Returning home from my first ever colon hydrotherapy treatment at a place called Love My Colon, I called my dauther Lizzy, who said: "You did what?" The very mention of those words brings back the movie LA Story, where a very young and constantly twirling Sarah Jessica Parker asks a more mature Steve Martin if he's ever had a high colonic. As the two are leaving the place, she's dancing in circles, of course, but also raving about how clean and full of energy she feels. Steve Martin looks like he's just been ravaged by a gorilla.
Leave it to Groupon to activate my impulsive "I've never experienced that before" knee-jerk reaction. Not that it was ever on my bucket list but the price was right and who couldn't benefit from a little colon scrubbing? Especially someone who is presently so immersed in cleansing and releasing on every level, inside and out. (At this point you might be wondering how this relates to "There are no mistakes" because it's sounding like one might have happened.)
I felt the first twinge of "What have I done?' on the phone when the receptionist asked if I wanted to book an open or closed session. You're talking to a virgin, here, lady. Be more specific. She said "open" means you do it privately and run your own show and it smells bad and "closed" means that a technician and a machine are involved and there's no odor or muss. She had me on "no odor, no muss" because I don't need privacy. I've had two babies and the nurse or intern or whatever the hell he was came waltzing in to see how far I had dilated by sticking his hand up my ya-ya in the middle of a contraction. With that routine set as the new bar for pain and humiliation, nothing else even comes close.
Twinge number two hit when I found out that at least two and preferably three consecutive sessions are recommended—and the regular price was double the cost of the special deal. So my great Groupon discount just turned into an unforeseen investment and three days in a row of driving to Timbuktu for...what? And right there, I could have stopped with the one inexpensive trial run or taken a small hit and trashed the entire idea. The miser in me was certainly raising his eyebrows and shaking his head No. But the rest of me was oddly still on board, as in 100%, full bore ahead. Let's do this thing and get scrubbed all shiny clean inside.
My technician was young and sensitive and bright and fun and I loved her. She explained everything in reassuring detail, gave me little warnings about what was going to happen and what to expect, and I yammered at her the entire time. This is just what I do whenever I feel uncomfortable or nervous. She asked if I had ever experienced an enema before, to which I laughed and said, "Definitely, because I was chronically constipated my entire childhood and it was so fucking painful." Later she asked if I knew why, and I certainly had some ideas on why, which led to blowing the lid right off some of my life's more bizarre and even unbelievable stories about healing from childhood sexual abuse.
We talked about my jammed up first chakra, my spontaneous kundalini resurgence, the out-of-this-world treatment from the Brazilian healer Mauricio whose hands shot out lights as bright as lightning, and some of wilder stories of things that happened working with a therapist. The entire way, she was floating on my wave length, in tune with my language, asking all the right questions, and understanding every answer I gave her.
Near the end of the session I mentioned that I was headed off for a 90-minute Santi Sacred Massage with Luana, another fortunate Groupon discovery. After hearing about the way Luana works and what a gifted healer and therapist she is, Nicole said she wanted Luana's contact information.
And then something surprising happened, as if we had not passed surprising along with waaaaaay too much information a few paragraphs ago. I raised my head and said, "I'm going to gift you one of my massages. Give me your card and I'll tell her you are going to call to book." Nicole was so dumbfounded that she lost her breath for a second or two. So did I, actually. Where did that come from? She could buy her own damn massage. But it felt right as rain, just so very right.
Fast-forward to Luana's home and she might have been the most shocked of all.
HER: You gave her one of your massages? Do you know why?
ME: It's confounding, I know. I can only say that something inside of me was being more generous than I am.
HER: Your happy colon, maybe?
Scientists call our gut the Second Brain, so Luana might have been dead right. Something inside of me was being more generous than I am? What a weird thing to say. Who even talks like that? But the story isn't quite over. On the way home I started doing the math on the number of massages remaining in the package I bought months ago, and counting the one I gave away, the sum was zero. I had given Nicole my very last massage.
By the time I returned home and called Luana, she had done the math as well and already knew—plus Nicole had already called for a booking. That girl was serious about experiencing Luana's magic. We started laughing about it all over again. And once again, Luana asked about my thought process. "I do remember thinking that Nicole would very likely fall in love with your work and become one of your loyal clients. I just wanted her to experience it freely and openly, to have that gift. "
"Okay then, let's do this. Buy another package today, right now over the phone, and I'll toss in a free massage. You gave one away, and now it's back. How does that sound?" Luana has such a fun, loving, compelling way of keeping her cash flow moving forward, I've watched her do this before—strike a deal I can't refuse in the moment because it's such a win-win.
How does that sound? It sounds like there are no mistakes!
