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A long time ago, when I was in a mixed up crazy relationship that an unmovable force kept me in — that, and the smell of his neck — I did a Nancy Reagan. I consulted a psychic.
I went at the insistence of my friend, David. David is fluent in the universal language of the stars. After comparing birth charts, he urged me to get out of my rocky relationship with Heathcliff from Wuthering Heights because “his Saturn is sitting right on your sun!”
Translation? Heathcliff and I could not avoid a “paper, rock, scissors” relationship, in which he was paper when I was rock, rock when I was scissors, or scissors when I was paper. Saturn moves very slowly, David warned. Can I live with that?
He brought me to “Awakenings”, a converted house on Central Avenue in Albany, to attend a séance.
In the parking lot, I felt my skepticism rising when I spotted the very first designer license plate I’d ever seen. It said “psychic”. That was ballsy. I cranked my expectations to the highest setting. “If he can make someone levitate tonight,” I whispered to David in the parking lot, “then he gets to drive around with that pretentious plate.”
David was patient with me. He realized I had no idea what I was in for and whispered back, “A séance is just a spiritualistic meeting to receive spirit communications from the dead…no one is going to float out of their…” and then he stopped himself mid-tutorial and said, “Marianne is here. Oh, good.”...[more HERE]
