Nestled on the corner of 6th Ave & 29th St. in New York City, is a snazzy apartment-like space run by a clairvoyant/psychic woman named Grace.
Grace offers palm readings for $20…or $40 if you choose to do both palms. I chose the latter and, just to explore the extent of this psychic’s gifts, I threw in an extra $90 for an overnight meditation, through which Grace discovered that my life had been afflicted by negative energies from several generations ago.
For an additional $695, Grace offered to get rid of those negative energies.
“I can help you dispel those negative energies,” she said.
“How so?” I said.
“I’d use a quartz crystal…which is the strongest crystal of all,” Grace said. “Along with some candles.”
Really? Some $695 crystals and candles can clear up “negative mess” built around me, over several generations? How cheap! One would think that negative energies that came aaall the way from generations before me would cost like a zillion and five dollars to remove. I told Grace I would think about that $695 and waved her goodbye.
The next day, I fell into in another psychic, Zena’s hands. Literally. Zena welcomed me into her fancy psychic parlor in the West Village and asked me to place my hands over a crystal ball, which would allow her to read at least three years into my future. She clasped her hands over mine.
She asked if twins ran in my family. “No,” I said.
“You’ll have three children, including twins,” she said. She also gave me a rundown of many great things that would happen in my life, told me I would marry someone whose name was widely recognized, and that I would travel extensively.
“What about my, er, chakras; are they okay?” I said.
“Your love chakra, which is close to your heart is blocked,” Zena said. “And it’s blocked because of this man who is your soul mate.” She described the man, whom I’d known for over half a decade, and whom I’d explained to her was not in love with me.
“If you’re talking about whom I think you’re talking, then yes, he might love me, but he’s not in love with me,” I said.
“He is in love with you,” Zena said, with a look of certainty that burst from her brow. She shoved wisps of blond hair back behind her ears and spoke in a more emphatic tone. “He is very much in love with you, because he’s your soul mate. But he’s weak. He’s weak now, as he was in his past life when you two knew each other.”
Now, as much as I didn’t care to defend the “weakness” of this “soul mate” of mine to Zena, I felt my body cringe at the thought of this woman summarizing my life and his! To insist that this man was my soul mate (even though, according to her, I’d be marrying someone other than him–i.e. the father of my twins) was maddening for sure, but the real annoyance came when she described him as “weak” in his past, present and future.
Did she even truly know this guy? Was her ability to “see” him psychically enough of a license for her to say whatever she wanted about him? Or me, for that matter? How dared this psychic posit one possibility for someone’s life and do so as if she were all-knowing and all-seeing?
I felt sad and ashamed, for the poor guy and for me. I realized that these doggone psychics were the ones “sullying” my state of peace and bringing in “negative energies” – and not some crap spirit from generations ago.
“Okay, well, thanks for the reading!” I said, as I jetted out of Zena’s psychic shop.
While I didn’t doubt that Zena and that first psychic, Grace, were gifted with clairvoyance, it seemed a little too self-defeatist for me to rely on their predictions about my life.
Hungry for something else, I strolled into the Caliente Cab restaurant across from Zena’s shop, to enjoy dinner with some intimate company. As I munched on hot, crispy nachos, I concluded that psychics were not, in fact, the spice of life. I questioned the motives of some of these psychics scattered across New York City.
I questioned the $695 process it would have taken for Grace to do that so-called “spiritual cleansing” that I so badly “needed.”
I questioned the gigantic flat-screened TVs in some of these psychic parlors and the fancy real estate spaces that many of New York City’s psychics enjoy. With a few tarot card readings worth between $20 and $100 each hour, my best guess is that these psychics are a booming industry worth millions. I pondered their business strategy.
I wondered whether any psychic could ever know me better than I know myself.
As for their ability to summarize me, I realized: it’s easy to gather enough details about me that can lead you to some fairly accurate conclusions. Duh: I’m a young, cosmopolitan woman, who has loved and been loved. I’ve traveled. I’ve cried. I’ve laughed. I’ve studied. I care about the world. I want to change it. I’m determined. I may have money. I may get money. I may lose money. I may save money. Of course, there may have been some damage to my soul and some negative energies that have threatened it. Isn’t our continuous battle against negativity what life is all about? Of course, I may need to repair my spirit, and do a whole bunch of random things that make me a better person. Of course, I’m continuously interested in keeping myself whole and positive and open to new knowledge–that’s exactly why I was sitting in front of those psychics in the first place!
Just because I have a profile, which so-called psychics can string together, does not make them God.
We’re all gifted with the ability to study and navigate life. And, if we care to meditate, we might be able to tap into the innermost part of our own souls.
It won’t cost us $695 though.
Why? Because loving and healing oneself is free.
