In­sights from the spirit world not in the cards for skep­tic

Re­porter dis­ap­pointed by psy­chic read­ing, pho­tog­ra­pher gets eye-open­ing ex­pe­ri­ence

Toronto Star - - LIFE - ZOE MCKNIGHT STAFF RE­PORTER

I’m skep­ti­cal about al­most ev­ery­thing, so pay­ing $130 for a psy­chic read­ing is about as likely as in­vest­ing in a crys­tal ball and set­ting up shop my­self.

But the Star wanted to send me to the swanky Four Sea­sons to in­dulge in a read­ing with Psy­chic Cyndi. Once ev­ery few months, she brings her tarot and fairy cards, her quartz and mala­chite crys­tals, to the Yorkville ho­tel’s spa, lay­ing them out on a treat­ment ta­ble where a mas­sage or fa­cial would oth­er­wise take place.

Cyndi Tryon, who lives in the Muskoka area, was booked solid the week in Oc­to­ber when I had my ses­sion. She’s been see­ing up to 10 clients a day since 2013 and ap­point­ments sell out im­me­di­ately, ac­cord­ing to the Four Sea­sons Ho­tel at­ten­dant. She must be good, I thought. The at­ten­dant said re­peat cus­tomers are com­mon.

Cyndi is petite and warm and shy at first. I ar­rive with An­drew Fran­cis Wal­lace, a Toronto Star pho­tog­ra­pher, and she warns that her sig­nals might get con­fused with two of us in the room. But right away, she launches into a kind of stream-of-con­scious­ness as she com­mu­ni­cates with spirit guides she senses around us, us­ing the cards as prompts.

“When speak­ing with spir­its, they show me sym­bols and signs,” she says. “It’s not like you and I talk­ing.”

I like Cyndi, who calls me “my girl,” so I want to be­lieve in her. She asks a lot of ques­tions and my an­swers shake the small amount of faith I had: am I one of three sib­lings? No. Was my grand­mother named Mary or Marie? Nope. She sees a vi­sion of a man fish­ing by the side of a road with a long, weath­ered face and a cig­a­rette hang­ing out his mouth. It doesn’t ring a bell.

She asks about my grand­fa­thers, and kind of fal­ters.

“I think I’m get­ting my wires crossed here,” she says.

She had some in­sights that might have ap­plied to my up­bring­ing, but they were mud­dled with mes­sages that didn’t make sense to me.

“Watch for the dimes around you,” she says. “You might find dimes in the weird­est lit­tle spa­ces.” The coins are play­ful mis­sives from the spirit world.

That sounds sweet, but it’s never hap­pened to me.

Cyndi had mes­sages about fam­ily, base­ball, money and ocean va­ca­tions that meant noth­ing to me.

Af­ter the 45-minute read­ing, we pack up. Dis­ap­pointed, I ask Wal­lace for his opin­ion out­side as we wait for the el­e­va­tor.

Wal­lace is shaken and ap­pears on edge. The sym­bols and signs that missed their mark with me hit him di­rectly. In­clud­ing the fish­er­man. And Mary. And Marie — both. And the three kids.

When Wal­lace came in the room, Cyndi said she had seen a man with a hand on his shoul­der, per­haps apolo- giz­ing for be­ing dis­tant in the past. She warned Wal­lace to watch his knee, to drive more care­fully and be care­ful with sugar. “Bang on,” Wal­lace told me in the el­e­va­tor. He had been es­tranged from his fa­ther, has a bad knee, drives too fast, com­mutes too far and has Type 2 diabetes.

Afew days later, Wal­lace sent me an email. At home that morn­ing, he found a shin­ing dime wait­ing for him in the hall.

AN­DREW FRAN­CIS WAL­LACE/TORONTO STAR

Psy­chic Cyndi Tryon, right, pro­duced mixed mes­sages dur­ing a ses­sion with Star re­porter Zoe McKnight.

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