Good Will - A Spiritual Story
I love the idea of good will. It’s like a Christmas story where a child shouts that he wishes good will upon mankind. It musters up warm, fuzzy feelings of charitable efforts and community spirit.
Sometimes we can get it wrong though, while at other times it’s quite fabulous.
I currently live on Maui, and a while ago I was working out at a local gym quite regularly. Occasionally I would walk into complimentary pizza or bagels. This was way more exciting for me (I’m such a foodie) than any workout I was stepping into.
One day I was aware of a scruffy homeless looking guy lurking outside the gym. He looked defeated and I felt bad tucking into my bagel, while he may have been hungry. I took a second bagel and handed it to him outside, wishing him well. He refused the bagel, stared at me, while flashing me his gym membership card, and let me know he could step inside and get his own bagel. Oops - my goodwill moment completely backfired and the harp music in my head stopped still.
I definitely got that wrong!
Many years ago, while living near Santa Barbara, in Southern California, I had a couple of affiliations with Alzheimer’s residences and care homes. They knew about the work I did, and would invite me in often to give talks, or help their staff with inspiration and occasionally work with a difficult or stuck patient.
One day the phone rang and my mum had a very pleasant conversation with one of the residence managers. She was at her wits end. They had a patient who for several months had been almost impossible for all of them. Her hands were tied in cotton gloves so that she could no longer scratch and smack the care workers, and she was mute. She came from Switzerland and didn’t speak any English. They couldn’t reach her and she was almost violent in any non verbal communication she had with the residence staff.
The manager had seen my work and knew I was European, and felt I may be able to help in some way.
We set appointment time and my mother had offered to come with me if this woman was that violent, because it would help to have someone else in the room if need be. This was all agreed upon and the day came. Off we drove, slightly nervous, with a bag filled with delicious aromatherapy lotions for sedating and calming.
We walked into the familiar residence waving hello to some of the beautiful golden hearted people who worked there. The manager showed us immediately to the room, where the Swiss woman was lying stiff as a board, eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling, in her cotton gloves.
My mum went and sat in the far corner beside the window, to observe and hold space for me to provide a session, and the care worker stood nervously, by the wall, waiting to pounce if need be. The room was so tense, you could hear a pin drop.
I began by holding the woman’s gloved hand in mine and spoke to her, telling her that I was going to rub lovely creams in her feet first and then I would remove the gloves and work on her hands, and then I would sit behind her head and gently bring focus to her head.
She stared at the ceiling without a flinch.
I went to her feet and spoke gently while I worked, letting her know it was an honor to work with her, and that she was a gift to me that day. I kept working and she didn’t move, except her eyes closed and her breathing grew long and deep. She wasn’t asleep and yet she was in a different place. Her spirit spoke to me, letting me know it had been tough to lose everyone and to be in a foreign land with strangers. She had nowhere to place anything familiar anymore. She shared how sad that had been for her. I let her know telepathically that I heard her and could feel her challenges. I also let her know that there were less years ahead for her than the many behind her. We had such a friendly exchange, that I felt it was time to move to her hands.
The carer looked ready to spring into action any minute.
I slowly and gently undid her gloves, speaking aloud softly to her the whole time. Her eyes opened and she stared at me. She looked at me curiously without a word.
I worked softly on her hands, with loving circular motions and lotions. A sweetness fell onto the room. I looked at my mum, as my temperature gage, and she smiled and nodded at me. I knew I was on track.
The room was so filled with grace, other carers kept poking their head around the door to see what was going on. A couple of them gave me the thumbs up and smiled broadly at my mum.
I kept speaking softly while I worked on her hands and then sat behind her, cradling her while I worked lotions and soft words as I massaged her head, behind her ears and her neck.
When I was done, I carefully wrapped her hands and the carer prepared her into her wheelchair, to take her to dinner in the communal dining room. As he placed her in the chair she looked at me and smiled. She held out her hand to find mine, and squeezed it tight. Tears sprang to my eyes, and my mum was standing beside me, with big tears in hers. The woman said in clear English, “thank you.”
As she left she looked over her shoulder,
smiled and mouthed “thank you.”
I felt we had witnessed a moment of good will to her and good will returned to us.
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Love & Blessings,
Ruth
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