y
ou know that televangelist lady with the unbelievably large, pinkish-blonde hairdo—the one from trinity Broadcasting network? her name’s Jan crouch. “Jarja,” my dad used to holler from the other room whenever crouch was on tV, moving her head around like a tranquilized swan. “git in here. hurry.”
PSYC HIC PATH Our cOrrespOndent gets psyched Out at the renO psychic Fair by GeoRGia FisheR 16 | RN&R |
NOVEMBER 21, 2013
“What, Dad, what? Is everything OK?” He was doing the silent chuckle by then, tears streaming down his face as he pointed toward the screen. “It’s the … it’s the Christian channel!” “Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit,” I’d reply between gasps of laughter. “Please tell me you’re taping this one.” The other day, I started sounding a little like Dad. I’d found some promotional material for the Reno Psychic Fair on Oct. 26 and 27, and summoned my fiancé. “Matt. MATT. Please come be at my computer with me. It’s … urgent.” “Whoa, what’s the matter?” “Just hurry. Quick.” Matt chortled a minute later as he read over my shoulder: “Come to the Fall 2013 Reno Psychic Fair and celebrate all the wonderful healing information exploding onto the planet in 2013. As we spiritualize the physical with the downpouring of spiritual energy and vibrations, our bodies have to be able to channel the higher frequencies.” “Exploding,” I added, in case he’d missed it the first time. “Vi-bray-shuns.” “So you’re going to this?” “Duh. Plus your parents’ll be in town! We should totally bring them.” “Yeah, I don’t know about that.” I wound up going alone, which was fine, but I had just 90 minutes to burn. This meant skipping the workshops, unfortunately, which covered everything from “crystal singing bowls” to understanding “The Sun, the Christ Force.” I headed straight for the fair’s regular booths and vendors instead. An acquaintance told me the experience is a “sensory overload,” and she was right—such an overload, in fact, that time slid away as I reconciled the smell of incense and the lilt of flute music in an otherwise typical exhibition room at the Reno-Sparks Convention Center. With ballroom carpet and wholly normal-looking people milling around, it could’ve been anywhere, save for the blinking lights. And the tie-dyed outfits, “channeled” lotions, exquisite polished rocks and “magyck candles” for sale. That, and a handsome man with a fauxhawk and filigreed, Western-style bell-bottoms. I kept seeing him strut around. And—oh crap, hang on a second. I hadn’t seen Stan Morey yet. “Hello,” I blurted when I settled upon a grinning, heavily bearded guy in a three-piece ensemble and ornately festooned velvet hat. Billed as “the Steampunk Psychic,” Morey was perched contentedly by the most elaborate display I saw that afternoon: A huge vinyl sign proclaiming his craft, a complex rack of beeswax candles hand-rolled by a friendly woman named Modesta (Morey’s partner in life and business), plastic baubles, and enough Christmas lights to threaten a seizure on my part. For $10, he gave me a “three-stone compass reading,” which boils down to an unusual process with a basis in tarot. Instead of cards, however, you draw myriad gemstones from a box, and concentrate on several questions: “Where am I now?” “How did I get here?” and “Where am I headed?” It’s more complex than that, though, as Morey’s approach is enmeshed in quantum physics and the notion that energy itself is a sentient
