TheBanyanTree: Tales of a Woodcat - Healing Hands

[Roger Pye]

  "Ever been to Stonehenge or Avebury?"  the Woodcat asked.

Charles Rogers shook his head, No.

"You should, you being a Rei-Ki healer; it's not that far from your 
hometown of Harpenden. Take a weekend off from that car rental business 
of yours and just go."

************

Stonehenge  . . . . . one of the world's well-known if not the best 
known 'religious' stone circles built on pagan ground some time between 
2,000 and 5,000 years ago . . . went through four rebuilds, the last 
very shortly before what became known as the Christian Era . . .

The guide booklet told the story of this very large monument to 
who-knows-what very comprehensively, was a little more elusive about 
Avebury which is immense by comparison, so much so it has a village in 
the centre. The village of A. of course.

Why would the Woodcat tell me to come here? Charles thought, hands in 
pockets, as he tagged along after a coachload of tourists who had 
arrived at the same time as he, gazing at the remaining trilithons 
surmounted by huge stone blocks, each, as the brochure said, 'with 
mortise and tenon cut so it would fit closely to the tops of the 
pillars.' Immediately ahead of him an elderly man walking with the aid 
of sticks stumbled and sat down suddenly, so quickly Charles almost fell 
over him; regaining his balance he saw a spasm of pain cross the other's 
face, noticed a tautening of back muscles through the thin jacket.

"I'm a reiki healer, may I help you in some way? he asked. squatting 
down next to the man who grunted something in reply. Taking that to be a 
'yes' Charles 'called in the energy', let his hands go where they 
wished, saw with surprise his left palm close in flat, fingers spread 
out, on the right hand side of his recipient's head, his right hand in 
similar position on the man's left hip.The universal energy poured 
through him, in greater amount and more intense than usual, he felt his 
arms, hands and feet tingling.

Five minutes or so passed then the energy waned. His right hand moved of 
its own volition to the left shoulder, the energy re-intensified, he 
could feel himself shaking at the impact. His mind had already accepted 
the abnormality of the treatment, would not let go of what was happening 
between the Universe, him and the patient. Without warning the energy 
flow cut off and he began to go cold. The elderly man stood and flexed 
his muscles, no hint of pain on his face. "I haven't felt so good in 
years! Do you have a card or something so I can get in touch?"

Charles fumbled in a pocket, pulled out a crumpled slip of pasteboard, 
mutely handed it over.

At a local restaurant where he went for dinner he was impelled to sit at 
a table occupied by a lone woman, Harriet, who, he guessed from her snow 
white hair, was in her late sixties. Almost at once he found he was 
telling her of the healing episode that afternoon.

"Did he tell you his name?"

"I didn't catch it, I was so shaken by the energy. He gave me a card 
though; I have it on me somewhere."

After patting his pockets ineffectually he checked his wallet, pulled a 
card out and gave it to her.

Harriet glanced at it and nodded. "I thought so from your description; 
Robert Ryde, Professor of Anthropology and Archaeology at Oxbridge 
University. He was in a very bad car smash some years ago, was paralysed 
from the waist down but refused to accept his condition. Eventually he 
taught himself to walk again."

She stopped speaking and turned slightly away from the table; following 
her gaze he felt rather than saw the looming presence of a single stone 
upright marking the entrance to the garden at the rear of the 
establishment. Seeing her reflection in the glass window which was 
between them and the stone he saw a wry twist to her lips that might 
have passed for a smile. Looking back at him, she changed the subject, 
did not mention the professor until they had finished the meal and were 
leaving the restaurant. In the cool air outside, she stopped him with a 
hand on his arm as he made to leave.

"Would you like to see the henge at night, it's very impressive, the 
stones etched against the waxing moon, the shadows falling away?  Also a 
bit spooky if you're on your own. If you'd rather not, fine. It's just I 
thought you might."

***

Spooky was right, he thought, not just on your own either. It was as 
though there was life of some kind of life here. Inanimate life, was 
that a contradiction in terms? He thought it was but
it described his feelings. Harriet's soft, gentle voice interrupted his 
musings.

"About here, was it? Where you treated the professor?"

He looked round, taking his bearings. "Yes, about here, and . . . look!" 
He walked along a few paces, bent down and picked something up. As she 
caught him up, he held it up in the moonlight, heard her quick intake of 
breath, felt her reach out and take the walking stick from him.

Together they walked on between the stone columns until they reached 
carpark where their vehicles were standing alone, near the road that led 
away from the henge.  He bent slightly to thank her for the excursion 
and she made a disparaging gesture as though the escort had been 
nothing. Then as he was opening his car door he had a sudden thought.

"The professor," Charles said. "What's he doing now?"

"Nothing. Robert died two years ago!" Shocked to the core, he heard her 
sniffle and say, so low he could only just hear, "He was my husband; 
thank you for looking after him."