A Psychic's Oath of Secrecy

My first good psychic loved to gossip. When he did readings for me, he bled juicy facts about his clients. Who slept around, who shoplifted, and who spent way more money than her husband realized. At first, I thought I was part of his inner circle, but later I realized he just had a big mouth. He put those confidences out on the table, along with his beat-up Waite-Rider tarot cards. I vowed I would never be a read-and-tell psychic. No blabber mouthing for me.

Once in a while when I do readings, something comes out of my mouth that shocks me and I remember it, but most of the time I have no recollection of what I say to my clients. My brain doesn’t generate the information I give. It just facilitates it.

Two women came for a consult yesterday. They said they’d been to see me twice before, but I remembered nothing. Only one of them even looked familiar. I have a quick brain that recalls a lot, but in this case, nada. Maybe my vow of secrecy wipes out sensational or sad disclosures. I believe I’m just a radio, a conduit with my brain as the motor.

I’ve always taught music to children and I keep their little secrets safe. I guess I follow those same rules with my intuitive readings. It’s just not my business to share their intimacies. I wouldn’t want them to share mine.