Psychic powers intimidating

Do you believe in magic?

I’ve recently decided that I do.

I can’t read anyone’s mind,… Do you believe in magic?

I’ve recently decided that I do.

I can’t read anyone’s mind, and I don’t know that I would ever really want to be able to talk to or see dead people, but I believe there are people out there who can.

Every Wednesday I make it a point to be positioned in front of the television at 11 a.m., regardless of what I’m in the midst of working on or where I have to be next. I devote an hour of my life a week to renowned psychic Sylvia Browne when she appears on the Montel Williams Show.

I laugh when yet another audience member asks when she’ll find the man of her dreams. I cry when Sylvia tells a young woman that her deceased grandfather flickers the lights in her house to let her know he’s around. I get angry when one person barrages Sylvia with questions and doesn’t let someone else get a chance to ask one.

She scares me too, though. Sometimes she makes general predictions regarding the future of our country or of the world, and I pretend I don’t hear them. Yes, I realize the world will probably end someday, but I’d rather be blindsided by Judgment Day than to dread its timely arrival.

This brings me to my point. A friend recently asked if I would consider going to see Sylvia Browne when she comes to Pittsburgh in June. For all I know, tickets may be sold out – I guess if I had psychic abilities I would know for sure – but it forced me to think about whether or not I could go to see her.

Now, I realize there will be a huge crowd of people there, and Sylvia’s psychic sensibilities will be overwhelmed – but what if she would pinpoint me? What if my aura was shining so brightly that she had to have me removed because I was distracting her readings? I don’t want to know what the future holds. The future is one of life’s last great surprises.

But I have many friends who have a burning desire to know the future. They go to local psychics and have their palms or tea leaves read, just so they have an idea of what will happen next week. I’ll have to let them know that if they can’t make it to Sylvia’s appearance in Pittsburgh, there’s a week-long Alaskan cruise they can book with her later in June. Being stuck on a boat with her predictions would terrify me even more.

I also have a newfound intrigue with mentalists and illusionists. I was more willing to stand in the rain to watch Wayne Hoffman, the mentalist at Bigelow Bash, than to wait for Live to get onstage. He performed a series of acts that blew away the crowd that surrounded him. From putting a cigarette through a quarter without harming either to knowing the name of a friend that a girl had written on a piece of paper and showed to everyone except for him, Hoffman was very entertaining. That kind of entertainment doesn’t scare me.

Mentalists and psychics can gain huge followings. Sylvia Browne regularly appears on the “Montel Williams Show” every Wednesday. Criss Angel, a famous mentalist, has his own television show called “Mindfreak” and even had a starring role in an episode of “CSI: NY.” Clearly, millions of followers believe in what these people do, whether it’s real or just an illusion.

I’ve written about my own brushes with the supernatural before. I once met a friend of my brother who claimed that he could see the way people will die when he meets them. All I could think of was what he saw happening to me, but I didn’t dare ask. And a psychic once stopped me on Forbes Avenue and called me by name, telling me my inner aura was troubled even though I smiled on the outside. What does that even mean? I think I have a bit of a right to be wary about anyone who tells me they can see my future.

So, whether I’m going to meet the man of my dreams next week or if perhaps I’ll get run over by a truck, I’d really rather not know in advance. Please don’t contact me if you do know. And Grandma, if that’s you who keeps stealing our frozen chicken out of the freezer, I know you’re still here in spirit – now give us back our meat.

E-mail Jessica at jrp32@pitt.edu, unless you already know what she’s going to say.