Fresh Beginnings
It started innocently enough. A friend sent me a video, thinking I might be interested. Interested? As soon as I pressed the play button, I was hooked.
In a warm pool of softly lit blue water, a man held a woman gently in his arms. He slowly and gracefully danced her through a series of movements, stretching her out, sweeping her around, curling her into a fetal position, even taking her under the water for a few moments of total submersion.
The woman was relaxed, surrendering herself to the flowing movements. She wore a nose clip that allowed the practitioner to take her head beneath the water’s surface. The dance of her body seemed effortless and enchanting.
As I watched, the excitement in my body told me that I also wanted this experience. The combination of sensuality and surrender gave me goosebumps. It reminded me of those special moments during lovemaking when two beings move deeply and harmoniously together, and sex suddenly becomes sacred.
I wanted to find out more about this water dance. Searching the internet, I discovered “Watsu,” which I gathered was a form of shiatsu massage in warm water, similar to the video I had been watching. Soon, I came across a book by Harold Dull, the inventor of Watsu, and phoned his headquarters in California to order it.
I liked the photos and eagerly devoured the text. In this particular form of bodywork, the practitioner floats you in her arms, then moves and stretches your body while at the same time working with shiatsu and acupressure points. The warm water— heated to body temperature—provides a reassuring fluid medium reminiscent of being in the womb, offering a sensual, weightless, and utterly relaxing experience.
I promised myself to experience Watsu as soon as possible and already sensed that this might mean a considerable disruption in my lifestyle.
It was one of those life-changing decisions we all face from time to time. A door opens unexpectedly, a new direction offers itself, and we have the freedom to choose: to walk into the unknown or remain where we are. For me, it would have been easy and comfortable to simply stay put.
It was 1996, and I was living amid flowering trees and tropical gardens in the hinterland of Byron Bay on the northeastern coast of New South Wales, Australia. The house I called home was set on a ridge high above a pleasant landscape of rolling green fields. From every room, there was a view of the Pacific Ocean. In the distance, one could see our small beach town with its famous lighthouse, Australia’s most easterly point.
This was my perfect paradise. Born and raised in a small town in Northern Germany, famous for its year-round cold, windy, and wet climate, I had moved to Berlin to study English, German, and Philosophy with the hope of becoming a writer. There, I cherished my newfound creative self-expression by contributing articles to feminist magazines and publishing my own experiential poetry.
At the same time, I felt restricted by a range of conventional ideas and expectations, assimilated since childhood, about who I should become and what I should be doing with my life. My father worked as a small claims court administrator, my mother was a passionate stay-at-home mom, and their dearest wish was that I become a high school teacher, and if not that, then at least a librarian. And so, at 25, my longing for freedom, adventure, and warmer weather pulled me out of Germany and sent me flying across the globe to Australia.
As the sun rose on my first morning in Sydney, I heard raucous, laughter-like sounds coming from the garden. I stumbled outside, and there sat a plump brown and white bird of about 16 inches with a huge beak laughing its head off: a kookaburra. Laughter is its song. Instantly, my love for this new country was born.
Australia fired up my creativity, drive, and ambition. In Sydney, I founded, developed, and eventually sold a domestic cleaning agency. I sat exams to become accredited as a translator and interpreter between English and German. After taking courses in accounting and working as a bookkeeper in Sydney for several years, I moved to the Byron Bay area and started offering bookkeeping services and accounting software training to small businesses.
From the local carpet shop to the doctor’s office, from the finest restaurant in town to the little clothing store, my clients came from all walks of commercial life. Teaching them how to maintain bookkeeping on their computers and achieve a better understanding of their day-to-day financial reality was a fulfilling vocation.
But it didn’t stop there. After a while, I realized that not only did I initiate my clients into the secrets of accounting software, but also, covertly, I was sharing deeper values, focusing more on taking back their power, becoming more self-reliant, and being in charge of their own lives. Passing on these precious gifts came naturallyme, and I began to understand that this had more to do with sharing myself than teaching actual techniques.
Self-employment suited me, and my self-esteem and confidence grew. Building a business, rising to the challenges of entrepreneurship, and enjoying the success that came my way—I embraced it all as confirmation that I was living the best possible life in the best place on the planet. I was sharp-minded and good- looking with a gorgeous body and firmly believed I could do anything.
Of course, it wasn’t all fun and games. There were downsides. When a creature called “Success” arrived at my doorstep, it introduced me to its faithful companion, who went by the name of “Stress.” Overwhelmed by my ever-growing workload and the responsibilities that went with it, I would go to bed thinking about the day’s problems and would often be too busy to spend quality time with my friends.
My back was constantly sore, the result of chronically poor posture, hunched for hours over desks and computers. But I was somehow managing to nurse it with the help of regular bodywork, yoga, and swimming. Meditation practice, which I had started in my late teens, helped me stay psychologically healthy and clear.
During this time, I also suffered my share of heartbreak. Soon after arriving in Australia, I fell headlong in love with a man who, I was convinced, was the love of my life, but who, over time, proved otherwise. After five years of deep intimacy, we parted ways, and inevitably, I had to pass through a dark tunnel of sorrow and pain before I was able to stand once more in the healing light of the sun, face the world with a smile, and get on with my life.
A couple of years later, in Byron Bay, I entered into a new relationship. Still, after only twelve months, our connection, which at first had held so much promise for a fulfilling and long-term commitment – including talks of starting a family—was unravelling.
Watsu came into my life during this time. A few months after reading Harold Dull’s book, I learned he was offering a two-week training in his Watsu method in Hawaii. I was immediately drawn to participate.
My boyfriend didn’t want me to go since we were seeing a counsellor by that time, holding onto the last remaining thread of hope that things would work out. But for me, there was no question about attending the course. The pull was too strong. I had to go.
“See you soon,” I whispered in our goodbye hug, but he said nothing. We both knew this was the end of our relationship.
I flew to Hawaii and joined Harold, his wife, his team, and a group of about twelve other participants on the Big Island at a small retreat center in the wilderness. A short drive away was a renowned black sand beach fringed by palm trees, where a lava flow from Kilauea, the island’s most active volcano, had created a natural pool right next to the ocean. Pleasantly warm spring water flowed up from the bottom of the rocky pool. The Warm Pond, as it was known, was the most sensual place I could imagine and the ideal setting for Watsu.
My first Watsu session, given to me by one of Harold’s assistants, was everything I had hoped it would be. There were moments when I could feel the vibration of pure lifeforce energy in every cell of my body, pulsing with a sensation of deep silence and oneness with all things. The training was off to a perfect start.
Every morning, we would learn and practice new Watsu moves at the Warm Pond, giving and receiving sessions. There was only a thin layer of rock between the pond and the ocean, so now and then, a refreshing surge of cold ocean water would splash over us.
Sadly, this exquisite spot no longer exists, as it was covered by a new lava flow caused by a big eruption from Kilauea several years later. But at the time, it was one of nature’s miraculous gifts to anyone who knew about it.
Two weeks later, I somehow managed to return to Byron Bay and continue with my consulting business, which wasn’t that easy, even though I loved my work. Who wants to go back to the office after being transported to paradise?
I settled into a new routine, continuing with my accounting and computer consulting business while making time to offer Watsu sessions in my own pool. Giving these sessions had an immediate impact on my state of well-being. Not only did I love every minute of it, but my back was also no longer hurting, and my mind and body had settled into a healthy balance.
I was beginning to understand my attraction to Watsu from a new perspective. It was helping me open up to my femininity, which I had neglected for years, preoccupied with my chosen role as the super-efficient entrepreneur. That was why an ecstatic shiver had passed through my body when I watched that first video, the invitation to utterly relax, surrender, and be moved through the yielding medium of warm water.
This balance of male and female energies, present in both men and women, was a concept I had learned as part of my interest in Tantra, the India-born art of exploring and transforming different kinds of human energy, including sexual, emotional, mental, and spiritual. In short, male energy is about doing and achieving, while female energy is about relaxing and receiving. To be given a Watsu session was my inner woman’s idea of heaven.
Not to be outdone, my inner man also got involved because the natural next step was to teach Watsu, which appealed to “his” need for action, creating an ideal balance between the two sides of my male/female energy polarity. Moreover, I could see this form of bodywork becoming increasingly popular internationally in spa settings and physical therapy, and I could feel the excitement of being at the leading edge of a new wave.
Teaching required more training with Harold, which he offered at Harbin Hot Springs, a retreat center in Northern California where he lived and worked. Harold accepted me as an assistant in his Watsu classes.
My Australian friends were intrigued by my choice of repeatedly abandoning “normal” life in Byron Bay to chase Watsu dreams in exotic places around the planet.
But this is how change happens in life, isn’t it? We move somewhere, settle into the new place, and make friends. A mini- world, a mini-society, is created around us without any special intention on our part. We think we know each other and can rely on each other. Daily life seems predictable and orderly, and suddenly a strong gust of change blows through, scattering all the pieces on the chessboard.
An acquaintance picked me up at San Francisco Airport. It was getting dark as we drove over the Golden Gate Bridge and headed north for two hours, passing over the Mayacamas mountain range at Mount Saint Helena and leaving the main highways behind for some narrow roads, winding up and down, left and right, through thick, dark forest.
It was a scary drive. In my daze of jet lag, I was getting nervous and thinking, “Gee, where are we going? We’re heading deep into the backwoods! Why did I ever leave Australia for this strange experience?”
The pools at Harbin Hot Springs made up for it. They were spectacularly beautiful, surrounded by bay, oak, and fir trees set amongst scattered manzanita bushes with their distinctive reddish- brown branches. In the warm September sunshine, the heady fragrance in the air—combined with the warm temperature—made for a sensual environment. There was a large warm pool heated to body temperature, with a hot pool at one end and beyond that, a cold plunge and a large sun deck.
Very quickly, my favorite place became a specific spot in the warm pool where a spout brought the hot water in, massaging my back and sending shivers up and down my spine. I would half stand, half float. Above me was nothing but the blue sky and a magnificent fig tree, its branches bent heavy with fruit.
I swear, in my imagination, I could just open my mouth, and by the grace of God, a ripe fig might fall right into it. And I would slowly chew it and suck on it, letting its juices explode on my tongue, the ultimate sensual experience.
The first meeting of the Watsu class I was scheduled to assist began with introductions and logistics on Sunday evening in a conference room rather than in the pool. There were two more assistants, a warm-hearted, friendly guy called Daniel, and an invisible “Steve Carter” who seemed important. Supposedly he lived near Harbin but hadn’t shown up.
The next morning at six o’clock, about 20 of us were in the pool, ready for our first water class. Up to my chest in warm water, I moved here and there, quietly helping the students, adjusting stances and arm positions. At one point, I was standing sideways next to a student giving a practice session. The person receiving was floating effortlessly on the water’s surface, his head safely resting in the crook of the student’s left arm and the back of his knees supported by her other arm.
“Raise your elbow a little and press more on the far shoulder,” I encouraged the student softly. “Now, as you breathe in, feel the body rise, and as you breathe out, allow it to sink down gently. Enter into a slow rhythm with the breath. It’ll create a subtle feeling of union between you and your client. Let your body rise and sink, too.”
I was adjusting her elbow one more time when suddenly I heard a male voice near my right ear.
