It was just another day on the job, or so I thought. I was tasked with evaluating five Turn and Tender restaurants, all nestled within bustling shopping malls. When a business is located inside a mall, the work requires more than just examining the interiors—you have to assess the environment beyond, the way the natural energies flow around it. So, there I was, standing outside the mall, my loupan compass in hand, taking meticulous measurements, and snapping photos both inside and out.
But the work was never without its interruptions. I caught sight of a security guard approaching me from the corner of my eye, his posture stiff with the authority of someone about to ask questions. It’s their job, of course, but it can be quite inconvenient when you’re deep in concentration.
As he neared, I knew I had to act quickly. Before he could say a word, I turned to him and said, “You’ve lost your firstborn son, haven’t you?”
My friend Kostas, who had accompanied me, started to chuckle quietly. He’d seen me do this many times before—distract, disarm, and dive deep. The guard, a towering figure from Congo, stopped in his tracks, his eyes widening with shock. “How did you know?” he stammered.
I smiled gently and said, “Your eldest daughter has been very ill, hasn’t she?” The guard’s expression shifted from surprise to concern, as if I had reached into his private world and laid it bare. “She’s been sleeping in the east, hasn’t she?” I continued. “Move her bed to face South. She’ll get better.”
Months passed, and I almost forgot about that brief encounter. But on the 13th of September, 2024, I was back at the mall, and there he was—the same security guard, beaming as he spotted me. He rushed over, almost breathless with excitement.
“My daughter… she’s better,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “I did what you said. She moved to the South, and now she’s healthy.” I could see the relief, the gratitude, in his eyes. It was as though a weight had lifted from his shoulders.
But his troubles were not yet over. Earlier in the year, he had found me once more, a different kind of worry etched across his face. “Can you see anything?” he asked, his tone desperate. “My wife… she’s very sick.”
I didn’t hesitate. “She needs to sleep with her head facing North, feet pointing South,” I instructed. “It’s a direction we call ‘the Doctor from Heaven,’ and it brings healing energy. She is a 3 Wood element, and this will balance her.” His wife was suffering from a debilitating nervous disorder, one that had left her bedridden, her nerves deteriorating, her strength fading.
He did as I suggested, though the doctors had little hope. They had warned him to prepare for the worst, that her condition would only continue to deteriorate. But sometimes, even the most skilled physicians cannot account for the mysteries of unseen forces.
On that same September day, he caught up with me again, this time with a story that could only be described as miraculous. “You won’t believe it,” he said, a smile lighting up his face. “Since I moved her to sleep in the North direction, she’s been getting out of bed. She can walk about 200 meters now, all by herself, and even goes to the bathroom alone. The doctors are stunned—they can’t explain it.”
I nodded, acknowledging the power of what he had done. “Not everything can be measured by medical tests or scientific instruments,” I said. “There are forces beyond our understanding, patterns written in the very fabric of the universe that we can tap into, if only we know how.”
Every time he sees me, he gives me an update, a little more joy in his voice, a little more hope in his eyes. The transformation in his wife, the healing of his daughter—it’s a testament to the power of aligning with these unseen energies.
This is the art of Feng Shui, not just a study of space, but of life itself—of aligning with the rhythms that flow around and through us, guiding the unseen forces that shape our reality. And sometimes, all it takes is a small shift, a simple change, to bring about a miracle.