Making Eden Energy Medicine Our Own

Jumping for Joy

I've always liked to jump. That feeling of being airborne, almost flying, for the second or so you are in the air. Weightless. Exhilirated. Alive!

One of my earliest memories of the breath-holding, heart-stopping excitement I was afforded from being airborne was around age two. My dad, lying in bed, would have me sit on his hand while he would raise me up towards the ceiling. A sort of pumping iron, using his young child as a weight.

At infant school (the first school one attends in England, starting age five), each child's birthday was celebrated by them seeking out a bar of chocolate hidden on the top of a cupboard, followed by birthday "bumps" from two teachers. They held me under the arms and bounced me high in the air, so high I thought I would surely take off right through the ceiling. One bump for each year. Six bumps seemed like they would last forever as the whole class chanted along, counting them off.

As a child, I lived for the times I could get on a trampoline. In those days (the late 60s), trampolines were common seaside attractions in British coastal towns. I would beg my parents for the chance to bounce on one, feeling as if I could almost jump out of my own skin, that for a fraction of a second I was on top of the world and had a unique view of everything below. My family couldn't afford to buy a trampoline, but skipping (jump) ropes sufficed, and I would play for hours, chanting the songs, practicing the double jumps, bouncing, bouncing until I could no more.

Shape Shifting Through The Sensory Types

Author's note: Nancy read this post in its entirety prior to it being published
and gave her wholehearted permission for me to share.

The Dance

If you take an anger and slam it into your chest,
like a fast tennis ball across the net,

and a laughing Buddha in the other court catches it,
lotus blossoms will flutter to the ground.

If you see your heart is a diamond,
mountains, the waters and the earth
will twirl and dance with you,

pull you tight against their hips,
crush you with kisses,
claim you as one of their geodes.

If you take a hammer
and smash anger open like a ripe watermelon,
oceans of crystals will rise
up from the core of your palms
and belly dance.

Go ahead. Grab a hammer.
Break your heart open.
Offer the shards to the Buddha within.

Nancy Lee Melmon

This poem was written by a client of mine, and arose from some insights she had from the Eden Energy Medicine work we have been doing together. It reminded me of how important it is to be meeting a client’s energy, rather than simply rolling out techniques as they were taught to me. This means being able to step into, or at the very least, understand a client’s sensory type and how that may impact the way I effectively work with them.

Eden Energy Medicine - Sedona style

 

 

For the past 17 years I have lived in Sedona, Arizona. This is both a blessing and a curse. I get to enjoy the stunning, natural, ever changing beauty every day I am here (most definitely a blessing), and I have to share this corner of paradise with almost 4 million tourists every year (both blessing and curse). 4 million. For someone who has for the most part lived in very small towns, that’s a lot of people!

The impact of the seasonally increased population is not easily missed in a town that covers a mere 19 square miles and has only three entry and exit routes (two, in a heavy snow storm). But for the most part, I couldn’t have chosen a more suitable location for my bodywork and energy medicine practice.

Ever Wished Your Dog Could Talk?

 
Anyone who has ever loved a dog knows the feeling. Something’s wrong and you don’t know what. If only they could talk and tell you where it hurts, so you’d know what to do for them.

Ruby, my Golden Retriever, had been limping on and off on her right front leg for a while. Actually, a long while - several months, maybe even a year or more. It would come and go, and didn't seem to unduly bother her. She would limp briefly, hold up her paw, which we'd check, find nothing there, and she'd be on her way, seemingly forgetting about it.

Then one day the limping came on with a vengeance. Out hiking, she would walk a few steps, stop and hold up the paw, we'd check, find nothing, she'd walk a few more steps and hold the paw up again. Back home, she wasn't her usual self and seemed to be asking for something, but we couldn't figure out what. If only she could tell us! Well, she could, or at least, her body could, by using surrogate energy testing.