Apr 20, 2006

PODCETRTEK, Slovenia – Tibetan gong massage. In Eastern Europe. That's how the day begins, bizarrely.

I sprawl on a mat, clad – refreshingly – in my yoga gear. The therapist, without any irony, places bronze-colored cauldrons around my body, then whangs them with a padded mallet.

Apparently the "singing bowls" are harmonically aligning my aura. Eventually, she vibrates pressure points directly.

I'm torn. "Some tart's banging pots on me," the Monty Pythonesque part of my brain trills. On the other hand, the process is quite soothing. My ever-tense shoulders shiver and relax. I even doze a bit, which delights her.

"Your energy really flowed there," she says.

No. I just binged on wifi last night and only managed four hours of sleep, I think.

But I'm as discrete and serene as the Dalai Lama. Smiling, I sip my mint tea.

East and West. Who said the twain shan't meet?

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