Sunday Afternoon

He sat

She stood

Close enough

To touch

He spoke

She heard

For the first time

It took a long time


For them to get here

Where a Sunday afternoon

Could be shared like this

She spoke

He heard

They touched

It felt good

To be in this place

To know

Each other

A little bit better

Than the Sunday afternoon before

👣♥️ Jeanna’ Mead

9 00 a.m. 7 22 20

Touch Someone

In her massage office in Alabama, my friend has a sign posted:
“When you touch a body, you touch the whole person-intellect, spirit & emotions.”
She is a healer, a facilitator, a conduit for connecting a person’s energy to the source of healing in the universe.
She does not cure people, she would never claim that. Just like I don’t.

During the Covid crisis and Shelter In Place, we both had to close our practices. We couldn’t touch clients. We couldn’t touch anyone.

It felt like our hands were tied and with that, so was everything else- _emotions, intelligence, spirit. It was hard. It was very hard.

Some people think what we do is just a job, a career, that we have chosen.

That’s true for many massage therapists. It’s different for us, though.

Jennifer and I both feel as if massage therapy is our calling, it is what we were created to do. It goes beyond a job description. It is who we are.

Years ago,a very good friend of mine said to me,” There is no separation between you and your business. You are Rockwall Body and Soul Massage and it is you. You are complete when you massage, when you give a massage, you seem to receive back as much as you give.”

He is exactly right. It’s the whole truth. It’s also why I’m so particular about who gives me a massage. I will only receive bodywork from those that I trust with my soul. It’s the same way as making love, or having sex… Only those that fall in love with the naked soul should be able to touch the body. That’s how I feel anyways

That’s why Jennifer’s message bought tears to my eyes. She understands so well what touch means to me.

We have been friends a long time and shared many stories-personally and professionally.

Yesterday she messaged me and my heart felt as if she had taken my words and wrote them down for me.

“When touch a person, I lose my self. I shed my skin. I am a tool. Molding muscles and tissues into a piece of art work that is soft and knotless. I connect on a level that is beyond touch. Finding the lack of flow, and creating space where there is none. Unraveling knotted fibers, smoothing out scars and adhesions. Assessing each area for congestion caused by stress whether it’s physical or emotional. This is what I do. It completes me.”

“Intimately , it is similar … When I make love, I connect fully, giving myself over completely, connecting on a level that is beyond physical-Heart, Mind and Soul.
When I fuck, I connect,too, fully, feeding on passion, and offering my own up in exchange. I can guard the heart and keep some emotions at bay, but not all of them. I am able to disassociate enough to protect myself but just barely and with a lot of effort. I have to focus on feelings of physical pleasure more extremely than otherwise necessary.”

We are both survivors of sexual assault. I can and do split myself into three parts still. I can be touched, and not feel. I can feel without being touched. I can go through the motions-heart guarded and intact while my body moves.

If my emotional cup is empty, I can swallow the bitter taste and my body can go through the paces. I can hold back most of my feelings for as long as it takes. I’m used to it

This serves me well when I’m in training and my knee gives out. My willpower takes over and I push through the pain my body feels. I can close my hands and put my spirit elsewhere while my body is present for whatever reason.

It’s a blessing sometimes. Other times, it’s a curse.

There are certain people that give and receive touch from me that fills me on every level. These people are as vital to my well being as oxygen… During Shelter In Place, I craved their touch so deeply because, quite simply, their touch calms my spirit in ways I can’t put into words, try as I might.

*Regardless, in either case, because I am either focused on complete connection, or guarding myself from emotional pain, I am often incapable of holding back, that includes my noises as well as giving and receiving pleasure.
I feel the urge, I act upon it. I do not want to hold back, there is an innate need that has to be fulfilled.
If it is not fulfilled, I am left feeling empty. Needing more. Wanting more.
This is why I am so insatiable now that I’m able to touch again
For so long, I have been empty. I have cried, I have begged,
I have pleaded for someone to help me fill my cup.
How many times did I say that when I went to fill my cup, the machines were broken, out of order signs on each and every source?
My cup was broken anyway, shattered in a million pieces.
It was impossible to fill. My cup is still broken, but I am finding the glue to mend it.
It at least holds that essence of life that is so necessary for completeness.
I am living again, I am thriving. I am starving for more.”

Jennifer had been married for over 17 years to a man that withheld affection and touch so she received the touch she craved through her work. She gave massages and in giving, she received.

During Covid, Jennifer finally signed the divorce papers and began to write a new chapter of her book of life.

“When I touch someone, I share in the healing. When I touch someone, I become a part of something larger than myself.”

She is getting new cups and filling her broken cups and she is finding ways to be complete.

She can touch again and so can I .

👣♥️ Jeanna’ Mead
7 42 a.m. 6.24.20

Another Women’s Words

I am not old….she said
I am rare

I am the standing ovation
At the end of the play

I am the retrospective
Of my life as Art

I am the hours
Connected like dots
Into good sense

I am the fullness
Of existing

You think I am waiting to die
But I am waiting to be found

I am a treasure
I am a map

And these wrinkles are
Imprints of my journey

Ask me anything

Samantha Reynolds, poet..

I read these words and I cried at the beauty and the simplicity and the truth.

I thought of the women I know that have stories I would like to know

I wonder if they wish to be asked… To be found.. to be seen… To be known

As more than just “the old lady that sits on the far left pew”

Or the one that whispers to herself as she plants seeds of flowers

I wonder if those ladies I know wish I would ask them anything

I wonder if they would answer

Would I be surprised? Would they?

What about me? Would I tell stories and answer questions

If I was asked anything?

Or would I gaze away and say,

“you shouldn’t ask questions like that”

While thinking to myself of what I know

And who I am

Underneath it all

I am not getting old, not really

I am becoming my self

My body caresses my soul

My soul caresses my body

I find the treasures in the moments and the questions and the words of another woman

Jeanna’ Mead, poet, too

Beautiful picture.


It’s a rare thing

To get lucky enough

To have a someone

That you can lean on

Trust with your life

When it’s unraveling

Lead you back

When you find yourself

Standing on the ragged edge

Knows the words to say

To make you believe

When you begin to doubt your place

It’s hard to let anyone know

The in-and- out of your livihood

Mistakes you’ve made

The bottom line that collapsed

The sleepless nights when the struggle was real

The kind of someone that can pull things together

See real clear

Words and design that can stand the test of time

Pull together what is needed

Just in the nick of time

There’s something about someone

That can cut straight to the heart of the matter

Cover your bases

Help you get keep up appearance

With a single look in the eye

Understands your feelings

Backs up your lies

When you feel the need yo pretend for others sake

That knows your truth

And speaks it back to you

It’s quite extraordinary to have anything that can last

In times like this when so much changes

It’s a different kind of love

A kind of friendship that evolves

Lasts a lifetime

No matter what

Life, livihoods, lies, luck and love change

👣♥️ Jeanna’ Mead

12 31 pm. May 3 2020.

Sleepless Nights

Here’s another one

Sleepless nights

She can’t get warm

She’s feeling cold

In piles of blankets

Covered head to toe

Wearing black lace and a white tank

Mango oil on worn out legs

She should be sleeping

But she isn’t

Those that know her

Understand she’s fighting

Demons from the past

With all the strength she has

She dreams of a fight she lost long ago

But this time

She whispers

Though no one can hear

“I will win”

“I will win”

“I will win”

Until finally

In her dream

She stands

Wide awake

Covered with everything

But shame

And she knows

She did whatever it took

So she could win

Jeanna’ Mead

7 35 a.m. 4.30.20

Another Woman

Another woman

Wrote these words

But this woman

Felt them

Like a slap in the face

A punch in the stomach

She knew the pain

All too well

She wrote her own words

Imagined herself

Walking with the stars in the sky

On a beach late at night

Sharing deep thoughts

Not the shallow ones at all

that’s the way it was

For the another woman

Seems like

👣💙 Jeanna’ Mead

9 40 a.m. April 28 2020


There’s been a stranger in her bed

She had no idea

Thought she knew him well

After so many nights

But it all came tumbling down

Like a house of cards

She was shaken beyond words

Living a nightmare

That she couldn’t wake up from

She went over every conversation

Wondering how she missed the signs

Wondering when he crossed the line

How long it had been

Since he began to wear a mask

Hide behind a million excuses

She had no idea when he changed

Tried so hard to backtrack

To see what she might have missed

When did he become a stranger

A monster of a man

She shuddered to think of what must have gone thru his head

All those nights when he wouldn’t touch her

Made her wonder what was wrong

Doubt the way time had changed her

Placed the blame where it didn’t belong

She screamed and she collapsed

In such despair

That she had ever loved a stranger

The way she had

It was more than she ever imagined she could handle

But somehow she found out

That she was a helluva a woman

Stronger than the stranger

She would pack up and take off

Leave the past where it belonged

He was the stranger

She had no way to know

But she wasn’t about to pay the price

Any more

He had left his marks

Scars upon her soul

But that was the last time

The stranger would lay down beside her

Jeanna’ Mead

7 32 a.m. April 28,2020


This verse was on my mind yesterday as I drove into Rockwall for groceries. After a trip to Aldi and then Kroger to get what I needed, I headed down John king listening to the playlist that a friend had sent me . The song, Rainbow. Was playing and I was loving the music and the drive.

Then .. my tire blew out… I pulled into a turn lane.. got out and checked the damage then sat in my seat… Wondering who to call … Before I could even call my daughter, this gentleman pulled up in a Lexus SUV and asked if I needed a hand.
Here we are Shelter In Place.. all these 6 ft distance… Etc…
That didn’t matter to neither of us.
He handled my groceries from the back of my car.. Acting as if this was a pleasure and not a nuisance….
He had his bandana around his neck so that I could read his lips…. We stood shoulder to shoulder while I held up the liner and he took my spare out, my tools, my tire jack…… He changed my tire and put all my tools back in proper place and then I reached out to shake his hand and then, I couldn’t help myself… I hugged him and he hugged me back.
I told him that he encouraged me so much by his quick response and willingness to help someone he didn’t even know.
He didn’t have a spirit of fear… But of love for a fellow human, the power to fix S problem and the sound mind to do what was good and right. He chose to fill a need… To show love.

He didn’t have to but he did.

I told him that I had to close my business March 10 and that I had been wrestling with so many thoughts but that the way he came along, he turned my flat tire into a blessing in disguise.

He reminded me that we are not created to live in fear but to act with love, strength and courage.

I was home before my popsicles melted… That’s how fast everything happened… But I’ll remember this for ab long, long time.