Today I came across some old papers, from a number of years ago: prolific notes made for me by a well respected psychic clairvoyant.
I felt the crackle of coincidence as I read her words, eleven years after she penned them.
She was a rough diamond, cigarette in hand, sitting behind a run down shopfront.
For not much more than the price of a bottle of wine, she read me. Read me like an open book.
She told me how my father had died, right down to specifics of limbs and dates.
She told me how many children I would have, gave me their birth order, and the colour of their uniforms they would wear.
She hesitated, concerned eyes, brows pulled together, over the name of William, and I now know why.
She told me of living in the tropics, of who and what I needed to be wary of.
She told me of ailments my mother would suffer, and how to try to ease the pain.
I read the notes now, on their thin paper. I am comforted, not spooked, by the amazing accuracy of her words. The coincidence or truth, whichever I choose to believe, drains tension from my shoulders.
I am not sure if I have acted upon her words. I recall the visit well, but I had forgotten the detail.
So now I am still unsure of her vision, of her third eyes authenticity.
Did she forecast all this? This life? And did her words act as a catalyst for my subsequent choices and actions? Or did she indeed see the future, my future, and have a vision of the life I now lead?
It is a beautiful life. If she saw that and forecast it; or if indeed I created all this as a result of her words, no matter.
What about you? Cynic or believer? Have you ever been to see a psychic or clairvoyant?