Saturday, Aug 30, 2008
Inside the ballroom, a heavenly mood was set by soft lights, candles and a beatific-looking guy playing angelic keyboard music. On the sides of the room were water dispensers and tissue boxes. To the rear, a spiritual marketplace, offering spiritual CDs, angel paraphernalia, Godiva chocolate snacks, and stacks of Van Praagh's books. Glossy brochures and a sign-up sheet promoted his cruises to the Caribbean and South Pacific, costing from $1,850 to $5,550.
When Van Praagh entered, his fans went wild. Dressed in a purple shirt and tan slacks, with dramatically dark hair and triangle-shaped eyebrows and mustache, he joked that "they cast tall" when Ted Danson was tapped to play him in the TV miniseries.
Van Praagh said the message of his 20 years of work was this: There is no death. Our loved ones are still with us -- in a different form -- after they have passed into the spirit world. Van Praagh recapped his successes, threw in some humor, and previewed both the TV movie and his new series. When one woman stood to ask a question, Van Praagh noted she was surrounded by invisible cats. Cats and animals. Did she have a lot of cats? No. Did she work with a lot of animals? No. Did she work at a veterinarian's office? No. Did she have a friend who was a vet? No. The woman asked, "Do you see a Chihuahua?"
"No," Van Praagh said.
Although he struck out miserably, I gave him points for resisting an easy hit. A "cold reading" psychic might have exclaimed, "No, wait! It is a Chihuahua!"
Van Praagh led a group meditation, designed to demonstrate the energy around us and prepare us for spiritual messages. He spoke hypnotically as we closed our eyes and felt the energy between our palms. We then aimed our palms inward to feel the energy and the messages from our hearts.
We were to visualize a beautiful garden, a gorgeous blue sky and a brilliant rainbow. In front of us, we saw a person who had passed, a person we loved and missed very much. We asked that person to point a healing ray at us (Van Praagh says physical healings are possible). The person then handed us a bejeweled box. Inside, Van Praagh said, was something for us.
I couldn't for the life of me conjure a garden or rainbow, not even an image of my mom, although -- just six months after her death -- I missed her desperately. When we opened our eyes, many people were crying. Although I flunked this exercise, I was also moved to tears. Focusing so intently on my mother left me with an aching sorrow.
During the three-and-a-half hour session, Van Praagh answered several general questions and performed six readings. He spoke quickly, guessing names of those passed over, asking if a person understood a certain reference. More often than not, he was right. In a few cases people tried to confirm things that were way off base. He asked a woman if she knew a Linda who had passed over. She replied that a friend sitting next to her had a friend named Linda -- who was alive.
"I'm sure we all know a Linda," he said. "Thanks for trying."
In a dual reading, he found two women sitting next to each other whose sons had died. He correctly told one her son had been in and out of hospitals, had had a mental condition, had died a drug-related death. He said two other children had passed, and the mom agreed. He asked her who Michael was.
"That's my son," she said, beginning to cry.
He then conveyed messages from her father, including valid details about her childhood. "Who is Luke?" he asked.
"Oh my God, that is my dad."
The woman nearly swooned.
"Well, who did you think I was talking to?" Van Praagh asked.
He gave accurate details about the death of the other woman's son: It was a car crash, he lost control of the car, a window was broken, and mom was asked to donate his organs.
During breaks in the show, people headed to the back of the room to buy merchandise. Van Praagh had taken every opportunity to talk about his books. After the longest break, when he was about to return, we were asked to "stand up and applaud." We did.
The night ended with another meditation. At its conclusion, he told us to repeat after him.
"Happy am I, healthy am I, holy am I."
Again. We said it again.
"And so it is," Van Praagh said.
That last part was his signature ending, and maybe only he is supposed to say it, but we were psychic sheep and we repeated it anyway. When we opened our eyes, we were invited to line up again if we wanted Van Praagh to autograph copies of his books. As I left, I did not feel particularly happy, healthy or holy. Actually, I was sad and misty-eyed again after concentrating on my mom during the closing meditation. I was irritated by the sales pitches and the fact that all but one of the readings had involved someone in the expensive seats.
But I was also impressed. Van Praagh had made enough hits -- and people's reactions had been so genuine -- that I believed there was something to this, that he really might have special abilities.
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