Friday, January 4, 2008

Feeding my Spirit

It was a cold and rainy night. No, actually is was a breezy afternoon with rain on the horizon and two dogs who, if they had known that we were out of dog food, would have been horrified. As it was, they knew that feeding time was approaching. Were starting to pace and hang out near our pantry. I needed to get myself to the market to buy a few cans before I was dubbed Old Mother Hubbard.

Off to Vons I went. I debated whether I should walk or drive, but the lateness of the hour decided for me. I'd never get there and back before the dogs went crazy and I also needed time to change for exercise class, so I drove. Ran into the market, picked 6 cans up off of the shelf and was out of there within 10 minutes. And as I was leaving the store, a fairly clean cut man wearing a nice turtleneck sweater was pushing his cart before me.

One of my greatest weaknesses left from my obesity days is inability to make eye contact with people and smile. For some reason, he looked behind himself directly at me, so I made the effort and did what doesn't come naturally. And was rewarded by a big smile in return.

As we walked out the door, he fell back beside me with his cart. "Oh no," I thought, just knowing that this was another man hitting on me. "Not again." But no, that wasn't on his mind.

"You have a very muddled aura." he said.

"Huh?"

"Your aura is multi-colored and muddled. That means that there is a spirit surrounding you, disrupting your life."

I brightened up considerably. "Oh," I replied. "That's my father!" For those of you who don't know me well, no, I don't believe in ghosts and haunting and even heaven and angels and whatnot. If any of you would like to explain that to my father who has been visiting all of his family members since his death some years ago, I'd appreciate it.

The man was not detered. "You also have a close girlfriend who is saying bad things about you. You need to close in on yourself and figure out who is being negative about you; get them out of your life."

That made me very happy as I knew exactly who was saying bad things about me and why. And I told him he was good and explained that I had woken Beth up earlier that morning with my phone call after she had worked a graveyard shift, and I'm certain that she had plenty to say about it. Since she lives in Baltimore, it would all be behind my back. (Beth, this part of the story is a lie. My phone call to you was a dream you were having. Got it? A dream!)

By this point in the conversation, we had reached our respective cars. "Look!" he happily exclaimed. "We're parked right next to each other. It's a sign!" (Wendy, if you're reading, "it's a sign!) He gave me his flyer and suggested that I contact him for a reading.
Now, I don't dismiss the psychic abilities of anyone lightly. When I was in my 20s, I used to go get readings done with some girlfriends for entertainment. The readings were all light and positive, fortelling of great fortunes to be made and a wonderful love life. And all that kind of BS that i didn't believe. It was truly fun and games. But then there was that one reading that was dark and dismal, predicting a health crisis and an inability to get out and exercise anymore which I dismissed. And within six months, my knees had crashed, I was seriously disabled, and had to drop out of exercise class. And I never went for a reading again.

This falls in the same category as I don't believe in ghosts and I wish Dad didn't either.

So here we have it. I have the name/phone number of a Spiritual Advisor. Ironically enough, the very one who's Ventura Blvd house I have driven by for years and years. (Yes Richard, near the Outdoors Wilderness Store.) Kind of an odd house with a concrete yard that has attracted me with it's giant sign advising what was going on inside. (What are the neighbors thinking? And I'm glad I'm not one of them.)

I'm thinking about it. Looking for a volunteer to go with me. No, I don't take it seriously, and his questions were leading ones... meant to disturb unhappy women who were forced to buy dog food in the late afternoon. Sorry I don't meet all the criteria. I'm in a great mood and will not be brought down.

I'm also certain of my friends. That they are real friends who may or may not say bad things when I wake them up, but if they do, don't mean any of them. I'm very lucky in that respect. Took me 50 years to find them.

So yeah, I may yet decide to call him and head on over if anyone wants to go with me. But only on a lark. I don't need a psychic to tell me that I have it good.

5 comments:

Claudia said...

I'll go with you, Laura. I'll have to fly to LA first but this is something that is right up my alley. I love all this psychic stuff. When I come out to see you we will put this on the list of things to do. Right behind seeing the Charlie Manson house. LOL

Claudia

Ang said...

I'll go with you. That would be so fun..Psychic Party!!! LOL

Beth said...

Hey - Do I see a Fab Four trip to the psychic in our future?? I'll go!! I love this stuff too!

Hugs and love - Beth

goodsis2 said...

Hey, way cool! I'll go with you. And maybe afterwards you'll be able to let your bread loaf, and maybe my clock will start ringing again. Also, don't forget that you've got Grandma laughing at you and saying "I told you so!" every time you use the vacuum cleaner.

*A*

hot tamale said...

Meeeeeee I want to come too!!! Wonder who's living in my bathroom scale? LOL

love ya
Becky

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