When I was 8, I decided I wanted to learn the violin. I started with the basics – how to hold the violin under my chin, how to tilt my head just so, how to hold the bow, how to relax my shoulders, how not to have a death grip on either the violin or the bow. Then I began to learn how to play. Where to put my fingers, how to move the bow across the strings so that a pleasant sound came through vs. the dreaded screech that sounded like fingernails down a chalkboard.
I believe Twinkle Twinkle was the first piece I learned. There were also scales and technique exercises to be practiced – over and over and over. As I advanced, the pieces grew in difficulty and so did the scales and techniques. I confess, I hated doing scales and techniques. They were so dull and boring although I was willing to do them because the pay off was all that technique allowed me the freedom to really enjoy playing the music I loved.
My violin teacher, a member of the Columbus Symphony Orchestra, invited me to sit in on their rehearsal of Mendelssohn’s Violin Concerto. I was awestruck. The melody of that concerto captured me like none other. My mom agreed to buy me a copy of the sheet music and I spent hours and hours attempting to play it. It was ridiculously difficult and I didn’t care, I loved it so much. (If you want to hear what I’m talking about you can watch Sarah Chang play it on YouTube.)
Over time, it became easier. All those hours of scales and techniques finally had a purpose! They served the art. They allowed me to develop the muscle memory so that my fingers knew exactly where to be to create a G flat. My bow arm knew how to create smooth, flowing phrases or crisp, choppy notes.
Over time it began to flow from my fingertips and I could play along for long stretches with the recording I had of the amazing Itzhak Perlman. Immersing myself in the music was magical.
There’s a common thread to most learning. The struggle to get the basics, to learn the fundamentals. In craniosacral therapy it’s about learning the hand positions, learning how to contact the tissues, how much pressure, how to feel the rhythm, the tides, the structure of the techniques. It’s challenging, it’s tiring, it’s exhilarating.
You most likely had to have your eyes closed to amplify the sensations under your hands. You probably couldn’t hold a conversation and keep track of what the body was doing. You spent a lot of time hoping you were doing it correctly.
And you practiced. A lot.
Slowly you found that you didn’t need to carry your notebook with you from position to position. You remembered the order of the techniques, you remembered what your index finger should be making contact with, what you should be feeling for. You could even get it all done in an hour. Remember when you wondered how in the world you’d ever manage to complete a treatment in an hour?!?
The sensations were easier to feel, you began to notice more. It didn’t take all of your concentration and focus to kind of, sort of, maybe feel the craniosacral rhythm.
As your hands made progress, you also began to deepen your understanding of the anatomy. How things fit together, what was under your hands superficially (the squama of the temporal bone), what was a layer deeper (the petrous ridge), another layer deeper (the temporal lobe), another layer (the inferior horn of the lateral ventricle) and yet another layer (the hippocampus and anteriorly the amygdala).
You began to sense patterns, to start to sense more of the pieces to the puzzle – how things fit together to create the symptoms your client was experiencing. You began to have conversations with the body. And the protocol, the protocol and techniques you struggled so hard to learn – just like the scales and techniques I studied in violin – faded into the background.
Now, the technique and the protocol are no longer the end all be all.
You’ve transitioned from a technician into an artisan.
An artisan as in an artist who is highly skilled in his/her craft. You’re known for your integrity and high quality of work that is created by your experienced hands. That’s who you are, that’s who you are becoming.
You’ve been willing to let go of the (necessary) “security blanket” of the techniques and let something deeper, more relevant evolve.
Your work has grown into a conversation. A deep listening for what the body wants to share with you, for how you can best help – because now you have the skills to improvise, to fine tune, to make hand positions up as needed.
You’re confident in your skills and your well of experience helps you be present with the body in the unknown. You no longer have to know everything, you’re no longer grasping to solve the puzzle. You can trust the body to help you help it and you can trust yourself to respond appropriately – to move between holding the space, sitting with the body in deep expansive silence, and being a more active participant when called for.
This is the art of craniosacral therapy. You’ve acquired the skills, the fundamental techniques. Some therapists stop there. Not you. You wanted more than techniques. You wanted artistry.
The artisan route is far more challenging and at the same time is far more rewarding.
It requires rigorous (never-ending) work on yourself – being with and accepting those uncomfortable places, a (never-ending) diving in deep with the anatomy, immersing yourself in the all things related to craniosacral, healing and wellness, and being willing to return over and over again to your greatest teacher – your client on the table.
The technique is essential but the work is so much greater than the technique. It is alive, it is breathing, it is dynamic and unfolding. It is art.
On your path to craniosacral artisan, what has helped you make the transition from craniosacral technician? And if you’re still working on making the transition, what do you need to help you make the leap?
Share below in the comments with the rest of our amazing community or chime in over on Facebook!
much love,
PS If you’d like to be in the know when I hold a local (Columbus, OH), live Small Group Mentoring Class, send me an email at lisa [at] anatomyconversations.com and I’ll add you to my list.
PSS Know another therapist making the transition from craniosacral technician to craniosacral artisan? Share the love via email, Facebook, Twitter or Google+!
