Читать книгу Material Girl, Mystical World: The Now-Age Guide for Chic Seekers and Modern Mystics - Ruby Warrington, Ruby Warrington - Страница 35

When I first met Betsy LeFae, I knew she was my kind of medium. And if she’s taught me anything, it’s that first impressions, gut feelings and hunches—about a person, or a job, or a potentially soul-destroying relationship for that matter—are really worth going with. Even if going with them means walking away from a killer “on paper” opportunity, pissing a bunch of people off, or making yourself look like a total idiot.

Betsy and I were introduced by my friend Jules, a downtown New York jewelry designer who makes pieces for Rihanna and Beyoncé and who has a healthy appreciation for the mystical herself. (She’s the kind of girl who goes to Iceland on vacation and winds up naked in a sweat lodge.) Anyhow, Jules had hired Betsy to do palm readings at the launch of a new collection, and when I told Jules all about my plans for The Numinous, she insisted we had to meet.

I’d had limited success with psychics in the past, having mainly been exposed to them as a journalist at product launches (like Jules’s event, I guess), where you get a ten-minute reading after some publicist has plied you with wine and your brain’s all soggy anyway. When I went for a proper session with the psychic all the fashion people in London go to, her “predictions” were so ridiculous (“a former airline pilot named Pete will have the key to your new apartment …”) it felt like I’d been punked.

My one good experience was with a woman called Katie Winterbourne, when I was about twenty-five and having a hard time trusting my decision-making processes. It actually felt more like a therapy session. She used a tarot deck to divine the root of the issues I’d been facing, and I just remember crying buckets and walking out feeling like I had all the answers I’d been looking for. What she’d essentially done, and what I’ve come to realize is the job of any psychic worth their crystal ball, is tap me into my own intuition.

Which brings me back to my first meeting with Betsy, who had invited me for an almond chai latte at a café near her apartment in East Williamsburg. We’d been chatting about ways she could contribute to The Numinous, and so far the cute-as-a-button, tattooed woman in front of me was about as far removed from the clichéd image of a psychic as you can get. There was no bejeweled turban, and no “mysterious” glint in her eye. She’d also been telling me about the time she read for Andrew W.K. and channeled the spirit of Steve Jobs for Vice TV. If my mission with The Numinous was to create a mainstream conversation about the Now Age, she was beyond perfect. Thank you, Universe. And Jules.

Betsy had also been hosting something called the Weekly Williamsburg Spirit Séance at her home for the past two years. Every Thursday, Betsy and her boyfriend, Bryan (they met on Okaycupid.com and bonded right away over spirituality, sacred geometry, and music for plants, of course), had invited eleven total strangers, along with their deceased ancestors, into their space. And all for a $10 donation. Are you insane?! was my first reaction. Since we’d just met, I didn’t say this out loud. But seriously, there were some bona fide weirdos out there and this was New York freaking City (a.k.a. weirdo central).

The image that immediately flashed in my mind’s eye when Betsy told me about her séances was of a group of, I dunno, voodoo-wielding screwballs?, descending weekly on her one-bedroom walk-up—an example of the prejudice I believe so many people have about all things Now Age. And having embraced this mystical path myself, and crossed over to the “other side,” I’ve also found myself on the receiving end. I can see it in people’s eyes sometimes when I explain what I do (“oh you’re one of those”) and hear it in an editor’s tone of voice when he or she politely declines a story on, say, high-vibrational furniture made with crystals, designed to shift negative energy. On these occasions, I consciously choose to not try to “convert” the naysayers. If the New Age was about rebelling against the status quo, the Now Age way is simply to lead by the example of your fabulously mystical life.

But back to the notion of hosting a weekly séance in your home, wasn’t it a little, um, dangerous? We’ve all seen The Exorcist, right? There’s some gnarly energy out there in the spirit world, so surely you need to proceed with extreme caution. I soon learned, however, that Betsy was on a mission to set the record straight. She saw it as her unique contribution to the world to show each and every one of us that we were all psychic too, and that working with our own intuitive voice—as Katie Winterbourne helped me to do—was the first step to leading an ultimately fulfilling life. Rather than the portal to a scary-Mary supernatural experience we often associate with the word, the weekly “séance” was her way of reaching the masses with her message.

When she asked if I’d like to come along the following week, it was obviously an invitation I couldn’t refuse (and little did I know I’d even get invited back for the “experts only” Halloween séance I wrote about in the introduction). My Numinous research was still in its infancy at this stage, and here was Betsy presenting me with an opportunity to go behind the “veil,” the illusion of separation that detaches us from the “subtle realms” where pure spirit energy connects, and is accessible to, us all. This was exactly what Shelley von Strunckel was talking about, the place where even Miu Miu shoes paled into tacky, man-made insignificance in the face of true numinosity. And my gut was already telling me that Betsy would be a loving, conscientious, and informative guide. Gulp. It was a yes from me.

Cut to two weeks later and I’ve rounded up Simon (the Pisces) for moral support and a photographer to capture exactly how cute and nonpsychic-y Betsy is. I might have sounded all gung ho just then, but secretly I’m shitting myself—part of me, the Material Girl part who still has one Miu Miu–clad foot very much in the “real” world, is still convinced I’m about to find myself being confronted by the spirit of some long-forgotten, malignant ancestor in the company of a bunch of complete and utter freaks. But soon I and my crew (the other freaks are yet to show) are all sitting on Betsy and Bryan’s big blue sofa while they prep the space. The scent of burning sage, used in shamanic traditions to cleanse negative energy, is heavy in the air as Bryan uses a fan made of macaw feathers to waft smoke from a lit bunch of the herb into every corner of the room.

As if she’s reading my mind (funny that!), Betsy explains how this is a vital part of the process. “We want to make sure that only positive spirits of pure love are invited into the circle tonight,” she says, and although Bryan is obviously a total expert with the wafting, I can’t say this helps me feel any more at ease. An altar in the center of the room is also laid with crystals, and the blinds are drawn on the lingering heat of the midsummer’s evening. It’s 90 degrees outside, but that isn’t the only reason my palms, my pits, and the creases behind my knees are pooling with sweat.

Soon, the rest of the guests are piling into the apartment. Who turn out not to be weirdos at all, but a bunch of completely normal-looking hipster kids—most of whom seem as nervous as me. There are sheepish grins all around, and questions hang unspoken in the air. If I really am psychic, my guess is that most of them are also thinking something along the lines of: OMFG, WTF have I got myself into? I take a few deep breaths and remind myself that Betsy does this every week, and there have been no reports of a boom in exorcisms in East Williamsburg to date.

Apart from one woman who’s been before, it’s everybody’s first séance, and once we’re all seated, Betsy starts by explaining what to expect. The idea is she’ll open the circle with a prayer to protect us all with white light, call in our ancestors, state our positive intentions, and give gratitude, before leading a guided meditation to tune us all in to the Voice of our intuition / higher Self. Then, she’ll go around the room and deliver a minireading for each of us. “And I invite you to share any messages you’re getting for people in the circle too,” she says. Huh?

“I like to say that you know you’re psychic if you have a body. So … does everyone here have a body?” She grins. We look at one another. We nod. We do. “Spirit is actually giving you messages all day every day, and the way you receive them is through your body. So you might see an image, or hear a voice or another kind of sound. Maybe you smell burning when there’s nothing on fire—that could be a message from the other side. Your job is to interpret what it means,” she explains.

In psychic circles, these different ways of receiving information are known as the “clairs” (think “clear”)—and there’s one for each of the six senses. You’ve probably heard of somebody being “clairvoyant,” which means they get clear “visual” messages (as in the French verb voir, meaning “to see”). Meanwhile, a “clairaudient” will clearly hear things, and a “claircognizant” will simply “know.” Most people, Betsy explains, will be stronger in one or two of the clairs.

THE SIX PSYCHIC SENSES

Clairvoyance: The ability to see psychic visions

Clairaudience: The ability to hear psychic messages

Clairgustance: The ability to taste psychic impressions

Clairalience: The ability to smell psychic impressions

Clairsentience: The ability to feel psychic sensations

Claircognizance: The ability to simply know

When an “impression” (image, smell, sound, taste, sensation, simple knowing) comes through, she goes on, it’s actually just a symbol for the real message. The trick is to then attach a feeling to that symbol based on what it means to you and your personal life experience. So, say I’m reading for somebody (or looking for a sign for myself) and out of nowhere I get Beyoncé’s “Crazy in Love” playing on a loop in my head. Well, that song came out the year I got married and I really was crazy in love, with my Pisces, with my first magazine job, and with my life. The feeling in that song for me is one of celebration—so the message is that whatever we’re talking about in the reading is something to be celebrated, or to make a commitment to. Perhaps, to get more specific, there even is a marriage proposal in the pipeline!

Are you following in the back? The way Betsy’s explaining all this is making total sense to me, but the hard part, she’s saying now, is then trusting your interpretation enough to actually share it.

“Nobody wants to look stupid, but the only way you’ll know if you’re right is by getting a confirmation from the person. So”—she looks around the circle—“I invite you again to share.”

But first, the guided meditation part, in which Betsy talks us through a group visualization to clear and protect our energy, as well as call in our spirit guides, angels, and the ascended masters.

Then, a bit like a game of psychic spin the bottle, Betsy allows “spirit” to dictate the order she delivers people’s readings—and the whole time I’m scanning my body for any out-of-context impressions that might actually be a message from somebody’s dearly departed grandma. By now I’m so psyched I might actually be psychic that I’m actively willing spirit to use me as its channel. And then it comes.

Betsy is speaking to the woman directly across from me when my mind’s eye fills with the color purple. And a very specific purple too: the deep magenta used to advertise a brand of cigarettes called Silk Cut, back around the time I thought it would be cool to start smoking in the early 1990s. I immediately go to the feeling, which is one of creeping unease, bordering on disgust (how I generally feel about smoking now). A lull in Betsy’s reading means it’s time to speak up: “Um … I’m getting … I wonder if … are you trying to give up smoking?” Epic fail; the woman shakes her head. But I get encouraging looks from Betsy and my fellow “students,” and we continue.

Finally, Betsy turns to face me. She smiles.

“When I look at you, Ruby, I see flowers turning to fireworks …” And I swear on my mother’s life that as she utters the word fireworks, the whole apartment begins to boom with the sound of a firework display starting up just outside the window over the East River. Even Betsy looks totally shocked and we’re all obviously freaking out, but in a “holy shit this is awesome” way. The firework noises continue throughout my whole reading, interrupting Betsy over and over with their whiz, pop, bangs, and at one point she pauses to tell me: “That’s all you, you know.”

The message she delivers is that something in my life is beginning to “bloom” and “take off.” Which of course I relate to the fact that, having been thinking about creating The Numinous for some time now, here I am actually walking the talk and researching a story for my brand-new website. “Whatever it is will be a huge success, bigger than you can imagine right now.”

By the end of the evening, I’ve got that elated feeling that always comes after facing something you’re afraid is going to (a) challenge all the belief systems you’ve carefully put in place to keep you safe in the world or, worse, (b) make you look like a total idiot. If we’re all made of chemicals that reward us with good feelings when we do things that are good for us and our fellow humans (sex, helping people, not drinking a bottle of wine every night), then following our curiosity (another example of our intuition at work) despite being afraid has got to be one of them, right?

And as I’m bouncing around feeling all excited about The Fireworks, the girl I got the Silk Cut purple impression for sidles over to me. “You know, I didn’t want to say this in front of the whole group, but this week I decided to stop smoking weed,” she tells me. Wowzer. So my message was kind of spot-on.