In 2009 a major focus of my creative and intuitive energies was directed toward creating my own oracle deck, which I have named Fuzion Oracle Cards. You can learn about them at: http://www.fuzionhealingarts.com/products.html. I will be writing more about them in the future. The following is an account of a fairly recent occurrence at my local airport…
A funny thing happened on the way through airport security
the other day. Something I would have never anticipated. I had an
early morning flight, and as such my late night scramble and early morning
rising had left me bleary-eyed. I stood patiently in line, my bags
stuffed to full capacity. I made it through all the regular airport check
in lines fairly quickly, and reached the dreaded insecurity line… oops, I mean
security line. The line was moving fast. Gradually and laboriously, I
launched my belongings through the dark hole of the conveyor
belt. Carry on bag, purse, computer out, liquid bottles in
plastic, shoes, scarves, and coat. Stripping for the search. I
tried to go quickly, feeling the pressure of others waiting behind me. I
had not even finished placing all of my belongings in the plastic containers
when I noticed the line had come to a halt.
Pleased at the slower pace, I organized my remaining
belongings, making sure nothing was trailing behind. The pause was a
little longer than normal. Curious I leaned over and guessed they were looking
through my bag. I felt no threat, having combed through my purse the
night before for any scissors, or stray essential oil bottles that I often tote
around as part of my accoutrements. The woman at the scan then started to
call someone over with her “walkie-talkie”. Now she and someone else were
examining one of my bags. I made my way through the security sensor. My
curiosity was aroused…What had I missed? I wondered.
As I approached, a tall and solid looking male security
officer had my purse open. The Fuzion Oracle deck lay on top of my
bag. I looked quizzically. “Is this your bag
ma’am?”
“Yes”. I replied.
“Ma’am, what is this?” he said looking down at my bag
to the cards. I hesitated slightly, trying to take in the scene…How had my
cards been a security threat?
“Why,” I hesitated, “they are an oracle deck.” My voice
trailed upwards as if asking a question.
“What ma’am?”
In a split second or two my mind raced through the history
of the human race, as I know it, peppered with one oppressive regime after
another. I felt the immediate grip of an oppressive
force. Memories of ancient ancestors, ostracizing, obliterating,
burning, jailing, and executing the innocent for purported “heretical” beliefs
flashed through my mind. I felt myself censoring my responses, my
body tensed slightly. What could I say that would be “safe”? I thought of “Tarot cards”, but
immediately censored it, what if that association landed me in the category of
Satanic worshipper and black sorcery, then I would go, burning in the
hell-made-real of peoples’ minds.
“Oh they are… like angel cards.” Yes, that sounds better I
thought.
“What do you do with them, Ma’am?” he queried,
still sternly staring at me, as if trying to read some darkness that was not
there. Now I was incredulous. Was this for
real? Had I woken up in a
different century? Clearly they had discerned they were not a
national threat. Why would they not simply let me go?
“Well you ask a question and pick one,” I
said. He still stood, unwavering and expressionless.
“So, you pick a card and read it for other
people?” There was no warmth from this male officer; I could not
read the nature of the question.
“Well, no, it is for people to use and interpret for
themselves.” How could I explain in few succinct words the sublime
wisdom of the unconscious mind and the accessibility of this depth through
symbols while standing in a security line, being grilled by this man in
uniform? And what if I said I read them for others; would I then be
scrutinized for witchcraft practices? I reached for them once again
and felt the beauty that they invoke. “Here, you can look at them.”
“Uhuh, ma’am, we went through them already”. He
would not let me go. I did not know what to say now.
“I made them,” I said.
“You made them?“ he asked somewhat accusingly.
“Yes, I made them.” Oh oh, now I am in
trouble…arose in my consciousness. His countenance never softened
but then launched into an explanation of how the thickness of the deck in my
bag attracted suspicion. He let me and my cards go. No jail time, no
burning at the stake, or hanging this lifetime. Healing?
Synchronicity? I breathed deeply and went on my journey.
May we experience the freedom from fear.
Copyright 2010 Leslie Ciechanowski
