Friday, September 14, 2007

48; Of psychics and Renn Faires

Generally I don't trust psychics. Some readers are probably concerned by my use of 'generally'. The world, in all it's magnificence and unspoken grandeur contains much not explained by standard methods, particularly scientific ones. Social sciences like psychology, anthropology, philosophy, history, all deal with observable and rational phenomena that science can't tackle.

Some things are, on the other hand, seemingly observable, or experiential, but not rational. To this realm I place ghosts, premonitions, and the conveniently-named paranormal. Some people think there is an omniscient presence in the universe, some think we are re-incarnated, some think that we must give up desire to reach nirvana. I think some people have psychic-ness. I won't call it energy or power, or aura, just psychic-ness.

My mom is one such person. Often her dreams come true. Growing up in that environment is the stuff of stand-up gold. A great sanity-saving defense for kids is that their parents know a lot, but at least they don't know what you're going to do next. If your parent can not just predict what you'll do, but has foreseen it and it's consequences, then you're pretty much screwed. Did this mess me up? Oh, probably.

Anyways I spent the day before Labor Day going to a Renaissance Faire, and having a grand time, as I do at these things. I've been going to Renn Faires since I was a preteen, and have always thoroughly enjoyed the experience. People munching on turkey legs, cheezy games, jousting, odd knick-knack vendors and musicians, women in corsets: what's not to like? And, of course, on top of all this sillyness are the psychics.

So my mom tells me before-hand that she's going to get her fortune told. I roll my eyes obligatorily, and sigh, and hem and haw and it doesn't do any good because she goes and gets her tarot cards laid out anyway. I meanwhile observe young tots hurl axes and daggers, musing that if we allowed the joyous abandon of Renn Faires to permeate society we would probably be better off, if not at least less worried about personal security. My mom comes back from her reading as I'm eating french fries covered in non-15th century Italian nacho cheese and watching lasses get fit for leather products.

"Well, she was really good."
"First she told me I had two brothers, both deceased, and today was one of their birthdays."

Since this was all true my curiosity was piqued. Whenever my mom goes to a psychic they always manage to do this stuff. Perhaps there's some connection going on. Naturally she urges me to go to the psychic, and due to their apparently fantastic abilities I eventually agree after watching a good joust in which my horseyman won, catapulting me into an obliging good mood.

The last time I had tarot was freshmen year, and they told me that things would work out with my girlfriend who dumped me a few weeks later and moved to Korea. I've also been told that I would be a zoo keeper, probably giraffes. I am skeptical, and have personally studied the tarot deck so I'd know if they were conning me.

I sit down and the preliminaries are dully observed: she asks me to focus on a particular question, I pick a deck, shuffle, cut, small talk. She asks me about my love life, reluctant answers, lots of pentacles, which is good since I was worried about money, and what school child doesn't know that pentacles represent good monetary fortune. Basically everything showed up good, stop worrying, and romance will soon develop. I pay my 15 bucks for the privilege and wander away.

No knowing facts, no amazing revelations, truths, or anything. I was disappointed, but secretly hope the reading is accurate (love and money: I am always ready for more of each, and suspect such is the case of most people).

But that's the difference between me and my mother, she seems to have great psychic-ness and I don't. Psychics seem sort of befuddled by me; they give me a nice reading, smile, and take my money, not 'picking up' anything. No connection. In other news: I also can't bake cakes, shoot lay-ups, multiply large numbers in my head, or talk to snakes. And I'm really okay with that.

No comments: