The Arts: Portals to Intuition

The arts act as portals into intuition throughout the year. At holidays, they sneak into gift choices and pleasant activities. 

When I was a child, Santa brought me books. Except for two gifts, the baby doll that 34 years later looked like my son, and my favorite Betty Crocker Junior Baking Kit, books were my best presents. Stories meant I could lose myself in the past or the future. That letting go spurred me to move outside my body into other realms, to help me perform music and work on murder cases with police. 

In school, I was a poor artist who couldn’t relax, but as I practiced piano, I could pretend to waltz in a white French wig, or come alive in the hills of Germany with the Sound of Music.

Now, when I prepare for my psychic work, I use music as a portal. You know how music transports you to other feelings and places? That’s what I use, that floating ability to let go of the here and now, to carry my brain away from the confines of exactness.

At the holidays, I use intuition and insight when I choose a gift for a loved one, and when I sing songs or tell old stories. Every year, my perception is altered by the people around me and my own unique mind set.

At the end of this year, let us bring love and intuition to the forefront. As they said in the 1960s, hang a little bit loose and stay groovy.

Children and the Paranormal

One sunny afternoon, as I did readings at a Renaissance Fair, a woman sat down and leaned in close. She said, my children are special but I want you to tell me if I’m wrong. Look at their palms.

With at least one hundred hours of study, I felt ready to do palm interpretations and condense everything I learned into their five minute session. That day, those beautiful, odd but bedraggled boy and girl opened their palms to me and I saw what she meant. Their palms were covered with stars. Big stars, little stars, perfect stars, misshapen stars. I felt such shock.

Stars on the palm represent fame, success, the ability to deal with challenges, and exceptional creative abilities. Those children, with dark hair and light eyes that bore into my soul, knew and accepted that they were unusual.

Children know. They learn quickly and they try to please us, but each child knows early in life who they are and who they want to be. Look at your sister and brother, if you have one, or an early childhood friend. Other than maturity, aren’t they the same as they were as a child, with unchanged strengths and weaknesses?

A paranormal child is not scientifically explainable. Any child’s behavior can’t be explained, as their funny word usage and quirky behavior delight us. Without the knowledge of classes and maturity, how a child hones intellect is nothing short of a miracle.

Take a page from a child’s book. Look at the world with thankful wonder, and believe that you know, because you do.

Body Intuition

We know our own body better than we know anyone else. It’s our own little house of safety. I liken mine to an old car. Slow to start some days, other times it runs just fine. It’s in the shop a lot, but my doctor/mechanic fixes the problem. That concept helped me adapt after someone keyed my brand new Subaru with eight slashes.

That day, I had a premonition that told me to park far away from the street, but when I couldn’t find a spot, I ignored the voice in my head. At the end of my holistic expo event, I spotted the damage, sat in my car and cried. You see, for fifty years I drove small, inexpensive cars. This was my first nice one and I felt way too much pride in it.

The following day my optimism kicked in. The inside of my car felt exactly the same, with its backup camera and heated seats.  At the body shop, a kind man said he’d improve the nastiness. “Until then,” he said, “don’t look at this side.”

My body is my true vehicle. When I had a red spot on my nose that started to hurt, I rushed to the dermatologist. He told me I caught it in time, as he burned off the cancer.

When our body has a problem, we usually know instinctively, as it hollers at us to pay attention. We change the oil (water and food) and put it in the shop for repairs (doctors and specialists). It’s the only one we have, our very own brain home, and it means a whole lot and sometimes a little. We just have to remember to use our intuition to know when to fix it.

Promote a Job or Just Do It?

We’re all good at a few things. One of my relatives is a master gardener who never worked in that field. A young Facebook friend transforms her face with make-up, like in the movies. A music teacher who rents space where I do is so talented that when I can, I open my sound proof door to hear his guitar’s sweetness. Yet, he seldom plays in public. It seemed a shame, until I realized that all his students get to hear him, and learn from him. These people do, not promote.

At a summer party, I met a 30-something man who pushed everyone to invest their money with him. He drove a flashy car and had a flashy mouth, and I found out later he lost money for many clients. He promoted and didn’t do.

Next month I’m giving a speech at the Harrisburg, PA Spirit of Oneness holistic expo. My topic is Murder: What It’s Like to Be a Psychic Detective. I guess, here and now, this seems like the promote part, while mostly in the past, I’d do, but that’s not why I included it here.

The things we’re good at don’t have to be shared. I didn’t start working on murder cases until I was 40, yet I knew all my life I had the ability. At 55, I decided not to stay silent, and promoted my skill set. Some days I regret that decision.

Work is not all about promotion. It’s about the accomplishment you feel and the drive to do something for yourself, not just for others. We all have talents we share, and ones we keep private. It’s important to do first, then think whether promotion works for you.

Astrology and Dating

I’m not an expert at astrology. So much of it fascinates me though, so let me share the parts I like.

                  

It can be difficult to date your sign unless one or both of you are on the cusp. In astrology, a cusp, from the Lain for spear or point, is the imaginary line that separates a pair of consecutive signs in the zodiac. Often the cusp occurs around the 20th to the 24th of each month. 

An exception to dating your own sign is Virgo. Virgo men are drawn to the arts and traditional women's fields like cooking, and Virgo women often have a masculine way of looking at the world. Virgos do what's called a switcheroony, like in the song, Satin Doll, written in 1953 with lyrics by my favorite, Johnny Mercer. His switcheroony was a play on the word switcheroo, an unexpected reversal, often for humor. 

My astrology go-to book is Love Signs, by Linda Goodman, which gives info about love compatibility with all combinations of signs. I'm Pisces, by the way, and so far, Pisces men have only been my friends, not my dates. 

Cold Calls in Sales and My Psychic Work with Police

In the 1990s, when I started as a pro bono psychic, I’d see a murder reported in the news which often didn’t seem right. That meant a cold call to police detectives. At that time, I didn’t have contacts to recommend me.

I disliked cold calls but I had experience with it in other fields. I knew I had to break a barrier, get past a receptionist, and find someone who would work with me. I wanted to hear a yes rather than a no.

In my late 20s, I worked as a radio DJ, read the news, and sold radio ads. Cold calls were the part I liked the least. First, I’d give myself a pep talk. If I heard a no, it wasn’t a personal rejection but a work issue. In time, I realized that success wasn’t just a yes. Success meant information and a small movement forward.

Cold calls are like an itchy tag on a new shirt. They’re uncomfortable for a wee bit of time, but they’re fixable. Use your intuition and imagine forward progress. A no is not a failure. 

Keeping Secrets

In the 1950s, families kept secrets: alcoholic grandparents, mom and dad fights, the occasional divorce, financial problems, and deranged relatives.

                       

In my mid-twenties, when I started therapy, I found it difficult to talk about my childhood suffering. Letting go of secrets took all the energy I could muster, so a discussion of my intuitive ability took a back seat. I barely admitted that to myself. And yet, my murder dreams would not abate.

                              

As I turned thirty, I tiptoed into parapsychology and a world I never knew. At fifty-five, I threw caution to the wind and opened up about my work on murder cases, and my ability to help people in unusual ways.

                                  

I like the new letting go of secrets. It seems to make everyone stronger, sweeter, and calmer. A therapist friend claims that we’re only as sick as our secrets, so let yours fly. I’m glad I revealed mine.

Do You Believe in Heaven?

My piano student asked me, “Do you believe in Heaven?”

He’s eleven, so I had to think about my answer. Anything I say can go back to his mother, who’s much more conservative than either of us.

“I’m not sure,” I said.

“You talk to dead people. Ask them,” he told me.

I noticed this was some new kind of thinking for me. Why couldn’t I?

“They talk to ME, I don’t talk to them,” I told him.

Luke went back to piano and I mulled over the conversation. When I do readings and work on murder cases, I do get messages from dead people. The problem is, I don’t really ask, I just concentrate, hope, and wait.

Wouldn’t it be wonderful if we could ask questions directly from people who have passed? I’d ask my grandparents more about their parents, what they loved, how they moved, what were their skills. I’d ask my mother about her biggest struggles and satisfactions. I’d ask my dad for his jigger nut recipe for sundaes.

Heaven’s a nice place to picture, but I’m not the expert. We all decide for ourselves. If you do die before me and you feel like it, please talk to me from heaven or wherever you end up, and let me know how it goes. As the song by David and Bacharach goes, I’ll be wishin’ and hopin’.

The Art of Spring

I love the art of spring, the bluebells on the kitchen table and the buds on my lilac tree and rose bush. But even more than flowers, I love movies. The one that sticks in my mind this week is Melancholia, directed by Lars von Trier. At first I thought it was a treatise on feeling melancholy, but I guess it concerns a fear of the end of the world.

The end of my life enters my consciousness most days. Of course, I’m 67 and more than halfway to dead, but I do have today. I can go into the kitchen, throw out my tarot cards and dream about my life and career, or sit on my couch and read until it is time to work. My bath can be deeper and I can eat more applesauce. I can clean my bedroom or float my thoughts.

Floating thoughts are intuition, and intuition is like spring. A promise. A flower. A start of creative new things.

Just as spring can be beautiful with sun, or cold with rain, each day we make a choice to be happy or sad. Each hour we can cry or rejoice. So I suggest, let beauty into your hearts and act like a May flower child. There’s no downside to that.

Got Fired, Now What?

I’ve been fired three times. For each of them, I had a premonition that it would happen. I just didn’t know how.

The first, late 1970s. I didn’t know it, but I was dating another flight attendant’s boyfriend. She and her pals decided to make up lies and I lost my job. I re-entered my original field of music and felt success returning. After four hearings, I was offered my stew job back but said no thanks. Someone nailed a fish head to the ring leader’s apartment door. Other people who were involved told our mutual friends that they regretted their involvement. I actually felt sorry for most of them.

The second, early 1990s. The temporary dean at a local college where I taught public speaking part time decided his religious beliefs coincided with my psychic beliefs. Suddenly, I had no classes to teach. Few people realized what had happened, so I kept it on the down low. I just set out to find more teaching opportunities. I still teach to this day.

The third, at the turn of the century. I was teaching music and drama at a private school. The headmaster found out that I quietly worked pro bono on murder cases with police. He fired me. When the parents of students asked why, I said, “I had a disagreement with the administration.” I waited until the most powerful board member prodded me for information, and then told her. “He must have something to hide. Check the money trail.” He got fired a few weeks later.

After my third firing, I decided to be self-employed. This way I can fire myself, or praise my deeds.

Look at being fired as a road that dead-ends and forces you to make a big turn. Find a new direction and take a different road. You’ll get to the right place.

Mysteries and Waves of Change

Before I was eleven, I only spoke if I had to answer a question from a grown-up. At school, the teacher rarely called on me. I guess she didn’t think I wanted to shine in that way. Reserved and shy, I became a watcher. As I watched, I analyzed and thought about everything intuitively. 

I analyzed interactions and saw how assertive people succeeded. On visits to other kid’s houses, I noticed how parents acted, and what children did to gather attention. In my free time, I hid in my room or under the dining room table to read, or played piano if no one was home. The only time I liked to go outside was to ride my bike, but that diminished after a bad fall, when it took forever for my dad to pick stones out of my chest and shoulder.

After that, I spent the next fifty years listening to my frustrated mother ask, “What happened to you?” Clearly, she liked the follower child more than the outspoken adult. But, heed her not. I pushed and pulled myself to speak up, to empower my feelings with actions, and to become self-employed.

Now, it seems I’m reverting to the old ways. I really like to stay home alone. When I visit my grown children they mention my bad hearing, and I get frustrated in places where there’s too much noise. My doctor claims my hearing is good for my age, but old people’s hearing is basically not all that good. So sometimes I tune out voices, and use my intuition to sense what’s going on.

All my life I wanted to be mysterious and enigmatic. My job as a psychic has made that come true, as I work in a field where so much of the esoteric lies unexplained. Now that my book, Carriers of Genius, has been published, I realize that during those years of writing four to eight hours a day, I became a recluse.

Change is good so I’ll embrace it, and let life unfold in waves. Maybe, I’ll catch those waves. Definitely, I’ll try to let the turbulent ones pass me by.

Your Astrological Sign and What Ails You

I’ve always believed in medical astrology, which puts forth an association between each sign of the zodiac and parts of the body. Marcus Manilius mentioned it first in his 8000 verse poem, Astronomica, written in the 1st century AD.

Pisces is feet, and mine have hurt for 55 years. Lately it’s a searing baby toe, and my podiatrist said he’ll cut the tendon. An easy operation, says his nurse, as I scream inside. Every visit, I beg the doc to do a survey on how many of his patients are Pisces, but I can’t get him interested.

In case you’re wondering, here is your info, from head (Aries) to toe (Pisces).

Aries: head, face, brain, eyes. Taurus: throat, neck, thyroid gland, vocal tract. Gemini: arms, lungs, shoulders, hands, nervous system. Cancer: chest, breasts, stomach, alimentary canal. Leo: heart, chest, spine, spinal column, upper back. Virgo: digestive system, intestines, spleen, nervous system. Libra: kidneys, skin, lumbar region, buttocks. Scorpio: reproductive system, sexual organs, bowels, excretory system. Sagittarius:  hips, thighs, liver, sciatic nerve. Capricorn: knees, joints, skeletal system. Aquarius: ankles, circulatory system. Pisces: feet, toes, lymphatic system, adipose tissue.

So there you are. It’s sort of like 23&Me. Now let me go check out what adipose means.