“He Has a Selfless Heart” — The Only Person That Teacher Ever Praised

People sometimes ask me how I first entered this world.

It began when I was still in my twenties.

I had just returned from London and was calling myself a “freelance photographer,” although in reality I barely had any work and spent most of my time drifting aimlessly.

Around that time, my mother discovered a certain bodywork teacher, and I began attending her workshops regularly.

Originally, she practiced fairly ordinary physical therapy.

But before long, her methods evolved into something far stranger.

She began saying things like:

“You don’t even need to touch the body to help it.”“You can work remotely as well.”

At the time, I was skeptical.

And yet, while I was still living in London, I personally experienced something I could not explain.

I had severe lower back pain then.

After one session, the pain disappeared completely.

When something happens to your own body, it becomes difficult to deny outright.

Even now, many of the people who come to KaradaNaoru probably arrive for the same reason.

Something changes.

Maybe not in a way they can fully explain.

But the body changes nonetheless.

So they come back.

I understand that feeling very well.

Still, that teacher was an extremely intense person.

“Energy absolutist” would probably be the best description.

She would say outrageous things to couples attending the workshops, such as:

“Energetically, the two of you are completely incompatible.”

Naturally, people became exhausted and left.

At first there were twenty or thirty participants.

Within six months, only two or three remained.

Our own ongoing workshops now happen once a month.

Hers took place every single day.

Missing the last train became normal.

Looking back now, I honestly wonder how I endured it.

And yet life is strange.

I never imagined those experiences would later become connected to my own work.

The workshops themselves were bizarre and demanding.

What made them especially unsettling was the feeling that the teacher could somehow read what we were thinking.

One day, there was a discussion about finding people who might help spread her work to a wider audience.

For some reason, I was asked to think of potential supporters.

I began mentally listing names of people who might be useful.

But one after another, she rejected them immediately.

“No, that person is hopeless. Too many problems with women.”

“That one is consumed by ambition.”

Of course, whether any of it was true, I have no way of knowing.

But there is one thing I still remember very clearly.

Among all the names I mentioned, there was only one person she strongly praised.

“That person is good,” she said.“He has a selfless heart.”

The reason I remember it so vividly is simple.

That person was my father.

At the time, my relationship with my father was terrible.

I disliked him deeply.

So hearing that shocked me.

And apparently, the teacher noticed my reaction as well.

“Why do you dislike your father so much?” she asked.

That question unsettled me more than anything else.

Now, many years later, my father and I speak normally.

But back then, I could barely stand talking to him.

Time is strange.

Even deeply tangled relationships sometimes soften little by little.

I realized while writing this that the story became much longer than I expected.

I’ll continue the rest tomorrow.