Chris Holloway
The message comes through my phone from my partner, a whip crack that shatters it's way through the plague of vampires surrounding me.
But today, it's different.
No, I’m not Van Helsing. I’m a mental health support worker and I am sitting with my client at a Disabilities Bowling League tournament. These shifts take it out of me. They leave me stumbling home with nothing more to give.
But today is different.
Sitting amongst 200 adults with various mental health disabilities, looking as I do; shaved head, tattoos, broad shoulders and a beard, makes me somewhat a rock star in the eyes of these adorable people who crave attention and acceptance. Notoriety has a price. They don't realise it, but these courageous souls suck the literal life out of me.
But, not today.
Today, I had remembered to cloak; a practice taught to me only 9 months ago by a studied occultist. It can be made of and decorated by anything you like, as long as your intent feeds its
functionality.
"Just be careful not to cloak yourself too well, or the amazing bond you have with your clients may be hindered because they can’t feel you."
My cloak is liquid obsidian. It pours over me, the ether of the cosmos, dotted with distant stars. Its density varies as needed. Thinner, when I want my client to feel me. Denser, to shield myself.
Cloaking has been trial and error. My partner says, “Trust your guides to run the cloak for you. They'll know what is needed and when.” But I’m hands on. I want to understand how this works and know what transpires does so because I will it. Besides, my guides have better things to do
than babysit me. These bowling days have been the proving ground for my cloak. Some days successful, others, not so much.
But today is different.
A couple of months ago, I began dabbling with light codes. Not just making beautiful patterns with obscure languages and glyphs, but trying to make something functional. With purpose. The problem I faced was, despite seeing glyphs and light language in my dreams since I was a child, I could never remember them upon waking. The dreams, yes. The glyphs and sigils, no.
Then I did a life-altering past life regression. Afterward my mind’s eye opened up to the codes in a way I could not imagine. So, with only mild surprise today, I saw a handful of glyphs flare on its surface when I let my etheric cloak wash over me.
No. The real surprise was when the young man talking to me suddenly stopped mid sentence and walked away as I spread the cloak.
Since then, my legions of adoring fans have strolled past without a word, leaving my client as my only conversationalist. The result is me sitting here comfortably. My power flows, as I tap out my reply: “Thanks babe, I already have.”
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