Reiki, Squirrels & Memory Lanes

I’m spending a few days at my friends’ place while they’re on vacation. I’m here partly because I don’t have my own apartment yet—but also because they asked me to take care of their little roommates while they’re away: squirrels. For years, they’ve been committed to rescuing these animals across Germany. They often take in injured or orphaned baby squirrels, lovingly nurturing them until they’re ready to return to the wild.

My friends have saved countless squirrels, giving them a chance at life and a safe haven. Now, I get to make a small contribution: several times a day, I feed tiny squirrel babies with a bottle. It fills me with boundless joy to watch these fragile little creatures eagerly taking in their nutritions for life and strength.

Another animal, one with a severe head injury who can barely keep its balance, darts through the apartment. It wouldn’t survive outside, but here it has found a safe home. At five in the morning, the soft sound of its claws on the wooden floor wakes me up—tap, tap, tap. That sound is one of the most beautiful things I’ve heard in a long time, because it’s the sound of pure joy in being alive.

As I take care of these animals, I can feel the pain of the past few years slowly fading. Nothing seems more important than making sure they’re cared for and protected on their path to recovery. They’ve gone through their own trauma, and so we are together—vulnerable, but alive. I give them nourishment and safety; they give me their joy and the simple gift of their presence. It feels like a quiet exchange of strength, healing both of us.

Now it might get a bit esoteric. Yep, I don’t just write about the places I visit or the things I eat—I also write about the steps I’m taking on my path to healing. This means saying yes to everything life brings my way. Sometimes that also means exploring alternative practices far removed from traditional therapy. There’s so much we don’t know—things that could help us if we open ourselves to them. One of those experiences for me was distant Reiki.

I could easily imagine that laying hands on someone could balance certain things through an exchange of energy. But from afar? That couldn't possibly work, I thought.Still, I lay in my room, gave my practitioner—over a thousand kilometers away—permission to work on me, closed my eyes, and listened to the music she had sent me. At first, nothing happened. I expected a pleasant session, full of light and relaxation. But only a few minutes in I started to see images and fell into a rollercoaster of emotions.

I saw a beach in my mind's eye. Vast, bright, and empty. The water was far away, shallow, and calm. Then I saw him. Lucas. It was so joyful, so light, so beautiful. The thought crosses my mind that, in another life, in another world, we could have been happy. Just like when we first met, when everything was still ahead of us—all the hopes and dreams we had.

Then Lucas turned around and started walking away. An unbearable pain overtook me. I stood there, calling after him, falling to my knees. “Please, no, please don’t!” I couldn't let him go. I didn’t want to be without him. But I knew he had to leave.

Then my mother appears. And suddenly, all these words poured out of me: “Why was it like this? Why didn’t you ever love me? Why was it the way it was?” I started apologizing over and over. I’m sorry—to my mother, to myself, to Lucas. For all the frustration, the anger, the pain.

After I said these words, my mother started to leave as well.

Suddenly, I saw countless lights, like diamonds shining around me. Angels approached me. I could feel them offering their help, but I couldn't accept it. I kept saying, “No, I’m not worthy.” I turned away.

Then my friends appeared. They just stood there, quietly and patiently. I curled up on the ground, withdrawing into myself, feeling unworthy—not of their friendship, not of love, not of a beautiful life. But they stayed. They pulled me up from the ground and helped me take one small step at a time.

In the distance, I saw all the people I wanted to work with one day. They also just stood there, waiting without pressure, until I’m ready. Seeing them gave me strength, even though I knew I’m not ready yet.

We all walked to a bright meadow bathed in golden light. In the center stood a large table, filled with delicious food. Behind it was a man with blond hair, dressed in white. I knew he was my person. But I couldn't go to him. I turn away.

I was led to the table, where my friends were already sitting. They were waiting for me to join. But my gaze went to my mother. I wanted so badly for her to sit at my table. But I knew: that’s not possible. Not in this life. She has her own table.

The pain was  immense, but eventually, I calmed down. I accepted that it is the way it is. My friends started a food fight while I simply watched. I felt at peace. A faint melancholy, but no more pain. I thought of my mother, of Lucas, and I felt love.

Afterwards, I bike through the city, and every street, every corner reminds me of us. There’s the path he called “the worst birthday ever,” the night before his birthday when we argued, and I was sure we’d break up—only for it to turn into “the best birthday ever.” There, in the park, we got drunk and rowed a boat, after a fight. The road to the Philharmonic, silent after a long argument, we sat beside each other like strangers that evening.

I ride the same lanes where he once pedaled me around in a cargo bike. Across the bridge where he found me after I ran from him, cutting my arms in front of his eyes in despair because I couldn’t take his humiliation anymore. Here we fought. There we laughed. The memories are unbearable.

I am aware that healing will be a long journey. The pain within me runs deep, and I am swinging between freedom and grief. Between longing for a “normal” life and accepting what happened. I practice being patient and gentle with myself, not feeding my impatience. When the pain resurfaces, I let it be there—feel it, let it spread, hoping that one day it can leave.

If you are interested in squirrel rescue, check out this link or look for one near you. https://www.eichhoernchen-notruf.com

If you have thoughts or questions on these or other topics, feel free to leave a comment or contact me directly. 

Be well.

Vaselisa