The Palm Reading
Buddha Closed for Restoration.
As I turn my attention to the past, I find not a continuity or a flowing pattern, but a series of vivid experiences and people. Some memories are short, but significant and prominent, like the time I had a palm reading in Thailand.
In 1979 I was waiting to begin my Zen practice in Japan. In a detour, I accompanied a friend to Thailand and Nepal on the way to Japan. While in Bankok, we went to the floating market in the morning, and in the afternoon I went to visit the famous reclining Buddha, Wat Phra Chetuphon Wimon Mangkhalaram Rajwaramahawihan. The statue, 46 meters long, portrays the final breath of Buddha Shakyamuni. I was pretty excited to visit this temple, which is renowned for its Buddha statues. I passed through the ornate gate, and found a large sign: “BUDDHA CLOSED FOR RESTORATION.”
At first I couldn’t believe it. How could Buddha be closed for restoration? To my left was the Buddha, enclosed by a building that had been constructed to protect the statue during restoration. Inside were many craftsmen. It looked like they were carefully removing all of the paint and refinishing the surface of the statue.
I looked to the right and saw a monk sitting behind a table with a sign that read “Palm Reading” in both Thai and English. A Thai woman came up to him, gave him 50 bhat and sat down with her hands holding the sky. After she finished, I went up to him and asked if he could read my palms.
He said, “First we must discuss the price.”
I said, “I know the price. It is 50 bhat.”
He said, “No, for you it is 100 bhat. 50 bhat for the reading, and 50 bhat for the English.”
I let him examine my hands.
The first thing he said is: “You do not belong in any county, so you are equally comfortable in any country. Japan would be best for your health and digestion.”
The last thing he said: “In your life you must heal people with your hands. It can be any school of healing, but your life will not go as it should unless you heal people with your hands.”
His first comments hit home in a big way. In the Peace Corps I spoke Marathi like a native and with my black hair, dark eyes, and emaciated torso, I was often taken to be a native. In college I studied many languages. My theory was that real freedom was having choice about how experience is described, objects named, and stories remembered. I thought that if I had a choice of describing anything I experience in different languages, this would free me of deep mental patterns. So what this soothsayer said resonated deeply and I was then ready to find any reason to believe anything else he said.
Learning to heal with hands.
In late 1981, when I returned from Japan, I went down to the Rolf Institute to find out what I needed to do to learn Rolfing. This was the bodywork school with the best reputation for healing in Boulder. Many of my friends were theater people and thought highly of it. They were especially attached to Emmett Hutchins and Peter Melchior, Ida Rolf’s first certified teachers. I began my study with them when they established their own institution, the Guild for Structural Integration.
In those days, it took three years of study to be certified. In the beginning, one had to fulfill a prerequisite of 500 hours experience as a professional massage therapist, and at the end one had to write a thesis researching some unexplored aspect of the work.
Because of the fortune teller in Thailand, I embarked on a life change. Structural integration is not something one learns and then goes out and practices, but a life-long learning. I’ve learned more in the last few years than I did in the first 30 years. This is largely due to what I’ve learned from my daughter, Daphne Jean. She is the best touch therapist/healer anywhere on earth.