I’ve been enjoying practicing with my “psychic-in-training friend” – we email questions to each other and see if we can get any answers.
We’re both doing really well. Of course, neither of us have a super-high rate of accuracy (yet) but that’s not the point. The point is that we both got some things right- and it’s stuff that you couldn’t really pull out of the air; it had to come from somewhere.
I am again learning to “clear the tube” or the lines of communication – the biggest interference is my own thoughts. Example, when asked about my friend’s past lovers, I immediately got “there was a crush” but I ASSUMED there were a number of lovers before her husband. So I asked for a number and got 3 or 4.
In fact there was a crush, and only a crush, before her current husband.
I tend to get genders precisely wrong – I’ve been consistently wrong with guessing the gender of my other friends’ unborn children, and again I was wrong with the main gender of the family surrounding my psychic friend – I saw her surrounded mostly by males, when in fact it was mostly females.
Last night was a busy night. I come home to my sweetie, who was in a thoughtful, introspective mood. She’d just done some research on her family tree and discovered that a murder that had occurred in her family was actually quite a famous one. I won’t get into details here because I want to protect her family’s privacy (unlike the media at the time of the murder and subsequent events.)
Sweetie was thinking about this because all this research and work I’m doing, along with watching shows like Psychic Kids, is triggering her own memories. She’s just as psychic as anyone on that show. She remembered a time as a child when she had a visitor, a man in a suit, who sat down on her bed and talked to her.
Sweetie, being an innocent child, went and told her mother that there was a man in her room. Her mother, understandably, flipped out, rallied the men of the family and ransacked the house looking for this man. Her worst fear had always been the abduction of her daughter, her youngest child.
Now, twenty years later, it occurred to Sweetie that her visitor was a deceased relative, and very possibly her murdered uncle.
I’ve made it a habit to go walking around with my third eye open these days, so I asked (in my head) was it her uncle?
Yes. The answer came. I heard a name. It’s like trying to hear something across a great distance or through a static-ridden telephone connection.
“Was his name John or Jacob?”
“His name was Jack.”
I got a picture of how he looked, his attitude towards life, I suddenly understood how my sweetie’s personality was similar to his own – they don’t have the fear trigger set in the usual place, and so they’re more comfortable with risk than the average person.
In fact, Jack was proud of how he lived his life – on the edge, pushing boundries, doing risky things and getting away with it. He loved it, it made him special. He was a “bad boy” – looked like a greaser from that musical “grease” doing things like illegal drag races at night and listening to rock-n-roll music.
“That is exactly what he looked like, and what he was like!”
I sensed too that the woman who was murdered along with him was also his lover, and Kat confirmed she’d heard something to this effect. It was an illicit romance because she was married. That’s a big part of why Jack was attracted to her.
I also knew for certain that Jack was not an evil guy. He was rebellious, but loving and quite close to his sister, my sweetie’s mother, as my sweetie confirmed.
I thought I heard the name of the murderer, and I asked who it was. I should have said out loud what I’d heard, because I’m sure I was close on that one.
I then asked the name of the woman who was murdered, and I thought I was getting the last name of the murderer again. I said this to my sweetie who confirmed that the woman’s unusual nick-name did sound a lot like the murderer’s last name.
Sweetie and I talked a long time about this. I’m sure that Jack is one of her guardian ancestors, who still keeps a close eye on both his sister and his niece. It was him visiting Sweetie in her room that day, I’m sure of it. He was saying hello and he likes her – I understand now how similar in personality Jack, my sweetie and her mother all are. Incredibly strong, focused, unafraid.
After all this, I sensed that female spirit in our house again, making herself known – the one who flipped the lights off and on last week. I got the name Laura – or something that starts with an L, ends with an A.
I think that before our house was built, there was a cannery on the property. An industrial operation, and one day this woman was injured and killed while at work. I got the sense that she was waiting to pick up her daughter after work, and so had never gone into the light, but waited over 50 years for her daughter to appear.
Sweetie and I lit our oil lamp for L and asked her to go join the light, that in the light, she could find her daughter.
The hair stood up on my arms, and the apartment felt lighter. I’m not sure if she’s gone completely – maybe she left and her energy imprint remains for a bit. We’ll have to do some space clearing to get the energy moving again.
Back to the murder in the family – remember when I was talking about how our emotions will reveal the truth in something? When we hear something that our soul knows is the truth, our bodies give us that confirmation in an emotional reaction. Sometimes it’s a sudden sense of wanting to cry, or it might be a complete feeling of joy. When Sweetie and I were talking about her uncle, she flushed – like a reaction to embarrassment, but there was no reason for her to have this reaction. Maybe it was her emotional confirmation of some truth we found last night.
We’re going to do some research on the property to see if we can confirm there was once a cannery on the spot where our house now stands, and if we’re lucky, maybe we can find out if someone passed away while working there.
Believe it or not, that’s not the end of events from last night. I connected with a man who’s in palliative care here at the hospital. I immediately knew what he’d been admitted for, and got my confirmation later this morning without ever seeing the patient.
Last night I saw a woman in his room. She looks like she’s in her 20s, has long, dark, flowing hair and is very beautiful. I wonder if it’s his first wife or girlfriend who died when they were younger? I’m getting a name that sounds like Sasha or Shayna – starts with S or a soft C.
I get the sense this man is hanging on until Christmas. I like to see people go through the dying process quickly, but there is something to be learned from a graceful, slow process, surrounded by family, living and dead.