From My Pen

Anchor 1

WHY SOUL READING IS MY FIRST LOVE

The door opens, and in walks someone I’ve never seen before. More or less hesitantly, they sit down across from me and admit that they have never experienced anything like this. They heard about Soul Reading with me from someone close, who assured them that they simply must try it. They trust, yet they are still not quite sure what to expect.

I reassure them that everything will be fine. I explain that on the outside it feels like a completely normal conversation, that they can ask questions and interrupt me if something is unclear. I add that I see more than others, yet I am perfectly normal. I will not roll my eyes or sigh strangely, as in the movies. They smile and relax.

I explain that we can begin in two ways:

they can briefly share their question, challenge, or the reason why they are here, or
I can first tune in to see which message or area of life their soul finds most important to bring to awareness.

Usually, they choose the second option, to let the soul speak what needs to be heard most at that moment.

We both settle comfortably. I tell them I need a moment to focus on them and set everything else aside. I close my eyes and silently repeat my mantra: may all my attention be directed toward the being in front of me, may I be a clear channel for the messages of their soul, so that I can pass them on as clearly as possible and for their highest good.

And then it opens. I sense their energy, I see their emotional state, their energy field. I feel, I see, I hear, I understand, all at once. Slowly, gently, I begin to put it into words, to describe, explain, and translate into language. I follow the stories as they unfold, with absolute trust, devotion and gratitude. I keep checking whether the client understands me.

Usually, they respond immediately, because I touch exactly what troubles them most, where they most need connection with themselves, where the greatest pain, longing or emptiness lies. Then we walk together through the messages of their soul, through stories and explanations. We peel away awareness like an onion, layer after layer, until we reach the core that is real, beyond all beliefs, prejudices, memories, fears and learned reactions.

Very often, loved ones who have left this reality join the conversation because they have something important to share. Sometimes I invite them at the client’s request. At other times, they appear suddenly, literally interrupting me mid-sentence. When that happens, I kindly remind them: I hear you, I understand you, but please wait until I finish this thought so that I can explain everything clearly. If people did not express everything during their lifetime, what was left unspoken or misunderstood still weighs heavily, for those on this side and for them beyond.

Almost always, there are tears, often mine too. Because the messages are so powerful, the connection with realities beyond time and space so intense, and the truth so unconditional, that we are all deeply moved. There is no pretending and no denial, not from me and not from my clients. We usually cry because it is so beautiful. Because we touch something that is so deep, honest and authentically ours, our inner home. That feeling we spend a lifetime searching for.

Oh, in these more than thirty years of reading souls, I have witnessed so many touching, incredible and unimaginable stories. Yes, even difficult ones. Every Soul Reading is unique. I never know what will open, where we will go or what will be revealed. My task is simply to make myself available, to be the tool, the channel. Wisdom and grace, greater than us all, take care of the rest.

And then, after almost two hours, we give thanks, the client to me and I to the Universe.

Without readings, I could not live. People often ask me if I feel tired after a session, since there are so many intense emotions. No, never. On the contrary, contact with the soul realm always fills me up and reminds me that we are so much more than just a person in this life. That behind every experience and every relationship, even the most painful or cruel ones, there is our soul’s agreement. And always, always, there is love.

That is why I am so deeply grateful for my work and for my gift.

PROMENADE

She straightens her back, lifts her head, firm and gentle at once, and with heightened awareness lets her steps flow from her lush body. This is her daily victorious parade.

A walk that, to a casual passerby, could be presented as nothing more than an innocent stroll through small town streets, running errands, trivial, necessary and inconsequential.

No one could accuse her of flaunting, of showing off, of even offering herself. Because in truth, she is not offering. She merely places her mature, essential, feminine body at the world’s disposal. She allows herself to be touched by men’s gazes, mature, adolescent, aged, some hidden within the traffic flow, others openly inquisitive, innocently curious or directly lustful. Most of these glances please her. She registers them without lifting her eyes. She feels them, recognizes them in the tilt of her neck, the turn of her body, the whisper of the wind across her skin. Of course, she also meets women’s gazes, pausing on her unintentionally, as if something pulled them in and held them.

And so she walks, along her everyday asphalt, letting her feminine sexual maturity speak. She is conscious of her steps. She hears them when the anklet on her right ankle jingles, that playful summer habit, her only explicit sign of eccentric self-indulgence. She feels them when the fabric stretches over her full thighs. She knows her shirt is open just enough to spark a thought. Her own too. She walks, not too slow and not too fast, playing with gazes, with thoughts, with sensations. In truth, she caresses herself this way, softly, in a sultry summer day, whether in its morning promise or its late afternoon decadence. Her hips rhythmically sway her large backside, which she had tried for years to slim and shape, until she finally realized it was her greatest asset.

She does not walk like this every day, certainly not, only sometimes, a day, two, sometimes three in a row, when she is hungry for attention, hints or satisfaction. Of course, she knows exactly what she is doing. Women of her age and experience always know. This is her small private perversion. A naïve substitute for the unfulfilled needs of a sexually unsatisfied woman. Entirely innocent, since it never ends anywhere but in her mind. And at the same time strong enough to soothe her hunger. Who knows, perhaps one day she will choose another ending. Perhaps she will finally call her almost lover and seduce him. Perhaps, at some crosswalk, she will lift her eyes and catch the gaze of a mad Italian who knows how to treat a woman. Perhaps her good, loyal, honest husband will finally awaken and realize that the body lying next to him every night hides magical formulas, stronger and wiser than those in learned books.

Who knows what might happen, perhaps tomorrow already.

But today, right now, she walks. Her whole body flirts with everyone she meets and yet remains entirely her own. No wrong word soils it, no careless gesture disappoints it, no weary recognition that everything has already been seen dulls it. With each step she enters new passionate, mad, decadent scenes, with faceless lovers, she ignites them, consumes them and leaves them. So simple, fluid, wordless. Nothing is seen, no one is hurt. Each step grows more sensual, until, after a while, a trace of a smile dances onto her face, bringing her genuine joy.

One more step, and is it not beautiful, that we can feel beautiful.
Almost like a mission, a sacred calling, this walking of hers.
The archetype of Malèna, the sexually mature and lonely woman, coupling only in imagination.

Step on, my darling. I hope you are walking toward yourself.