‘It turned out what most people want is the chance to unload for an hour.’ Photograph: Fiorella Macor/Getty Images
The man was agitated, with red-rimmed eyes and clammy skin.
“Help me,” he said. “I’m under a curse.”
At first it was just flickering lights, he said. And then a figure, at the edge of his vision. Now something grabbed his fingers or stroked his arm. There was more – and it was happening more frequently.
“I saw a Catholic priest,” said the man. “But he couldn’t help. Can you?”
Yes, yes I could. I knew exactly what he needed to do.
I was a fortune teller. Every Sunday, I climbed the stairs of an old terrace house in Sydney’s historic Rocks district, to sit in the attic and divine the future. I would read Tarot cards or interpret horoscopes.
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As a teenager, I’d devoured a book called Positive Magic. An instruction manual for witches, its central idea was that if you wanted something, and you had good intentions, you just told the universe and magic would happen. Although nothing I wanted (fame, money, hot boyfriend) actually arrived, one thing led to another and I taught myself to read Tarot cards. At the time I was a science student, and just considered it a fun game at parties.
That changed after I took my cards to my part-time job and read them for a colleague during the break. She picked the card for pregnancy, which we laughed about, because she wanted her tubes tied.
A week later she said, “Guess what the doctor told me this morning?”
She was pregnant, and I was officially psychic.
Deciding to develop my gift, I enrolled in a psychic class, where I learned to say the first thing that popped into my head. “Your first thoughts are the most psychic ones, before your rational mind interferes,” said the teacher.
I also learned that all things are connected, and everything is a symbol of something else. Suddenly, I saw signs and omens everywhere.
http://shauntrain.blogspot.com/2019/11/i...eally.html
The man was agitated, with red-rimmed eyes and clammy skin.
“Help me,” he said. “I’m under a curse.”
At first it was just flickering lights, he said. And then a figure, at the edge of his vision. Now something grabbed his fingers or stroked his arm. There was more – and it was happening more frequently.
“I saw a Catholic priest,” said the man. “But he couldn’t help. Can you?”
Yes, yes I could. I knew exactly what he needed to do.
I was a fortune teller. Every Sunday, I climbed the stairs of an old terrace house in Sydney’s historic Rocks district, to sit in the attic and divine the future. I would read Tarot cards or interpret horoscopes.
Advertisement
As a teenager, I’d devoured a book called Positive Magic. An instruction manual for witches, its central idea was that if you wanted something, and you had good intentions, you just told the universe and magic would happen. Although nothing I wanted (fame, money, hot boyfriend) actually arrived, one thing led to another and I taught myself to read Tarot cards. At the time I was a science student, and just considered it a fun game at parties.
That changed after I took my cards to my part-time job and read them for a colleague during the break. She picked the card for pregnancy, which we laughed about, because she wanted her tubes tied.
A week later she said, “Guess what the doctor told me this morning?”
She was pregnant, and I was officially psychic.
Deciding to develop my gift, I enrolled in a psychic class, where I learned to say the first thing that popped into my head. “Your first thoughts are the most psychic ones, before your rational mind interferes,” said the teacher.
I also learned that all things are connected, and everything is a symbol of something else. Suddenly, I saw signs and omens everywhere.
http://shauntrain.blogspot.com/2019/11/i...eally.html