A Tale of Mr. Davis: Introduction

It was a very cold winter in Minnesota in 2018. I was living on the East Coast, and I was in the midst of ending a painful relationship with a neurosurgeon whose heart at times could be as frigid as the Minnesotan sub zero temperatures.  Although he was brilliant in his knowledge of the anatomical intricacies of the brain, the ability to be intimate had been given up along the way, possibly due to his own childhood wounding or maybe as a pre-requisite to becoming ever-so-skilled with the knife. Most likely, a little bit of both. The ceiling-to-floor bookshelves which lined his hallway were filled exclusively with textbooks and journals regarding brain anatomy, surgical procedures and disease. This in and of itself hinted of the dim interest he had in exploring neuroplasticity, inner healing of the psyche, or study of the whole self, subjects near and dear to me.  Early on I had discovered that what people had on their bookshelves gave insight to what they digested mentally and emotionally in their life.

 Sadly, Dr. G’s warm bedside manner proclaimed by patients did not extend into his own bedroom to be shared with himself or with a partner. Obviously, he would explore his heart in some other relationship or maybe some other lifetime. 

From my perspective, our relationship became a catalyst to catapult me deeper into my own inner knowing and discovery of who I was.  It was a fascinating opportunity to heal the disparate parts of me. It was my way of  implementing “Carpe Diem!”

The intensity and depth of the pain that had arisen from my choice to leave essential parts of myself for Dr. G, and my desire to heal that split within me, was what brought me all the way from the East coast to the Minneapolis doorstep of “Mr. Davis” in the dead of winter.

Upon knocking, a tall man with a broad smile greeted me at the front door. His actions were those of a gentleman in the real sense.   As I entered the foyer he jovially gathered up my purse, coat, iPad i.e. all those burdensome physical belongings, and carried them down a 1/2 flight of stairs into a cozy room that had the feel of my grandmothers house.  Kindness and caring were emitted by his personal warmth, and the room heater and house-slippers he offered for comfort.  Making sure I had the right size slipper from his shelf of fuzzy footwear, he bent over to slide it on my foot like the Prince did for Cinderella. Then he checked to make sure that the heater was on the appropriate setting.  Oh, and was the adjustable office chair I was seated in on the correct placement to accommodate my ease of movement?  So much attention to detail in making sure I was comfortable, I found interesting and it didn’t go unnoticed.  This was for sure a broader range of caring than I was accustomed to experiencing in my everyday world.

To quench my thirst for “relief”, hot tea was offered and plenty of filtered water was provided.

Like a melodic prelude this initial “gathering up” of me and my belongings by Mr. Brooks set the tone for the nourishment that would soften my emotional, mental, physical and spiritual burdens for the next 1 and 1/2 hours, and for days to come.  This first appointment had been initiated by a referral from a dear friend.  No bio was offered or requested.  It soon became clear that a structured verbal or written account of this healer, shaman, psychotherapist, martial artist, acupuncturist, cranio-sacral therapist, galactic multi-dimensional being would for me and in my case be left wanting.