Table Talk: Vision

Collograph inspired by vision
Phillip Hoyle

     While receiving a massage, I had a vision. I wasn’t asleep but, rather, I was well aware of my classmate Pam’s fingers working around my right shoulder blade. Her fingertips were seeking out and finding tiny irregularities in tissue there. I don’t know what she touched under my scapula, but when she pushed it, I had a vision of a woman standing beside a box. The image was similar to one in a dream, but more focused; rather than Polaroid-fuzzy, the picture was 35-millimeter clear. I carried away from that massage a memorable image of a woman adorned in beautiful Medieval robes, standing beside a colorful, three-foot-high box, similar to an enameled reliquary. I knew she would open the box, which made the image seem an invitation to self-discovery and mystery.


     I knew I was having a vision although I had never had one before. But where did it come from? In the past I had visualized places and people during guided imagery exercises. This time, by contrast, no leader was instructing, “Imagine a building..., enter it..., meet a person...,” etc. Did the aroma of incense and the flicker of candlelight in Pam’s therapy room help prepare me to see in this new way? Did her work stimulate some chemical response, touching some memory embedded in muscle?

     I was curious to know what the vision meant. Since the image came while a woman was working on me, perhaps it communicated my need to touch something feminine within myself. Maybe it was a message that my anima, my woman spirit, would lead me into more adventures of learning, relationship, and love. The image seemed religiously important. Conceivably massage would become a sacrament of holy visions for me or even a new religion. I wondered what mysteries this religion could reveal.

     I believe that something real, if not exactly religious, occurred in the vision and is unfolding in my life and practice. I am attuning more to my own feelings, becoming more alert to nuances of my needs, desires, and hopes. Certainly, I am more responsive to my body needs--pain, hydration, diet, exercise, and more. At the same time, and perhaps as a result of my own growing self-awareness, I am becoming more sensitive to the complex needs of my clients, to emotion-based proclamations from their mouths and from their muscles.

     My hopes are being realized. I moved to Denver wanting to learn how to live into my feelings, letting them more deeply influence my decision-making and experiencing them more fully instead of setting them aside in deference to the needs of others. I am more alert to the vivacious movement of the spirit and am listening to my anima.

     While I don’t expect to make a religion of massage, I certainly am interested in the relationship of massage experiences to my perception of the divine. I hope to gain insight into my religious tradition by an immersion into massage. Although I am not sure where this visionary, feminine line of thinking leads, I am sure I will follow it to some logical, creative, and emotional end or insight. Such a journey is the goal of my meditations on the body. I find this spirit voice of love more powerful than the voice of rules that fearfully guided my life in the past.

     No one else has touched the spot Pam found; if they did, their palpation failed to stimulate a vision. Perhaps I learned enough from the image and am no longer blocking the feminine love feelings; thus no new trigger points have developed there. My medieval lady has not reappeared except as an icon I collaged a few months ago. I think it is time to hang her image in my therapy room like a visual prayer, so her beautiful, wise countenance can influence my imagination and my work. Surely, new treasures will emanate from the box as she continues to open it for me. This is no Pandora’s box, but rather a repository of relics, people, feelings, and experiences of the past. It contains stories, artwork, friendship, and healing for my future. Perhaps, in addition to visions, I also will receive auditions, olfactions, and perhaps, some other extra sensory perceptions.

Table Talk: Seeing the Body

Vision painting by Phillip Hoyle

     Massage has taught me to see. I recall observing Troy. He came to me for massage at the AIDS clinic in one of my first weeks there as a student intern. I watched him approach down the hallway, walking as if he had to think through each stride like a young child learning to take its first steps. I noted the gaunt features of his face and wondered how advanced his disease might be. When he was on the table, his hands and feet looked too large for his slender body. I saw that while his disease seemed to be killing him, his eyes were bright with life and humor.

     While giving massages, I sometimes feel like an artist trying to see just the right line to put on a canvas. I try to imagine and make the right combination of strokes to bring relief to clients in pain. I look for imbalances to work out and shortened muscles to lengthen. I observe posture and gait as clues to guide me into my work. I am alert to my clients’ bodies in order to imagine what will make them feel better. I also look into their eyes to see how much they will be able to respond to the massage.

     Troy’s lively eyes contrasted with the rest of his body. I felt that the massages I would give him could be quite helpful. I noticed that he was looking too, not at his own body but, rather, at mine. Was he hoping to benefit from my robust health? Was he wishing that he had the energy to give massages? Perhaps he simply was enjoying his sight, one of the few systems in his body that was not yet failing, while soaking in the warmth and comfort of my touch. I wondered what the man was seeing.

     The renowned art teacher, Kimon Nicolaides, emphasized to his students, “We see through the eyes rather than with them.” He wanted them to use the other senses in order to check out everything they thought they saw with their eyes. “If you attempt to rely on the eyes alone,“ he warned, “they can sometimes actually mislead you.” In massage, therapists may first see with the eyes, but then they must see with the hands. The first professional masseur I met was blind. He worked in a YMCA spa giving massages. He saw only with his hands, and that sight was sufficient for his work. In a way similar to Nicolaides, my massage teachers knew about what the eyes cannot see. They made us work blindfolded so that we, too, could learn to see with our hands. Sometimes I still close my eyes so my hands can tell me what I am seeing in the bodies of my clients.

     Troy eventually complained of the tingling and pain in his arms and legs, a condition rather common in AIDS sufferers, but that wasn’t until our third session. In the first, due to watching his gait, I suspected the condition. Palpating his body, I discovered that the ligaments and muscles in the lateral and medial compartments of his legs were extremely tight and short. I conjectured they might be hypertoned due to Troy’s constant need to make up for the unreliability of support and balance. Furthermore, my hands observed that Troy was not simply a slender guy but that he had lost almost all the fat from his body. I figured the loss was due to wasting syndrome, a common ailment in people with HIV. Touching him, I realized that his feet were not too large for his body, but, rather, that his muscles had deteriorated. Eyes and hands together discovered the dry patches on his feet, but only my hands could detect the adhesions in his abs. I was using my sense of touch to confirm, correct, and further what my eyes saw. I still am not quite sure what Troy was seeing when he looked at me. He did warn me not to wear spandex shorts when working, thinking it might be detrimental to the health of some of my clients. Funny man. He saw me with his eyes, but he sensed even more through my touch: the warmth of my hands, my skills in soft tissue manipulation, his own relief from pain, and a perception of the unity of his body--left and right, upper and lower. I hope that with some sixth sense he was picking up on my love of massage and of my clients. What I saw when working with him was a changing body, a weakening life, but one that had the important qualities of insight, love, humor, and enjoyment. Massage with Troy was helping me to look, observe, and see the body with all my senses.

A very young Phillip Hoyle at Picture Rocks

For years I visited the petroglyphs west of Montrose.

I studied them, drew them, photographed them and 

eventually made rubbings. Often I wondered what 

the images sought to represent. As I looked deeply and used

them in artwork I got more and more ideas. Using the same design

I would interpret it differently. I had to imagine the world the 

Native artist was experiencing. Similarly I look deeply at my massage

clients to imagine what they experience in order to apply my techniques

in such a way as to bring them relaxation and relief.
Can you find the image on this rock that I used in
the painting at the beginning of this page?