Behind a Closed Door

"The art of medicine consists of amusing the patient while Nature cures the illness."  Voltaire   

Curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back again, as the saying goes. A shut door is a clear message: Do not enter or enter at your own risk! Closed doors in my family home were rare; as children, we had complete freedom to explore every nook and cranny in the house.

But when Grandfather—we called him Poppy—visited he shut the bedroom door! Now that’s unusual, I thought. A shut door inside our home, I never even knew that our bedroom doors could close. I thought the doorknobs were just meant for hanging stuff on. How strange to see a closed-door donning an undressed doorknob. Does the knob really turn? Whatever could be going on behind that door? I was so curious! What was he doing that I couldn’t be a part of? It had to be something very special, and something very secretive because it was something so out of the ordinary. I figured this was a good time as any to explore a new relationship with the doorknob. So, as quiet as a mouse, and as curious as a cat, I slowly reached for that knob—my anticipation was very high—and after what seemed like forever, my hand finally made contact. My whole world changed with the turning of a knob: I was officially transported into the world of secrets.

I knew it the moment I peeked through the crack of the door and saw him, Poppy. He sat on a stool, eyes closed, rubbing two palm-sized stones between his hands in front of his chest, while he mumbled something to himself. He wore a white, long-sleeve shirt, unbuttoned at the sleeves and loose around his neck, and grey tailored dress pants —which he probably made; he was a tailor—without a belt, no shoes. He looked like a holy man on his stool in front of a window with the sunlight streaming in behind him. He looked like someone that I wanted to meet, someone other than the Poppy I thought I knew. To my surprise, he opened his eyes and stared directly at me with a penetrating gaze. I was caught. I froze. Like a cat caught with a mouse, I didn’t dare move a muscle. He gestured to me with his outstretched hand to come inside. With a sense of relief, I relaxed. There was no need for alarm. The closed-door was not a porthole to doomsday.

Poppy’s silent presence seemed larger than life, and his open hand gesture as inviting as a summer day. Of course, I obliged. I opened the door and the sunlight that streamed through the window now filled the room illuminating him and blinding me. I was just initiated into his private world of sacred healing.

I wish I could say that I was gifted my Poppy’s healing prayer stones, the same ones that he used to ease the pain in his arthritic hands every day. I wish I could say that I use those stones on my clients in their massage sessions. But those stones disappeared long ago with my Poppy. Perhaps they were buried with him. I’d like to think that they were both returned to the earth together. Though they’re both gone, their healing spirit lives on in my practice.

Rocks have been around since the creation of our planet 4.6 billion years ago, some rocks were much older than others. They hold the story of creation in their physical and energetic composition and have been used in healing practices for thousands of years. You can find them in saunas, sweat lodges, and steam baths; whether it’s for healing diseases or relieving pain, warm stones comfort and ground people. A client of mine, a professor of anthropology, once said, “your warm stones feel human,” a true testament to their living qualities.

My personal collection is expansive, including stones of all different shapes, sizes, and textures, each with a unique origin. While I was studying phenomenal touch massage with Leslie Bruder, she showed me her awe-inspiring stone collections. Many of my stones, I purchased from her. My favorite is the large red quartzite stones, some of them bigger than my hand, which she gathered from the Colorado River. The most commonly used are the smooth basalt stones, some are from Vancouver Island’s west coast; other black ocean basalt stones, gathered by Leslie, are from the Baha, Mexico. I store white marble stones from Egyptian limestone quarries in the freezer and use them for cool packs. I have large slate stones and small tiny weeny smooth basalt stones that I like to place between the toes of my clients to keep them warm. I have heart stones, gemstones, moonstones, curved stones, and pointed stones. My massage studio is loaded with them. My Poppy would be proud!

Using hot stones for therapy is ancient. When studying hot stone massage in Colorado many years ago with Leslie Bruder, I appreciated her extensive research on the ancient uses of healing stones. In her course handbook, Hot Stone Massage: a three-dimensional approach, she writes that there are “records from Japan and China describing using pointed stones, rather than needles, to stimulate meridians and acupuncture points (known as tsubo). The heated stones penetrate blockages and stimulate the flow of chi and blood flow.” She wrote about the central role that healing stones play in Native American healing rituals, citing in her course handbook a testimony from a medicine man from the Yaqui Indigenous tribe who “refers to stones as people,” similar to my client’s experience with the stones. The medicine man’s testimonial states, “that the creator gave stones to us as tools for healing”: “Tribe members would pass stones around from person to person to hold or rub them on specific parts of their body for healing. They would use stones to heat and steep herbs for healing illnesses.” Sioux Indian Chief, Crazy Horse “did a vision quest on a bed of stones.” He concludes, “Native Americans have been using stones for healing for thousands of years and yet make no claim for having discovered their healing properties. They simply accept and respect them as a gift from Wankantonks, the great mystery.” Bruder writes about Costa Rican and Hawaiian lava stones, which were heated by the sun and used during childbirth; women were instructed to lie on warm stones to relieve lower back pain and stimulate labor.

Leslie collected the majority of my stones when she worked as a river guide. I purchased a set of about thirty-five stones from her awesome collection, packed them in a suitcase, and hauled them back to Vancouver; I baptized them in the Lynn Canyon headwater in North Vancouver. That was about ten years ago. The stones have worked by my side, helping me to take care of my clients, for many years; and we’ll continue to welcome clients for many years to come.

This short story is to honor the stones, mother earth, my teacher, Leslie Bruder, and my clients, and our many shared healing journeys and sessions over the years. And to honor my Poppy, who from behind a closed door opened my eyes to the expansive and wonderful world of the healing arts. What’s behind a closed door still holds mystery, intrigue, and magic for me; the only closed-door you’ll find in my home today is the one that leads to my sacred healing work studio.