Embracing the Journey: My Path as a Reiki Kid in Okinawa

Discovering the Heart of Reiki

When I first wrote about becoming a kind of “Reiki Kid” in Okinawa, I wasn’t sure anyone truly understood what I meant. Honestly, I wasn’t sure I did either. But last month, an experience brought clarity to this “Reiki Kid” character.

We all know the 1984 classic The Karate Kid, starring Ralph Macchio and Pat Morita as the beloved character Mr. Miyagi from Okinawa. I hadn’t thought of that movie in years until I found myself, a woman in her late 30s, living in Okinawa. I struggled to do laundry (and just about every other household task) “correctly.” I had no idea there was a correct way, but quickly realized that if I wanted to keep living here, I’d have to learn the customs, no matter how oppressive or unfair they felt to my American persona.

People often move to NYC to leave behind their pasts and fully individuate. I know I did, and that freedom was deeply healing for me. However, moving from there to a traditional culture like Okinawa wasn’t a logical next step and came with its challenges. It felt like being in a classroom of constant humility, allowing me to see my conditioning in a new light. I could feel the culture teaching me refinement in unexpected ways. Although it was shocking, uncomfortable, and disorienting to watch my old identities fall away, a choice became clear: shed these old skins and become soneone new or return to what I knew.

The Hero's Journey

Reflecting on the journey that brought me to Okinawa on my own was defining. Without any command of the language, customs, or even a legal safety net, continuing meant risk. To avoid being swallowed by a culture that required total surrender, I had to give all my passion and heart over to my core self and let myself be guided. If that wasn't enough of a bold move, I also had to grieve everything and everyone I was leaving behind.

As impossible as that may sound, there was an enticing paradox: the more I surrendered to the restraint and obedience the culture demanded, the freer I became. It felt like dying and being born simultaneously. For example, I had to learn Japanese quickly. As I did, something surprising happened: the southern accent I had buried my whole life began to emerge when I communicated with my English-speaking clients. It was shocking and wonderful. I was finally for the first time in my life relaxing enough to be shameless.

Lessons in Self-Respect

There were other lessons too. I couldn’t just run to the corner store in sweats with my hair in a flurry of bedhead. I had to dress properly, apply makeup, and present myself with care out of respect for those who might see me. At first, it felt oppressive, but slowly I realized it was helping me grow—not in years, but in self-respect. Piece by piece, this refinement helped me love myself in a new way. A new identity was forming, not tied to nationality or culture, but to something deeper: pure love.

And here’s where Reiki entered the picture. The same focus, swiftness, and softness needed to perform daily tasks “correctly” connected me more with Reiki. Reiki is always teaching us about ourselves. Mastery is never about learning more about something called Reiki; it’s about learning more about who we are and our truth. When I teach, I guide my students to see themselves clearly, free from the noise of the world shrouding their inner knowing.

The Journey of Empty Hands

At first, we think of Reiki as something—an energy, perhaps—that flows through our hands and into areas we direct it. After many years of practice, there comes a time when our hands become Reiki. This means that Reiki is already there; we don't have to manage it. Our hands will automatically know what to do and where to go. Essentially, our hands will begin to guide us.

I was being guided to further clear and "empty my hands." This was a slow and gradual process because I had a very fixed and fear-based way of thinking. I kept being scolded for handling things “too hard.” For example, with the dishes, I thought I was being careful, yet glasses cracked, teapots lost their lids and handles, and even a precious soy sauce dish vanished into the void under my care (possibly tossed out by mistake)! I felt like an ogre clumsily thumping around, while everyone else seemed to glide effortlessly through the air.

There’s a Japanese word, Mu—meaning “nothingness.” It describes that empty, thoughtless state of mind when we’re simply existing without effort. Here, that concept is common knowledge. Over the years, through trial and error, I began to understand it more deeply.

One day, I called a friend in Florida after hanging laundry outside. I told her, overly excited, that as I was hanging the laundry, a smile came over my face. The line became so quiet for a moment that it was like I could hear her eyes blinking from some 8,000 miles away. I had clipped each sock, shirt, and towel on the line with just the right spacing for airflow and sun exposure, without realizing it! I did it effortlessly, without thinking, because my hands knew what to do. I caught myself smiling at this recognition. I was beginning to embody those empty hands, and it felt like a milestone! I was glad to share it with my friend. :)

The Unfolding of Reiki Wisdom

Fast forward to last month. Out of nowhere, one of my cousins asked if I'd like to watch The Karate Kid together. It was too random and uncanny, especially as I reflected on our recent Reiki Retreat in Barbados. As soon as the 80s music and fashion and hairdos filled the screen, I knew I needed to pay attention. Sure enough, that scene where Mr. Miyagi tells Daniel about the empty hands appeared, and I thought, "Ah yes, just like with Reiki!"

The next morning, before giving a Reiki session to one of my students, I felt strongly guided to visit a local park known to have a few shrines. It was sweltering, and I only had about an hour to spare, but I knew I had to go. With little time and no map, I instinctively followed a trail of morning walkers and soon found myself at the entrance of a shrine. To my shock, it was a shrine dedicated to Karate. I stopped in front of a stone slab erected by the students of a Karate master and read about the kanji for Karate, which was “empty hands.”

I felt Reiki moving through me as I stood there. The stone reminded me of Usui Sensei’s memorial stone in Tokyo, and I felt a similar feeling there as I did when I visited the memorial stone. I realized that all those countless days of hanging laundry, washing dishes, and refining my daily life had brought me here. The gateway before me seemed to whisper: Keep going. You’ve only just begun.

So, this is what I mean by “Reiki Kid.” “Kid” means student. We are always Reiki students—even when we become Reiki Masters, we're still Reiki 1 & 2 students too. Reiki 1 students learn to place their hands and connect with the body. Reiki 2 students practice sending Reiki across distance. And as Reiki Masters, we remain beginners while showing and demonstrating with our lives how to be held by Reiki.

We are all Reiki Kids, with our empty hands and open hearts.