“In arming yourself with this science, you arm yourself with a great power and you will have a thread that will guide you into the labyrinth of the most impenetrable hearts.” ~ Henri De Balzac~
Everybody knows the taste of hell from a deep rooted sense of fear and anger that comes into our lives because we can’t see past ourselves. There are answers that help solve the riddles on the palms of our hands and if you are afraid to face yourself, it’s highly probable that you will be scared of the palm reader.
I am the scary 5 foot tall palm reader from the suburbs who raised children, grows flowers and paints on canvas in the kitchen but he didn’t know that on Saturday afternoon. His dark skin with shaved eyebrows, long nails and hands the size of my face may scare some people but I could see his eyes and they were kind. A little boy who was afraid, very afraid. Twice he ran out of the room when it was his friend’s turn but at closing time, he returned and laid his money on the table.
Large hands, capable of making beautiful things and a lover of detail. Soft, fleshy hands that may be prone to lofty dreams or laziness. I held both hands to connect with his soul. This is the moment when whatever they have done yesterday, be it good or bad, is dissolved because their higher self is present. The many lines on his hands told stories and I read as many as I could considering the time crunch. A strong life line indicating a passion for living but the head line was disconnected from the life line, showing a large gap. The gap of an extrovert or a dare devil but in his case it was the sign of a risk taker because of the many stars and short lines interrupting the main lines.
Sweat started to show on his face and his laugh already knew what the lines predicted so I drew my attention away from the lines, closing my eyes, I saw his mother. I saw his dreams, I felt his uncomfortable living conditions. This man was a lover of opulence who dreamed of owning a restaurant but could perform and captivate an audience. How? There was a block he carried and I said, “Your mom is wild!” The other men laughed and he nodded. I saw that she liked sex but kept that to myself.
He was an accident waiting to happen, had crashed his new car, broke seven bones in his body and even managed to run over his foot with the lawn mower, thankfully keeping all toes. Was he angry at his mom, yes! Things were making sense. Wide space in between life and head line screamed, “I am a soul that came to experience freedom! I will be a risk taker so my big dreams can manifest!” is how he pre-marked himself.
“You can thank your mother for allowing you to know your soul’s dream. If you were left alone as a child, she was in some odd way honoring your soul,” I said. None of my words made sense to me, worry wart me who didn’t trust babysitters. “What a gift this woman is to you, I hope you love her enough to thank her for being in your life.” He had no words, he had no nervousness, in fact I was invisible. He looked through me and beyond the walls of the room. The room was darkened by winter’s early evening and I closed the reading to his silence.
“Thank you, I am glad to have come to see you today,” were his words. We stood up and he was the only client of the day who gave me a hug. A six foot six hug without any fear of the five foot palm reader.