The Spiritual Virgin

The Spiritual Virgin

When I had entered the past lives workshop at our local holistic arts fair, I made every attempt to sit in the back of the room, unnoticed. Of course, the fates conspired and this tactic did not work. A small, kind-looking woman with an unplaceable accent urged me to move up closer to the front, as there were plenty of seats. This was, of course, the psychic I was meant to listen to for the next hour.

The Spiritual Virgin – August 2017

The Spiritual Virgin – August 2017

My chest is constricted and my eyes continue to dart to the numbers in the corner of the screen, and I mentally count down the minutes until it is time to try my very first angel card reading. In pure Allie fashion, I’ve managed to blow this epically out of proportion.

The Spiritual Virgin – June 2017

The Spiritual Virgin – June 2017

I imagine this is what the line to a Van Halen concert might have looked like in their heyday, I thought to myself as I stood in the enormous queue in front of Grace Cathedral. I’m certain it was half a mile long, at least. It could have been even longer, had we all been orderly, and not scattered in disorganized clumps around the courtyard.

The Spiritual Virgin – May 2017

The Spiritual Virgin – May 2017

The panic began to seep in a full 24 hours before. My primary concern? What the hell to wear to my first Kundalini yoga class. After consulting my partner-in-crime and supporter of my inquisitive nature (read: Google), I determined, with near 100 percent certainty, that I had nothing that could be deemed even remotely appropriate.

The Spiritual Virgin – April 2017

The Spiritual Virgin – April 2017

As I walked the cracked sidewalks of the small main street downtown, I wondered if everyone could tell where I was headed. Then I wondered why I cared so much. I wasn’t entirely sure where I was going—I had only visited this metaphysical shop once before, two or three years ago, with my mother. Reluctantly. I took no interest in it then, being that myself (and my ego) were in full-blown skeptic mode at the time. Somehow though, my feet remembered the steps to shop, and before I knew it, I was staring down the same friendly Dutch doors that I had begrudgingly entered once before.

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