The dining room

Mimi still won't go into the dining room unless someone is with her.  And this weekend, during my reading in the dining room,  my client bundled up the entire time, sometimes warming her cheeks.  At least you couldn't see our breath!  I felt oddly apologetic though I don't have any control over such things; after all, the ambient temperature was 20.5 degrees celsius -- pleasantly warm!

As my client spoke, I kept seeing the spirit of an elderly man around her.  He was kind of distant from her but seemed congenial.  I told her about him and that he was somehow connected to her friend. The ghost's name was Tom.  I'd seen him before around her but hadn't been able to give her a name.  I knew he'd been in an airplane accident and I had told her so during a previous appointment.

"That's my friend's father!" 

She paused and added, "I forgot to mention last time: My friend's father died in an airline crash . . . "

Still, I don't know who is in the dining room.

I could go insane . . .

A client wrote me, asking for a reading, and, while that's always appreciated, I can't help but shake my head:

Her: "Do you have anything available for Tuesday after 5pm?"

Me: "No, unfortunately, I'm only able to read on Saturdays right now."

Her: "OK. But do you have a slot for Tuesday at 5:15 or later?"

Me: "No, I don't because I'm only able to read on Saturdays."

I wish I could have said: "Yes, because, if you look closely, the following Saturday IS after 5:15 pm on Tuesday."

Uh . . .

Some clients leave me speechless which, ask Scully, is very hard to do. One person actually gave me a cell number to use and said, "You can't call my home because my wife doesn't know about you."

Nice to be back

Having resumed readings, I'm pleased to hear that people are happy that I'm back.

I really like the connection that occurs when someone comes for a reading.

Client, yesterday: "Do you remember every reading?"

Well, in a way, I do. Often, a guide that was present at the last reading is present at the next. The same 'sense' of that person comes to me, as well. I remember the person and, if they're sitting before me again, I remember the connection that was established between us. The connection? It's difficult to describe. It's spiritual. I suppose it's ineffable.

Never say never . . .

If I'm really honest with myself, I'd have to say that I didn't want to return to giving readings. The hiatus for me felt liberating because I wanted fewer responsibilities elsewhere in order to take care of my children. I felt pulled in too many directions. But things change. People change. Ghosts pop up in your dreams.

I ended the hiatus today with a scheduled reading for a longstanding client. During the reading, I remembered a dream in which a an elderly female ghost told me: "She needs to know she's dying." I thought, "Wha'?"

My client needed to know that an elderly aunt would pass soon. I hate passing on that kind of information, especially since it can be so vague. Elderly people always pass on! But the ghost -- of a stern disposition -- herself was elderly, with bone-straight, shoulder-length grey hair.

We had a good laugh about the nature of that kind of communication, the client and I, and I raised my voice slightly: "It wouldn't be so bad if I could just have A LITTLE MORE INFORMATION." I looked quickly around me, hoping someone might take a hint.

It brought back the humour to my memory. It brought back the freakin' strangeness of it all. It brought back one more thing in the form of my client's question:

"Do you have any idea how you affect other people's lives?"

Nice

When clients take the time to tell me how my predictions turned out, I always appreciate it. I mean, people usually just tell other people which -- don't get me wrong -- is a good thing.

I recently helped a client get in touch with a long-lost relative by giving her the name of someone who knew where he was and in which city he could be found. She wrote to tell me that it all played out exactly as I said it would, names and all, and that she was now in touch with the relative.

She was so grateful. I felt all . . . I don't know, just so happy that I could help.

My Lips Are Sealed

You know my ethical guideline about not discussing clients or the details of the sessions when clients come to see me?

Sometimes, I really wish I could. But, I can't.

Friday went very well. I know that I have to confirm my next batch of clients now...

Never Say Never

I gave in and did a reading for my sister last night. It was her birthday and it made her feel good to know that I was willing to try. It actually went very well. Ah, it softened the blow of turning 30 . . . though that was so long ago for me that I can't remember the pain.

The hard part about reading for family and friends is the ability to be objective. Still, somehow, being close to my sister -- she's my best friend -- actually helped last night.

The Case of the Crystal Skull

OK, remember when I said that I don't stare at crystal balls? Well, that isn't to say that I haven't stared at them.

I have never owned a ball but a former friend of mine in the university days had one. He wasn't psychic to any appreciable degree but he did have a lot of money. He believed in magic of sorts (and I don't). Unfortunately, he spoke altogether too often about Aleistair Crowley for my comfort. In the days that seemed so distant from our common goal of graduation, we met in the evenings and our quiet friendship lasted about four years.

But I've digressed.

I saw it sitting on a glass shelf in his immaculate apartment. He took it down protectively, placed it on the carpet and showed it to me. I think I stared at it for half a second and thought, Poor guy! He's been taken.

Not wanting him to feel stupid, I said:

"Is it supposed to have an image of a skull in it?"

I've never seen fear or shock grip somebody so quickly. His brown eyes stared back at me and I thought, for certain, that I was seeing fear. No, shock. Both? (I couldn't tell which since, if you think about it, they look pretty similar.) He quickly covered the ball up and put it back in its box. Needless to say, I was completely confused.

"You're joking, right?" He asked.

I shrugged. "No. It looked like a green-greyish skull and it looked like it was manufactured that way." His reaction was bothering me. I truly believed in its earthly origin; he was a scientist, why didn't he?

"I've been staring at it for hours and I've never seen anything... I don't want you to look at it anymore."

Umm, I thought, OK.

So, there you have it: my first and only time staring at a crystal ball. What happened that night? I don't know. I'd obviously seen something he'd wanted to see but what was it? I don't know and he jealously guarded the crystal ball, never allowing me to look into it again.

Scary and Good

Anyway, many of you have asked me for details and I think it's time to dish. I want to tell you about the scariest reading that I've ever done. Well, let me rephrase that: I want to tell you about the reading that frightened me the most.

It happened about eight years before I started reading professionally. I'd always read for friends and acquaintances for free. The settings varied: Sometimes they were done at my home, in the university cafeteria (I think) or a cafe.

An acquaintance of mine always wanted a reading and I think I generally declined. One day, in a cafe, I gave in and pulled out my cards. (By the way, cards aren't necessary).

As I lay out the cards, I could feel a familiar anxiety rising in my chest. Voices around me became indistinct as I focussed more clearly on the task at hand.

The reading went along pretty smoothly: I told him about his past and what was going on in the present very accurately. Then, I saw it:

"You're going to be going on an unexpected trip really soon!" I felt a sense of urgency.

"Flying," I continued. "It could be just a couple of days away but it actually looks like a couple of hours away."

He looked puzzled. "Really? Why?"

I didn't know how to tell him so I just said, "It's family-related." Gawd, I had such a sense of dread.

The next day, I didn't think anything about not seeing him. I didn't see him everyday. I didn't even know him very well. I just went about my secretarial job and went home. Days followed days, of course, until I saw him again.

"You were right," he said, a look of fear spread across his face.

"What?"

"You were right. About the reading. After working that day, I went home and went to bed. In the middle of the night, my family got a phone call from the ---- coast. My grandmother died... We flew out the next day."

I found this frightening for some reason. These days, it's quite commonplace but I was jolted right then. I didn't want to read anymore for anyone.

Of course, you know that I did keep reading but, when I started doing it professionally, I actually called myself the 'reluctant psychic'.

***

Generally, since my appointments come via word-of-mouth for the most part, people leave pretty satisfied with the reading.

The times that make it seem very worthwhile are those during which clients go out of their way to let you know that they enjoyed the reading, like when they tell you they've been talking about you on the radio or want to do so or when they ask to take all of your business cards (which reminds me: Print up more business cards). Yesterday was just such a day.

I don't need the publicity but it makes me feel . . . I don't know, good and much more enthusiastic about my job.