Skinny White Woman

By Stasia Minkowsky
Chapter 1

It all started with a psychic reading by a protein starved vegetarian. I found him in Sedona at a rustic looking bookstore as I pretended to shop for healing stones that were on-sale. I had no idea what the hell I was looking at. Hematite? Jasper? Black Onyx? They all sounded like the names of 80’s hair bands. A tall thin man with scraggly long hair walked passed me and I grabbed something called blue agate to avoid eye contact. He had been circling around and since he had access to a back room hidden by a tapestry, I had a feeling he was the man to see about a reading. I took a deep breath and walked up to the cashier.
“How much for a reading?” I asked.
“$1.99 per minute.”
“Oh,” I said, completely disappointed.
“I can help you,” the scraggly haired man said.
“For twenty bucks?”
“Sure,” he said as he motioned me to follow him behind the tapestry.
It was all very mysterious. Even the way he walked and how his jeans barely fit his ass was mysterious. Of course, I was in Sedona, the equivalent of a New Age Vegas and I think my imagination was making everything a bit more mysterious than it probably was.
“Sit down,” he smiled as I sat opposite him at a small table. He had a laptop opened and looked very comfortable behind it. I gave him my vitals: first name, date of birth, time of birth, and location of birth.
“Maine,” he said as he punched my info into his computer. “Very beautiful state.”
“Yes,” I responded as I sat on my hands. I didn’t want to fidget and I didn’t want to stare, but I couldn’t help myself. His name was Zao and his face was pallid, like he had been spending too much time behind the tapestry. His dark brown hair was thin and speckled with brittle grays but he didn’t have a comb over, a mullet or any bald spots. I guessed he was somewhere in his early 40’s. He wasn’t physically attractive. At least to me, anyway. He was too fragile looking and I wanted to force feed him a steak. He looked like the type of guy who hated the thought of dead cows and I wondered if the taste of meat would make him vomit.
“Stacy?”
“Yes?” I said startled. Shit. Was he reading my thoughts?
“I usually tape my sessions for the individual I’m doing the reading for. Is this okay with you?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, greaaaaaate. Let me help you get focused and centered. We’ll inhale,” he said as we breathed in together. “And exhale.”
As distracted as his appearance made me, this earthy man had a way of calming me down. I stopped thinking about feeding him steak and found myself relaxing with the sound of his voice.
“This reading is for your highest good. If your mind is not focused or wandering, you will not get much from this reading. We’ll take a moment and have you call forth your spirit guides, your higher power and wherever you gather your strength from to focus your energy. When you are done, I want you to say, ‘so be it.’”
I closed my eyes and my entire energy shifted from nervous to humble. More than anything, I wanted help. I wanted to understand why, when I had finally meandered back to Maine to visit my family after fleeing Los Angeles, I couldn’t stay.
“But you don’t know anyone in Arizona,” my mother had appealed to me on the day I was driving back to Phoenix. “Are you sure you have to go?”
I nodded as I gazed at the crimson and golden leaves wilting over the lake.
“Okay,” she said as I hugged her and then hugged my father.
“So be it.”
“I’m going to pass you this die. Just move it around with your fingers and whenever it feels comfortable to stop, place the die on the table. Hmmm,” he said as I placed the die before him. “Okay. A two. You are going through a purging, an emotional cleansing. But before you can get there, you need to purge all of this baggage that you picked up. You need to become free from the baggage of family, society and clearing past lives. The family that you choose gives you the struggle and pain from past lives. If you can clear this energy, you can clear your past lives,” he said as he paused and closed his eyes. “I’m getting more information…”
I watched him, wide-eyed, transition into a state of consciousness that was not grandiose or flashy. It was as though he was in a deep meditation and when he connected to whomever was feeding him the information, he opened his eyes and continued in a matter-of-fact way.
“You are about to embark upon a spiritual pilgrimage and you will be visiting sacred sites where you have been in past lives in order to help you remember who you are. You are a healer. A lightworker. Right now, like the Aborigines, you are about to go on your walk-about to claim yourself. You must claim your power. You must clear out all the bullshit that says you’re not worthy. You are here to serve the planet and remember who you are.”
“A lightworker?” I asked skeptically.
“Yes. A lightworker.”
“What is that?”
“Someone who has come to the planet to be of service and who works for the good of humanity.”
“It sounds so… Gandhi.”

“There are lightworkers working in all kinds of different capacities. You’ll figure out where you fit,” he smiled as I raised an eyebrow in disbelief.

 

 

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