Soul Play

Up til now, I had forgotten how to write. Amidst all of this selling, teaching, and studying, I lost the habit and urgency to write. Maybe I’m too busy, but more likely I’m too distracted to conjure up what writing feels like, what it does for my sanity and well-being. Fortunately, a little soul diversion steered me back.

I went to the holistic faire yesterday and got my soul seen. An avowed clairvoyant closed his eyes two feet in front of me as we sat at a table amongst 23 other small tables reserved for two: astrologers, palm readers, tarot diviners, healers, and seers. My day’s intention was to be receptive, non-judgmental and trusting. I mostly did a good job of it.

While Toby, my seer of the day, closed his eyes, I watched him intently, boring my self into his skull, though I had no clear picture of what that self was. I simply wanted to focus on being seen and open to what happened afterwards. Skeptical, I didn’t want to hear anything that was so general it could have applied to anyone in the room (that was the ‘mostly’ out of my mostly doing a good job). 

He opened his eyes and said, “Merry-go-round. I see a merry-go-round.” I looked him in the eyes expressionless. He went on, “It could mean many things, like cycles or patterns that don’t move forward but circle back.” I continued to look into his eyes, blue like the waters of that snorkeling bay in Hawaii I adored my first trip to Oahu back in the 80s. Teal waters.

He asked if he could guide me through a meditation and added lemony essential oils to my palm, which I rubbed and then inhaled with my palms in prayer up close to my nose. I followed directions. As I inhaled the musky lemon, he gave me a tour from a bird’s eye view, a white dove, to be exact (I later found that white dove in a painting in that same room). Whatever. I followed faithfully each of his word-fired visions. 

But it wasn’t my crown or third eye chakra that needed viewing with heightened sight; it was my heart, which became suddenly full as the surge of overflow raced to my tear ducts. But they didn’t well up—just short of an eking. When his voice stopped, my eyes opened and warmly surrendered to his. I acceded to his needs. 

I spoke, gave him something to work with. I told him how I didn’t soar above but burrowed deep down inside. He nodded and said I might rely on my abundant humor and laughter more. I acknowledged those two were my saving graces. It worked. I felt known, penetrated, soul-searched, even if just a little.

I don’t remember much of what else he said in those fifteen minutes. Near the end, I mentioned my Yoga training, and he said I would teach, even if just once a week. I thought that would be fine and said so as the bell rang and another seeker took my seat ready for a soul scan.


Huntington Beach, CA

Pamela Gerber is a college English teacher, writer, skincare consultant, yogini, and student living in sunny Southern California with her husband, two daughters, and many furry friends.

Pamela GerberComment