We're doing the shoo-wow wander around the Soul Space Holistic Fair at Kloofzicht Lodge today - Karen and I, mingling with the masseuses, Tibetan singing bowl ringers, overpriced organic and vegan food vendors, soothsayers, transcendental practitioners and the like.
And it has to be said that the 1 hour neck, back and shoulders massage augmented my mood somewhat to a high degree of receptivity as far as the good vibes were concerned.
The music was funky, the wafting potpourri of Indian incense intoxicating, the Neo dancers rich in variant somatotypes and the ubiquitous hippy fashionistas predictably flared and shaggy, their beatific smiles punctuating the backdrop like mobile Woodstock wallpaper.
Karen, as is her wont, booked a session with a couple of space cadets aka psychic practitioners, the first appointment necessitating the scheduling of the second as the "specialist" in question took the opportunity to promote himself and his claimed skillset rather than offer some otherworldly insight into Karen's current life situation - the intended agenda as far as she was concerned.
A tad disgruntled, she booked another session with a different practitioner, this time a member of the fairer sex and one seemingly more willing to provide the promised service.
It has to be asked: if these people are indeed gifted and can see beyond the veil as it were, then surely they must have an inkling as to the expectations of the client seeking insight from them? And it doesn't take a clairvoyant to work out that a potential client isn't going to pay you a fee to hear a whole lot of promotional marketing fluff about yourself and if they do think or believe such a thing, they must surely be delusional?
It may however be that at some deeper, subconscious level, my lovely wife wasn't really seeking those specific insights and decided subliminally to sabotage the outcomes. If that was the case then it worked underwhelmingly well with the first self-proclaimed savant, however, the best was yet to come.
The lady lined up for the second session had agreed to see Karen on the strength of a good-natured urging from her husband and manager who convinced the good lady to forego her afternoon tea break and fit in an extra reading.
So resolved, Karen pitched up at the surprisingly vacant booth at the prescribed time only to be informed that said soothsayer had been whisked off by a medical team having tumbled down the stairs fracturing both of her arms in the process!
"Should she not have had some precognition of this event?" says I.
"I dunno," my wife replies as we head off for some exotic smelling tea inevitably devoid of any actual flavour.
As we sat sipping the overpriced subtle (read: tasteless) brew I was certain I spotted a broken-limbed homunculus reposing in Karen's handbag or was this vision the result of the odd flavoured mushrooms I had with lunch....?
I might have to ask the forest divas to confirm this one way or the other...
Namasté
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