“Does a six resonate with you?”

I inhaled a breath of incense-laden air and racked my brain. The faint choral strains of a festive noel played in the background.

Nothing.

“The sixth day,” I said vaguely, attempting an expression of deep contemplation.

My psychic reader nodded wisely and reached to draw another tarot card from the deck.

Seated in the back of a small room at the monthly Knight People Psychic Fair, I experienced my first-ever psychic reading.

It had been a long trek from the spiritual backwater of my dorm room to Knight People shop at 228 Williams Street, across from LoRise. I had set off on my pilgrimage only a half hour earlier, determined to set aside my skepticism for the duration of a fifteen-minute reading.

Knight People’s online store is full of intriguing descriptions of herbs and “magick supplies,” and the brick-and-mortar shop itself was not a disappointment.

Located in the lower level of a small house, the shop offered an impressive collection of pretty stones, which supposedly embody diverse qualities, and various “instruments for growth and healing,” including herbs, singing bowls, smudge wands, crystals, and much more.

The shop also carried a large stock of incense, the heady aroma of which immediately assaulted me upon entering.

Having asked for a reading, I was bequeathed a small complimentary bag of suspicious herbs, the purpose of which was never clarified. Was I meant to smoke them? Ingest them? Burn them ceremoniously? Later in the safety of my room, I settled for gingerly sniffing them.

The owner of the store led me behind the counter and pushed aside a fringed curtain to escort me to a back room. I attempted to quiet the tromping footfalls of my boots on the wood floor as we passed through a room where another enraptured customer sat for her session.

I had been a bit disappointed to learn that the shamanic minister I had read about online was booked with appointments for the day. However, I was content to trade promises of “psychometry” and a “spirit-channeled intuitive reading” to instead witness the art of tarot.

My tarot card reader greeted me warmly and instructed me on how to begin.

“Put your energy into the cards,” she said.

I hesitantly shuffled the deck, and my reader began with a lesson in numerology based on my birthdate.

“You’re a one. When things are being done, they’re pretty much about you,” she said.

Perhaps there is truth in tarot, I thought. I was further convinced when the first two cards drawn were of my number.

The next card featured a girl sobbing beneath a tree.

“Your spark, there’s a little ‘crying under the weeping willow’ thing,” the woman said with kindly concern.

“Has there been a little relationship break recently?” she continued, gently sliding the Lover’s Card into the configuration before me.

“Maybe a little,” I said, racking my brain in a desperate attempt to conjure up some relevant anecdote. However, the past dramas of my love life, or complete lack thereof, failed to come to mind.

As continued hints of a past love triangle kept surfacing in the cards, I grew increasingly frustrated. I inwardly cursed my “spark” for lying to this nice lady.

Apparently the universe could sense my inner conflict.

“All your swords are coming up,” my reader said, observing the card-covered table. “This means you’re feeling just a little uncomfortable.”

Thankfully, my future was less discomforting. My cards foretold future success and an end to the agonizing heartbreak my past “love triangle” had inflicted upon me.

“That bluebird of happiness flies just over there,” my reader said, pointing to one card.

She concluded my reading with an admonition to trust.

“Forgive who you need to forgive, but you need to trust. And as you trust, the universe puts you in the spot you need to be in,” she said.

She also complimented me on my “healing aura,” giving me a crystal to take with me and instructing me to infuse it with my essence before casting it in a body of water.

I fondled it dubiously before thanking her and fleeing back to spiritual ignorance.

Though my reading was perhaps not the most representative, my reader was exceptionally kind and seemed to have a genuine conviction and passion for her practice.

Knight People Books and Gifts hosts a Psychic Fair on the first Sunday of every month. Readings cost $20 for 15 minutes. The shop itself, which most students walk past without a glance, is definitely worth a visit.

After housing my small crystal in my room for a few days, and channeling my energy into it, I set off to find a source of water. I chose a nearby stream as the site of my psychic release.

Caressing its faceted face one last time, I paused before tossing the crystal into the running water.

Thusly cleansed, I gazed at the sky above, recalling words my reader had told me.

“Honor that sun.”

 

This article was made possible in part by the Argus Special Projects Fund which supports enterprise journalism.