A Healing Nia Story

I drag myself to Marianne Burrows class in Syracuse, N.Y. Can I get through it? My mind and spirit—to say nothing of body—are heavy with fear and depression. My daughter, Laura Lee, has given birth to twins, a boy, Maxx, and a girl, Isabella. They have been in a NICU for some weeks, fighting for their lives. The thought of my daughter losing two children at once is overwhelming.

My hurting heart amazingly keeps up with the pace, as the always skillful and beautiful choreography, builds, sustains, and returns to rest. I don’t faint. I have--just barely--enough strength to get through the whole routine. None of the other members of this class happen to be close friends. The connection, I had supposed, was something like that of participants at a conventional aerobics workout.  But in the closing circle, I realized that Nia creates an unusual bond. Here I wanted everyone to know about what I was going through. I felt somehow I would be “dancing falsely” without doing so.  They received my story with caring and kindness.

Next class, Saturday:  Marcie Nolan teaches this one. She begins, beaming smile as always. But then she announces—quite dramatically (but then Marcie is often deliciously dramatic)—that “THIS class is dedicated to the healing of Maxx and Isabella and their mother.”

Marcie had been on a leave of absence for some time. I hadn’t seen her in weeks.  How on earth did she know the names of my dear ones, to say nothing of their life-threatening situation?

Curiosity sparked my energy a bit, but I began with the heaviness I had been carrying since the babies were deemed critical. Soon however, we were swishing our arms one way as Marcie called out, “And this is for Isabella’s healing”—swoosh, swoosh, energy flinging--and then “this is for Maxx,” as our hips swayed the other way (Marcie is also delightful sensuous.)  “And this is for their mother,” she calls out, as we raised our arms overhead in rhythmic rainbows, and healing energy wafted skyward.

The contrast with what I had been going through and this morning’s routine is so incongruous, so zany, I find myself, of all things, laughing. I am, of all things, lightening up! It is the first moment since this family nightmare began that I feel a lifting of spirit, the possibility of hope.

When the class is over, of course I rush up to Marcie, with “how did you know…??”  Here is the story: Where else but Nia would an “exercise teacher” pass on to a colleague that a member of their shared class was under great stress? Marianne had thoughtfully alerted Marcie about the pain I was carrying in our dancing.

And there is more: Marcie has been for some time a member of a local meditation group (Nia teachers, I find, are not just beautiful, skilled, thoughtful, sensuous, and fun, but DEEP). She responds to Marianne’s alert with “Heavens, I KNOW about the twins already. I have been PRAYING for them!” It turns out that a friend of mine in Marcie’s meditation group had asked the members of this group to pray for some newborn twins who were gravely ill. Only when Marianne connected the twins to me did Marcie realize that I, a 72 year old in her Saturday class, was the anguished grandmother in this story--her devoted, if aging and awkward, student.

The twins are home now and may fully recover from their long ordeal. As far as their grandmother’s part in this poignant journey, that Saturday Nia class when we were swooshing good energy all over the place marked my own turn to trust and hope that my heart wouldn’t break, that our family would get through this okay.

Thank you, Marianne . Thank you, Marcie. Thank you, Nia.

Julia Ketcham