People often ask me if I’m scared of being psychic.
I’ve had the ability for so long that it’s part of me and I’m not afraid. I
certainly am horrified by murder when I work with detectives. As I see the
aftermath of someone being destroyed, I try to figure out how I can help and
direct. It’s similar to when someone has an accident. You stay calm in order to
drive them to the emergency room.
I’m most bothered by things I know in advance and
can’t stop. When I was 60, my mother’s husband caused an accident that killed my
mom slowly over four days. I had seen it in my mind’s eye since 1986, but not
clearly, and I frightened my daughter by worrying she was involved. For 26
years, I worried. The day of the accident, I begged my mom to let me take off
work and drive her to the ice cream shop. No, she said, we’ll be fine. Well,
she wasn’t.
I guess it’s dread, not fear, that overcomes me at
times, but whomever gave me this ability, made me strong enough to bear it.
A few weeks ago, I had negative tarot cards in my
reading. My own psychic had told me to beware, but I thought she meant my new
work location would be robbed. Turns out, because of a predicted ice storm, I
didn’t lock my car in the driveway. Up until three years ago, someone had been
going into cars on my street to steal money.
I forgot about his thievery, so he was able to enter my
car after I had gone to bed and take $5.00 worth of quarters. My neighbor’s
security camera showed footage of him, but not well enough to identify. I got
so mad at his invasion, and actually thought I’d put a mouse trap in my center
console for this next visit. But what if I forget it’s in there? I decided to let
it go.
We can’t be afraid of life. We all take risks and know
that things could go sour. It’s good to be careful, but optimism, whether it’s
inherent or forced, is the answer. I try my best to banish fear from my life
each day, just like I do red beets and rice pudding.