I woke up this morning to half eaten dreams and a quickly fading memory. Pulling it back, the remnants drifted away like some sort of wisped cheese string, coming apart and spiraling out of my hands into the unknown. All I could see was the small shop I had been in and the Asian man with glasses trying to show me something from the glass case. I got out of bed and waited, energetic receptors as wide as I could make them, until a nudge to sit and journal arrived. Half a page in, the script turned to Tibetan, notes and concepts moving too fast for my hand. “Okay” he said, sitting back on his pillow throne, suddenly projecting out and above my third eye. “Okay…?” I replied, knowing this was the only answer Teacher accepted. Pointing to a hidden book, I pulled down his recommended Lobsang Dolma Khangkar’s Lectures on Tibetan Medicine and found myself in a lesson about massage, not of the body but of the blood and vital energies. On...
clinic work, unfolded