All funged up

AS a teenager in the rainbow region of the NSW north coast, I binged briefly on new age mysticism, the hippie adolescent version of alcopops.

One unforgettable weekend in the early ’80s, I attended a reincarnation workshop where everyone discovered they had been an axe murderer or the victim of an axe murderer in a previous life (a revelation that caused no end of feisty exchanges during the scotch finger biscuit breaks).

I was a little surprised no one turned out to have been a nondescript pool typist who’d passed peacefully away due to old age but decided against bringing this up during the morning chakrathon.The general consensus was that at one time or another I’d topped just about everyone in the room, so I thought it best to maintain a polite silence.

I did not graduate from this workshop a radiant, spiritual being who followed her heart’s bliss by living in Light and atONEment in the splendour of the angelic realms. I emerged, instead, deeply sceptical.

It was my fervent hope that new age-ism would pass out of fashion like other irritating trends from the era, such as Flashdance legwarmers, Linda Evans shoulder pads and Madonna.

Unfortunately, the planet remains polluted with new-age voodoo and grotesque spin-off beliefs such as that cancer is controlled by the mind. (Madonna is also proving as hard to remove as a skid mark on sheer silk.)

The scariest doctor I know is an oncologist who manages to combine the unavoidable science of his profession with a recreational interest in abundance affirmations and wealth manifestation. This mansion-dweller believes we choose the circumstances of our birth and everything that happens afterward. He was clever enough to have been born into an old-money family, unlike those silly sausages who situate themselves in sub-Saharan Africa.

While there’s no evidence to suggest this specialist doesn’t practise medicine at sufficient standards, I shudder at the thought of his bedside manner given that he truly believes chemo fails only because of psychic stubbornness.

The good news is that unenlightened heathens are speaking up about the new age emperors’ stark-raving nudity.

Militant atheist Richard Dawkins took on science-less healing remedies in The Enemies of Reason, which screened on ABC1 last month. Darwin’s rottweiler did a top job of debunking the work of psychic-o-paths despite suffering the obvious handicap of being stuck in a victim-victimiser karmic loop and of not having had his DNA repaired to its 12-strand pre-Atlantis state.

Science is also striking back, with new Australian research showing that the attitude of breast cancer patients has no impact on their chances of surviving the disease. This may not be the best news for cancer patients, but at least it sounds a death knell for the intuitive karma cleansers who prey on them.

In the meantime, my oncologist acquaintance is still finding plenty of inspiration in cyberspace. Practitioners flogging their wares include:

* A light-body activation specialist who resets human genes using sacred sounds from a primordial six-note scale.

* A probationary healer who offers telephone counselling to help decontaminate those infested with particles of parasitical presences.

* A higher-self channeller who offers past-life blockage assessment (if you max out your credit card and have a sex addiction, it may be because you were a French soldier who died violently in World War II).

* A soul wisdom psyche doctor who unleashes the dormant superhuman abilities of Indigo children so they can reclaim Chistiac self-sovereignty over their personal 15th-dimensional anatomy and achieve complete bodily merkabic ascension.

* A reverse-speech analyst who claims to be able to solve crimes, help in corporate mergers and cure asthma by playing people’s speech backwards and studying the hidden meanings. (As proof he offers a recording of an inverted John Howard saying “this little f..k, give it up” in parliament).

Well.

Pu degnuf yats rehtar d`I rehtegot iuhs ruoy teg ot sekat ti tahw yllaer si siht fi tub sdrawkcab em llac.

– originally published in The Australian on 12-06-2008.

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