The Practice Beneath the Practice

By Kelly Kempter

My bodywork practice synthesizing Shiatsu and Thai massage serves as a physical manifestation of a deeper spiritual practice. Both Thai massage and Shiatsu are rooted in Buddhist traditions, and I feel honored and enlivened to be a part of these pathways in the modern world. The principles of Insight Meditation offer guidance for my bodywork sessions, allowing a somatization of the path.

In my mat-based bodywork practice, I utilize a mapping of the body-mind-heart founded in Shiatsu and Five Element Theory and apply methods from both Shiatsu and Thai massage. I studied Thai massage twenty years ago at the beginning of my massage therapy training and fell in love with the approach; performing Thai massage on a clothed recipient on a floor mat feels like a beautiful duet of healing touch, a slow, meditative dance akin to Tai Chi. The choreography of it, if you will, awakens a sense of being fully embodied in the practice of touch.

Some years later, when I began studying Five Element Shiatsu as taught by Frances Farmer, I was able to connect with a foundational theory that makes my heart sing and reminds me of deeper truths. Utilizing presence, reverence, and full body engagement along with a growing understanding of Five Element Theory and being in tune with nature (with the seasons and tides in our bodies) the stage is set for healing--I’m all in. I am listening with my whole being to another person’s pain and honoring the life force within which is healthy and whole. Frances Farmer observes, “Your body has the inner wisdom to heal itself, and I am here to listen and learn.”

Both Thai massage and Shiatsu are mat-based therapies founded on a premise of oneness and that the giver is healed as much as the receiver. The therapist opens their senses to what is present and holds it in a loving light. Holding is the essence of what I do. I hold tissue with my body weight. I hold points with my fingers, knees, elbows, or toes. I hold words. I hold the pain of embodiment. I hold emotions, sensations, and thoughts. I stay with what arises, watch transformation occur, and remain curious. In the simplest way, I am listening, witnessing, feeling, and accepting while holding the physical form.

My spiritual journey is the foundation of this incarnation; it is the ground I stand on and guides all aspects of my life. For me, it is easy to see how it is the very bedrock of a practice that involves touch and healing. Although, I do not limit my spirituality to a single tradition; it is a living practice steeped in Insight Meditation. Also called Vipassana, Insight Meditation is one aspect of Theravada Buddhism, which is practiced in Thailand. The teachings urge us to sit in meditation, study the Dharma, move with awareness, cultivate Sangha, pay attention to the stillness, speak with kindness, walk in silence, and watch what arises. The idea is to honor whatever is present, inviting all of it in for a cup of tea—the old wounds, fear and grief, the harmonious heart, mundane plans, rehearsals spawned by anxiety, inner peace, re-playing of scenes laced with shame, the exalted states, and everything in between. Returning to this moment over and over again, in a spiraling dance of unfolding, we come closer and closer to home. When we sit with our resistance, its grip loosens, and we are brought back to wholeness.

Vipassana practice, Thai massage, and Shiatsu are all founded upon a cosmology of non-duality. They are based on the radical premise that there is nothing wrong, nothing to be fixed, that we are already healthy, vibrant, and whole--that our true nature is one of peaceful aliveness. We can only gain access to this wisdom in the present moment. Since the body is always in the present moment, it makes for an easy entry point into both healing and spiritual inquiry. Connected to our wholeness, we observe ties to the natural world; we begin to see that we are not separate from nature, but a manifestation of its elements. Awareness of sensations in our bodies brings us closer to our elemental nature and invites its own sort of healing.

My bodywork practice is a somatic exploration of Insight Meditation. In both practices, upon first glance, there is chaos. There are complaints. There is pain. There is dissatisfaction. When a client walks into the room, they give name to the details of their suffering. Similarly, when we sit down to meditate, our patterns of suffering become apparent. When we touch or are touched with care and attention, the resistance begins to melt. When we stay with sensations, mindfulness creates an opening in which suffering can transform. Over time, the consciousness of what is happening becomes larger and more powerful than the details of our pain. As my Thai massage teacher, Paul Fowler wrote, “In the Thai way of thinking, illness and disease are a natural part of life and although it recognizes that the body is out of balance when these things occur and need to be corrected, there is less tension around illness and disease because they recognize that these things are natural and impermanent.”

For me, both meditation sessions and bodywork sessions integrate a ritualistic start and finish. When a person walks through my door, utilizing Buddhist principles around compassion and sympathetic joy, I open myself to be a kind witness, one who accepts whatever is going on, hearing the details and honoring the suffering. Taking in the fullness of a human being, perhaps I am able to discern which elemental phases are speaking the loudest and what parts of a human are in need of nurturing. Moving over to the mat, the process of setting up the body of both giver and receiver in a relaxed alignment contributes to concentration and enhances energy flow through the system. This is true as well for tending to our posture when we sit in meditation. This pre-session care creates a sacred space and a kind of healing cocoon. With the first touch, I am reminded of my Vipassana teacher, Susan Weir’s words, “Let awareness do the heavy lifting.” I feel deeply into the very essence of a person, beyond the complaints that they walked in with, beyond their name and the person they experience themself to be. I too walk beyond myself as a massage therapist working on tissues. I open my awareness to our joined life force. I listen with an intimacy that unites two beings via a shared experience. There is nothing to do but be present while connecting with a solid, relaxed pressure. There is literally nothing that needs doing, fixing, changing, or even healing. Our wholeness and vibrancy is already present, it is the essence of us. With a courageous presence, when we are able to pull back from doing and engage in the art of non-doing, we connect with a force that is always in a state of balance. This is coming home.

Kelly Kempter is a licensed massage therapist specializing in Thai Massage and Shiatsu in her Kerrytown studio. She seeks to inspire balance in the community through the practice and teaching of bodywork. Visit her online at kaizenhealingarts.com.

Related Content:

Ann Arbor Healers: Staunch Stress, Seal Serenity

By Marie Noelle Duquette

I hurt my leg in mid-September while running with my dog, Nala. The air was cool, autumn-fresh, and Nala and I were enjoying our evening walk. I felt so strong that I broke into a light jog, without stretching. I am 61 and not a runner. 

About 50 yards into the run, I felt a pull behind my left knee. I slowed to a walk, thinking to myself, “There is no way that itty bitty burst of energy caused anything as serious as a sprain or heaven-forbid tear.” Still, my skin behind my knee was hot, the pain was real, and I quasi-limped home.

After wearing a brace on my knee for weeks, icing it daily, stretching it carefully, and getting an ultra-sound to rule out more serious causes, the pain behind my knee persisted. While researching therapies for leg injuries near Ann Arbor, I stumbled upon the Neurofitness Center website. Their website was convincing. I made an appointment to try everything they offered: Neurofeedback, the Salt Room, the Float Tank, and Cryotherapy.

My partner and I first went to Neurofitness to experience a Neurofeedback session and the Salt Room. Jack  Lark greeted us upon arrival. Knowledgeable and engaging, he would help us navigate the different therapeutic experiences. Neurofeedback, he explained, was a therapy in which he would attach a couple of electrodes to my ear lobes and one at my temple. Next, I would put on a comfortable pair of headphones—the kind with soft padding that cover one’s entire ears. Then I would sit in a comfy chair and listen to a recording of meditative music infused with nature sounds such as birdsong, steady rain, and wind rustling through trees. The recording was enchanting. It was easy to close my eyes and give my mind over to what I was hearing. Periodically, the music would skip, like a less-annoying skip of a record that self-corrects and lasts only a second. The ambient recording draws one’s auditory focus—the skips are triggered anytime one’s mind wanders beyond the music and birdsong. At first, the skips happened frequently. Soon, my focus on the audio became steadier and the skips were less frequent. The Neurofeedback session was like yearning to hear a beloved, melodic voice that is almost beyond one’s hearing. I stilled my body and leaned into the strings, rain sticks, flute, waterfall, and windchimes. By the time the session ended, I was ready to book a weekly session, my relaxation was so complete. Lark told me that Neurofeedback was a form of practicing mindfulness in a way that required less effort and more receptivity. As one who struggles with keeping my attention in the here and now, it succeeded beyond my hopes. 

If the Neurofeedback session was like yearning to hear a beloved, melodic voice the Salt Room was akin to sitting on a beach, inhaling fresh air. The Salt Room at Neurofitness is lit by infrared lights and is big enough for two people to sit in comfortably. The Himalayan salt is so deep on the floor that it looks like a remote beach of fine sand you can dig your toes into. Salt bricks are laid into the walls and a PVC pipe in the corner emits a burst of fine salt spray into the room every eleven seconds. Upon entering, I removed my shoes, pushed back in one of the zero-gravity chairs, and closed my eyes to focus on my breathing. I quickly fell into a meditative state and the half-hour session slipped away unnoticed.

The next day we returned to float. We had both enjoyed float tanks in the past and were familiar with the drill: enter the room, shower, enter the float tank, and either close the lid, if you are in the egg or turn out the lights if you are in the non-covered tank. Music plays if you are in the open tank, or you can float in absolute silence in the egg. In both tanks, you float in darkness that envelops you so completely that you cannot see the walls, the water, or your own wrist in front of your face. The complete lack of visual stimulation enhances one’s sense of touch so that the salt water, which holds you up without effort, feels like a cradle, the warm water giving a sense of being in a womb—a protected space created for your own nourishment and rest. A gentle recorded voice interrupts your reverie when the hour is drawing to an end. After floating, the colors and lights and sounds outside are more vivid and distinct. There is a newness to the world as if your very eyes have been cleansed—your senses reset. 

On Monday, I returned to Neurofitness for the scariest offering: Cryotherapy: standing, with minimal protective outerwear, in a sub-zero chamber for three minutes. Cryotherapy has been used for decades in Europe and Asia to promote athletic recovery. From the Neurofitness website, I read, “The use of liquid nitrogen in a safe and controlled environment provides a gentle but significant amount of cold exposure. The extreme cold stimulates the skin’s temperature receptors to activate the nervous, immune, and endocrine systems, leading to a reduction in inflammation and pain (hey athletes—this means quicker recovery!), elevating mood, and increasing energy. Clients often tell us they feel relief of symptoms including muscle soreness, arthritis, chronic pain, and inflammation.”

Lark, our guide at Neurofitness, was particularly helpful for my Cryotherapy session. He explained that the sub-zero temperatures would not feel quite as cold as I might expect, because it was a dry cold, not the wet cold that we know from Michigan winters. The Cryotherapy chamber looks a bit like a blue hexagon-shaped phone booth. The floor of the chamber is adjustable by adding soft, uniform pads that fit perfectly in the chamber’s footprint, so that no matter your height, your head is not enclosed in the chamber. Lark gave me special socks, shoes, gloves, and a robe and excused himself until I was ready. When he returned, he assured me that I was in control. Once in the chamber I could opt to remove the robe and at any time, or I could ask him to let me out. Still, he urged me to embrace the experience and try not to focus on how cold I felt. “That way, you’ll get the most out of doing it,” he said.

Once inside the chamber, I was not brave enough to drop my robe. The cold was not as sharp as I expected, but neither was it as comfortable as the other therapies had been. I endured the entire three minutes, trying to focus on the benefits. I emerged feeling like a victor. Immediately after Cryotherapy, I felt hungry, and then tired. As the evening wore on, and the new day dawned, I noticed that the pain in my leg was considerably subdued. I could still feel a dull ache where the sharp pain had been, but that continued to lessen in the days ahead. It has been two weeks since I braved the sub-zero Cryochamber and my leg has yet to hurt at the level of pain I endured before the experience. In fact, I’ve not worn my knee brace once since the big freeze. I’m going back for another session today, to continue the full healing of my leg, and to see if Cryotherapy will help heal two toes that I bruised badly yesterday when I wrapped them around a square, wooden chair leg. 

Neurofitness is an extremely clean facility. Lark is a helpful guide whose sense of optimism and wonder is infectious. The entire environment underscores that restorative healing and stress-relief is more than a nice occasional treat. It is something we need as much as medications, fresh food, and deep sleep. The therapies offered at Neurofitness act like boosters that enhance other healing practices. They helped me find a place beyond the trauma of life in which restoration of my body, mind, and spirit, is both inviting and efficient. 

In my first visit, I commented to Lark that I was pleased that Health Savings Account and Flexible Savings Account dollars offered by many insurance companies could be used for all their therapies. He said, “Of course! We are a health care center.” Indeed. 

Neurofitness is located at 6360 Jackson Road Suite A in Ann Arbor. To learn more or make an appointment, call (734) 206-2012 or visit them online at https://neurofitcenter.com.

Related Content: