The following story is completely true and exactly how it occurred...
In the corner of a tent, in the middle of a field, sits a man. He wears a dark cloak, carries a staff with an animal horn fixed at one end, and a pair of flying goggles on his forehead. A little sign on the table reads: Tarot readings – by donation.
I sit near him, and listen to some of what he says to a woman sitting in front of him. It isn't very profound, but she seems happy with it, and remains listening for some time. As long as she is there, he talks. He sometimes opens a book, reads something from it, but basically he just talks. He occasionally picks up a half-smoked joint and lights it; he seems very comfortable in his role.
After she goes, the event organiser comes over to tell him how things work here; how much she expects as a percentage of what he earns for providing the space in which to do so.
After she leaves, I say something to him, revealing my thoughts on what she just said. He asks me to join him. We have a chat. He explains that he does the festival circuit, and even though he's employed by the bar to fetch, carry, secure, etc., his main thing is the readings. He says that where he sits, which seems to be just perfect to do this; public, but also private and quiet, isn't 'his' patch, it is just where he sits (this is just a bar tent, and the second morning of a three day festival).
I get up when someone comes over for a reading; I don't want to interfere with his business. When I come back a little later, his chair is empty now the weather has brightened up and everyone has gone outside. I look at the chair where he sits, and even though the book and the cards are still on the table, as if he's simply on a break, he’s nowhere to be seen. I feel like I want to sit there, just to see how it feels.
There is a strange feeling as I do, and at first I feel like a child who has climbed onto the throne of the king. I don't want to be the king, I just want to sit in his chair.
A woman comes over and sits in the chair opposite. She asks me if I'm the one who gives the readings. The sign has been taken off the table, but has been left leaning against the post. Obviously I'm not the one who gives the readings, but what if I don't turn her away?
I've never done anything like this before. She isn’t alone; two girlfriends are sitting on cushions nearby, watching, and they've actually come a few hundred miles just for this event. I ask her why she wants a reading, and she tells me a bit about herself, her life, her ex-marriage, her kids. She's in the process of selling her house, and isn't sure what to do. One thing she feels sure about - someone is missing in her life - a partner, a soul-mate, and she wants to know whether he's coming, and whether she should carry on waiting, as she has been.
I ask her about her kids, whether she's on good terms with their father, whether he sees the children. I ask her how open she is about talking, and whether there's anything she isn't comfortable speaking about. When she says she'll talk about anything, I test it, and she responds to everything I ask her, including some quite personal things.
But it is in the moments when I stop speaking and just look at her that seem to take on a special meaning. She holds my gaze, sometimes smiling slightly. The silence goes on longer than might be deemed comfortable, and eventually she gently rephrases her original question so as to bring it back to why she's there, without seeming bothered by having to do so.
She's waiting for me to say something, but there's something about this that seems almost too synchronistic to be ignored. She’s very accepting, has no urgency about what might happen; she just wants to know if there's someone who will see her for who she is. It is then that I pick up the cards.
I know that Tarot cards are used as a focus, a means to allow inspiration or insight, and I wonder whether they'll do the same for me. I remove them from the cloth, and without shuffling, spread them slowly through my hands and take out three, placing them face down on the table. Then I turn over the card furthest from me, and discover that unlike the Tarot decks I've seen before when I’ve had readings, animals are the visual representations.
As I look, the archetype inspires me to say something about who she is. I speak for a bit, and when there's nothing left to say, turn over the next and do the same. Nothing very profound, but what I say sounds reasonable. I then ask her to choose a card. This creates a clearer speaking, but nothing I’d call flowing, nothing like it is meant to be said.
I then ask if what I've said has helped at all. She says she isn't sure, but adds that I haven't really dealt with the reason she's there. I ask her what she'd like me to say? She doesn't know. I suddenly pull a date out of the air, and when she asks what I mean by it, I say there might be changes on that day in connection with her question. This bit feels a little false to me, but I want to continue speaking to her, so I think I'm just improvising.
There is something I feel that I'm not saying. I can feel a pulsing in the centre of my chest, just above the solar plexus, and I ask her if she feels something too. She says she feels something around the throat, which is interesting as the throat 'Chakra' in the Indian tradition is all about:
"How honestly one expresses themselves. Lying violates the body and spirit. We speak our choices with our voices. All choices we make have consequences on an energetic level. Even choosing not to make a choice such as in repressing anger (not speaking out) may manifest into laryngitis. We have all experienced that ‘lump in our throats’ when we are at a point of not knowing how to say the right words in any given situation, perhaps even stifling our own emotions. A challenge of the throat chakra is to express ourselves in the most truthful manner. Also to receive and assimilate information. Seek only the truth."
I cannot go on. I don't feel I can reveal what I now feel. I know that if I do, without being sure that I want her to know, it will change things in a way I will not be able to take back, and I don't want to do that unless I mean it. I don't know if it's fear, but I've had moments like this before. Moments where I feel sure that the person I am with is not there by chance.
She asks how much she should pay me, but I say she doesn't need to give me anything. The sign says 'by donation' after all, but unlike the man who usually does this, and who may have even reminded her in order for money to have come had she not, I don't feel I want anything from her. I'm not telling her what she's come to hear. I’m not telling her everything I could.
I can't say if it was the result of feeling something not revealed, or a genuine insight into what might help her, but I ask her if she's ever used cannabis. This really surprises her, and she playfully wonders if I'm with the Police, even though she's at a festival where people are openly smoking it.
She says she's never taken any illegal substance, but says she'd be interested in trying it. I explain a little about what cannabis is and how she might use it, and she again confirms her interest in doing so. When I tell her she can try it if she wants, and take out my little pipe, fear suddenly takes hold of her. I immediately realise I've changed things. I smoke a little as if to show her that it's OK. I don't offer her any.
I feel like I've messed things up.
As if she's suddenly a different person, she starts giving me the State/media's rhetoric about using it; becoming its closed-minded mouthpiece, telling me how illegal it is, how wrong it is, etc. When I say there's nothing to fear, her eyes tell me she knows there is, and in my open state, it is simply too much to handle. Whether cannabis is something she might have wanted to try, this wasn't the moment for her to do so. Not even close.
She asks me again if I'm sure she can't pay me, and when she walks away, another women steps forward immediately. I know that if I stay sitting where I am, while it may give me another opportunity to be clearer without all the other stuff getting in the way, it isn't right for me to do so. I'm taking something from the man who sits here, and this isn't what I wanted to do. I don't have to leave; he's not waiting to sit (he's on the other side of the tent now, laughing and chatting with a group of people), and it might've been interesting to have done it again. But I get up, much to the disappointment of the new woman now sitting opposite me.
So, what did I feel as I looked into her eyes? I knew the answer to her question about whether she would find her soul mate.
I could've told her she already had. I could've told her she had been looking at him the whole time.
Of course, this could have been a huge presumption on my part, as she might've taken what I’d said very differently. But if you don't stick your head out you're not going to be seen, and if I'd said it, how could she not have been affected? After all, finding her soul mate was what she had come all that way for.
“Did you regret not telling her?”
Oh yes…before she left I felt I had avoided something that was there for me to find, and this had happened in such a magical, synchronistic way too. And while I wasn’t happy with my life in many ways, I was still with my wife, and to me marriage is a sacred thing, that we had chosen to be together, bringing issues we needed to work through, and for me, no matter what happened, we’d work them out together. I would never leave her, never cheat on her, never have any kind of affair behind her back. To do so would’ve made me someone else.
Should I have told her what I felt?
In the corner of a tent, in the middle of a field, sits a man. He wears a dark cloak, carries a staff with an animal horn fixed at one end, and a pair of flying goggles on his forehead. A little sign on the table reads: Tarot readings – by donation.
I sit near him, and listen to some of what he says to a woman sitting in front of him. It isn't very profound, but she seems happy with it, and remains listening for some time. As long as she is there, he talks. He sometimes opens a book, reads something from it, but basically he just talks. He occasionally picks up a half-smoked joint and lights it; he seems very comfortable in his role.
After she goes, the event organiser comes over to tell him how things work here; how much she expects as a percentage of what he earns for providing the space in which to do so.
After she leaves, I say something to him, revealing my thoughts on what she just said. He asks me to join him. We have a chat. He explains that he does the festival circuit, and even though he's employed by the bar to fetch, carry, secure, etc., his main thing is the readings. He says that where he sits, which seems to be just perfect to do this; public, but also private and quiet, isn't 'his' patch, it is just where he sits (this is just a bar tent, and the second morning of a three day festival).
I get up when someone comes over for a reading; I don't want to interfere with his business. When I come back a little later, his chair is empty now the weather has brightened up and everyone has gone outside. I look at the chair where he sits, and even though the book and the cards are still on the table, as if he's simply on a break, he’s nowhere to be seen. I feel like I want to sit there, just to see how it feels.
There is a strange feeling as I do, and at first I feel like a child who has climbed onto the throne of the king. I don't want to be the king, I just want to sit in his chair.
A woman comes over and sits in the chair opposite. She asks me if I'm the one who gives the readings. The sign has been taken off the table, but has been left leaning against the post. Obviously I'm not the one who gives the readings, but what if I don't turn her away?
I've never done anything like this before. She isn’t alone; two girlfriends are sitting on cushions nearby, watching, and they've actually come a few hundred miles just for this event. I ask her why she wants a reading, and she tells me a bit about herself, her life, her ex-marriage, her kids. She's in the process of selling her house, and isn't sure what to do. One thing she feels sure about - someone is missing in her life - a partner, a soul-mate, and she wants to know whether he's coming, and whether she should carry on waiting, as she has been.
I ask her about her kids, whether she's on good terms with their father, whether he sees the children. I ask her how open she is about talking, and whether there's anything she isn't comfortable speaking about. When she says she'll talk about anything, I test it, and she responds to everything I ask her, including some quite personal things.
But it is in the moments when I stop speaking and just look at her that seem to take on a special meaning. She holds my gaze, sometimes smiling slightly. The silence goes on longer than might be deemed comfortable, and eventually she gently rephrases her original question so as to bring it back to why she's there, without seeming bothered by having to do so.
She's waiting for me to say something, but there's something about this that seems almost too synchronistic to be ignored. She’s very accepting, has no urgency about what might happen; she just wants to know if there's someone who will see her for who she is. It is then that I pick up the cards.
I know that Tarot cards are used as a focus, a means to allow inspiration or insight, and I wonder whether they'll do the same for me. I remove them from the cloth, and without shuffling, spread them slowly through my hands and take out three, placing them face down on the table. Then I turn over the card furthest from me, and discover that unlike the Tarot decks I've seen before when I’ve had readings, animals are the visual representations.
As I look, the archetype inspires me to say something about who she is. I speak for a bit, and when there's nothing left to say, turn over the next and do the same. Nothing very profound, but what I say sounds reasonable. I then ask her to choose a card. This creates a clearer speaking, but nothing I’d call flowing, nothing like it is meant to be said.
I then ask if what I've said has helped at all. She says she isn't sure, but adds that I haven't really dealt with the reason she's there. I ask her what she'd like me to say? She doesn't know. I suddenly pull a date out of the air, and when she asks what I mean by it, I say there might be changes on that day in connection with her question. This bit feels a little false to me, but I want to continue speaking to her, so I think I'm just improvising.
There is something I feel that I'm not saying. I can feel a pulsing in the centre of my chest, just above the solar plexus, and I ask her if she feels something too. She says she feels something around the throat, which is interesting as the throat 'Chakra' in the Indian tradition is all about:
"How honestly one expresses themselves. Lying violates the body and spirit. We speak our choices with our voices. All choices we make have consequences on an energetic level. Even choosing not to make a choice such as in repressing anger (not speaking out) may manifest into laryngitis. We have all experienced that ‘lump in our throats’ when we are at a point of not knowing how to say the right words in any given situation, perhaps even stifling our own emotions. A challenge of the throat chakra is to express ourselves in the most truthful manner. Also to receive and assimilate information. Seek only the truth."
I cannot go on. I don't feel I can reveal what I now feel. I know that if I do, without being sure that I want her to know, it will change things in a way I will not be able to take back, and I don't want to do that unless I mean it. I don't know if it's fear, but I've had moments like this before. Moments where I feel sure that the person I am with is not there by chance.
She asks how much she should pay me, but I say she doesn't need to give me anything. The sign says 'by donation' after all, but unlike the man who usually does this, and who may have even reminded her in order for money to have come had she not, I don't feel I want anything from her. I'm not telling her what she's come to hear. I’m not telling her everything I could.
I can't say if it was the result of feeling something not revealed, or a genuine insight into what might help her, but I ask her if she's ever used cannabis. This really surprises her, and she playfully wonders if I'm with the Police, even though she's at a festival where people are openly smoking it.
She says she's never taken any illegal substance, but says she'd be interested in trying it. I explain a little about what cannabis is and how she might use it, and she again confirms her interest in doing so. When I tell her she can try it if she wants, and take out my little pipe, fear suddenly takes hold of her. I immediately realise I've changed things. I smoke a little as if to show her that it's OK. I don't offer her any.
I feel like I've messed things up.
As if she's suddenly a different person, she starts giving me the State/media's rhetoric about using it; becoming its closed-minded mouthpiece, telling me how illegal it is, how wrong it is, etc. When I say there's nothing to fear, her eyes tell me she knows there is, and in my open state, it is simply too much to handle. Whether cannabis is something she might have wanted to try, this wasn't the moment for her to do so. Not even close.
She asks me again if I'm sure she can't pay me, and when she walks away, another women steps forward immediately. I know that if I stay sitting where I am, while it may give me another opportunity to be clearer without all the other stuff getting in the way, it isn't right for me to do so. I'm taking something from the man who sits here, and this isn't what I wanted to do. I don't have to leave; he's not waiting to sit (he's on the other side of the tent now, laughing and chatting with a group of people), and it might've been interesting to have done it again. But I get up, much to the disappointment of the new woman now sitting opposite me.
So, what did I feel as I looked into her eyes? I knew the answer to her question about whether she would find her soul mate.
I could've told her she already had. I could've told her she had been looking at him the whole time.
Of course, this could have been a huge presumption on my part, as she might've taken what I’d said very differently. But if you don't stick your head out you're not going to be seen, and if I'd said it, how could she not have been affected? After all, finding her soul mate was what she had come all that way for.
“Did you regret not telling her?”
Oh yes…before she left I felt I had avoided something that was there for me to find, and this had happened in such a magical, synchronistic way too. And while I wasn’t happy with my life in many ways, I was still with my wife, and to me marriage is a sacred thing, that we had chosen to be together, bringing issues we needed to work through, and for me, no matter what happened, we’d work them out together. I would never leave her, never cheat on her, never have any kind of affair behind her back. To do so would’ve made me someone else.
Should I have told her what I felt?
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