Andrew's Angels

Yesterday, I went to my second appointment with my new spiritual healer, Andrew*. (This is where the hippie part of "Debutante Hippie" comes into play.) Anyway, I've suffered from migraines all my life, and for those of you unfamiliar with this type of existence, you'd pretty much be willing to smear bird shit on your face if it would mean you'd never have another migraine. So when I heard about this guy, I figured it was worth a shot.

The first appointment had been pretty uneventful. I didn't really say all that much, mainly because I was curious and a little on edge. (Despite my obsession with the Lifetime program Lisa Williams: Life Among the Dead, I'm not really all that into supernatural shit.) But as I'd gone to my first appointment with a headache in progress and left ten minutes later without an ounce of pain, my curiosity had been piqued and I had some questions for ol' Andy.

Andrew the Healer is originally from Scotland and sounds like Mrs. Doubtfire. He even uses the word "wee" from time to time. He's very big on the energy in his meeting area being one of serenity and thus everything is set up to be calming. Sitar music, candles, soft lighting, etc. When you arrive there are usually several people strewn about in the waiting room with their eyes closed in deep meditation.

Which only makes the idea of me being in this type of environment all the more ridiculous, because I'm easily one of the most frantic people I know. I'm usually a whirlwind of insanity, rushing around, making even the dumbest things as complex as possible. I'm the world's worst meditator, as I immediately start thinking about stupid shit like errands I need to run, boys I like, or my frustration with owning a cat that has both allergies and acne. (Seriously, how I got stuck with the feline equivalent of a nerdy eighth grader is beyond me.)

On my first trip, I felt sort of guilty for disrupting his energy field. Yesterday, I didn't give a damn.

"Hello lovely Elizabeth, how are you today?"

"Tired and stressed," (I figured I'd be honest) "...and you?"

"I'm filled with bliss."

"Of course you are."

"Yes. But, you know, I'm always filled with bliss. Ever since the day I quit working from m'heed and started working from m' heart."

"Yes, well, it's probably very easy to be filled with bliss and work from your heart when you're not in advertising."

"Not really."

The fact my eyes were shut didn't keep me from rolling them. We talked a few seconds more about bliss when he put my hands on my head.

"Um, so how exactly did you get into all this healing stuff?" I asked.

"I was born with the ability."

"Yeah, but I mean, did you do any sort of training or whatnot for this?"

"I had a fifteen year apprenticeship with angels."

...

Ask a stupid (and arguably insulting) question, get a stupid (and arguably hilarious) answer.

I kept waiting for him to follow this comment up with some sort of clarification, but he didn't. So with his hands on my head and my feet on the floor (to keep me "grounded" during the healing), I pressed him.

"So how was that for you? The apprenticeship, that is."

"Oh, it was lovely."

"It never got annoying having a bunch...or a flock, maybe? are they called a flock?...anyway, a whatever of angels looking over your shoulder, pointing out where you're screwing up?"

"No no, they just guide me. Tell me how a person is suffering and what to do about it."

"Okaaay. So what do they tell you about me?"

"That you think too much with your heed and not enough with your heart, but that you're extremely pure of heart." I was trying very hard not to laugh at this, when Andrew actually broke into a fit of Scottish giggles. "They've...hee...just corrected me that...hee...you think a LOT with your heed and not with your heart."

And here's where my neurosis kicked in. My first thought was not, "Okay, this is officially a load of shit," but rather, "Wait, angels are mocking me? Seriously? What the hell did I ever do to them? But maybe they have a point? Shit, are they right? Shit. SHIT!!!"

"Oh, and they tell me you're having trouble with your female bits."

WHAT????

"Um, my female bits? What's wrong with my female bits??? Are they telling you?!!" It was in this moment of frenzy I realized I'd completely lost my mind.

"No, but no worries. We'll get you all sorted out today."

Oh, really, Andrew? I'm probably dying of cancer-of-the-everything-down-there and my cervix will no doubt fall out as I'm leaving this appointment today, but you're going to get me sorted out with your hands on m'heed???

"There. All done. May God bless you, lovely Elizabeth."

And because I'm that vain, when he called me "lovely" all was forgiven - the angelic mockery, the prophecy of cervical doom - and I left with a smile on my face...

...only after making an appointment for next week.

*Names have been changed to protect the holy.