The title of this blog must be a first in the annals of literature. However, it describes one of the many experiences of my reflexology life.
It has been nearly half a century since I became involved in reflexology. However, there was a time before then when I was a massage therapist working from my home in Muswell Hill, North London.
This was the era of the 'swinging' 1960s, an era which was finally shrugging off the destruction and austerity of the second world war. London had emerged from a time of perpetual dankness and negativity into one of psychedelia, colour and an anything is possible attitude — the age of Aquarius had arrived.
Arthur
'Hi Tony, this is Arthur' came the voice down the phone. 'I need you to help me with some classes here in San Francisco, starting this weekend (as he phoned on Tuesday, it was rather short notice, to say the least), so come over.
Arthur, an osteopath was the founder of a therapy he called Ortho-Bionomy (OB) — a system of passive structural correction. I had become intrigued by his (OB) concept and became one of his first students and a close friend.
At the time of the phone call, Arthur was travelling through California giving seminars. The idiosyncratic nature of OB combined with his genius, became a catalyst to its popularity, which led to extra seminars having to be arranged. At that time, Arthur only had one assistant-his wife, Ann. Hence the reason for his phone call.
'Arthur, that sounds great,' I said, 'but how can I stop my work and come over just like that! 'Easy, Just do it, Let me know your flight number and arrival time, and I will pick you up at the airport'.
That was how I found myself on a 747 hurtling down the runway at London's Heathrow airport on a cold and foggy late October day.
San Francisco
'Hi Tony,' a group of voices shouted in unison as I walked into the arrivals lounge at San Francisco airport. A beaming Arthur enveloped me in one of his bear hugs. He was surrounded by a bevvy of tanned, California girls.' Welcome to California, ' exclaimed Arthur, 'glad you came?' He said with a wry smile. So there I was, in the back of an open flat back truck, lying on cushions with these California' beach' girls, who were making a highly tactile fuss of me.
With Arthur driving on the Rainbow highway alongside the bay, in beautiful sunshine, and Elton John's 'When you're in the world playing on the radio, I was in heaven — not bad for a young North London boy, I thought.
Eventually, we pulled into the drive of a house in Mill Valley, Marin County, California, which was to be our base.
The sunshine, jet lag, wonderful food, and champagne in unison with a foot massage, sent me off into a comatose sleep. I awoke in bed late the following morning (how I got there, I have no idea) with a view across the bay to the Golden Gate Bridge shimmering in the distance.
Like Alice, after falling down the Rabbit hole, I had been transported into a different reality - Except Arthur was the white rabbit which I had followed down the hole and into wonderland. I knew in that instant that my life would never be the same again. How true that turned out to be!
Pyramids
In those days, California was the hotbed of the New Age consciousness movement Everyone was out to attain enlightenment, such as smoking marijuana or whatever. People were living on a cloud, literally — a cloud of marijuana smoke. The mantra of those times was ‘Tune in and Drop out’
There was also a belief that wearing a pyramid on your head was the way to enlightenment. It was normal for people to go about their daily activities while wearing this cranial attire, which was of a wireframe construction.
Urine
Alternative health treatments were rapidly becoming into fashion. Meditation, chanting, various forms of massage etc. were all the rage. One such form was urine therapy which was believed to evoke spiritually and physical healing.
I was sharing the house in Mill Valley with a group of ‘seekers of enlightenment’. On my second evening, while sitting at a table eating with the group, a young woman sitting opposite bent forward and asked in a matter of fact way, 'how about making out tonight?' It was as if she was asking me to pass the salt or, at that time, cayenne pepper.
The group picked up her request, who responded with — 'Oh, that is so cool, you both have such amazing energies to share with each other; you must share your experience with the group at breakfast'.
I have to admit that I am not a prude, and the woman in question was attractive in a hippy kind of way, and being a young, red-blooded male, I would have been up for 'making out' if it wasn't for the existence of a strange urine-type smell emanating from her. I was soon to learn the reason for this — she was drinking copious amounts of her urine, as were the rest of the group.
Not only was urine being drunk autonomously but it was also being shared amongst the group. The differences in taste, colour and aroma were compared and sampled much in the same way that a wine Sommelier samples the colour and 'nose' of fine wine! Was this the origin of eau de toilette?
Another reason for her strong, urinal smell was that to be a fully indulgent urine aficionado, apart from drinking the 'nectar' (as it was called) one had to store urine for a few days until it fermented. This was then rubbed into the body and left to dry without being washed off. Couples would massage urine into each other every day as an act of loving beatitude. Evidentially, stale urine has more efficacy than fresh when applied topically!
This explained the public urinal smell which permeated the house.
All of the group exuded the same smell, but nothing compared to hers. This was because she applied her stale urine not only all over her body but to her hair, where it was left to dry.
When urine dries on the hair, apart from the smell it leaves, it gives it a texture of straw. This was the reason why the hair of the people in the group stuck out like that of a scarecrow.
It was believed that massaging stale urine on the body gives off pheromones which would attract potential lovers. It certainly did, but not of the humankind — dogs seemed to go mad for the smell and were constantly trying to mount the legs of the urine devotees, not to mention the flies!
I turned her request down and left her to find a potential, urine-soaked lover to 'make out' with.
Tony Porter © 2022
From Every Foot Tells a Story© - my descent into reflexology.
(to be published…………)