Same Love, Same Soul
(*Authors Note: This was originally written in 2014, hence the seething resentment for Macklemore, which was appropriate at the time!)
I have a confession to make:
I am a psychic quasi-medium.
Hey! What?
Let’s break that down.
I’m one of three (!) reported psychics in the world (warm hugs to my fellow PQMs Raj over in India and Sandrine down in Fresno) that commune primarily with the troubled souls of second and third-rate celebrities.
Hey! What?
Q: Why not A-List celebrities?
A: Because A-List celebrities, by and large, are not humans but DJINN, a race of demons/aliens that masquerade as humans in an effort to control us. I do not communicate with aliens.
I repeat: I DO NOT COMMUNICATE WITH ALIENS.
We psychics are sick and tired of being clumped together in the same paranormal boat as ET communicators. Apples and oranges, people. Apples and oranges.
| Oranges |
| Apples |
Do these look the same to you?
Didn’t think so.
ANYWHO –
Q: Why second and third-rate celebrities?
A: Because their souls are very nearly dead. (It is for this very same reason that cat-lovers were some of the first souls I made contact with. FACT: Lhaso Apso dogs are the only known psychic animals. That’s why I have 3.)
This morning, I woke up feeling that the time was ripe once again to open the door of my psychic passageways to souls in need. I was nervous: This would be my first time opening up again after a certain someone (Boy George) had been spiritually harassing me* to the point where I no longer felt safe practicing my craft and was forced to take a two-month sabbatical.
*His actions, as well as my previous harassment at the soul-hands of another certain someone (George Michael), have led me to believe that my psychic aura is often mistaken for a glory hole. It is not. I repeat: My psychic aura is not a glory hole. (But I don’t judge!)
But the life of a quasi-medium is not one for the faint of heart!
I sat in my pentagram of Pier 1 © Patchouli Candles (a must have!), took a deep breath, and prepared myself for the possibility of a soul-share.
Hey! What?
Soul-sharing: The process during which a soul in need temporarily latches onto my own, allowing me to channel them as a way of working through their issues. NOT the process during which you have a glass of wine (or two!) and share your secrets with a close girlfriend (not to be confused with a “girlfriend”, but I don’t judge!), although I’ve been known to do that quite a lot too!
After about a minute, I was suddenly overcome with the distinct feeling that I was in fact a Black man, even though deep in my bones I knew that I was really White. Of course, everyone knows this is absurd, because I’m a Latina.
What was going on?
I was embarking on a soul-share.
But how could I be sure?
I was.
So what does it all mean?
It could only mean, I knew, that I was about to share my soul-space with Macklemore.
As you can imagine, this took me by quite some surprise because I had always assumed that Macklemore was a Djinn. Why? Because his lyrics are comprised of phrases no other humans have ever used and his hair color is so *unique* (I don’t use insults!) I assumed it was inhuman. Furthermore, the Djinn are known to delight in petty pranks, much like stealing the clothes of the elderly. But like I said, I’m no Djinn expert! (Remember the apples and oranges?)
We soul-chatted for quite some time, during which I recommended the names of several support groups for White rappers (thanks for the tip, Vanilla!) and was deeply touched by his harrowing experiences of gay oppression as a straight man.
All in all, I left our soul-session with the delightful feeling that only comes from making the world a better place.
I was further rewarded when, shortly after, Macklemore released a new rap on his Instagram about poopoo and peepee (I don’t use foul words!), during which he appears to be fully Jamaican.
If that’s not progress, folks, then I’m a horse.
But what do I know? I’m just a psychic.
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