"There are 107 marma points on the human body" my massage therapist says, and she seems intent on stimulating each and every one of them. I'm at One Wybelenna, a delicious day spa located in Brookfield. It's a Palm Springs style spa - all desert plants and old money. Upon arrival, I fully expected tumbleweed to come rolling through. But, for now, my massage therapist is lulling me into a state of somnolence, as her smooth and flowing strokes are punctuated by pauses at pressure points, inducing tension-releasing sighs and a deep sense of relaxation.
I'm still conscious, but barely. The part of my brain that is preserving this experience in memory so I can later write about it hasn't completely checked out, because I note that my breathing has slowed to a low ebb. Biiiiig pauses between in breaths and out breaths. And then I am conscious of nothing but floating in a bubble of bliss somewhere above the pool and lounge and treatment rooms of One Wybelenna. Simply turning over, half way through the massage, becomes a physical challenge of inordinate proportions.