My father was in the hospital for a bone infection that resurfaced from an accident on a motorcycle decades ago. I was living in Spain, but had the fortunate coincidence that I would be visiting for winter holidays, so I got to spend time with him in the hospital. He had surgery and was in his usual equanimous mood, and we enjoyed time working together.

I was exploring some old family wounds, and I debated if this was a good time to bring it up, but a psychologist friend of my dad whom was his mentor had just visited him, and made me know this was the time to address it. She said something along the lines of “you never know when you will have a chance to speak again, so say what is important”. After she left I told my dad “by what she said I know this is the time to speak about it, but I was hesitant because of your illness, and this may not be a good time for you if you are recovering”. My father assured me that it was fine, that we could speak without delay.

We spoke about the issue I was carrying, and his entaglement in it. Everybody, men and women, have “daddy issues”, and I am immensely fortunate in having a deeply spiritual and wise father, so we were able to resolve these issues together in the space of perhaps two hours speaking. Of course, release is not immedate but you leave with homework to do, and he pointed me in the direction of the Akashic records.

He gave me a name and a phone number, and said that he would pay the session. I’ve always found Akashic records disreputable, it amounts to little more than a cold reading, prodding through your reactions to navigate your inner landscape. So I was very skeptical of the process, but I wanted to try it anyways. Everything that is new, teaches.

I made an appointment with a friendly lady who answered the phone. Yes I know your dad, we’re friends. Yes, I would love to read your Akashic records. Here’s the address, see you soon bye.

I googled the address and saw a small, one-story humble house. My mind conjured the interior in the style of Andalusian gypsies, but this being Mexico it would need more santos and altars. I was wanting to hate the experience before having it, and so I expected nothing but perhaps some insight following up on what is a clear spiritual task which I would have not pursued on my own calling.

On the day of my appointment I arrived at the place, but found that the number I had seen on Google Street View was wrong, it was the house next to it. This was an elegant and well-kept middle class house, and suddenly I felt my entire perception of the events shift: if this person can make such a good living reading Akashic records, then it must be good for them and good for others. I had a sudden leap of faith in the process, and hurriedly rang the bell.

After explaining I had an appointment and I was looking for X, a lady informed me I had the wrong address. The fantasy projection I had created based on the home I had seen

thinking it would be a cold reading in which my own reaction would direct the reading at the “seer’s” navigation. And so I was unwillingly set to prove that I didn’t want to disclose much of myself in order to see if what she told me was

and—now that I remember it—I notice one should allow oneself to be “navigated” by the seer. The ego-problem that happened to me was that I wanted to prove that she could not read me if I didn’t want to