| Spiritual Non-Fiction posted June 16, 2020 |
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Birthing and Dying Experiences in a Warm Water Pool
My first Watsu with Cynthia
by Aaron Milavec
My first Watsu Experience
In the warm waiting room, I change into my bathing suit. Cynthia then takes ten minutes to describe the variety of experiences her clients have had during their hour-long Watsu sessions. These include reliving birthing experiences, the fantasy of being a dolphin, and imaginary visitations to unknown planets. I take notice that Cynthia doesn’t ask me what benefits I anticipate from my forthcoming Watsu session. Had she done so, I wouldn't have had the slightest hint of what was going to happen to me. All I could say was that "I very much doubt that I will visit unknown planets."
Since it origins in 1980, Watsu has rapidly expanded as a form of palliative therapy in forty countries. Cynthia emphasizes for me that Watsu is a form of body therapy performed in warm water that is near our normal body temperature. She adds that Watsu combines elements of massage, joint mobilization, shiatsu, muscle stretching and dance. "You will have the experience of being totally supported by the water as your body is being gently cradled, rocked and stretched."
We then enter the dimly lit enclosure that surrounds a backyard pool sixteen feet in diameter and five feet deep. The warm, moist air and the warmed water make it possible to step down into the water without any temperature shock. Cynthia attaches small plastic floaters to each of my calves. She draws my attention to the hum of the circulating pumps and the yellow electronic readout panel that displays the number 94 as the water temperature in degrees Fahrenheit.
As we begin, Cynthia holds my face and shoulder just above the water using a sort of half-hug with me facing away from her. The floaters on my ankles allow my body to stretch out and to be suspended just below the surface of the water. Then the various gentle movements begin. . . .
Initially I relish relaxing as the soothing warm water surrounds my motionless body. Cynthia invites me to breathe in through my nose and breathe out through my mouth. She invites vocalizations; hence, I begin making small audio sounds whenever I am expelling air from my lungs.
Very quickly the sensation of weightlessness sets in as Cynthia begins to move my body slowly and effortlessly through the water. I surrender myself to the buoyancy of the water and to Cynthia’s gentle motions. At first, I imagine that I am experiencing the weightlessness of being in outer space. Then, quite spontaneously I imagine that I am a kite that is being born up by a gentle wind. Three weeks ago I witnessed a marvelous twenty-foot kite shaped like a scuba diver who surrendered to wind currents as it was held aloft. I imagine that I am now that scuba diver being caressed by the wind (although, in fact, it is Cynthia and the buoyancy of the water that guides my bodily motions). This imagined surrendering to "the wind currents" brings me a great emotional peace.
After enjoying this for about ten minutes, I decide to clear my mind and to again focus on my breathing. After a half-dozen deep breaths, I spontaneously imagine that I am a fetus swimming in the embryonic fluid in my mother’s womb. At this point, Cynthia released my shoulder and cradles my head in her hands. I interpret this as my mother's hand reaching into her womb and shaping my head. She shapes the bone and tissue to give me my distinctive eyes, cheeks, ears, hairline. She gently stretches my body out giving me, even as a fetus, the slender build and height (6' 3") that I will later have as an adult. This process continues for about ten minutes and, throughout, I feel surrounded by the nurturing love of my mother in her activity of forming me in her womb.
My Mother Speaks to Me
Then my mother speaks to me. I am in a day-dreaming state that does not allow me to differentiate between words being heard and words being imagined. In any case, I repeat slowly in a clear voice the "words" coming from my mother: "I am forming you in my womb. . . . You are marvelously made. . . . I love you with an everlasting love."
Then critical faculties in my left-brain slowly come into play. I recognize that, when growing in my mother's womb, I would have had no notion of language and no ability to understand words. I also reflect that Emma, my actual mother, didn’t have the powers to do those things that her words implied. Then, it spontaneously occurs to me that the Supreme Cosmic Mother could very much say and do these things with my mother’s assistance. It further occurs to me that this process of my formation did not begin in my mother’s womb but that it began 13.8 billion years ago with the Big Bang. This was the period when the Supreme Cosmic Mother collected the primeval plasma into the mega-stars of the first billion years. These hot-blue giants fashioned every atom in my body and distributed them in outer space at the time when these giants gave rise to supernova explosions (as shown in the pic). At this point, I taste the harmonious sweetness of my cosmic reflections, and I relish the mysterious truth within my Mother's/mother's words: "You are marvelously made."
Then, returning to my train of spontaneous day-dreaming, I find myself recalling how I, as a teenager, wanted a stronger, huskier body. I feel the pain of that period in my life and cry a few tears as I realize the folly of this longing. Everything in my body was made just right for the man that I was to become. I could not become the adult me without these long bones and my slim muscular structure. Even my bumps and scars have their untold mysterious purposes. . . .
Then I again feel the urge to enjoy the words of my Supreme Cosmic Mother: "I am forming you in my womb. . . . You are marvelously made. . . . I love you with an everlasting love." This time I say them out loud in a slow deliberate voice. I do this two times. Emotionally I am filled with the quiet joy that these momentous words bring into being.
Then it occurs to me that it would be beneficial to hear these words being spoken to me, so I ask Cynthia to repeat some or all of these words so that I can hear them. She chooses, "I love you with an everlasting love." She repeats this three times. The sound is muffled and slightly distorted because my ears are below the water line.
Tears well up in my eyes. My mother died when I was only eight and my father, for the next fifty years, never had the slightest impulse to say such words to me. It makes no difference! At this moment, I feel that I am completely at home in my skin and that the Supreme Cosmic Mother whispers these words over and over to me with each slow breath that I take. I feel a sense of peace in the power of these words and thrust that they will accompany my every breath down to my final breath.
At this point, Cynthia gathers up my body and holds me in a fetal position close to her chest. I instantly feel that I'm in the arms of my mother holding me as a babe. This gesture says it all. No words need be said or repeated. A silent bliss floods over me and, overcome with gratitude, I kiss my "mother" gently twice on the side of her neck. . . .
Cynthia interrupts my fantasy at this juncture and says to me, "I do have some boundaries. . . . One of them is that there is to be no kissing."
I am shocked by Cynthia’s misunderstanding. I respond by saying quite calmly, "I was kissing my mother." This seemed to suffice, so I said nothing more. . . .
Then I try to recover the stream of thought that Cynthia interrupted. It never comes back to me. It is like the pleasant night dream that is interrupted by alarm clock in the morning. If I try, I can sometimes catch the tail of a dream, coax it toward me, and reenter it. At other times, like now, it eludes me entirely. However, I do remember the striking words of my Supreme Cosmic Mother, and I mentally repeat them and tell myself that I want to remember these words when I awake. I do this due to my earlier training in dream recall.
My Experience of Dying
The final fifteen minutes were taken up with Cynthia giving me a signal (two taps on my shoulder) to take a deep breath because she was getting ready to submerge my face. I feel an initial panic at this. I am afraid that Cynthia will not be able to judge when to bring my face above the surface so that I can take my next breath. But this panic subsides when I discover that the time of submersion is only four or five seconds. I am amazed that, when my face breaks the surface, I am able to take my next breath unhurriedly and naturally--as though my breathing had never been interrupted.
Gradually Cynthia increases the length of time of my submersions, and she twists and turns my body during the interval when I am fully submerged. This causes me no alarm whatsoever. In fact, I am amazed that I am able to stay immersed without breathing for thirty or forty seconds without any panic or any gasping for breath when my face breaks the surface.
At this point, I imagine that I am dying. The spaces of non-breathing now appear to me as the natural situation of someone whose body is giving out. I remember this as being the way my father died. He was asleep or in a coma at the time. He would take a few slow breaths and then stop breathing. After a pause of five seconds, he would then take another series of unhurried breaths before he stopped breathing again. The breathing after the pauses was seemingly without effort and without panic. Very gradually, over a period of a half-hour, the pauses between the times of breathing became longer and longer, until, at one point, the pause becomes interminable. At that moment, my father was dead.
So, with th
ese thoughts in my mind, I fantasize that Cynthia is the Angel of Death who has come to initiate me into the final stage of dying. The "Angel of Death" is the serene and beautiful naked woman with wings whose life-size image stands in the Italian cemetery that I visited ten years ago. I have a picture of this Angel (as shown here) on the wall in my bedroom. Hence, I have no difficulty imagining Cynthia as my Angel of Death. Likewise, the rhythms of breathing and the non-breathing were an effortless and natural imitation of the way that my father died. The lengthening of the pauses between the times of breathing was equally natural and unrushed. "So this is what it is like to die," I say to myself. So easy, so compelling, and so comforting, since everything is guided by the presence of such a beautiful Angel.
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My first Watsu Experience
In the warm waiting room, I change into my bathing suit. Cynthia then takes ten minutes to describe the variety of experiences her clients have had during their hour-long Watsu sessions. These include reliving birthing experiences, the fantasy of being a dolphin, and imaginary visitations to unknown planets. I take notice that Cynthia doesn’t ask me what benefits I anticipate from my forthcoming Watsu session. Had she done so, I wouldn't have had the slightest hint of what was going to happen to me. All I could say was that "I very much doubt that I will visit unknown planets."
Since it origins in 1980, Watsu has rapidly expanded as a form of palliative therapy in forty countries. Cynthia emphasizes for me that Watsu is a form of body therapy performed in warm water that is near our normal body temperature. She adds that Watsu combines elements of massage, joint mobilization, shiatsu, muscle stretching and dance. "You will have the experience of being totally supported by the water as your body is being gently cradled, rocked and stretched."
We then enter the dimly lit enclosure that surrounds a backyard pool sixteen feet in diameter and five feet deep. The warm, moist air and the warmed water make it possible to step down into the water without any temperature shock. Cynthia attaches small plastic floaters to each of my calves. She draws my attention to the hum of the circulating pumps and the yellow electronic readout panel that displays the number 94 as the water temperature in degrees Fahrenheit.
As we begin, Cynthia holds my face and shoulder just above the water using a sort of half-hug with me facing away from her. The floaters on my ankles allow my body to stretch out and to be suspended just below the surface of the water. Then the various gentle movements begin. . . .
Initially I relish relaxing as the soothing warm water surrounds my motionless body. Cynthia invites me to breathe in through my nose and breathe out through my mouth. She invites vocalizations; hence, I begin making small audio sounds whenever I am expelling air from my lungs.
Very quickly the sensation of weightlessness sets in as Cynthia begins to move my body slowly and effortlessly through the water. I surrender myself to the buoyancy of the water and to Cynthia’s gentle motions. At first, I imagine that I am experiencing the weightlessness of being in outer space. Then, quite spontaneously I imagine that I am a kite that is being born up by a gentle wind. Three weeks ago I witnessed a marvelous twenty-foot kite shaped like a scuba diver who surrendered to wind currents as it was held aloft. I imagine that I am now that scuba diver being caressed by the wind (although, in fact, it is Cynthia and the buoyancy of the water that guides my bodily motions). This imagined surrendering to "the wind currents" brings me a great emotional peace.
After enjoying this for about ten minutes, I decide to clear my mind and to again focus on my breathing. After a half-dozen deep breaths, I spontaneously imagine that I am a fetus swimming in the embryonic fluid in my mother’s womb. At this point, Cynthia released my shoulder and cradles my head in her hands. I interpret this as my mother's hand reaching into her womb and shaping my head. She shapes the bone and tissue to give me my distinctive eyes, cheeks, ears, hairline. She gently stretches my body out giving me, even as a fetus, the slender build and height (6' 3") that I will later have as an adult. This process continues for about ten minutes and, throughout, I feel surrounded by the nurturing love of my mother in her activity of forming me in her womb.
Since it origins in 1980, Watsu has rapidly expanded as a form of palliative therapy in forty countries. Cynthia emphasizes for me that Watsu is a form of body therapy performed in warm water that is near our normal body temperature. She adds that Watsu combines elements of massage, joint mobilization, shiatsu, muscle stretching and dance. "You will have the experience of being totally supported by the water as your body is being gently cradled, rocked and stretched."
We then enter the dimly lit enclosure that surrounds a backyard pool sixteen feet in diameter and five feet deep. The warm, moist air and the warmed water make it possible to step down into the water without any temperature shock. Cynthia attaches small plastic floaters to each of my calves. She draws my attention to the hum of the circulating pumps and the yellow electronic readout panel that displays the number 94 as the water temperature in degrees Fahrenheit.
As we begin, Cynthia holds my face and shoulder just above the water using a sort of half-hug with me facing away from her. The floaters on my ankles allow my body to stretch out and to be suspended just below the surface of the water. Then the various gentle movements begin. . . .
Initially I relish relaxing as the soothing warm water surrounds my motionless body. Cynthia invites me to breathe in through my nose and breathe out through my mouth. She invites vocalizations; hence, I begin making small audio sounds whenever I am expelling air from my lungs.
Very quickly the sensation of weightlessness sets in as Cynthia begins to move my body slowly and effortlessly through the water. I surrender myself to the buoyancy of the water and to Cynthia’s gentle motions. At first, I imagine that I am experiencing the weightlessness of being in outer space. Then, quite spontaneously I imagine that I am a kite that is being born up by a gentle wind. Three weeks ago I witnessed a marvelous twenty-foot kite shaped like a scuba diver who surrendered to wind currents as it was held aloft. I imagine that I am now that scuba diver being caressed by the wind (although, in fact, it is Cynthia and the buoyancy of the water that guides my bodily motions). This imagined surrendering to "the wind currents" brings me a great emotional peace.
After enjoying this for about ten minutes, I decide to clear my mind and to again focus on my breathing. After a half-dozen deep breaths, I spontaneously imagine that I am a fetus swimming in the embryonic fluid in my mother’s womb. At this point, Cynthia released my shoulder and cradles my head in her hands. I interpret this as my mother's hand reaching into her womb and shaping my head. She shapes the bone and tissue to give me my distinctive eyes, cheeks, ears, hairline. She gently stretches my body out giving me, even as a fetus, the slender build and height (6' 3") that I will later have as an adult. This process continues for about ten minutes and, throughout, I feel surrounded by the nurturing love of my mother in her activity of forming me in her womb.
My Mother Speaks to Me
Then my mother speaks to me. I am in a day-dreaming state that does not allow me to differentiate between words being heard and words being imagined. In any case, I repeat slowly in a clear voice the "words" coming from my mother: "I am forming you in my womb. . . . You are marvelously made. . . . I love you with an everlasting love."
Then critical faculties in my left-brain slowly come into play. I recognize that, when growing in my mother's womb, I would have had no notion of language and no ability to understand words. I also reflect that Emma, my actual mother, didn’t have the powers to do those things that her words implied. Then, it spontaneously occurs to me that the Supreme Cosmic Mother could very much say and do these things with my mother’s assistance. It further occurs to me that this process of my formation did not begin in my mother’s womb but that it began 13.8 billion years ago with the Big Bang. This was the period when the Supreme Cosmic Mother collected the primeval plasma into the mega-stars of the first billion years. These hot-blue giants fashioned every atom in my body and distributed them in outer space at the time when these giants gave rise to supernova explosions (as shown in the pic). At this point, I taste the harmonious sweetness of my cosmic reflections, and I relish the mysterious truth within my Mother's/mother's words: "You are marvelously made."
Then, returning to my train of spontaneous day-dreaming, I find myself recalling how I, as a teenager, wanted a stronger, huskier body. I feel the pain of that period in my life and cry a few tears as I realize the folly of this longing. Everything in my body was made just right for the man that I was to become. I could not become the adult me without these long bones and my slim muscular structure. Even my bumps and scars have their untold mysterious purposes. . . .
Then I again feel the urge to enjoy the words of my Supreme Cosmic Mother: "I am forming you in my womb. . . . You are marvelously made. . . . I love you with an everlasting love." This time I say them out loud in a slow deliberate voice. I do this two times. Emotionally I am filled with the quiet joy that these momentous words bring into being.
Then it occurs to me that it would be beneficial to hear these words being spoken to me, so I ask Cynthia to repeat some or all of these words so that I can hear them. She chooses, "I love you with an everlasting love." She repeats this three times. The sound is muffled and slightly distorted because my ears are below the water line.
Tears well up in my eyes. My mother died when I was only eight and my father, for the next fifty years, never had the slightest impulse to say such words to me. It makes no difference! At this moment, I feel that I am completely at home in my skin and that the Supreme Cosmic Mother whispers these words over and over to me with each slow breath that I take. I feel a sense of peace in the power of these words and thrust that they will accompany my every breath down to my final breath.
At this point, Cynthia gathers up my body and holds me in a fetal position close to her chest. I instantly feel that I'm in the arms of my mother holding me as a babe. This gesture says it all. No words need be said or repeated. A silent bliss floods over me and, overcome with gratitude, I kiss my "mother" gently twice on the side of her neck. . . .
Cynthia interrupts my fantasy at this juncture and says to me, "I do have some boundaries. . . . One of them is that there is to be no kissing."
I am shocked by Cynthia’s misunderstanding. I respond by saying quite calmly, "I was kissing my mother." This seemed to suffice, so I said nothing more. . . .
Then I try to recover the stream of thought that Cynthia interrupted. It never comes back to me. It is like the pleasant night dream that is interrupted by alarm clock in the morning. If I try, I can sometimes catch the tail of a dream, coax it toward me, and reenter it. At other times, like now, it eludes me entirely. However, I do remember the striking words of my Supreme Cosmic Mother, and I mentally repeat them and tell myself that I want to remember these words when I awake. I do this due to my earlier training in dream recall.
Then critical faculties in my left-brain slowly come into play. I recognize that, when growing in my mother's womb, I would have had no notion of language and no ability to understand words. I also reflect that Emma, my actual mother, didn’t have the powers to do those things that her words implied. Then, it spontaneously occurs to me that the Supreme Cosmic Mother could very much say and do these things with my mother’s assistance. It further occurs to me that this process of my formation did not begin in my mother’s womb but that it began 13.8 billion years ago with the Big Bang. This was the period when the Supreme Cosmic Mother collected the primeval plasma into the mega-stars of the first billion years. These hot-blue giants fashioned every atom in my body and distributed them in outer space at the time when these giants gave rise to supernova explosions (as shown in the pic). At this point, I taste the harmonious sweetness of my cosmic reflections, and I relish the mysterious truth within my Mother's/mother's words: "You are marvelously made."
Then, returning to my train of spontaneous day-dreaming, I find myself recalling how I, as a teenager, wanted a stronger, huskier body. I feel the pain of that period in my life and cry a few tears as I realize the folly of this longing. Everything in my body was made just right for the man that I was to become. I could not become the adult me without these long bones and my slim muscular structure. Even my bumps and scars have their untold mysterious purposes. . . .
Then I again feel the urge to enjoy the words of my Supreme Cosmic Mother: "I am forming you in my womb. . . . You are marvelously made. . . . I love you with an everlasting love." This time I say them out loud in a slow deliberate voice. I do this two times. Emotionally I am filled with the quiet joy that these momentous words bring into being.
Then it occurs to me that it would be beneficial to hear these words being spoken to me, so I ask Cynthia to repeat some or all of these words so that I can hear them. She chooses, "I love you with an everlasting love." She repeats this three times. The sound is muffled and slightly distorted because my ears are below the water line.
Tears well up in my eyes. My mother died when I was only eight and my father, for the next fifty years, never had the slightest impulse to say such words to me. It makes no difference! At this moment, I feel that I am completely at home in my skin and that the Supreme Cosmic Mother whispers these words over and over to me with each slow breath that I take. I feel a sense of peace in the power of these words and thrust that they will accompany my every breath down to my final breath.
At this point, Cynthia gathers up my body and holds me in a fetal position close to her chest. I instantly feel that I'm in the arms of my mother holding me as a babe. This gesture says it all. No words need be said or repeated. A silent bliss floods over me and, overcome with gratitude, I kiss my "mother" gently twice on the side of her neck. . . .
Cynthia interrupts my fantasy at this juncture and says to me, "I do have some boundaries. . . . One of them is that there is to be no kissing."
I am shocked by Cynthia’s misunderstanding. I respond by saying quite calmly, "I was kissing my mother." This seemed to suffice, so I said nothing more. . . .
Then I try to recover the stream of thought that Cynthia interrupted. It never comes back to me. It is like the pleasant night dream that is interrupted by alarm clock in the morning. If I try, I can sometimes catch the tail of a dream, coax it toward me, and reenter it. At other times, like now, it eludes me entirely. However, I do remember the striking words of my Supreme Cosmic Mother, and I mentally repeat them and tell myself that I want to remember these words when I awake. I do this due to my earlier training in dream recall.
My Experience of Dying
The final fifteen minutes were taken up with Cynthia giving me a signal (two taps on my shoulder) to take a deep breath because she was getting ready to submerge my face. I feel an initial panic at this. I am afraid that Cynthia will not be able to judge when to bring my face above the surface so that I can take my next breath. But this panic subsides when I discover that the time of submersion is only four or five seconds. I am amazed that, when my face breaks the surface, I am able to take my next breath unhurriedly and naturally--as though my breathing had never been interrupted.
Gradually Cynthia increases the length of time of my submersions, and she twists and turns my body during the interval when I am fully submerged. This causes me no alarm whatsoever. In fact, I am amazed that I am able to stay immersed without breathing for thirty or forty seconds without any panic or any gasping for breath when my face breaks the surface.
At this point, I imagine that I am dying. The spaces of non-breathing now appear to me as the natural situation of someone whose body is giving out. I remember this as being the way my father died. He was asleep or in a coma at the time. He would take a few slow breaths and then stop breathing. After a pause of five seconds, he would then take another series of unhurried breaths before he stopped breathing again. The breathing after the pauses was seemingly without effort and without panic. Very gradually, over a period of a half-hour, the pauses between the times of breathing became longer and longer, until, at one point, the pause becomes interminable. At that moment, my father was dead.
So, with these thoughts in my mind, I fantasize that Cynthia is the Angel of Death who has come to initiate me into the final stage of dying. The "Angel of Death" is the serene and beautiful naked woman with wings whose life-size image stands in the Italian cemetery that I visited ten years ago. I have a picture of this Angel (as shown here) on the wall in my bedroom. Hence, I have no difficulty imagining Cynthia as my Angel of Death. Likewise, the rhythms of breathing and the non-breathing were an effortless and natural imitation of the way that my father died. The lengthening of the pauses between the times of breathing was equally natural and unrushed. "So this is what it is like to die," I say to myself. So easy, so compelling, and so comforting, since everything is guided by the presence of such a beautiful Angel.
Gradually Cynthia increases the length of time of my submersions, and she twists and turns my body during the interval when I am fully submerged. This causes me no alarm whatsoever. In fact, I am amazed that I am able to stay immersed without breathing for thirty or forty seconds without any panic or any gasping for breath when my face breaks the surface.
At this point, I imagine that I am dying. The spaces of non-breathing now appear to me as the natural situation of someone whose body is giving out. I remember this as being the way my father died. He was asleep or in a coma at the time. He would take a few slow breaths and then stop breathing. After a pause of five seconds, he would then take another series of unhurried breaths before he stopped breathing again. The breathing after the pauses was seemingly without effort and without panic. Very gradually, over a period of a half-hour, the pauses between the times of breathing became longer and longer, until, at one point, the pause becomes interminable. At that moment, my father was dead.
So, with th
ese thoughts in my mind, I fantasize that Cynthia is the Angel of Death who has come to initiate me into the final stage of dying. The "Angel of Death" is the serene and beautiful naked woman with wings whose life-size image stands in the Italian cemetery that I visited ten years ago. I have a picture of this Angel (as shown here) on the wall in my bedroom. Hence, I have no difficulty imagining Cynthia as my Angel of Death. Likewise, the rhythms of breathing and the non-breathing were an effortless and natural imitation of the way that my father died. The lengthening of the pauses between the times of breathing was equally natural and unrushed. "So this is what it is like to die," I say to myself. So easy, so compelling, and so comforting, since everything is guided by the presence of such a beautiful Angel.
If you ever have the opportunity, I hope you'll have a Watsu and then write me about your experiences. My email = Milavec@ChurchonFire.net
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