The Beautiful Answer

You know those people that no one wants to be around, and yet somehow they’re everywhere? I like to call them the Negatives, because no matter what you say, they always find a way to make things not work out? They love to rain on parades, especially if they’re marching in them, and to find a million and one reasons why It’ll Never Work Out. I actually find myself becoming sunnier and sunnier around these folks, until I’m exhausted from trying to balance out their darkness. 

Anxiety has a way of doing this to people. From our distinctly American way of seeing the news (fear), the economy (more fear) and all the big things of life like health issues, family, retirement and Social Security (major uncertainty there), we aren’t really trained to deal with the stuff we can’t see, feel, control or quantify. Instead, we’re conditioned to keep fearing more, so we drive the financial and social agreements we’ve set forth. 

Without getting too conspiracy-ish about it (those are boring anyway and, yes, fear-based as all hell), it’s enough to make you want to climb the nearest mountain or join the nearest ashram. And maybe those aren’t terrible ideas. But for the rest of us who choose to remain behind, maybe there’s another way. Rather than becoming one of the anxiety-prone or the discontents, maybe we can sit with our feelings, not to disregard or even chase them away. Maybe just the act of witnessing what’s really going on inside us, without judging it or comparing it to whatever everyone else is going through, we open up a new dialogue. And if someone is listening, doesn’t that mean that we’re being seen, heard and valued for all the right reasons, at exactly the right time? 

By now the phrase “put a bird on it” has become semi-ubiquitous, thanks to the hilarious show Portlandia. But today, I thought to myself, “What if we took that a little out of context, replacing the middle finger for the bird, and tried it that way?” My mind is strange. It comes up with these things on its own sometimes. 

What you’d get, I imagined was something along the lines of F*uck It: The Ultimate Spiritual Way, by John C. Parkins. If something bothers you, you say fuck it and move on. If something really bothers you, and you can’t seem to let go, you say fuck it again, and try to let it go. Eventually, you’re either laughing so hard at whatever it was that had your attention, or you’re at least thinking about letting it go, which is better than not. 

That had me thinking along still another line. What if we took it another step and said to ourselves, “Any time anything bothers me, I’m going to flip it the bird. Only I’m going to imagine a little bird sitting on my finger that flies away as soon as I do it.” That would really make me laugh, and probably dissipate any negative emotion that had arisen.

It may not solve the problem at hand, but it would be working overtime to reframe pretty much anything that had gotten on my nerves. And that, my friends, is true beauty. 

You know those days that kind of shoot past, and you realize by the end that you haven’t looked up at the sky at all? It could be raining outside, you have no idea, or it could be sunny and 80 degrees. Today was one of those kinds of days. I have a feeling I’ll be seeing a lot more of those kinds of days in the near future as well. 

Book marketing is going very well. I’m getting some great reviews and quotes, which are all very kind. I’m booking tons of print and radio interviews, and have a few sites wiling to excerpt the book near the launch date of April 24th. 

All I could use now is a huge shot of energy. All right, all right. I know. Writing a book is a huge burst of energy. It’s way closer to the birth process than most people realize. By the end you’re torn up and ready to go fetal for about a month. But then comes the marketing part, which is more like a marathon than a sprint, and you have to talk about yourself (writers aren’t by nature like that, at least not most of them, myself included) for a long time, a few months at least, and more if you’re really driven, as I am. 

By the end you need a vacation like you’ve never needed one, and you don’t want to even hear your own name for like 6 months. I work out a lot anyway, usually 5 times a week, and I mediate each day. I try to work in a fair amount of yoga and Pilates into my workouts, because I get bored easily. So I guess the tiredness I feel now is my wake up call. Time to get your butt in training lady, for this marathon that feels like a sprint. 

Getting some sleep early tonight. Gotta expand that sleeping zone so I can stay rested and ready. I feel so much going forward, and want to be as ready as I can to face the fun stuff ahead. 

One thing is certain. After my Karuna Reiki certification this past wekend, a few things have started immediately. One is that I feel lighter, freer and more compassionate. I’m pretty happy go lucky anyway, fairly optimistic, all things considered. But I also feel … I don’t know how to say it … maybe destined? I feel in touch with what I’m destined to do in a brand new way. 

I’ve always shied away from that term. Part of me doesn’t even believe in the concept of destiny. I’m a big “we’re all in charge of our own destiny” kind of person, who doesn’t believe that reality is fixed in any one point. Part of me can’t accept that everything has been mapped out for us. I don’t find it comforting at all. Mostly, I find it scary and dehumanizing. 

But that has changed a little in the past day. In feeling lighter in mind, body and spirit, I see more clearly what I need to go. Where I need to go. Who I need to be doing it with. Not that I experience a huge amount of confusion. I tend to follow the energy as it moves. But any cobwebs up in the corners of my reality have been swept down. 

From here on, it’s up to me to use that inner clarity to bring some light into the world. 

Completely wiped after my Karuna Reiki Master certification today. I didn’t expect much either way, but it was an incredibly powerful modality that I’m sure I’ll use with energy work clients going forward. Lots of compassion, purpose, personal and transpersonal healing available within it, and I’m glad I went, even though it was hard to take time off from my existing clients, and my writing work. 

So I gotta sleep now, write more tomorrow, and think about how to incorporate this stuff into my healing work. If nothing else, I got huge confirmation that this is the path I’m meant to be on. I will write, and heal, and maybe even other stuff in the span of my days left on earth. My guides were clear on that. And I am grateful, grateful, grateful that I get to take part in this life, which gives me such meaning. 

One of my least favorite things in the world is when someone says, “Trust me.” They’re usually saying it when you should do absolutely nothing of the kind, such as when they’re demanding you park in a red zone because they know “it’s cool,” or that it’s fine to not use a condom, or that you should “take a shortcut” down a darkened alley on the way to a club. Um, no thanks. I’m good. 

Why is it the people we should never trust are always trying to get ours? Why do my Spidey senses start tingling whenever they’re around? Most of the time they don’t even have to open their mouths. I know they’re going to try to get me to do things I don’t want to do, and they won’t be successful, My only issue is why they’re bothering. 

On the other hand, I do trust my guides, my angels — whatever you want to call them. I’m pretty informal with my guides. They think I’m funny because I treat them as I would old friends. They usually knows what’s best for my life, and seldom demand that I trust them. I’m sure they would like it, and for me to be a little less hard-headed. But we have an understanding. They’re patient with me, along with my human limitations. 

I’ve been receiving all kinds of information these days, most of it pretty great. The issue comes down to trust. Am I hearing and sometimes seeing accurate information? Am I able, despite my humanity, to step aside and let it be, without coloring it with my own experience? Try not doing that; it’s pretty friggin’ hard. I mean, we’re literally doing this with every breath we take, and every thought we have. 

For now I can try. Yeah, I know Yoda doesn’t believe that’s possible, but I’m going to suspend my disbelief and just go with it for now. If I had to choose one reframing method, maybe I can borrow a page from Funkadelic. Free your mind and your ass will follow, indeed. That shit you can trust. 

Been thinking about momentum today, and how it defines a moment, or a time of your life. More and more, I’ve noticed that amidst the growing busyness of our lives, time has become oddly ignored. Not only have we become more of a world of multi-taskers, but a world that somehow doesn’t appreciate the value of time. 

We say we’re busy. Or crazed, or slammed. We chug energy drinks and try to outrun … whatever it is we feel is most nipping at our heels, I suppose. And in the midst of all this, we forget that other people’s time is also valuable. 

Three times this week, I have been kept waiting for more than twenty minutes for an appointment I’d made. Now, of course we’re all late at times. Appointments run over and you try to make it up on the other side without cheating anyone. But seriously? Three times in one week? You’re gonna be twenty five or thirty minutes late for an hour appointment? 

Uncool. 

The point isn’t having to wait a little longer. We all have to do that sometimes. It’s more than we fail to respect that other people are also busy, just like us. I have appointments booked all day, and my life is pretty managed out. But that’s why I respect other people’s time, and try to arrive a few minutes early when I book something.

Trying to learn from this one today, and even though I’m not quite sure how to reframe it (well, I suppose I could live in a war zone, and then time would simply not matter the way it does now), will certainly be thinking bout how to show other people some respect for their time, in the hopes it may come back to me in turn. 

I keep having dreams of flying these days. Maybe it’s because whenever someone asked me what my super power would be when I was younger was told “to be able to fly,” or when the past life regression I had a few years ago revealed that I had been a pilot in WWII who’d been shot down over India flying supplies. 

These days, I dream of being in a passenger plane. I’m in the pilot seat and know how to fly, but I’m a little nervous about hitting the power lines when I take off. For some reason, I’m never on a runway — that would be too easy. :) 

I buckle my seatbelt and start the engine. I check the gauges. The board lights up, casting pale blue light on my face. I breathe in once, let it go and start down the “runway,” which is usually an urban street of some kind. As the plane eases into the air, it feels like it’s floating on air, breezing up to the clouds. 

I watch the city drop away from the wings as I bank into a turn. Part of me knows exactly where I’m going, though I have no map in the plane. All the details are programmed into the plane’s computer, away form my sight. I’m glad the awe never leaves me, of being so high up, so close to the divine. And I hope this amazing feeling of rising never ends. 

Elvis Costello released a record called All This Useless Beauty which talked about, among other things, the perception that beauty is hidden away in museums, which most people may never see, and even consider unnecessary to their daily existence. It indirectly takes a shot at funding for the arts (again, the perception that art isn’t necessary to our lives), and delves into the idea of physical, intellectual and even artistic beauty. 

In my own life, beauty often takes me completely by surprise. Those moments where something quite literally removes the breath from my body may be rare, but they’re far from unnecessary. 

I was watching an episode of Luck, a new HBO show with Dustin Hoffman that I’m not sure if I’m into yet, or if it’s just boring. It revolves around Santa Anita racetrack in Los Angeles, and the card clubs supporting poker and other cards games nearby. As the events of this episode played themselves out on the screen, a horse race began, with the horse we’re rooting for stumbling out of the gate. A new female rider, untested, is running this big, powerful horse, and has early trouble reining him in. 

And then, left several lengths back by the thundering herd, he proceeds to close the distance. As horse and rider become one, he stretches out that huge body of his, pushing the ground away on seemingly impossibly thin ankles supporting gigantic haunches. Over the course of the next few moments, he dusts the competition and wins the race. 

I found myself crying not because he won the race. That was fairly manipulative. But by slowing the image down, the filmmakers revealed, in a way our eyes can never really see, how truly majestic these creatures are, how small the increment of time they can do this, and how amazingly filled with grace this instinctual behavior is. Horses seem to run for the joy of doing it. They seem to know that they are fast, strong, and capable. That we get to watch them is beauty enough for me, at least for today. 

It hit me today: I’ve been a meditator for almost 16 years. That’s equivalent to a kid who’s a sophomore in high school, or an almost college student, or an almost voter. That’s a long freakin’ time, if you’re pretty much sitting there doing nothing. 

After that long on the cushion, I can say a few things. I never expected to become enlightened and I haven’t, not really. I mean, maybe a little bit. A little less encumbered by my shit, a little less a prisoner of my own thoughts. I have more spaciousness in my life now, more time to allow possibilities in, instead of deciding in advance what has to happen, or what’s probably going to happen. 

And in the intervening years, a lot has changed. Yoga, which I’ve been practicing for half of my life now, was fringy. Not so much anymore. Pilates studios, at least in my area, are pretty prevalent as well. The downside of all that spiritual spread is the pervasive notion that yoga is a competitive sport, that Pilates and any other activity has to be done as if you’re trying to make the Olympic team of, say, meditating, when that couldn’t be further from its goals. 

I was lucky when I got trained. My teacher told us that there was no goal to meditating. I had begun in an effort to curb my lifelong insomnia and it helped, a lot. But because I had been told right off that there was no there there, I didn’t look for it. Instead, I watched my mind for 16 years, past the thoughts of the past and the memories and the fears and anticipation for the future. I never tried to meditate my ass off, and so it remains with me. I see no more point in trying to be a “good” meditator than compete with the person on the next yoga mat. If you need me, I’m going to be sitting here, pretty much doing nothing at all. 

Sometimes I think about what I would do if I had millions of dollars. Unlike most people, I probably wouldn’t live large, light my cigars with $100 bills, or drive a Maserati. Sure, I’d help myself to more of life, but I’d also find ways to give to people who need it. So I started to make a list of the people, organizations and charities I’d help if I won the lottery. So here are the beginnings of a list, with more to come soon:

RightRides.org: A New York charity offering free rides home for women and LGBTQ people on Friday and Saturday nights, in case they’ve had too much to drink, or find themselves in an unsafe area. Great idea, and they’re trying to expand it nationally.

Local L.A. Unified Schools: Though I live in a big city with seemingly large resources, I read about damaged classrooms, out of date books, subpar facilities and a lack of after-school programs that have been cut to due budgetary constraints on a daily basis. Not sure how I could do this yet, since the schools are state run, but I’d like to find a way to at least fund some after-school programs in the arts.

Literacy for Incarcerated Teens: Probably tough to have a job or much of a life if you can’t read. This charity is a very rare find, and helps teens in jail have a better fighting chance at a normal life once they’re released.

National Relief Charities: Helping Native American communities become stronger. Until I began this research, I hadn’t realized that Native Americans try to kill themselves more than any other group in the U.S., and suicide is the second leading cause of death for Native Americans from age 10 through 34. So sad, and very under-reported in the mainstream news.

That’s it so far. I got so into researching ways to give, though, and brainstorming about creative methods of helping out that that feels pretty great on its own. Back to work on energy work and trying to win this thing this week, when I’ll hopefully have a little more time.

You know those times when someone contacts you out of the blue, and you don’t really know them, but everything in your body tells you that you’re meant to know them, to connect somehow with their energy or message? Personally, I love it when these things happen, because I see them as energetic reflections of what I’m putting out. So if I’m manifesting people who are interesting, loving and giving, that must be the vibration I’m giving off into the universe. I suppose we never really know for sure what we’re doing, until these energetic echoes start coming back at us. 

I experienced this synchronicity a few times today, as people seemed to come at me with loving messages, kind words, encouragement and light. Some of them I didn’t know, Others I may have met once or twice. I have been trained, over the many years I’ve been working with energy, to notice patterns, and see where we’re connecting and being fed back to ourselves. But every time it actually happens and I see myself reflected in the eyes of the universe, I’m humbled and amazed. 

Looking forward to meeting even more of these vibrational twins soon enough. For now it’s good to know there are fellow seekers on the road, and that we’re both getting these together. 

Once I took a yoga class. At the end of every one of them, as we lay in corpse pose, the teacher would say, “Try to think of yourself as being busy letting go more.” And try though I may, it never made any sense to me. How can you be busy letting go? Aren’t the two mutually exclusive?  And how can you let go more? Aren’t you letting go precisely the amount you’re letting go, no more and no less? 

Today that began to make more sense. For the past month or two, as I entered the New Year, I’ve been thinking about how to throw any energetic ballast overboard. I’ve released issues, limiting beliefs, ancient behaviors and prejudices, and found myself feeling a lot lighter and brighter. 

But you keep digging, as I’m prone to doing, and you keep finding stuff to work with. Not that it’s all bad, not that it’s all dire. Some of it is funny, old beliefs I held while young that were somehow trapped below the surface. I may not have felt that way in years, at least consciously, but they’re there just the same.

When do you get to the bottom? Is there a bottom? And why does it matter, exactly? 

Maybe there is no “there,” where we’re all issue-free and perfectly happy all the time. Maybe it doesn’t matter to have arrived at this place that may not exist. Maybe the work is the real reward, the journey over the destination. And letting go more begins to make the most sene of any activity we could possibly be spending our time on. 

Today’s been a bit of a breakthrough for me. One some days, I “get” other people’s stuff - their emotions and fears, their concerns and worries. I usually know it’s not applicable to my own life when I do a quick check through my body and emotions — there’s usually some separation there — and I know I’m picking up something out there in the universe. 

Today I started picking up some weird energy — a little sadness, coming in tiny waves, and then a thought chasing that through my mind, to not get ahead and leave everyone behind. To not outshine the pack. That’s strange, I thought. Not apart of my waking reality. Not really. 

I sat in meditation for a bit, just allowing the thoughts and sensations to arise in my mind and body. That felt a little better. I did some work, took a break and ate lunch. The feelings dissipated some. I did some more work and then checked in with the feelings again. Then, as chance would have it, I read an article about a guy who studied these seemingly “difficult” emotions that arise in our lives. Most of the time, we’re trained to ignore them at best, and push them away at worst. 

He found that if his test subjects just brought kind awareness to the issues, whether they were physical or emotion in nature, and just abided there, staying with them without judgement, that the pain went away over time. That’s right. Whether it’s physical pain or emotional trauma of some kind, just staying with the feelings without judging whether you or it is good or bad, you can make your own pain go away. 

Fascinating, as Spock would say. That proves what I’ve been wondering about for along time. That healing lies in the space between, hanging out and waiting for us to invite it in. Not easy, to be sure. But worth it? You bet. 

Don’t have much to post today. I’ve been thinking a lot, in the midst of my pretty heavy work load, about love. As I posted yesterday, in light of Valentine’s Day, it can be fleeting. I suppose someone could take that as being dire or defeatist, but that’s not how I mean it at all. We say we want to cherish things, but let them slip away. We focus on ourselves, sometimes failing to see how one moment of disengagement could have momentous effects in our lives and relationships.

So I vowed to be more loving. Today, I vowed to be friendlier and more open, as much as possible. I vowed to be more aware, and then even more aware, as the moments passed. Then I thought I would share these photos of my husband and I sharing the day yesterday.

The beauty makes my breath catch in my throat. 

Yes, that is the Planet of the Apes beach. But no, we didn’t see any damn, dirty apes. 

“Love is like quicksilver in the sand. Leave the fingers open and it stays. Clutch it, and it darts away.” 

— Dorothy Parker 

I’m reminded of this quote today, and the beautiful impermanence of our lives. Let us love deeply and fiercely, and become champions at this human emotion than makes our existences so worth continuing. 

Let it be. 

Let it be. 

Let it be. 

I’ve been thinking a lot about Whitney Houston over the past two days, for obvious reasons. Though it’s not “my” kind of music, she was undeniably talented, and her voice one for the ages. Since I’m a professional intuitive, people have been coming to me during that time and asking if I saw that this was going to happen, and wondering about my take on it. 

My take? It’s sad that she was so young, and that she has a young daughter. It’s sad that she seemed to struggle with multiple addictions. It’s sad that people are in a huge hurry to blame Bobby Brown for being a bad influence. 

I don’t see things that way. I see people and relationships as energies, and exchanges of energy. This didn’t seem like a great combination for the two of them, but who are we to judge? Maybe they had to learn certain things about love and addiction, or have a daughter who would one day cure cancer. Stranger things have happened. 

What really struck me was that she died one day before the Grammy Awards ceremony, and that Adele, a white British soul singer, was poised to enjoy her comeback (at the age of 23) from recent vocal cord surgery. Amy Winehouse, another white, British soul singer, would also die in July of last year and win a posthumous Grammy last night for her duet with Tony Bennett — a cover of “Body and Soul.” Lastly, there was Etta James, a black soul singer who died in January. A lot of loss in that one paragraph alone. 

Clearly, there’s a pattern going on here, and that’s where I tend to focus. Energy forms patterns like this to herald the arrival of a new talent (or a new important energy that will take an art form to a new place), to offer a cautionary tale (no need to comment further on that), or even provide a crucial crossover, such as between music and activism, to help release political prisoners like Nelson Mandela. 

One thing seems clear for the moment, though. The torch has been passed to Adele in a big way, and with so much life ahead of her, let’s hope she uses it well, and achieves great things. 

I try to help out where I can. Really, I do. I do to small galleries and buy paintings by unknown artists and show up at sparsely attended readings and performances and bands playing places no one else cares to play because the sound is so shitty it ruins your ears. So it’s with great unhappiness (I get no snarky pleasure out of it) when I absolutely loathe what I’ve gone out to see, to support and hopefully get some creative pleasure from. 

I’m not going to name the play I saw this afternoon. I’m not that cruel. But I’ve been talking about getting a theater group together, and this plays sheer awfulness may be the final straw that breaks the camel’s back. 

It’s not that I mind experimental work. That’s fine. But I hate work that lectures, and tells me what to think (uh, no thanks) and accuses me, along with the rest of the good-natured folks who have come across with our money to see your show, of being materialistic, blind, unaware and disconnected. 

Some things I learned during this play: 

1. Apparently, corporations are bad, and don’t care about people. Sometimes, they manufacture things like weapons that kill other people elsewhere. 

2. Shopping is bad, and blinds you to the truth. 

3. Wars are sometimes started for the wrong reasons. 

4. Life can be lonely, and make you want to talk to strangers. 

Sorry, but seriously? Not that any of these is necessarily a bad theme, but I kept thinking of Arthur Miller’s brilliant All My Sons, which gets at many of the same themes with a beautiful S-T-O-R-Y, not someone yelling and lecturing me from the stage. It revels these truths slowly and devastatingly, until the emotional ending is earned. 

It may surprise the playwright that I vote, and I recycle, and I take part in my community. I read eight daily newspapers every day, and am very aware of the issues. Sure, I was angry when I left the theater, but not in the way he might have wanted. I was mad that I had wasted my money on someone who clearly thought they were revealing life’s deeper truths, which I was simply too stupid and blind to see. 

Thanks anyway, guys. Tell me something I don’t know or, if you have to tell me something I know, make like Arthur Miller and do it in a way that I haven’t seen before. Can’t usually fail when you follow the master. 

Anyone see the story in the New York Times the other day about people who train service dogs for disabled kids? I can’t seem to get it out of my mind, the more I try. As mentioned last week, I’m a pretty big animal lover. Animals have always seemed, to me at least, way more intuitive than most human beings, and more attuned to the important stuff of our existence — love, connection, touch, and compassion. 

The article, if you can still find it online, was pretty amazing. It told the stories of several disabled kids with different issues — some were physical, while others were emotional and emotional — autism, for example. The trainers were able to teach the dogs how to lie across the laps of emotionally scarred kids (one had Fetal Alcohol Syndrome, and a host of related problems). The weight on their legs was apparently soothing in some way. Other dogs were taught to bark when a child fell to the floor with seizures (to alert parents or caregivers) or even push the phone off the hook and bark into it, should a child not be able to answer. 

But the most incredible story brought tears to my eyes. The young boy with Fetal Alcohol Syndrome had really bad emotional issues, and was unresponsive to any other treatment or therapy until his dog came along. Though he was formerly unable to understand most human social interactions, he bonded so much with the dog that he began to worry that he was smiling too much at other kids in the park and might want to be their dog instead.

One day while swimming in a hot tub with friends, the dog (named Chancer) thought the little boy was in trouble and leapt into the hot tub to save him. He’d figured out on some level that the boy was his responsibility, and even though he’d never been trained in water rescue, took the risk anyway. Maybe my childhood feelings about animals were right. Whatever the reason, though, to be able to say hell to the no to giving up on kids like this must feel pretty damn good to his family and friends. 

I never do this, but I picked on fight on Facebook today. Sometimes, I stop by this Buddhist group I’m familiar with (sometimes I go there and mediate in L.A., and I once organized a benefit for their centers), and often there are spirited conversations about how to live by Biddhist ideals in a modern and non-monastic way. 

There I found a woman who was reeling because her own views of life not existing after death had been called into question when she’d met up with a medium at a party, who said she had a message for the woman from her dead daughter. According to the woman, she said things no one else could have known, and was just looking for perspective about it. Of course, I am a professional intuitive, so I offered my feelings and thoughts, especially since I, too, have struggled with not the life after death question, but other related questions linking psychics and Buddhist thought. 

Halfway down the comment thread, as a group of us went back and forth, I was told that mediums don’t exist (apparently that means I don’t exist, either), that there was not a shred of empirical evidence that they do what they say they do. 

Um, check please. 

One of the things I love about Buddhism is that it involves watching the mind and our preconceived (i.e., unmindful) ways of thinking and being. One of these, I have found, is our unconscious prejudices, against certain races, fat people, people with breast implants, people who don’t go to college. You name it, there’s someone (maybe even us) who has a prejudice about it. So when I politely urged this person to maybe examine his built-in prejudices against people of the psychic variety, he got angry and dismissed me, then kind of ignored my next several posts. 

Also, he happens to be wrong about the empirical evidence. There have been numerous studies done at universities such as Stanford for decades now, which prove ESP, remote viewing and other forms of psychic and metaphysical abilities. 

Again, I never do this. Most of the time, if someone says something ignorant, I am not the person in the room who feels that it’s my duty to point it out to them. But this time, I couldn’t take it. I mean, seriously? You’re going to tell an entire group of people THEY DON”T EXIST, just because you don’t believe in what they do (God forbid you be uncomfortable in any way), or the abilities they may or may not have?  Um, check yo’self before you wreck yo’self, son. 

We ALL have these places, where we harbor internalized prejudice. If I were a black person instead of a psychic, so you think anyone (well, maybe a few ignorant ones, but you know what I mean) would find it acceptable to blindly hate? Not on your life. We all owe it to ourselves, and the people we touch, to dig out these little blind spots we all carry, and release them so they can be transformed into something more than ignorance and hatred. 

Man, I hate that shit.