One aunt is Betty White, and my mom is the cranky one. They are adorable...for a few hours. But spending eight days together was… let’s say… instructive?

Seeing myself reflected in my mom (just 40 years later) was between hilarious and terrifying. Although she has her soft moments, she could be defined as a cross between General Franco, a Jack Russell, and a bulldozer.

Meditation helped… to a point. Crankiness seemed to be contagious, no matter how much I breathed. Anytime I got cranky, my mom laughed. “You see,” she pointed out, “this meditation thing is not working!”

Needless to say, meditation for my Golden Girls is the equivalent of GMO veggies for us.

But sitting with my feelings worked. Just not in the usual blissful stereotyped way. Beyond the fact that we all survived my visit without major drama, sitting with my anger, frustration, or panic opened my eyes to new parts of myself.

It also pushed me to make friends with my fear of aging and decide what some of the things I don’t want to lose are. Among them, my curiosity, my sense of humor, and my spiritual practice.

I came back from my trip exhausted, but a clearer, more centered person.

When I teach, the first thing I have to battle is the concept that meditation or Reiki practice will make life perfectly smooth. That there will be no more fear, anger, stress, or frustration. When in reality, they are tools to listen to the lessons and insights these feelings have to offer. Tools to help us feel compassionate and grateful more often than bitter and resentful. 

Reiki is not magic, but it does feel like it sometimes.

n Reiki practice, there is a ritual called Reiju, also called attunement. It's a spiritual offering from the Reiki teacher to the student. Although each time you receive a Reiju, it feels different, you often experience a great feeling of love and being home—total oxytocin high.
So when my teacher used me as a guinea pig for a 20-minute long Reiju at a retreat recently, I was ecstatic. And the first few minutes where that: a deep feeling of connection, love, and total wellbeing. But then… things shifted. Fears started popping right and left. I felt shame—what would my teacher think of me being afraid of sharing the Reiju space with him? I felt guilt—why can't I enjoy this? But there was also a part of me just witnessing all of this happening. A part that whispered,  just allow your feelings to exist. And there I sat, completely exposed and vulnerable, and it felt great. Not the "high-as-kite-kind-of-great" I was expecting. It was a deeper sense of great: one that came from being seen 100% and loved anyway.
The other day a friend complained about not been seen. This made me think. To be seen we need people who accept us entirely, but we also need to do our part. We need to be brave and vulnerable enough to show everything we are.

The other day, while I was offering a session to a client, an image came into my mind of all the people who would benefit from this woman’s return to health. Of how much kindness, love, and support, she would spread in the future.

I started applying that to my own sittings: feeling the connection with everyone and how my well-being was also their well-being. It made my practice so much richer. 

Often, when we practice meditation or an energy healing modality, we focus on our problems, on what needs to change or improve. We hold this so tight in our awareness that releasing it becomes a Herculean (if not impossible) task. We get frustrated, and may even leave our practice aside for lack of results.

Or we may feel selfish for investing time to work on ourselves instead of helping others or doing what society labels as productive. We forget that “if we don’t have tea, we can’t offer tea.”

So, for once, let’s focus on that tiny seed of joy we all carry inside—yes, it’s there, even if it may take us some time to find it. Let’s feed its growth with the warmth of our attention, allowing it to spread throughout our whole body and overflow into our surroundings, touching the lives of our loved ones and everyone with whom we come in contact.

How would that transform your practice? What ripple effect can you envision? I would love to hear about your experience.

Love and light,

Nathalie

My team at the uni. We loved taking pics in black and white because it felt more artsy ;-)

When I was in university, one of my teachers decided to make a deal with the whole class: he would not fail any of us as long as we did the assignments.

The class was on TV and cinema production. The fact that we could not fail didn't make us lazy or careless. On the contrary, it gave us the freedom to take risks and explore themes we would have never considered if we had to be concerned with grades. I remember writing absurd scripts, creating surreal backgrounds from scratch, and learning how to make TV blood (ketchup with grenadine). As a team, we came together without fights. We even figured out how to fake the explosion of a car. We had fun. We also made tons of mistakes, but we learned from them, and those lessons served us well for the rest of our lives.

However, every day of my life, I am a little afraid of failing: of saying the wrong things, giving a half-ass Reiki session, or running out of money when I am old. It's not just me—I see it all around me, constant worry. People are afraid of losing their jobs, of not being good enough, of not being loved.

What if we could do the same in life that my teacher did in class: permit ourselves never to fail. Take the pressure off every decision we make. Understand that if we quit our job, there will always be another one. If we had a fight, we could always reach out. That even if we become who we always wanted to be only for a minute, the rest of our life is not a failure—it's just what we needed to get to those glorious 60 seconds.

A difficult task, and one I am working hard on by meditating and doing healing sessions—but most importantly, by reminding myself constantly that life is an exploration, an adventure, and I can't fail at it. That success is what I define.