For the past few years I’ve been taking a break from everything generally branded ”New Age”. I’d reached saturation point with tarot readers and psychics and assorted charlatans who go on a weekend retreat and emerge to pronounce themselves as healers.
The final straw was one such quack, whose claim to fame was that she would connect with me ”on the astral plane” some hours before our meeting, so that when I arrived she would be able to tap into what was going on in my soul. I was, admittedly, already a little sceptical, but off I went armed with some rather vague directions she had SMSed me (the sort that say ”take the 9th road to the left” instead of actually giving street names).
Naturally I got lost, and after driving in circles for half an hour phoned her for help. At which point she poured an absolute torrent of abuse on my head about how no one had ever failed to understand her directions before and how I was wasting her time (I suppose when you’re charging more per hour than a top neurosurgeon does, every minute counts).
But what made her really froth at the mouth was when I asked her why — if indeed she had already connected to me on the astral plane — she hadn’t known I was lost. I mean, what kind of a psychic was she really? And why would I want to subject my psyche to such an irrational, vituperative energy? I drove home feeling I’d had a lucky escape and vowing to steer clear of all such personages in future.
So when the editor assigned me to have my Chinese horoscope read and visit a healer who speaks to angels, I was more than a little dubious.
Chinese astrology and feng shui
Five minutes with Diane Grobler allayed my fears that this would be a meaningless consultation, based on vague generalities that could fit just about anyone. With a background in mathematics and having earned the title of feng shui master, Grobler doesn’t engage in any ”away with the fairies” nonsense.
Her work is rooted in classical Chinese feng shui, which uses direct translations from ancient scripts, as opposed to the better known New Age variety. She scorns the faddish belief in placing an ornamental frog or a wind chime in a certain corner of a room and expecting it to make a difference. ”Feng shui is not about placement of objects, like mirrors, but about the flow of energy.”
Her prognosis of our office is that the space and chi flow is good, and that we will do well. The crazy traffic that roars down Jan Smuts Avenue is calmed by the open, wide space in front of the building, which cools and negates negative chi before it reaches our door. Our spacious lobby and atrium area are also good for the flow of chi, but she warns that the newsroom will do less well than other parts of the building because it is more cluttered and energy needs to wind its way through the space instead of flowing freely. She advises that we open up some space and move the pod of desks that sits in front of the newsroom door.
Then we get down to what she’s really here for: to read my horoscope. Based on my date of birth, she has drawn up my astrological chart, which shows that though I was born in the Year of the Monkey it’s a bit more complicated than that.
My Chinese element is wood and the pictogram that represents me in the chart is a tree. I immediately fancy myself as a majestic oak, but am brought down to earth when she informs me that in fact I’m more of a flowering shrub. But she hastens to assure me this allows me to be more flexible, and bend instead of breaking when the wind blows.
Despite this, my chart apparently has too much wood in it, which can make me stubborn and opinionated. The difficulty with wood is that it can become too rigid: ”One serious blow to a tree will be taken very badly — it can be chopped down and that’s it. Compare that with the element of earth — you can dig and dig at the earth but it will still be there.”
This year is governed by the element of water, which is not ideal for me, but will be a year of asking questions and seeing great changes. The presence of other characters in my chart such as the ”Heavenly Virtue Noble” will serve to turn negatives into positives or cushion adverse effects. I am warned not to make any major decisions in the watery months of November, December or January, and not to get overly involved with a family member who represents water.
She also suggests a career change: journalism is governed by water, which is not ideal as water tends to make wood float. Apparently talking is my strength, and I would be far better suited to the law, particularly litigation, as the law is governed by the element of metal — which will serve to chop out my tendencies to excess woodiness.
I’m happy to hear that according to my chart I have one of those lives that start out not terribly well but keep getting better as I get older. Once I hit my mid-40s there will be an appreciable upturn in my fortunes, and given that it’s my birthday in about a week, I intend to cling to this nugget of information to stave off my usual impending-old-age blues.
Channelling
A friend of mine — a seriously intellectual, left-brain kind of person — has been raving for months about an amazing healer who has cured her chronic back pain, so this story presented me with an ideal opportunity to check her out. It involves some willing suspension of disbelief — I’ve come to view this sort of thing with some suspicion — but my motto has always been that I’ll try anything once, so off I go.
Leigh Cator looks like any young mother, in her jeans and bare feet as she welcomes us into her home. She leads me into her consultation room, full of feathers and crystals, and is quick to point out that she does not claim to cure anyone, nor does she make diagnoses. She simply channels energy from arch-angels into the bodies of her clients, which allow them to heal themselves.
She sees my look of incomprehension and laughs. It’s not the first time she’s had this kind of reaction, and she acknowledges that it can be a bit much to get your head around. She shows us a gift from a friend, a bumper sticker that reads ”You’re just jealous because the voices are talking to me”.
I don’t tell her anything about myself or my health, because I want to see how much she can really see about me. I lie on her table and she runs her hands over my body. I immediately feel a lot of warmth radiating from her hands. She stops at my sacral chakra and says ”I see a lot of lower-back pain. No — it’s actually in your hips.” I am ever so slightly gobsmacked, as this is 100% accurate.
She places her hands over my stomach and says she senses I’ve had a lot of sugar cravings lately (and here I thought my KitKat-for-breakfast tendencies were a secret between me and Ma Winnie, our office sandwich lady).
She says my body wants me to stay away from sugar and dairy and suggests I drink lemon balm tea and a concoction called green blood, which is liquidised spinach, cabbage, parsley, celery and green apples. As a vegetable-hating vegetarian I can, frankly, think of nothing worse, but I promise to give it a go (forlornly thinking of all the Lindt bunnies I’ll have to forgo this Easter). She also says my body isn’t enjoying the sea salt I put in my bath each day, and advises me to use tea tree or lavender oil instead.
She warns that I might feel aches or stiffness in the next day or two as my body heals itself and says I probably need another three sessions to sort it out. I don’t feel hugely different, but when I get back to the office (where a colleague had commented earlier that I was looking ”yellowish”) someone tells me that my face looks a lot brighter. And that can’t be a bad thing.