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[whitespace] Oracle Soul-Joiner
Photograph by George Sakkestad

The Real Oracle
(Not the company, the person)

How misplaced phone calls end up with a very soulful, lesbian sista

By Genevieve Roja

THE ORACLE HAS SPOKEN. "I'm not Oracle the corporation," she explains. "But could you call me back with their number? People keep calling here asking for it."

Turns out people dialing "411" and asking for "Oracle" get connected not with the Redwood city computer outfit, but with a psychic educator and self-described "psych dyke" named Oracle Soul-Joiner.

Soul-Joiner, a.k.a. SDiane Adamz-Bogus, 53, knows how to warm her listening audience, usually ending sentences with "child," "honey" and "girl." Dressed in a muumuu painted with an African-style print in tomato reds, burnt oranges and mustard yellows, Adamz-Bogus gives me the grand tour of her San Jose apartment. She explains that her "outside" decor is representative of her "inside," her personality. Her living room adorned with Egyptian wall hangings, leopard figurines and minibusts of pharaohs and priestesses signifies Adamz-Bogus' belief that this was her past life existence. Sitting on her tan leather couches are her conversation partners, a litter of Boyd's and Gund bears that she has named individually.

"Talk to my bears," says Adamz-Bogus to me, heading out the door momentarily to grab something in her car. "They're real friendly."

Her infatuation with cuddly bears and Egyptians represents only an inkling of her interests. She has endless bookcases filled with manuals, art books, Star Wars books and novels by African American writers such as Toni Morrison, James Baldwin and Alice Walker. Upstairs, there are framed pictures of characters from her favorite television show Star Trek: The Next Generation. A Trekkie to the bone, Adamz-Bogus wears a Star Trek uniform when she teaches her language arts students at De Anza College in Cupertino. Down the stairs and through the living room is Adamz-Bogus' office, the place where she does channeling and psychic readings for her patrons.


The Future Revealed: Silicon Valley Psychic Stuns All With Uncanny Projects for 2001 and beyond!


Born and raised in Chicago, Adamz-Bogus moved to Birmingham, Alabama, when she was 14 years old. Later, she marched with Jesse Jackson, Stokeley Carmichael and other civil rights leaders in the '60s. In the '70s, she taught world literature and composition at Miles College in Birmingham. While there, the teacher fell in love and secretly dated one of her students, an action that led to Adamz-Bogus' dismissal and cross-country excursion to California. In Inglewood, she met a woman named the Prophetess Grace who told Adamz-Bogus she had a "great power." Years later, the power exposed itself when Adamz-Bogus was warming up for her one-woman show at KiMo Theatre in Albuquerque, New Mexico. As if possessed, she began blurting out prophecies to audience members.

"My mouth kept talking, but my brain clicked off," recalls Adamz-Bogus, whose psychic name borrows from the abolitionist Sojourner Truth.

Confused and alarmed at her power, she consulted books that she believed would help her hone her craft and intuition. She kept hearing voices instructing the psychic and guiding her, the way the voice in Field of Dreams convinced Kevin Costner to clear his corn fields for a baseball field.

Since finding her psychic gift, Adamz-Bogus--who moved to Northern California in the late '80s--has written several books, lectured at conventions and seminars, and helped people achieve their spiritual core "so they have greater control over their inner and external world."

A spiritual core among Silicon Valley dwellers? Hah. It seems godlessness would prevail here.

"Not necessarily godlessness, but lack of consciousness, having succumbed to the distractions of money, power and control," Adamz-Bogus says. "There are those looking to relieve themselves of stress, strain, their own money and a glimpse of peace."

Adamz-Bogus says her clients have little idea of how to achieve that center of peace, mistaking "taking time out" for vegging out on the couch.

"A trip to the zoo is something I recommend," she says. "Elephants exhibit incredible patience. Flamingos--stamina. Cheetahs--self-control."

And while all of us can dote on our tech toys the way Linus depends on his security blanket, Adamz-Bogus says it's time to give it all up.

"The message of the new age is simplicity," she says.

In other words, take that PalmPilot and shove it.

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From the December 29, 2000-January 3, 2001 issue of Metro, Silicon Valley's Weekly Newspaper.

Copyright © 2000 Metro Publishing Inc. Metroactive is affiliated with the Boulevards Network.

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