A Musical Moment

Dianne was having a depressing day. “Another depressing day,” she thought as she reached the therapist’s studio. Why should today be any different? They were all depressing. Then, a pessimistic afterthought wearily raised its head: “I expect this will be a waste of money too.”

The brass plate on the door only added to her misgivings. In gold letters on a black background it said: Musical Moments—Kay Wilkinson, Therapist. What kind of crazy business name was that? “Why me?” she thought. “How come I get caught up going to places like this?”

Dianne was greeted by a cheerful woman who looked about ten years her junior, and again her subconscious voiced its disapproval. God! She’s so young! How can she possibly help me? “Thank you for seeing me on such short notice.” Her polite insincerity scarcely veiled her reluctance to be there.

The therapist's smile would have looked great in a beauty commercial. “Doctor Shaw thought it might be best if I saw you quickly,” she said.

“When he asked me to make an appointment I thought you must have been a psychiatrist, but he said that you’re a masseuse.”

“Really?”

“Well, not exactly, but that's what I thought he meant.”

“What I do is a little like massage, I suppose. It’s a little more like shiatsu, but it isn’t even that, really—at least, not in the traditional sense.”

“You’re not an acupuncturist?” Dianne's voice rose in alarm.

“No,” Kay laughed. “I’m more like a piano tuner.”

Dianne was non-plussed and her manners slipped into the background. “Look, if this is some of that new age crap I’m not interested.”

Kay was unoffended by the reaction. “Dr Shaw was confident that I could help,” she said. “Do you think he’d send you here otherwise?”

“Well, what’s this garbage about tuning pianos? How’s that going to help?”

“When I was a child my parents sent me for piano lessons. I was good, but not good enough to be a professional, so I took my degree in physiotherapy.

“I realised that a lot of the problems I treated were psychosomatic. The symptoms were real enough but they had their origin in all sorts of emotional disharmony. It might start from something as simple as worry, or as complex as depression or even schizophrenia.”

“Everybody knows that!”

“Of course! It’s a given that your mind can affect your body but what puzzled me was the ‘how’. I wanted to know what actually happened to those unhealthy thoughts on their journey to become an illness. After a while I realised that the whole body can get out of tune—just like a piano. What I do gets rid of all those discordant energies and brings your body back into harmony.”

“It sounds as though you’re talking about auras.”

“I’m talking about the human energy field,” said Kay. “We all have one. When it becomes fragmented we get problems—sometimes physical, sometimes emotional.”

“How long have you been doing this?”

“Almost fifteen years.”

“Fifteen years?” Dianne’s face registered total disbelief. “Oh! c'mon! That doesn’t add up. I don’t care how smart you are, you didn’t develop something like that when you were still a kid.”

Kay laughed. “Don’t let my appearance fool you. I’m older than you. When your body’s in tune you can’t help looking young.”

Unconvinced, Dianne permitted herself to be led into the treatment room. It was equipped with a comfortable-looking, but obviously well-used, massage table. Standing beside one wall was a modern stereo system, complete with surround sound, and alongside that a unit packed with CDs. She went behind a screen and changed into a light cover-all.

When she emerged, Kay asked her to lie face down on the table. “What sort of music do you like?”

“Country,” she said.

“Goodness! Is that all you listen to?”

“And Western,” said Dianne, a little defensively.

“It’s no wonder you’re depressed,” said Kay. “Music affects the harmony of our bodies. Most country music is about losers, people down on their luck, and people with broken hearts.”

“But life is like that.”

“Mine isn’t, and yours doesn’t have to be. You’re not doing yourself any favours. Diversify a bit. Sure, keep listening to Country if you really like it but find something a little more positive and listen to that as well. Do you like Mozart?”

“That’s really heavy stuff, isn’t it?”

“Mozart? Don’t you believe it. He’s full of light and colour and the sheer joy of living—as you’re just about to discover.” She reached for a remote and pressed the start button. “This one’s called Allegro Assai. Trust me, after today you’re never going to feel the same way again.”

Kay held her hands above Dianne’s back in the manner of a pianist addressing the keyboard and her shoulders swayed in time with the music through the first six bars of the piano introduction. As the orchestra picked up the theme, her hands dropped onto Dianne’s back, sometimes heavily, sometimes lightly, as she found the woman’s pressure points. She played her as though she were an instrument.

Dianne was startled by the emotions that surged through her. At first she was disconcerted by the unusual treatment, then she felt herself relaxing and actually starting to enjoy not only the treatment but the movement of the music. She discovered, to her astonishment, that her mood was becoming brighter, more cheerful. And even more surprising, for the first time in her life she was enjoying, really enjoying, orchestral music.

And as that music, assisted by Kay’s skilful fingers, awoke her to new thoughts, new emotions, she realised that so much of her depression was self-inflicted.

Now she understood the message of Kay’s business name. This was indeed a musical moment and, if it made her feel this good, she knew there would be many more to come.