The story of the mother who passed away in the Southwest-facing house lingers like an unresolved melody, haunting those who remain. Her family, overcome by grief, left the house, unable to bear the shadows of their memories. But their next move would bring a new chapter of sorrow—a tale I warned them against, yet one they chose to live.
The family found a new home, unaware of the curse that came with it. This time, the road T-junctioned onto the South East corner of the property. I pleaded with them not to settle there. “This configuration,” I warned, “will bring tragedy to the eldest daughter. I can tell you the year, the month, the day—even the hour—when this energy will strike.”
But my words, though filled with sincerity, fell on deaf ears. They moved in, believing perhaps that fate could be outmanoeuvred or that the past was mere coincidence. And so the wheels of destiny turned.
One evening, while fetching a friend from the airport, I received an urgent call. The eldest daughter had attempted to take her own life the night before, taking an overdose of medication. She now lay in the ICU, caught between two worlds. The weight of the news hit me like a thunderclap. My warnings had not been heeded, and now a life hung in the balance.
I went to the hospital, feeling an overwhelming sense of helplessness. How could I help her as I could not move the bed in the intensive care unit ? Then, I remembered a story from years past—a meeting with a renowned professor of music who had discovered an ancient secret in the ruins of Delphi, Greece. Beneath Apollo’s temple, he found carvings of music etched into stone, remnants of a time when sound was believed to heal the body and soul.
The professor had deciphered the notes and brought them to life, playing melodies that seemed to transform those who listened. I had been following him like a shadow, attending all his lectures & performances and recorded the music on my phone. Many people would come to his sessions & he healed many people with this type of frequency that echoed in his music. Perhaps, I thought, this ancient song could serve as a lifeline for the young girl.
The next day, I returned to the hospital and played the recording by her bedside. For an hour, the room filled with the ethereal notes, each one resonating like a prayer sent to the heavens. As the music faded and we prepared to leave, something extraordinary happened. The girl, who had been unresponsive, suddenly sat up in her bed, her eyes open, a soft smile gracing her face. Then, as quickly as it had happened, she lay back down, drifting into sleep.
Everyone in the room was astonished. Was this a miracle, a glimpse of hope amidst despair? I returned the following day and played the music again. The same phenomenon occurred—her spirit seemed to awaken, even if just for a moment.
Yet, despite these fleeting victories, the energies of the T-junction had already marked their claim. No matter how hard I tried, the girl eventually passed away, leaving a void that no music could fill.
This story is more than a warning; it is a plea. A house with a T-junction road is not just a matter of poor design—it is a harbinger of sorrow. The forces it brings are as precise as they are relentless, striking on a specific year, month, day, and time.
As a Feng Shui Master, my duty is to speak the truth, even when it is met with disbelief or dismissal. Integrity demands it, though the burden is heavy. To see what is coming and be ignored—it is a pain I wish upon no one.
Heed this tale, for it is not just a story but a testament. The energies of the universe are ancient and unyielding. Listen to their whispers before they turn into storms.