Psychics, Satanists, and lasagna

Spiritual exploration in Tulsa

“Are you here with the pagans?” the host asked me. 

“Uh... Yeah.” 

“Follow me,” he said and led me past diners snarfing 15-layer lasagnas over red-and-white checkered tablecloths and into a backroom. 

“Can you get naked in the woods out there?” I heard one man ask. “I just wanna frolic.”

“I can neither condemn nor condone that,” another said. “We will be at a state park, and so that would generally be frowned upon. But after the sun goes down…”

“You can get naked at my house anytime,” someone shouted.

“Not at my house! All my neighbors are Christians.”

I liked this group already. They meet at Spaghetti Warehouse one evening every month—a large group of Tulsans identifying as witches, pagans, heathens, or something else, with eclectic interests in zodiac, astrology, runes, palmistry, crystals, and Tarot. I’d joined them for ritualistic breadsticks to see if I could learn anything useful. 

When a woman sitting across from me went outside to smoke and asked the man next to her to watch her purse and drink, he flashed his concealed handgun.

The way everyone went around the room and introduced themselves—“Hi, my name is…”—followed by how they self-identify reminded me of a different kind of meeting. Witches, heathens, druids. Some mediums and psychics. Maybe a Luciferian satanist. Quite a few libertarians in a place where you could be whatever you want with no burden of proof. Self-description was the ultimate authenticity—just say it out loud and it becomes so, almost a spell in its own right. 

At my turn, I said, “This is my first time here. I don’t know what my path is.” 

A short man with tiny feet and a kind smile mouthed the word “seeker,” as if I should have known already. It’s true, though: I had come to a casual-dining restaurant chain that evening searching for some kind of enlightenment. 

Something of a spiritual opportunist, I’ll take all the help I can get. 

The first time I went to a fortune-teller was on a New Jersey boardwalk when I was a pre-teen. She predicted that someone was secretly in love with me and that I would have a passion for music. But she was no Madam Marie—I still don’t know whom she was talking about and have yet to find an instrument I can play. 

The next time I sought out the help of a psychic was the year I graduated college. A quarter-life crisis inspired me to Google “cheap tulsa psychic.” When I found one I emailed her to set up a 30-minute session. I figured I had made worse decisions with $80 before, and resolved to go in with an open mind and an open heart, which is why it was so disheartening when she canceled on me the day of. Fine, things happen. I won’t even make the joke that most people would make right now. But, she canceled the next time. And the next time. 

I guess I should have seen that one coming.

About a year later, I found a Vedic astrologist’s business card in my pocket.  

When I made an appointment, she asked me before the reading if there was an area in my life I wanted to focus on. I told her that I was most confused about my love life and career. She was kind enough to reassure me: “Sounds like you’re just in your twenties.”

Our appointment was at Peace of Mind, in one of their conference rooms. She already had my reading figured out based on the time and place of my birth and she brought along some cards with the corresponding Hindu iconography to help me visualize my chart.

Astrologists like to say stars incline, not compel. It’s like driving on an icy road. You don’t have to crash your car, but it’s easier to. In my reading she told me not to get married until I’m 32. By then my dashas, or planetary time cycles, will apparently be better aligned. I asked her to tell that to my mother.  

Earlier this year, I was gifted my first deck of Tarot cards. Though I typically don’t believe anyone who tells me they can tell the future from Tarot cards, I’ve come to think of them as an excellent tool for analyzing the present. From the Jungian perspective, there’s an overall synchronized pattern to the cards, compiled from ancient archetypes and imagery that plays in the subconscious.  

I’ve found playing with Tarot cards with friends, even casually, almost always leads to conversations that we otherwise wouldn’t have. It creates an opportunity to engage in a dialogue that would otherwise feel off limits, especially on topics relating to the past, hopes, and fears. Playing alone, it’s a meditative exercise, a way of constructing narratives around issues in your life, which can help make sense of things—what I’ve been going to psychics, astrologists, and other parapsychologists for since I was a kid.

You can still call me a seeker. I probably always will be.

For more from M.W., read her article on online dating in Tulsa.