「Scar
I’m curious to know whether an old vaccination scar has anything to do with the wincing gesture of my left arm. I’ve asked my Rolfing colleague, Hiroyoshi Tahata, to help me investigate. Hiro’s work is exceedingly subtle. His touch is light and brief—fleeting, like the strum of a guitar in a distant room. His presence conveys the essence of safety. He barely touches the dime-sized mark on the back of my arm. I must have been given that shot when I was one or two, more than seven decades ago. For a beat or two, I fold down inside myself, then erupt in fury. I’m very, very young. In a flash, I remember the doctor’s red hair, his pink face and glasses, and his breath on my cheek. He always wore a bowtie. I want to kick my feet and beat my arms. There are no words for this, but inwardly I hear myself screaming with bloody rage. I feel the hot impotence of my infancy. What if caregivers knew about peripersonal space, knew that a piercing—of voice, of eye, or needle—could dent the space around and within a child’s (or anyone’s) body, and in so doing affect the body’s organization for a lifetime? Standing up from the treatment table, I’m aware of an unusual expansiveness in my upper back. Instead of feeling fragile between my shoulder blades, I sense that that area of my spine can support my heart. I could now, if I wanted to, push Dr. Beaux right out the door. It’s a powerful feeling. How could such a light touch have such a transformative effect, I wonder. But then I remember that up to 90 percent of the sensory nerve endings in fascia are located right beneath the skin.」
—『Your Body Mandala: Posture as a Path to Presence』Mary Bond著
https://a.co/0cFTn1w
