Ojos en mis Manos

“Tengo ojos en mis manos.” I have Eyes in my Hands, she told me, as she pressed her dark withered fingers slowly and directly into the center of my abdomen. “You can trust me. Now take a breath.”

On Nana Maria’s command, my belly filled like a balloon. As I let the exhale fall, she pressed harder and deeper into my core, approaching my spine from the inside. I felt my psoas tighten; all the muscles in my back I’d felt for years spasm with the confrontation of her touch. I winced from a pain so familiar, tears streaming down my face. ”Don’t cry,” the great grandmother chirped, her voice like a bird’s. “Or cry, if you need to,” she added, with a shrug. “But — trust. Trust in my hands.”

Immense pain filled my body as she moved around and through my organs. I tried to wriggle away, but held down by the 84-year-old midwife’s hands, the Hands with Eyes, there was nowhere to go. She spoke no English, and very little Spanish — only the indigenous dialect of her province — but not many words were needed. Just a few days earlier I had experienced a close brush with death. Somehow, I had landed there, in a small thatched hut, collapsed in the elder woman’s lap. Now, she was helping me release. She was helping me live.

On this day of the most Light, I honor the healers, my own healing journey, and the capacities that come through me and my healing work — the Eyes in my Hands. And in honoring the healing I too honor my wounds, for without them I could not have healed. Without the dark, we won’t have the light. And I thank you and I embrace you Source of Light, the light of the Stars, Sun, Heart, Hands, Eyes, Earth... the beautiful healing Light within All on this day.