9
0When real healing means pushing through the pain
当真正的疗愈意味着穿越疼痛
" There are ways, but the way is uncharted." I thought about these words, the first line of the first poem of the Tao Te Ching, as I lay facedown on a table carefully covered with fresh sheets, and the visually challenged masseur went to work. He began at the point where my neck meets my shoulders, pressing with his elbow. Pain.
“道可道，非常道。”《道德经》第一章第一句萦绕在我脑海。干净的床单已经铺好，我趴在按摩床上，盲人按摩师开始了他的工作。他用肘部从我的肩颈交汇处按起。疼痛袭来。
He didn't feel around to map the shape of my body; each connection point was confident, intentional and forceful. He worked his way up my neck and then down my back, uncovering deeper pain in each new area. At my calves, he unlocked the ninth circle of Hell, and I yelped. "Do you want him to go easier?" My friend asked, but I would not acquiesce. I had signed up for this.
他没有摸索我的身体轮廓，每个触点都果断、明了、有力。他沿着我的颈部一路向上，又顺着背部向下，每到一个新的区域，都会触发一层更深的疼痛。当他按压我的小腿时，仿佛打开了地狱第九层，我忍不住叫出声。“要让他轻一点吗？”朋友问我。但我拒绝了。我是自愿来承受这一切的。
I think my torturer knew this. I squirmed and gasped several times throughout the process, and each time, he stayed in that spot and found new ways to attack. He approached me like a stern mother. His truth was greater than my misery; my body needed healing. I worried about my friend. She had brought me to this treatment as a gift, and I didn't want her to think I hated it. So I ground my teeth, clenched my fists and submitted to the suffering.
我想“施刑者”心里清楚这一点。在整个过程中，我几次扭动身体，气喘呻吟，而每次他都会留在那个痛点，换个方式继续按压。他像一位严厉的母亲，他的信念凌驾于我的痛苦之上——我的身体确实需要疗愈。我担心朋友的感受。她送我这次按摩作为礼物，我不想让她觉得我讨厌它。所以，我咬紧牙关，握紧拳头，默默忍受这场“折磨”。
The activity had a name — "blind massage" — but for each of us, the experience was unique. My friend wanted to treat me, the masseur wanted to fix me, and I wanted to escape. Somewhere between these intentions was an unnamed reality. "There are names, but not nature in words," the poem continues. We grasp for descriptions of our world, but its truth eludes us and that's the point.
这项按摩有个名字——“盲人按摩”，但对我们每个人而言，体验却各不相同。朋友想要犒劳我，按摩师想要治愈我，而我只想逃离。介于这些意图之间的，是一种无法名状的现实。“名可名，非常名。”《道德经》如是说。我们试图描述世界，但世界的真相总是捉摸不透，这才是问题的关键。
The lights in the massage parlor were hospital-bright. The design was Spartan, essentials only. I didn't have the silk robes or soothing piano music to which I am accustomed. For the masseur, these material things were irrelevant. His senses were unencumbered by light, so he could instead worry about inflammation in my back, and lactic acid in my calves.
按摩室的灯光明亮如医院，陈设极简，仅有必需品。我熟悉的丝质浴袍和舒缓的钢琴曲在这里都不复存在。对按摩师而言，这些外在之物无关紧要。他的感官不被光线干扰，因此能专注于我背部的炎症和小腿中的乳酸堆积。
After the massage was finished, my friend commented on the excruciating noises I'd produced. She was generously making space for me to be critical of the experience, which I wouldn't do — couldn't do. I struggled to find the words to describe it. I was grateful and disappointed, tense but somehow relaxed. I still don't know how to explain what happened. It was what it was.
按摩结束后，朋友提起我方才发出的痛苦呻吟。她特意留有余地，让我可以坦率地吐槽这次体验，但我不想也无法这么做。这次体验难以名状，我心怀感激，却又隐隐失落，身体紧绷，却又似乎放松。我仍然说不清这次体验如何，它就是一次体验。
