Fear

People ask me, about my psychic ability, aren’t you afraid? I wonder, do they think they would be afraid to know what is going to happen? Or do they think that knowledge in advance is to be feared? I see it more as a preparation, a way to not be afraid, since I expected a result.

My first bike was an open ride into the world. Before that, I was afraid of my closet, the space under my bed, and basically the whole wide world. As I rode four blocks to my elementary school to peer in the windows on the weekends, I realized I loved adventures. To love an adventure meant I had destroyed fear. I soon saw that cars and people inside who ignored me were the biggest menace to what might happen to me. Yet I continued to have as many adventures as I could fit into my small life.

My huge college, Penn State, wasn’t scary. Just big and beautiful, with choices beyond measure. Sports, music, friends, food, all the choices were mine alone. No longer did my mom try to pick my friends for their social status. I could use my intuition to pick the good ones, the stimulating ones, regardless of their parent’s status. 

In college, I rode my fat-wheeled bike out into the country to escape the chaos of all those people at Penn State. Crowds meant I could “see” too much, people’s past mistakes, and negative thoughts. I still hate crowds, with my ability to see crimes committed and blunders covered up. 

If a person presses me more than once with the question, aren’t you afraid? I answer, I think you should be the one who is afraid. I have an ability that makes me safer. 

When we remember the past, it’s a fuzzy, grey sort of thought. That’s how I see other people’s past mistakes. That isn’t who they are now, although that is another layer I can wade through if I need to think about whether they can be trusted.

We all worry about the future, about what could happen. I see it in advance sometimes, but I’m not afraid. Long, long ago I conquered my fears, as I stepped onto a United Air Lines plane as a stewardess in 1973. Full gusto, I said to myself. Don’t let fear get in the way. Do it and think positively. Try it all, say yes. Fear is a roadblock, move beyond it.

 

Recipient of a Grudge

An old high school writer pal said I was her nemesis and wrote a book where I had a starring role. When I talked about her lies to another friend she said, I only wish someone would write a book about me. But I felt stunned and bewildered. 

I actually had to look up the word nemesis in my 2076 page Webster dictionary. It’s an opponent or rival whom a person cannot best. Oh my sorrow almost overwhelmed me. To think that I play a role so predominantly in her world could be thought of as good, but it seemed quite pitiful. 

I don’t know how to make her value her own self more. Intuitively, I know she is coming from a place of inferiority, but when we were close, I tried to build her up. When she wanted to play compare games, I’d tell her that her legs or hair were the most beautiful. I still try to send Facebook positivity her way when she posts, and on the few occasions that I see her, I ask important questions about her life and interests. 

I know that all of you have been recipients of grudges, and most were undeserved. We have to pat ourselves on the back and say, you’re doing a great job. Don’t let someone else’s negativity stand in your way. Be creative and interesting, achieve all that you can. The race is you against your own self, not a race against another. Change the Be Our Guest lyrics from Beauty and the Beast to your own lyrics- Be Your Best, be your best, put your service to the test. And the finale: Come on and lift your glass, you’ve won your own free pass (life is so unnerving). 

Jay Shetty in his book, Think Like a Monk, suggests transformative forgiveness. He says negativity arises from fear, and the longer we hold onto fear, the more it ferments until it eventually becomes toxic.

Reincarnation

I am not even close to being an expert on reincarnation. When people tell me their stories and remember a past life, I nod and wish I were more fluent in this. I have always remembered only one thing, I drowned in a past life. The image is of me swimming in very deep water, and I had a bathing suit on and I had very long black hair.

Since my hair has never grown long and takes forever to grow an inch, I figured from the dark hair and my adroit figure that it must have happened in my 30s. The vision seemed vivid for so long, that I avoided deep water from age eighteen to my forties. I still don’t think I’d swim out deep into the ocean.

The whole thought of this phenomenon makes me feel creepy. Clients on my ghost tours ask me if I’m frightened by the ghosts I see. No, I tell them, I’ve always seen them, so they don’t seem unusual to me. Beside, they aren’t here to disturb me.

Why are they here? I think disgruntled ghosts are people who have unfinished business. Why are the good ghosts here? I imagine they are having fun, or got stuck in this dimension somehow.

I wish I could remember more past lives. I wonder if my déjà vu is related to a past life. Maybe then I was in the same spot as I am in this lifetime.

Hinduism and Buddhism believe in reincarnation. That will be my next research project, to find out what’s going on through the eyes of a religion. One quarter of adults and 18% of Americans believe in reincarnation. I definitely need to know more. Here’s a book suggestion: In My Time of Dying by Sebastian Junger. 

How Long Have You Been Doing This?

At holistic fairs, the question I get most often is, How long have you been doing this?

When I was thirty, I started to research tarot and anything paranormal. Libraries were my source, and the librarians stared at me oddly when I asked for help. I lived in Bloomsburg, PA at the time, and the locals told me there was a witch girl who walked through town often and hung out at the roller rink. 

I found her walking by my apartment most days, and tried to lure her in, to ask what she knew. She had a great sense of reserve, and told me the people in the town made fun of her. That wasn’t my intention, but she also said she didn’t have any real powers. She discussed her “crazy mother” and her own bouts of mental illness. The two of us had fun roller skating, but people in the town thought I should stay away from her. To me, she seemed harmless. 

A few years later, I moved back to my hometown, Lebanon, where it was easier to find work than it was in Bloomsburg, where I knew few people. I had missed my mom’s presence and support, and this area had more libraries for my research and more radio stations for me to find work. 

I visited a few local psychics who were scam women, and not at all helpful in my quest to be a good psychic. I read books, took notes, and used libraries in Cumberland and Dauphin counties. 

At age forty, in 1991, I began my pro bono work with police. Detectives used to ask, don’t you need anything? What do you use? By then I had spent many years learning the tarot, but it wasn’t helpful or needed in my murder work. Information came to me as I sat at my computer, and I would type info from home. It was unpleasant work, and I truly hated seeing murder scene pictures. 

At age fifty-five, I grew weary of what others called the dark side of life. I only worked on cases where good people were hurt, and that made me almost too sad for words. I decided then, that I was finally well-versed enough to start to do readings for pay. I got booths at holistic fairs far enough out of town that I wouldn’t be labelled as crazy. I did all I could not to be a charlatan. Honesty came first. It’s still hard to tell people difficult news. I don’t think my music education nor my multi media specialization for my masters helped me succeed in this field.

I met Andy Pushnik, who was a great reader but didn’t share much with me. He gave me his worn deck of cards and clothes from his dead mom, but I truly wanted a mentor. He worked through his substance abuse problems, and in time, I decided if he could work in the field, so could I. So here I am, with a business that flourishes and a name that garners respect. It’s what we all wish for, to keep our path straight and keep a clear conscience. 

It's easier to be an old lady psychic than a young one. I get more automatic respect. Just like it’s easier to be an old music teacher. None of the mothers care anymore when their husbands bring the kids. Jealousy is not pleasant, so it’s a relief to be past that stage. When old guys flirt with me in front of their wives, the wives usually say, you can have him if you want him!

Nowadays, I continue to research anything paranormal and try to find my own path. My latest is palms, an ancient form that many have moved away from. As teenagers, my friends and I would stare at our palms and try to see the future. Now I can actually make sense of it through this almost lost art.

Use Intuition in Communication

In December I’ll speak to a hiking club about Finland and Norway. I’m a mini-hiker, with a fast uphill walk most days. Going outside for me equals the wild, but these people are super milers who walk in woods and find their own paths. Instead of talking about the teepees and the food I loved on my trip, I need to focus on outdoorsy things, like the rock art, mountain hiking I witnessed, and hikes (walks?) I took along fjords.
 
First I’ll research facts. Most of all, I have to connect my intuition with my audience, and remember to be emotional and interesting. All of us use intuition as a gauge, whether we’re with one friend or a small group of people. Out loud words need an audience.
 

Communication is art, and it’s flexible. When we meet people, we assess. Should I be funny? Serious? Intellectual? That’s intuition. You use it at work, and with children, strangers and friends. So when you speak, put your intuitive antennae up. Your ideas will be received easily and you will all have more fun. 

Connecting with Ancestors in Norway

I find it mentally exhausting to connect with people who have passed, but the process brings my clients peace, and I do it for myself in my own time and find some joy. What I really love, is travel to areas where my ancestors lived. My DNA ancestry claims I’m 60% Northwestern Europe, so recent trips to Scotland and Ireland seemed mystical, with a connection that felt like it went back 300 years.

A few weeks ago, I made a quest to Norway and Finland. I felt a strong kinship to the people there, as their fish diet fulfilled me. The clear water, clean air, and snow-topped mountains made me gloriously content. 

With only fifteen instead of fifty tourists on my tour, I spent my days with a young Canadian woman with a brain so different from mine. She noticed architecture and knew facts, was slow to trust but open to knowledge. I floated along, absorbed smells and sounds, air and water, and connected with the right side of my brain, as she kept me from getting lost. 

I loved two things the most. First, the teepees, one at the Sami Museum (indigenous people, although they have only been there for 2000 years) where we saw a movie filled with their singing, and listened to a native speaker who connected with reindeer and his own universe. My second favorite part was the 6000-year-old rock art. I let the breeze sway me, felt the past, and used my eyes to see the deep water that my ancestors had travelled.

On the waning days of my trip, homesickness overcame me, which I’ve never felt before. Norway felt like home and I didn’t want to leave. I knew I’d never return, and I became wondrously emotional. This trip changed me, soothed me, and will hopefully take me through the last years of my life. I don’t want this glory and peace to ever leave.  

I want you all to raise your right hands and promise you will travel to the land that calls your name, as Norway calls mine.

Superstition

As a child, I jumped over every crack in the sidewalk. The ditty rang in my head, step on a crack and you break your mother’s back. Better safe than sorry, I decided. Today, Mailchimp messaged that I had a 666 total audience on my blog. Right away I thought, I love the symmetry of that number, but should I be wary?

Most of us have at least a few superstitions. An ancient art form, they help us explain mysterious circumstances or events. The root cause is association, since people tend to create links between thoughts and feelings with objects and symbols. 

On Saturday, I talked to a young friend about fear, and how I’ve conquered it slowly, all my life. I didn’t tell her that for the past few years I’ve been apprehensive on big bridges. That’s a new one for me, but in light of the recent bridge tragedy, it could have been a premonition.

I like to give aid to fearful people. In my readings, I help with knowledge and foresight. In my music lessons, I promote confidence, an opposite of fear.

Superstition helps us feel lucky, and it comes from the Latin word, superstitio, which is to stand over and survive. What a good motto.

A Murder Knocks

I try not to let it bug me when someone on Facebook says, I’m so upset, I just can’t believe it. I want to yell back, what’s the secret? Soon I realize it’s a cry for help.   

I don’t need help here, but I’m troubled. Let me back up. Ten years ago, I worked with detectives on what I hoped was my last missing persons case. After 32 years of pro bono work, I was exhausted. I prayed and pleaded to the powers who help me, to make my abilities stop, and they did. Until last week.

When a case hasn’t been adjudicated, I can’t talk about it. But I can tell you how sad and sick I felt as my brain buzzer went off with information that bombarded me and knowledge that shocked me. As always, I typed up what I know, and soon realized that all the detectives whose names I would use to present trust, had all retired. In 1992, I was an anomaly. Now non-skilled psychics trying to make a name for themselves abound. For two days, I was dizzy and disoriented. I felt so old and weak.

I believe it’s too late to save a life in this case, but if information comes to me, I will work on cases until I die. I question why I have this skill set, and then I think about rescue skiers, doctors, nurses, and fire fighters. We all have a mandate to use our skill set, no matter our own private anguish.

Hidden Core of Truth and Religion

For a decade, I’ve taught piano to a reserved, smart young man. He doesn’t talk much, but this week he quietly took advantage of all my offers of help and said, I have to write a paper on religion. I had told him to be interesting, intellectual, and emotional when he writes, but this time he wanted substance.

Religion is philosophy, I said, and each of us can pick what we think is right. As a psychic, I hear a voice that directs me, but I don’t know if it’s God, or aliens, or some other source. In a low voice he said, I know you have something unusual going on. I answered, that’s the key. We all are unusual. I don’t believe in hell, but I hope the people who want to go to heaven, get there. I align with those who search for truth and do good work.

I told him to examine everything and remember that it’s a wide-open topic. Do your research, study Gandhi, Buddha, the Pope, and anyone else you can think of. Be respectful of other people’s belief systems. Take what you want and leave the rest.

When I studied philosophy for my master’s degree, I learned from those in class that we each have a hidden core of truth. Don’t be daunted when yours is unique to you.  

Mom's Spirit

Every weekend I want to tell my mom something, then I remember she’s dead, and I get frustrated at how unfair that seems. Next, I laugh at how ludicrous I’m being, or think through what I would say to her if I could call her. We definitely wouldn’t talk about my psychic abilities, since my mom either ignored my gift or stared at me like I had three heads. She never asked a question or commented on things I told her, or made any reference to it. Was it the autism spectrum label I attribute to her? Her lack of interest confounds me. 

Mom was born one hundred years ago. I loved her dearly, but I’m not sure she knew who I was. She made me play outside when I wanted to read all day. As an adult, she told me over and over to get a real job. She did encourage me when it came to education and taught me to succeed where others might fail, and she loved my children dearly. She hid her fears, and it was only when my dad died that I saw how many things she was afraid to do on her own.

I will always talk to spirits, to friends and family who have died. I will stomp around, pissed off that they aren’t still here. Talking to spirits isn’t as fun as when they had bodies, but dead people do come to me in dreams, and that feels wonderful. I guess it’s the most I can hope for.

So You Got Fired?

I’ve been fired twice. The first time I was only twenty-five and it hit me hard. I knew I couldn’t work with United as a flight attendant for too long, since it wasn’t intellectually stimulating, only loads of fun. When I got fired, I didn’t have a clue it would happen. Back then, I was a party girl, so premonitions weren’t at the forefront of my thoughts. The firing wasn’t about my work ethic, but about two people who didn’t want me around. My supervisor pushed me to have an affair and when I declined, he became angry. On a month of layovers, a female stew preached about religion and didn’t like my belief system.

A year after my sudden firing, with a high-powered lawyer at my side, I received a settlement and was offered my job back. I said no. The thought of returning gave me more nightmares than the firing, and I still have them fifty years later. The upshot is that I started an informative job at a music store and played piano and sang in restaurants and clubs in LA. 

When I was fifty, I started work at Harrisburg Academy as the school piano player and teacher of music. Right away, I knew I’d be fired. By then my intuition was strong and I didn’t avoid psychic thoughts that weren’t pleasant. Five years after I started, the headmaster found out that I worked pro bono on murder cases and canned me. I drove to the next town, rented a studio from a music store, and taught private students there. One of my students was a board member’s daughter. Her mother kept at me, why did you leave? I suggested she look at the books, and told her I thought he feared my abilities. He was fired two months later.

The hardest part about being fired was telling people, since they often assumed I had done something wrong. My good name is important, and I felt wounded. It still makes me want to cry. Only time and new jobs helped me move on.

When you know something is about to tank but you want it anyway, just do it. Preparation can help a little, but to believe in destiny can help more. Those slammed doors opened better avenues for me. It can happen for you too.