Psychics
I love psychics. Anything supernatural, or paranormal, or mystical, I love. I get off on it. When I was a kid, me and my friends used to have seances and used to scare ourselves silly imagining we heard rapping or tapping while we were doing it. But just the idea of communing with something or someone from another plane ... it's very alluring to me.
I have to admit I am easy prey for charalatans. In Toronto, we have two "Psychic Expos" a year. One is coming up in October - I can't wait - and the other one is usually in January or February. The atmosphere at the shows is always really Out There. There are stands selling jewellery and totems, people talking about chakras and auras and meditation and angels. Everyone is always smiling and friendly.
I truly believe that there are some people who are psychically gifted. But the ratio of those people to the out-and-out frauds is probably 1:10,000. There are two psychics to whom I have become a "regular", I guess, whenever I go to these shows. I've even seen them privately, and believe me, it's not cheap. One of them, an Indian guy, charges $200/hour privately, at the shows he charges $75, bargain rates. The other one, a woman, charges about $120/hour privately, at the shows $65. Both of them are great. The Indian guy was the first one I met. He sat there looking very wise and sage-like so I signed myself up for a reading. When I sat down in front of him, he asked to see my palms and when I held them out to him, he started rubbing my fingertips and looking off into the distance, saying, "Oh, we're going to be good friends." He told me things about myself that were accurate. His voice is very nice, he has that Eastern accent and it is very melodious. He has told me time and again that I am going to meet a very "special friend" but it hasn't happened yet.
The other one, a woman, writes a psychic advice column for a local paper. She is very dynamic, forty-ish, with long blonde hair streaked black at the bottom, and she curses like a sailor. She is very straightforward. The first time I saw her, she told me things about my relationship with my husband that were so on the money it completely freaked me out. She told me I was going to make a career change, one I was very excited about, but that hasn't happened. The coolest thing about her was that she told me she is hired to "entertain" guests backstage at rock shows. She's worked for Aerosmith, David Bowie, and she told me she had been hired for the U2 shows here recently. How cool is that?
The danger with psychics is that you can become much too dependent on them. You have to take what they say with a grain of salt. If you are desperate for a change in your life, as I was when I saw them, you will milk every single word they say for any trace of what you're looking for. Are they genuine or not? All I can tell you is that very little of what they told me has "come true". They would probably say, if I confronted them about it, "Life is fluid. Things keep changing. What was accurate for you when I gave you the reading could have changed by now." So much for being able to predict the future.
My husband is a real skeptic when it comes to psychics and the supernatural. He thinks it is all a crock of shit and a total waste of money. He's probably right. But I definitely believe in the "other side". This is a true story: I had a dream once, that I was in an office, sitting in front of a typewriter, typing columns of numbers on a page. I was temping at the time. I knew somehow, in this dream, that when I found myself in that situation, sitting in front of a typewriter typing numbers on a page, that my dad would be dead. I don't know how long after this my dad was diagnosed with cancer. We went through a hellish two or three years as he slowly died of it, and on the morning he died, I was working. We had gotten a call that morning from the hospital where he was that "he wasn't doing too well". My mother hurried over there and I asked her if I should go with her. We had been through episodes like this a couple of times with him and he had pulled through. She told me no, go to work, but of course I was worried as hell and it bugged me all morning. I found myself in an office, sitting in front of a typewriter, typing numbers on a page. The second I remembered the scenario in the dream, and sat there with the realization creeping over me, I "sensed" something coming up the stairs behind me. I was alone in the front office and I could hear people talking in an office down the hall. The office had this big staircase that led up to a glass door and I could sense something floating up the stairs and I heard a little "whoosh" behind me of the glass door opening. I turned around and every hair on my head, neck, arms, must have been standing up. "Dad?" I said. At that second, I knew my father was dead. But he had come to see me and say goodbye and let me know all was well. As well as I had the certainty that he was there, I had this amazingly calm, happy, peaceful feeling just flooding my body, as if he was saying to me, "I'm okay now, you don't have to worry about me." Then the presence was just gone. I felt like running after it, the feeling was so incredible. The experience stayed with me all day and when I got home, I found out my father had died that morning.
I miss you, dad.
I have to admit I am easy prey for charalatans. In Toronto, we have two "Psychic Expos" a year. One is coming up in October - I can't wait - and the other one is usually in January or February. The atmosphere at the shows is always really Out There. There are stands selling jewellery and totems, people talking about chakras and auras and meditation and angels. Everyone is always smiling and friendly.
I truly believe that there are some people who are psychically gifted. But the ratio of those people to the out-and-out frauds is probably 1:10,000. There are two psychics to whom I have become a "regular", I guess, whenever I go to these shows. I've even seen them privately, and believe me, it's not cheap. One of them, an Indian guy, charges $200/hour privately, at the shows he charges $75, bargain rates. The other one, a woman, charges about $120/hour privately, at the shows $65. Both of them are great. The Indian guy was the first one I met. He sat there looking very wise and sage-like so I signed myself up for a reading. When I sat down in front of him, he asked to see my palms and when I held them out to him, he started rubbing my fingertips and looking off into the distance, saying, "Oh, we're going to be good friends." He told me things about myself that were accurate. His voice is very nice, he has that Eastern accent and it is very melodious. He has told me time and again that I am going to meet a very "special friend" but it hasn't happened yet.
The other one, a woman, writes a psychic advice column for a local paper. She is very dynamic, forty-ish, with long blonde hair streaked black at the bottom, and she curses like a sailor. She is very straightforward. The first time I saw her, she told me things about my relationship with my husband that were so on the money it completely freaked me out. She told me I was going to make a career change, one I was very excited about, but that hasn't happened. The coolest thing about her was that she told me she is hired to "entertain" guests backstage at rock shows. She's worked for Aerosmith, David Bowie, and she told me she had been hired for the U2 shows here recently. How cool is that?
The danger with psychics is that you can become much too dependent on them. You have to take what they say with a grain of salt. If you are desperate for a change in your life, as I was when I saw them, you will milk every single word they say for any trace of what you're looking for. Are they genuine or not? All I can tell you is that very little of what they told me has "come true". They would probably say, if I confronted them about it, "Life is fluid. Things keep changing. What was accurate for you when I gave you the reading could have changed by now." So much for being able to predict the future.
My husband is a real skeptic when it comes to psychics and the supernatural. He thinks it is all a crock of shit and a total waste of money. He's probably right. But I definitely believe in the "other side". This is a true story: I had a dream once, that I was in an office, sitting in front of a typewriter, typing columns of numbers on a page. I was temping at the time. I knew somehow, in this dream, that when I found myself in that situation, sitting in front of a typewriter typing numbers on a page, that my dad would be dead. I don't know how long after this my dad was diagnosed with cancer. We went through a hellish two or three years as he slowly died of it, and on the morning he died, I was working. We had gotten a call that morning from the hospital where he was that "he wasn't doing too well". My mother hurried over there and I asked her if I should go with her. We had been through episodes like this a couple of times with him and he had pulled through. She told me no, go to work, but of course I was worried as hell and it bugged me all morning. I found myself in an office, sitting in front of a typewriter, typing numbers on a page. The second I remembered the scenario in the dream, and sat there with the realization creeping over me, I "sensed" something coming up the stairs behind me. I was alone in the front office and I could hear people talking in an office down the hall. The office had this big staircase that led up to a glass door and I could sense something floating up the stairs and I heard a little "whoosh" behind me of the glass door opening. I turned around and every hair on my head, neck, arms, must have been standing up. "Dad?" I said. At that second, I knew my father was dead. But he had come to see me and say goodbye and let me know all was well. As well as I had the certainty that he was there, I had this amazingly calm, happy, peaceful feeling just flooding my body, as if he was saying to me, "I'm okay now, you don't have to worry about me." Then the presence was just gone. I felt like running after it, the feeling was so incredible. The experience stayed with me all day and when I got home, I found out my father had died that morning.
I miss you, dad.
posted by emily pound at 6:33 AM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home