Ouch!

Massage. It sounds so friendly. And I had been told about a wonderful massage therapist in P-Town. So I went.

Massage. It touches you where the accumulated tensions reside. And I think you may have heard my groans as far away as the mainland. The masseur was strong and merciless. He was there to help me no matter how much it hurt. I think he may have detached the muscles from my ribcage.

And he laughed. It was not unkind laughter, but it stung anyway. He laughed as he told me, over and over, to "let go." And I couldn't. He would leave my leg up and wait for it to fall, tapping it to prompt me to let it go. But an entire childhood of being a good boy had taught my body to "stay" instead of to "be." And that really hurt. He got some satisfying results from my legs and lower back, but was confounded by my shoulders.

"Why are you wearing your shoulders as earrings?" he wondered.
(pause)
"Because I'm a cheap bastard!"
"Not a bad comeback."
"Yeah, but it took me awhile!"

As our hour ended he gave me advice about continuing the quest for letting the tension, the rage, the sorrow and hurt to flow freely from my body. 50 years worth. I have work to do.