I had been practicing Reiki for less than a year when I experienced something I could not explain.
I was visiting someone nearing the end of her life in hospice. The room was quiet and dimly lit, carrying the stillness that comes when time feels especially precious. I stood at the foot of her bed, remembering how tenderly she had asked about my well-being the last time we spoke. I prayed for her peace. With her grandson’s permission, I gently touched her cheeks and forehead. It was an emotional moment, and I remained there quietly, unsure of what else I could do. Then, unexpectedly, something seemed to shift. I felt Reiki switch on by itself, a gentle but unmistakable flow through my hands and body. I had neither summoned it nor intended to give Reiki. It simply came, lasted a minute or two, and stopped. I wondered what had happened, yet its ending felt strangely complete. I could not explain the experience, but the memory of that brief moment stayed with me long after I left the room.
Later that same week, I attended a gathering filled with conversation and laughter. Life was carrying on as it always does, with people sharing stories and moving from one moment to the next. Yet I found myself reflecting on how easily we overlook the small things that give our relationships meaning. Amid the busyness of everyday life, we can forget the importance of a warm greeting, a thoughtful question, or simply giving someone our undivided attention.
The contrast between the two experiences stayed with me. In the hospice room, everything had seemed stripped down to what mattered: a life nearing its end, a gesture of tenderness, and the simple act of being present. The gathering reminded me how easily those same essentials can become lost amid the ordinary rhythms of life. I cannot say that the experience in the hospice held any particular message. I know only what I felt and how deeply it stayed with me. Perhaps its significance lay not in finding an explanation, but in the questions it left behind. How often do we postpone a kind word, assume there will be another opportunity to reach out, or move through our days without fully appreciating the people beside us?
That evening, I found myself singing a few lines from Rabindranath Tagore’s “Tomaro Ashime Prano Mono Loye (তোমার অসীমে প্রাণমন লয়ে)”. The song reflects on surrender to the infinite and the freedom that comes from moving beyond fear and the limitations of our individual selves. As I sang, its spiritual meaning seemed to resonate with the thoughts I had carried with me from the hospice. Perhaps this was the thread connecting the contrasting experiences of that week. Life continues to flow, carrying us through moments of joy, uncertainty, and loss.
Sometimes, the moments that leave us with more questions than answers are the ones that make us see things differently. They remind us to look inward, reconsider what we take for granted, and become more mindful of how we live and relate to others. Perhaps we need to pause now and then, before life itself forces us to, and pay attention to what is already before us.
