give it time

One of the unexpected gifts of this past year has been my relationship with my clairvoyant body worker. I’ve always felt that finding the right therapist/body workers/healer is a bit like finding the proverbial needle in the haystack. It can be done, but it’s an act involving both intense focus and luck. I scored big with Zoe.

Not only does Zoe tune into what my body needs, knows where energy is stuck and how to move it, but she can read the stories that swirl around me. Early on she told me she was a clairvoyant, that she did past life readings. This was something I had to take my time with. A few years back I walked a gauntlet line of police with my friend Fern, moving quickly as we sensed they were about to charge the group of protesters we had been marching with. As we walked, I kept flashing on the two of us in high heels, walking down a dusty road in the South, getting out of town to avoid the law. I laughed heartily that the only past life that made itself known to me was one in which I was a wanton flapper. It was just a flash, but a palpable one. I could even sense the hangover and taste the cheap lipstick.

Despite this experience, I’ve tried to steer away from exploring past lives. Like the whole idea of Atlantis, they make me leery. I may be a witch from California, but I’m no flake. It's always interesting what we write off as too wacky. So it took me awhile to take Zoe up on her giving me a reading. I now love the language of this. A reading. Zoë’s “reading’ rocked my world. Stories float around us, flow thru us. Patterns and narratives are written on our skin, and pulse thru our energy field. Perhaps they are actual lives from the past, or perhaps they are stories that those who are perceptive can read, and then tell, stories that can inform the life we are living now, that connect to our own mythic quest. It doesn’t matter to me whether the tales Zoe read are lives I have actually lived or not. What matters to me is that these stories have a connection to this current epic. As I heard them, they were instantly familiar, they resonated with what I know and understand of this world. Though wildly different, the themes had bearing on my own storyline. They continue to be instructive and broaden my field of vision.


The story of Cleopatra, of royalty, of fame, these are not the stories written on my flesh. My current incarnation is informed by stories of a flapper, a woman caballero, and an African hermaphrodite. I’m enjoying giving these stories life, and letting that life flow back into mine, making it richer and fuller. And I’m thanking my lucky stars that I don’t have to learn anything yet from stories involving Atlantis. Although some voice murmurs here loudly; “give it time, give it time”.