The sacred dance within: a path of Shinpiden Reiki III with Frans Stiene

by Isabel  S. Churchill

The space between
The first day unfolded like morning mist over still water—soft, gentle, and filled with quiet revelation. Frans invited us not to reach outward, but to remember the space already within us.

It reminded me of quantum physics, of how between each particle, between each atom, there is not nothingness, but space—alive, vibrating with potential. Reiki, too, touches that space, it is that space. The one between thoughts, between breaths, between one heartbeat and the next.

And within that spaciousness, I was brought back to my Hara—the deep center of being, the seat of stillness in the lower belly where energy gathers and flows. Frans guided us to come back again and again to that place. Not mentally, but through presence, through embodiment. It wasn’t about visualizing, but about being. Grounded. Rooted. Alive. Home.

As I dropped my awareness into my Hara, I could feel the noise soften, the mind quiet. It was as if the Earth itself rose to meet me. There was no need to do anything—just rest in that center, and Be.

Though I walked into a large room of unfamiliar faces, I immediately felt at ease. Frans held the space in a way that was both grounded and infinite—like a tree whose roots run deep and whose branches reach wide. That allowed me to simply be. No masks, no effort. Just me. I didn’t need to perform or prove anything.

From that first day, I felt like I had arrived. At home in my body, at home with the group, at home in myself.

The dance of Spirit

The second day felt like expansion. As if the spaciousness within me was becoming more familiar, more alive. My spirit began to move freely—I could feel it dancing in the room, flowing with joy and lightness. It was beautiful.

We chanted together, again and again, letting the sound carry us beyond the form of things. Each vibration became a bridge—woven between the visible and the invisible, the self and the whole. It brought me back to my shamanic path, to the way the drum speaks to the body, the way the voice becomes prayer. I was no longer singing as myself—I was singing from the space beyond myself.

That day, Frans shared the image of the bow and arrow—a perfect metaphor for the Reiki path. You aim with clarity and presence, but to reach the target, you must let go. There’s effort, and then surrender. Focus, and then trust. That metaphor moved something deep in me. I recognized how much of my own practice, and life, has been about learning to release—while still honoring direction.

We also explored the third symbol—often translated as “our original nature is right mind.” As we chanted its mantra, I felt a subtle shift inside. Like a veil lifting. The movement of energy became a dance, and the dancer was me—not the personality, but the essence beneath. I was not trying to dance… I was the dance. I was the breath of Spirit in motion.

For the first time, Reiki became, for me, a sacred dance. A rhythm of stillness and movement, a silent melody of breath and presence. It was not something I was doing, but something I was remembering. That day, I met myself again—not in words or labels, but in energy, in vibration. And I liked what I found.

The return to presence

The third day was a return—to my tools, to my practice, to my Light. A return to what has always been within me, quietly waiting to be remembered.

This day brought with it many invitations to soften—into discomfort, into sensation, into honesty. My body spoke to me in its own language, through tension and subtle aches, through a heaviness I had carried for longer than I knew. There were moments when emotions rose unexpectedly, like waves that had been waiting for the right current to move.

I allowed myself to feel. Not with resistance, but with presence. Each breath was a step closer to letting go. I saw memories surface, old energies flickering like lanterns in the mist—pain, fatigue, discomfort. But instead of holding them tight as I used to, I let them pass through me. Reiki created the conditions for a gentle surrender. I no longer needed to resist.

I remembered the practices that had always been there—breath, hands, attention, trust. Tools not to fix, but to meet what is. I remembered that healing isn’t about doing more, but about becoming still enough to let the wisdom within speak. And through it all, I felt held. Not just by the structure of the course or the presence of the teacher, but by something larger—the quiet power of a shared field, the energy of the group, the clarity of intention, the One that we have always been.

There was such tenderness in this remembering. No drama, no urgency. Just a soft, steady light returning to places that had been in shadow. I felt like I was emptying out—not in a way that left me lacking, but in a way that made space. Space for joy. Space for truth. Space for dance. Space for who I am now.

I didn’t leave that day lighter because everything was fixed—I left lighter because I stopped holding it all alone. I left lighter because I was reminded that I am Light. 

Remembering 

This training was more than an experience—it was an offering. A sacred pause in the rhythm of life. An offering to my soul, to my essence, a quiet invitation to come home. It was a gentle, unwavering reminder that nothing is missing, that everything I seek is already here—within me, around me, between us all.

Reiki revealed itself not as a technique to master, but as a way of being. A way of moving through the world with grace, with presence, with devotion to the unseen. It is simplicity, but never nothingness. It is subtle, but never small.

Much like in Japanese culture, where everything—whether rainfall, pouring tea, or sweeping the floor—holds meaning and offers a quiet lesson, this training reminded me of the power that lives in the delicate, the intentional, the sacred ordinary.

Reiki, for me, is now a dance. A dance with the space between all things—between thought and silence, between breath and stillness.
A dance with the invisible threads that have always woven me into the Earth, into others, into Source. A dance with myself. With life. With Light. And in this dance, I remember what has always been within me, what was never lost, only waiting to be remembered. In this dance, I remember who I am. 

Frans Stiene