“Off to See the Wizard”

A request to repost from 3-14-2012

In 1980 my friends had a hard time accepting that I would be on wheels for a lifetime.  As for me, acceptance had its space in my heart, but it also shared that space with the prospect of a “miracle.”  So, with good intentions, my gang of hope filled friends searched frequently for someone known for his or her ~ healing power.  Each time the phone rang, I knew I better powder my nose, because SOMEONE would be taking me SOMEWHERE to see SOMEBODY that had “the gift.”  Believe me, I could not discern at this time, who had “the gift,” or who had flunked Carnival Act 101.

On this day the phone rang, and my friend Ruth rambled on and on about this guru of all gurus, so said her friend’s guru.  In Ruth’s own words…

“Everyone, who is seriously “seeking,” is seeking out Master Michael.  We are so very fortunate to get this hour with such a blessed man.”

Hmmm, sounded all too familiar to me, but I fought off my skepticism knowing all things are possible.  So Ruth, along with me and my miracle mentality, headed to Winter Park ~ to see “the one.”

As we traveled, my mind entertained the thoughts of dancing feet and independence.  The freedom scenario I indulged in slithered into a day dream mist, as we reached our destination, and made our way to the entrance.  Huge venerable oak trees with hanging moss lined the sidewalk, which ended in front of a grand dark wooden door.  With my eyes half looking for the flying monkeys, my friend proceeded to knock on this massive door, this entrance ~ an Oz look alike.  In moments we both got caught smirking as the little peep window flew open.

Quickly, we composed ourselves, and there, standing before us, was a statuesque body draped in jeweled robes of many colors.  Accenting Michael’s royal presence was his flowing flaming red hair. At this point I knew one thing, if laughter truly heals, in one hour, I would be walking out and leaving my wheels behind.

With a snake shaped staff made from a tree limb, Michael dramatically pointed to his desk saying,

“Miss Anita, please join me at my desk for a short reading before we begin the healing.”

I thought.  “As you wish my King, I am your humble servant.”

He grabbed his robes, so not to trip, and royally glided to his desk.  He started out with the same line that most others did, but with a theatrical flare.

“The ANGER…the anger…YES, we will rid you from the DEEP DARK anger, that you have buried since the accident!  It is time dear one, time to be FREE!”

Although my life was changed dramatically when I injured my spine, I never felt anger.   I experienced confusion at times, but developed an inner life that enlivened me, and sparked a variety of new interests.  He continued with his reading, and soon he pointed his staff towards his healing room.

In the middle of his “sanctuary” was an oversized massage table, and all around the dimly lit space were trinkets.  The menagerie amazed me; there hung every tool of the trade a “witch doctor” could ever dream about.  He helped my friend lift me onto the table, and asked her to wait in his parlor.  Michael carefully tended to my comfort, and then he prepared the table, or the altar ~ which seemed to be more appropriate.

As I allowed myself to relax, he began by placing unique rocks of different sizes all around me, and he took time to bless each and every one. Maintaining an other worldly presence, Michael added candles, crystals, beads, bells, and feathers, while he danced around the “altar” chanting.  I expected the Vestal Virgins to make an appearance, but instead tranquilizing music drifted from his speakers, and added to the bewitching atmosphere.

In the midst of his routine, I was asked to close my eyes and to keep them shut until the music stopped.  I acted as though I completely surrendered, but peek, I did.  Added to the treasures already outlining me were pictures of saints, a number of burning incenses, and small mounds of reddish dirt.  Although the music continued to play, his chanting stopped for a moment while he gently rubbed oil on my third eye.  The story teller in me kept making mental notes, not knowing the best was yet to come.

For a brief time I could not sense Michael near me.  But, in moments, my neck moved slowly ~ responding to a tickling sensation.  Yes, I voted to steal another peek.

“Sweet Jesus!”  I thought.

At the right side of the table, there stood Michael in a sheer, very sheer, white gown ~ with zero under garbs.  The tickling I felt were fine ribbons hanging with flare from his jeweled wrists.  As he paraded with grace, with his nakedness thinly veiled, his man root caught my eye.  Seeing his serious state, I did not want my belly to jiggle and expose my amusement.  Yes, it was hard to do, but I maintained a look of complete serenity.  I understood his request to close my eyes, and inwardly I repeated ~ composer Anita, composer.

With each breath, the scent of incense grew more potent, and he added more sound by stirring the Tibetan singing bowls.  If anyone had stumbled upon this sight with all the healing “fixings” around me, they would have assumed I was Thanksgiving dinner for a dancing cannibal.  When I thought his sacred ceremony was coming to an end,  no, not yet. He placed something on my chest with considerable weight.  Knowing how wrapped up he was in his theatrics, I was comfortable snitching one more peek.  Silly me, I should of known, a bible ~ let us not forget the Holy Book.  He mumbled some words, and sprinkled some type of sparkling dust over my head. Then, all became quiet; the music stopped.

When I opened my eyes his robes were on, and he held a bottle of water.  I was instructed to drink it that night.  Michael assured me that he exorcised heavy amounts of deep rooted anger, and by morning I should feel like a fluttering fairy ~ joyous and free.  He called Ruth, and they placed me back in my chair.  Michael, a bit less flamboyant, escorted us to the door, and explained I may need another treatment.  I respectfully thank him, and we made our way back to the van.

As I told the whole story to my friend, we laughed, but we also knew that in his world, he felt he had “the gift.”  After this experience, I did turn to oriental medicine, and other alternative modalities.  But, my inner spiritual journeys have blessed me with love, joy, strength and comfort.  I still believe in miracles, and I believe God works in mysterious ways.  As for Michael, he needed to be on Broadway, where he could be the Wizard of “The Great White Way.”


About anitaskocz

ANITA JOYCE SKOCZ is a storyteller who resides in Central Florida. She credits her passion to her father, who dazzled her imagination as a child with his gift to weaver a tale. After a diving accident in 1978, Anita left the travel industry to journey the inner roads of her soul. The riches found on those adventures inward come to life in her children’s books. Anita’s books, “Crystal Star Angel” and “Kite Tale,” were inspired by the loving relationships her father had with his grandsons. From Where I Sit is a blog where Anita shares her life’s stories, or comments on current events from her soul’s perspective. Her insights can evoke laughter as well as take one on a reflective journey. In any case she hopes you join her each Wednesday for a new adventure.
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