GETTING THE D.T’s : THE GREAT DOUBLE TERMINATION FRAUD

No, this blog isn’t about men who drink a bottle of vodka a day and wake up in the morning to the sight of Anne Widdecombe sitting next to them all dolled up for Come Dancing as they stare bleary eyed into the mirror. It’s about quartz crystals with a clear well defined point known as a termination at each end. In the jargon of the crystal healing fraternity this is known as a double termination, hence the D.T’s. The important question is why people want them and are willing to fork out the cash.

A woman came to the stall yesterday and seeing I had some in an open box on the table, talked the talk and showed me she had the knowledge. About crystal healing I mean, not driving a black cab in London.

“Very powerful,” she enthused. “I can feel the energy from here.”

“Real power,” I solemnly confirmed. “Double terminations have that effect on people.”

I was there to take money not talk about Dostoyevsky. Unless he helped me sell crystals that is.

She leaned forward and slowly moved her hand over the box. There was suddenly a surprised look on her face. “Wow, one of them’s really responding.”

“It must be in tune with all your chakras,” I said knowingly. “The healing energy flowing through freely all the way to its maximum. It only happens with doubles and one of them’s got to be special to you.”

She looked at me like I was an idiot. She knew all that!

I peered down over the box with visible reverence. All the crystals were translucent at least and most of the small ones transparent. Those cost me 50 pence each. The larger ones, 2-3 inches long, up to a couple of quid. If the big ones were fractured inside I got them for half, wholesale prices of course.

“There’s something very unusual in there,” I said softly, shooting her a meaningful glance. “You can see it. It’s darker than the rest.”

“Full of dark energy,” she shot back. “I’ve been reading about it.”

“Yes,” I confirmed. “”It’s that mysterious energy all the cosmologists are talking about. They say it makes up most of the Universe but no-one’s discovered it yet. This double termination’s a smoky quartz crystal. The only one that I’ve got. It’s packed with atoms of manganese.”

I instantly knew I shouldn’t have said it. Bloody disaster! Trying to talk scientific! The woman was a believer. Confine the conversation to Energy, Chakras and Healing. Take the money you idiot. This wasn’t the Royal fucking Society.

For a moment I thought I’d lost it. Twenty quid down the drain but mercifully she restored my faith. With a gentle movement of her hand she rolled the crystals out of the box onto the table and separated them out. Then closing her eyes moved her hand over each. For some reason I thought of Derren Brown!

“Got it,” she shrieked, picking up some piece of crap I only sold for a tenner.

My heart sank. The smoky quartz rarity was left to its own devices. “Can’t you see the ghost?” she said triumphantly. “There’s a ghost crystal inside. That’s where all the power’s coming from.”

I gazed and gazed. Like Wordsworth at the poxy daffodils. Yes, I could see it! Quickly, act all amazed! “It’s a real ghost,” I murmured in wonder. “The power’s not just doubled, the increase is geometrical!”

Her manner turned all aggressive. “I suppose you’ll be wanting ten times more for it now.”

“Actually I won’t,” I said, allowing a look of bitterness to steal over my face and thinking fast. The healing crowd used the term ghost for what was just a common phenomenon. A fracturing of the internal lattice. It was because it went with a double termination that was freaking her out. It was the idea that was energising her. Exciting what she already had in her head from some healing book she’d been reading, making her so susceptible to suggestion. So open to the dark side!

I had to take hold of myself. It was the frigging Emperor’s voice I was hearing…

“The price was twenty and now it’s fifteen,” I said coolly. “Just so you don’t think I’m ripping you off.”

She pulled out a note. It was purple. “Keep the change, darling,” she smiled extra sweet. “I like what I’ve got and I know you’re really one of us.”
And no, she didn’t want it in tissue. I let her go saying it was the right thing for her then bent down and took another from the box under the table. It was even bigger and also fractured. The wholesalers thought they were flawed and flogged them off cheap. I was surprised she hadn’t sensed it. With that kind of power she could have been ruling the Galaxy!

HEALING THE SICK AND THE DYING: AMETHYST, A MOTHER’S LAST HOPE

It was late on a rainy Sunday at Camden Lock Market when we were faced with our greatest test. Our greatest horror. I suppose it was inevitable really. That in such a place of filth and squalor, traders bullshit and lies, a decent soul should come along and hope we could work a miracle of crystal healing. Sell her something that would cure her dying son.

An anguished middle aged mother whose son was in hospital with leukemia had heard of the powers of amethyst. Healers used it to cleanse the blood she’d been told and wanted to buy a large piece from us. The best we had. The one on the table with the darkest crystals. Was it for sale? She couldn’t see any price tag. It was a last chance that might save him.

I saw the blood drain out of Louise’s face. I felt desperate. What was I to say to her? What would I be if I took her money and told her it would work? Told this desperate woman a despicable lie. What kind of people were we? Was I devoid of all decency and integrity? A man with no conscience! My mind raced. It wasn’t that simple. What if I told her the truth? Took away any hope she was clinging to. Christ sakes… who was I to play God?

She raised her head and looked at us, her eyes full of expectation. Was it for sale she repeated? It was I said, mechanically going over some science. Thinking it might somehow distract her. Put her off. Or maybe I only wanted to free myself of any guilt. Feel better if I gave her some facts.

“Amethyst’s just a quartz crystal,” I said. “Full of atoms of iron. That’s what gives it its colour. It starts off light purple but the more iron in it the darker it gets, and the older it is. The best stuff’s from Uruguay. The iron mineral in it is called haematite.”

“As in haematic,” she said strongly. “Any medicine acting on blood.”

She must have picked that up from the hospital.

“The mineral just gives it the colour,” I responded neutrally. “Nothing more…”

Her silence gave me some hope. That ought to do it I thought, badly wanting her to understand without having to be too direct.

“Well how much is it?”

I looked at Louise. It just wasn’t working. She still wanted the piece and we both knew I just couldn’t sell it. It would only further any illusion. Give substance to what we both knew was a lie.

“But you believe it can heal, don’t you?” she said. “You really do believe that it heals?”

There was a tremble in her voice now. She was asking directly and I just didn’t have the heart to tell her a lie, or the heart to tell her the truth.

Truth and lies… Lies and the truth… And here was I facing this woman. My heart in one place and my conscience in another. I just had to do something. Find a way out.

I picked up the piece from the table and again looked at Louise. She nodded. Knew exactly what I was thinking. “I’m not really sure I can answer your question,” I said firmly. “What I do know is that I’d just like to help, so please, please take this from us as a gift. It’s what we both want you to do. And please let us pray for your son. You’ll always be in our thoughts.”
“Bless you, bless you both,” she cried, taking my hand. Smiling at Louise who was getting quite tearful. “You’re both really good people.”

I wrapped the amethyst in my best piece of tissue and put it in my best box. “Bless you too mother,” I murmured, handing it to her. “And come and tell us how your son’s doing if you’re here again on a Sunday.”

Minutes later she disappeared into the crowd and was gone. Louise and I just looked at each other, both lost for words. As for the woman, she never came back. Not even to tell us the worst.

WHAT YOU NEED IS BALANCE : BLOODSTONE AND THE YIN YANG RACKET

Large, highly polished, perfectly smooth pebbles of bloodstone are good to look at. They’re mostly plain deep sea green in colour. Others are special. They come spattered with blotches or dots of crimson red. That’s the real bloodstone. Maybe only two or three in a hundred and you need to search for them in the big plastic sacks at the wholesalers but a little patience is well rewarded.

The trick is to have all the ordinary pieces out on the stall and the real stuff, much prized by the healing fraternity and all other forms of acolytes, hidden away and only brought out on special occasions. All the pebbles cost ten pence or so to buy including the precious stuff. The wholesalers can’t be bothered to sort it. Selling it is a different story altogether. I’ll sell you a plain piece for just a quid. Sometimes I even give it away if I’m in a good mood. It makes me look generous and often leads to other sales. The real bloodstone, and I always say ‘real’ with a very special, almost holy kind of voice, is only for those special people who have trouble in their lives. People who really need it!

Real bloodstone you see is for people whose lives are in chaos. Who experience turbulence and troubles in their daily lives and relationships. And why is this? It’s because they lack balance! In the litany and theory of crystal healing and therapy there are two halves of the human psyche, the Yin and the Yang. Don’t ask me what it is. I don’t want to know! It’s all tied up with oriental, probably Chinese or Korean medical psychic quackery but to large numbers of impressionable people who’ve heard the phrase and can’t make heads or tails of it anyway, it’s the dogs bollocks! If they have personal, usually emotional troubles in their behaviour or relationships with other people it’s because the two sides, the Yin and the Yang in their psyche are out of balance and it is bloodstone that performs the wonder of restoring that balance, giving them a better, more relaxed life of harmony and equanimity. A kind of psychic returning.

The healing fraternity made of up hard core adepts and countless followers really believe in it all so when one of their number come to the stall looking troubled and you talk about balance, casually throwing out the hallowed words of yin and yang there’s a sudden deep hush because they’re instantly all ears. Ready to be sold the real thing. Naturally at a real price!

It was a week or so back on a Monday when I found myself particularly possessed by the black art of selling! The morning had been sunny and warm with the light all radiant along the stalls. The market was busy but I wasn’t doing so good. Around midday I noticed a tall stately looking woman heading my way. Early forties I guessed with worry all over her face. She caught sight of the gem trees and was about to turn away when I cut in on her thoughts. “I’m sorry you’re having so much trouble at home with your husband,” I ventured. “I’m sure he still loves you, even though you’re giving him such a hard time.”

She stopped dead in her tracks and looked at me with astonishment. “How could you possibly have known that?” she said strongly. “It’s true then,” I replied.

She still couldn’t believe it. It was impossible for me to have known.

“The turbulence people have in their lives, in their psyche,” I added, using the special spiritual word, “spills out all over the place. You’re not the only person to suffer a lack of balance with the yin and the yang out of alignment. It comes out in all these emotional problems you’re having.”

She caught on immediately. She must have somehow heard the magic words and phrases before. The yin and the yang being out of alignment… creating the lack of balance. That was the cause of all her trouble at home. Her lack of emotional balance… the two halves of her psyche being out of joint.

Christ sakes, the poor woman I thought. She was only going through the menopause and suffering hormonal problems that all women experience but who was I to tell her? If her doctor hadn’t done anything to help her why me? I was only a market trader. And yet… What if I could really do anything to help her? To make her believe in something. In herself… Maybe it might just help at home.

“What you need is bloodstone,” I suggested. “There’s lots of it here on the stall,” I said pointing to the pebbles. “It’s healing. Restores balance between the yin and the yang. Here, have a piece on me.”

I picked up a large pebble and put it in her hand. “I hope it works. If not you can always come back and feel a piece of the real bloodstone.”

“The real bloodstone,” she said, echoing my words. “Yes, I said sagely. The real bloodstone is very special. Only comes from one place I know in the world.”

She was intrigued. “What makes it different?”

I had the answer all ready. “The pebbles are spattered with red. Like little blotches and spots. Makes it look a bit like blood. They’re the ones used by the healers.”

“Do they really work?” she wanted to know. Did I believe in them the question came straight.

I replied just as straight. I just didn’t know. “I suppose if you really believe in a thing then it will work for you. But you’ve really got to believe. It all comes down to a matter of faith.

There it was in a nutshell. Crystal healing… the new religion. Science eat your heart out!

I wasn’t volunteering to show her any of my specials. I wanted her to ask and she did. Out from under the table came another one of my baskets. Half a dozen beautiful pebbles all looking spattered with blood. She picked up the best, full of deep crimson blotches. “How much?” she wanted to know.

I wanted to say take it, it’s free, but make a donation to the Prince of Wales Trust, only I was just a poor market trader and she could have been the wife of a banker.

I looked at her and felt a deep kind of pity. More a compassion than anything. I really wanted her husband to be kind to her. To be understanding the way that men should if they feel love. But then the pebble was beautiful. Maybe its plain beauty would help. Give her some understanding.

“Twenty pounds,” I said firmly. “It’s the best that I’ve got and I think it might help.”

She took a note out of her wallet. “That’s for your kindness,” she said quickly looking at her watch. “I only popped out during my lunch break. Got to get back to work.”

I took the money and watched her walk away, hoping above hope that her life would be better. Surprised as ever that somewhere, somehow, part of me still had a conscience however small it was getting, selling this stuff on the market, making a living playing with truths. But then those half- truths and lies also paid bills. Let people believe what they wanted. Who was I to tell them? Best leave it to those smart fellows the Liberal Democrats. They’re far better liars than me.

COME AND STROKE IT BEHIND THE STALL: ROSE QUARTZ FROM MADAGASCAR

It was six in the morning when we set off for the market. The Central London streets already wet with December rain and freezing cold. There was even a fine mist in the air. Taking money today wouldn’t be easy but then who could say. On a market anything can happen. Even so the tourists had every excuse for staying away and going to Museums. Louise looked glum as we arrived. To park you needed muscle. None of the traders did anyone any favours so you had to fight for a place.

Van doors open and crates shifted fast under the metal table we were renting. Me doing the shifting while Louise kept an eye out for any early morning nicking. Gear offloaded by seven. Time to stall up and quick before the wardens got busy. Bungee cord tied between the upright struts already hung with quartz crystal pendants on leather cords along with others of amethyst, tiger eye and rose quartz.

“Someone tell the management to turn on the lights,” a voice yelled like a trader had trodden on dog shit. It wasn’t unknown! No need. Brightness cut the gloom 7.15 sharp. We laid our black cloth on the table and put out groups of quartz crystal, baskets of healing stones and big pieces of amethyst and rose quartz, everyone’s favourites, then a wide variety of other minerals including the magical and highly prized crystals of green apophylite. Enough to heal a hospital full of nervous diseases let alone people craving for love!

Now for the gem trees. Made of twisted brass wire and mounted on little rose quartz bases, they hung with polished tumble-stone chip leaves made of jade (that’s green quartz to you and me) carnelian, madeira amber, amethyst, crystal and many other stones, all sparkling under the lights. Trees for every birthstone, then the tall green palms with tiger eye chip coconuts, bonzais and gorgeous willows dripping with crushed green hanging moss made of peridot and glued on with Bostik.

Stalled up and ready to take money by 7.30, Louise brought me a tea and drove off in the van to her college. She was a scientist. A geologist at that. She knew about rocks and I knew about minerals and how to talk shit. Outside of trading I wrote novels. Sci-fi, action-adventure and romance. Good stuff, though getting anything published was close to impossible for ordinary people. The so called English Literary Profession was a closed doors racket mainly confined to politicians, media celebrities or journalists and controlled by a few big publishing houses owned by people like Rupert Murdoch so people like me could kiss it. That was the real truth. Didn’t matter how good a writer you might be!

After Louise left I listened to the traders around me talking the usual rubbish. ‘Made a real killing last week selling the art deco teapots’... ‘Christ, that Slovakian girl who asked me for a job yesterday. She’d have blown me in the toilets for a week’s trial’ In your dreams I thought… ‘Got myself into Leather Lane last week as a casual. Money didn’t stop rolling in.’ Yeah, I’d heard it all before, over and over. Ninety-nine percent of it lies. From the boys who sold hash pipes, and dope on the side, to the crotchety old Scots bastard who flogged china dogs in bowls. Called two in a bowl ‘married’ and one on its own ‘single’. We’d made up a saucy rhyme about them and sang it in a drunken Scots accent that drove him wild!

Everything there hand made. And all of it craft, joke, joke. Believe that and you’d believe bankers were all father Christmas. No, most of it came out of China Except our stuff that is. All the crystals bought cheap from a wholesaler and the trees made for us in South Africa. The stuff looked pretty and sparkled. More to the point, our stall was bright and the things on it made people feel happy. Made them feel better. Our crystals healed troubled souls. That’s what really mattered.

By three I’d taken a few quid. Not much but enough to pay the stall rent and the cost of the stock, buy some food and pay a few bills when along came a lady in need. I saw her looking at our display from ten yards off. Blonde, early forties, high cheekbones and not unattractive. My intuition said Scandinavian and I knew I was right. She stopped in front of the table and hesitated.

“Feel free to pick anything up,” I said sincerely, like I really meant it. “You don’t have to buy.” And most of me did. Most but not all!

She was eyeing up a large piece of Rose Quartz. “It’s a peaceful, soothing thing,” I said. “Makes you feel calm and brings a sense of gentleness.”

She smiled. “It’s a special stone,” I added warmly.” “It brings peace but above all a feeling of love. Pick it up. Hold it in the palm of your hand and close your fingers round it. Go on, it’s quite alright. You don’t have to believe.”

She picked it up and did as I suggested. Closing her eyes at the same time.

“Can you feel it?” I asked.

She didn’t move. Still kept her eyes closed. Communing with her senses or was it the spheres? Three or four minutes went by until I brought her out of her reverie. A little science would help now, to prove at least one of my credentials. “It’s a silica dioxide,” I said knowingly. “One atom of silica, two of oxygen, just like amethyst and quartz. Rose Quartz is pink because it contains atoms of titanium, just like Amethyst is purple because it’s got atoms of iron. They both give the quartzes their colour.”

She nodded admiringly at my wisdom!

“Of course, there’s a very different, a very special Rose Quartz. It has a wonderful feel. Only comes from the mountains of Madagascar. Nowhere else in the world.”

I could see she was intrigued. “It feels very special to the touch and has a real rosé colour,” I purred stressing the ‘e’ like it was wine! “Translucent. You can almost see through it, and soft, almost glassy on the fingers. That’s because it contains a trace element of bismuth. That’s what gives it its power.”

She was definitely intrigued. A question formed on her lips.

“I don’t sell it to most people,” I murmured regretfully. “There’s none out on the table.”

The curiosity I’d excited was growing. I could positively feel it.

“We keep it under the table,” I volunteered. Only for people I know would appreciate its wonderful energy.”

Her eyes followed mine down. Yes, I really did have some I nodded. Moments later I lifted out a neat little wicker basket containing two or three pieces of my Madagascan Specials all carefully wrapped in expensive looking tissue. Her eyes stared intently. “Would you like to see one?” I asked.

“Oh yes…if I may,” she almost pleaded.

Gently, with the greatest of care, I unwrapped a small piece. It looked good. Glassy rather than the usual opaque and heavy Brazilian crap I had out and beautifully coloured. I could see she badly wanted to touch.

I let her see that I was gazing at her curiously. Weighing up in my mind whether she deserved to. Was worthy of such a favour.

Showing real care I gently picked it out of its wrapping and motioned her forward. “Come behind the stall,” I said softly, “and let me put it on your hand so you can stroke it.”

My last words were more like a suggestion but she was soon next to me, holding out her hand into which I placed the precious piece. “Now hold it firmly,” I said. “Can’t you feel its peaceful energy… Its calm loving power?”

Her eyes were closed. Something akin to radiance came over her face. “Now touch it just there,” I suggested, moving the tips of her fingers onto the smooth glassy surface. “Can you feel a tingling sensation?”

A real element of surprise came over her face. “I can feel it,” she gasped. “I can really feel it…”

“That’s the bismuth,” I purred. “Mildly radio-active. Only mildly. It won’t hurt you,” I assured her.

She just stood there, the piece in the palm of her hand. I said nothing. Nothing that would interrupt her experience. Just letting nature take its course! Such a loving healing rapture. Yes, she knew I was right. Wanted to feel this calming, loving sensation that would give her such joyous peace.

Any talk of me selling it, any crude nastiness about price was far, far away in another reality. In a Galaxy called Barclays.

Moments later she came to, still clutching the Rose Quartz, her eyes taking me in with a question. “I really shouldn’t be selling it,” I said gently. “There’s so little of it…”

I wanted to let her feel that my senses were wavering. I really shouldn’t be selling it, but then she wasn’t just anybody. She really deserved it. Her need was special. All the same I didn’t want above all to make her feel it was a definite NO. Feelings came higher than thoughts. It was me who was open to her desire… her suggestion. Above all to her need!

“I’d like to buy it if you are willing to sell,” she said, looking me over. “I don’t want to see the others. Just this one.”

I put on a look of genuine regret. “They’re not cheap,” I grimaced. “I’ve got so little. They’re here with me specially. I use them myself.”

Back at the front of the stall she said nothing. I felt a sudden lump in my throat. What if she accepted my plea and just walked away? I couldn’t have overcooked it, could I? My anxiety was instantly eased. She’d taken out her wallet!

“Will this do?” she asked, holding aloft a twenty pound note. “You can buy another one with this but this is the one that I want.”

I came over nervously upset. Letting her see my reluctance. I was a man of straw. I’d allowed myself to be bought for a piece of paper! However there was something higher at issue here. Something I was forced to acknowledge. My acceptance that she was genuinely worthy. That above all. This was no crude exchange for something so precious. It was feelings that counted. Were paramount above all other things.

I let my hand tremble as I took the money. Did she want the tissue to wrap it in. Maybe a little box that I had? No, she just wanted to hold it.

Taking my hand she gave it a squeeze. A token of our understanding. Our mutuality. A sense of the love that we shared from the power of the crystal. The power of its peaceful loving energy. She might see me again before she went back to Sweden. If not she’d always think of me, and I of her and her husband. Joined together in harmony and love by the Rose Quartz.

After she’d left my neighbour on the next stall asked if I wanted some tea. I never heard him at first. Twenty quid would buy me ten good pieces or more just like it from the sacks down at the wholesalers. As ever I couldn’t help wondering about the healing powers of crystals. Their magic such a balm to my soul. If she was happy then I was happy, and so was the manager at Barclays. The man with the power of the dark side.

Me doing five Rose Quartz specials a week and his favourite young apprentice!