by Marianna Paszkowska
Tears. Raw. So human. This weekend, I cried more times than I could count, but not for the reasons one might expect.
It had been a long journey to the heart of England, a place where rolling green hills met the scent of lush greenery and the occasional call of a distant sheep. My luggage had been lost somewhere along the way, leaving me without my carefully chosen clothes, my familiar comforts, my Greek mountain tea. Instead, I found myself in hastily bought mismatched clothes, my hair unbrushed, no makeup, no favourite vegan snacks to keep me steady through the long days of training.
Years ago, I would have been fuming—embarrassed by my appearance, irritated at the inconvenience, spiraling into worry. But this time, something was different. I wasn’t angry. I didn’t let frustration linger. It was what it was. I accepted it and carried on, showing kindness to the people responsible. It happens. My flight home was canceled, too—another issue—but after finding a solution, the anxiety and fear passed as quickly as it had come. It felt like the universe was testing me. Let’s see how she responds to this. Is she really ready for Shinpiden?
Yet, I didn’t cry from frustration. Or exhaustion. Or anger.
I owe that to Reiki. Reiki is often known for its hands-on healing, the gentle laying of hands to support physical and emotional well-being. For those unfamiliar, Reiki teaches us that a universal energy flows through all beings, reminding us of the interconnectedness of all. For me, the greatest gift of Reiki practice lies in the precepts: Just for today. Do not hold to anger. Do not worry. Be grateful. Be true to your way. Practice diligently. Be compassionate to yourself and others. Ultimately: stay in the loving now. Simple words, yet profound in their impact. Guiding principles that shape not only the spiritual practice but the way we move through the world—the life itself. I am far from perfect. I try.
The first tears came from laughter.
Here I was, at a three-day Reiki Master training, where Frans spoke the entire day about deep spiritual concepts from diverse traditions that the Reiki system stems from—Buddhism, Shintoism, Taoism, Shugendō, even Martial Arts. And yet, I was crying from laughter. The way he delivered it, light yet profound, accessible yet layered, made it at times impossible not to laugh. Oh, how I needed it. Laughter softens us, opens us. As Frans said, when we laugh, we breathe deeply, from the hara, our energetic center. We relax. And when we are relaxed, we receive better—not just information, but wisdom and healing.
The laughter had softened me, opened me up. Now, as we chanted, our voices merging into one, something deeper started to happen. The teachings leading up to that reminded us of our great bright light, the life force that fills existence, that is existence. And with the intensifying fire that I felt in my body while we chanted, my mind suddenly expanded.
A moment of absolute interconnectedness. No boundaries, no separation. Only one deep, quiet love and compassion that pulses through all that exists. Tears streamed down my face. Unexpected, unstoppable. The kind of tears that come when you touch something sacred, something so immense that the only possible response is awe. What a gift. What a reminder…
Later, we meditated on complete acceptance—the surrender to seeing all things as they are, seeing the reality without resistance and illusions. It sounds simple. It isn’t.
We sat in silence, contemplating the symbols, absorbing their meanings, letting them sink deep into us. And then something inside me broke loose. I hadn’t expected an emotional release, not this time. As deeply committed to self-healing as I am, I thought I had already let go of so much. But a lot was still there, hidden deep, clinging. Those unhelpful beliefs, labels we take on from the moment we enter the world.
So I was pouring tears again. And they carried all this away with them. An old weight, a judgment, a pattern I hadn’t realized still held me in its grip. It snapped. It melted. A lot of it left me. Gone.
I let myself cry, surrendering to the release. The tears were gently falling and I wasn’t doing anything to stop them or cover them up. I was supported. Not just by the practice, not just by the embracing energy in the room, but by my teacher and my fellow students. We held space for each other, witnessing ourselves unfolding, without judgment, without interference.
Seeing our true nature—our sacredness—can be healing in ways no hands-on technique ever could alone. Not that it’s not important, don’t get me wrong. But there is so much more that the Reiki system can give us. And for me, this Reiki Master training was about that. I walked away with a deep, experiential appreciation for the existence itself. The experience of the great luminosity that we all have, which peels away our dirt, our pain, our loneliness, our broken dreams, our layers of conditioning, and leaves only what was always there: wholeness.
I had come to this training to deepen my Reiki practice, to become better at helping others. I had no idea that I would be the one receiving such deep healing myself. I cried for so many reasons this weekend. But not from sadness. Not from frustration. I cried from joy. From awe. From relief.
And now, as I pack my things to leave, I could easily cry that it’s over… But instead, I’ll try to let it be what it is—another step on the path. I’ll feel the gratitude with me. And I’ll cry again, from that space.
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