A beautiful poem inspired by my work at star throwers 
A Sensory Experience
Outside, the day is biting cold, the damp seeps into my bones
But the room welcomes me with its delicious warmth.
I feel my shoulders start to slip lower,
A delicate scent tickles my nostrils,
Soft, soothing music envelopes my consciousness.

The whole atmosphere curls itself around me;
Fresh, white walls punctuated by tribal prints and patchwork quilts;
My eyes take in the sumptuous, comfy throws,
The candles flickering in bowls of water
And the starfish.

A few words...
Then I am invited to lie down on the therapist's bed,
Feet resting on a roll pillow,
Arms tucked loosely by my sides,
Head facing straight down over the opening.
I shut my eyes; I want to sense, not see.

The weight of warm towels descends slowly,
I feel her hands lightly tracing my shape.
She tells me to take deep breaths
And lose myself in the music.
Part of a towel lifts,
Warm oils pours over my skin.
I feel her hands stretch out
Spreading liquid gold across my body.
Fingers explore my spine,
Kneading tentacles loosen savage, tight knots.
Hands splay out and push smoothly across my shoulders,
Firmly lengthening my neck upwards,
Fingers coursing through my hair
Work soothing magic on my head
And finally, everything lets go.

My body feels fluid, weightless
As if I could float through space.

The hands are stilling, lying quietly,
Sequentially, over every part of my body,
Then they are there no more.

It is as if I am in another world,
A world of warm calm,
A world of clear colour,
A world of total peace.

Now with extreme reluctance,
I register her words,
Words telling me to take my time,
Sit up slowly
And then get dressed.
Reality attempts to re-assert itself;
My body continues clinging to the slumbrous cocoon.

By Gloria Swann 
October 2017