I was in a dark, cramped-yet-somehow-spacious corridor or crossroads of sorts (almost like it was in a deep, cozy corner of outer space). People were coming through the area swiftly, but not hurriedly. I was being mentored by an old sage. He was teaching me how to help the people who passed by. I had only a brief moment with each person, and sometimes they came in groups.
My task was to read their cards. Quickly, but again, not hurriedly. As each person moved past me, I looked down at my table, at their cards, and gave them small, brief clues to help them as they moved on. Usually they just continued moving, not really noticing me, or moving too quickly for me to connect with them. Sometimes they looked at me, seeking guidance. I wasn’t able to offer more than a few words to each person.
After a while, I began focusing on Darling and my sister, guiding them more specifically, and I think I was trying to teach them to begin doing what I was doing. My mentor came to me (gently and confidently, never looking down on me), and I went back to focusing on my task, as if showing me that I wasn’t yet ready to mentor others. He asked me if I had been remembering to read first from the table (although it wasn’t a *table* but the surface on which I placed the cards).
I moved the cards from the table and recalled that the surface was important. It was like some kind of life essence or soul window or something for the people. It was dark, with swirling, sparkling ether that shifted and changed and formed pictures. Somehow I had forgotten that this is the basis, this was where I should have begun reading. My card readings were not incorrect without this, but just less precise, less focused, less than they could have been.
I took a deep breath, and with renewed confidence, I looked back out toward the ever-flowing stream of souls…