Before You Understand It

One of the things I’ve come to appreciate over the years is that skeptical students often ask the best questions.

They pay attention. They listen carefully and notice inconsistencies. They are rarely interested in accepting an idea simply because someone in authority presents it. In many ways, they are doing exactly what they should be doing.

Every Reiki class seems to have at least one person like this. Sometimes they’re engineers. Sometimes they’re physicians. Occasionally they’re scientists. They arrive curious but unconvinced. They want to understand what Reiki is, how it works, and why so many people speak about it with such conviction.

What I’ve noticed is that Reiki rarely answers those questions in the way people expect.

One story from my forthcoming book comes to mind.

The following story is adapted from Where the Light Touches: Reiki Stories of Healing & Presence.

Martin was a biology professor. His wife had taken a Reiki class the year before and, after months of gentle encouragement, had finally convinced him to join her.

He entered the classroom like a man beginning an experiment. He took notes on everything, the hand positions, the minutes between changes, the comments students made about warmth. The idea of invisible energy moving through the body seemed unprovable, therefore impossible.

During the first practice exchange, another student placed her hands lightly near his heart. Within moments a faint heat began to spread. His mind tried to analyze it, to find a cause. Instead, something quieter arrived. His heartbeat slowed. His thoughts loosened. He forgot to measure.

When the practice ended, he stayed in his chair a long while, eyes open but distant, still listening for what had touched him.

Afterward he sat for a long time before speaking. “I don’t know what that was,” he said at last, “but it was real.”

The teacher smiled, sensing the quiet after a door opens. She had seen this before, the moment a student begins to trust what can’t be explained. Nothing more needed to be said.

What stays with me about this story is not that Martin suddenly abandoned science. As far as I know, he remained exactly who he had always been. He continued asking questions. He continued valuing evidence. He continued looking carefully at the world around him.

What changed was that experience entered the conversation.

Over the years, I’ve watched many students arrive with questions about Reiki. Some eventually find explanations that satisfy them. Others do not. Yet again and again, I’ve seen people continue practicing because something in their direct experience remains meaningful even when they cannot fully account for it.

In some ways, this seems consistent with how Usui described Reiki itself. Again and again, he points people toward experience rather than belief. A person receives treatment. Something changes. Trust develops through direct encounter rather than through persuasion.

Looking back, I suspect that many important things in Reiki unfold this way. We have an experience. We continue the practice. The understanding arrives later, sometimes much later than we expected.

This story is adapted from the forthcoming book Where the Light Touches: Reiki Stories of Healing & Presence by Brian Brunius.

If you’ve ever found yourself continuing to explore something you couldn’t fully explain, you’re welcome to stay.