Let me begin this by saying I'm not a believer in the supernatural. I want to believe . . . really I do, but the logical part of me wants some kind of proof. So, when a group of my friends decided to visit a renowned local psychic I grudgingly agreed to spend some cash and a half-hour of my time to learn my destiny.
My psychic journey began at the psychic's front door. A neatly printed sign advised me to remove my shoes, leave them at the front door, and ring the bell. I stepped over the threshold expectantly. A collection of shoes of varying sizes were piled by the front door. I examined the shoes, trying to get a feel for the other visitors. I did notice a majority of clogs. I'm not sure what that means. I just report the facts.
The "waiting room" looked disappointingly like a family room. I settled in on a big comfy couch and began to peruse the New-Age magazines on the coffee table. Soothing Yanni-ish music played softly in the background and I read a pretty cool article about dogs being spirit guides. Time passed and I was becoming restless. This was too much like waiting in a doctor's office. I got up from the couch and began to inspect the room. Just as I was feeling the urge to begin exploring the rest of the house, the psychic appeared.
He was of ordinary height and appearance. He introduced himself and asked me to follow him upstairs. As we passed through the kitchen, I noticed a large gray bird in a cage that began to screech as we walked past. The weirdness was just beginning! 3 friends had visited the same psychic and had all gotten the standard predictions for the future/guardian angel stuff. My experience was vastly different.
We sat down across from each other at a small table. He stared into my eyes for a minute without speaking. He said, "You have a very strong psychic energy. I see you reading tarot cards or something." He asked to hold an object that I wore every day and I handed him my watch. He held it for a moment and then got out a small blue satin bag containing a pendulum. He held the pendulum over the watch and it began to swing wildly. Suddenly, it just stopped. He sat back and looked at me for another minute. I was starting to feel uncomfortable under the scrutiny.
He was looking over my right shoulder and began speaking. "You have someone with you today, a man." I was expecting it to be my father. It wasn't. The psychic advised me that I had brought a young man with me. My "friend" was a young man wearing colonial style clothing. His name was Peter and the psychic told me that I had "picked him up" several years ago when I went East (I had gone to Salem, MA in 1992). Peter had apparently attached himself to me during my trip and was trying to communicate with me. The psychic told me Peter was calling me Susannah. He said Peter wanted me to know that he knew that I didn't kill the baby and that I had tried to save the baby.
"Susannah was a witch" the psychic declared. He asked "Does this mean anything to you?" I was a little surprised but told him that Susannah Martin, my 9th great-grandmother, was hung in Salem in 1692 for practicing witchcraft. The psychic went on to explain that many people were falsely accused of witchcraft, but he felt that Susannah was really a witch. He then told me that I was Susannah reincarnated and that Peter was trapped in one time and I was trapped in another. He explained that Peter was always with me and would communicate with me if I would open my mind to him. The psychic demonstrated a method of going into a trance to allow Peter to talk to me.
The session ended and I left the psychic's house. I met with my friends and they shared stories of their guardian angels, happy predictions for the future, and relationship advice. They asked me about my session and I smiled mysteriously and said it was good. They got guardian angels and I got a creepy ole pilgrim named Peter!
That night, my watch mysteriously stopped. I'm not sure what all this means or where it fits in to my life, but at least now I know that those mysterious noises I hear upstairs are just Peter making himself at home.
Originally appeared in and written forThe Courage of our Confusion
Back to Guest writers
Home to Soul Ajar