I want to say something, have been feeling an urge to do so for a while. I used to want to make a difference, what happened? Maybe one time I did, maybe on occasion I still do? My client last week, he brought me to tears. I no longer cry easily, I used to. In the days when feeling the pain was the order of the day - after day. I still believe in primal pain and working through it, I just tired of convincing others to do so. I still believe in life being a dream, a projection more often then not. I believe in transference and working with what we project on others.

I am tired already of the tirades on comment threads on-line, no matter how progressive and supposedly conscious the readership might be. Reading these threads on the Huffington Post or the local on-line news leave me afraid that we never progressed from ancient lion pits and public beheadings, - featherings and - stonings.

But back to my client who managed several breakthroughs in one session and then 'blamed' me, well, expressed his appreciation of our work together in such a manner as to make me cry. No I don't blame him for my tears, it is a thing of beauty to touch each other where it counts, on the inside.

I used to want to make a difference, these days though I feel invisible, except for the occasional moment, the rare person, the meeting of minds and hearts - and bodies (after all I am a bodyworker, a therapeutic massage therapist.) In these moments we see each other, we cherish each other as we have dropped our pretenses, our masks, our personas, but opened our eyes, our hearts and our understanding to one another. In the therapeutic realtionship I would expect this opening to go one way only, but on occasion the curtains part to shine a light on both parties. Striped of our camuflages, our dressed up state society requires, our naked beings emerge vulnerable and undefended and beautiful on their own terms. Sometimes that in itself is almost enough. When is enough ever enough?

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