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That
last sentiment is not entirely unfounded. Laveaux's
gravesite in St. Louis Cemetery is covered with beads and coins,
which people leave in the hopes of invoking her spirit to help them
through some grave or persistent trouble.
I
didn't hear from Laveaux's spirit, myself, but on my second day in the
city, I found my psychic adviser. One of my concerns was that I would be
"taken" by someone who preys on tourists. I believe there are
people who are "gifted," but I also believe that there are
those who are no more than actors preying on people's trust and
gullibility. My fear was even more intensified in New Orleans since
'seers' seemed to line every corner.
I
decided that I would not go to someone sitting on a street corner with a
deck of cards and a string of beads in hand. While my decision may have
been unfair to several good 'seers' who conduct their business in the
street, it was my way of weeding through some of the choices. I also
decided to bring my intuition into the search. Something about my
ultimate choice would draw my attention, and I would know he or she was
the one.
|
Rev.
Zombie's
House of Voodoo on St. Peter's Street in the French Quarter |
That
"something" happened in Rev. Zombie's House of Voodoo on St.
Peter Street in New Orleans' famed French Quarter. I went to the shop
because a tour I was interested in left from there. Since I arrived a
little early, I looked around the Voodoo Shop.
There
were Voodoo dolls, masks, beads, books and other doodads that were said
to have a lot of meaning to those versed in the esoteric. As I browsed,
a bald man approached me. "Hi," he said. "Do you want to
have your tarot cards read?"
I
looked up at him. I wouldn't have known that he read
tarot cards just by looking at him. There was no glowing sign in the
store that advertised him as a reader. And most importantly, he strongly
resembled and reminded me of a friend and former co-worker who was also
interested in psychic phenomena.
That
this man would remind me of someone I know and trust and for that person
he reminded me of to be as interested in psychic phenomena as I was, was
too coincidental for me to overlook. I had found my reader.
I
followed the man, whose name was Arthur, through a beaded doorway and
sat across from him. He shuffled the cards, furrowed his brow, and
started to talk. He didn't ask me a lot of questions. Rather, he told me
things that he had no way of knowing.
He
told me my sister is pregnant and getting ready to have a baby. Sure
enough, she's due at the beginning of the year. He told me something
about my niece. Not only had I not mentioned a niece, but the bit of
information that he gave me was something I didn't even know yet. Since
I returned from New Orleans, I learned that Arthur was right.
The
small successes he had in telling me things about myself made me trust
his judgment and the knowledge that he was able to glean. He told me my
body was in dire need of potassium and said I must eat bananas. While
never a fan of bananas before, I took his words seriously. The fruit has
been a staple of my diet ever since.
He
gave me some general advice about career and romance and spirituality;
nothing too heavy, but enough to give my heart a lift.
Whether
or not Arthur proves to be right in those arenas, really doesn't matter.
My heart will take a lift any way it can get it.
Well, that was fun. Now, let's get back to Christmas!
How about a slide show of some of the mansions in the
Garden
District? Some are decorated and some are not, but
they're really fun to look at!
If your browser is Internet Explorer, start
here.. Otherwise click
here.
After the show, continue on for a
Real New Orleans'
(N'awlins) Treat. You won't want to miss this place! 
Let's
go!
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