I’m a sucker for a seer. The more heightened the experience, the better. And I have no shame in admitting that I would align myself with one psychic over another based on the buzz words found in an internet ad. I want crystal balls, and tarot readings and auric charts. I guess, at the end of the day, I want desperately to disbelieve in something I do quietly believe in. The more campy the psychic hideout, the less likely I am to believe a word of foretold fortune. And, I suppose, I’m really most afraid of hearing bad news.
Psychics have always held a special charm for me. They are paid “professionals” who emulate my nervous tick emotions. And these people are good. If you are hunched and nervous, they are hunched and nervous. If you’re bold and unbelieving, so are they. It’s offsetting to see your very demeanor reflected in another, and I’m chiefly of the belief that people are more willing to confide and believe in a replica of themselves then they are something illusory. And I think I’m one of some who understands the ruse. That is the ruse of the flowery robe wearing, crystal ball consulting seers that masquerade under the guise of “Madame Helena” or her equivalent. That’s just child’s play. But there is something to be said for people of sound intuition. People that just get it, get what has, and get what will be. These people scare the crap out of me.
And, to some extent, I am one.