Penelope Does Chi

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 Penelope Proud, a woman whose life was a cornucopia of certainties, was, in addition, a walking, talking vortex of woo-woo nonsense. And when I say talking I do mean incessant. Her belief system resembled a poorly constructed fruit salad, cobbled together from scraps of new-age jargon, self-help platitudes and an interesting mix of druidic and eastern mysticism. Chakras swirled around her like hula hoops, her aura (allegedly a dazzling turquoise) shimmered in the lights of the supermarket, and her chi, according to Penelope, flowed with the untamed vigor of a mountain stream tumbling melodically after heavy rainfall.


To encounter Penelope was to be bombarded with a relentless barrage of unsolicited pronouncements. The cashier at the supermarket became privy to a ten-minute lecture on the karmic implications of choosing non-organic apples. The mailman, a stoic soul named Stan, was subjected to a diatribe on the healing properties of amethyst crystals while simply trying to deliver a package containing essential oils made of crushed reindeer testicles. Even her goldfish, Bubbles, wasn't spared. Penelope would hold lengthy conversations with the goggle-eyed creature, whispering affirmations about achieving fin-quickness and inner gill-peace.


One rainy Tuesday, Penelope, her aura shimmering like a disco ball at a sex and salsa session, decided to forgo her usual commute and "commune with nature" instead. This involved a leisurely stroll through a notoriously neglected part of town, a place affectionately nicknamed "The Pit" by locals due to its overflowing dumpsters and questionable inhabitants. It was Penelope’s considered opinion that the Pit was in fact the home of a local djinn who was in need of having his chi released. 


Either unaware or utterly ignorant of the lurking lowlife lounging by every overflowing bin, Penelope skipped along, humming a show tune she claimed channeled the energy of the earth. A dog of truly impressive musculature stepped out from behind a pile of discarded tires, growling menacingly. Its massive jaws gaped open, showing its extensive teeth, festooned with drooping slather. The creatures small ear were pressed back against its blocky bullet head. Penelope, ever the optimist, saw this not as a threat, but as a "teaching moment."


"Greetings, furry fluffywumples,” she chirped, extending a hand adorned with several chunky gemstone rings. "Let us connect on a deeper level, and perhaps I can help you release your negative energy."


The dog, unimpressed by Penelope's brand of cosmic empathy, lunged. Time seemed to slow down. Penelope, for the first time in her life, felt a surge of genuine fear. But then, something extraordinary happened. A man who looked like a tramp swept with a large stiff-bristled broom between Penelope and the dog, thrusting the bristle end at the dog and shouting “gerroutofityerorriblebastard!” With incredible force he sent the canine tumbling head over heels into a nearby dumpster.

Penelope stood there, blinking, her turquoise aura flickering, fading. She looked at the trampoline as he shambled off brushing the filth of The Pit ahead of him in a rolling, roiling, but small dust storm. Penelope, of course was of the view that an invisible force field had protected her.


Penelope's interpretation of events was, predictably, dippy. She attributed her near-mauling to the successful "channeling of positive vibes" and the "protective energy" of her amethyst ring, together with the intervention of the Chi-less djinn, who had momentarily inhabited the body of the street-sweeper. This, of course, only served to solidify her beliefs in the woo-woo world, much to the exasperation of those around her.


In the grand narrative of her life, this event became yet another testament to the power of crystals, chakras, and the unwavering optimism of a woman who saw magic in the mundane, even if it meant occasionally staring down a rabid dog with nothing but good vibes and a sparkly ring. Dozy Tart.

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