Wouldn’t you know it?

Put forth a fairly snarky epistle about beliefs, ponder whether there is a bigger plan for us, shy away from considering whether there actually is an all seeing, all knowing Being and then…

An omen.

A zillion years ago, in a moment of abject curiosity I agreed to go see a friend’s psychic. “Why not,” she cajoled. “Why not?” I countered. “The fact that I catergorically, absolutely, positively don’t believe in this concept is in direct conflict with what if he says something really meaningful and profound?” “Get over yourself” was her wise counsel.

So there I found myself with Central Casting Psychic. Long caftan, shaved head, a meaningful relationship with Navajo jewelry.  He, clearly, took the chic part of psy chic very seriously. Understand this was not your neighborhood storefront variety. This was a hip and trendy upper west side Manhattan locale. 15th floor with a panoramic view of the Park. Either business was very good, and/or he really could foretell the future reaping the benefit of that from the ponies, Vegas or the stock market. Perhaps he just married well.

So, then what?

Not telling.

But yesterday, in the mail, came a card from him. “Now, it said, is the time to express our personal, spiritual, and creative power.” “Our”, I thought, is that an invitation to join him on the road to fame and fortune? Is this the royal “our”? Is there such a thing as the royal “our” or is only reserved for the royal “we”? Could I use more quotation marks?

Suffice it to say that I didn’t throw the card away. He’d know.