Amazing Predictions

"Someone prominent will die this year."

- psychic (deceased) Jeanne Dixon

"I was about five years old when I was eating soup in our kitchen, and as I was lifting the spoon towards my mouth, it bent and broke in half."

- Uri Geller, psychokinetic.

Germans are a mystical people. It may be hard to reconcile that the same Europeans who brought you the Panzer, the BMW, Martin Luther, the Schnauzer and sauerkraut could also be steeped in a tradition of fables, folklore and the occult, but there you go. From Wagner's operas and Mad King Ludwig's Neuschwanstein to Hitler's presumed fascination with the Spear of Destiny - a museum artifact, allegedly the spear that pierced Christ's side during the Crucifixion and believed by some to confer god-like powers to those who gain possession of it - we are metaphysical dabblers. Any kaffeeklatsch with a German woman has the potential to end in a discussion of the role of hypnosis in past-life regression.

It's a Black Forest thing, and we pass along our heritage of paranormal thinking to our young along with a high comfort level for nudity and an enthusiasm for swimming. Thus, by the time I was eight years old, I had a broad metaphysical vocabulary. I had read Anice Terhune and Albert Payson Terhune's "Across the Line" - a book first published in 1954 transmitted by Albert to Anice via the after-life-ether-net after Albert had "crossed over". I was conversant on both the Akachic Records (sort of the spirit world's answer to scrapbooking where the soul's experiences are chronicled throughout eternity), and the Silver Chord that anchors the spirit to the physical body.

I had a firm belief in reincarnation and theorized that I had chosen my parents in this incarnation to assist me in learning lessons in compassion (the success of this experiment has not yet been evaluated). As a child, I often attempted to astral travel and project my ectoplasm into more interesting places than Flint, Michigan. While I was hoping to materialize in Europe, I never made it any farther out of my body than some occasional hovering.

Inheriting my mother's Germanic conviction that other people were as interested in these topics as we were, I once explained to my vacation Bible school teacher that I believed Jesus wasn't so much resurrected as He was reincarnated. I supported this viewpoint by suggesting that this was the real meaning of His teaching that no one sits on the right hand of the Father unless he or she is reborn. For a brief time as a teenager, I was a member, simultaneously, of my church's Luther League and our local ESP Society.

Nevertheless, then, as now, I was a bit selective as to which metaphysical notions I would accept and which I would reject. I had filters and standards.

I did not, for example, find Uri Geller's psychokinetic spoon-bending demonstrations interesting or meaningful. Of what use is a bent spoon? Nor did I have any faith in Kirlian photography*, a process that purported to capture images of deceased movie stars and celebrities floating around us. I remember that one of the photographs showed Marylyn Monroe in a white swimsuit wearing a sash that read "It was a mistake!", referring to her death from an overdose of sedatives, and I thought she was kind of hogging the disembodied stage.

In fact, I was suspending belief in a wide range of psychic phenomenon and paranormal events until which time I had first-hand experience. I was waiting for actual contact with extraterrestrials, evidence of ghosts hanging around my house, or personal visitations from Mother Mary (like those three shepherd kids at Fátima, Portugal had) before I weighed in. I did not deny that Bridey Murphy or Peter Proud (two past-life accounts, one written as true and one fictional) had plenty of past lives, but I was inclined to being more curious about my own current life.

This is where my mother and I diverged. Elsie embraced everything available on the paranormal buffet with equal conviction. She once brought conversation at a church supper to a halt by proclaiming that Michael Jackson was the reincarnation of King Tut, and she poured over the incomprehensible prognostications of Nostradamus, the 16th century prophet. She was fascinated with graphology, phrenology, iridology, pyramidology, clairvoyance, clairaudience, automatic writing, séances and all of the superstars of the spiritualist pantheon.

But her favorite metaphysical manifestation occurred every year right about now, when the checkout line magazine racks were filled with the Star and the National Enquirer's psychic predictions for the New Year.

Jeane Dixon was the reigning media psychic of the day, and Elsie reveled in the annual predictions for Elizabeth Taylor, Jackie Onassis and the cast of "Dallas". That Ms. Dixon went out on a limb and predicted that Taylor or Onassis would remarry or divorce, or that an unnamed world leader would be assassinated, or a devastating natural disaster would hit somewhere in the world was for my mother proof positive of Dixon's extraordinary gifts. Elsie would clip and paste the predictions in her scrapbooks year after year, never heeding my derisive comments that predicting events that are statistically likely is just a good guess and hardly evidence of having exceptional powers.

Plus which, I thought that anyone with real psychic abilities ought to be coughing up some more useful information than just celebrity love affairs. Even in the 1970s, I argued that the world had a lot more pressing problems than the growing list of Taylor's ex-husbands. I was waiting for the psychics to pass on something useful about international peace or cancer cures or cold fusion, instead of another cryptic message from Nostradamus.

But in the last many years, my mother has lost her sense of time. She is wandering in the dense fog of dementia where there is no future, only the long, long ago past. We don't have our annual argument anymore about Elizabeth Taylor's lovers and I haven't pursued the predictions on my own.

And yet, the predictions found me, anyway. Because of the San Juan Islander, my name is out in the world to publicists whose work it is to find writers willing to give their clients some buzz. I get offers to review books like "Cooking with Children" (yeah, right) and "It Starts with You!" a guide to finding love that encourages you to, among other things, shower frequently. A few times a week, promoters inform me via email that their clients are available for interviews and speaking engagements. Typically, I reply "thanks but no thanks", and delete the content.

But a couple of weeks ago, I was offered an opportunity to revisit the ritual of annual predictions, and I felt a wave of nostalgia. I found myself longing for the time when my mother would want to share her excitement in the mysteries of parapsychology, and I would counter my strongest arguments for logic and reason. The publicist was offering me an opportunity to review the mentalist stylings of The Amazing Kreskin! (thought by some to be a descendant of Nostradamus).

How Amazing is he? Well, Kreskin's predictions have a wide breadth, and if you are faint of heart, Dear Reader, you may want to stop reading right now, lest you find yourself too discomfited from the startling nature of these revelations. Perhaps you are simply not ready to learn that a new appreciation for the comedic works of Nipsy Russell is soon to become a reality, or that Kreskin predicts that Paris Hilton will never win an Academy Award (quel tragique, non?). Following is only a sampling (quoted directly from Kreskin's website) of the topics of world import to which the Amazing Kreskin has focused his Amazing psychic gifts:

Kreskin predicted that a great scandal would emerge regarding the veracity of reality shows and whether they were rigged;
A new fad would take place amongst private parties where individuals will be invited to bring their pets to the home;
The public is going to rebel against the lack of services that exists in so may areas of our culture, mainly reflected by recorded voices telling us to push certain numbers, etc.;
An interest will be generated in the work of Nipsy Russell;
There will be another announcement of a movie to be made on the life of Houdini. If the movie is made, it will turn out to be remarkably unsuccessful;
More and more celebrities will embrace the use of Tarot cards in their lives;
Peanut Butter will have a rage-like fad of popularity not only with children and adults, but pets as well;
Pressure will result in the final initiation of courses on civility and manners at the grammar school and high school levels;
There will be a fad of practical jokes in which ice cubes will play a role whether they are dropped down people's backs, placed in packets, or what have you;
In television this coming year there will be more deaths in television series;
There will be a fad of shoeless and sockless feet in our society which will last from three to six months;
Neck-ties will return in popularity, but will be worn loosely;
More and more individuals attending wedding parties and large family celebrations will complain that music is so loud that they cannot hear conversation;
Mental illness will increase even further amongst Psychiatrists;
A window will be invented that will automatically close when it begins to rain;
A mass UFO warning of sorts will be picked up by people on their cell phones;
A new electronic service will allow owners to change the color of the walls in their home at their whim;
A campaign is looming in the background for the State of New Jersey that will encourage people to visit New Jersey, but not to live there.

I know, I know...don't tell me. You're AMAZED, right? Well, if all that prescience isn't enough, I went out to fetch the tabloid Big Three - The Star, The Weekly World News, and The National Enquirer - to see what the future holds. Saddened was I to discover that those worthy publications seem to have discontinued publishing the predictions of psychic luminaries. All I could read there was that an alien plot to destroy earth and enslave mankind has been exposed, Sarah Palin bagged a Bigfoot, and Cindy McCain has a secret lover (possibly a Bigfoot, although that is merely innuendo).

So, to fill the void I feel compelled to offer a few amazing predictions of my own for 2009:

Sarah Palin will shoot Cindy McCain's Bigfoot lover to avenge the honor of the Republican Party.
A famous entertainment celebrity will have a baby and name the child after a much beloved Dr. Seuss character. Possibilities include Horton, Grinch, Sneeches, Daisy-Headed Maisie and Sam-I-Am. 3
San Juan Islanders vote to build a bridge to Victoria, because it's nice over there.
A major breakthrough in sandal technology will lead to the end of flip-flop manufacturing and to the introduction of Flops.
Market research reveals that choosy mothers have stopped choosing Jiff and have started choosing Pear-tinis with a Jaeger back.
Dinosaurs make a comeback and go on to eat most of Florida.
Americans will lose interest in celebrity gossip and reality television and devote their viewing time to Nova and Bill Moyers.
New developments in plastic surgery will allow patients to repurpose belly fat into marsupial-like pouches, thus allowing for a secure place to carry cell phones, reading glasses and a new generation of smaller computers going by the names of iPouch and PouchTop.
Studies will reveal that hedgehogs contain powerful anti-oxidants.
Mankind will petition the Almighty to move the End of Days up ahead of schedule, since Earth has become too expensive and no one can afford to live here anymore.

Furthermore, I predict that 2009 will bring about wild adventures and true love. Have a Happy New Year and keep safe.

* According to Wiki, the "Kirlian technique is contact photography, in which the subject is in direct contact with a film placed upon a metal plate charged with high voltage, high frequency electricity. Kirlian made controversial claims that the image he was studying might be compared with the human aura."

Note: I'm taking a break from this space for a few months to focus on other projects. I predict I'll be back here very soon.

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Ingrid lives on San Juan Island.

While Ingrid is spiritually promiscuous, she credits her guru, Jimmy Buffet, for her mantra..."If we couldn't laugh, we would all go insane." Besides a passion for Tiki Studies, Ingrid is borderline biblio-obsessive. She is an old-school Libran - i.e., she won't be leading the Revolution, but she'll work to make it an attractive affair and hire the musicians and caterers."

Her column appears every other Thursday in San Juan Islander. To contact Ingrid, send emails to ingrid@sanjuanislander.com

editor@sanjuanislander.com

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