Are You Scared?

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.

How I Work on Murder Cases

I’ve never personally known anyone else who worked pro bono as a psychic with police on murder cases, so let me tell you how I do it. 

1) A police detective might contact me, but most often I have a dream, see a murder on the news, or hear a TV announcer explain what happened. Then I think, that’s not right, or my brain goes on a tangent and I see the murder in my mind’s eye. 

2) I sit at my computer and write a page or two of all the info I know, from the important to the mundane. 

3) I contact a detective, if I haven’t been asked to work the case. With a new detective, I give my background and the name of a previous detective, then I send my info. 

4) The detective sees that I know obscure facts and wants to meet. 

5) At the meeting, I talk. Sometimes I cry or throw up. I don’t like to see explicit pictures of the murder. I do answer questions, but I prefer not knowing much information. 

6) I’m usually taken to the murder site. I hate that almost as much as pictures. I see the murder in color, but previously it seems to be black and white.

7) A few more phone calls are exchanged and I’m finished. 

8) I never contact a detective to find out if it’s been solved. 

9) I move on to the next case, and hope it doesn’t arrive too soon.

Read Tarot for Yourself

I felt dumb and silly when I started to read tarot cards, so here are some tips. 

1- Buy one deck. I like the Aquarian tarot because it has faces, but any deck with pictures can help you learn faster. 

2- Shuffle them before you start, just like you wash bed sheets before you use them. 

3- Pick one to three cards. Pick randomly or take the top cards if you like to shuffle. The card on the left is the past, the center card is your policy or what to do, and the third card is your future. Face them towards you. Some people use reversed cards with different meanings, but that doubles what I have to learn. Research often suggests the ten card Celtic Cross, but I like easy. Seven is the most I ever throw down. 

4- Look up the meaning of each card. Type a short synopsis if you have time. You can use a book or the info sheet that comes with your cards, but I like to google https://www.psychic-revelation.com for interpretations. 

5- Leave the cards out until the end of the day, to see what happened and how to relate it back to your cards. 

6- Pay attention to any card that repeats.

7- Shuffle and try again another day.

Suspending Reality

A visit to a new place boosts right-brained activity, whether it’s intuition, a motivation to create or enjoy art, or just a good feeling of love. You don’t have to go far, just try a different hike, a new friend’s environment, or a local art exhibit.

I spent the past week in Ireland. My father’s ancestors came from there sometime before 1731, but I felt an incredible affinity for the people and the land. In County Clare, I visited the 710 foot, five-mile-long Cliffs of Dover on a clear day with 50 mph winds. Goosebumps and thrills ran through my body. In Ennis, I ate a plate of fresh seafood at the Poet’s Corner bar in the Old Ground Hotel.

Now let me back up a minute. Months ago, the owner of the salon where I frequent, complimented my hair. “It’s curly and looks better with your small face,” she said. I knew my head was small, but hadn’t realized I should now worry about my small face.

As I sat in the Poet’s Corner bar in Ireland, along with several men my age (it seems men sit at the bar and women sit at tables, but not me), I realized the four barmaids all had small faces and small heads, with green eyes and coloring the same as mine. Family!

In County Cork at Blarney Castle, I asked one of the workers what was his favorite thing. He told me to skip the castle and see the gardens. He said I should see Rock Close, which he pronounced Rock Claws. It sounded scary but it wasn’t. I danced in ancient stone circles and felt at one with huge Druid rocks. For the first time in my life, I wanted to camp. The spirit moved me, as we used to say in the 60s.

Last week in Ireland I felt lucky enough to suspend reality. You can too, in your own town, if you try. 

Are Imaginary Friends Ghosts?

As a child, when I returned from the bathroom one last time before bed, I often felt someone in my bedroom. I’d look under the bed, then sneak towards my walk-in closet to take a peek. I saw nothing, but I still felt a presence.

As an adult, when I work on murder cases, I see dead people and hear them talk to me, and it also happens during some psychic readings. My latest work as a ghost tour guide got me to thinking, were those ghosts I sensed as a child?

I know that people swear that when a certain type of butterfly, or a bluebird, crosses their path, it’s their dead mother saying hello. A few months ago, I actually smelled my dead mom’s Wind Song perfume in my front closet, which has never housed any of her belongings. Just in case it was her, I said hello. Then, I heard her voice speak to me, and it wasn’t something she had ever told me before. I believe it was her spirit guiding me.

Many children have imaginary friends. The children I’ve met who do have them, are unusual, artistic and quite sensitive. According to an article in Atlantic magazine, by age 7, 65% of children will have had an imaginary friend. The article says that children with imaginary friends grow up to be more creative than those who don’t.

I never had an imaginary friend. When I talked to my blue stuffed poodle, I had no two-way conversation going on. But the fear I had in my bedroom lasted through my teens. When I lead local ghost tours, about one in four make me feel spooked.

I got nothing for you here, no definitive word. Just ideas, so let me know your own. Right now, I’ll relate to that movie, Clueless. 

The Yoke of Keeping Everything the Same

My mother did the wash every Monday of her life. When she got really old, I volunteered to do it for her. With much coaxing, she agreed, until I told her I couldn’t do it on a Monday. That ended that.

We all like to do some of the same things, over and over. The problems arise when those habits become a yoke around our neck, like when we want to keep too much stuff and realize we are at the beginning stages of hoarding. We can’t let go because our things all have an intuitive connection to people and experiences.

To let go of what I call “the same the same” means letting go of fear. I see it at the music store where I’ve rented space for 34 years. It’s going out of business, and the workers and other teachers now walk around like zombies. My response was to rent a new spot. As I agonize over curtains, chairs, tables, supplies, and a move-in date, I try to roll with the change. 

This is a first for me and I like firsts. It’s my own brick and mortar business, Jan’s Music and Education Center in Lebanon PA, where I can teach voice and piano, and do psychic readings and tarot parties without censure. Where I don’t have to worry about the owner’s father coming into my room and spreading cough-making chemicals on the rug. A place I will always feel safe.

Letting go is sad and spooky, whether it’s a friendship, a death, or a job. My plan is to wear my Elvis costume on October 31, the last day at the music store. When I sing “Ain’t Nothin’ but a Hound Dog” and “Love Me Tender,” or ask strangers for a peanut butter and banana sandwich, I’ll ride along on a wave of optimism. I figure it’s the only way to go.

Random Connections with Strangers

Now that I’m in the last third of my life, I push myself to use public transportation. After an empty bus to NYC last Thursday, I met a philosophical taxi driver. His optimism as he swerved through traffic buoyed me.

During my twenty-block walk to my next bus on Friday morning, I had quick eye connect with the actress Scarlett Johansson. As I lugged my wheeled suitcase up a hill, I eavesdropped on a father with his beautiful young son. On the bus to Montauk, NY, I watched a woman my age as she flipped her grey, long hair and connected with the bus driver. Their words sounded trivial but I could hear warmth behind them.

The way back home proved even more fruitful. From sunny, serene Montauk, which I call a cross between Hawaii and Vermont, a dog and a baby boarded the bus. I had just spent the weekend with my fabulous, seven-week-old grandson, who charmed me deeply but also cried a lot. On the bus, this baby cried a lot. The air conditioning didn’t work, and none of us were happy. All of us, including the dog, panted with open mouths.

In NYC, I walked a new street to Port Authority for my final bus, but somehow got the time balled up and planted myself on the floor for an hour wait. A chatty young woman opened her heart to me with tales of all she had seen in three days in that glorious city. Then, on the bus, a blue eyed, blond woman sat next to me. That two-hour trip seemed like ten minutes, as we quizzed each other about our lives. I loved the story of her adoption of twin boys from Haiti, fifteen years prior, and I giggled at her reaction when she texted her daughter with a psychic prediction I had made and it turned out to be true.

It’s odd and delightful to connect with strangers. It’s a slice of love, and a bit like being a part of a couple, but only for a moment or an hour. I do know that love comes in all forms, so catch it where you can.