Serendipity & Self-healing, Part 5

Serendipity & Self-healing, Part 5

This is a part of a series. If you’ve just walked in, you may wish to start here

// Serendipity & Self-Healing //

When you almost sell someone a handbag, and instead you become a healer.

Without further ado: at this point in the story its the 3rd of January, 2013 and we’ve landed in Dubai. The land of sand.

There were many practicalities to handle, namely, moving out of what I called the ‘sad house’. Cristiano had lived in an empty apartment with only a bed, sheets, an assortment of odd pillows and a few bath towels. Empty spaces outlined where there might have been opportunities for a fridge and dishwasher. Given that I had moved halfway across the world to be with him, leaving behind a lucrative pay cheque and a flat in Holland Park, I had reason for concern. After all, he was supposed to be running an interior design business. There was little evidence of any design talent in that flat. He had accidentally picked up throw cushions instead of normal pillows, which kept our heads bent at strange angles all night. Otherwise, there wasn’t a stick of furniture, and in an apartment with floor to ceiling windows, not a single curtain. The only benefit was that it left a lot of space for me to spread my luggage around, a useful arrangement as I was still living out of my suitcases.

Within a couple of weeks we found a new apartment, moved in and started the business of playing house. It was a wonderful time. We were both tight on cash, but we shopped like we were purchasing on behalf of Hearst mansion. We loved being in our little apartment. It was so tiny, but we felt so grand sitting on our shiny new couch, with our feet up on the coffee table. We painstakingly went around the house, shifting vases to the left and right, painting walls, hanging lights. We wanted to get it right. Considering how broke we were, we had spent a small fortune. We’ve since learned our lesson and never invested like that in later Dubai apartments – but hey, it felt important at the time. At the very least, it helped to concrete my confidence in Cristiano’s ability to lead an interior design business.

I had to admit, this following my heart business was going pretty well.

Except…cracks were starting to show. Overall, the adjustment to Dubai was smooth, but without a big important job to occupy all of my time, my thoughts were drifting to unhelpful waters. The old problems started to come back. Self-loathing came and went. At times I seethed with jealousy. I worried that Cristiano didn’t really love me, or that I loved him more than he loved me, or that I had compromised too much by moving to the UAE. I had done that before and paid the price. It would be an overstatement to say that we fought very much or very often, but we did bicker, and I felt uneasy about our future as a couple.

And then came serendipity.

Under the illusion of having a job I was ‘consulting’ an Emirati on retail projects in the UAE. Largely this involved me collecting a salary and her travelling extensively with her mobile phone shut off. I wasn’t employed as much as I was ‘kept’. I kind of knew the drill as she had been a client of mine for several years; I was aware there was very little chance of these projects getting off the ground. I earned well, did little, questioned less.

Looking back, it was another act of serendipity, as it meant I had enough money to get by and ample free time to explore my interest in spirituality further.

As part of the farce that was my employment, I ended up putting out an anonymous LinkedIn ad requesting help from people in the local market that could consult on our projects. In two days I received over 250 responses. I started to sift through the responses, when one of the names gave me pause. How did I know this name?

Handbags. That was it.

Six years earlier when I was a luxury personal shopper, my main focus was reselling Hermès bags. We used to sell around 20 such bags in a good month, and a rate of $15,000 or more per bag, it was a big business. I remembered this lady because she had once inquired about an Hermès bag on behalf of a friend. I also recalled that she had owned a small retail group in the UAE. Perfect! I pinged her an email, asking, could this be the same woman that I had exchanged emails with years before?

It was the very same person.

When serendipity shows up in your life it feels like the finger of God has poked through the cling wrap and touched your life, shuffling the chess pieces on the board. These are the stories we love to tell, the tales that dominate a dinner party. The ones that give us a little hope, and make us think, “Yes, this too can happen to me.”

We arranged to meet coffee a week or so later.

What came up, of course, was entirely different from what I was expecting. At first we chatted business. She spoke openly about the challenges of starting a retail business in the UAE, which dissolved any delusions I still held of a future in my current job. We then spent the next 2 hours talking about meditation and healing. Immediately she gave me the name of a local gong practitioner, and even more exciting, she told me about a healing technique she had learned, Theta healing*.

I remember asking her, “So you mean, you can heal yourself now?”

I will never forget her response. A striking woman with deep olive skin and green eyes, she threw me a Mona Lisa smile and told me not only could she heal herself, that she used the technique on herself almost every day.

That it had changed her life.

This was just the solution I needed to beat my mood swings and jealous issues. Although I had been through a Shamanic plant ceremony at this point, I didn’t really see myself as capable of healing myself. I assumed that was the Shaman’s business. That’s why you paid healers, right? Who was I to think I could heal myself – that stuff was for special people who saw ghosts or whatever.

Putting my doubts to the side, within short order I signed up for Theta: Basic DNA, a three-day workshop. A lot of that weekend is still so fresh in my mind. We cleared negative beliefs and troublesome past lives. We cried buckets, ate mountains of candy and sat enraptured by this new world. We contacted each other’s spirit guides and delivered their messages. We learned about the structure of the Universe and that Theta healing accessed the highest plane of existence available. From the 7th plane of existence, we could bring down healing light to help clear stagnant energies from ourselves and others. It wasn’t necessary to take on the energy of clients like in other healing modalities. We were quickly indoctrinated to believe that theta was different; theta was better.* 

That weekend, we became healers.

We were like children with new toys. Energetically speaking, we were wide open, like big country houses with our front doors banging in the breeze. On a certain level (albeit immaturely, without control or responsibility), I psychically felt and saw more in that weekend than I ever have since. Just walking close to someone seemed to open a portal. I could feel their pain, see their memories.

Cristiano had been away that weekend, and was coming home. I couldn’t wait to tell him everything. My life had changed! I was a healer now! By the time we got into a taxi coming from the airport I was absolutely bursting with excitement.

And then came the cringe-worthy words that to this day make me hang my head in embarrassment:

“Cristiano, I’m talking to God.”

Hotline bling! Ladies and gentleman, I don’t know much, but I know this: do not enter into this type of discourse with a new-ish boyfriend. Maybe not even an old one. Definitely not a desired future husband.

From my perspective, I was only repeating what the healing workbooks taught me. It said I was talking to ‘The Creator of All That Is’.* What else was I supposed to believe? It also told me things like, “Avoid getting caught up in the Law of Dimensions as there are millions of dimensions” and, “If the body lacks nucleic acid, the body will lack spiritual structure.” Try and wrap your mind around that last one: lacking in spiritual structure.

This short exchange between Cristiano and I in a taxi nearly derailed our relationship.

Maybe all that following my heart business wasn’t working out after all.

*coming soon*

Part 6 – the part where everything goes distinctly downhill and I experience ‘Dark Night of the Soul’.


*N.B. I’ve since moved on in my journey, and no longer recommend or practice Theta healing. I believe that there are always ‘different strokes for different folks’, but want to be clear that this story covers my past, and as such, may represent old opinions or thoughts that I have not carried forward.