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.

Walking thoughts . . .

This morning, Mimi and I were leaving the gym and, as I walked through the door and grabbed her hand, I said: "Oh, Daddy got a job!"

When we got to the end of the plaza, about one minute later, my phone rang. It was Scully:

"Hi, guess what? I got a job . . ."

He finds things like that so eerie.

On a serious note . . .

This is the part of who I am that makes me so uncomfortable. Last night, a little boy came to me in a dream and told me he was trapped on a property. He asked me to look around and make note of where he was so that I could get people to find him.

I looked around and I saw the farm-like area, wooden structures. I made note of these structures.

He was extremely agitated. He told me that he had been eating dirt and whatever he could find on the ground in order to survive but that he didn't know how much longer he could do it.

I told him he was dead and he cried, his head in his hands, as he kept repeating, "No, no, no!"

I was so sad for him. Somebody had taken him and left him there. Now, when he said he couldn't be dead, I had to say: "But you must be, otherwise I wouldn't be able to talk to you."

I honestly didn't know what I could do to help him. The area that seems right to me is one of the Canadian provinces -- B.C. Burnaby is associated with the boy so I'm thinking he might have gone missing from there?

Scully told me to write about this because I find it so distressing and because maybe it will help the boy. On the one hand, I know many people will think I'm an absolute whackjob and, on the other hand, I can't deny that it happens to me. I'm not hallucinating; it's in dream-state. I just know from experience that it's someone who wants help. I hope I can help him.

Selective Scare-dy Cat

So, in the previous post, I mentioned that I was generally unafraid of out-of-the-ordinary events.

Today, I'm thinking about the fact that I've seen objects levitate, balls of light, apparitions, ghosts; and, daily, I have ghosts in my dreams, ghosts asking for help, precognitions, premonitions of catastrophes, and accurate feelings of foreboding.

Through the years, I've seen a key melt in the lock of an intensely hot door on the other side of which there was no fire and no heat. I've watched a hanging plant swing back and forth so violently that I thought the hook would be yanked out of the ceiling (no wind, no windows, nobody home). I've had a ghost wake me up and thereby save me and my husband from being burnt in a fire. I've held a remote control while a television flipped through channels on its own. I've tried to shut off a television that came on by itself only to discover that it was in the 'off' position. Ditto a wall-switch-operated ceiling fan. I've even had banging on the walls, and footsteps on the stairs, that was so loud that nobody in the house could sleep.

These are only a few of the events of I've experienced. Clearly, I'm no stranger to the 'paranormal'.

Yet, I still need Scully to stay in the same room with me if I'm watching a frightening movie! That's right. I couldn't watch The Sixth Sense without dear Mr. Ghostiegurl himself being there holding my hand all those years ago. He was recently there beside me -- reading -- while I watched The Uninvited and I STILL had nightmares. And just a few moments ago, I aborted a solo attempt to watch another scary film . . .

Freaky Friday -- and funny, too

So, today I'm working out at the gym and I see a good friend of mine whom I haven't seen in a week or so.

"Hey," I tell her. "I had a dream about you the other night."

OK, she's hooked. She turns away from the direction of the class and moves closer.

"I've had the exact dream twice now."

Her eyes brighten and she has a conspiratorial smile on her face. "What is it???" At the gym, we keep my vocation on the D-L.

"Well, it's strange. You take me to this show of some sort, paranormal in nature with readings, products, etc. But it's in a church basement."

She laughs.

"My (bimonthly channelling) group is having a fair/event. It's in the church basement this summer. Guess I'll be taking you!"

"I guess so! See you there."

"Yep, see you there!"

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?"

I'm BACK! And Freaky Friday is here.

Well, I didn't actually go anywhere. But, after a 2.5 year hiatus, I'm booking reading appointments again.

It wasn't just burnout that caused me to want to stop that long while back: Having children, requiring childcare, etc. all played a part. Also, I was worried about the stigmatizing effect it might have on my children. But, I've worked it all out and, if I'm very discreet, it can be done.

The last thing I want to teach my children is to be uncomfortable with who they are; but, let's face it, childhood can be difficult where peer relationships are concerned.

My intention is to post daily but, additionally, I want to post weekly about a psychic or ghostly experience.

Let's start now: we'll make it Freaky Friday.

Recently, I had been hearing cupboards door slamming, people walking around upstairs in the evening and during the day. I called out (for I'm a lazy psychic) and asked, "Scully? Is that you?" or "Girls, are you running around up there?"

Of course, Scully was watching a video on his laptop with the HEADPHONES on and didn't even hear me, let alone budge from his comfy spot. And, the girls? They were asleep each time it happened.

No, I didn't think I was losing my mind. I didn't think this each time I felt a presence or when I heard a gravelly voice call my name.

Then, a day after the last event and week after the first, I received a phone call from my sister:

"I'm sorry to disturb you this late, but I just had to tell you! (Terri) died!"

I was stunned, actually. I'd known her for about 33 years. She'd babysat us daily. I'd grown up with her own children.

Then, a phone call to my mother:

"She died last Wednesday, a massive coronary."

"Oh, between 10 and 11 pm?"

"Yes, that's when they believe it happened."

Well, that's when Terri had started visiting me. Slamming my cupboards though? Let's just say, I'm not the most organized psychic nor am I the best housekeeper. She was organized, immaculate. In my own way, I'll miss her.

Reaping

I came up with a description of my status: I'm now a professional 'psychic on leave of absence', though I can still be convinced to give a reading every now and then. I still hear from regular clients who like to give me updates, tell me they look forward to my returning to work. A local group asked me if they could keep me in mind for future investigations (some televised, some not) and I agreed.

Anyway, I decided to watch a movie while reaping the benefits of cardiovascular exercise. At the gym, I sat transfixed as The Reaping played on my Treo. It made going to resistance level 8 for four minutes, three times a lot easier; it made me work harder during the four four-minute "rest" intervals.

I didn't get to finish it. The pre-programmed weightloss workout (if you're not doing the math) is only 28 minutes long. I'm hoping to finish it at the next two gym sessions!

What do I think about it? It's definitely creepy. Gabriel Byrne is always worth watching. I'm not religious but I often find myself watching scary movies with religious themes (think: The Omen, The Exorcist) and really enjoying them. I can't say much about The Reaping because I haven't seen much.

Carrying on the theme of psychic kids:

As a child -- about the age of Gigi -- I had a knack for always knowing where anything was located within the house. My mother would say, "Have you seen this ----?" and I have one particular memory of opening a bottom cupboard in the kitchen and reaching around behind the pipes to show my mother where an object was. She found the frequency of this kind of event peculiar.

My sister -- whose abilities are more dream-oriented than outright intuition -- complained often about playing games with me, especially the card game, Go Fish. I always "just knew" what she had as a hand. She STILL talks about it from time to time as being a particular point of frustration while we were growing up.

As far as empathy goes, as a child, I would walk past people and get overwhelmed with an emotion of some great intensity, as if it was just washing over me and I could barely stand up under the pressure or weight of it. The hardest emotion, of course, being sorrow or grief. It wasn't easy and I would really dread having to walk past people at a very young age!

So many psychic things happened to me as a child; would I have wanted to "go public" with it on a show such as Psychic Kids? I doubt it. I doubt that my mother, as open-minded as she is about such things, would have allowed it.

Gigi always knows who is calling and often tells us who is coming by. As you probably already know, she's been talking about ghosts since she started talking! After much thought, I realize that I would not allow her or my other child to participate in such a show.

At any rate, if you, dear readers, would like me to post about something in particular, please feel free to ask as I work harder to keep this blog updated more frequently. Otherwise, I'll just keep rambling on as usual . . .

Rambling

I have so many -- more than a hundred -- questions from readers that have gone unanswered because I have been so busy. My older daughter has started summer vacation; my baby has just started walking. If I finish one cup of coffee in a day, I'm doing well. There really aren't enough hours in a day to do everything I want/need to do, but, I'm sure that everyone reading this can relate. After supper, I go to my second job: the 'health club' (which, as far as I can tell, is just a way of saying 'very expensive gym'). Ghostiegurl is trying to shed the pounds and generally get healthier.

The premonitions that I had years ago about my future featured myself as a heavy woman. I still have to try, though; sometimes, we seem to be able to change the outcome of things provided that we don't suddenly find ourselves living out the premonition. That has been my experience. But, it's difficult. I can't tell you the number of times that I've been in the midst of events when I've realized, "Oh, s*&@! I dreamt about this . . ." I don't have all -- or maybe any -- of the answers. Maybe there are things we simply can't change.

Sometimes, a predictive dream is really straightforward in its interpretation: such an event X will happen at point Y in time involving person A. At other times, the dreams feature a mixture of all the predictive elements but the setting is purely unrealistic. For example, after breaking up with a boyfriend, I dreamt of having two children and a husband and of living in a small town and receiving a message from my ex-boyfriend. Well, it happened recently. I was shocked to receive an email after 15 years of silence just a couple of months ago but all the elements had been in place. I call that a "comfort dream": though inconsolable at the time of the separation, my mind was telling me that I would hear from him again and placed the future communication in a broad context.

We'll have to see about the dreams in which I was heavy. It's hard to imagine because my hair -- very long with loads of spiral curls -- was short in the dreams and Scully hates the idea of me cutting my hair. I don't even feel inclined to do it.

At any rate, back to busy-ness. Giving up readings was hard to do but, in my schedule, something had to give. There's definitely a part of me that misses giving readings. The other evening, a friend requested that I give her one and I did. Believe it or not, my husband (aka 'Scully') occasionally asks for a reading. I like giving readings. I will do so again at some point.

A fitting Hallowe'en post

Today, something very unusual happened. I lay the baby in her cot beside my bed and left to wash her bottles. From the kitchen downstairs, I could hear her laughing uproariously. She wasn't giggling or babbling as she normally would: She was laughing heartily and squealing with delight. And it was LOUD.

I walked upstairs and her behaviour continued. The temperature, I noted, had fallen in the room. I got the impression that someone -- someone I don't know -- was around her. She was "looking" at something during all this. When my husband came up -- at my request -- he was as surprised as I was. He noted that it was cold in the room and, the scientist that he is, chalked it up to wind coming through the closed window (it holds the air conditioner, so that's a plausible guess.)

"I think a relative from your father's side is around her," I told him.

"Could be," he shrugged.

Moments after he left, the room warmed up and the baby stopped laughing. All the while, a name had been floating around my head. I ran out of the room, down the stairs and straight to the basement.

"Did you have a relative named Mary Margaret on your father's side?" I'd never looked at his genealogy project.

"Yes...I think she was his great aunt."

"That's who is around her."

The Problem of Privacy

Over the summer, I revisited an issue that I'd once put on the back burner, shoving it nervously away from the fore after making a resolution: When I have an impression of someone -- negative or not -- I will not just announce it to the person; I will store it away and try to forget about it.

Why? Though some people have asked if it's because I'm not working at the time and therefore wouldn't get paid for sharing the intuition, it's actually because of a sense of privacy that I avoid announcing my impressions. What right do I have to just intrude on what could very well be a private issue that isn't meant to be confided?

A friend of mine visited and told me that she and her husband had postponed plans to conceive a child. Immediately, I had the sense that she was already pregnant and the impression just got stronger.

When I received the news of the impending birth, I was overjoyed and confided my first impressions then. As it turns out, my friend would not have felt that her privacy was being invaded if I'd shared the intuition.

It's an issue with which I've struggled for some time.

Catch Up

I can't believe how many people have already booked appointments for exactly one year from now.

One of the clients who booked said, "You're really popular."

It kind of makes me feel pressured to resume readings but, as my husband points out, I could always cancel the appointments and tell people that I won't be giving readings anymore.

Then, again, I may really want to do readings at that point. We'll see. . .

Through the fog that pregnancy has induced around my brain, I'm still able to see some things. Actually, I'm intuiting.

It's a close relative's new boyfriend. I don't trust him. I can't even bring myself to meet him. There's something not right there . . . This close relative -- close in the sense that we speak often -- can't understand my reluctance.

I've told her of my impression in this respect but she disagrees, even though I predicted his arrival in her life a couple of months before he actually appeared.

The Pregnant Psychic

The day before I even thought of testing for pregnancy, we went to pick up my daughter from school.

In the parking lot, as I was holding onto her hand, she declared:

"I'm going to be a big sister!"

No kidding.

The Helpful Wife

Scully tromped through the wilderness with his friends over the weekend, canoeing an hour-and-a-half to his campsite. He was completely out of reach of cellphones and email.

On the way home, he called me from a payphone:

"I should be home within a few hours."

"OK. Wait...I have an impression." A terrifying image followed a mental picture of my husband but I knew that he would be fine.

"There's going to be a very bad accident on the way back but it doesn't involve you or your friends."

"It already happened. A car was half-submerged in the lake."

"Oh. OK." It didn't feel like the accident I was talking about, but, hey, how could I be sure?

When he got home that evening, he told me: "Some guy decided to walk out into traffic... It was a huge accident! Cars piled up, etc." This happened after talking to me.

I honestly don't know why some people think that crossing a highway is, well, even possible. But, there you have it, someone did and the consequent mess delayed Scully's arrival by about two hours.

On The Phone

I'd been telling my sister for the past few months that her best friend had something wrong with her stomach. Something wasn't right.

Last week, the doctor found something: a bacterial infection.

"You were right," my sister said.

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.

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.