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Clemens struggles for metaphors, playing with the idea that the process is like radar, and then settling on something else: "It's like my radio receiver picking up the radio waves of his sister and the property," she says. "Sometimes it comes in as an image. It used to come in as voice or a thought. Now it comes as a knowing. It's the hardest thing in the world to describe. I just know. It took me a long time to accept that these things, I just knew."XV. DO-IT-YOURSELF CLEMENS
You could pay Clemens $180 per hour (two-hour minimum) to figure out whether your house and furniture and objets d'art have what she variably calls "cooties," "bad mojo" or "bad energy." And/or you could take her advice and become a psychic yourself. In something as mundane as "buying furniture, we all have to use other senses that we have in our bodies besides the five main ones. We need to cultivate those other senses—sort of like a sixth, seventh or eighth sense."
Everyone can access these senses, she says. "Most women use them but aren't even aware of it in our culture because they're not taught it," she says. "Our culture has become so left brain that if we can't prove it in current scientific terms, then it doesn't exist."
And it's important to note that not everything "has cooties. There are certainly things that have loving and caring energies."
How do we know which things have cooties and which do not?
For you and me, it ain't easy. "We need to shut up, sit down and be quiet," she says. "We're in front of the TV, the radio, video games, sports events all day long. We're not quiet. We need to learn to just be. We can't hear, see or feel anything until we're quiet."
When we're quiet, Clemens believes—and away from electromagnetic fields produced by electronics (microwaves, cell phones, and TV sets, for instance, but also emanating from the omnipresent electrical wiring in your home or office, alarm systems in stores and the battery-operated watch on your wrist)—we can begin to "experience the stillness. That takes a while because we're uncomfortable not doing. We're triple-A-type personalities—do, do, do. But there's a lot of need to not do. Only then can we start using those other senses.
"Just like dogs can hear higher vibrations and cats can see at night, humans can tap into the universe—or be the universe. We are the universe."
Somewhere in there, Clemens says, somewhere in the gaps between our breaths, in the slow space that yawns open when one thought trails off and the next one hasn't appeared on the mental horizon, somewhere in there our true humanity begins. And we can figure out furniture, too, which is nice.
Clemens says buying new is no guarantee. Along with steep profits, sweatshops (for example) produce great sadness—sadness (if you believe Clemens) that weaves itself into the very fabric of virtually everything we wear, that is hardwired into most of our electronics, that courses from the hands of stooped pickers and onto the strawberries of the field.XVI. CONCLUDING NOTES
One nuclear-hot afternoon in late July, I stood out front of Daniel and Damon's house with Clemens. The wind—like a gust from a hair dryer—lifted her kimono of searing blue, blue matched by her eyes, eyes framed by dark hair and fair skin. We stepped in the house (comps in the neighborhood suggest the market value is approaching seven figures); Clemens removed her shoes. I imagined her little white feet as energy receptors, the psychic equivalent of a blind person's hands.
The high point was low-key, no more dramatic than adjusting a thermostat: Clemens invited the spirits to leave, stoked the salt to a blue flame, and told Daniel and Damon they might have to repeat the process now and then.
Out back, it was like the inside of a convection oven. When Clemens put her hand on my chest and told me not to worry about the son I was worried about—worries I'd uttered to no one—I was finished. By that time, I was craving the arctic certainty of slide rules, the company of atheists and engineers, the zeroes and ones of a computer programmer. I was falling into a crack between doubt and faith, between science and what seems like magic, into the uncertain space between my breaths. We said nothing else. For a moment, it was quiet.Research by David Kirkendall.
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