My friends Ryan and Lisa accompanied me on a visit to the Whole Expo in search of some much-needed holistic healing.

I have one friend who takes anti-psychotics. Then I have another friend who is depressed over a breakup with my old roommate who was also chronically depressed. I myself am completely unmedicated and arguably mentally unstable as well. Seeing that we all could use a little more mental health in our lives, my friends and I visited a local holistic health conference called the Whole Expo.

Unfortunately, we didn’t find the mentally stabilizing and holistic environment we were looking for. Somehow tarot readings and psychic analyses just weren’t the metaphysical experiences we were searching for. We didn’t fit in, without bindis stuck to the center of our foreheads or giant crystal talismans hanging from silver chains around our necks.

Among the psychic booths, there were salesmen promoting strange devices including a laser machine said to whiten teeth, a foot bath that used electric current supposedly to detoxify feet and “space age” infrared amethyst crystal mats–all touted to bring greater health. I was seriously skeptical. The validity of all these technologies was seriously undermined just by being in the same exhibition hall as a “Photograph Your Own Energy” booth. I was quick to come to the conclusion that this whole conference was nothing but a big scam, but I stuck around because I was curious how an absurd event like this could be so popular.

Trained as mystical traveler, aye?

A pushy man pressured my friend Lisa into a “free nervous system analysis.” The man had her fill out paperwork, in which she disclosed information as to her terrible sleep schedule being a full-time college student and working night shifts at an assisted living home. The man took a hand-held gadget dotted with bright blue diodes and pressed it to her neck. The device was supposed to analyze the spine and indicate general health. After the “scan” he reported that she was sleep deprived and that she needed to pay for a full session with him. Now, did that hand-held gadget reveal this or did the paperwork tell him that? And come on, she really didn’t need anyone else to tell her she was sleep-deprived. When she declined the man’s imperative, he reproached her, “Don’t you care about your body?” and she walked away.

I realized, walking around, that the people who attended this event, were people of a particular kind. They were the “looking for something more” kind of folk. Many were overweight or looked otherwise unhealthy. Some were frail and aging. I especially spotted many lonely women. It seems of all things, these people exuded an extremely low self-confidence. All these people were in need, all of them searching for help and all of them fit to be swindled.

The unscrupulous merchant who accosted my friend was just one among many. I have never witnessed a more overt predatory display of business. It was an event that attracted hungry lambs with the promise of oats and hay, into a den of vampiric lions. Surly, these merchants are conscious of their scam. They have to be aware that they are con artists on some level, though I’m sure they’d prefer to be called businessmen as the word “businessman” validates almost any practice. And I think to myself, in a way, many businessmen are magicians. By slight of hand they find a weakness in our awareness and then they exploit it. And if the illusion is well played, the customer becomes a willing participant in his own exploitation.

We sat in on a free name-reading seminar hosted by a psychic who called herself Dolly Mae. She claimed that the composition of a person’s name held secrets about a person’s personality. She was an energetic speaker, quick to respond, smooth with her words, and confident. She had a magician’s charisma.

She told the audience about how Zacharys are fascinating people, but how they screw up their lives thanks to the ‘z’ in their name. She told about how names like Katie, with an ‘ie’ letter combination on the end are diminutive. She told about how people with an ‘o’ in their names are empathetic. She told about how people with ‘b’ in their names can relate to others well. And she told about how the letter ‘a’ means a person “is about himself.”

At one point during the seminar a woman in the audience asked, “I’m in the process of changing my name from Laurena to Maurena because it just feels better. Can you tell me if I’ve made the right decision?” Of course, Dolly Mae declined to answer the question as this was a “free” seminar, but she kindly invited the woman to visit her booth and have her name read for $20.

I realized at this moment, that the woman in the audience, like many of the people attending the conference, was seeking validation. Obviously, this woman knows more about herself than any psychic could ever tell her. And the people who she lives with should know her next best. But here she is looking for someone to validate herself, because apparently she can’t find it anywhere else. She wants someone else to recognize her own humanity. Isn’t it a shame that my own community has lead people like her to seek recognition by paying money to a stranger?

She’s changing her name for the people who don’t know her. She’s changing her name for people like Dolly Mae who make grand generalizations about people without knowing them. A name should take on the meaning we give it, and that meaning should be far more complex than anything Dolly Mae could write a book about.

As Dolly Mae described the supposed varying characteristics of different letters and letter combinations, I realized that the characteristics she was describing could apply to any person at one point or another in their life. I realized that all people share the same spectrum of emotions. Perhaps this is the one things psychics do understand. It doesn’t matter if you’re a professional wrestler, or a homemaker, we all share the human condition. Many times these emotions are repressed or suppressed, but ultimately we are very complex people made of very similar emotional needs, emotional desires and emotional situations. When a person seeks out a psychic, the psychic is only successful when they tell that person things he or she already knows. A psychic does nothing revolutionary, but validate what that person already knows. Yet there is something comforting and valuable in having someone recognize and validate who we are. This validation is best provided by those who love us. It’s simply a shame and embarrassment that so many people in my community don’t have someone to validate who they are.

When I went home, I began to do some research on the medical devices at the conference that didn’t seem quite legitimate. Most of them turned out to be gimmicks and scams, based on anecdotes and unsound science. It turns out that the teeth-whitening laser doesn’t use a laser at all, and that its whitening effect is only the result of temporary dehydration of the teeth. The ionic foot treatment was thoroughly documented as a scam on DeviceWatch.org. And the infrared light mats which were originally designed by NASA for astronauts seem rather useless considering most of us spend our days on earth bathing in the natural infrared rays of the sun.

If you think about it, a great deal of our consumption in this modern age, is fueled by our need to fill a void within ourselves. We wouldn’t need to purchase our own validation from a psychic, we wouldn’t need to whiten our teeth to impress others and we wouldn’t have to worry about businessmen preying on our weaknesses if we belonged to social circle where we would be known intimately. But for now, we, the disintegrated masses of the modern age, will seek the only temporary satisfaction we can acquire without an intimate social unit. We will seek it through consumption.

There was a girl I once knew in high school. She was a beautiful spirit. The kind of person who would cheer you up, when you were down. Her name was Marie.

That was four years ago. Upon a visit to my old hometown, I just happened to run into her. She was working for my father as a secretary. But when I first saw her, I did not recognize her. Her smile was gone, her face had rounded out, her hair, which had once fell long and full, was tied back carelessly and she was wearing a black and unwashed over-sized t-shirt. Her spirit was all dried up.

I sat down and spoke with her briefly. “So how’ve you been?” I asked.

A note I found in the back of my high school year book.

“Oh, ya know, just working.”

“So, your with…uh… Keller, right?”

“Yea.”

“Great,” I said having nothing better to say.

“Not that great,” she blurted.

I stumble, I nod my head like an idiot. I don’t know how to respond, I want to console her, but instead I change the subject: “Well, what else have you been up to?”

“We moved out to Denver for a while, cuz Mark wanted to try college. But he hated it, so we moved back.”

I’m afraid to ask another question. I feel like this casual meeting has become an interrogation, a rude exposé. But she continues anyway without my prompt, as if to confirm her utter sorrow.

“Married. … Two kids. … yea.”

And there it was everything bared, in sincere dejection, yet without shame and without embarrassment.

God. What frustration. What sadness. What’s a man to do? I feel just as helpless as her, and I want to help, but there’s nothing I can do. God. I wish I could ride in on a white stallion, rescue her in my arms, and gallop of into the sunset to some place where people would treat her the way she deserves to be treated. But there is no such place. And alas, I’m a homosexual. And while I’d still be there for her, I cannot give her myself and I cannot give her the love she deserves.

As I ride home across the Colorado passes on two wheels, wind in my ears, my mind replays the scene. I’m angry at the world for stripping away her spirit. No, I’m not angry at the world. I’m angry at the failure of my community. High school taught us nothing of how to deal with this. I’m angry at my father for paying her something just above minimum wage to work for him. I’m angry at him for not caring about her, beyond the fact that she shows up on time. I’m angry at her husband for consuming her beauty. I’m angry at all those around her who could allow this to happen. And I’m angry at myself for being able to do nothing.

I came home and found her picture in the yearbook. There’s that genuine smile. There’s the sparkle in her eyes. There’s the lively girl I once knew. And as I flipped to the end of the book I see a note written in silver marker. It read: “You are the funniest smart kid I know. Remember life is short so smile. You are just sooo cute. -Marie.”

Addendum [October 12, 2008]:After a conversation with my dear aunt in regard to this article, I would like to make a few clarifications. Namely, that I realize there are compassionate souls like my aunt who take the initiative to help people like Marie. But I would like to stress, that there is really only so much a person can do in a working relationship. Marie’s problems extend far outside of work, yet if personal problems disrupt work, Marie risks being fired.

We tend to place the blame squarely on the individual, but no one benefits from that mind set. In all reality, anyone else in her shoes would have no more decision than she has now. Life is tough, and it’s difficult to go it alone. That is why community is important. If Marie really had a close community, Marie’s sadness would be everyone’s sadness. So naturally everyone would want to help her. But as Marie’s story proves, the crucial supportive framework know as the community is being broken down, and it is partly the professionalism and boundaries of the work environment that is causing its ruin. Now, my father is a business owner, and I’m not saying business is bad, but I’m saying that community needs to come before business.

Author’s Note: Due to the sensitive nature of this article, the actual names of the people mentioned above have been substituted with false names. I am reluctant to do this as I believe we just waste each other’s time by protecting false images of each other’s lives. But in this case, I will defer.