The Mind, Body, Spirit Wellbeing Festival - It's Crystal Clear!

When my sister called me, excited to tell me she had got us tickets to the Mind, Body, Spirit wellbeing Festival I resisted the urge to exclaim ‘WTF!’

I decided I should go with an open mind… after all something so benign – what harm could it do?  I was surprised when I asked for predictions of how good it would be on a scale of 1= WTF to 10 being ‘far out man’ that my sister – spiritual as she is, expected it to be a 4. I did too. Upon arrival I almost ran back out again when I was confronted with the ‘omchanting tent’. Way too WTF on my scale already. I needed to lie down in the Mantra lounge. The brochure did boast offering ‘like minded people real-time shared experiences and sensory indulgences’. Real-time?  I was already having an out of body moment and I hadn’t been there 2 minutes.

Almost immediately after chanting we came upon the ‘Crystal Clear Psychics’, a gathering of tarot wielding, spirit chattering, angel sycophantic charlatans. I’m not like-minded and I mind! There is a reason psychics don’t win the lottery and faith healers don’t work in hospitals. There were lots of them, sat at a little table touting for business. Each person had introductory blub. Some boasted being psychic from birth. How would they know that? Maybe from past life regression or from their spiritual guides. Personally I think there’s a medical explanation for voices in your head but I’m not a Doctor. Some boasted they could answer specific questions (only the ones they knew the answer to). One had the absolute audacity to say they were honest!

A well dressed man – not new age in the slightest- mistook my interest for interest and offered a reading with one of his motley crew. For just £35 for 20 minutes I could receive a reading. I’d read enough already! £35 quid! It was crystal clear. I could see where the posh suit came from. I said politely that I was an atheist and shared no belief whatsoever in what he was offering. I think my sister was embarrassed by my bluntness so she had a reading. She wouldn’t let me sit in. I don’t know why not. She returned enlightened by £35, comforted by the guardianship of her archangel Michael and by the suggestion that she was about to embark on a new lucrative career in healing – the psychic suggested crystals. I’m tempted to do a bit of it myself at £110 per hour.

Whilst I waited I had a liver cleanse juice beverage of lime, apple and beetroot. It turns out, 3 hours after drinking it, I had the added and unexpected benefit of a colonic cleanse too.

I confess I got caught out. I was asked if I wanted to know what colour I was. I was a little confused. She told me she was referring to my personality. I is black, surely? Turns out, after some magical mathematical calculations based on my birth date I am Yellow. She described a yellow person. All sunshine and confidence and intellect. ‘That’s me,’ I enthused. I was so enthused I purchased her book. Nobody, when told positive things about themselves is likely to say ‘Nah, I’m fuck all like that’. In her book it said the tricky side of being yellow, when out of balance, is I can be sour, like a lemon, and ‘self centred’ and ‘egotistical’ and my words can be ‘direct and biting’ with critical and sarcastic humour. My sister was suddenly enthused too. ‘That’s just like you,’ she enthused. ‘Nah,’ I said, ‘That’s fuck all like me’.

My best purchase was ‘Smooth Again’ – a ‘natural way to remove hair and exfoliate’. The woman got a miniature micro crystal sanding pad (crystals again!) and sanded my arm. Within seconds I had a hairless smooth patch.  I didn’t stop to think that while it worked on soft fine arm hair it might not be so effective on my five o’clock shadow. I was so impressed I go two. I am hairy – but I do have a daughter too. There is a little finger attachment with its own little micro crystal sanding pad. I asked if that was for use on bum cracks. Apparently, its not. It’s for mustaches. I think they are missing a marketing opportunity there! Have you read the Veet reviews? It burns!

Excited, when I got home I sandpapered my daughter’s legs – in black jeans that quickly became hairy and white from dead skin. I think I sanded a little too hard as the dog got rather excited by the smell of burning flesh and began licking my jeans, my daughter’s legs and the sofa. It worked beautifully on her legs but she’s never shaved them so it was nice fine hair. I have never waxed or shaved my lips and used my little finger attachment to have a go. It worked but now I have sore, red, stingy skin. It’s rather unsightly! Maybe I rubbed a little rigorously. The woman said it worked on legs, arms, armpits, facial hair and bikini line. I’ve since found out it doesn’t work on all hair but I guess she wasn’t considering the challenges of serious brillo pad stubble. I think a Brazilian is well beyond its capacity.

I managed to avoid Budda Magic, New world Creations and crystal singing bowls (although all indications would suggest that’s where the big bucks are – in crystals! Crystal Clear Psychics at least!) but got caught one final time. This time it was with Salty Lamps. I wasn’t sold on the Salty Lamp’s ability to remove positive ions and electric smog or in its claim that it would enhance my meditative experiences, having never sat still long enough to meditate. I wasn’t even swayed by Feng Shui art connoisseurs’ appreciation of the lamp or it’s Himalayan credentials. What sold me was the assertion that it stopped snoring. Hubby snores like a train. If it stopped him the festival would have lived up to its purpose of enhancing my wellbeing. When I got home and read the leaflet enclosed with my Salty Lamp there was no reference to its ability to stop snoring. In the cold light of my Salty Lamp I suspect I was had. The 15 amp glow was not enlightening at all. I lifted it to rest it on top of the headboard above hubby’s pillow. I was suddenly, for the first time today, actually really enlightened. It’s a massive lump of salt. It’s really heavy. If that were to fall on his head, it would indeed stop his snoring.