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Dear friend,

I’m sorry for not writing to you in such a long time. I’ve been quite busy treating many patients. One needs their rest when they work with tired people. But today, I finally find myself in the right headspace–time continuum to sit down and talk to you about things like not living the dream, migraines, and how all that relates to osteopathy — and, more importantly, to meditation.

You know, every time someone asks me how life is in Vietnam, or in any foreign country, I can feel their disappointment when I don’t tell them that everything is perfect. I mean, just like in any other country — including France — there are some great things and others that are not so amazing. I usually like to stick to facts when I’m being asked about a place. That’s what I do when people ask about Ireland or Malaysia, because I don’t want them to have false hopes, even if it means lowering their expectations a bit.
The thing is, I try not to live in a fictional world. I try not to live the dream. Based on what matters to me — the food I enjoy, the climate I thrive in — a city or society might suit my needs better. But that’s it.

I guess working in different places around the world has turned me into a less naïve human being. It means I won’t fall for a job offer that says, “Come and work in sunny England.” It also means that, as much as I like football, I can never forget the absurdity of getting happy when players who aren’t even from my city manage to push a ball of leather beyond a line. On the other hand, I’m still able to have a decent day when they don’t win — so there’s that.

You know me — I think I’ve always been like that. But I also believe this is something I’ve been working on for ages through meditation. It’s been super useful to my osteopathic practice, and if you know any osteopaths, I think it could be useful to theirs as well. So don’t hesitate to tell them what I’m about to reveal.

I find that most practitioners have no chill. The very moment their soul is even slightly stroked by a sensation, they feel the need to talk about it or to take action — naming, pulling, asking their spirit guide or their osteopathic mentor, or worse, writing a book about fascia and energy! Half a second of lucid perception, and they’re already selling their training online.
The sensation one can get during a session is amazing, but life still goes on. And while we’re busy talking about what instantly becomes the past, we might be missing out on whatever the present is offering us. After all, there’s as much to feel when I’m with a patient as when I’m on my own, facing a wall.

That’s the lack of clarity I want to point out today: you don’t stop listening. Listening is a never-ending process, because life is a never-ending process.

Of course, I might find it less interesting to face a wall than to be in touch with someone’s traumas. But that’s my own broken psyche making me believe there’s a hierarchy in what I feel. My need to fix the world makes it more appealing to be in the presence of someone asking for fixing. Still, if we stick to the facts — just like with football — meeting a patient or having a migraine is exactly the same. After all, even though migraines are not the most comfortable experience, they are still an experience.

First there’s the pain — unbearable; it feels like being stabbed with an ice pick. I absolutely recommend you try it someday; it’s utterly delightful. But the most interesting part, to me, is how the perception called “the body” (not the perception of the body) is altered during the event we call a migraine. Be careful with my words here: it’s not that perceptions are altered by the migraine. It’s the other way around — the alteration, the pain, is the migraine.

It’s very difficult to talk about perception, and maybe if I knew how to draw, I could make it easier for you to understand. Imagine being made of ice cream, and a giant person comes with a giant scoop and takes away half of your head. It’s still there, of course, but you no longer feel the limits of your skull. How fascinating!

Meditation did that to me. It made me more and more aware of the process I call my body — an ongoing rhythm of infinite stillness, enfolded within longer rhythms and wider still spaces.

But more interestingly, I’ve found that my migraine can be experienced by someone who truly, deeply, and silently encounters me. Someone silent enough not to live the dream, but to stay with the everlasting dance of perceptions. A person like that could make a drawing of my migraine — not based on what I tell them, but on how they experience it.

In some cases, these perceptions can be influenced through touch. In others, medicine is required. Often, presence is the only thing needed — especially if one’s stillness is strong enough to help me face the perceptions I currently have.
Unfortunately, I’ve rarely met people able to do that for me. Still, the very few times it happened have changed me. And since you and I are part of the world, I believe those sacred moments might have changed the entire universe forever.

If you’re ever interested, I might resume my online meditation classes one day. In the meantime, my friend, I wish you not to live the dream.

That’s all for today. Should you like to receive my newest articles via email, you can subscribe here.

Love,
Jules