My wife has a faith healer in her family. Well, since I'm married to her, it's only fair to say that I have a faith healer in my family. Her youngest uncle (let's call him Harry) has gotten himself hooked into this fascinating system of belief (he hates even a mention of the word religion, so I'll not call it that) that seems to merge Freudian analysis, Scientology, WWJD and a healthy dose of the more, um, unusual tenets of new age "philosophy."

That last category includes a healthy belief in UFOs, the person as god and past life recovery. But I'm getting away from the faith healing part.

Uncle Harry hates Christian faith healers. He grew up in a Southern Baptist church and tends to refer to Presbyterians, Catholics and Methodists as practicing different "religions." His knowledge of a belief system outside of the Christian faith is extremely limited, except that (of course) the Jews are really smart because they've banded together to rule world commerce.

Here's the deal: Uncle Harry believes that people's minds are divided into three parts: The subconscious (or animal or bi-cameral--the terms are apparently interchangeable), the conscious and the superconscious. The theory of this belief system is that most people have allowed themselves to become repressed and they rely solely on their subconscious mind for everyday functioning. He points to a day when everyone will achieve total consciousness and be free from all mind repression.

The way to get rid of this repression is the key to the healing. The subject is hooked up to an "electrometer" (Uncle Harry's description sounded suspiciously like the e-meters used by Scientologists) and is asked "Have you ever murdered someone?" The subject answers "no" and the needle goes crazy. This is evidence that the subject has, indeed, killed someone in a past life. And after wandering around in what sounds like (but Uncle Harry insists is not) a hypnotic state, the subject is able to calm to meter, having purged the unpleasant baggage of a past life murder.

Anyway, this is repeated many times, and after a few hours, the subject is deemed "cleared," or usually, "semi-cleared." The goal of these exercises is to become fully "cleared." Once you're cleared, you can do things like send your spirit on walkabout (the example given to me was that I could visit the library to see if a book I wanted was actually on the shelf), make clouds disappear from the sky or tap into a "celestial Internet," a web of knowledge that runs "up there" that only the fully conscious can see.

Folks who have had a semester of psychology will recognize Uncle Harry's mind divisions as Freud's id, ego and superego. They also might note that many psychological problems are, indeed, caused by long-past traumas. Also, this notion of getting "cleared" is similar to the ultimate goal of analysis, though admittedly subjects of therapists spend a lot more time on the couch than do Uncle Harry's patients.

Anyway, Uncle Harry does his clearing bit, the patient walks (ambulatory failure seems to be the most common problem faced) or whatever and everyone goes their merry ways. Harry calls back after a week or so just to check, but that's about it. He doesn't take any money for his services, and he really doesn't like being called a faith healer.

I'm simplifying things greatly here. I asked an awful lot of questions, and Uncle Harry was generally quite amiable in response until I pressed him on questioning his beliefs. He thinks he doesn't need to do that any more. He's found his truth, and that's that.

Which is okey-dokey by me. All of the papers and books he presented to me were so riddled with mistakes and erroneous scientific statements (He would often respond honestly with "I don't know much about that" when I questioned the veracity of his core texts) that there's no way I could even begin to take them seriously. Uncle Harry seemed to imply that my education would be a hindrance in getting "cleared." This, of course, is the same thing preached by the fundamentalist ministers Harry hates. "Don't believe what you read," they say. "Believe what you feel."

There is a kernel of truth in that. And to be fair, everyone in the family says that Uncle Harry has become a much better person now that he subscribes to these ideas. Believing you know the truth probably does wonders for self-esteem. And if you feel good about yourself, you're more likely to feel good in general.

Of course, all this nonsense about curing Parkinson's Disease ("I wish Billy Graham would call me up; I'd have him fixed in a few hours.") and the like can get annoying. The rest of the family felt relieved that they weren't subjected to the same evangelistic spiel I received. Of course, most of them had heard it before. And I'm the sort of person who kinda likes seeing where an illogical argument wanders.

Uncle Harry isn't crazy. He's not a nut. He fervently believes in a pile of half-truths and outright lies, but he seemed happy enough to me. I'm with Jesse Ventura when it comes to religion, but if believing in God or the wheel of life or the musings of a salamander makes you happy, more power to you. Just don't expect me to join in your choir.

If Jon Worley were to create a religion, he would base it on the 1977 Royals.