My Third Psychic Memory

I am maybe five or six. I must have been in kindergarten, since I have a real sense of myself. Every weekend I beg my mother to let me go alone into the front yard, which borders a boulevard with rushing cars. I have to go without her, since she likes the back yard with its privacy and noisy birds and a line to hang wash. Her front porch visits are limited to a sweep and a wash.

I keep asking to go out front alone. When she finally lets me, I hide behind our big old elm tree with my back against the rough bark. I think about two of our three neighbors, the ones my mom calls widows. I don’t know what that means, but I want to see what they do in their homes, so I stare through the tree and into their lives. One lady slouches in a chair to read and the other one is busy in her kitchen. They are boring to watch.

The house right next to ours is different. Inside lives one crazy family, and their intrigue and my shock equals fun. I stare into their house and watch the mother pace back and forth from the kitchen to the living room. The drama begins as she throws her arms in the air and runs to the bottom of the stairs, where she yells at the husband and children who are hiding upstairs. When she exhausts herself, she throws her body on the stairs and breaks out in a sob. In the yard, through the tree, I see her but I cannot hear every word.

After her final outburst, the husband storms down the stairs and bawls out his anger and
frustration. He stops to check on her as she lies prostate, then he stomps through the house and out to the garage. If he is only a little angry, he sits in his car inside the garage with the garage door open. When he gets really mad he drives off and doesn't return for the rest of the day.

Their ritual stays the same every weekend. The kids hide in their rooms, the parents fight. Their passion and pathos enthrall me. These are the days before we had a television, so their antics provide me with my own personal soap opera. As far as seeing through walls, I assume everyone has my abilities. I figure it’s like underwear, private. I certainly do not talk about it.

In second grade I make a new friend, a tow-headed tomboy. To impress her I take her to my secret spot behind the tree. I tell her about my fun as I watch the neighbors act crazy. She stands behind the tree with her back straight against it. Time passes.

“This isn’t working. I have to face the tree to look through it,” she tells me, as irritation creeps into her voice.

Silent as stone, she waits with her nose pressed against the bark. Within minutes she gives up.

"What are you STUPID?” she screams at me. “People can't see through walls!"

Our friendship collapses as she marches off for home.

My Second Psychic Memory

My baby brother John arrives and inhabits my crib. Mother's attention is taken by him and I have become a watch dog. My big sister Judy is allowed to play outside in the alley next to our row home, so I love to stand at the window and watch her.

When my mother gets sick of the smudge marks from my nose, I sit on a kitchen chair and watch Judy through the wall of the house. When she leaves for school I cannot see where she goes, and that frustrates me.

My First Psychic Memory

I wake, ready to cry for my mother. I am in a crib in our first house, so I am younger than two. I pull myself up by the bars to stand, and fight off the urge to scream for attention. When I find her I will feel safe.

My "inner eye" scans the second floor. Nothing. I look through the floor to the living room. No one. I push to get my inner eye through the floor and the wall shared by the living room and kitchen. I float through the house but my body is still in the crib. At last I see her in the kitchen making food. Now I feel secure, so I sit down and wait. Mama will come and get me when nap time is over.

Playing Music and the Psychic Float

People like to ask how I do my psychic work. I sometimes call it my psychic float, which means I drift to another place in my mind, almost another dimension. Today I realized it is a bit like playing music.

As many of you know, my Mommy died last August. Holidays are hard right after you lose a loved one, so on New Year's Eve I promised myself a prize. First I made a bucket list of things of what I can do in my 60's that I might not be able to do in my 70's, and on that list was to play music as a solo act (should I call myself One Band Jan?). I bought a new keyboard and speakers and a mixer, and now I spend a lot of time with practice and song selection.

Singing is right brained and piano is left brained. It's quite difficult to do them at the same time. but it does strengthen the connections between both sides of the brain. My psychic work is the same. I use my right brain, my intuition, to float to a place of concentration, but my advice to clients and friends need to be carefully chosen, which is left brained.

I believe each of you has a similar story. Try to notice when you float to another zone to think creatively. Make use of your best gifts.

Intuition and Kindness

I stood in line at a McDonalds with my children, who were six and 13 at the time. The man in front of me pulsed with negativity.

"Bad man alert," my brain screamed.

I wanted to dash but my son loved his burger and toy and I seldom took him for fast food. I told myself to stay calm and figure out why I wanted to leave. When I floated to my "knowing" zone I could see the bad man on the previous day. He had a knife. He stabbed a man in the leg. Both of them did awful things. Both were at fault. But today the man looked calm and I knew he wouldn't hurt us. I tried to think of other things, the joy on my son's face as he devoured his burger. It didn't work.

"Come on, kids, we have to leave."

I grabbed my son's hand, moved quickly and tried not to look at his sad and bewildered face. My daughter was old enough to know that something had to be wrong for me to act so rashly. In the car I sat and shook, then told both of them what I had seen. I got their meals from the drive through window.

My abilities are similar to everyone else's....the talent to understand what people are REALLY saying, the knowledge that someone has pain and needs kindness, and the capacity to know who wields goodness and who should be avoided. In this New Year, avoid negative people when your inner voice speaks. Trust your intuition. Embrace those you love.

Angels and Death and a Psalm

My mother Lorna died 11 weeks ago from a terrible car accident caused by my stepfather. I found it hard to stop howling and the pain in my stomach made me not want to eat. Today, I have been happy for seven days. As my sister says, life is like a river. I have passed through the rapids.

My mother loved church. Today's blog is dedicated to my feisty and intellectual mother.

I have been called a witch. Others have said that my police work is the work of the devil. Both accusations disturb me. How can volunteer work on a murder case be anything but good? Isn't the only witch a person who states that she IS a witch? For sure, I am not involved in devil work and I am not a witch, although I could be a prophet, since I am a visionary and I feel I have divine inspiration. Or I could be an angel, because I give messages to people. I think that angelic work in any form equals an angel.

Angels cause some people to think of heaven. To ease the ache of my mother's four days of pain and subsequent death, some friends told me she was in heaven while others said, "She's with you. She's all around you." Psalm 91:12 states: For he will give his angels charge of you to guard you in all your ways. This psalm gives me some comfort. Maybe my mother is that angel guarding me. If she were still here in the flesh, she might have believed that way of thinking. She is not here, yet I cannot let go of her entirely. I will draw comfort from any source I can find.

To all of you, I say, may your deaths be life. Let the change in the river's current transform your future. As my southern relatives would say, "God bless."

PA Renaissance Faire and Music Lessons

Each August through October I do readings and palms at Fortune's Favour at the PA Renaissance Faire at the Mt. Hope Estate and Winery in Manheim, Pennsylvania (dates below). I wear a costume and pretend to be part of 16th century England.

It is so different from my job teaching voice and piano to children. With teaching, I have to be proper at all times and careful of every word I say. Children are impressionable and unformed and my advice can steer them. One discouraging word and a world of hurt could pass across a child's face. A good teacher can never make a mistake.

Fortunes and palms at the Faire are quite the opposite. Most of my clients are adults, some have been drinking and others are there for a lark. I can loosen my tongue and attitude yet hone my powers of concentration.

Both jobs require care and humor. My clients look to me for wisdom and advice and take what I say to heart. Today I am glad I am old. The time I spent in education and experience serves me well. I love having two jobs, two personas and two ways to express my personality.

These are the dates I will be doing readings at the PA Ren Faire:
August 14 Sunday August 20 & 21 Saturday and Sunday August 28 Sunday
September 5 Monday September 11, 18, 25 Sundays
October 2 Sunday October 8 & 9 Saturday and Sunday October 16 & 23 Sundays