Rock Shop Policy

Rock Shop Policy Changes

There’s a single component that runs throughout my collected “metaphysical” works: a person is totally responsible for him or her self.

That’s it.

I can blame the planets — these “inauspicious stars” — for a bad hand in a card game, but I’m the professional astrologer here.

At the Rock Shop

At the Rock Shop

I’ve enjoyed a varied “residency” at Austin’s Nature’s Treasures for three years, more or less. Couple of high points have to include the staff. Reminds me of the good, old days in Austin, when there was that spirit, that essence, that sense of everything working out in perfect order. The staff, in varying bodies, convey that sense of creative adventure and invention, the spirit that made Austin famous, before it was a Mecca for the curious and a haven for the wealthy. The staff — my experience has been — the staff is that element of people who embody the best of the ideals, “Love everyone,” &c.

Peace, love and waterbeds.


“Save our city!”
(Jim Morrison, Sagittarius, singing “Roadhouse Blues.”)
Roadhouse Blues – The Doors


Management — like any business — has shifted. The latest round of policy updates, sort of like a contract between the independent operator — me — changed. There was one shift, I’ve already executed the agreement, so it is past–tense a done deal, but there’s a troubling aspect: client–review.

Rock Shop Policy Changes

When I take a charge card, one of the companies I use has a follow–up form that asks for a rating. When I take a (credit/debit) card, it does this automtically. I have unusually high happiness rating, but then, that’s my business. However, at the Rock Shop, I know I’ve had at least two, in recent memory, people who were not at all happy with my reading.

In part, it was the beginning of the reading, when I ask if there is a specific question, “No, I just want a general reading,” so there were no pressing questions. Except there were, only, not stated at the top of the reading. A hidden agenda, which, looking at the title, means it there is a goal where it can’t be seen — obscured by the querent.

“Well — you should know that.”

I do, but I ask in an oblique, hopefully non–threatening, manner. In both cases, this dealt with romance. Illicit romance, at that.

Romance? I’m good with that. Formerly good at it; even now, still good at what does — and doesn’t, work.

Wrote a book about it.

Unless I see it written in the stars, which is what I use to forecast forward, unless it is clearly etched in the heavens? I tend to avoid the question of illicit romance.

However, in both examples, I would wind up with a negative review because I didn’t deliver the message the person wanted. I — pretty sure — expressed what I was perceived as correct, but that was clearly not the fantasy desired.

Not the first time this has happened, but I can only do so much. What I’m good at? I can help someone work towards a stated goal, say, the romance desired, but I can’t make a wrong person love … I may be good, but I’m not that good.


The other morning, I rolled in, and the store was slow. In the original negotiations, when I picked Tuesday as the day I wanted? I chose that for a specific reason, as it tends to be the slowest retail day — although — various rock shop mangers have suggested that Tuesday isn’t really that slow, from a retail perspective.

Two–Meat Tuesday

Where the daily practitioner sets up, there’s a six–foot bin filled with plush toys. I grabbed a long, furry snake out of the bin and then, held its snake’s head up next to mine, aping, and posing, “Now, seriously, do ya’ll see any similarity?” I asked.

Blank stares.

There were, essentially, three generations, of females, an Aries, an Aquarius, and a Scorpio. In-between, Millennial, and Harmonic Convergence Millennial. They were cheerfully, with absence of any malice, going about arranging the rocks, and straightening up the retail areas.

Blank stares.

“Seriously, anything? Similarity?” I asked.

“I know it’s one of your jokes, Kramer, but I don’t get it.”

Another Scorpio passed by, she grinned, “He’s a snake.” She found more mirth therein.

Subsequent discussion, “Yeah, Kramer, you have to explain your jokes,” led to a discovery. Among those store employees — I’ve done readings for each — and amongst them?

I am not threatening, not a snake, not even considered predatory.

Crushed. Devastated. I’m not considered edgy or dangerous. Certainly not snake–like.

At least that coterie finds me totally innocuous. How far the mighty have fallen.


Citrine Cluster

Citrine Cluster

Rock Shop Policy Changes

I’ve immensely enjoyed my tenure at the rock shop — we’ll see where the new ways take us.

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