Yesterday I learned that a beloved friend and well-known psychic, Angelica, died in January. The last time I’d heard from her, she had sent me a link to her “Your Higher Self” website, which I occasionally visited. Imagine my distress when her website failed to show up on a Google search, but her obituary did! Learning of Angelica’s passing was a shock, although perhaps it shouldn’t have been. Even though she exuded eternal youth, it’s possible she was born in the 1930s like my parents. Unfortunately, I will never know because her obituary did not give her birthdate or any information about the cause of death, nor the name of next of kin. As in life, Angelica died shrouded in mystery.
I first met Angelica in 2001 when the marriage proposal I’d been expecting from Hank, my boyfriend of seven years, didn’t materialize. Concerned about my broken heart, my friend Jenni treated me to a psychic session with Angelica, claiming that the clairvoyant had helped her in a similar situation. Reluctant at first, I remembered that my mother had also visited a fortune teller six months before meeting and then marrying my father, whose name started with the initial “J,” as predicted in the tea leaves.
Approaching Angelica’s faded triple-decker home in Cambridgeport that humid summer day, I envisioned her gazing into a crystal ball with a turbaned head. However, when her front door creaked open, an ethereal figure floated out to greet me. With her diaphanous skin and delicate features, Angelica looked like a Pre-Raphaelite model. I was entranced by her radiant presence and singsong voice, as well as her living room full of mystical religious icons.
Without going into much detail, during our psychic session, Angelica told me that Hank was not my future husband. Instead, I would soon be moving overseas, where I would meet a “tall man with glasses,” my intended. She added that he would be revealed to me through a Russian icon. I squirmed in my seat; this was not what I longed to hear. I wanted reassurance that Hank would come around, that our long relationship wasn’t all for naught, that we were working toward a lasting commitment. But Angelica envisioned my future far differently.
“Soon you’ll be living in Eastern Europe,” was her first prediction. “You are going to leave Hank and Boston to embark on an Odyssey … a romantic and music-filled adventure.”
I jolted. How did this jive with my marriage-and-children plans with Hank?
Angelica added that she “saw” me teaching English as a Second Language in front of a classroom of students and emphasized that I would also rediscover my love of music. Although my future husband would not enter the picture for a while, I would meet other men and enjoy travels abroad in the meantime.
A lapsed classical pianist, I had to admit that the idea of reigniting my passion for music was alluring. Ditto for European travel, as I’d never been able to get the flying-phobic Hank on a transatlantic flight. Yet, I left Angelica’s place conflicted. While it was exhilarating to think the future held so much adventure, I wasn’t ready to sever my relationship with Hank—at least not yet. It would take six more months of frustration and dead-end conversations before I accepted it was finally time to settle down, not settle for. I couldn’t think of a better place to begin my Odyssey than in Budapest, land of my musical idol, Franz Liszt.
On a dismal winter’s day, I boarded my flight to Hungary, where I had enrolled in an English language teacher training course and soon taught my own students. The next year, I volunteered for the Liszt Music Academy and later sang there as a member of the Budapest Academic Choral Society. When the group was invited to sing in Israel during a time of heightened political tensions and violence, I phoned Angelica and asked her to “tune in” with regard to safety issues.
“You will be protected by scores of angels,” she said, encouraging me to join the three-week choral tour. I am forever grateful that I needed her advice, as singing Bach and Fauré in Jerusalem would become the highlight of my musical life.
A few months later, I phoned Angelica again after receiving mixed messages from a romantic interest in Amsterdam. Without divulging specifics, she told me that “David” was living “a double life.” As more of his mysterious behavior unfolded, I had to accept that her instincts were probably correct. Despite my fond feelings for him, I moved on.
Angelica was definitely on the mark about the “tall man with glasses,” whom I met unexpectedly during a trip to Finland. And yes, the “Russian icon” played an important role in bringing us together, just as she had foreseen. Yet, Angelica’s most powerful, prescient visions were yet to be revealed… (To be continued.)