Last month, I wrote about the healing I have been blessed to experience after an awful accident I had with one of my horses. I wrote:
I learned again that healing is all around us—in the voices of friends, in the sweet summer breeze, in the touch of my Elika’s soft fur, of her tongue on my face, in the sweet anticipation of being able to see and care for my beautiful horses again one day soon, of the healing visits from my healing partners, two-legged and four-legged, living and passed over.
This month, I want to share with you three of the visits from my four-legged healing partners.
Sunday, July 5 was a stressful, frightening day for me. For reasons I do not understand, although the hospital was full, there was only a skeleton staff because of the holiday. My bedding was never changed that day. No one would help me take my required walks in the hallway. Worse, I had to wait nearly three hours for pain medication and did not receive my other, scheduled, medication until the evening shift arrived. Most of my friends were out of town, so I received no phone calls that day. I was overwhelmed by feelings of abandonment (present as well a past) and actually became afraid for my life.
Late that night, with no interest in sleeping, I watched crummy TV, until I flipped the channel and happened upon the powerful teacher Joel Osteen. (You may know of his best seller Your Best Life Now.) It seems I have always happened on Mr. Osteen’s words exactly when I need them. This time was no different. He reminded me that while it is important to think positive thoughts in order to heal, that is not enough. While it is also important to give thanks for the healing you expect to manifest, that is not enough. You have to speak the thanks aloud.
So I pulled myself out of bed, grabbed my cane, and walked myself around the halls of the hospital—it was midnight by this time—quietly proclaiming thanks for my good health.
When I returned to my room, I called Elika, my canine companion. She came immediately (in spirit, of course) and laid her body across my chest, across my broken ribs, across my inflamed lung. She lay there all night. Every time I woke up—which was every 90 minutes or so—Elika was there, lying across my body, sending healing energy.
In the morning, I felt better than I had since I’d been readmitted to the hospital. When my doctor asked how I was doing, I insisted on being released. They had done all they could do. The care I needed was not in that institution but at home with Elika—who stayed pressed to my side for the next two weeks.
Reiki, which I gave myself as well as accepted from numerous friends and students, helped my healing to progress at an amazing rate. But one thing remained troubling: my eyesight.
A visit to the ophthalmologist revealed that I had swollen optic nerves, most likely as a result of the blow to my head during the accident. (A reminder, I was not on my horse or preparing to get on my horse at the time of the accident, which is why I was not wearing a helmet.) The ophthalmologist said that the next step was a consult with a neurologist and then a spinal tap. Spinal tap? Why even bother with a consult if the next step was a given? I had no headaches that would indicate pressure on the brain, no blind spots. I vigorously declined.
Instead, I embraced the services of an acupuncturist recommended by my physician. At the end of my five sessions with her, my eyesight was just about where it had been before the accident. But what I want to share with you is what happened during the second session.
I had the session in a recliner rather than on a table; the table session the week before had been very uncomfortable because of my five broken ribs. As you can imagine, I wasn’t sleeping at night very well either. But that day, I quickly fell into a sweet twilight sleep. As I did, my beloved friend Nikos (the bay thoroughbred who was my healing partner in life and who has continued to be my partner since his passing) came into the room, stood on my left and placed his nose just below my ribcage. The healing energy coursing through me was immediate and powerful. I thanked him for coming.
After a few minutes—and this is going to sound very odd—I saw my brain. There was nothing bloody or upsetting about it. I just saw my brain, suspended at eye level, about five feet away. It was still in my skull, but one side had been peeled down. I said aloud, “My poor brain.” For weeks, I had been concentrating my Reiki and my prayers on my broken ribs, my eyes, and the painful surgical site from the splenectomy. But what about my poor brain, which had been sloshed around in my skull when my head hit the wall?
I thanked Nikos for bringing this to my attention, and while he continued to send healing to my center, I sent Reiki to my brain. I had never even thought about my brain before. But ever since that session, I have felt a sweet connection to it, like an old friend.
I am certain that the healing that occurred that afternoon pushed my recovery forward by leaps and bounds. My energy increased. I felt more joy, more peace. I could see more clearly, both literally and figuratively.
Several weeks later I hired a former student of mine, Chris, who is now a Level III Reiki practitioner, a powerful healer, to do three Reiki sessions with me across distance. I felt I had reached a plateau, and I wanted to add momentum to the healing process, both physical and emotional.
The three sessions took place in the space of one week. Chris told me that during the second session (again the second session), Nikos arrived to assist her. I asked how she knew it was Nikos. She had never met him when he was living. She said she just knew. A bay thoroughbred came into the room (not physically, of course), and she heard the name Nikos.
He told her that he was my protector, and he stood on the left side of me and placed his nose on my center—exactly as he had done in the acupuncturist’s office.
Chris said that the flow and intensity of the Reiki increased dramatically. She thanked him for his assistance.
And as I had wanted, I got over that healing plateau.
I have no conclusion to reach here, no lesson. I just wanted to share these amazing experiences with you. Thank you Elika. Thank you Nikos. And thank you Fuersti and Tara, my two living horses, who did not visit me the way the others did, but whose love and care I felt every day.
Until next month . . .
*This column originally appeared in From the Horse’s Mouth in October, 2009.
© 2009 by Pamela Sourelis