Three Readings

Different forms of the same idea...one initiation

Fae’s Book of Blue. Photo by Eric Francis.

At a psychic fair, in the late 1990s, a rising star on the New York psychic scene….

My gift as a reader was seeing a way through seemingly impossible relationship situations. This was the same event where I worked with a client whom I knew needed to speak to Betty Dodson, and as a result I got her contact information from Richard Levett, and made the referral the next week.

The show was wrapping up; it was about 4:30 pm on a Saturday afternoon in a convention room at the Westchester Hyatt. We had all been at this since 9 am, one reading after the next. I was dressed in a fine Italian double-breasted suit. Back in the 3D world of people and places, it was customary for readers to dress for the work.

At that moment, got up from the table to step out to the lobby to meet my date, crossing the floor where the different readers were set up at little tables. Moving past a one table, I brushed against a woman. I had no idea who she was and I’d never seen her before. There was that moment of kinetic contact.

She was wearing a black cocktail dress that was at once elegant and sexy with a touch of prim. I looked toward her to excuse myself for grazing against her, gasping slightly and swooning at her beauty.

She looked up at me languidly, meeting my eyes like she was expecting me, and spoke:

You will be ejaculating into women less. You will be penetrating them less.

You don’t need to do that.

“What do you mean?” I asked, unable to conceal a touch of defensiveness.

“You do know,” she said, her face warm and matter of fact.

I walked away, perplexed — and also having been reassured of something. Then I thirsted, and was grateful to be stepping out into the lobby to meet my friend Alana, who had such a delightful, watery vulva.

She knew I love to drink and to drink her, and she was happy to share. It was the sensation of my delicately sipping her that drove her to the deepest and most submissive orgasms. And then we would kiss languidly and swim in her scent.

Alona loved when — at her request, not always but sometimes — I reached my cock deep into her, and filled her up, and felt her as she became spacious and free within herself. And each time, we studied one another’s eyes as I let go into her, and cried out to existence with her as my witness and companion.

Two or so years later I was working with someone I considered a spiritual teacher and healer. During one session, she said I was a sex addict and needed to take two years off from sex. “Be celibate for two years,” she said, while (as ever) muscle testing one hand with the other.

The thought of that chilled me. Two years with no sex? No vulva? No fucking? I would be desperate. Did that mean she was right about my being a sex addict? She also said that my study of music was useless, and that I was to smoke no cannabis.

“Stick to Chiron,” she said.

In the autumn of 2007, I was arriving in New York after a long spell of living in Europe. I went to see a massage therapist I’d worked with for a while the last time I lived here.

A long time had passed since I’d worked with her, and her style had changed. She had a new name, Aditri. She no longer did massage, but rather a kind of channeling session where she would speak a strange language and then translate it.

However, she offered to do a combined session for me, where she touched my body doing light massage, and also share the information she receive. I was laying naked on her healing table on a quiet, cold Friday afternoon. Late-day light came streaming into her cozy studio.

I told her about moving to New York, and about my relationship to the land here.

“You certainly seem to belong here,” she said.

Then she started speaking a language where I had that distinct feeling: I’d never heard anything like it, though it was familiar — that sensation of remembering something I don’t know. She spoke with a gentle tone that was somehow forceful, or maybe persistent. There was an unusual music to her language. Then she stopped.

“Here is the translation,” she said.

“You will be penetrating women less. Your body has been asking you for this for a while. You’ll be ejaculating into women less, then you will stop for a while. Maybe forever. But definitely, for a while.”

My heart thumped in my throat at the notion of ‘forever’.

There was more.

“The women you know and care about will receive their lovers the more beautifully as you proceed into yourself. Relax into this. Into yourself.”

She paused, then she spoke again: “I see a woman in a black dress. She’s watching us right now.”

As she said those words, I suddenly thirsted for myself with deep and sudden recognition — a physical sensation — experienced openly and in the presence of another person for the first time.

I hesitated to say anything. Yet I knew my face said everything.

“I know what you just felt,” she said.