The Six-Hour Psychic
A SIX PACK OF OH MY
With “Clocks scattered throughout the universe beat[ing] to their own drummer.”
I have an appointment with the Psychic tomorrow. I capitalized that because I believe in this Psychic. I saw him last winter as a belated birthday gift from a fabulous friend.
I have been to many psychics before. I always saw it as entertainment. Back in that day, we would often go to the Boston Tea Room in Downtown Crossing – Boston’s oldest tea room. It was dark, with beaded curtains and incense and you would be assigned a psychic when you went in. They’d serve tea and then read your leaves and then do your cards. After, we’d go to the nearest sushi bar and compare notes and have one of those grand old times. I think about Boston a lot lately and wonder why having lived there for so long nags at me, and if I might like to be living there again. But I also toy with moving to San Francisco and thus escape those pesky annual winters. I wish they were Perennials. I’d disdain to plant them most years. I am about to find out where I am meant to be, perhaps (I can say this here because the Psychic does not read my blog).
I do believe this Psychic is the real deal, the elusive and rare breed that can actually see things. Maybe time is a continuum. Maybe it is not linear. Perhaps everything has already happened and some gifted souls can see how things have been; the things that for us who don’t see that way, will be. The Quantum Physicists, if one is to believe that movie, “What the bleep are we doing here”, maintain that we make associations at a cellular level, based on familiar associations that are perhaps repetitive and based on past events and outcomes. Makes sense. But maybe said associations are also based on the future, which in actuality has already happened but is now playing out linearly, or so we perceive. Who can know? I will ring up Stephen Hawkings and ask. Please hold…
“What in the world (or in the universe) are quarks and quasars, nebulae and neutrinos? How can time be imaginary? Is a wormhole anything like an anthill? For definitions and descriptions of the tricky terminology of the universe, this is where the strange stuff becomes a little less so.” and, “Imaginary numbers can be used to help explain tunnelling, a quantum mechanical process in which, for instance, a particle can spontaneously pass through a barrier. In trying to unify general relativity with quantum mechanics, physicists used a related idea in which they would measure time with imaginary numbers instead of real numbers. By using this so-called imaginary time, physicists Stephen Hawking and Jim Hartle showed that the universe could have been born without a singularity.”
See!? If time is measured in imaginary numbers then of course it can occur in imaginary sequences; imaginary meaning that it is not how we think, and those sequences labeled as imaginary not because they are imaginary but simply because they go against the grain of our willing comprehensive capacity. Commonly-held singularities are just that, which does not leave much room for multiplarities which, being multiple, are more likely to be on target. Like a scattershot approach perhaps with one fired particle or theory hitting that nail on its head. Sniper shots, or singularities, are less likely to be on target in this vast universe. I have it all sorta figured out. Science supports my psychic’s ability. He is a deity of sorts.
And then Michio Kaku says (responding to my email), “Einstein gave us a much more radical picture, Mo. According to Einstein, time was more like a river, which meandered around stars and galaxies, speeding up and slowing down as it passed around massive bodies. One second on the earth was NOT one second on Mars. Clocks scattered throughout the universe beat to their own drummer.
However, before Einstein died, he was faced with an embarrassing problem. Einstein’s neighbor at Princeton, Kurt Gödel, perhaps the greatest mathematical logician of the past 500 years, found a new solution to Einstein’s own equations which allowed for time travel!
The “river of time” now had whirlpools in which time could wrap itself into a circle. Gödel’s solution was quite ingenious: It postulated a universe filled with time that flowed like a rotating fluid. Anyone walking along the direction of rotation would find oneself back at the starting point, but backwards in time!”
<–This all means Aha! Time is not what you think it is. Therefor the Psychic deserves his capital P. I realize now that I am only really a particle but I hope to be a Neutrino one day. And time for me is a whirpool and many eddys and also a meandering river, which explains this blog. I am backed by Science.
By the way, “Neutrinos are elementary particles that travel close to the speed of light, lack an electric charge, are able to pass through ordinary matter almost undisturbed and are thus extremely difficult to detect. As of 1999, it is believed neutrinos have a minuscule, but nonzero mass. They are usually denoted by the Greek letter (nu).” per my pal, Wikipedia. [source]
Back to the Psychic – One time I was on the phone with a very self-absorbed (but lovable) friend; I was recanting what the most recent psychic had said and she interrupted with, “I don’t care about all that. I want to know what he said about me.” I laughed (and sorta gasped) – she was seriously serious. I said, “Actually my whole reading was about you and the fabulous guy you will meet next and all the money you will make.” And she believed me for a minute because she really thought my psychic reading would be about her. That is a true anecdotal aside.
My friend Elisabeth used to do tarot readings for me. She was learning the ropes and I was her willing test subject. She lived above a store in Cambridge that sold fresh-killed chickens. That made her readings seem more real somehow.
I went to a psychic once on a street in New Orleans at midnight. I can not resist psychics when traveling, for it seems so romantic, traveling to far-flung places and finding out who you are and what lies in store. Imagine finding out your destiny at the Iowa 80 Rest Stop or the dirt roads of Chaing Mai. But in counties where I don’t speak the language (that would be almost all of them), I cannot indulge in such romantic searches.
I went to the Musée Mécanique in San Francisco years ago and put a quarter in the machine of The Mystic Ray, and he spit out a little card that said, “One of the prominent features of your make up is self-reliance and confidence in your ability to accomplish what you undertake; your courage is strong; you do not hesitate to lead. The Mystic ray advises you not to be impetuous…” and I do try to heed that advice although, as the Psychic with the capital P points out, I am very impetuous. But knowledge is power! I can change. I try to choose my impetuousities carefully and dissuade the crazier ones. I often count to ten.
Anyway, the meeting with the Psychic began at 6:30 pm on a night which was wintry, cold and dark, it being winter. He started by reading my palms. He looked at my left palm and said, “This is your past, where you’ve been” and told me things only I know. He moved on to my right and said, “This is your present, where you are at; it is also where you are going and what lies ahead.”
I wonder if that’s where that “On the one hand…., but on the other hand…” thing comes from?
And psychics are easy to find, they can be found in every town. Maybe because we are always searching. And that’s ok. What happens when we stop searching? There’s that infamous road to hell and it’s pavement and maybe sometimes it is perhaps paved with a failure to grow and search, along with breakings of commandments and unbought stuffed racehorses, a la Ernest Hemingway. Oh, the ubiquitous drama.
So the Psychic looked at my right hand and said, “OMG, were you _______? Are you ______?” I started scribbling notes furiously. I found some orange napkins and an orange pen and tried to balance listening and hearing with note-taking. He was talking my life; strumming telling my fate with his fingers cards, singing my life with his [psychic] song, and all that. The orange on orange looked quite lovely. I have those napkins in a drawer. I kept that orange pen, but I politely asked first. I don’t still have that pen. I hope there will be an orange pen tomorrow.
He said I have a true artists’ hands and went on to speculate that my work was three dimensional. He recounted my path; the people in it; the this and that. He knew all of my neuroses. Although, I wear those on my sleeve so there’s that. But, He was pretty amazing.
And is it really so hard to believe in such psychic phenomena? Scores of books are written about coincidences and fate. Remember the Celestine Prophecies? That sold millions. As we are making plans to be somewhere at a certain time, and elsewhere someone else is making different plans to be in a place at a certain time an alignment is happening perhaps. So many times my path has crossed another’s and one thing has led to another and next thing I know I am in a show or this or that happens as a result, and in retrospect it is clear that, but for said fortuitous paths-crossing, this outcome would not have happened.
After the palm-reading he read my cards. He told me about things relevant to my life which had happened. For some of those things I was not present but had already heard of them. It was uncanny to say the least. When the session ended I got in my car. It seemed that hours had passed. I felt drained (yet enlightened). I looked at the clock in my car and it was almost 1 AM – my reading had lasted 6 hours.
Later, as things unfolded in my life exactly as the Psychic said, I started to wish I could see him again. Last week the feeling was so strong I decided to contact him and set up a meeting. But before I could dial his number I got a voice mail from the same fabulous friend; she had prepaid for two visits and the other person had canceled. Could I take that appointment? And again she insisted it was her treat. See what I mean?
So off I go.