Magician From The Masses

Magician From The Masses

Mastering The Alchemy of Change

by

Alexandria E. Walsh-Roberts

*****

Published by

LifeOfLight Media

www.lifeoflightmedia.com

info@lifeoflightmedia.com

eBook Edition

Smashwords Edition eBook

ISBN: 978-0-908807-70-3

Copyright 2010 Alexandria E Walsh-Roberts

All rights reserved. No part of this book, either in part or in whole, may be produced, copied, transmitted or utilized in any form, by any means, electronic, photographic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage system, without permission in writing from the publisher, except for brief quotations embodied in literary articles and reviews.

*****

TABLE OF CONTENTS

1. The end of the beginning

2. Common ground

3. Retail therapy

4. The gift of uncertainty

5. Tired and tested

6. Joining the land of the living

7. Slowing down to speed up

8. Fact or fiction

9. Becoming the job

10. Going with the flow

11. The bar of conditioning

12. Finding an exit

13. Passing the point of no return

14. Back to school

15. Bubble, bubble, toil and trouble

16. Fear’s gold

17. What goes around, comes around

18. Out the other side

19. Research in the field

20. Heartfelt re-education

21. Meeting the intangible

22. Being the boss

23. Two’s company, three’s a crowd

24. Silence is golden

25. Fear in focus

26. Fighting for protection

27. The cereal sea

28. A night on the town

29. Living it up

30. Ego under acceleration

31. Home is where the heart is

32. I Am Present

33. Now time

34. Liquid lunch

35. Moving out and moving on

36. Illumination

37. The way home

38. All for one and one for all

About The Author

*****

For my beloved, for Mother Earth

that is known as India and New Zealand,

and to all the Magicians from the Masses

who have helped me on the unfolding

path of alchemy.

*****

The end of the beginning

Is that you? came a voice from the basement.

Well that depends on which you you are looking for, I replied cheekily.

You, of course, came the curt response as the discarnate voice made its way up the stairs and the puffing Mrs Daley shuffled into view.

And there you are, I smiled… double locking my flat door. And how would we be today? I asked, reflecting her Irish curiosity. She stiffened with disapproval as if my kiss of the Blarney was less than authentic.

Off again? she questioned with a mixture of disapproval and rejection, as if in some way she would become a victim of my immanent departure.

Well, if the truth were known, I’ve been off for years, I joked. There’s no use in trying to hide this any more. I’m going to come clean… I lowered my voice… just between you and me, you understand.

Mrs Daley lent forward as if guaranteeing her secrecy.

I’m a travel junkie; an addict with no sign of recovery.

Is that all? I thought it was something important! she exclaimed.

But I’m serious Mrs Daley. I can’t stay in one place too long for fear of stagnation! My life is just one big mainline; whether it’s a track, a road or a flight I’ve always got to be on it. Some may call it the way of the fool but it could actually be the way of the pilgrim, I suggested. Mrs Daley remained expressionless. Some might even go as far as saying it’s the journey that reveals the light at the end of the tunnel. I smiled. She didn’t.

Well whatever some may say, I think you’re off your rocker. Young people these days just don’t know when they’re well off, she frowned.

Perhaps that’s true but I’m late, so I’ll fly. I motioned towards the door but stopped as Mrs Daley began another of her ‘thoughts for the day.’

Well, you’ve made your bed so you’ll have to lie in it, she announced, scowling at my whimsical optimism.

That may be true. But I’d prefer to think of my direction as simply an alternative avenue in the city of Life. Besides, I’ve got far too much living to do to be lying in a bed I haven’t made! Perhaps it’s not entirely unexpected, Mrs Daley. I am, after all, a travel journalist. I concluded my defence by wheeling my suitcase towards the front door.

But Mrs Daley wasn’t finished yet. Launching into a determined waddle, she reached the mailboxes, blocking my escape. Well, you can’t be comfortable in a different hotel every night and with all those strange people, she persisted with her argument. Don’t you like the familiar?

Well Mrs Daley, you know what they say: familiarity breeds contempt.

My adversary fell silent. For the past five years she’d made it her personal mission to warn me of any risk, or near risk, I might be taking. But now her pursed lips confirmed that I was yet again beyond the point of no return. Fortunately for me, this meant our agreement would continue into its sixth year. I would buy Mrs Daley a gift from my foreign destination and in exchange she would stop interrogating me and start interrogating my flat while I was away. Who knew what ‘ifs’ could be lurking; unexpected visitors such as pigeons through my bathroom window; or the opportunity to make one of my many unclaimed lottery tickets crack under the pressure of its sixty-four million dollar secret.

Our familiar pause ended with Mrs Daley’s attempted U-turn into sentimentality. Well, don’t be away too long. I can’t look after your place forever. She stepped back as if signalling my departure.

No, I quite understand. You’ve got better things to do with your life.

Yes, and you’ll do well to remember that. So don’t let me hold you up… And don’t go drinking the water and eating that foreign food. She paused as if she’d forgotten to tell me something. Instead she surprised me with a question. Where are you going anyway?

India, I replied.

She paused, a broad smile parting her lips, excited at this last minute information and preparing herself for a late challenge.

Oh, if its India you want, why do you have to go all that way on a plane when you can save your time and money and go round to VJ Singh’s on the corner? She glowed, believing she’d found a chink in my traveling amour.

Well, you have to be there, Mrs Daley. That’s what travel writing is all about. It’s the spice of life; the thrill of the discovery. I’m after the original, the concentrated version, not something that has evolved into an intriguing hybrid. No offence intended, VJ.

Mrs Daley’s logic, now punctured, was deflating fast. Well, like I said, don’t go drinking the water. God only knows what’s in it.

You’re definitely right about that, Mrs Daley, I said, giving her the victory and recognition she wanted. I’ll see you when I get back. Thanks for looking after the place. Any ideas what you’d like me to bring back?

How about something I haven’t got! she replied, giving me a toothy grin.

Okay. I’ll get you something you can get your teeth into! Well, when you’re wearing them, that is.

She went to slap my arm but instead turned her hand to receive the spare key to my three hundred square foot palace. Don’t go missing me now, I teased.

I won’t, she replied.

Opening the door, I flagged a cab, rushing down the front steps in a cloud of tardiness.

Heathrow, please; Terminal Two. And can you step on it!

Certainly. Going anywhere nice? asked the cab driver edging skilfully back into the traffic.

On a trip of many lifetimes.

Right you are, he said, giving me a strange look in the rear vision mirror.

Common ground

Nothing could have prepared me for my arrival at Mumbai Airport. My mind bombarded and exhausted itself with ‘whys’ by the time I’d arrived at the pre-paid taxi stand. My heart, meanwhile, was overwhelmed by the creative force of one billion members of the oldest order known to man — chaos.

It was easy to see why India got your attention and how your defences and abilities combined to produce an unfamiliar, even alarming intensity. India was in a world of its own. You couldn’t go over it, or around it. The only way was through this sensory overload, cramming itself within the bulging borders of the world’s largest democracy.

My first twenty-six hours were spent in Second Class Aircon on the Udyan Express. The phrase ‘Don’t ask why’ floated through a merge of sleeping and waking moments. The next morning at 11:35 I alighted in South India, forty-five minutes later than scheduled. Indian Standard Time had expanded to meet Indian Stretchy Time — and I was grateful for the change of pace.

Thursday came and went in a drowsy blur filled with suitcases and falling asleep at the slightest opportunity. My surroundings had caught up on me. As much as I tried to launch into my next assignment, India called me back to catch up with myself. No sooner had I started organizing my work than the day warped into late afternoon leaving me tired from doing nothing. By the fourth day I’d given up trying to organize or establish my direction, I simply surrendered.

The next sound I heard was my 8:30am alarm followed closely by the door bell. Who could that be? No one knows me here. But I was wrong; you were never alone in India. I opened the door to be greeted by the broadest of welcoming smiles.

Good Morning. I am Prakash, the building manager. How are you settling in? Do you have everything you need? I promised the agency I would take particular care in ensuring you are comfortable.

That’s really kind, Prakash. To be honest, the place is a bit messy at the moment; don’t know if I’m coming or going. Give me a few days and I’ll tell you if there is anything I need help with. You’ll be in the building?

Yes, yes. I am usually somewhere to be found. There is always some work to be done. Have you been out into town yet? Done a little shopping perhaps? India is full of bargains you know, beautiful bargains. I could guess what was coming next…

As a matter of fact, my cousin-brother has a Kashmir emporium. It’s very near to here. I could take you if you like.

Oh that’s really kind… but… I began.

It’s no bother, Prakash continued in full flow. A bit of research for your travel book. Maybe you could mention his emporium in your shopping section. He has the finest selection in Bangalore.

Well thanks for the invitation. I wasn’t actually planning on buying much here in India as I’m here to write. But you know that already.

Yes of course. You are the travel writer from London, he smiled knowingly.

Yes indeed. Well, back to my unpacking then, I hinted.

Oh of course. I won’t take up any more of your valuable time, he smiled walking to the lift. Don’t forget, if you’d like any help, I’m downstairs. He continued to smile his longest smile while descending in the lift.

Well, well; the eternal bargain, I mused, closing the door and walking into the kitchen. Perhaps it’s time I traversed the ancient trade routes and discovered the heart of Indian shopping.

I stopped stock still in the kitchen. Something was different… I wasn’t tired any more. So maybe it was time for some retail therapy? I could even kill two birds with one stone — buying Mrs Daley’s gift while starting my research. It was a tempting efficiency. I would find an oriental gem; one to match the gem of the Emerald Isle who was now in my flat watching satellite TV while slowly emptying the fridge of stout.

Retail therapy

I never thought I’d find God in a jewellery shop. But the narrow frontage before me, decorated in bright colors and traditional symbols, hinted otherwise. I was now off the tourist beaten track in an area of town called Commercial Street. The street was narrow but it’s appeal was broad. This was true shopping where the variety was less predictable, as was the price. The characters that created legend, deception and illumination all worked here, trading dreams and tragedies at an everyday price. It was becoming increasingly obvious that this wasn’t the King’s Road or Fifth Avenue, it was India. Logic didn’t work here in a collage of chaos glued together with faith. But God’s color, ceremony, mystery and chaos carried on without a hitch.

Sandwiched between its up-and-coming jeans-selling cousins, this tiny jewellery shop was packed full of an air of conscious consumerism as shoppers discussed the advice of their marriage astrologer or simply how they were going to guarantee good fortune with the help of Topaz, Peridot and Ruby.

Moving deeper into the shop, I squeezed past a human Tower of Pisa precariously wavering from side to side while trying on toe rings. Balancing on a stool in front of a cabinet of assorted jewellery, I began scanning for a pendant. Crystals and semiprecious stones had been one of my passions for many years but today nothing caught my eye. I tried to picture Mrs Daley with a delicate design in Garnet but the picture wouldn’t come into focus. I looked again into my present’s future. Perhaps Mrs Daley would surprise and delight me in ethnic silver fringes of the Indian Hill Tribes. The picture burst suddenly like a thought bubble from a cartoon. Maybe not, I muttered.

As I continued to peer anxiously into the display case, the shop owner zeroed in on my frustration. Sensing my rapidly scattering purchasing power, he caught my eye.

Can I show you anything? he gestured towards the display case.

Well, I’m looking for a pendant, I replied. I wanted a Garnet for my friend. It’s really weird as I can normally find what I want but not today… There’s such a wide selection and yet still nothing similar to what I had in mind.

What about these? My co-seeker ushered out his best assortment. Do you only want Garnet or can I show you other stones? The jeweller’s search was about to broaden.

No thanks, I sighed. I’ve set my heart on Garnet.

Well, the shop owner sat back on his stool, there’s no point in arguing with the heart.

Perhaps I should ask for some divine intervention? I said half joking, half hoping.

Well, if you were going to ask anyone, God would be the one because that’s the Universal Wholesaler who supplies everything.

What do you mean?

The shopkeeper took a deep breath filled with pride. He wobbled slightly on his stool. His laughing Buddha physique was perched in the middle of commercial mayhem, he glowed as he began to enlighten me with his theories on Life, the Universe and shopping.

The Force, whether you call it Rama, God, ‘Out There’ or ‘All-That-Is’ can be seen as a Universal Wholesaler who has all the products ever imagined in our world plus many we have yet to dream of. There is no limit to what we can buy nor to our purchasing power. But this Wholesaler won’t force us to buy; all purchases come from free will and free will alone.

He paused for effect and it worked. I nodded my agreement, now a willing student of free will. He cleared his throat and continued.

The Universal Wholesaler sells familiar commodities of this physical world such as jewellery, houses, kitchenware, good health, books and cars. You name it and it’s there. Even the more elusive aspects of our world are available such as peace, unconditional love, joy and wisdom. It doesn’t matter whether we understand the full extent of what is on offer, it’s still available whether we want it or not.

He paused to pass a tray of anklets to his colleague, and continued.

What we want to buy is entirely up to us as the Universal Wholesaler has an unlimited supply and has no interest in convincing us to buy anything in particular.

That sentence hit home with the old ‘one-two’; first a punch of simplicity, then one of honesty. It sent my brain reeling. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been shopping and not felt pressured to buy something. Advertising, ambient music and buy-one-get-one-free had been shouting increasingly louder with each passing year. Did I buy because I wanted to or because the environment told me to?

The jeweller continued, engrossed in his theory.

All we are required to do is choose what we want. All requests are dealt with equally. Moreover, the Universal Wholesaler will supply everything at an affordable price irrespective of the quantity.

Pausing for a moment, he leant forward as if building up to a dramatic conclusion.

There is only one trading condition — anyone buying from the Universal Wholesaler cannot return the goods nor blame anyone for bad service, bad quality or the form their request takes in their world. All customers are 100% responsible for what they’ve chosen. It’s their soul responsibility to discover how this new range of products is going to fit into their world and if it can co-exist alongside all the items that already make up their brand of life. Sourcing direct from the Universal Wholesaler is the Heart of real life. It’s the genuine article, whereas Retail is just something that we’ve got used to because it appears easier.

Sorry, you’re losing me. What do you mean exactly?

The jeweller slowed his enthusiasm to increase clarity.

Retail comes in a box wrapped up in definition. But you can’t put life in a box — it doesn’t have defined limits. There are so many variations that no single box will ever fit. So Retail belongs to a limited version of Life, a comfortable compromise where one size fits all. It’s easy, relatively inexpensive and perfectly adequate; it supplies what you think you want. Whereas the Universal Wholesaler helps you create what you really want in your heart and in your life. The cost is greater in the short term but the benefits far exceed your initial investment.

My jewellery guru relaxed as if he’d made his point. Smiling with a hint of smugness, he leaned back against the shelf behind, satisfied with the sale he’d made, even if it was only an idea.

Maybe it’s time to ask the Universal Wholesaler for what you really want, he smiled. There’s no reason to settle for less. No reason at all.

Sounds like a fantastic idea, I agreed enthusiastically.

This got me thinking. ‘How about putting clarity at the top of my shopping list?’ I thought. ‘These concepts are mind blowing, even life changing!’

The jeweller concluded his deluge of realization…

It’s more than an idea, you know, it’s a way of life. He paused. But perhaps I’m lucky that most people don’t take it seriously! It’s hard enough to hear your thoughts in this world let alone find out what’s behind them.

The owner chuckled, his large paunch emphasizing his humorous gems of wisdom. I didn’t hear the joke but got carried away by infectious laughter, until tears welled in my eyes.

Well, I said as the laughter subsided, thanks for the inspiration. I haven’t laughed like that in a long time. Off I go now to discover what’s beyond Retail.

Can you remember what you wanted? He looked intently into my eyes.

Now that you ask me, I haven’t got a clue. You’ve blown my mind and now all I have is a huge void!

Well, don’t worry, he smiled warmly. Keep searching. You’ll find your gift soon enough.

Just then as if the space were only staying open long enough for the shop owner to finish his sentence, he was swallowed up in a new wave of demands for earrings, American diamonds and friendship bracelets. Meanwhile, I was washed back out through the door, cleansed of my failed consumerism and now energizing my thoughts in a completely new spin cycle.

The gift of uncertainty

I stood in the street, caught in a cloud of dust and bewilderment. Everything around me appeared to be accelerating like a video on fast-forward. I had been left behind. My train of thought had stopped in a station I didn’t recognize; there was noise and muffled announcements but nothing made sense. I felt strangely disconnected, suddenly an outsider enveloped in a bubble of slow motion, struggling to remain in contact with my surroundings.

Sitting down with a dull thud on the pavement a wave of energy traveled through my body draining through my feet into the ground. Everything