The cosmic power of suggestion

Long ago in Gotham, during a personal experimental growth period, I arranged to visit a new age Healer---a well-off, middle-aged transient woman who would be in the city for only a few weeks, but would find time to help cleanse New Yorkers' muddy auras.

Hours before the meeting, I'd intended to call and cancel our session. I, of course, had no idea what a session involved, and for $300 I was willing to invest in the concept of time healing all wounds instead.

She beat me to the phone and trumped my card. Apparently, she is a seer as well as a healer. She called my sublet home - located on the charming, but dirty edge of Williamsburg - and said in her charming yet authoritative voice: "What are you afraid of? Aren't you ready to face your future? Can't you deal with your issues?"

It wasn't that I really had any pressing issues to manage. I was happy. I was having an adventure in the city that never sleeps - except on the subway. My real issue was that I could think of more fruitful functions for my green American moolah.

She gambled on my personality, and challenged me. It was a dare - and I fell for it. She pulled me in with her cosmic mind powers of manipulation. I was no match for her.

In my own defence, I thought this woman was legendary. I thought her mysterious Swiss abilities were known everywhere the L train rumbled. A documentary was to be made of this woman's incredible will to survive and overcome all obstacles! This was a woman who ousted malignant tumours from her own abdomen with cosmic mindpower! Don't tell me you wouldn't find that inspiring!

Just don't. Please.

Surely, $300 would seem insignificant once I'd been healed! Or, maybe I would just walk away with an empty wallet and a tepid tale.

I do believe in mind over matter, though. I admit it beacuse I am not the first to admit it. When my grandfather passed away, I inherited a leaning, dog-eared tower of his book collection. Among titles like: Geometry and Nature, Natural Dyes and Edible Plants of the Northeast two other texts mingled with the arts and sciences: Cosmic Mind Power Explained and, even more intriguing: Secrets of Cosmic Mind Power.

I arrived for my appointment with an open mind and fat wallet.

She welcomed me, explained the process and brought me into the bedroom where a massage table awaited my damaged aura. Without touching me, she began examining fluctuations in my energies. Her hands hovered barely above my fully-clothed body.

Her talent was not limited to seeing auras, but also to decode them. She would blurt out random words, and interpret my ethereal reaction. I was fascinated. Although I was laying face down, with my eyes closed, I could sense the location of her hands at all times. My skin rose toward her in goosebumps. I was enjoying the cosmic voyage. I casually drifted into a space that allowed me to believe that this was something other than a hoax.

She blurted out that I was a writer. I would write six books. To accomplish this, I would have to oust the word, "want" from my mind, like she ousted tumours from from her belly.

You either do it or you don't. Regardless of what "it" is, she had a point. Saying that you will do anything in the future is a waste of breath. Who knows if you'll do it? Who knows if you'll be hit by an SUV instead. You are or your aren't. You do or you don't. This cozy in between place where we like to dwell is the quicksand of progress and achievement. Stop talking. Start doing. It was quite a lecture, really.

She doesn't believe in predicting the future. She looks at your path, and then tells you what you are capable of doing if you get off your fat ass and scrub your dirty aura free of cosmic scum. My mom could have done the same. But, I don't trust her. She told me I was pretty when I was ten. I've seen the pictures. That woman is capable of deceit.

Any of my friends could have advised me as well. But, there is something intrinsic in the exchange of $300 that makes you want to believe you're getting your money's worth. I really wanted to believe - but, it was struggle.

Then, she found my pain.

A combination of poor posture and computer work had resulted in a jabbing discomfort in my back. It had been there for months and it was affecting my life, and my moods. She found it. That was where I had been storing my negativity, and without physically touching me, she located it and repaired it - by drawing the cosmic goo of stress and doubt from me.

I was going to have to have a shower when I got home, she explained, to wash all that crap off my aura. I was exhausted. I was dehydrated. I was spooked.

I followed her instructions, drank some water and fell asleep.

For the first time in months, my back wasn't throbbing. I was amazed! Astounded! I was healed! I felt it was my cosmic responsibility to begin writing for a broader audience than my diary. I had to take this cosmic gospel and fly with it. Wait. Fly where?

Wanted immediately

Wanted: A little faith in a system---any system. Doesn't have to be in perfect condition, just has to be functional. Mine is dented beyond repair, need replacement fast. Donut will do. Just has to get me home.

Critical mass

Montreal

America

Bush in particular (av)

Bush leading (av)

OK, maybe this gives me some hope.

And this does, too. Finally, I can be proud of where I came from. No, not same-sex parents---Nova Scotia.

Rarely are quizzes bang-on

But, the one I took this morn, while choking back my coffee and dwelling on the fact that my arm aches from being hyperextended by the female officer who reallllly hated my Michael Moore-ish-ness, was seriously bang on:

Your score is 0 on a scale of 1 to 10. You hate Bush with a writhing passion.You think he is an idiot, a liar, and a warmonger who has been a miserable failure as president. Nothing would give you greater pleasure than seeing him run out of the White House, except maybe seeing him dragged away in handcuffs.

You can take it here.

On 'big'

I'm supposed to be working on assignments for work. Instead, I'm working on a basement* theory:

Could the social ill that causes people to buy guzzler SUVs (and consider cycling a personal affront) be the very same as the one that makes them eat fast/processed food and watch TV indiscriminately?

Is this desire to be 'big' (physically or only by mechanical extension) related? Is this the same urge to expand that makes people support Bush's Iraq fiasco? Or is it the TV they've been watching indiscriminately?

Do they really just want to be 'big'? Or do they just watch too much TV? Even TVs are getting bigger.

Why is everything expanding *except* polar ice caps and populations of besieged nations?

*Basement theory = An unverifiable theory employing tautological arguments, usually developed during periods of sleep deprivation (or substance use/abuse) - commonly a thinly disguised rant about some aspect of Western culture.

Psoriatic identities

I am not American.

Never am I more acutely aware of this than when I try to register for an online radio station which reminds me between every 5th and 6th song that if I *were* the music would be clearer; I'd be permitted to skip over the depressing diddies; and I'd have access to a much larger selection. I am, however, not allowed to register. The service is not available to Canadians - but that doesn't stop the program from broadcasting its watchword - telling me that things could be better...if only...but, alas:

I am Canadian.

Ok, so maybe I was also aware of my Canadianonimity while on a road trip through the USA 2 years ago. More specifically, though, I was aware that I was not that which the local majority was. In Texas, the feeling that I was not Texan was predominant. When I was in Las Vegas, I realized the buffets weren't worth it. In Detroit, I was just grateful that the border was near.

There are aspects of the USA that frighten me - and then there is New York.

The bright-lights-Times-Square-New-York makes my ears bleed. But elsewhere, where you can hear the sweet squeal of the trains, feel the goo that drips onto your bare summer skin from the roof of the subway, the rush of the summer rains that wash the trash and old furniture further down the street, the cackling of the unsupervised children who attack bus passengers with water balloons at red lights, the hazard of encountering people who'll offer you directions even though they have no idea where they are, and the quiet, dirty streets and noisy, dirty bars - the city is my sinful, lusty, dirty fantasy---and my friends there: perverts.

I do love my current multicultural, multilingual Canadian province of residence: Quee-beck. And, I know some of my American friends and acquaintances love my Sinful Home to the North as much as I adore their Sinful City to the South.

Recently, in fact, a visiting amateur of this belle ville announced that Montreal is sooooooo fun, that *it* should be the capital of Canada, not Toronto.

I would have agreed.