I’m a tickle monster & plan to stay that way.
As a little girl, I remember my mom and some ladies from church using the phrase "laying on of hands". When they said it sounded magical and the tone of their voices told me it was special. I didn’t have a word for it then, but now I identify it as reverence.
We regularly attended and were heavily involved in the Hydetown Baptist Church where my Dad was a deacon. I remember Pastor Helen at the front of the room ‘laying on of hands’.
I watched on Sunday mornings as folks rose up out of the pews and walked down the aisle to have Pastor Helen lay his hands on their shoulders and heads. He would say words over them, his chin lifted, his eyes closed. I heard the gentle sounds of the congregation as they called out amens and the name of Jesus.
After a period of time, those who had come forward got up from the kneeling position, looked the good pastor in the eye, and returned to sit amongst us. The congregation supported this with overlapping affirmations. I remember looking over at the person who had just returned as they quietly with eyes closed and took in what had just happened. Often there were tears. This was a normal occurrence.
On any given Sunday morning, entire families gathered together in the same pew. As parishioners were invited to receive the blessing, I remember the feeling of anticipation as I wondered who would come forward. My interest intensified as my friends' parents stood up and walked the long aisle to the front of the church.
The morning my Mom stood up, my chest tightened. My heart raced as she crouched on the carpeted steps, eyes lowered with the pastor's palm on the crown of her head. I remember seeing how pink his fingers and fingernails were. The first morning my Dad hoisted himself up my breath stood still. I began to wonder when I should do it. If all these adults were to receive this blessing, when would I do the same? I didn’t understand how they knew when to go forward. They were never called by name. The call didn’t come from the front of the room. The call seemed to be coming from within.
In another memory, I’m sitting on the floor in front of the rocking chair while my mom or her best friend, Aunt Sal, sat in it. We would set a timer and exchange "tickling". Tickling involved using the tips of your fingers and fingernails and lightly tracing long sweeping arcs, circles, and spirals up and down your arms, shoulders, back, neck, and scalp. It felt so darn good it gave me goosebumps.
Reaching further back in my memory, I can remember my Mom running her fingers over my arms and my back to help me fall asleep. I knew she loved me by the way she touched me. As a baby, I became an excellent sleeper and am still an excellent sleeper. In fact, my husband calls me the Excellent Sleeper 3000 Model. Those early days trained my body to relax by activating my parasympathetic nervous system. Mom’s way of putting me to bed was my first therapeutic somatic experience. These experiences continued well into my teens. Not my mom tickling me before bed, although she tried much to my annoyance, but the exchange that took place at my Aunt Sal’s house.
With no movie theater in our small town, Friday or Saturday nights were often spent at mom’s bestie’s house —Aka Aunt Sal. After picking out a movie at the video store, making homemade pizza, and eating a cereal bowl-sized serving of ice cream, we’d sit down to watch the movie and some “tickling”. In 20 minute rounds, we tickled while watching 80’s films like The Sound of Music and Wall Street. Everyone knew "going last" was the best so you could do your tickle work upfront and then receive at the end. (To this day, I’m a huge fan of delayed gratification. Perhaps that’s where I learned it?)
Back in the day, folks didn't get bodywork. ("Bodywork?? Our bodies work every day!") I don't think there was a massage therapist in Titusville. Small-town girls didn't get bodywork. Instead, we worked on each other. Each tickler had their own techniques. My aunt had a special one where she would rub my ears between her forefinger and thumb and then pull on my earlobes. OMG.
It took some stamina to "tickle good" for the duration of the session. If the “giver” got caught up in the movie and slacked off, we wiggled and growled "tickle good" so they paid better attention to us with redirection and practice my hands learned to move themselves while I watched Julie Andrews teach seven kids to sing. Over time, I didn't have to think about it. It just happened. When the tickles felt good, we would softly moan or purr. We pressed for our own pleasure. Of course, at the time I didn't realize what an important life lesson that was.
I attribute my abilities as an adult woman to advocate for myself to those somatic experiences, sitting on the floor between trusted knees while we watched Gordon Gekko tell us ‘Greed is good.’ Greed was good, I thought! When my time being tickled was up, I’d always beg for one more minute, one more minute, one more minute.
Between my experiences at church and my Aunt Sal’s house, I have known the healing power of the laying on of hands. Later on, as a history major and anthropology minor, I heard the phrase again as it related to various spiritual traditions. I learned that both the Christian Church and Native Americans used this practice. It made perfect sense to me; intentional touch was healing. When someone I trusted touched me and I got goosebumps/cold chills/tingles/champagne bubbles, I felt deeply loved. When Pastor Helen laid his hands on his parishioners, they often wept tears of joy.
I first learned about Reiki maybe ten years ago, and when I did, it made sense, too. Whether in the context of small-town Pennsylvania, Native American, or Japanese spiritual experiences, it seemed the same but different. Whatever you call it, it is healing touch, a version of laying on of hands.
The healing energy of Reiki isn't something we do as much as something we allow to flow through us. When I learned to tickle my Mom and Aunt Sal in ways that made them coo with delight, I didn't know I was channeling Reiki. I had become a vessel for love to flow through me from Source, God, Wakan Tanka, Creator. My hands channeled healing energy. I did it. My Mom did it. My Aunt Sal did it. Pastor Helen did it. We can all do it. We are all conduits of love and healing. We are the faucet not the water.
Our miraculous hands, fingers, and nerve endings carry electrical, chemical, and subtle energies. When we place our hands on others' bodies, we are sharing our nervous system with them and this resonance can help them relax and feel the presence of Love.
As I reflect I am filled with gratitude for these experiences. From the tender tickle sessions to formal spiritualism, I have an embodied understanding of the immense power of intentional touch.
May our spirits be touched by the remembrance that we are conduits of love and healing, using our miraculous hands to spread compassion and kindness wherever we go. May we cherish and embrace the magic.
As for me, I’m a tickle monster and plan to stay that way.
