She holds her pendulum over my open palm. A small quartz point in an open silver cap dangles at the end of a chain. The silver is ornate, the chain wears small colored beads. Maybe I see a small feather there, or something like. I am too interested in the silver cap to note the rest. I don’t see well and it’s like a magnet for my mind and eye, so I stare at it. Of course…
Her hand passive, inert, the point swirls softly in a loop, more an oval. I don’t even have a thought for her somehow making it move; I don’t really care. I am in my shop, and people come there, all kinds of people. They tell me things. If they’re telling to do harm, I get them to leave. If not, I hear them and at the very least. It beats talking about the weather.
She has been in the shop at least an hour, with the rocks. Gemstones, crystals, rocks, fossils, spheres, and she has studied each one and maybe had a conversation with a few as well. She’s laid three wands on my counter. Two smokey quartz, one that I am instantly smitten with but have never seen. Another Chalcedony with bands of soft color. She’s asked if she may test them and then hung her pendulum above each. Both of the smokey quartz seem favorable for her but the one I like and the Chalcedony are a draw, and she continues the “conversation” with each. I can’t stop myself and express my mysterious love for the larger of the smokes. As she silently queries it again for leaving with her, it says no. Then no again, firmly. It appears it wants to stay with me. I don’t ask how she knows. But I smile. She chooses the Chalcedony.
She asks “May I?” and reaches out her hand, and I instantly extend mine. I am not uncomfortable; she is the most pleasant person I have met today, peaceful like cool water. I wait while she lets the pendulum talk to her. As even and quiet as she is, she breaths in once as though she has seen a painting that moves her, and says: Lovely. You have lovely energy.
And then she says: Circular, it runs circular in your hand.
I am unsure what to think of my circular energy, and only think: Yeah, my whole life is circular.
Somehow the rest of it just happens and I don’t know how it starts, but I tell her what I don’t mean to say. I see into things and people. Sometimes. More than I want, more than I ask to, and I ask not to. It goes deep, and sometimes the seeing is really a hearing. I hear the words they hide. See the pictures they don’t show. Smell things. Feel things. Know things. And often people sense that I know. I’m not inflating; I’m not proud of this. I actually don’t feel good about this. I don’t see the purpose. I feel burdened. I know there must be some kind of responsibility attached to this and I don’t think I want it. And it’s disturbing. It’s not all good; I don’t always see flowers and sunbeams. It’s strong with some people, but can happen with places and things as well. And then there are dreams.
I never say this much and I don’t to her either, but she’s got me in her beam and she sees me and is calm as still water. Don’t be afraid, she says. It’s a gift. You’re protected by angels.
She goes back to the rocks and brings the Celestite to me, a nice, hand sized geode that is good enough to eat. Asks me to hold it in my palm, with my other hand cupped above it, not touching. Asks: Do you feel it? I just nod, because of course I do.
This one brings the angels. This is your stone.
It is the prettiest of the bunch. It is still in my shop, some five months after this original writing. It has stayed and not left with a soul, even though the Christmas shoppers ransacked the gemstones. I just noticed this a few days ago. The smokey quartz I coveted of course, was for someone else. But without me wishing it so, the perfect little Celestite stayed. And everything else has been circular, as it always is and as I always forget it will be.
Don’t be afraid, she said. It’s a gift.