Searching for a quick-fix healing.

Searching for a Quick-Fix Healing

BY SAOIRSE RAFFERTY

On the plane over to Bali, I’m ashamed to admit I watched Eat, Pray, Love, indulging in the fantasy of my single unemployed life transforming into Elizabeth Gilbert’s story. So, almost as soon as I hopped off the plane, I headed to Ubud and made an appointment with a rather expensive but highly rated palm reader (no, it was not Ketut from the movie).

Random man sorting out my present problems and promising a bright future? Check. My first Bali spiritual quest started on the back of a GoJek in heavy traffic and ended in a beautiful quiet home decorated with colourful sarongs.

The first step to ‘finding yourself’ is ‘facing yourself’, I thought while waiting by a fountain in the lobby, chewing on a sweet offered by the healer’s wife. I was scared.

Afraid to let go of control and hand over my future to a stranger I’d met via TripAdvisor. What if he told me wonderful things about my life? What if he didn’t. What if he saw all of the heartache from the last few years? What if he didn’t. I remained sceptical like a closed book wanting to be read. I was testing a man who didn’t seem phased by my existence. I was just a four o’clock in his busy list of clients.

And then he appeared, resembling a mythical creature dressed brighter than his home. He signalled for me to follow him as if I’d been there before. The healer gifted me with everything I wanted to hear and more: especially a good husband who I’d meet two years later. Mum will be thrilled. But why couldn’t I believe it? I hated myself for not gullibly digesting every word. After he finished analyzing my personality and told me to stop thinking so much (which caused me to think more - does he say this to all Westerners?), we proceeded to the healing rituals.

By then I’d been in his home for over an hour, and as he pressed different parts of my body, silently chanting some sort of spells, I resisted the urge to use the bathroom with deep breaths, not wanting to ruin the magic of the ceremony. But after listening to him command ‘release and let go’ several times, I almost did, and the healing concluded with me urgently running to the loo.

The healer gave me a printed copy of affirmations to repeat morning and night. At last, a neatly printed cure for my overactive mind to keep me busy till the husband arrives. But after a week, this felt like daily penance. Alongside my 30kg suitcase, I had a heap of extra personal baggage before visiting this healer, yet somehow the load felt heavier when I left. I realised I’d have to take daily action rather than expecting a quick fix or waiting for an imaginary partner to save me. Turns out, reciting generalized affirmations twenty times a day wasn’t for me. Recognising that, was one step closer to trusting myself instead of relying on healers.

I was close to concluding that Bali healing is not worth the hype or the money. Until one day...

...when I serendipitously made a new friend. I felt drawn to sit beside her during a breathwork class. She recommended an underrated healer who worked at the back of a supermarket. Nothing luxurious. Nothing expensive. But she claimed he restored the energy, though the process was the most pain she’d ever endured. Let’s give Balinese healing another chance, something in me urged on. And so two days later, I approached a plain building that I would’ve missed if it weren’t for the man waiting by the entrance with a smile on his face. This can’t be it. No sign or display — just packets of pringles and cans of coke. The man assured me I was in the right place before I had a chance to ask. I followed him behind the till to a quiet room decorated with family pictures. Everything felt… just so normal. Where’s my incense smoke? Where are the mysterious altars?

“What can I do for you?” he asked, and suddenly I broke down crying to a stranger who spoke little English. He placed both hands on my shoulders and I felt as if I’d known him my entire life. He rested his forehead against mine, then said a few sentences and I believed every word. After that, he squeezed and twisted different parts of my body. Something inside me released (this time it wasn’t my bladder). Since that day, I have been able to breathe easier. This time it didn’t break my bank account either, though it felt my bones were breaking at the time.

Take what you want from my experience. I am not fully ‘healed’ and unconvinced I ever will be.

I have considered venturing to more healers and even contemplated returning to the supermarket for a dose of spiritual BDSM. But at what point do we stop visiting strangers and start trusting in ourselves? Stop depending on oracle cards and listen to our intuition?

I’ll keep branching out further in hope of getting closer to discovering who I am and what I can do, which is why I came to Bali to start with. Then who knows, maybe the palm reading will come true after all.

FROM THE AUTHOR

First of all, my name is pronounced ‘Seer-sha’ (I’m Irish if you hadn’t already guessed). I like to talk about the messiness of being human and why it’s okay to be a beginner. I am a travel enthusiast, writer, podcaster, book-lover, dog lover, cat lover, and, as of lately, risktaker. I have just finished my first novel and am working on the second.

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www.agoodkindofscary.com or follow @agoodkindofscary on Instagram.