HUG THERAPY
NATURE AFFORDS A UNIVERSAL MEANS OF
HEALING AND PRESERVING MEN.
Anton Mesmer
 From Healing Miracles by William McGarey, 1988. Drs. Bill and Gladys McGarey began the A.R.E. Clinic around 1970 to offer holistic medical services based on the principles outlined in the readings of Edgar Cayce, “The Sleeping Prophet.” Cayce has been considered a 20th century version of Andrew Jackson Davis. The A.R.E. Clinic works touched many thousands of patients as well as a wide spectrum of health care providers. One of their best innovations involved residential programs at the Oak House located near the clinic. People facing illness and disability were brought together near the Clinic to explore themselves, lives and challenges with others in comparable situations. And do, I tell patients and the Temple Beautiful [program] participants that if God is working through us when we do these things in relation to another person, then we certainly must be getting healthier, in the process of loving, because the very nature of God is bound to rub off on us, no matter how badly off we may be. That is a very important step in our healing. For love is an active force; it heals both those who give and those who receive love. That is what begins when Erika greets the new patient warmly at the door of the Oak House with a smile and, more often than not, a hug. It is the working of love (God) through her that begins the healing of the body-mind-spirit at that point. Incidentally, hugging is a conscious part of the program. We follow the maxim that someone established–and we think it reasonable–that it takes four hugs a day for survival, eight for maintenance, and twelve for growth. In the programs, every morning after our meditation we take ‘time for hugs!’ We know that a hug is more than just a hug. It is sharing laughter, a joy that brightens up the day. But even more than that, it allows each participant to experience the touching, the laying on of hands, the sharing of the aura of another human being.  From Chicken Soup for the Soul, v. 1, “The Hugging Judge” by Canfield and Hansen Lee Shapiro is a retired judge. He is also one of the most genuinely loving people we know. At one point in his career, Lee realized that love is the greatest power there is. As a result, Lee became a hugger. He began offering everybody a hug. His colleagues dubbed him “the hugging judge” (as opposed to the hanging judge, we suppose). The bumper sticker on his car reads, “Don’t bug me! Hug me!” About six years ago Lee created what he calls his Hugger Kit. On the outside it reads “A heart for a hug.” The inside contains 30 little red embroidered hearts with stickum on the back. Lee will take out his Hugger Kit, go around to people and offer them a little red heart in exchange for a hug. Lee has become so well known for this that he is often invited to keynote conferences and conventions, where he shares his message of unconditional love. At a conference in San Francisco, the local news media challenged him by saying, “It is easy to give out hugs here in the conference to people who self-selected to be here. But this would never work in the real world.” They challenged Lee to give away some hugs on the streets of San Francisco. Followed by a television crew from the local news station, Lee went out onto the street. First he approached a woman walking by. “Hi, I’m Lee Shapiro, the hugging judge. I’m giving out these hearts in exchange for a hug.” “Sure,” she replied. “Too easy,” challenged the local commentator. Lee looked around. He saw a meter maid who was being given a hard time by the owner of a BMW to who she was giving a ticket. He marched up to her, camera crew in tow, and said, “You look like you could use a hug. I’m the hugging judge and I’m offering you one.” She accepted. The television commentator threw down one final challenge. “Look, here comes a bus. San Francisco bus drivers are the toughest people in the whole town. Let’s see you get him to hug you.” Lee took the challenge. As the bus pulled up to the curb, Lee said, “Hi, I’m Lee Shapiro, the hugging judge. This has got to be one of the most stressful jobs in the whole world. I’m offering hugs to people today to lighten the load a little. Would you like one?” The six-foot-two, 230-pound bus driver got out of his seat, stepped down and said, “Why not?” Lee hugged him, gave him a heart and waved good bye as the bus pulled out. The TV crew was speechless. Finally, the commentator said, “I have to admit, I’m very impressed.” One day, Lee’s friend Nancy Johnson showed up on his doorstep. Nancy is a professional clown and she was wearing her clown costume, make-up and all. “Lee, grab a bunch of your Hugger Its and let’s go out to the home for the disabled.” When they arrived at the home, they started giving out balloon hats, hearts and hugs to the patients. Lee was uncomfortable. he had never before hugged people who were terminally ill, severely retarded, or quadriplegic. It was definitely a stretch. But after a while it became easier, with Nancy and Lee acquiring an entourage of doctors, nurses and orderlies who followed them from ward to ward. After several hours they entered the last ward. These were 34 of the worst cases Lee had seen in his life. The feeling was so grim it took his heart away. But because of their commitment to share their love and to make a difference, Nancy and Lee started working their way around the room followed by the entourage of medical staff, all of whom by now had hearts on their collars and balloon hats on their heads. Finally, Lee cam to the last person, Leonard. Leonard was wearing a big white bib, which he was drooling on. Lee looked at Leonard dribbling onto his bib and said, “Let’s go, Nancy. There’s no way we can get through to this person.” Nancy replied, “C’mon, Lee. He’s a fellow human being, too, isn’t he?” Then she placed a funny balloon hat on his head. Lee took one of his little red hearts and placed it on Leonard’s bib. He too a deep breath, leaned down and gave Leonard a hug. All of a sudden Leonard began to squeal, “Eeeeehh! Eeeeeehh!” Some of the other patients in the room began to clang things together. Lee turned to the staff for some sort of explanation only to find that every doctor, nurse and orderly was crying. Lee asked the head nurse, “What’s going on?” Lee will never forget what she said: “This is the first time in 23 years we’ve seen Leonard smile.” How simple it is to make a difference in the lives of others.  From Doctor
Stories by Richard Selzer.
Dr. Selzer had a Chatterbox for a patient. Catherine was seemingly incurable. Her husband suddenly disappeared, never to return. She had alienated family and friends. And, nothing helped until the Doctor suggested that she spend some time regularly at the Golden Gardens – with people she could talk to. Catherine volunteered to “visit” with a circle of four residents at the nursing home. Eventually, she passed an hour five days a week with this forlorn group. Two were blind and none hardly ever spoke a word. But one day, something extraordinary occurred as Catherine recounted. I had been told to limit my visits to one hour or so as not to tire them, but on this day about which I am writing, they didn’t seem a bit tired at the end of an hour, and truthfully, I hadn’t had enough either. I just went right on for another hour, while the four old people sat there and listened. At the end of the second hour, I stood up. “Well,” I said as usual, “we’ve had another lovely visit.” First I brought the two women in wheelchairs out to their rooms. The third woman followed on her own. When I returned to our meeting place, I saw that Mr. Freitas had stood up but had made no move to leave. “So, Mr. Freitas,” I said, “it’s time for me to go home.” Still, the old man made no move to leave. Instead he took one step closer to me so that he could almost have reached out and touched me. Another step brought him still closer. We were standing facing each other. All at once I was aware of a strange, warm sensation. As though my body were darkening, and even my dress were pink. I could have heated the building with my presence. Thus we stood for a long moment. I studied the old man. Every bit of his clothing took on an immense importance, just as my my dress had seemed to me important before –– his stained vest, the yellowed armpits of his shirt, the crumpled stovepipe trousers. It seemed to me special raiment. Even the angle of inclination of his head had meaning. Then slowly the old man raised his arms and held them out. If I were a clock, he would have been pointing to ten minutes before and ten minutes after the hour of twelve, which was my throat. My gaze was lashed to the dance of the calcified artery at his wrist, which beat at the same rhythm as the pulse clapping in my ear. As though our blood had hurled itself across the distance between us, receding from me to flow into him, then back again. Even so, I had the most ordinary thoughts. I wondered, for instance what direction I faced. Was it north? No, impossible. It was east. Yes, I was facing east. I remembered something that had happened a long time ago when I was a young girl. A boy at school had approached me. His hand had been made into a cage. Through the aperture formed by the curled index finger and the web of his thumb, I could see the head of a little bird. A purple finch, it was. The bird lay still in the firm grasp of the body. Beneath the row of fingers which dipped into his palm, I caught sight of three tiny talons and a tiny foot. “Would you like to hold it?” he asked me. I felt desire and revulsion at one and the same time. I wanted to hold that bird more than anything else in the world. And I did not want to hold it with exactly the same intensity. “Here,” said the boy, “take it.” I held out my two hands, covering his fist with both of mine, and I received the little bird. In the quick movement of departure of the boy’s hand from mine, I felt the fluttering of the bird’s wings. All of a sudden, I became terrified, and I screamed. “Take it back. Please take it back!” He did, relieving me of it as gently as possible. Now I stood in front of the old man, feeling the same confusion of desire and dread. My blood was tumbling. I felt that I must leave at once, or die. “I must go,” I managed to say. But I made no move to leave. He was like the stub of a white candle melted, run over, but with the flame undiminished. With each intake of my breath, that flame bowed toward me, designating me, electing me. I could feel its heat upon my cheek. Suddenly, I was afraid. Perhaps he meant to throttle me. Do it! I thought. Do it! Whatever it is you are going to do, for God’s sake, do it! Slowly his hands enfolded my neck, closing upon it with a perfect balance of lightness and firmness, as though it were a small bird. And when, at last, his fingers reached me (they were so long in coming), I slipped into them, was caught, lay still, quieted, the way a bird, one caught, ceases his frantic efforts to escape and embraces captivity, understanding at last that captivity was what it had wanted all along. His opaque blue eyes, all scarred and milky, were fixed upon me. They took in no sight, I knew, but seemed now to give forth a light of their own, as though far behind them they kept an everlasting source of it which needed no ignition from the outside. And just as a sailor confides in a lighthouse, so did I confide in this light, certain that long after he left me, his eyes would glow on. His eyes, contained the world. They conjured me. I existed in those eyes. What a feeling of utter renunciation I had! I would not have held anything from him, would have surrendered blood, breath, and whatever else he would have. I remained still, listening to the singing fingers around my neck, and my heart dwelt in a snug cottage. For his touch was hushing, the way a finger to the lips is hushing. With just such infinite gentleness the old man bade me be quiet. And I was quiet, silenced, healed. For a long moment the old man held me between his palms. At last his grasp lightened and he withdrew. The shuffling of his feet and the tapping of his cane told me that he had gone. I did not dare to turn and look. Alone, I had the feeling that something had at long last been set right, as though a room full of awkward, ungainly furniture had been rearranged by someone with style and good taste. Long after the old man left me, I stood honoring the event, letting comfort fill me up, expand in me the way dough expands into bread or sleep swells a lover’s face into softness. Had he really touched me? I wondered. Had it really been his flesh upon mine? Or merely a close proximity, something that had come careening from a great distance to swipe within a hair of me, then dash away? But I knew that he had. I still go to Golden Gardens to visit. But it it different now. Sometimes, I don’t talk at all. Sometimes I just sit with them. I bring flowers and arrange them, or cookies that I have made. These things they receive with the same pleasure as my talking. Now and then, one of them will smile happily at me the way a mother does whose child has been ill and has recovered. |
The Great Physician
Love Heals
“Even as there is only one nature, one life, one health,
there is, only one disease, one remedy, one healing.”
Mesmer
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