The Mind, Body, Spirit Festival

If you were wondering where all the menopausal women were on Friday, the answer is they were at the Mind, Body, Spirit Festival, wearing purple mohair jumpers, drinking cappuccinos, eating dhal and buying nasal-cleansing pots.

There in equal numbers were blissed-out yoga Nazis in Th ai fishing pants and badly dressed losers withoff -putting gaits that said, ‘I’m sad, tragic, unattractive, unlovable and unemployed. Maybe if I buy a crystal, receive an emotional enema from a man called Trust and find a hypnotherapy DVD on Creative Visualisation I’ll feel better. If I knew what existential pain was, I’d have it.’

A rat-faced family of mullets on legs from Traralgon alerted everyone to their presence withconstant shrieks of ‘Where’d it say “free”?’ There were plenty of PLMs (People Like Me): cynics, stickybeaks and closet dabblers. All of them walking around with a smug air of NLY (Not Like You).

Mind, Body, Spirit claims it is ‘devoted to the pursuit of healthier, more fulfilling lifestyles.’ Touchy-feely? Sure. But that doesn’t mean at least some of it isn’t a rip-off . Considering the placebo effect of conventional medicine is estimated at about 30 per cent, if it feels good, by all means try it; we’re all looking for a cure to something. Just give some thought before spending $2000 on a vibrating machine or giving $20,000 to someone promising to cure cancer.

Mind, Body, Spirit is more than ear candling, crystal waving and ooky-spooky mumbo-jumbo. We’re talking acupuncture, teepees, clairvoyants, super foods (always nuts and berries from some SouthAmerican highland), ‘real’ water, gurus, life coaching, Eastern religions, something called contagious enthusiasm and the Flying Souls Institute of Healing.

In like Flynn, I was. I had an out-of-body experience (I fell asleep), had my face read (I am open but out of balance), my aura photographed (giving but vain, withgreat spiritual potential but repressed anger), and had my chakras re aligned (which is like having your wheels balanced, except it’s bullshit). I also experienced transference healing, ‘a seventh-dimension frequency healing and ascension process that is multi-dimensional and works withthe light body to achieve alchemy.’ OK. According to the brochure, transference healing can effectively treat feelings of déjà vu (where have I read that before?), occasional diarrhoea, vagueness in the head and an empty feeling in the stomach. Nothing happened. There goes forty dollars. The nice woman told me she also conducts sessions for which you don’t even need to be present; she just heals you from afar and sends a voice file to your email! So what’s in it for her? Try $135.

Scientologists. As soon as I clapped eyes on what looked like the famous e-meter, I couldn’t be held back. I was soon strapped in for some top-shelf bullshit. I held on to some tin cans that were attached to what appeared to be an old radio and was asked to think about stressful situations. When the needle on the machine moved, I was expected to be amazed that by recalling stressful situations, I felt stressed. It wasn’t a complete waste of time, though. I got to meet the world’s dumbest person. How did I know? The intelligence of a person is in inverse proportion to the amount of times they say ‘Excellent!’ and ‘Awesome!’

How much do you know about Islam? Good question, so I approached the stall and some lovely Muslim blokes offered to answer any questions I had. OK.

‘Do you think Islam is sexist?’

‘No.’

Then I asked about women in Saudi Arabia not being permitted to drive cars or get about unescorted by males, about the stonings, et cetera. They explained all that was cultural, not religious.

I then asked if they could show me in the Koran the part about genital mutilation of women. They couldn’t. I said thank you and went to leave. I put out my hand. They told me they couldn’t shake it. That would be disrespectful.

I had a spiritual healing withtwo doe-eyed girls called Kim and Suzy. They held my hands, looked deep into my eyes and when I began to cry they told me to take Christ into my heart. They were so sweet and lovely, I almost did. Damn that Richard Dawkins and his rational thought and evidence-based logic.

Mind, Body, Spirit is the third expo I’ve been to, after the Bridal Expo and Sexpo. Three products have had a stall at all three of them: heat packs, handmade fudge and pull-along shopping jeeps. I never understood the pull-along jeep until I found myself withthree bulging bags of disappointment.

‘I could sure do withone of those shopping jeeps right about now,’ I thought. At which point, I was reminded of my sceptic mate who refers to the expo I’d just attended as the Mind, Body, Wallet Festival.