The Paris meetings went badly, somehow everything gets complicated these days. Endless delay after endless delay, two steps forward costs three steps back.
So I got on the bus to Opera and a young guy at the front has some kind of heart attack or faint or whatever, he looked like drugs actually. Anyway the guy passes out so the bus driver stops, asks us all to get out, and calls an ambulance on his radio. The other passengers wait patiently for the next bus, but I walk.
Down some side streets, I love to follow my nose while generally going in the right direction.
A genteman ghost from the past wearing a wig (or was it a little angel with curly hair and flat dancing shoes?) leads me into a courtyard, and then another courtyard, and then through a tiny shop door.
It was like walking into a cave, or worse, like a fairground where you feels oppressed and bombarded with the noise of bumber cars, sirens, loud music, the smell of kebas and hot dogs, laughter and screams, gunshot.
But this was a different kind of bombardment: this shop sells stones, bits of rock, beautiful and strange artefacts that emit energies I had hardly dreamt of. I broke out in a sweat, my head was spinning, and then I saw a piece of Indian Amethyst…
Minérales do Brasil sold me the rock which, specialists claim, can transform negative waves into positive energy. I also bought a small black tourmaline stone to protect me from the pollution of our sad modern world.
The Magick has returned, now stronger than ever.