This is the story of an awakening. This is the story of remembering.
It started one January evening in 2021, mid-pandemic, in Malaysia. It involved uncharacteristic but enthusiastic dancing; far too much white wine; and four expat friends.
I woke up a medium.
I’d known for a year before that there would be death. I felt it deep within. Like a disused quarry pit ready to fold in on itself. I could hear the wrench of the land underneath. The cracks fracturing across the rockface. The parched, barren, red earth preparing for the fall. The great thunderous roar of mother earth. She was ready to let rip. She was ready to expose this gaping chasm within. She was ready to unburden herself of heavy boulders with crashing, unapologetic thunder. She was ready to scream, shriek, wail, cry, sob, weep. She was ready for death; but was I?
There wasn’t any choice. The earth beneath my feet wasn’t mine to tread any longer- that path had vanished overnight as I lay numbed, unfeeling, from too much wine. Blurred vision, head throbbing, mouth dry…
The universe had spoken.
And would continue to speak for the days, weeks, months, years to come. Death had come. I had been killed off.
5 days before Christmas, I’d slept-walked into the crystal shop in a tatty, run-down mall in Pulau Tikus, a north-western suburb of Georgetown, Penang. I was blind to the transformation that awaited me. The catalyst came in the form of a mottled, dark-grey, weighty lump of rock shaped into a pyramid. It beckoned me like a siren: she knew she was mine; she knew I was hers. I was lured to death by a meteorite. Resting in the palm of my hand, hot flashes pulsed up and down my spine, the back of my neck burned, my head swam. Without knowing why, I needed her. Without further thought, I gave my money and placed her in my rucksack.
Later that evening, laying under the whirring fan and listening to the regular in and out breath of the sea in my twelfth-floor apartment, I sat with the meteorite.
I cradled her in my hands: she held power.
The foster dog had already sized her up 20 minutes before and decided the best course of action was to bark at her. I decided otherwise: I would meditate with her. When I say ‘meditate’, I don’t mean the sort of ascetic meditation of an orange-robed monk in the mouth of a limestone cave; I mean lay down, take some deep breaths and attempt – often without much success – to clear my rattling brain of her inane chatter. Due to the weight and shape of the crystal, the most obvious place to rest her while I attempted this futile meditation was on my lower belly- plenty of surface area there! Little did I know I was placing a stone renowned for its transformational power on the root of my kundalini.
White fire raced up and down my torso from the base of my spine to the crown of my head. Tingling sensations took over my hands and feet as I heard sparks and crackle. Fire and brimstone. My inner vision changed from burning white to mossy green in concentric circles. Over and over. I was mesmerised. I was over-awed by high vibrational intensity.
The power of this rock was otherworldly.
She was intense. She was high-vibration. She was orgasmic. I didn’t know what was happening, but I wanted more.
The afternoon that the meteorite blazed into my stratosphere, so too did the phone number of a local Chinese-Malaysian, Hokkien-speaking healer. Out of mere curiosity, I wanted to try reiki. I had done no research, I had no conversations with friends, I hadn’t heard others’ experiences. This curiosity had landed in much the same way the meteor had: suddenly and unexpectedly, a throwaway comment from my sister: “try it while you’re in Asia.” Of course, those in the world of spirit may argue differently; this was all part of the plan too. There are no coincidences.
On the day of the winter solstice, I received a 13 second voice note in Hokkien. The voice was quiet, calm, soothing.
I was instantly drawn to it.
I had no idea what the healer had said. With the thought of communication and translation being too difficult, I replied asking if she knew of any English-speaking healers. The reply came back:
Next week Monday. 10am.
That was that. Unbeknownst to me, my awakening pathway was set.
The full moon that December was called the Winter Maker Moon. Looking back, it is no surprise. My three healing and chakra clearing sessions took place on the three days of the full moon, and not so co-incidentally the three days leading up to New Year. I was on the cusp of something, the Winter Maker Moon would make something of me. I just didn’t know it.
There was a new pathway waiting for me.
2 weeks later, I woke up a medium.
Main – Photo by Ganapathy Kumar on Unsplash
