Following Rainbows and Finding Peace

Last month, I traveled to a small village in Okinawa, where I meet with clients who fly in for in-person sessions and healing retreats. I arrived a day early to settle into my rental and to prepare my energy for meeting a new client. The first place I visit on my own is the local beach where I guide clients through a water ritual after their healing treatments. I like to say hello to the spirits of the land and commune with the water here as well as meditate on the client and time ahead. But after a full day of travel and being caught in a downpour, I decided to wait until the morning. Just as I was about to unpack, I suddenly turned my head and caught a glimpse of the edge of a rainbow right outside my window! I had never seen one so close to me before it felt unreal almost like I was imagining it. And I could only see its edge from the window even though I craned my neck like an ostrich hoping to see more of it. My curiosity took over and without a second thought, I grabbed my flowery red umbrella and phone and headed back outside, following the rainbow’s arc. It led me to the water, to the beach.

The rain had stopped and the air felt peaceful and welcoming, as if the rain had washed the past clean. There was a sense of celebration and renewal all around. As I looked closer, I noticed hermit crabs scurrying about, full of life, while giant ancient limestone rocks stood tall and patient, like wise old grandfathers. It was clear this place was home to countless creatures, both seen and unseen. The clouds overhead billowed with a lightness that felt like laughter. The landscape was as sublime as a dream of heaven. I felt deeply grateful—for the rain, for the rainbow, and for following my curious heart to this serene and tranquil moment. There was only one other person on the beach, and we were each lost in our own worlds, content and consumed by wonder, like two naturalists quietly observing the bounteous beauty on offer.

Then, a large black military airplane flew overhead tearing through the sky like it was giving me the middle finger. The contrast to the tranquility of the moment was jarring, not to mention offensive. We each took a picture of the plane—I’m not sure why I did, I really didn't want to but something made me mimick my associate who clearly had a different perspective. And to my absolute surprise, after I took my picture, something shifted in my heart like an old wall had finally come crumbling down allowing some cool breeze to move through it. I stood there watching the plane fly toward a ripening moon, and with almost no more anger, my lips whispered upward to it: “C’est la vie.”

These planes have carried a personal anchor for me that takes me back to my dad and the turmoil he gave away like candy—his war of chronic and terrible misunderstanding. And yet somehow in the midst of this wonderland moment, on the eve of a healing retreat, it was as if my anger had been washed clean and I could finally accept it all—the planes, my father, the psychological impact of war wounds on my family—as having a purpose in my life.

Okinawa is where my parents met—my father, a young air force man, and my mother, a native of this land of sunlight and natural forces. And coming and being here on my own, in my 40's and as a healer, has helped me to understand and embrace them as young people when life feels its freshest. I imagine us all here together in harmony, across time. This is what I've needed to do to let the last and lingering effects of growing up in violence drain from my body. Those of us who grow up around around violence of any kind be it psychological, emotional or physical, from without or within, have a hard time understanding peace because the body doesn't know it. We struggle to feel safe because it's difficult to trust anyone and this cycle remains on a circuitous feedback loop until we have the strength to say no more. It's like the watery membranes of our cells are forever trembling from impact. And oftentimes these hidden rumblings are covertly passed on and on through the generations. I learned early on that in order to cultivate strength of mind I had to stay curious and hold onto that curiosity for dear life like one instinctively would hold onto a floating log in the middle of a treacherous ocean. A child-like curiosity of what might lie on the other side, and also entrusting the world to take care of me, are what carefully ushered me to the other side of my own River Styx. One primary advantage of growing up in an impossibly hellish environment is that we have nothing to lose and everything to gain.

Since the age of 10 dance was my primary form of therapy. It helped me cultivate a strong emotional bond to curiosity and helped me to know what it felt like in my body to follow it. When I was 25 and new to NYC as a young modern dancer eager to dance and perform, I had the opportunity to work with two different dance companies at different times. Interestingly each director (who had a very different artistic style from the other) created a piece centered around a concept in Buddhism called the Ten Worlds. In both productions, I was cast as the same character, representing the world of Hell, the lowest of the Ten Worlds (the highest being Buddhahood). I was slightly offended to be given the same role twice and also because naturally no one wanted that one. But deep down, I understood that I desperately needed these roles. It was the world taking care of me. These roles gave me the profound opportunity to give expression to the anguish I still held in my body, and to continue to find a way through it.

The second of the directors encouraged me by saying that those who know Hell can find their way to Buddhahood in an instant, faster than the those in the other worlds. “It’s closer than you think,” she said, implying that there was some back door to it. She gave my character the name “Pearl,” which led me to believe that with a pure spirit and innocent heart, I'd get there. It's been a rich journey of the heart-- one that has ultimately guided me to come to Okinawa. And hey my body now automatically follows rainbows.

As I stood on that sacred beach, surrounded by a natural beauty that supercedes all language, I found myself not as a Reiki Master or a mystical shaman, but first and foremost as a student of peace. I was learning that every injustice—even war—has its function in helping us move through our deepest pain and fears to a place of sublime and indescribable beauty (within and without), if we let it.

From the perspective of child-like curiosity friendship and support can arise from the unlikliest of things, even from the world of the inanimate, from airplanes to rainbows. We are always supported. Staying curious about this possibility will continually lead us to that intimate understanding in our bodies and minds, allowing us to trust it more and more. As I looked up at that plane and felt my relationship to it change before my eyes, I also heard an inner voice speak from a hidden place of ever blossoming tenderness and peace: “You keep flying and doing what you have to do. And I will do the same."