More than five years ago, I went to the World Village Fair. It’s Finland – or rather Helsinki – showing off its (willingness to accept) diversity, or what passes for such. Lots of stands in the park with various items, food booths, information tents by the railway station and in the park (think charities all showcasing their good deeds), and – this being Finland, for what would Finland be without it – music. It’s a decent enough display and festivity, but it still separates rather than unites. Sure, being foreign is interesting; it still makes you different. People make every effort to show interest in your culture, making it very clear that while this really is interesting, you’re you, they’re they, and it’s (nearly) impossible to cross over. I should have kept all that in mind when I found the stone, or rather it found me, the division aspect especially.
I blame The Dude for this entirely. Well, I can’t really blame him. He was just the instrument that got me there. Because at first I was hanging out at my usual place, The Bar. A mutual friend was working, and it was really peaceful hanging out there. No Saturday crowd watching their usual Saturday stuff on TV (they’re really nice guys, and I can’t complain, but I’m still not the greatest fan of soccer), just my friend and I chatting. Until The Dude came in asking what the hell I was doing inside when I should really be at the park. He even offered to give me a ride, despite it being only a ten-minute walk.
Long story short, I ended up at the gemstone stand. It’s run by this old man and what I’m guessing is his significantly much younger wife. They specialize in gemstone angels it seems, but nothing can convince me they’re not demons, especially the old man, just a vibe. Not-well-intentioned people tend to be drawn to the good, the pure, the innocent. If you don’t believe me just watch the movie William Shatner did with Milo Milo, and Eloise Hardt in Esperanto. Can’t mention the title – because like the Scot’s play, it’s said to bring bad luck – but Google should bring it up straight away.
I like gemstones, always have, always will. In Steiner School a friend’s father was a Porsche dealer and also bought and sold gemstones, always brought some in to sell at various school fairs, also always made a killing from us around the holidays and Mother’s Day, though I’m sure he charged us less than he would have a grown up. The school was constantly pushing all this handmade stuff, but every fair we’d ignore all that and head straight for the gemstones. He always let us touch them and play with them, providing we put them back.
Given that my love for gemstones never faded, and I’m always looking for some to add to my collection, it made sense that this particular stone would call for me, not to me, for me. I was summoned, clear and simple. This is a spooky story, so bear with me.
I didn’t head for it straight away, it was as though I was subconsciously avoiding it, or avoiding the moment in which we’d meet. As though I knew my life would change, and not for the better, and I was trying to prolong the moment for as long as I only could. But eventually you must heed the call, and so I was there at the Demon-Stand-Who-Deals-In-Angels-To-Throw-Everybody-Off-Track. I remember holding a Snowflake Obsidian in the shape of a broken heart. Its right side was a bit bruised, but it was perfect for my purpose. My healing process for having done the exact same to somebody else’s heart, somebody who loved me and cared for me and whose heart I literally tore apart. What wasn’t part of the plan was the Obsidian arrowhead I suddenly found in the palm of my hand. I swear I am not saying this to embellish the story, it literally lay there, in the palm of my hand, snug; right next to the Snowflake Obsidian bruised heart. I decided to buy it. How could I not.
I bumped into Cousin Fester a lot that year. Cousin Fester – as you may or may not remember – is, always has been, and will remain the bane of my life. Cousin Fester also always shows up when there’s trouble ahead, so combined with the Obsidian Blade, as I came to call it, it was no surprise that my bad luck intensified. I almost lost the most precious being of my life, again, same way I had all these centuries ago (if you believe in reincarnation. If not, just carry on regardless).
And yet, in the beginning, it seemed to act like a magnet, drawing the people I needed to fix things with back into my life. Almost the next day, it seems, I was helping out at my regular place, when I got a text message from the same friend who’d been there when The Dude drove me: guess who just showed up?! Not just him but also four of his colleagues. Asked The Dude to confirm I’m not hallucinating. Says it’s legit. Stay strong!!! I was in a different section, so I only saw them when I finished. I knew exactly what would disturb Cousin Fester, and I was holding that innocuous object firmly in my hand when I crossed the room. A room full of people, and I managed to suss out where he’d sit, with his minions, out of the corner of my eye, flashing that object straight at him in the process. I felt him jump.
Later, after my friend had flashed the lights to let everyone know it was time (she hated Cousin Fester as much as I did), he looked straight at me, a question in his eyes. What was that all about just now? I flashed one back at him, where did you hide what you took from me in 1821? It didn’t occur to me that had I not had the wretched stone on me, the energy field would be different, Cousin Fester and I would have talked peacefully and made up.
Several years and similar encounters with similar people later, the stone (or higher forces / powers) decided it had had enough. It fell out of my pocket (the same pocket I’d carried it in millions of times, or as many as you can fit into the span of a few years), onto the floor, and broke into three pieces. I quickly gathered them up, but only found two. This was in my apartment. A place at which an Australian acquaintance had pointed out that the right hand corner in the kitchen felt evil and weird. I wasn’t about to disagree with her. Once I moved in, I always made sure that tiny whole in the wall there had something in front of it. And I avoided being in its vicinity. But the stone jumped out of my pocket in another room, and other than that little corner the apartment was really nice.
“You probably didn’t need it anymore,” said my Little Brother when I mentioned the incident. I call him that, because in a past life that’s who he was. And in this life, when we reconnected, we instantly became close all over again. And he’s one of the very few people who’s never been scared of my mind. Even knew how to help me keep it in check. Our conversation was a bit longer, but that was the gist of it.
Deep down I knew he was right. And that the thing to do now was bid it good bye and throw it out. But sad / evil energies have a way of hanging about, so I wrapped it up in a ziplock bag and left it in my “safe,” along with the mementos pertaining to Cousin Fester and His Merry Band Of Brothers. Big mistake, as it turned out. Though for a while nothing happened. Until last year, when I decided it was time for spring cleaning. Or rather, a friend was supposed to come for a visit, so I decided now was the time to deep-clean my apartment.
Cue another Aussie acquaintance. Australia seems to show up at conspicuous times in my life. I may or may not have (distant) relatives there, but I lost the email communications with the wife of what was most likely my father’s cousin. My acquaintance was a super-rational, super-logical person. She was open to the metaphysical as a story, but preferred the more tangible aspects of life. I told her about the stone as we were cleaning out my room. Halfway through that and her telling me how she’d worked on an Aboriginal site and the common wisdom there was leave everything you find on the site, because taking it with you will result in bad luck, I decided we should send what remained of the Obsidian Blade back to Mexico. We picked the appropriate site, wrapped everything up, and decided to hit the post office before shopping for food. I slipped the ziplock bag into my coat pocket as we left, even checked to make sure it was still there as we locked the door.
They were not shallow pockets, I’d never lost anything I’d placed there. The distance from my door to the store was less than a hundred steps. That’s all it took for us (me) to lose the stone. I noticed in the store, when I reached into my coat pocket for my wallet, and found that the bag was not there. I looked at my acquaintance. She looked at me. We decided to go back and shop for food later.
We walked the entire length of the store, nothing. The stretch between the gate to my building and the store, again nothing. The stretch between the gate and my door, the courtyard, ditto. We tossed the entire apartment, still nothing.
In the end we shrugged and decided that the stone really didn’t want to return, broken as it was. But that night I was really scared it would suddenly appear in my apartment. It’s a fear that still crops up from time to time, even though I’ve moved houses several times since and even countries. But ghosts don’t move with you. Or do they?
Dear Obsidian Blade, you’ve been a great (and mostly interesting) companion. And I’m glad we met. But this really is farewell and good bye. I wish you luck, joy and above all I wish you well. But whatever you do, please don’t ever come back into my life. I’m done with that era, done with that part of my past. Moving onward and up.