“There’s an energy blockage around your solar plexus,” Mark says, widdling away with his fingers above my hips.
“Oh. So would that be connected to a chakra which means something in particular?”
“Apparently.” (Quick recap: Mark’s not into chakras.)
“Maybe it’s just human anatomy.”
“There’s your ego mind again.”
“Oh dear, I’ve learned nothing.”
“There it is.”
I tell Mark about a weird sensation I’ve felt in two spots in my solar plexus since I was a kid; a feeling so awful I’d even dream of it. If a new ager touches me there – which I always tell them not to and they always do – they get a knee in the face.
“Jealous lover,” Mark says, on the verge of a chuckle. “You had someone else’s baby.”
“But I’ve had this since I was a kid. And I haven’t.”
“Past life. There are two arrows I can see. Yes, that must hurt. I’ll pull them out.”
I feel my new age optimism waning away and impatience leeching back in.
“Past lives. Everyone thinks they’re Joan of Arc, don’t they?”
“I try not to delve into stories,” Mark says. “People just become attached to them. But we do have past lives; no doubt about it.”