I’m in the mall, its the first day of the fair. Everything was set up the night before flowers on the tables, new sign up sheets at the front table. We look good.
I’ve had my morning coffee, a little something to eat, and I’m ready to go.
Then it happens, just as my first reading of the day heads my way.
Rising from the murky depths of my unconscious, comes the thought,
“Oh my God, what if I’m not psychic anymore”?
Thankfully, there is no time to ruminate because my client is already sitting down.
We introduce ourselves, decide whether we are recording or not. I explain how I work; my heart flutters, the dread catches in my throat.
I close my eyes and tune in.
Immediately I am diving into the world of the vast unknown, the creative consciousness, where everything is empty and full at once.
It’s a blank canvas. It’s the blank page. The grey, wet lump of clay on a table. The story waiting to come into life. It feels like I’m free-falling with no net to catch me.
“Maybe I’m not psychic anymore.” the thought murmurs as I sit tight, the sounds of mall life clatter around me.
I’m in it now. I have to keep going. The client waits expectantly across from me, and the truth is, I don’t know if I can deliver. I don’t know, and I can’t make myself know, I can’t push this particular river.
I do my best to hold the fear lightly, to leave the voice in my head to its own devices.
I remind myself I don’t have to know what the answers are, it’s ok.
Sometimes I’m the diver that comes up empty-handed. Sometimes there is no answer, good or bad, only another question.
Today, as it turns out, coming up with another question, not knowing, is gold. It’s where that gold is hiding a secret gift.
A gift that is allowing energy to re-form, to re-imagine itself in ways I can’t see with my limited mind. Not knowing is flinging open the creative doors to broader possibilities. Ones that I can’t see from where I stand.
So, I wait, and finally, out of that seemingly endless yawning blackness, ideas, images, feelings, sounds emerge of its own volition. The story is on the move.
Oh, the joy of joys! Hallelujah! I’m still psychic!
