WHY I'M NOT A CERTIFIED PSYCHIC
William A. Wisdom

You no doubt wonder why I was never certified as a professional psychic. Surely I'm qualified if anyone is. It's time for me to tell the whole painful story.

Late one night in December of 1994 I was running around the television dial, and accidentally encountered an ad for a telephone-psychic service. What particularly caught my attention was the announcer's assurance that, although there were a lot of fakes and phonies in the business, every one oftheir psychics was certified. "What a concept!" I thought. "Certification as a psychic." I wondered whether this outfit did indeed certify its psychics, and, if so, how I might go about getting their endorsement. How hard could it be? I have always assumed that the telephone psychics have no special powers distinguishing themselves from ordinary folks like me. They proved that I was wrong. This is that story.

I determined, by reading the fine print in subsequent ads, that they called themselves the American Association of Professional Psychics. Further research identified them with a post office box in Maryland. So I wrote to them asking about their certification process. Mirabile dictu!, as Julius Caesar used to say, they sent me a slick brochure entitledCertification Program. Half the brochure consisted of their "Statement of Purpose", and the other half explained "How to Apply for Certification".

To start the process, candidates are to submit a recent photograph (??), a professional resume, a brief essay on their psychic orientation and experience, documentation of their special abilities, letters of reference from at least two satisfied customers, and $35.

If they pass this first stage of scrutiny, candidates will undergo "peer review"--they will give psychic consultations to some already certified psychics, in order to "maintain...the highest standards of ethics and credibility in those who work with us in the field. We...are looking for recognizable qualities such as professionalism, the ability to tune in, and the talent to help a client feel recognized, validated, and uplifted by their contact with you."

I submitted my photograph, "professional resume", and brief essay- half barely factual and half wildly imaginative. In lieu of conventional documentation (which of course I didn't have), I enriched my application with letters of reference from not two but six friends who were even more imaginative and less scrupulous than I. I got "evidence" of my skills in such things as communicating with angels and hypnotic future-life progression (the opposite of past-life regression). Most of these skills I traced back to my father's Creole nanny and my mother's early life on the reservation, where she learned such things as Native American dream-interpretation from the great visionary and Crow chief Plenty Coups.

So far, so good. I figured I would easily qualify for the "official Certificate from the Association"--which was all I really wanted. I faced only one more hurdle--psychic readings for some certified psychics. By way of preparation, I invested a few dollars in some psychic consultations on the phone, to get the hang of the process. Nothing to it! In fact, I was told that I would have to give a reading to only one psychic, not the usual three.

After starting the tape recorder and getting my "client's" first name and birth date, I scattered on the desk before me the plastic pieces of a puzzle which I said were the bones of a golden eagle, given to my mother at her birth in 1905 by the great chief of the Crow Indian people by whom she was raised. I then mumbled some golden-eagle-bones incantations (actually the first few lines of Homer's Iliad in the original). With this ritual preparation, I was ready to go.

But I wasn't ready for what came next. She wanted a reading not for herself but for her sister, who was in the hospital. I had no idea how to proceed. In retrospect, I can now think of a number of useful approaches to my problem. But at the time I alternately stammered and improvised some sappy remarks, finally assuring my client that her sister would survive- though I had no idea whether her sister was at the point of death from cancer or was having an ingrown toenail fixed. After some three to five minutes on the phone, I mumbled something about the curtains of the dream world being drawn shut, so that I could see no more, and I bailed out.

[By the way, I still have the recording of this call, available to anyone who would like to come hear it. My wife thinks that it's far funnier than this written account suggests.]

About a week later I got this letter from headquarters. "Thank you for your interest in the American Association of Professional Psychics. At this time, however, the Certification panel has declined to issue a Certificate for you. Often, all that is needed is more practice and/or more training in the use of a particular method, such as Tarot, or Numerology, etc. We recommend you wait at least six months before you reapply. Please find your check enclosed." How about that?! "Please find your check enclosed." But that was cold comfort The bottom line is this: for the first time in my life, I FAILED A COURSE BECAUSE I FLUNKED THE FINAL EXAM!

Embittered by this failure, I first considered getting "more practice and/or more training", on the basis of which I was quite sure that I could get my Certificate. But then I realized that the whole point of this exercise was to get the Certificate without any training or experience. I may try again some day. But if I do, I won't prepare myself in any special way.

But I will keep in mind the lesson I learned, to which I alluded at the beginning of this account. It had not occurred to me that telephone psychics do have special powers distinguishing themselves from ordinary folks like you and me. They have cultivated the power to keep people talking and listening on the phone for a long, long time. Telephone psychics work by the hour. Chatting with someone for three to five minutes is certainly not going to pay the bills. So they were exactly right when they said that I didn't have what it takes.


Copyright © 2003, William A. Wisdom