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.
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