There were needles all over my body, making it difficult to move. I lay there, my eyes shaded, trying to remember if there were any in my hands or arms. Could I move my limbs safely? I couldn’t get a glimpse at my abdomen that was stuck at least six times, because of the eye shade. That would have been a curious site, but without my glasses I’m blind as a bat anyway. It would have been a curious, blurry sight.
The shade on my eyes wafted a heavy, flowery, herbal scent. I think it was meant to be a relaxing tonic. I find scents for relaxation unhelpful. Yes, they do smell lovely, and I think they do relax people with mild nervousness. But can a smell really contend with the level of over-thinking that I have mastered? I might be arrogant, but I think not.
When the needles go in there is always a mixed bag of reactions. Sometimes I feel nothing, sometimes I feel a deep pain for a split second. Sometimes I get a sensation of movement somewhere else in the region.
“Only in acupuncture are you satisfied when your patient complains of pain,” I had said in jest to the woman ten minutes earlier.
“We want to make sure the needles are working,” she winked at me.
I lay there, not confident I could remove the shade from my eyes with the question of whether my arms were trapped at my sides. I got weird about being trapped blindfolded, my mind started to turn that over. Damn it! You are relaxing! I drew my brain to another topic.
It had been four years since I had rested on my back, trapped on a table by a bunch of acupuncture needles, listening to the soft music of some sort of Asian flute. I’ve never liked that music, but I have a pretty strong association with it and my acupuncture clinic now. The clinic is in an old house on the outskirts of town, with a wide porch, and a kitchen in the back. It has seen a lot. In four years I’ve seen a lot.
Life seems to get more and more complicated with each passing year. Four years ago things were pretty simple. My main concern to slip off to acupuncture was whether or not my husband was watching my baby more than he was watching his phone. We never realize the benefits of the moment while in the moment though, or at least I struggle to. It is hard to remember that present day complications only seem insurmountable now. Everything seems sleepier and milder once it is in the past.
I looked at the colors. When I close my eyes tight, I see movements of color. I think everyone does, but we hardly ever pay attention because when we normally close our eyes, our mind wanders to the day’s activities, or just to sleep. The colors aren’t bright—it isn’t like daytime behind my eyelids—but vibrant.
They started as blobs of sickly green, constantly moving, eclipsing each other. Then, presumably as I grew more relaxed, I started to see blue and purple. Blue and purple are common for me. But this blue intensified, into a color I loved and hadn’t seen before. A more vibrant than usual blue.
I mentioned it to the acupuncturist. She told me artists are the ones to usually see colors. Fancy pants me, getting artistic even at rest. In Chinese medicine the colors relate to the elements and organs. The green was my liver, the organ chronically unhappy with me in Chinese medicine, despite the fact that I have done little to tax it from a western viewpoint. The blue was my kidneys—the wellspring of life. The wellspring renewing me with its beautiful blue. I’m not sure what the purple is. Nobody knows I guess.
Soon she removed the needles, and not a pinprick visible. She sent me home with herb pills to take, that look like black pearls. It’s been four years since I got to swallow a black pearl. Kind of fun to swallow beauty.
Anyone else ever see the colors?