When you think of a psychic, I’m going to assume you picture something along the lines of this…
A mature-aged woman with frizzy, unkempt hair, seated at a small round mahogany table, her draped in some kind of fabric that came straight out of your local Tree of Life store, surrounded by crystals, tarot cards and the strong scent of sandalwood and incense lingering in the air. Sounds about right?
A couple of days before Christmas, I was invited to do a reading with a psychic – over Zoom. Hey, it’s a modern world, isn’t it? Now, this psychic was not at all like the image described. When I log on for my reading (which naturally took place in the silence and privacy of my parked car because I had two young kids and a husband inside my home – any other mums feel me?), I can’t help but suddenly feel a little nervous before it all starts. I’m taken aback by my feelings. I’ve done a couple of psychic readings before, mostly as a novelty and out of plain curiosity when I’m seeking direction for something, but on this particular occasion I can’t help but wonder: what will the psychic tell me? What do I want to know? What do I not want to know? Do I try to keep a straight poker face?
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