Thursday, October 25, 2007
HIV AIDS in Body Mind Spirit Integration
By January 1994 Michael had been admitted to Twelve Oaks Hospital, and on a cold January night I went over to visit. Feigning a warm hello to the receptionist, I thought about how many times I’d ridden this elevator car to the AIDS floor and wondered again why I had remained healthy, potent and alive when so many had dwindled away in pain.
Utterly helpless, I stood outside Michael’s room, trying to muster up a thin cheerfulness before I entered. Michael lay quiet but alert as I kissed him on the cheek. His mother, Mary Lou, busied herself with little chores, and Jon (aka Cha-Cha), Michael’s roommate, sat near the bed. In hushed whispers he filled me in: “He can go anytime. Dr. Rios says there’s nothing else to be done.”
My usual chatty cheer, however strained, vaporized in the inevitability of my friend’s death. I had no words. So I did what I have always done: I went to work, offering Michael a foot rub. He mumbled his assent as I pulled up a chair, grabbed some coconut lotion, and un-tucked the sheets. I began with the right foot, gently pushing, pulling, and rolling. As I rubbed, pressed and stroked his feet I conjured all the love I felt for this man and pooled it in my breaking heart. As I continued, I feebly directed my love through my hands into his feet and to his heart, and silently thanked him for all the fun and friendship we’d shared. But I did not cry. I haven’t cried for years. As I finished with his left foot, Michael gave me a cold look and pulled both his feet up toward his butt, signaling he’d had enough. I visited for a while longer then said good night, kissing Michael on the cheek as I left.
It was late and I felt weary to the bone. I debated whether to turn off the ringer of my phone, as I always did, finally deciding a full night’s sleep was more important than the sad news I was expecting. When I woke up the next morning, my mind still tired, the light on the answering machine blinked. Sure enough it was Jon, telling me, “It’s all over. Michael died peacefully about 3:00 am. Call when you can.” I sat motionless; Charlie, my Burmese cat, sensed my despair and hopped lightly onto me. I petted him absentmindedly as he licked my hand, eventually curling up in my lap. I sat, unmoving, with Charlie for a long time, until I had to shower and go to work.
Love your way,
Alan Davidson, founder of
and author of Body Brilliance:
Mastering Your Five Vital
Watch the Body Brilliance Movie
Dedicated to our healthy, happy, and prosperous world through the full enlightenment of every human being.
Through Your Body
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