Deep-dive into the different building block of faith

“Morning!” I smile at Bakerman as he hands me my daily bread. It’s a beautiful spring morning and I open my front door wider ushering him inside for a nice brew of tea. “I can’t ever blog about any of this stuff. It’s sordid and not what I want in my life. Why do you think my mom sees kids as possessions? I see her more as a spider in a web, controlling who is where and doing what. Do you think I see my kids as possessions? I should hope not.”

I go about my kitchen fixing two big cups of tea and adding some of my favourite biscuits on the saucer. “My mom told me I am evil. Again. She always labels me. It doesn’t bother me like it used to. She tells me I am evil, and cold, and a bad enemy to have.”

Still dwelling on the events passed now days ago: “Hmmm. She refused the four of cups card. No, she said, she is not greedy, nor jealous, nor discontent. Oh well, it doesn’t really matter. I want to stay well away from that cesspool.”

I sit down next to Bakerman at the kitchen table smiling all big eyes at him. “How’s baking? I’ve been dreaming of your chocolate cake since yesterday. I think you should bake more chocolate cake.”

“Yes keep away from toxic people,” Bakerman nods as he sips his tea.

“I will,” I say determined. “There was a reason I left in the first place. So chocolate cake, coffee and tea.”

“I did bake another chocolate cake,” Bakerman tells me shyly. “It was eaten up by Debbie’s friends.”

“I’m going to have to buy some cake, today or tomorrow. But soon,” my mouth is tasting the rich creamy chocolate just thinking of that delight. “Oooh see. It would work.”

“Plus if you use tarot to manipulate you need to cloud it in smoke and mirrored,” Bakerman sips his tea maintaining eye contact all the time.

“I don’t use it to manipulate,” I answer defensively. I’m sure I don’t. “I just read the cards before me.”

“Think of it as a tool for coaching,” Bakerman ignores my protest. “Remember everyone is looking for the good in their future only. You must find a way to give it to them by clouding the bad. Don’t remove it just cloak it. When talking about bad offer something good if they change something. Then they avoid the bad.”

“Stop being stingy, spend your money, be generous in love,” I try out a few spins on the cards I had laid down for my mother. “I told her all that. I told her abundance is living carefree. Thinking of your bank account all the time is poverty. Aah I can’t see how I can spin that in her reading. If you stop being so controlling and manipulative, you will meet a sensitive man. If you stop being greedy and stingy, you will get people to pull together and help you.”

“Ah,” Bakerman sighs as he shakes his head and puts his tea cup down. “You are challenging her core fundamentals with that.”

“I know… hoard everything, it is mine mine mine. Not sharing. No no,” I use that voice that’s just terribly annoying. “And also she decides who talks to who and which information is being passed on.”

“No all of that is your opinion,” Bakerman sets me straight again. “That’s your filters working because you know her and hate her or something like that.”

“So no it won’t go,” I sit there shaking my head vehemently. “I do. I’m sorry. Not hate, that’s too strong. I strongly dislike her. I strongly disapprove of her methods, her values and her way of living.”

“Put yourself in her shoes,” Bakerman coaxes me. “Where is she coming from and what does she want? Know that and then do a reading.”

“Her whole being goes against anything I stand for,” I continue refusing to hear reason.

“Really?” Bakerman glowers at me. “I wonder that sometimes.”

“She wants a man, to live with her and to manipulate, to pay the bills and to fix her house and garden,” I tell him disapprovingly.

“So do you,” Bakerman throws back at me. “What’s your point?”

“She wants a man so she can take him to the UK to see her brother and sister. She wants to get married just like they are,” I am desperately trying to show the shallowness. “No I don’t. I pay my own bills. Well okay, Wim pays half the house, and the water, and some of the food…”

“You don’t?” Bakerman’s face is showing growing disbelief, and definitely a tinge of amusement. “Then why do you hang onto Wim?”

“I love Wim. I like spending time with him. Love talking to him. He’s nice. Great actually,” I tell him fondly thinking of my man. “I told her that men find it boring to go and see her brother and sister and just sit around talking. They don’t want to see her childhood house or where she went to school. She confirmed indeed that her boyfriends hadn’t been that into her family and she couldn’t understand.”

“I see reality has caught up at last,” Bakerman won’t let me off so easily. “I have a good memory of your past conversations. I even met Mr threesome. No until this moment you have the same or similar values taught you by your mother. So sorry. Face your truths. Don’t change them like your mother does just to suit your ego please. When you face your truths you can then change them and improve by breaking the chains put on you by your mother.”

“Okay… this is hard. So I am stingy?” I am angry now and my eyes are wide and my chin is sticking out.

“Yes it is but worth the effort,” Bakerman won’t be put off by my show.

“I think of my kids as possessions? I want Wim for his money? I am promiscuous?” I continue in the same strong tense.

“I don’t know what you think about your kids,” Bakerman replies too cool for school.

“I think I am the only one capable of looking after them,” I confess. “I’m scared I fail them as a mother.”

“Well promiscuous is a no brainer, now is it?” Bakerman puts his finger there where it hurts the most.

“I try to teach them values and wonder if I’m too hard,” I try to ignore his accusation, but then face him head on. “I’m better than I used to be. And nothing happened with Paul. Just a mind fuck, remember. I am good and I am loyal. I am.”

“You would be better off thinking about how you bring up you kids your way or if doing it the way people suggest in magazines and other politically correct methods that don’t work,” Bakerman brings up his favourite subject again. I still haven’t forgotten about my argument with Dorothy in the supermarket. “Your choice. I know you are better then you used to be and I hope you keep to it.”

“I don’t have time for magazines,” I snort. “So yes it is my way. I will keep it. I like little house on the prairie.”

“Ok then you have nothing to fear,” Bakerman states. “You are a great mom.”

“I am, I hope,” I smile broadly at this compliment. “My kids are happy.”

“Your kids are not shy or timid,” Bakerman confirms. “They seem balanced.”

“That’s always a good indicator,” I say approvingly glowing with visible pride. “They are. They are developing nicely into teenagers. They have conversation. They laugh and cuddle and talk to me about their stuff.”

“Ok so stop doubting your ability,” Bakerman nudges me gently. “Fix Fiona. The rest will follow. Find faith in something.”

“Faith in what?” I ask bewildered. “I can make happy kids. I can attract new clients. I do love Wim.”

“Now have empathy for your mother,” Bakerman insists. “She wants her youth back. She still thinks her fanny had great value. It’s hard to realize it’s just old, more wrinkled and smellier than before.”

“Ugh yuk!” I exclaim in disgust. That’s the last thing I want to be thinking about.

“Faith in yourself, a higher power,” Bakerman continues. “The universe.”

“Yes I have that,” I feel happy and on track for once. “And I think I’m healing slowly. She doesn’t get to me like she used to. Why do you think she hates me? Is it because of Graham?”

“This dislike you have with your mother is out there in the universe,” Bakerman mystifies. “It’s in your Aura. It is attracting more toxic energy. She dislikes you because of you behaviour patterns over the years you have been alive.”

“Yes makes sense,” I acknowledge.

“Well some habits you keep and the ones that bring a negative result you change or find a better way to deal with them,” Bakerman instructs as if it’s that easy to find the bad habits and then decide just like that how to improve on those weak spots.

“Which ones bring me negative stuff?” I want to know. I mean, I really don’t know. He makes it sound so easy, so obvious.

“I don’t know,” Bakerman throws the theoretical ball back at me. “Start with how you deal with your mother. Or Wim’s kids.”

“Wim’s kids is starting to go well,” I think out loud. “So how can I deal with my mother if the relationship is toxic? I could be evil right now and publish this on my blog. Or I could just swallow it, avoid stirring angry blood, and just continue smiling. The last option seems best.”

“Yes indeed it is,” Bakerman heeds me warning. “You deal with your mother on a very superficial basis. Nothing more.”

Imagination may be your magic carpet into a brief moment of escapism. So is my writing of pure fiction. Imagine for a moment that you lost everything you have right now, and then how happy you would feel if you got it back again. Just like Alice when she received her own thimble as a trophee, we learn to value again that which was already ours. Cogitate on that for a while. Then forget about it. And remember, we’re living in the richest countries in the world and are more fortunate than billions of people on this planet. Yet we still want more, and more, and more. Imagine that.

* Disclaimer : Any resemblance between the fictional characters in this story and any persons, living or dead, is a miracle by chance more than by choice.


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