It is a sunny summer day as my friend Marjory and I sit lazily in a motorboat that is expertly and quietly driven by Marjory's husband, Lew, who is fishing on our favorite “golden pond” lake in Maine . As I lean over the side of the boat, my eyes are longingly searching for a special smallmouth bass that is about 18” long, weighing about 3 pounds. Though he may have grown a bit over the last year, I hope that he is also looking for me. Just as in any good fish fairy tale, he might have been waiting for me to return, emerging from the depths of his fish cave to briefly say hello, as he darted around Lew's fish hook without interest in the bait this time. Instead, he would curiously nibble at my fingers, and I would stroke him gently on his belly again, though now without the initial fear for his life. Who is this fish? Why do I seek him? Let me explain by telling you a true story that happened one summer.

Marjory and I had taken the kayak for a wonderful paddle across the lake – in and out of our favorite places, hemlock caves that were hugging the shoreline, lily pad ponds, turtle coves and cattail streams. As we rendezvoused with Lew's fishing boat in the middle of the lake, he proudly held up his catch of the day, which to me looked like an enormous fish: the smallmouth bass. Marjory, a reluctant but experienced “sous-chef” on Lew's boat cried out, “Lew, he is still alive, put him back!” Lew's calm response was, “He'll never live, he's been in the ice chest for at least an hour”.

Yet Marjory persisted. “See, he is still moving and so beautiful, let him live!”

“He is not going to make it, Love”, Lew replied. He added, “I want to eat him”. Lew is a passionate fisherman, but only keeps big fish, the ones he wants to eat or share with his family and friends.

Marjory, however, pleaded once more for the life of the fish, and so, indulging her, Lew finally released him into the water. The fish turned on his side and floated lifelessly on the water's surface next to our kayak. Marjory automatically responded with Reiki-Master hands, gently holding the fish between her palms. Lew watched with interest and little hope, yet being a physician and also knowing whatever there is to know about fish, he began to give instructions: “Squeeze his belly very gently; he has too much air in his air-bladder because I brought him up from below 30 feet. The air bladder is located in his abdomen, and is too distended. You have to get the air out so he can dive again.” … “But,” he cautioned, “he won't live, it's been over an hour.”

Just then the fish slipped out of Marjory's hands and floated towards me. I had never held a dead fish in my hands, let alone a live or half-dead one. I sensed the cool silkiness as I sculpted my hands softly around his body. Honing in on my skills as an Alexander Technique teacher, I directed my intentions into the fascinating possibility that this fish could teach me about the delicate balance of life, death, and my stewardship for a creature. But first, I had to pause and let go of any agenda I might have about wanting the fish to live, or of being afraid that he would die.

Instead, I focused on becoming one with my body – my whole self. I felt gently cradled by the softly swaying boat and waves underneath me, expanding and shifting like the large soft clouds overhead. I allowed the fish to inform me of my largest potential while joining in the dance of life in the balance. Without expectation for the outcome, I let nature take its course. Deepening my sensory awareness, I focused on lengthening my spine, releasing my neck and enjoying the delicate balance of my head on the uppermost vertebra of my spine. Tuning into my own self-care, I became light and easeful, letting the watery waves invite me to become equally buoyant, and I began to appreciate my natural flow of energy. The bass was receiving the healing information of our communion through my hands as I simultaneously gently massaged his belly. After a few minutes of our intimate encounter, he slipped from my hands, still lying on his side. We quickly paddled to turn the kayak around, and Marjory received him again with her strong connection to Reiki, an energy system passed down to her from her teachers to bring unlimited healing energy channeled through her body and hands wherever it's needed.

We continued to work with ourselves and with the fish in this manner, feeling the multi-dimensionality of body, lake, sky, friendship, and fish. In this moment, it became again very clear to me that healing occurs through a person's ability to transcend any personal desires for outcome, while skillfully using his or her body and mind as a vehicle to embrace and rebond with “all that needs to happen.” A safe space is simply offered in which the other (fish, human, or any living creature) is trusted and encouraged to make his/her/its own perfect choices.

In this fish story, our bass finally became lively after thirty minutes of our undivided attention. Bubbles appeared around his mouth as he was expelling the excess air, he began to move his gills, and his beautiful fins and tail began to flap. I lovingly stroked him one more time before he gracefully righted his body and we all happily watched him dive deep into his dark green home.

While I am finishing writing this story, I am again sitting in the kayak surrounded by bulrushes, water lilies and purple-flowered arrowroots, and I hear a big splash next to me. And who do you think it might have been?