About Me And My Many Hats
©2008 by Diana Stone

I wear many hats: the astrologer’s hat and the shaman, healer, author, counselor and teacher hats, along with a few little berets thrown into the mix as well. “Something” happened as I drove down the main freeway of life, guided by the big green highway signs that everyone else seemed to be following with confidence. That “something” led me off at the next exit and redirected my life journey onto the road less traveled. From there on, I embraced the rare, the unusual, the weird, the controversial, the unique, the nontraditional and EVERYTHING ELSE THAT WORKED.

So what was that “something” that packed a punch so powerful that it determined my destiny forever? No genie popped out of a bottle that washed ashore precisely as I passed by. No mysterious mystic master appeared at the foot of my bed. I was not raised by wolves. The setting was an Iowa farmhouse in the late 1940s. There was nothing in that nauseatingly traditional Midwestern American Bible belt scene that could have tipped off even the most astute observer that this household was incubating the prequel to New Age metaphysics and alternative spirituality.

I was eleven years old. At the supper table, I smugly announced that the science book at school assured everyone that water dowsing was an old wives tale. In most households, this comment probably would have passed completely unnoticed within the larger scheme of things. However, my dad enjoyed a countywide reputation as a water dowser. Furthermore, the countryside was dotted with windmills located at precisely the spot on which the willow switch in Dad’s hands had indicated. That included the windmill on the hill on our own farm itself!

Dad silently arose from the supper table and ambled out to one of the trees in the yard. He pulled out his jack knife and cut a forked twig. He called me out. He handed me the forked stick and pointed to our large front yard that stretched from the farmhouse to the highway. “There is an old well buried out there. Find it,” he commanded. With that, he returned to his interrupted supper.

I methodically traversed the yard back and forth for a time with no action from the forked stick. A creeping paranoia brought some very dark suspicions to my mind. I could see my family standing behind the window curtains laughing their guts out at this stupid kid walking around with a forked stick looking for an old abandoned well that probably never existed in the first place. Before I was completely overwhelmed with doubt, the stick came alive. I tried to hold it steady. However, the force that tugged it downward was so powerful that it literally skinned the bark from the branch.

I ran screaming to the house to ask my mother if I had indeed found the old overgrown water well. I asked Mom, not Dad, because she never lied. She couldn’t lie. My dad, on the other hand, was wise but wily; you were never quite sure which it was. She not only confirmed the location of the old well, but also nostalgically recalled how many times in the old days that my grandmother had fetched pails of water from the old well to heat on the old cook stove to do the washing.

That was the pivotal moment on which turned my curious and independent mindset, thereby setting my feet onto the road less traveled. I journeyed along all of the alternative and nontraditional information highways finding WHAT WORKED, even though sixth grade primers said it was all old wives tales. That is how I came by my astrologer’s hat, and my healer, shaman, author, counselor and teacher hats and a few other little berets thrown in. When somebody is at the end of their rope, and the big green highway signs do not lead to explanations, help, healing or resolution; they come to me. That’s right. I have a hat for every occasion.

Oh, yes, I should mention one other hat. Back in Benton County Iowa in the 1950s, I was recognized as a second-generation water dowser.

Do you want to know MORE ABOUT ME?

How I found my astrologer’s hat.

Despite the fact that traditional, conservative Midwestern values imprinted my consciousness in my early formative years, there was a little crack in the door just wide enough to open my consciousness to other possibilities. My dad, of course, opened the door and I developed a curiosity about other mysteries of life on earth. Therefore, when my husband returned home from work one evening to report on a most interesting conversation with a client, I was all ears.

Charts and graphs bearing strange symbols littered the client’s desk. They were astrological charts. After several hours of conversation, the astrologer offered to read our weekend. We were very excited and could hardly wait until the weekend rolled around.

When we arrived at his house, our anticipation was at fever pitch. He handed me a copy of my horoscope as he interpreted the various patterns. That is when “it” happened. I had some sort of psychic experience that lasted just a few moments. However, I will never forget it. The planets came alive, stood up and danced around the wheel. Right then, I vowed to learn astrology.


How I found my magic hat.

This is my favorite story, but it took me 35 years to realize what it was! It started when I was walking along a city street in St. Louis, where I lived at the time. Over the din of traffic, I thought I heard someone calling my name. I looked up to see my friend, Charlie, dodging traffic as he crossed in the middle of the block. He was brandishing two books. He pressed them into my hands. “I think you will want to read these books,” he said, as he hurriedly dashed off.

The books were about the shamanic practices of the ancient kahuna in the Polynesian Islands, a system now known as Huna. Charlie was right. Not only did I read those books, I was accredited as a teacher of Huna at an international Huna conference in Honolulu in 1987. I was the keynote speaker at a more recent Huna conference in Cape Girardeau, Missouri. As I prepared my lecture notes, I included the story about how I first learned about Huna. It was only then that a shocking realization stunned my mind.

How could Charlie have known where I was going to be that afternoon 35 years ago? I was shopping from store to store in the heart of a big city. No one could have possibly predicted where I would be at any given time, not even me. Then the cosmic humor hit me. Huna is the study of white magic. My friend Charlie was a professional magician. So just who was the mystery man who presented me with those books that led to my life’s work?

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