Do you have someone in your life who loves you very much, and they are actually over nurturing. If a sunny smile isn’t on your face every second, their concern shoots through the roof: What’s the matter, sugar, are you okay? I’m fine, you say. Great in fact, but it eventually gets annoying. I AM FINE, GREAT, JOYOUS. SHIT! Then things aren’t fine. You’ve cursed, at your mother perhaps. What is really happening is the concerned person’s field of influence feels small. They feel unneeded. They are not seeing their own impact on the universe, even when it is quite spectacular.
We all feel this way, and interacting with new people is a good cure. At any moment, the Archangel Gabriel might make you a messenger. Open the door to this, if it sounds appealing. Wake and say, “I am a messenger.” See what comes through.
A woman came into work the other day, and she was having trouble making up her mind about a purchase. I tried to silently comfort the woman behind her in line, but then there was a miscommunication. I had to void and redo a transaction on the register. More time. At first glance this woman was buttoned up. She seemed stern. As she described her process for stacking apples in a bowl, with the smallest on top and just so, I felt myself putting etheric bricks between us. Our tribes, (Fancy Apple Stackers and the Haphazard Pinecones) had been at odds for years.
But on the way to her car something changed. Her husband was asleep in the passenger seat, and we stood there talking. Turns out she was a very successful portrait artist. She was 89, and had started oil painting at 52. We talked art, and naturally the conversation moved on to childbirth. “Women make such a big deal about it,” she said like I imagined might come from Juliette Gordon Low. “Screaming and everything,” she added. Mine was natural.” I looked down at the poinsettias in my hand. “Mine was not,” I said. “You should do it next time,” she said. Brick. Brick. Brick. That’s when I brought up how my psychic abilities had opened since I had my child. I feel energy, yada,yada, yada. I told her I like writing about it. Sometimes I think I should have been a psychologist. “I don’t think you’re a psychologist,” she said. For some reason this stranger’s words held weight. And of the psychic bit, she would discount my words. She wouldn’t relate and we’d switch back to placentas or something.
“Oh, I love you,” she cried and threw two long arms around me like ribbon. “We’re soul mates!”
She told me she so enjoyed talking to people about the process of art, the creating. It was far better than any compliment. I could relate. Finding co-creators is one of life’s greatest thrills, but then the window closed. She reached into her wallet to get a business card, and in 3 seconds asked, “How much do I owe you?”
“You were getting your card,” I reminded her.
“See how senile,” I am,” she said. She was back.
“We all are during the holidays,” I told her.