A Moment In Time With A Nightlife Mystic

Five minutes before he arrives I already know what’s going on.
What if you had to tell this man, who is now sitting in front of me, that he’s worthy of Life, despite the fact he’s had three car accidents in a row?
I can tell by way the smile on his face is folding into an expression of grief and frustration he doesn’t believe me. He should’ve been dead.

Some people are starting to think they’d rather kill themselves than spend another day with their self-loathing insecurities. It’s written all over their faces, and I’m only hoping I’m in time to prevent them from actually doing it.

I get a big hug after the reading, and watch the guy I’ve had a conversation with earlier in the evening return to our cozy shamanic corner to ask Rombout to roll one up for him, because he makes them taste so good.
Rombout has always been popular with the guys.
I can’t blame them.

Seven tarot cards is all it takes to describe the ins and outs of a lawsuit.
The battle, the money, the big possibility of victory.
The psychological implications, I’m seeing them mirrored in the cards, illustrating the opposing viewpoints of the case in detail.
A soft voice in my head whispers she has another option: make the financial sacrifice and leave the whole damn lot to rot in hell so she can start living a happy life, right here, right now. On a side note: she needs to check the quality of the tap water in her house; it may not be as good as she thinks.

A girl is smiling shyly. She possesses this particular mixed aura of modesty and strength I love so much about Moroccan people. In my mind I see her being surrounded by a whole bunch of naughty little boys, all brothers and nephews. They’re a pain in the ass, but they all love her, and she knows it.
My head seems to be filling up with the colour blue. “BLUUEEEE” all over the place.
I ask her, what is so incredibly blue about her life? She starts laughing and says she works for an airline.
Then it turns all RED. She’s in debt, big time.
I advise her to be a good girl and finish her study, that is: if she wants to get rid of her debts any time soon.
She looks up to me, she says, and gazes at me while I’m telling her I’m 41 years old and promise her: this bullshit we need to deal with as women? It will for sure become easier when she gets older. I feel I shouldn’t be too modest about my position as an older woman. Not this time.

Her actual request is: she wants to learn how to develop her intuition.
I hand over my stack of cards and request a reading from her. I appreciate the spontaneity and confidence she’s accepting the challenge with.
Without having previous experience with tarot card reading, she gives me an accurate elucidation of how I lead my life: the sense of loneliness I feel about what I do and share with the many men and women who have gone before me on this spiritual path.
The amount of hard work I do all by myself, which isn’t bad, but just the way things are for the moment.
How I feel I already possess everything I need in life, except for one thing: the roof.
Don’t I want that roof over my head, she asks, a roof which prevents me from thinking too much and being spiritually tuned in every single moment of the day?
Yes, that is my wish.
Then, she says, I will just have to connect with the Mother more often. It may seem contradictory, but the Earth will provide me with the roof I’m longing for, not the Sky.

Yes, I’m having a conversation with an Islamic girl who is pointing out the very shamanic basics I should be practicing more often, on a couch in a busy nightclub, while being bombarded with the beat people are dancing to on the dance floor right under our feet.
I offer her the five euro note I received earlier as a donation from The-Guy-Deserving-Of-Life, as a token of my appreciation. She finds it difficult to accept, but likes my suggestion of passing it on to someone who needs it, and puts it in her pocket.

It’s 4 in the morning and I’ve been giving readings for hours non stop.
I feel drained and I’m craving for a cigarette.
I’m wondering where Rombout is.

(to protect the privacy of my clients I changed details about our conversations)