The Mystic Masseuse

Yesterday, in the morning, I bowed my head to put a towel on my wet hair to start drying it. Instead, I went "Ow...ow...owwww." Apparently, I had pulled some set of muscles at the base of my neck.

I tried to be brave. I tried to go on.

By noon I came home to work from there and called and got a last-minute appointment at a therapeutic massage place.

Sarah is a magician. Her fingers are strong and smooth and they glide over my skin, untangling the knots that lie under the surface. The oil has no fragrance, the light is dim and a large, glowing crystal sits on the counter. Some strange, vaguely, generically Eastern music plays softly. Any other day I would have smirked to myself at the hokeyness of it all.

But then, with all my senses focused on that one spot on my body and feeling the slip-sliding feeling of Sarah's strong fingers, I felt like I was in a trance. The music melted into my mind. I fell asleep.

I came awake slowly and flexed my shoulders experimentally. I was still sore but that awful tightnes was gone.

I woke up still sore but feeling better than yesterday morning.

Is Sarah a magician or a witch? Or simply my very own mystic masseur....errr...masseuse.