![]() He has a warm, congenial face that's distinctly suited for TV, though summoning the dead is only a part-time gig: By day he's a stock broker, though he insists he would never use his clairvoyance to predict the market. On this particular day, celebrity psychic Jesse Bravo ("celebrity psychic" is a mandatory prefix imposed by his publicist) selected as his spirit-channeling outfit blue jeans and a Ralph Lauren sweater the color of baby skin. The important thing was not to run, since "you might break your face." ![]() "We heard a scream once," he said proudly. "There will be some phenomena," he said sternly, explaining that the lights would flicker, we might see some moving shadows, and that, most noticeably, the temperature would drop precipitously. So on Wednesday night, my colleague Rebecca Fishbein and I found ourselves arranged in a circle with a handful of other people hoping to commune with the dead-some the type you'd expect (cat sweaters, aggressive eye makeup), others not-listening to Bravo lay down some ground rules for the evening. A follow-up email, though, was more intriguing: "Sorry I also forgot that I run a seance group here in the city for over 4 years," he'd added. I'd received an email from Bravo a few weeks back after writing about this, in the event that I needed some additional commentary on the "realness" of Ouija boards. This was my first visit to Seance in the City, a biweekly meet-up group held in Edgar Cayce's Association for Research and Enlightenment, itself housed in a nondescript office building off West 30th Street. "Should.I?" I asked, knowing that was not the right response. "Do you have strong feelings about shish kebab?" celebrity psychic Jesse Bravo asked me through the darkness, the forms of nine other people vaguely illuminated by street light in the otherwise blackened room. ![]()
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