Poking Sticks At Things

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To this day I cannot help myself. Just about anything that interests me has me wanting, no, needing, to pick up my stick to poke at whatever has caught my attention. And then I poke at it some more. Two lessons here, firstly, not everything is what it’s cracked up to be. And, secondly, caution is mandatory. Not everything ends well.

Crystals So, my foray into the energetic realm began. Tah-dah. I was still meandering along an unknown path. Still very firmly in my head. Still needing scientific methods of verification to validate what I considered was my walk on the wild side. Still needing a story to encourage me to get to where I wanted to go.

One of my children had a friend whose mother was a cracking good tarot reader and an Australian astrologer. I gasped. There were different types of Astrology? Apparently so and each remains delightful, insightful, mysterious and wondrous. Back then, I had no idea. Until I left home, I was used to my Dad reading the stars from the newspaper on a Sunday while my Mum clicked her tongue in displeasure. I thought a journalist made it up.

I had progressed to actively choosing to throw caution to the wind by tossing out all my former beliefs and practices from my childhood (or so I thought). I was looking for something different. I was familiar with that saying, “when something old is new again”. And, for me, tarot was very new. In fact, because I was forbidden to have anything to do with it in my childhood, it became a delicious rebellion. Somewhere in the murky depths of my conscience, I also considered it an instant one-way ticket to the depths of hell … and all that jazz … should I ever be so foolish, nay, damned, in the eyes of God, to partake. The Fool, I believe, the first card of the Major arcana deck. How ironic. Bring it on, I implored the vast unknown universe … foolishly.

So, I’m sitting in tarot class colouring in a picture from the minor arcana when I realised that I had no need to be there. I hadn’t any intention of being a tarot card reader and I certainly didn’t want to be an astrologer of any kind. Have my chart done? Yes. DIY? Nope. I learned a great deal about myths, archetypes and the art of storytelling, not to mention learning that astrology was and is a vast topic to study. I had reading materials to keep me going for months, year even, in tarot alone. So, I gradually faded from that scene.

End of story? Not quite. The tarot teacher suggested I might like to go to an MBS festival with her. It was a new phenomenon back then. She said attending might help me find my niche. Oooh. That was kind of her. It sounded like a delicious breakaway from my mundane routine. However, she warned me to leave my stick behind and to simply drink in the atmosphere.

crystal ballWell, wasn’t that a shocker! It was an exhausting, wild, unfettered peek into the world of energetic therapies There were people touting “normal” products like tea, foot orthotics and massage equipment. That was safe enough. There were jewellery and whatnot stalls galore. Pretty and unthreatening. Then a lady offered to draw my spirit guides who were with me at the festival. My “what” now? By this stage, I discovered that the God of my childhood wasn’t going to throw me under any buses, and he wasn’t going to smite me mightily. A softer, universal love concept was creeping into my world. It was a pre-Abraham Hicks but post Louise Hay universal love vibe. However, that little voice kept piping up, asking if any of this was real? Part curiosity, part fear. I needed a definition for “real”. What was the point of this? Oh stick, come hither. I believe there was a Native American drum I needed to pound. And a card to pull form a deck. OMG, there were readers. What did they do? I wasn’t seeing many tarot decks. Read what? So…many… distractions…and…attractions. Where’s the science? I thought I might need a new stick.

IntuitionNext thing I knew, I was elbowed into a kinesiology exhibit. Would I like a quick balance to see where my chakras were at? Before I could mutter about not knowing what a chakra was, my highly amused teacher told them I was up for it. So began my foray into the world of kinesiology. The rollercoaster ride was just beginning. Very quickly, I learned to hang on tight…with both hands. My stick was wedged between my teeth.

Anne Brewer

Anne Brewer

Registered kinesiologist, RAW practitioner, CEC, Storyteller.
Soon I’ll add some more alphabet letters to my name because I love to learn and share.

Anne Brewer

Anne Brewer

Registered kinesiologist, RAW practitioner, CEC, Storyteller.
Soon I’ll add some more alphabet letters to my name because I love to learn and share.

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