Chapter 19
“What could possibly be in here?” my father asks, examining the latest package from Actualize as we drive home from the post office.
“I’m sure it’s stranger than we can even guess,” I say, letting my left hand fly out the car window. We have passed Labor Day, and the air is warm and hazy as summer drags its feet. Cooler days are coming, but for now, we are suspended between seasons.
My father contemplates the box again. “It must be an armadillo.”
When we get home, we sift through the contents of the package.
There are the usual powders and potions.
There is a deck of Actualize-branded tarot cards.
There is an oblong canister containing pinon-scented incense from Arizona.
Eventually, my hand lands on a round, textured object: an armadillo.
Or to be more specific, an armadillo-shaped incense holder.
I look from the armadillo to my father. A coincidence, or a premonition? There’s still no way to be sure.
Over lunch, we explore the deck of tarot cards.
Despite the recent upswing in tarot’s popularity, I don’t know much about it.
I have friends who used to pull out their decks as a party trick, but I never thought to take their readings seriously.
As I glance at the guide, my father makes his way through the deck, and when I look over, he has chosen three cards.
“Already pulling cards I see! What do you think those mean?” I ask.
He examines them. “Well, this one is you,” he says, pushing the Fool toward me.
“Of course,” I say.
“And this one must be me,” he says, selecting the Hermit for himself.
I scan the guide and read aloud: “The Fool represents new beginnings, adventure, possibility.” A much better outlook than I had feared. “And the Hermit represents wisdom, introspection, spiritual enlightenment. That does sound like you, Dad!”
He holds up the third card, the Lovers, and I read the explanation: “Connections, kindred spirits, important choices. So whose card is that? I’m guessing Dominic?”
My father examines the card for a long moment, then puts it down and looks at me with certainty. “That one is Seth.”
I don’t know much about oracles or clairvoyants or soothsayers, or whatever we’re calling them these days—but I think my dad might be one.
Historically, I’ve been skeptical of self-styled prophets.
I’m aware that there’s a long tradition of seers in nearly every culture of the world; but I also know that a psychic on MacDougal Street once charged me $50 just to tell me that my soul was “dangerously adrift”—and I could have told her that for free.
During my years at Actualize, I heard Gemma claim on many occasions that she herself had “intuitive gifts” and could “see our auras,” but I always thought that was just her way of subtly threatening people.
Undoubtedly, there are charlatans out there who seek to exploit other people’s uncertainties and insecurities.
But the psychic glimmers that my father has demonstrated feel different from all that.
They pierce our monotonous days with little flashes of magic.
Plus, his mini-prophecies are legitimate; I’ve seen them come true before my very eyes.
Even Carl has affirmed that my father is uniquely prescient, which makes me wonder: Did he have this gift when I was growing up?
I don’t think so, but it’s possible I wasn’t attuned enough to notice it.
It’s also possible that his Alzheimer’s is clearing out stale information to make way for some kind of higher knowledge. It’s also possible I’m going insane.
After we put away the tarot cards, my father lies down for a nap.
I start a load of laundry, empty the dishwasher, and realize this is the second time he has mentioned Seth in the last few weeks.
He doesn’t seem to remember the accident, but Seth clearly occupies space in his subconscious, and it seems like something is surfacing.
The afternoon is slow, golden, and in no rush to become evening.
My father is still asleep when I pull out my laptop to search: Can losing your memory make you psychic?
The results are chaotic. Rather than travel down a series of dubious internet tunnels, I decide to seek a more historical perspective. I type: Oracle at Delphi.
I first learned about the famous oracle during our Greek mythology unit in sixth grade, but I need a refresher. Was the oracle a person? A python? A rock that emitted wisdom?
My research yields the following: the oracle was a woman, or rather, a series of women, who each served for a time as the High Priestess of the Temple of Apollo at Delphi in ancient Greece.
People would come from far and wide to seek her counsel—the pilgrimage itself was an integral part of the experience.
Upon arrival, these visitors, known as “supplicants,” would make offerings.
Next, they would enter a meditative state and ask their questions.
Finally, the oracle would respond. There are conflicting accounts about exactly what form her response would take.
Some claim it was abstract rambling that required interpretation, but there was widespread faith that the oracle’s prophecies were well worth the journey.
Wars were waged, alliances formed, marriages consummated, plans made, and projects abandoned—all based on the oracle’s visions.
Her prophecies were enigmatic, but so what?
If the truth was in the eye of the interpreter, then maybe incoherence was the point.
An oracle doesn’t just hand you the answer; she nudges you toward finding your own meaning.