17/8/2017 – Massaging Their Ills Away - Revised.

 

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                                         Awi is getting his leg massage - Pulau Duyong.

17/8/2017 – Massaging Their Ills Away

Taking a journey of music, love, and meditation through Enigma—an escape into the realm of spiritual sound, vibration, and healing. A space of emotional comfort, of peace. I was listening to The Greatest Hits of Enigma on YouTube, a kind of therapy of its own. But now the music has stopped—likely due to a network glitch. It happens often on this server. Still, perhaps it is appropriate. Perhaps the silence was meant to happen, to allow this entry its space.

I’ve just returned after giving three men a back massage—two were my regular friends at the fisherman’s jetty, and the third was my cousin who recently underwent bypass surgery. I try to massage him once a week ever since he came out of the hospital. It’s my small way of offering Amal Jariah—a continuing act of charity in service of Allah.

                         Awi is Getting his leg massaged -Yellow House, Pulau Duyong

And, as I often remind myself, I’ve taken the Bodhisattva vows. I cannot turn away from the suffering of others. If I can offer relief—if even just physical comfort—I must. It’s not much, but it is something. I am no expert masseuse, but over the years I’ve become more attuned. Massage, for me, has become an art form—a meditation. Every touch, every motion is done with awareness and breath. I untie their knots as I untangle my own. I learn their pain through my fingertips, and in doing so, I heal myself as much as them.

I close my eyes and become Zatoichi—the Blind Swordsman—working my muscles, quieting my mind. When I enter that single-minded focus, I am a musician fine-tuning an instrument, a mechanic aligning a car’s frame, a potter shaping clay. To me, this is also a study of the human form, not through the eyes but through feeling, love, and compassion.

                         The late Awi getting his leg massaged -Yellow House, Pulau Duyong.

Often, as I massage, I invoke the Divine names silently within: As-Salaam. Ar-Rahman. Ar-Rahim. These names aren’t just for the healing of the other, but also for my own protection. In the past, I’ve taken on the pain of others, unknowingly absorbing what I was trying to release from them. Many great teachers advise caution—to never attempt healing unless properly equipped—but this path found me long ago. And with time, I’ve learned the cost and responsibility of this work.

I believe our hands are merely instruments. If I said that the Divine works through mine, it may sound bold, even presumptuous—but it would not be entirely untrue. I would like to believe that there is truth in it. That some grace flows through the fingertips when the heart is silent, open, and sincere.

                                                     "I am Certified," he said.

Mea culpa. My fault.
Enigma.

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