Institute of Noetic Sciences Journal on studying mediumship

It's hard to get good data on mediumship.  Studies of after-death communication are like the broke and irreputable cousin in the already broke and irreputable family of parapsychology.  (A true black sheep among black-ish sheep, I guess.)  There's a couple of reasons for this.  For one thing, legitimate researchers in parapsychology (I'm sorry, consciousness studies) prefer to keep their scope small and their claims modest.  It's one thing to speculate that their may be modes of perception that are little understood.  Clairvoyance and telepathy, for instance, are moderately freaky, but still operate within our known world.  Positing the existence of an afterlife and the survival of personality after death is a whole 'nother level of weird.  Since research funds (and professional respect) are so hard to come by anyway, it's understandable that researchers want to keep their hypotheses on the near side of the twilight zone.  A second reason:  It's extremely difficult to design research that is able to isolate true mediumship from other psi phenomena.  That is, if a psychic can tell you that your deceased Uncle Bob like black walnut ice cream, that doesn't necessarily prove the existence of after-death communication.  She could have gotten that tidbit from dead Bob, or telepathically from your own (very living) brain.

I recently stumbled across a great article in the archives of the journal of the Institute of Noetic Sciences,  "Can Mediums Really Talk to the Dead?"  It's a 2011 conversation with leading mediumship researcher Dr. Julie Beischel.  The interview was conducted by Dr. Dean Radin, probably the most insightful and balanced writer psi researcher working today.  In the piece, they discuss some of the challenges of studying mediumship in a controlled research environment, and some of the intriguing outcomes of experiments done by Beischel's foundation, The Windbridge Institute.  Check it out here.

How long should a scrying session last?

Since we've been covering some of the basics of scrying, I'd like to hone in on one basic question that hasn't been discussed here:  How long should you do it?  The answer, obviously, is "It depends." But that makes for rather a boring blog post, so allow me to elaborate a little.

Most authors recommend ten to twenty minutes to begin with, and never more than an hour.  That's solid advice, though somewhat conservative.  The risk of scrying too long is mainly of burnout. There can also be some undesirable side effects from long sitting: stiff back and neck, eyestrain, headaches, and the dreaded "third eye fatigue"--the achy tension that comes from OD'ing on psychic work.  The best idea I've heard is to alternate scrying with a complementary practice, like a healing exercise or a moving meditation.  That way, you can take a day or two off from scrying if you're not feeling up to it, but stay in the habit of daily practice.

Also, although daily practice is advisable, some sources admonish against sitting more than once per day.  I've been known to break this rule at times--like when I'm lucky enough have a whole day set aside for spiritual practice--but I do see the wisdom in it.  It's easy to get sucked into an inner life that can harbor delusions and cut you off from the rest of the world.  Occult practice has to be part of a healthy balanced lifestyle--along with eating, bathing, going to work, and having conversations with people who are actually incarnate.  Yoga folks talk knowingly about "bliss junkies"--newbies who, having tasted a bit of mind/body integration, want to spend every waking hour on the mat chasing that high.  I'm sure it's equally possible to become a crystal crackhead or mirror fiend.  Self-imposed limits are good insurance against obsession, especially if you have an addictive personality.

Keep in mind that time distortion in either direction is a normal part of the scrying process.  Fifteen minutes can seem like an eternity--and not just when you're bored.  Sometimes the visions come so quickly and encompass so much, that it doesn't seem possible that only a few moments have elapsed.  If you've ever had an epic dream between hitting the snooze button and hearing the alarm, then you understand this perfectly.  Conversely, in certain states, an hour can feel like minutes.  Screwy.

Speaking of which, should you set a timer for your sessions?  Personally, I'm of two minds on this one.  I've sometimes found timers to be helpful, mainly because of the time distortion effect mentioned above.  Knowing that my alarm is set frees my mind from the distracting worry that the whole afternoon may be slipping away.  It also keeps my usual drowsiness from turning into a three-hour nap.  On the other hand, the minute I hit on something really good, that alarm is bound to go off and jar me out of my carefully cultivated trance.  A solution might be to try one of those progressive-tone "gentle" alarm clocks that they sell at home stores (or probably in app form these days).

One thing I've noticed is that many writers assume your sessions will get longer over time--e.g., starting with five or ten minute sessions and working up to a full hour.  True, it takes some discipline and focus to sit for more than a few minutes.  And it's true that as you have more vivid and immersive experiences, you'll want to spend more time with them--scrying will seem less like practice and more like play.  But I'd like to point out that as you gain more experience with accessing various altered states, your sessions may actually get shorter.  I guess you can compare it to learning to change the oil in your car, or cut up a chicken, or any other learned skill.  When you're first trying it, your going to be relatively slow and clumsy compared to when you've mastered it.  If it takes a full twenty minutes to relax your body and empty your mind for scrying, then a twenty minute session is not going to be long enough for you.  But if you become more facile and can access the same state in five minutes, then a twenty minute sitting might be plenty.

Finally, with all this talk about timing, it bears mentioning that scrying sessions can end themselves--quite naturally, as it often happens.  It's normal to go into a scrying state willfully and gradually, and back out with the same gentleness.  You can observe it and even, with practice, control it--like a scuba diver adjusting her depth.  Sometimes your conscious mind will intrude and tell you that it's time to stop.  Sometimes, I gather, an entity will do it for you. I had an early (and very memorable) experience of being suddenly kicked back into my body by some sort of astral bouncer.  It's like flying Southwest Air:  Sometimes you land like a feather, sometimes you go skittering down the runway and spill your peanuts.

We'll save the topic of intentions for a later post, but setting an intention can be a good alternative to deciding on a strict time table.  Think about what you want to accomplish from the session ("I'm going to visit the lunar sphere of Yesod."  Or,  "I'm going to have a vision of where I left my car keys."), and you'll likely find yourself drifting back to reality once you've accomplished your intention.

In conclusion:  Sit as long as you comfortably can--five or ten minutes is probably good for a raw beginner.  Don't burn out and don't hurt yourself.  You can work your way up from there, but don't assume that long sessions are the goal.  Timers are helpful...or maybe not.  Sometimes it's over when it's over.  About an hour is probably enough for anyone, unless you live in an ashram or hermit cave.  Have fun!

Artwork:  Edmund Dulac, "Father Time" (1906)

Crystals to covet: Giant hawk's eye sphere

Oooohhh....look what's up on eBay right now--this sublime hawk's eye sphere measuring over 10 inches.  (Cheekbones not included, alas.)  Anybody have $13,000 they don't need?

What's the matter with tap water? A no-nonsense approach to water-scrying

 Okay, so I'm generally pretty tolerant of other people's magical rules and guidelines.  After all, magic and divination are very subjective arts, and have long been taught through word of mouth and tradition.  This means that there's a wealth of folklore associated with them.  Unfortunately, this also means that there are some truisms that are speculative, dogmatic, or just plain stupid--and they will never die.  Instead, they get propagated in book after book or repeated online as gospel.  My current favorite:  Never, ever use tap water for water-scrying.

Obviously, water that comes out of the faucet at the turn of the handle is just too mundane and accessible to fill your scrying bowl.  Proper water must be gathered from a lake or stream, under a full moon, preferably from a sacred site after asking the blessings of the local fairies.  (Rainwater is reputedly acceptable, as well--which is great news unless you happen to be in Texas in the summer.  Ahem.)  Never have I heard or read a satisfactory explanation for "gathered" water is necessary to produce visions.  But I have a couple of theories that sound plausible:  Maybe pond scum contains little-known psychoactives that are good for scrying.  Or maybe the undines get filtered out at the water-treatment plant.  Maybe making your whole room smell like a lake is essential for getting in touch with the element of Water.  I wonder, if I just get a bowl and fill it with my tears of frustration, would that be okay for scrying?

Now, I'm making fun, and perhaps being a little bit harsh.  If doing a preparation ritual is valuable to you, if it seems essential to your scrying practice, then do it.  However, if you're like me and (I suspect) most people, it's hard enough to find half an hour to dim the lights and close the door.  Never mind finding the time harvest the right water.  Also, these days most pagans/occultists are urban folks.  Unless you happen to have a nice babbling brook within walking distance, gathering water means driving somewhere.  That uses our finite fuel resources and pollutes the air and water, and how do you think the undines feel about that?

And before we start talking about the transformative power of ritual, lets not forget that too often, all these rules and rituals become an excuse for avoiding practice:  "Ooh, I want to learn to scry, but first I need to save up for that pewter cauldron and moonstone necklace, then I need to wait till the next full moon so I can go harvest some moonwater."  No you fuckin' don't.  Just grab that glass that came with the Jim Beam, turn on the tap, and go to town.  It's better than nothing, and the pewter cauldron will still be there when you're ready for it.

Also--I'm not jaded about tap water.  Tap water is pretty damn cool.  There are billions of people in this world who would love to not have to walk to some creek to get water.  So try some gratitude, water snobs. Also, if you just take a minute to think about the miracle of the water cycle, you realize pretty quickly that water is water.  That "ordinary" stuff coming out of your faucet has been in clouds and waves and dinosaur veins and toilet bowls.  All water is magical, whether it comes out of the tap or the well of fuckin' Avalon.

Now, I like pretty tools as much as the next person  But there's a difference between appreciating the beauty of tools, and fetishizing them.  To externalize the process of magic too much is disempowering to the practitioner.  When you experience visions they are (depending on who you ask) in your head, in the ether, reflecting off your aura--but they're not literally in a bowl of water, tap or otherwise.  The only reason that tap water won't work for scrying is if you believe that it won't work for scrying.  And you shouldn't believe that, because it's just dumb.

To know, to will, to dare, to keep silent: The Four Powers and the seer's art

To know, to will, to dare, to keep silent:  These powers are related to the four classical elements and are the cornerstones of Hermetic magic.  (They're also used by some Wiccans.)  These guiding principles are known by various names: Four Powers of the Sphinx, Four Powers of the Magi, Motto of the Sphinx, the Four Pillars, the Powers of the Elements, the Witch's Pyramid, the Magic Pyramid, etc.  Taken together, they form a "simple but not easy" program of personal improvement and spiritual development.  Today, we'll consider the Four Powers and how they relate specifically to the practice of divination and seership.

To know (sciere).  This is a good one to start with, since you could argue that "to know" is the entire point of becoming a seer.  When we sit down to scry or ask for a prophetic dream, we're hoping to get a peek into worlds beyond our everyday reality.  (Or, more prosaically, to find out what's happening in the next room or next week.)  All of the seer's work is done in the service of knowledge.

So, how do we cultivate this power?  Well, the most obvious way is through learning.  We learn through words and images, from teachers who have gone before us.  While human beings have made great technological and social strides in a few thousand years, our basic mental and spiritual capacities don't appear to evolve so quickly--I'm sure there's nobody alive today who's smarter than Plato or more spiritually aware than the author of the Psalms.  And what has worked for the ancients will most likely work today.  So, part of "to know" is to recognize wisdom where its given and try not to reinvent the wheel.  What's the saying artists have--learn the rules before you break 'em?  For the seer this means studying and practicing the spiritual technologies that are available--the time-honored practices of meditation and prayer, for instance.  Then adapt them if necessary.

We also gain knowledge through our own experiences.  Moments of teaching occur throughout the day, and inspiration flashes through the synapses in milliseconds.  But most of the time we're just too busy and distracted to give our full focus to these transmissions  Seership is a way to set the process to slow motion.  We put ourselves in a relaxed state and tell the universe, "Say it one more time.  I'm listening."  So ask yourself a few questions:  Are you honoring the process of learning with your time and attention?  Are you keeping good enough records, so that the insights you catch hold of won't easily be forgotten?  Are you growing in self-awareness as you experience different visions and states?

Which brings us to what is certainly the hardest part of knowing: To know yourself.  The questions associated with self-knowledge are even more difficult:  Why do you want to be a seer?  What will you do with knowledge once its acquired?  They obviously don't have easy answers, but even if you can't answer them completely, it's helpful to keep them foremost in your mind.  The power of knowledge is associated with the classical element of Air.  When perfected, it gives you the ultimate perspective: a birds-eye view of yourself, your surroundings, and your place in the world.  This alone sounds like it could be the work of a lifetime.  But wait, there's more...

To will (velle).

A seer must be strong-willed.  As a member of homo sapiens, you have an extremely powerful and marvelous piece of frontal lobe, that nonetheless has a tendency to overestimate its own importance.  The conscious mind is so active that it would prefer to dominate every waking minute, leaving very little space for intuitive functioning.  It takes a strongly developed will to demand that your normal way of seeing get the hell outta the way, and let your less-developed sixth sense have a turn at the window.

From this, the power of Fire, we derive the inspiration to do some really hard work--the proverbial fire under your ass, if you will.  There is no "easy" method of divination--if there were, then everybody would be doing it.  No matter how talented you are, you still have to hone the skills of single-pointed concentration and visualization.  You have to overcome the tendency of the mind to wander to mundane things, and of all your conscious and unconscious desires to distract and deceive you.  You have to have the will to do your practice even when you don't really feel like it or when other obligations are clamoring for your time.

To dare (audere).

This power is associated with the element of Water, which has a long, long history of being emblematic of the psychic arts.  And with good reason:  Elemental Water is the source of creativity, intuition, and connection. Even in the mundane world, we talk about "streams" of consciousness and "going with the flow"--sometimes an inspiration "springs" forth or we "pool" our ideas with others.  Many traditional scrying devices (bowls, ponds, and wells) are tied to Water.  (Even crystals were thought by the Greeks to be made of water, permanently frozen.)  And the seer's practice of letting go--letting words and images float on by without attempting to direct them--is a watery skill.

But lest I make it sound like seership means drifting off into a gentle pool of soul-melting bliss, let's not forget that "daring" implies courage, not just happy abandon.  Are you really ready to confront all the beasties that lurk in the dark reaches of your unconscious?  Are you ready to start ringing the doorbells of the other denizens of the universe, which might just wanna pinch your l'il rosy cheeks...or not?  Taking up this calling means giving up your fixations on safety, predictability, and objectivity.  No one can promise you that you won't go crazy.   Nobody can prove to you that you're not actually wasting your time with all this stuff.  "To dare" means having the faith and the audacity to do a cannonball into the deep well of the mysterious.  Wooooooo!

To keep silent (tacere).

Ah, yes, the ancient art of shutting your piehole.  (Often said to be the most overlooked of the four.)  Just as some strains of Hermeticism hold that Earth isn't a real element, some people evidently feel that silence isn't a real magical skill, to their great detriment.  I'm sure you've seen the oversharer in action at your local psychic circle / coven / metaphysical group.  There's almost invariably someone who's so eager to share their successes or brag about their newfound talents that they just end up alienating everyone and looking like a fool.  Sometimes there's two or more of these folks and they spend the whole time one-upping each other (which at least spares other people the misery of conversing with them).  Meanwhile, on the periphery you find the more mature practitioners, who don't talk about their abilities unless someone asks--and sometimes not even then.

But the purpose of magical silence isn't just to look inscrutable and cool--although that's definitely a fringe benefit.  Resisting the temptation to chatter really can benefit your practice.  In the ancient world, boasting about personal success was thought to draw the malediction of the evil eye or jealous spirits.  Modern practitioners are more likely to say that blabbing too much will scatter the energy of your working or diminish your enthusiasm.  At the very least, you can be sure that touting your skills will attract the wrong kind of attention, at least as far as your own psychic development is concerned.  Some people will be outright dismissive, and this kind of skepticism isn't helpful in the early stages of learning the craft.  On the other hand, some people will be way too into what you're doing; their neediness will feed your vanity and distract you from the work at hand.  Allow a new practice to be nurtured in darkness, the way a seed is able to grow to viability in the darkness of the soil.

The power of Earth encompasses not only literal silence, but inner stillness and patience.  Patience is really a form of courage--the courage to wait and see, to not be anxious for results, but to trust that our efforts will bear fruit.  When we possess the strength of Earth, we're okay with allowing our abilities to develop slowly, in pace with our (hopefully) growing maturity and wisdom.   Earth is also about integration--bringing everything together in a harmonious whole, symbolized by the pantacle.  I like to think that Earth is represented last among the four powers, because part of learning the power of Earth is integrating it with everything the other elements have taught you.  For example, you use your discernment to know when and where to break a silence--which brings us back to the first power, "to know".

(In case you're wondering why I decided to break my own silence with this blog--well, I'm thinking it through as I go along.  I certainly hope it's been helpful to you.)

Love and blessings,

M

The internal monologue: Friend or foe?

All right, so...I want to talk a little about the internal monologue, as it relates to scrying.  The internal monologue is the voice of your conscious mind as it describes its environment, makes judgements, has insights and ideas, gives you a play-by-play of your physical and emotional condition.  Everybody has one of these mental commentary tracks.  A sample:  "It sure feels good to be sitting in this nice comfortable chair.  It's kind of hot upstairs, though.  Maybe I should get up and go downstairs.  Nah.  I hope we don't have another warm winter.  I really don't want to go to work tomorrow.  My boss is such a stupid bitch.  No, that's not a right thing to say--I don't even know her that well.  She should be nicer, though.  I wonder what's in the fridge."

When you begin meditation practice, one of the first things you learn is how to silence this internal voice, or at least diminish its impact on your concentration.  As I beginner, I tried to squash it by yelling, "SSShhhhsshhh! Quiet, you!" at my mind every time I had a stray thought.  (Hint: That doesn't work.)  Some more effective methods include repeating a mantra, focusing on your breath, hearing your thoughts fading into silence or visualizing them blowing away.  Eventually, with a little practice, you can experience a rare moment of stillness--a quiet interval where your brain's not talking to you and your body's not asking for anything.  Then your internal monologue starts in with the "Wow!  I did it! This is so new and exciting!" thoughts, and you're back to square one.

But scrying is not meditation--not exactly.  Scrying sessions often begin and end with short periods of meditation, but the middle interval is a separate state of consciousness.  I'd say it's like goats and cows: They have more similarities than difference, but they are different animals.  In meditation, one of the goals is to achieve freedom from stimuli, mental or otherwise.  Total stillness and blankness.  (Zen student: "Master, in meditation today I had a vision of the Heavenly Buddha seated on a golden lotus."  Zen master:  "Just focus on your breathing and it will go away.")  When you scry, however, you actually want those stray bits and pieces to intrude upon your consciousness--that's sort of the whole point.  They are the packets that contain psychic information, wisdom from the higher realms, gems from the unconscious, pretty pictures, or whatever it is your after.   I don't know if this is an East vs. West thing.  I also don't think the two modes are incompatible or truly divergent.  Clearly, some of skills and techniques you learn from a practice of meditation are very useful for getting yourself into the mental state necessary for scrying.  And the reverse is probably true as well.

So, normally when you scry, the internal monologue is still active.  It's pretty much always active, unless you use one of the techniques for turning it off.  Your conscious mind may be feeding you random thoughts to distract you, telling you encouraging or discouraging things about your practice, or describing or commenting on the things you see.  This last function is the most useful.  (Although you have to be careful about over-analyzing your visions--as some remote-viewing experiments have shown, often the vision is correct, but the interpretation is wrong.)  Some sources I've read even recommend using narrative voice to go along with the images in the speculum.  Using this method, you actually talk yourself through the session out loud.  "I see dark clouds.  They're lit from behind.  Sunlight?  Now they're moving, forming a funnel shape...oh, it's a tree.  There's someone sitting under the tree..." and so on.  This technique works similar to a mantra.  Describing the pictures in words keeps your verbal center busy, blocking out extraneous thoughts.  It's also a good way for a beginner to see what it feels like to have a continuous stream of visions, and to acknowledge that they really are seeing something--even if it's just various colors and shapes.  Some scryers also report that hearing their own voice has a self-hypnotic effect.  You start out just describing what you see, and as you proceed, the voice will sound stranger and farther away, and before you know it you're in a nice little dissociative state.

There are other good reasons not to banish your internal monologue while scrying.  Dictating your impressions out loud has one obvious benefit:  You can record them for later.  We've already covered how important note-taking is, and recording your sessions is a way to get detailed notes without the break in concentration of reaching for a pen and paper.  And of course, if you're scrying for someone else, or in a group session, you have to be able to be able to talk and see at the same time.  You have to use words to share, because they aren't seeing what you're seeing (probably).  Finally, there's the issue that scrying isn't just a visual phenomena--it can also trigger clairaudience in certain people.  Psychic impressions of words, phrases, even whole conversations can enter the mind spontaneously--and these don't sound all that different from ordinary verbal thoughts.  Of course you have to learn to tell them apart, but if you reflexively shush every word that pops into your head, you might miss out on some useful information.

Speaking from experience, I will say that the internal monologue does act as a tether to the conscious mind, keeping you from reaching down into the deepest trance states.  But that's not necessarily a bad thing.  The deepest trance states don't always yield the most content.  (Just like how the deepest sleep is often dreamless.)  Those deep, deep states are enjoyable, and can be profound in their own way.  But it's harder to bring nuggets back from them.  Keeping one part of your mind tied to the realm of words helps with retention--as you mentally verbalize your visions, you're actually storing them for later.  Think "canoe" to yourself, and you're more likely to remember that you scried a canoe. Again, it's similar to dream retention.  What practice do they always advise to help remember your dreams?  Keeping a dream journal, naturally!  Dreams evaporate quickly upon waking, but if you can scribble down just a few key words, you'll be able to recall the dream vividly for days afterward.  Same deal with scrying.

In conclusion, while the internal monologue is usually cast as the baddie in meditative and/or spiritual practice, it does have some useful functions for scrying.  The key is to be able to minimize irrelevant chatter, while staying open to clairaudient impressions and using your verbal faculties to retain and communicate what you see.  (Not easy, admittedly.  But nobody said it would be.)  Also, while scrying is not the same critter as meditation, doing a traditional meditation practice won't hurt, and will certainly help keep the unwanted noise to a minimum.

Good luck!

-M

Dissecting the "P" word: What's wrong with "psychic"?

Over the years, I've encountered a lot of people who do metaphysical work of one kind or another and are uncomfortable with the word "psychic."  I'm definitely one of them.  Just hearing the term makes my eyebrows tilt inward, and saying it makes my hands leap up into involuntary air quotes.  So, I'd like to spend some time unpacking the word--what it really means, and what about it makes people's skin crawl.  This may seem like a semantic rabbit hole I'm going down here, but bear with me.

1. So, let's start with the obvious knock against "psychic"--its connotations are kind of sleazy.  Sure, it's Greek for "of the soul," but somehow that noble word got saddled with images of ugly neon signs and the back pages of irreputable magazines.  (Thanks, Miss Cleo.) The fact that some jurisdictions require the disclaimer "for entertainment purposes only" from psychic readers does the word further injury.  People who believe that they have genuine abilities just don't want their god-given talents confused with the smooth dealings of a cold reader or mentalist.  It's no wonder you see so many business cards for the "intuitive counselor" and the "angelic life coach" around town, with nary a "psychic" to be found.

2. "Psychic" is divisive, especially when used as a noun. It implicitly divides people into two categories--those who are and those who aren't--when most people agree that psychic talents exist on a continuum.  Furthermore, the word can have an unpleasant ring for people whose gifts manifested early in life.  Many of us have always felt weird or different, and chances are, the first word we learned that described our otherness was "psychic."  Maybe the word got slapped on us when we accidentally displayed our talents in some way that caught the notice of family or friends.   Maybe we heard it applied to an alien species on television and thought, "That's it.  I must be from another planet."  Now, as adults, we can deal with the fact that we are different--if only because of the fact that not everybody believes in or studies this stuff.  (Whether everybody is or can be psychic is a whole 'nother can of worms, which we'll have to savor later.)  But the word draws attention to the difference in a way that belies how common psychic experiences are to human beings--and brings back crummy memories, besides.

3. "Psychic" is unspecific.  There are just too many psychic gifts, all trying to crowd under that one umbrella term.  There's the "big four" which have been most extensively studied (clairvoyance, precognition, telepathy, and psychokinesis) and many more which are on the fringes (mediumship, psychic vampirism, extraterrestrial communication, and energy work of all flavors).  There are people who have psychic dreams, psychic feelings in their big toe, and people who claim not to have any psychic ability at all, but have mad skills when you hand them a deck of tarot cards.  So describing a person as "psychic" is like calling someone "creative."  It's mildly descriptive, but it doesn't provide a whole lot of information about what it is that they actually do--do they paint, do they make windchimes out of beer cans, or what?

4. "Psychic" is a pretty stiff claim, the kind that raises the hackles of skeptics and even moderate believers.  Me, I like to think of myself as a thinking occultist, one of an elite fraternity of seekers who aren't out to scam people or massage our own egos.  One of the markers of this fraternity is that we are hell-bent on being honest and forthcoming about what we can and cannot do.  And precision of language is a big part of that.  Thus, I'm comfortable saying that I have psychic experiences, even frequent ones--but to round that up to "I'm psychic" feels like an extravagant claim that I can't really back up, especially not to the harshest skeptics.  (Say "psychic," and those folks hear "omniscient.")  Most psychic events are spontaneous and kind of random, but claiming to be psychic implies the ability to gain information at will--in a deliberate, consistent and focused way.  I'm certainly not there yet, and furthermore, I've never met anyone who is.

5. I've saved my biggest objection for last:  The whole concept of psychic ability is an extremely limited (and limiting) paradigm.  Dean Radin expresses it best in Entangled Minds, when he says that we need to stop thinking of psychic phenomena powers of the mind, but instead as properties of the universe.  This is an incredibly important and overlooked point.  To focus our amazement on abilities "possessed" by an individual is to miss the truly amazing realities they imply--a splendid unity and complexity in the universe, properties of time and space that are almost beyond imagining.  In other words, the next time you have a so-called psychic perception, the conclusion you should be drawing is not "I'm special" but rather, "This world I'm a part of is incredible."

So, that's just a handful of my reservations about the word "psychic."  (Whew.  I feel much better now.)  I'm not saying nobody should use the word, or even proposing an alternative. I'm just enumerating the ways I find the term problematic, and why I can't quit doing those douche-y air quotes when I say it.  I'd be interested in reading some others' opinions.  Do you use the word "psychic" to describe yourself?  Why or why not?