A few weeks ago Mom got her aura read at a neighborhood party.
The Reiki master, AKA Aura Ninja, came back last week to administer another healing, and my Mom was like, Oh My God, WANT TO? I was like, Oh My God, YES.
So I got up early before work to go with Mom for a spiritual rub down. We walked into my mom's friend's yard and was greeted by her kids, four canines. The friend's husband warned me that the German Shepherd had been abused, so I was cautious as I tried to slip by him. But of course my mother, the dog whore, had to pet them all, and rub them behind their ears, and talk to them in her retarded dog voice, which is simply a more mature version of my retarded cat voice, and while I awkwardly lingered and waited for her to pull it together, I felt the German Shepherd's nose ascend up my ass.
Do I need to remind you why I am a cat person?
You will all be comforted in knowing that my womanly schedule has resumed its normalcy back to a 28 day cycle. LOOK HOW INTIMATE WE'VE BECOME. So when Patches, the German Shepherd, had his nose up my ass, all I could think about was that Pop Up Video for Madonna's Like a Virgin that included some factoid about Madonna being asked if she was menstruating before she shot the scene with the lion because lions are attracted to the scent of blood and have a high likelihood of eating menstruating women.
I anxiously anticipated being mauled by Patches, but instead the husband scolded him for his intimate explorations and he withdrew. You know what's worse than having a dog's snout journey up your personal atmosphere? Having other people publicly notice.
When it was my turn to have my reading done, I followed the Aura Ninja, a petite, pleasant man who wore a hippie shirt, into the back room of the house. Two of the dogs followed me. Naturally. Always popular in all the wrong ways. I laid on the rub down table and the Aura Ninja tried to gently shoo my fan club out of the room, causing the alpha dog to whine in detest.
He shut the door and comforted me by telling me that he would not be touching me -- not like the shady chiropractor with the office on 32nd street who stroked my face and told me I was pretty, and then had me put on a gown and contort my legs into pornographic positions as he pretended not to stare at my vaj-j through my lace panties. Or the manager at my work who grabbed my head while I was on my knees and humped it in front of my seventeen year old co-worker and then got fired. No, he would just be moving his hands above my body, conducting positive energy flow.
"Do you know how to ground yourself?"
I said no. He said he'd do it for me.
I tried my best to go to my happy place, a room of white overlooking the ocean with open windows and soft linens. A desk. A pen. A stack of crisp paper.
The Aura Ninja's tummy gurgled. I began to think about farts, the ones you don't let out and then they pop and groan inside your intestines. I wondered if he had to fart. Maybe he had to fart and it was giving him a tummy ache, and here he was trying to fill a room full of suburban jerks with positive light (at no charge) and all he wanted to do was let a good one rip. "It's okay if you need to fart," I wanted to say. "My boyfriend does it in front of me all the time." But that's the type of thought I only verbalize when I am drunk, so I kept my mouth shut.
I was wowed by how fast the Aura Ninja got into the zone. Anyone who knows anything about meditation knows that getting into the zone is not an easy feat. I don't think I have ever successfully gotten there by conscious choice. Aura Ninja's breathing changed as he began the spiritual rub down at my feet.
My college boyfriend poses in a banana hammock to demonstrate the multi layers of his aura.
I reminded myself to focus. I shot back to my happy place and closed my eyes. Take my negative energy, I thought to myself, take it, Ninja.
When he got to my abdomen, his breathing became more tired. He moved his hand over my uterus in a fast motion, as if trying to clean three month old marker off of a white board. He had found my period. I wondered if my low iron was making him feel spiritually fatigued. Is he experiencing menstrual cramping? Oh God, the poor guy already has to fart. I started to feel bad.
Right. Focus. I was struggling. I thought about all the negative energy I had stored inside of my body escaping and floating up towards the ceiling. I was trying.
After enjoying a relaxing swim at the local pool, two women compare the auras shining from their lady parts.
As he made his way up towards my head, he heaved and sighed as if dragging a 500 lbs boulder up a hill. I wondered if this was normal or if I had a high maintenance aura. Once again, he vigorously rubbed as if working a knot out of my brain. By this point I could feel the energy from his hands. Now, just so my Atheist, science devoted, University of Saskatchewan friends know, I am not saying that I could feel the rub n' tug of God, or that I was absorbing some sort of supernatural power from the heavens. So calm down. All I am saying is that I could sense his bodily energy, which felt like certain parts of my body were being weighted under pressure, somewhat resembling the sensation of water pressure.
When he was done he stood back and said, "wow!"
"What is it?!"
"Boy, is there ever a lot going on inside your head."
I laughed. "I know."
"You're constantly thinking and analyzing everything. I haven't experienced someone who thinks as much as you do in months."
"That doesn't surprise me." I told him that I am a writer but refrained from telling him that I am a sociology grad who is constantly creating and critiquing thesis ideas in my head-- I didn't want to scare him.
"That explains a lot. If you shut off your mind a bit and just be, your creativity will soar. You will do many great things."
I nodded. Over the past couple of years I've come to realize this, albeit in bits and pieces, and I've hinted towards it in past blog posts, but the line between writing and thought control is blurry. Sure, shutting off your mind as a visual artist is easy. But as a writer? I have yet to figure out how to do that.
"What are your thoughts on dreams?" I asked him.
"Well, sometimes our dreams offer us guidance when we are unable to consciously sort through issues on our own. Why do you ask? What have you been dreaming of?"
The week before I had dreamt about Satan watching me at a distance, the type of grotesque, demon creature that even horror movies can't create, and then there were the maggots and the flies. The day prior I had a horrible dream where I was sexually assaulted in a particularly humiliating way. I had an audience. They were laughing at me.
"Oh, nothing in particular," I responded. "But I have certain dreams that I perceive as guidance dreams, and I was just wondering if that was familiar to you."
"Very much so."
"I do have some pretty disturbing dreams though." Cough. Cough.
"Disturbing dreams are nothing to be alarmed by. Some dreams come to us as a way to work through issues from past lives. You don't have much baggage from this life, but you have a lot of baggage from past lives."
Most rational people would be rolling their eyes, putting up walls, and thinking, holy shit, this guy dropped a lot of acid in the 70's, but his mystical, outer-limits-like comment reflected something that I've thought for a long time. There are reasons, but they're personal and I am probably already being scoffed at, so I will end the past life discussion there.
My mom had her aura rub down after I did, and when we were on our way home, I told her about my experience with the Aura Ninja.
"He said something about you to me, too. I asked him if I could tell you and he said yes."
"What did he say?"
"He asked me if you had a boyfriend and said to be careful."
My heart sank a little as I prepared to hear some sort of premonition about how my current relationship is doomed for heart ache, and then I'd have negative, psychic bullshit whispering, he's not the one, or you still suck at life, Lojo, you still suck at life, thus causing me inevitable mind fuck.
"Oh no," I said, "why did he ask?"
"He said he could feel a powerful energy coming from you and he thinks you're very fertile. So he said to be careful if you're not wanting a baby right now."
"I AM ON MY PERIOD. FIRST THE DOGS HAVE THEIR SNOUTS UP MY PRIVATES, THEN DUDE TRIES TO TWIDDLE AN IMAGINARY FIRE ABOVE MY UTERUS, AND NOW I AM SUPPOSEDLY IN TURBO BABY-MAKING MODE. CAN'T A WOMAN JUST HAVE HER PERIOD?"
My Mom laughed and agreed that possibly the uterine contractions I was experiencing-- the uterine contractions that were so gnarly that I was popping codeine every four hours-- was why he had sensed a surge of energy radiating from my lady parts.
Oh, life. It's just not as romantic as it is in the movies. Or new age spirituality. Nor is it as attractive.
And as for why he mentioned this to my mother and not me, who knows.
All in all, I greatly enjoyed the experience and I look forward to going back when my uterus isn't throwing dogs, Aura Ninjas, and energy from alter plains off course.
And I promise my male readers that I will not mention my period for at least three months. So let's chug a beer and bump chests.