The King of Cups
"How much time exactly do you spend on Tinder?" my Dad's girlfriend asked me, when I was explaining to her why I can't pick up a call if it has No Caller ID. The answer is not very much time at all, actually... I'm in one of my "everyone's a psycho killer" stages, fuelled by lack of sleep and anxiety. I'm around 50% sure that I won't ever find my Prince Charming on Tinder anyway. I think. Oh who needs a Prince Charming when you have a King of Cups in your future?
He's got a "good head on him", according to the psychic I visited last week. Although not specific in the slightest, I suppose that is somewhat reassuring - I'm pretty sure I don't want to know what constitutes a BAD HEAD, it certainly doesn't sound appealing or quite what I was picturing in a future love interest. No, I think I'll keep "Bad Head" firmly OFF my list of desirable qualities.
I nodded along with her (the psychic lady that is, let's call her Jenny...), of course I did. I might have been paying her good money to get the 'Water Signs' wrong, but I certainly wasn't going to be rude about it - she'd given me a cup of tea!
Jenny had been recommended to my friend Andrew by some of his friends and, both being open minded and a little bit weird, we decided to go along. "Fuck it, why not?" I believe were the deciding words of the day. I'm interested in pretty much everything mind related and if there was a chance that this lady could convince me that some people could tap into a different or deeper level of consciousness, then I was ALL IN. We arranged a reading and it wasn't long before the evening arrived.
Sceptical, and admittedly a little nervous, we pulled up outside Jenny's house and knocked on her door. The door swung open (I'm assuming she pulled it thus, my view was a little blocked by Andrew, but I highly doubt she did it with Telekinesis) and we were greeted by two giant huskies and a very enthusiastic lady.
After getting us both cups of tea and double checking that Andrew was comfortable (and knew how to work Sky), Jenny shut him in the living room and led me to the reading room. Andrew later confirmed that the thought that we might die in that house had also crossed his mind.
I'm not sure what I was expecting of a "Reading Room", some low lighting and incense perhaps, but I was led into a rather bright, boxy dining room with a cabinet full of boring china trinkets and Laura Ashley clad walls. I had been fantasising about some elaborate tapestries at the least, but, faced with two unlit Yankee Candles and a deck (?) of Tarot Cards on the table in front of me, I quickly realised I had to settle myself in for what would inevitably turn out to be one of life's great disappointments.
"First and foremost, I'm a medium." Jenny said sitting down. If Andrew had been in the room I would have locked eyes with him, this wasn't what either of us wanted to hear at all, both being part of the DMC (Dead Mum Club - and yes I do know how not OK it is to say that). I felt my stomach tighten, I didn't know how I was going to feel about having some stranger pry into my relationship with my Mum. What if she really could speak to Mum and she said something I really wasn't ready to hear?
Suddenly I wasn't sceptical at all, but just nauseous at the idea of having a Whoopie-Goldberg-Pottery-Wheel-in-Ghost type experience with this strange lady. I'm not very coordinated at the best of times and to be honest the last thing on my mind in that moment was getting crafty with Jenny, as lovely as I'm sure the vase we made together would be. I feel tense now just thinking about it.
Snapping me out of my worrying, she vomited out some words at me (I had to double check I remembered this right, and Andrew recorded his session so luckily this wasn't too difficult), and they went something like this:
"Right. So... Basically you don't stop when you pass over, you carry on into the spirit world. Whoever's here will speak to you through me. I'll communicate with them with my mind, but I'll speak to you verbally. Your Dad's family will come through on my left, your Mum's lineage on my right and if anyone comes down through the middle then they're non-blood relations so friends."
I then chose my first 15 tarot cards nervously and Jenny turned them over one by one looking pensive (in hindsight, this is probably the most impressive thing she did all evening) before asking me "WAS THERE A CATHOLIC CONNECTION?!" (She was such a loud woman she was constantly practically shouting).
"I'm not quite sure what..." I began before she interrupted by shouting JACK-JOHN, which I assume meant there was someone on the end of the line, so to speak. I shook my head and we spent a good 45 minutes playing a very unsuccessful game of Guess Who. My family are mostly Welsh or Finnish, so the poor woman had her work cut out for her, but I did write down the names she guessed (most of which were incorrect) and they were:
And (upon learning that my mum passed away before she was 40):
An hour into my reading, I started just volunteering information to her and it became at its best a very basic life coaching session, where Jenny pointed out some obvious truths (I seemed a little stressed, life would be easier with a car, I have a good support Network), and at its worst a confusing continuation of the guessing game (Did I have any connections to Gran Canaria? Do I often visit a grave? Have I ever been engaged? - all a resounding "No.")
I did pick up on one thing though, every time she asked me a question, it was positioned as a negative in a neutral tone: Your Mum didn't like football did she? - Making the follow up responses of "I thought not" or "Yes, I thought so" pretty easy to move into.
We spent a long time on whether or not my Mum had died of breast cancer (not) and I became highly amused by the idea that Mum might materialise to Jenny and, instead of spending the few precious moments of communication we had telling me that she loved me or offering words of guidance, she had been deliberately evasive about her own name and said "Why don't I watch you and my daughter play a morbid and fruitless game of Guess How I Died?"
Equally deflated and relieved that we were getting nowhere, I manoeuvred the conversation towards asking her questions about herself. I learned that she had believed in reincarnation since she was a child, and that (according to her school of belief) we would all eventually become full time spirits. Her particular 'Spirit Guide' was a golden eagle that had manifested at her bedroom window at an early age and that Hitler was probably somewhere in the Islamic State having his fingernails ripped out (that makes me cringe to even write).
She told me that I was a very learned Spirit and that it was clear to her I was very compassionate and had a lot to teach my fellow man (whoever he may be - presumably the King of Cups) about the different ways of love, and, as I respond very well to praise, we ended the reading on a high.
After 1 hour and 40 minutes, I traded places with an apprehensive Andrew, who summed up his reading with "Well she was a bloody Charlatan." I did get to sit an watch the Food Network with 2 dogs for an hour though, so it wasn't all bad.
So do I think that seeing a psychic could be beneficial to your mental health and wellbeing?
Well based on my brief fling with the spirit world, I think I can confidently say that - even allowing for the idea that it might be somewhat reassuring, after a bereavement, to hear that your loved ones are at rest and that they love you - your money would be far better spent on a more traditional form of talk therapy.
Afterthought: I've now Googled the King of Cups and I'm still not sure whether or not he has a Good or Bad head, it would seem it varies. One thing I am sure of though is this: Given the balance of probability, I would probably still Swipe left to him on Tinder.