I feel very much

I feel very much...

If I ever started writing

 

If I ever started writing down what you have done to me, really writing what you have really done, I don't think I would ever stop. It is a very, very long tale, that starts a very, very long time ago. I remember how the power would only ever go out at our house, and a few other houses that were mostly vacant. I remember how that was never important enough for you to really do something about it. I remember how dismissive you were at the time. I remember your name, and your rank, and you wife's name, and the colour of your car parked in your own well-lit driveway, and the breed of your flatulent dog and I even know a bit of the reason why your dog suffered such acrid digestive issues, and this too would comprise part of the very, very long tale that starts a very, very long time ago. I remember how you preened in front of that tall blonde who really was not at all interested in you, and how you skated along the edge of a harassment charge for years, and the only thing that saved you was getting old, so that they shuffled you off to your well paid retirement in a manner that was easy, much too easy for someone who has victimised so many with your rigid, inattentive vanity. I know that it was you who supplied negative commentary about me, so that it held me back at a time when I was ready to proceed, how your irrelevant "behaviour targets" were a manipulative tool you routinely used to keep the very best candidates down while you pushed your own flunkies ahead. I even know that we are distantly related, by marriage of course. I remember all of this. Perhaps you are lucky, then, that I choose, at this time, to not start writing down what you have done to me. Perhaps you are lucky that you slunk away into oblivion when you did, as the after-effects of your victimisation began to finally recede from my own life. Perhaps you are lucky that, thanks to me, your flunkies now know what you did and why that was wrong and why that will never be the end of this story. Perhaps you are lucky that I know this is a very, very long tale, that starts a very, very long time ago and so I will not gouge you, personally, in retribution, and anyway that's not really how I roll. But you should know that I can and do remember, that I can and do see clearly what it is that was done, and how all those other people enabled it and set it in motion. And if I ever started writing it down, really writing it down, with all of the details, I don't think I would ever stop. 

True confession

True confession: in the past, I have worked as a psychic reader.

Whatever your beliefs about this, and for whatever the reason, I am able to access information about people, which, when they hear, they find useful, enlightening, and uncannily accurate.

This is a skill I developed over many years of serious application. It is not a parlour game. It is an important element of my spiritual practice, and something I entered into originally as part of my own search for truth, and continued when I discovered it helped other people.

It started after the death of my grandmother, when I saw a psychic who gave me my own uncannily accurate reading, full of specific and unique details that couldn't possibly have been a series of guesses.

After that I sought out answers and was blessed with a series of teachers. One of them, a modern shaman, has taught me everything he knows about the structure of the human energetic anatomy, and how to interact with it in order to trigger inate healing processes, beyond what we know about western physical medicine. Another was a psychic, who taught me how to consult a variety of divinatory mediums in order to access extrasensory information. This I always do with the intent for highest good. (That's important).

These days, when I do a reading, I usually draw upon a method taught by my shaman-teacher, and I read the energy of the person who I am reading. This provides the most salient information the most quickly, because we all carry 'our stuff' with us. It sits right there, begging to be seen, acknowledged and resolved. In this way, those readings are often a conduit of personal insight, acknowledge and healing.

But prior to that, I read tarot cards. Not usually by interpreting the standardised system of symbols, as most readers would do, but by looking at the pictures and talking about the bits that stand out to me. This too is quite accurate, presumably because I am able to access some kind of subconscious information in order to achieve insight. (This might be a weird by-product of having narcolepsy).

The tarot deck has been a source of fascination to many, containing as it does a series of rich symbols, that, combined, express the totality of human experience. The Major Arcana is a subset of the cards, being 22 cards that express the mythic journey of man from 0 Fool (the first card in the Rider-Waite) to completion in XXI The World (the twenty-second card in the Rider-Waite) and ultimately, a card of enlightned detachment (in the Buddhist sense).

However the real secret of the tarot is card 22. No card bears the actual number of XXII or 22, however, after XXI The World, there is a blank card. This card signifies the great mystery, the divine, the great unknown. It's a reminder that, even in our greatest knowledge and wisdom, we are nothing, and we know nothing. The Truth is known and unknown, and that is exactly as it should be.