Spiritualist encounter
June 26th, 2013
Tarot cards, star charts… they are the things I normally classify, along with skiing, as irrational activities pursued by otherwise intelligent people. But recently my skepticism has been challenged…
Meet Molly Ann Fairley. Appearance-wise, she has all the right characteristics for the principal of the School of Psychic Studies: pale blond hair, sparkling blue eyes and a thoughtful expression that comes from six decades or so of experience. She is also an extremely sensitive listener.
We chat for a while at her Kingston-upon-Thames home, getting to know each other’s career history. This is a “one-to-one”, prescribed by BNI, the network to which we both belong, as the best way to generate business referrals for each other. At one point Fairley mentions tarot cards, which I dismiss as superstition. Undeterred, she suggests that self-knowledge is deep within all of us: that consciousness, which ultimately will solve our problems, steers our course; the deck of cards, charts of the heavens, are the psychic’s toolkit, and self-knowledge – consciousness – guides the hand to find the appropriate card.
After a while, my guard drops a bit and I allude to something which has been troubling me. Almost before I have time for second thoughts, Fairley picks up the cue: “Would you like a healing?”
We have arrived at exactly that territory which I had promised myself I was going to avoid: the intimately personal. But, nothing ventured, nothing gained, they say, so, let’s go for it. Fairley raises her eyes and asks for guidance. From spirits? From the departed? Perhaps that’s one way she would describe her sources – and it’s the aspect of spiritualism which I find unacceptable: the idea of having some sort of conversation with individuals, or an individual, who are no longer alive.
But consciousness? What if the psychic’s appeal for guidance is addressed simply to consciousness? For most of my adult life I’ve been arguing – with anyone with the patience to give me a hearing – that, contrary to our personal feelings of being separate and individual, that which animates us and sustains us is universal. Much of the time this “knowledge” is distinctly theoretical, yet to be realised; nevertheless, it’s been a compass for this so-called “individual” for nearly half a century.
Gently, but with stunning accuracy, Molly picks me apart. She calls on her unseen guide to let me stop vexing myself, to stop giving authority to my darker side. It’s a beautiful exposition of the distinction between the universal, all-knowing Self and the restless, would-be individual ego.
As we bid our farewells, she suggests, perhaps hopefully, that over the next few days I might experience some freedom, that the darkness might not be quite so compelling. Let’s say: the battle has been joined. Just don’t even think of asking me to ski. I’m not that crazy.
Categories: BNI
