by Julie Evans

Our truly inspired Executive Administrator of Health Care Is A Human Right (an alternative health care organization of which I am a founding member) sent me an email asking me to write an article for our newsletter on how I have been, and am dealing with, the Covid-19 pandemic. I think part of her motivation to even create this newsletter is to keep our clinic volunteers connected. Rumor has it that many of the health care providers that volunteer their services are going through some hard things. I think Ida, that’s the administrator’s name, wants to lift people’s spirits and give them some ideas or hope or just a place to express themselves.

I wondered where I’d even begin my story about massage. When I was a little girl my mom was like a healer when I was growing up. She was always making potions and helping people with their aches and pains. She used to massage me and I used to massage her and my dad and my cat and my pony. Both my parents died when I was young and when I got older and went off to college I wanted to be a doctor. I went to night school and studied whatever medical courses I could and during the day I worked in a cancer hospital as a nursing assistant. I’d have to say working there was when I realized touch heals much more than just aches and pains. Those patients, many of them farmers, all of them getting chemotherapy, were terrified. When I’d lay my hand on them I felt something pass between us. It’s as if I could talk to them through my touch. I started massaging their feet or their shoulders and they were able to relax a little. But she didn’t ask me to write about massage, she asked how the pandemic was affecting my life and my practice.

So maybe the story should begin in 1982 in the steam room at the YMCA in Kingston, New York where I met Cary who gave massages for a living. Back then I was recuperating from a bad horseback riding accident and used the weight room at the Y and that steam room as my healing sanctuary. I made an appointment with her for a massage. Before I met Cary I’d just never thought of giving massages for a living but once I saw what a difference each session with her made I was amazed. I studied and learned. I began my own practice at the Woodstock Health Club and in my home nearly forty years ago. Since that time I parcel my days into hours and hope there will be people enough to fill the slots. Building a practice was not easy. I don’t advertise so it’s all word of mouth. My years of hard work have paid off and I have a strong clientele or I mean, I did, until Covid-19 shut the industry down and scared people away. Some clients that I’ve worked with for more than thirty years have not come back.

Suddenly having my profession, my life’s work, classified as nonessential in the face of a worldwide health crisis when massage therapy is perhaps one of the most effective antidotes for stress and pain was demeaning and devastating. Liquor stores were open and we were closed. A client called just a few weeks into the pandemic and said she’d made the choice to stop eating and not fight the cancer anymore. She asked if I would massage her through her dying days. It was an honor.

In early March Cary convinced me to file for unemployment. So along with a forced rest, Covid brought me seven hundred and eighty two dollars a week and a chance to do something different with my days. Each day I would venture outside in the crisp spring air and walk for two hours then I’d come home and read and write and stretch and cook. I didn’t have to remind people of their appointments. I didn’t have to hope my datebook filled up. I had time to take a look at things I needed to do. My daily walks revealed old injuries in my body that needed some attention and I was able to start physical therapy with a doctor who has now inspired me to learn a whole new set of skills because what she did helped me so much. As my body healed, those walks became hikes up a steep mountain, runs around a nature preserve, and long hard bike rides. As my body became stronger and my heart got worked in a new way, a true stamina returned to my body.

It was on one of those challenging hikes that I came upon a treasure meant just for me. A little baby chipmunk squirmed on the path in front of me. With his tiny back smashed and bleeding and back legs paralyzed he tried to pull himself in front of me. I didn’t hesitate. I reached into my pack and pulled out a handful of tissues and scooped him up. I carry arnica and rescue remedy with me and dosed him up. He rested atop the tissues and I carried him down the mountain. It appeared to me that he had an injured spinal cord and needed my help. I fed him kitty cat formula with a small oral syringe; I cleaned his wounds and gave him remedies. With his spine still injured I would carry him across my back yard wrapped up in a small washcloth, his little body wiggling with excitement. I’d set him down on the knobby roots of a black walnut tree where he could get a grip with his front legs and pull himself up the tree, his back legs still paralyzed. Then I’d give him the chipmunk version of a physical therapy session to restore the use of his legs. When I came to Woodstock I couldn’t walk either and I lived on that same mountain and I got better.

So my days filled up with caring for him. He was strong and fun and trusted me and as much as the rest did me good and the unemployment helped, I’d have to say that it was the seventeen days taking care of a little chipmunk that gave me a real sense of worth. He set himself free in my yard rather than letting me take him back to the mountain where I’d found him. As the weather warmed and the world opened up a little and we were given the go ahead to work I created a beautiful outdoor massage suite under my carport. It had a dressing room with a wicker rocker and couch and thick shag rug. I built a stone patio where the table would be and hung gorgeous crimson silk curtains that billowed in the wind. My yard is full of chimes and plants and birdsong. The client who asked for my care during her dying days gave me a beautiful massage table before she passed away and I set up out there to honor her too. Just like my indoor massage studio I covered the table with soft sheets and long luscious towels and used my marvelous assortment of healing balms and lotions.

Clients began coming back. Some preferred to be inside with all the air filters and UV light and indoor plumbing but others like the outdoor experience. When I was massaging a friend of mine in my new outdoor salon I glanced over to the wicker rocker and there sat my little chipmunk watching me, my tiny avatar. My heart swells with joy and confidence every time I see him.

Through the summer I continued my treks up the mountain, long bike rides and daily exercise routines. Even though some of the old clients didn’t come out of their homes I have been blessed with many new and wonderful people to work with. A few things that kept me focused were my writing and virtual meetings with my writer’s group and my weekly attendance at a twelve step program on Zoom for people that grew up in an alcoholic household (ACOA). Isolation is a big part of growing up with an alcoholic parent so its tricky terrain in a pandemic not to just disappear. In some ways those Zoom meetings were even more intimate than meeting in person.

So to answer Ida’s question about how the pandemic has affected me and my practice I’d have to say that it brought me closer to the truth of who I am and what I love, than I’ve ever been before. It brought me new clients, new revelations, an injured chipmunk, clearer boundaries, a stronger body, time to feel and time to heal. Taking that step back from what I’ve done for a lifetime was good for me. Thank you for asking.

by Leslie Snow

Energy—how to manage it—is a familiar concept to readers of this newsletter. From my studies of Reiki, martial arts, Vipassana meditation, qi gong, and yoga, I interpret both inner, i.e., personal, and outer events through this paradigm.

Fortunately, I and my husband remain healthy, but I feel grief for all who suffer. This grief is balanced with the gratitude that I have my husband, my cat, my Aikido family, a few close friends, and my service as president of Ulster County Women’s Network (UCWN). Daily I count my blessings, including the great fortune that we live where we do, in beautiful Catskill Park.

The pandemic became real for me when the gym I worked at in Saugerties closed on March 16. I had already given my notice, accepting a job with the U.S. Census Bureau (that wouldn’t begin until July) after I realized that the time and energy I expended there far outweighed my compensation. After doing my taxes in order to apply for self-employed unemployment to help replace the little I was earning outside of the gym, I realized that it was time for new economic energy. I closed my business, Long Life Fitness, of more than a decade, and I’m letting all my dues, certifications, and insurance lapse. The pandemic unemployment payments helped us get through that initial period tremendously.

At first, I relished the solitude and free time of lock down, briefly revisiting several of my former passions of writing, drawing, ballet, and photography. My energy level was usually fine, but eventually it became sluggish: my legs felt heavy; nothing pleased or stimulated. I stopped yoga and quit meditating daily. Seeking stimulation, I found Lion’s Paw Kundalini with breath of fire, kapalabhati, pranayama to be stimulating and mood improving. My weight is up, but it doesn’t seem as important now that I don’t have to look buff for people to take me seriously. I still enjoyed Aikido weapons classes on Zoom once or twice a week; but I’m not as active as before.  At minimum, a hike or a walk around the block and daily range of motion exercises suffice until I can get back to the Aikido dojo.

I’ll work with Census, hopefully, until the end of the year. The skills I learned with the Census and with UCWN may eventually lead to my next job. My relationships with the UCWN advisory committee women who help put together and market our monthly Zoom events helped me realize the value of this group to others. We’re keeping this 25-year-old women’s club alive until we can meet again in person. It’s satisfying to be able to network with each other on Zoom, because otherwise we would not see each other at all.

In fact, slowing down has been an important lesson of this pandemic. All I can do is pay attention to both my inner and outer energy, adapting, and helping others as well as I can. I look forward to the day when we, the volunteers of HCHR, can again meet to deliver our special brand of healthcare.

By Peter Blum, C.I., C.Ht., M.S.C.

2020 – a year unlike any other… a year we will never forget that changed our lives inexorably. As David Byrne and The Talking Heads asked in Once In A Lifetime – “And you may ask yourself, well, how did I get here?”

In 1985, I was ending a 12-year career in journalism. My friend Richard Zarro, who had a successful practice in hypnosis and NLP, offered to train me. I never looked back, and after getting certified in 1986, I have spent the past 35 years seeing thousands of clients, in NYC and Woodstock, as well as becoming a Certified Instructor for the National Guild of Hypnotists in 1993 and training hundreds in the art of hypnosis.

Richard said, “It’s a dream job. Every day you get to have fun; help people live healthier, happier, and more fulfilling lives; and make money!” Making money is good, but I was also drawn to find ways to help those who, for one reason or another, did not have financial resources. In the mid 90’s, I connected with a group in NYC, called “Healing Works”, a not-for-profit organization that offered free holistic care to at-risk members of the City’s population. For several years I would spend a day doing hypnosis pro bono every month, until they closed in 2002.

About 10 years ago, Angel Ortloff, a massage practitioner, invited me to be a practitioner with Healthcare Is A Human Right. At that time, Angel was the director of the Darmstadt clinic in Kingston. This particular clinic was specifically for individuals staying at the shelter. I loved going there and offering my services to help people deal with stress, stop smoking, overcome fears, etc. Soon after, I began participating in the clinics open to the general public. HCHR had begun a quarterly clinic in Woodstock, but then started a monthly clinic at the Kirkland House in Kingston. After some years, it moved to The Lace Mill.

Fast forward to 2020. Every year, I typically would attend several hypnosis conferences around the country. On March 5, I flew out to Los Angeles to present at the International Hypnosis Federation’s annual retreat and conference. Things were a bit quieter than usual at JFK and LAX, but the “Wuhan flu”, or “China Virus” was not front page news yet. A few people at the airport were wearing masks, but when my friend and I arrived at the conference, there was little evidence of any concern. People were hugging and dancing and sharing food in a carefree environment.

We flew back on March 11 to a different world. HCHR’s monthly Kingston clinic, scheduled for Thursday, March 12, was cancelled. There was much confusion and a lot of conflicting reports and information flying around the news and the internet. Seemingly overnight, the pandemic became a very real thing in the U.S. Businesses closed, schools closed, statistics of those stricken, sick and dying, rose at an alarming rate. I can only imagine what life was like during the holocaust for my Jewish ancestors in Eastern Europe. No comparison! But this certainly was becoming the darkest hour that many of us had ever experienced – on a global scale.

The annual conference of the International Medical and Dental Hypnosis Association, scheduled for late April in Orlando, FL, was moved to Zoom. Typically, one submits proposals 6 months before a conference. The lecture I gave on a topic I had selected pre-pandemic, was “Mending The Funny Bone”. Well, I can tell you, it was a stretch to find anything humorous at that point!

Besides my hypnosis practice, I have spent decades studying the effects of sound and music on health and consciousness. This has led to the development of a parallel practice of sound healing. In addition to private sessions, often utilizing tuning forks, Himalayan singing bowls, gongs, flute, drums, etc., I have offered group sound baths or sound immersion meditations, averaging about one a month for the past 20 years.

As we progressed through increased alarm and mortality rates from COVID19, almost all the avenues I had utilized to offer my services came to a halt. No private sessions, no HCHR clinics, no conferences, no hypnosis trainings, no sound baths… My world, like that of millions of others, had become much smaller and more restricted. For the first several months I kept myself busy with long postponed projects – going through old file cabinets, clearing clutter, finishing a book I had been writing. I had a mindset that I could get through this as it was a finite thing; that soon things would return to normal.

Before long, the busywork, and projects became boring. Things were not going to return to anything near normal anytime in the immediate future. I live to be of service – to help others, to be useful. Phone calls and Zoom meetings took the place of live interactions but, as we all know, it’s not the same. I offered hypnosis sessions by phone, FaceTime, Skype, or Zoom, but had virtually no response.

Finally, towards the end of May, I started to receive communications from people seeking in person hypnosis sessions. Some were old clients, wanting a “booster shot”, and others were new clients, coming to me through referrals. I cautiously began to reopen my practice – seeing one or two people a week in my office – with appropriate social distancing, and the option of masks. While often I would question what the meaning and purpose of my life had become, during sessions, I felt totally centered and filled with clarity and joy.

For my own sanity and nurturing of soul, I gathered on a number of Sundays in May, June, July and August, with a few musical friends. We would meet outside, under a large pavilion, and spend hours playing music. I also have been fortunate enough to have my daughter, son-in-law, and two beautiful grandsons a 15-minute drive away from me. It is a constant source of upliftment to be in the presence of a 7 year old and a toddler.

I am in my early 70’s – most of my life has been a fantastic adventure, and I am so grateful for what the Buddhists call “this precious human birth”. If I were to die next week, or next month – well, no regrets. Or very few. But I am truly troubled by the thought of the world that my grandchildren, and all of the rest in that generation, are walking into. No one knows what the future will bring and the challenges of evolving and staying sane in a world-wide pandemic are unprecedented. Perhaps the best advice I give myself and others is “Live One Day At A Time”, and stay focused on what I can do every day to bring a smile to my face, or to yours.