“Homes Carry a Presence Too”

Several years ago, a man in his fifties came to my salon from Nagoya.

To be honest, I barely remember what symptoms he had or what led him to book the session in the first place.

But the moment I placed my hand lightly on his head, I naturally found myself saying:

“…You must live in a wonderful home.”

I did not say it with any particular intention.

It was not some dramatic “vision” or mystical experience.

The words simply came out naturally.

At that moment, tears quietly welled up in the man’s eyes.

Then he softly replied,

“My eldest son built it for me.”

As we spoke, I learned that the house was more than fifty years old.

A few years earlier, the family had renovated it.

And interestingly,

his eldest son was a carpenter,

while his second son worked as a plumber.

The sons themselves had taken the lead in rebuilding the home.

As I listened, something inside me quietly understood.

Ah… that explains it.

Of course, a house is physical.

It is made of wood, steel, walls, and pipes.

But perhaps human beings do not live surrounded only by materials.

What feelings went into building it.

What kinds of conversations took place there.

What kinds of people spent their time in that space.

I believe those things remain within a place.

Over the years, I have worked with more than 3,000 people.

And one thing I have gradually come to feel very strongly is this:

The body is deeply influenced by the place where a person spends most of their life.

Of course, I do not mean that every problem can simply be blamed on a house or land.

Reality is never that simple.

But there are certainly homes where, for some reason, people naturally relax.

Places where breathing becomes deeper without effort.

And conversely,

there are people who begin to feel heavy again the moment they return home.

People who feel pressure simply by entering a room.

Those differences do exist.

Perhaps the consciousness, emotions, and time of the people who created a space quietly seep into it over the years.

That is why lately, I have begun to feel that

more important than “what kind of house you live in”

is

“with what kind of feelings that place was created.”

The man’s home in Nagoya was not a modern luxury mansion.

But it was a home built by sons who used their own hands for their father.

Maybe that is why the atmosphere felt so soft and gentle.

To restore the body may also mean

restoring the place we return to every day.