*we have been invited to a custom Bach Remedy session. we look at each other and wonder what the unprintable we are doing here*
A dapper chap approaches the podium, clears his throat, wipes his glasses, looks around the assembled gathering, and intones. 'Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to mourn the loss of people we never knew and aren't sure are gone. This is a necessary transition for us. Those seeking insight or other assistance may wish to speak with... *steps back so that guest speaker can step toward us*... Madama WooWoo'. A few titter, some yawn, and someone lights up... something. At least the room is not on fire. 'Madama is a Bach Remedy practitioner. Some may be happy to know that she does not practice the loud organ day and night. Rather, she deals with our tender souls-- even the ones that are deeply buried in grief, anger, and frustration. Madama will explain her work to you'.
Madama smiles at us. Then, she removes from her voluminous bag a thirty seven thousand foot scroll. Madama glares at us and declares, 'This is your mystery shopping forum rap sheet. You all have something to account for-- but not to me. The Universe is vast space. There is plenty of room for accountability there. If I were Santa Claus, I would inscribe your real names and all of your aliases on the indelible 'Do Not Deliver To List'. You understand that I would deny you goodies and treats forever, don't you? Alas, I am Madama and I use the products for me and recommend them for... you.
Madama shudders. One eyebrow raises slightly every few seconds while the prominent vein near her left temple twitches in syncopation.Fascinated, we watch as she spritzes herself with something from a brown bottle that has a yellow label. The unruly rhythm section quietens. Someone lights up again; we remember our training and offer no explanation for why Madama is mellowing before our eyes.
When Madama has recovered sufficiently from the horror of our dastardly deeds and our ghastly presence, she begins to speak to us. Madama's dulcet tones delight some of our our ears. She tells us about Rescue Remedy. It comes in a little brown bottle and has a yellow label. She attributes her recent calm to the small brown bottle. Someone hisses, 'snake oil!' Madama ignores the heckler/consumer advocate and continues the presentation.. She describes a 38-essence system.
Someone lights up again. Three people are snoring. Twelve have that glassy eyed expression that we wear when we pretend that the dolt sitting across from is us 'just the best date eeeeeveer!' Some have left the building-- or have they returned with another name? The rest are poker-faced.
At the end of the speech, the alert parts of the audience clap politely. Someone suggests that everyone, including Madama, should get a bite to eat and continue the conversation in the presence of food. Lots of food. Thus, everyone will meet at a popular shopped restaurant and enjoy a meal that does not require a visit to the loo, limited alcohol, names and/or accurate descriptions, and an explanation for every 'no'.
At the restaurant, we eat. We discuss. We eat..We pour out our bellowing little hearts and Madama listens.. She tells us what she thinks we need.
What does she tell us?
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All I know is, she never tells us what the unprintable we are doing here....
Nature does not hurry, yet everything is accomplished. - Lao-Tzu