Dunno

My Reiki teacher, Libby Barnett, often says, when asked to explain how Reiki works, "Dunno." She invites us to be in this space of "I don't know," this space of being, rather than knowing. As a Reiki teacher, I use this approach as well, but it is a dance because one wants to meet people's minds and gently guide them to the "dunno." Like many others, I adore Mary Oliver's poem, The Summer Day. I often hear in my head these lines: "I don't know exactly what a prayer is. I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass, how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields," Last night, during a Reiki Session with a client, the following poem came to me. Dunno I don't know know how to pray, but I do know how to beg and plead and get down on my knees and be . . . silent. I don't know what to say, but I do know I'm here with you and we'll be okay. I don't know how to walk, but I do know how to feel the earth beneath my feet and move. I don't know how to cry, but I do know how to let go and feel. I don't know how to grieve, but I do know how to feel sad and lonely -- how to pull up the sheets over my head and want what is not. I don't know how to love, but I do know how to light up in your presence, hold your hand, and listen. I don't know how to heal you or me. Dunno how healing happens. But I do know it happens. I know I rode through darkness and then danced with the fleeting light.