I’ve been working on this for quite a while, but recently learned enough to produce a decent video!
Here I go, talking about why I do not smudge, in more detail:
I hope you enjoy it!
I’ve been working on this for quite a while, but recently learned enough to produce a decent video!
Here I go, talking about why I do not smudge, in more detail:
I hope you enjoy it!
In an effort to “roll out the crazy” gradually, I’ll sometimes hold back ideas until they start to make sense in a larger context. One of these ideas is Angel Training.
During one of the first readings I did for Sweetie, she asked, “What is the point of this? Why am I here, living this life?”
The answer fell out of my mouth immediately: “It’s part of your angel training.”
I’d run into the idea of angel training once before, when I looked into the deaths of two paramedics in our community who died together in an accident. Those two were in angel training together, and they still are helping the hospital. They’re usually riding along in the ambulances, comforting the injured, assisting in elevating them above their painful injuries, providing calm and clarity of mind to the newbie paramedics who took their place. They assist in crossing over those whose bodies die before they can reach the hospital, and they occasionally prod awake a fatigued highway driver.
According to her guides, Sweetie was a very reluctant participant in this incarnation. She had a long list of demands prior to even considering incarnation, which included the constant company of white cats. She ultimately consented to this incarnation after her teacher, “Brian,” gently pointed out that if she truly desired to progress any further in her angel training, she really needed one more incarnation on earth.
So Sweetie is definitely on her last incarnation on earth. Even now, she holds herself above and apart from the world. She gets frustrated and angry quickly when topics like pollution arise, and she’s observing a broad judgmental side of herself that tends to simply condemn this whole planet’s fate.
It’s fucked, basically, so why would anything she could say, do or create make the slightest difference?
This has been her spiritual struggle, yet slowly, painfully, she’s progressing through it. The lessons from John, over the years, have been helping both of us (some are chronicled in the John Lennon Friday entries) and now Kurt has come forward to continue the discussion.
Here’s an email I received from Sweetie talking about a recent conversation with Kurt:
Here’s a synopsis of the ideas I was talking about this morning. Plus a couple of other things I was thinking about:
1) Kurt’s been working on breaking down some of my cynicism. Sometimes he talks to me, sometimes he plays his songs in my head, sometimes he drops whole ideas on me. He may also be priming my mind while I’m sleeping to better receive these ideas while I’m awake. Some of the conversations I’ve had with him lately:
a) I was in the car listening to Pennyroyal Tea. I wondered if emotional turmoil is a necessary part of angel training.
He said, “No. Not necessarily. I mean there are things you want to try to learn while you’re here but it’s only as easy or as hard as you need it to be. You define your own experience”
Later “Lounge Act” came on, and these lines jumped out at me:
Don’t – tell me what I wanna hear
Afraid of never knowing fear
Experience anything you need
I’ll keep fighting jealousy
’til it’s fucking gone
Which is exactly the same point, just stated another way. So, he understood this while he was alive. I think he was more spiritual than most people realize.
b) I’m pretty sure he has wings now. Although he doesn’t usually show up in that guise. Is he done angel training? I swear he gave me a hug the other day and actually folded a wing around me.
(My answer to Sweetie: The first time I saw Kurt, I’m pretty sure he had wings, and he definitely ascended from “very high up” which is a sensation familiar to me when talking with “known” angels, such as the one who watches over my mother. Some psychics say that angels have the ability to appear as incarnated humans at times when needed; maybe, at first, we were seeing Kurt as he was in his most recent life, because that’s how we were able to best connect and relate to him.
Now we’re able to open ourselves up to other ideas of who Kurt has become since he left his last incarnation. It’s similar to talking to John as John Lennon for a most of our conversations, even though we’re aware that he is not literally the person known as John Lennon, but the spirit who experienced the life of John Lennon, among other incarnations and other lessons on the other side. Back to Sweetie’s email:)
He told me my back sometimes aches where my wings should be. He told me that I shouldn’t sleep in my bra because my scapulae need a chance to spread out.
He’s taken to calling me “angel” lately, where before he was calling me “baby”. Occasionally “bitch”, but only if he was feeling jokey.
c) With regard to the things we were talking about this morning, he’s really been appealing to a spirit of rebellion and nonconformity in an effort to get me to look at the world differently. Really trying to impress upon me that it is not necessary to go along with what everyone else is doing, not necessary to accept their version of The Way Things Are, and that I basically don’t need to go along with their bullshit. Not only do I not need to participate in bringing about their vision of the world, but I don’t actually have to live in it, either. I don’t have to suffer the effects of their actions.
Just think of politics as one big fucking pep assembly that you’re better off skipping.
Think of World History as a class that you might as well drop out of, because at worst it’s a bunch of lies, and at best it’s one person’s version of the truth.
He dropped the idea of divergent realities on me as I was going to bed after watching the Bigfoot documentaries, after John told us the Neanderthals were still here. It just suddenly all made sense. The Neanderthals split off, the Atlanteans split off — that’s why we can’t find a trace of them. Everything that goes along with their cultures exists on their vibration level, as well. They probably don’t experience our culture either.
So, if that’s true, then we can probably split off as well, and choose not to experience the effects of the military-industrial complex and it’s agendas.
But it sounds totally crazy, right? Isn’t that just denial, refusing to see the world as it actually is?
(I think we’re on to something here. It’s common for ghosts, earthbound spirits who refuse to move on after their last incarnation, to see the world around them as it was when they were alive. They would see the old ranch where now stands a Toys R Us.)
He described reality to me as being really fragmented, not this cohesive thing that we tend to perceive it to be when we’re incarnated. It’s actually a fractal, it’s the whole and its parts, like the urchin consciousness.
(Recently, we had the opportunity to observe, communicate with and then eat a live sea urchin. Urchins have been a food staple in our region for hundreds of years. It was amazing talking with this creature, which could best be described as a collective consciousness like the Borg from Star Trek. In the picture of the urchin, see how each spine waves individually? Each spine is an awareness. As the fisherman broke apart the living collective to access the roe, the edible part of the urchin, I was braced for the urchin to feel pain.
But it didn’t happen. All that happened was the collective consciousness separated into its parts – now there were half a dozen singular collectives where once there was one. The message came “Put us back!” and the image of returning some of the pieces to the water formed in my mind. I understood that this would seed future whole urchins. I also understood that when many hundreds of sea urchins are together, they form a singular collective consciousness too, almost like one huge animal. The moment a single urchin is removed by a human, otter, crab etc for food, this portion of the collective is simply unplugged from the larger one, and simply becomes it’s own consciousness. It was so fascinating and instructive, talking to urchins. It makes you wonder about the sheer nature of consciousness. Back to Sweetie’s email:)
We each have our own tiny realities, and there are larger shared realities. And there is a lot of crossover but it’s not exactly one immutable thing. He showed me a string of translucent beads, three in a row. And then showed them to me end ways so they overlapped. That’s the world, in essence. It looks like one thing, but that’s where divergence can happen.
I’ve had Stay Away in my head often, lately. Or part of it:
Monkey see, monkey do
(I don’t know why)
Rather be dead than cool
(I don’t know why)
It’s serving as a good reminder that other people’s bullshit is other people’s bullshit.
d) He’s been talking to me about art, understanding that part of the problem I’m having is in seeing art as an act of altruism in a world that does not wish to save itself. He said it’s okay, that I don’t need to fix that. I don’t need to be a perfect spiritual being, I don’t need to love everyone in the world and want to help them. I don’t need to want good things for everyone in the world, including Mike, Monsanto, and the Bush family. I don’t have to be altruistic. I don’t even need to be happy — although he’d *like* it if I were happy — it isn’t necessary. The only thing that matters is that I know how special I am, that I matter, and that any art that I might choose to make is okay.
So, I thanked him for that.
2) Yesterday, someone convinced me to read Oscar Wilde’s “The Picture of Dorian Gray”. (It’s a story about a man and his vanity — he becomes obsessed with his own portrait, in which his image is mysteriously aging). I’m not really sure who thought I should read it. But anyway.
It begins with a 4 page essay of Wilde’s, in which he describes the role of the artist in our society.
Wilde says that art is a mirror: it’s completely objective and can only be judged on the basis of its form rather than its content. Essentially it’s the viewer that is the spectacle; people who dislike “realism” art can’t stand to see themselves reflected back, people who dislike “romanticism” art are vain, and aren’t interested unless they’re seeing themselves reflected. It actually reminds me of Yoko’s work, now that I think about it. Perhaps it was John who thought I should read it.
But I’m only in partial agreement. I was like, “Okay. Let’s suppose I accept the premise that the artist is creating a 100% objective reflection — which I don’t, but I’ll set that aside for now — the artist is still an editor. He or she chooses to represent or omit things as necessary. It’s impossible to represent everything; there needs to be a focus. That focus creates a subjective reality. You can choose to paint a rose bush growing beside a dumpster and omit the dumpster, or paint the dumpster by itself.”
And then I heard a bit of a smug, “Aha! See, you *do* care about the artist’s role in society. You *do* want to participate in this, after all”.
Ah, crap. Well, touche. All right, you got me. Busted. :p
Wilde’s take is that art is neutral. There’s no “good” art or “bad” art, “moral” or “immoral” art. Art just is. Everything else is criticism.
I think we still live in a world where the powers that be are afraid of what might happen if people wake up to the idea that spirituality is simple, accessible and powerful. As though spirituality can be 2 of these things at once, but not all 3:
Simple and accessible, but not powerful. Like Yoga at the Y.
Accessible and powerful, but not simple. Like a Course in Miracles.
Simple and powerful, but not accessible. Only for the Buddha. Or maybe some Tibetan monks.
Yet on a gut level, we know that spirituality truly is Simple, Accessible and Powerful. The trick is truly, whole-heartedly taking in this knowledge with certainty.
When I started this whole psychic thing, the first few times I tried reading I’d get really tired, or a nasty headache after my initial attempts and minor successes at reading.
Now, with a bit of tweaking on the techniques, I find readings not just enjoyable, but energizing. Invigorating. In general.
I find that if I haven’t done readings for anyone in a day or two, I start to get cravings, almost. I start thinking about who I can visit who might want a reading. Fortunately, this weekend I had a few readings for friends lined up.
One reading was for Shelly’s mother, Shirley. Shirley has been seeing psychics all her life, and even had a reading from Sylvia Browne’s son, Chris. I just checked their website, and it looks like readings with Sylvia cost $850 per half hour, and $500 for Chris. It’s actually less than I’d thought.
Another thing that jumps out at me from this website is this sentence:
Unlike some pseudo-psychics who tell people that their problems are caused by curses, evil entities, demons, or karmic retribution neither Sylvia nor Chris will blame the negative occurrences on your life on these things, and each of them feel it is important to advise their clients to not believe in such things. They do not exist.
I love these little synchronicities. I was just sitting down to write about Courtney’s reading, when I came upon that.
Courtney, who I’ve mentioned before, is a traditional, old-school witch. She uses physical objects to assist with energy changes in a household, a life pattern, etc. Where I will cast my nightly protection over my house by simply visualizing it and declaring it there, Courtney may use objects like pennies dipped in holy water to emphasize a barrier that will remain until the pennies are removed. I believe these are simply different methods of accomplishing the same thing.
Courtney believes in demons and evil entities. In fact, she describes regularly going “into hell” to battle such demons and entities. I asked her to elaborate, to tell me about “hell” – what it was (to her), who she met there.
She told me a lot about what hell was not (fire and brimstone) but not much about what it actually is, what she experiences. Maybe another visit sometime will reveal more.
It’s interesting and actually disconcerting to me to encounter someone so focused on hell, demons, and negative entities.
While Courtney is a great person, she does not consider herself to be specifically aligned with a “side”, commonly described in the psychic world as light or darkness. Christopher Reburn likes to refer to psychics and sensitives working for good in this world as “lightworkers”. I’ve heard a very good and kindhearted psychic who practiced voo-doo to be accused of working with “the dark arts” by a psychic who considered herself a lightworker.
It’s so funny to me how even psychics, those of us who KNOW and experience so much more about the other side than the average incarnated bear, can still find so many reasons to become divided. In a way, it’s human nature, isn’t it? And this would be one phenomenon I’ll keep my eyes peeled for when I get to my first new-agey convention.
Anyway, back to Courtney.
Courtney has been a sensitive herself, all her life. She doesn’t talk directly with people on the other side, but she sees auras and works energy as a witch to great effect.
I have a lot of respect for her, and yet, this business about her demons has me perplexed.
I had Courtney over to my house for her last reading. When she came in, Sunshine, my white cat, approached her with great deliberation and said, “I want you to know that I control the energy in this house.”
Courtney, I’m sure, would not have deliberately affected the energy in the house, but obviously, her mere presence had Sunshine asserting herself.
Courtney declared she’d parked her “Hell Hound” outside our house. I don’t even know what a hell hound is. I hadn’t been aware of any entities other than the incarnated ones (but that doesn’t mean they’re not there.)
What I did notice was a scratching at the door. I figured my other cat was outside and wanted in, and so I went to the front door and opened it up.
And in walks this black ghost cat, very similar to the one I saw at John & Melinda’s place.
I asked Courtney about it, she didn’t know who he was. I mentally shrugged and got on with the reading.
Courtney’s demons are a very real, day-to-day experience for her. She described her protective spells and her experiences with doppelgangers and other negativities in great detail. My intuition tells me her experiences are real.
When I was young, I asked my parents if there was such a thing as God. I was going through the integration of the idea that Santa Clause, the Tooth Fairy etc., did not exist, and I was wondering if this God fellow was a similar creation.
I was surprised when my parents looked at each other, and then had to leave the room to get their story straight before deciding what to tell me. See, both of my parents have observed and personally experienced the painful limitations of set-in-stone religious ideals, and so their spiritual guidance for their kids was like a hippocatic oath: First, Do No Harm.
And so what they told me, what I believed and still carry with me to this day is this:
“We believe in Heaven. We believe that someone got things going in the universe, but that it’s our own choices that drive our lives.”
This was enough of an answer for me. As far as I was concerned, I had gotten a “Yes, God is Real,” and I’ve moved forward in my life with that knowledge ever since.
As the years progressed and my mother expanded her own research into spirituality, she’d talk to me about the things that made sense or didn’t make sense to her, and in this way we’ve created our own ideas of God, Azna, Heaven and the afterlife.
My thoughts about negative entities have been few, and when we’ve necessarily had to deal with malevolent ghosts or energy imprints, it’s generally been in a house-clearing and protection stance. Never have I thought about going to battle with negatives.
Which is why Courtney’s reality is so interesting and disconcerting to me. At some point in her life, Courtney decided that she had two choices: she could become a victim, or a fighter. She has become a self-declared fence-sitter in terms of positive and negative energies, because in her words, “The Universe doesn’t care.”
The Universe doesn’t care.
That statement is at the heart of what I’m getting at. Courtney’s experience in this life has led her to this conclusion – good, evil, doesn’t exist. It’s all the same to the Universe. The Universe doesn’t care.
I hear this and I want to shout: “The Universe DOES CARE! MY GOD! Just ask for help! Just ask and you will be surrounded by so many angels, so many loving ancestors! You do not need to fight all by yourself, you really can be loved and protected. You just have to want it and accept it!”
But of course, I do not say this. Instead, I pass on the advice of her grandfather, and my cat:
“There is just as much to be learned from the light as from the darkness. Expand the light in your heart to surround your body, the room, the house, the city, the world.”
Gently, her Grandfather and my cat, asked her to think about turning her face towards the lightness, the happiness, the joy, the love in the Universe. That’s all they’re asking right now, just for her to think about it.
Courtney went home looking thoughtful and I believe she was feeling happier. I’m looking forward to our next visit.
Now about that black cat…
After Courtney left, I felt a return in myself to the worried person I had been six months ago. This centered feeling of peace and protection was illusive. I couldn’t settle down, I couldn’t stop worrying, panicking, about things that really aren’t problems. This was a familiar feeling in a way, but not a welcome one – I am not going to return to that.
So I started asking why I was feeling that way, and I understood that I needed to cleanse the house after Courtney’s visit. I got out my trusty bell to assist me in raising the vibration of the household, while I sweep out any sticky energy. This is something that Sweetie and I have been doing for years.
But this time I encountered something so strange in the Spirit room (the second bedroom.) Up there in the corner, was some sort of creature. It clung to the corner like a spider, but it felt like a mammal, a monkey. Or a cat.
I didn’t think too much about what it was, why it was there, or how it got in until the next day. At the time, I focused on sending the creature out of the house. In doing so, I sensed that it was a sort of energy parasite, that it had followed Courtney into our house and had decided to try and stay. Not gonna happen.
I removed it easily enough, but it’s mere presence in my HOME was so disturbing, that I’d been worrying about it all the next day. What is it? Was it attacking Courtney? Would *I* start to experience similar attacks?
I even questioned the thing’s existence, except that I *know* now not to doubt the things I sense. I sensed this creature just as I sensed the black ghost cat in John & Melinda’s house. I got the confirmation from them, (the kids had a black cat years ago, named Tom). Something was definitely there, but maybe my interpretation of it was inaccurate.
After all, it’s easy to be afraid. It’s more challenging to try to understand.
Sweetie found a blog entry from 2006:
The VERY FIRST PARAGRAPH:
|11-1-06 – A psychic friend of mine called me on the telephone first thing this morning to tell me that she had an OBE (Out of Body) experience with John Lennon. She said that he thanked her for coming to see him because he had been trying to contact her friend Dee three times this month and it wasn’t in her paradigm to recognize him for who he was and that I thought the visits were someone else.John wanted Dee to know that the work I was doing on my website was important – presenting ‘truth’ on many topics, and he appreciated that we didn’t charge people to read our words of wisdom like other websites do.
I feel like laughing and crying! John says, “What, do you think you’re the only psychic I’ve ever spoken to?”
Little confirmations like these are so important to me. I am *not* crazy. I really am talking with John. He really is helping me practice my psychic abilities, and he’s helped other psychics in the past for years.
He is laughing, because it’s so funny to him (and many on the other side) that we incarnated ones need proof and proof and more proof before we’ll believe what’s in front of us.
“A little New Year’s Gift for you!”
and “Maybe you’ll be less afraid to tell people you’re talking to me, (wink, gentle smile).”
It’s funny too the painting which illustrates the similarities between Jesus and John – I’ve been getting a lot of Jesus call-outs lately. People talking about J-dog in their blogs, in real life to me. I had to ask, “John, are you Jesus?”
He laughs, “No! But we’re great friends!”
Thank you John. We love you so much.
Sweetie and I have our disagreements every once in a while. We’re not clones of each other, we have differences, however invisible they may seem to our friends. (Friends tease us we are slowly becoming the same person.)
When these disagreements happen, we may have a fight. I call it a fight, because I hate these times, it makes me feel very upset when our partnership harmony is tossed on the seas of strife. To someone else, it may not look like a fight unless there are raised voices involved (which doesn’t always happen.)
Over the holidays, a couple such fights occurred, enough for John to comment, “You girls have been fighting a lot recently. It makes me feel sad to see you both upset.” (I’m paraphrasing the feeling of empathy he projected.)
I replied, “Yeah, I know. I don’t like it either. Any suggestions?”
“You could try this: take a small break from finding a solution and just spend some time hearing each other. Someone talk, someone listen. Then switch, so that each of you has completely expressed and completely been heard. Then find a resolution later.”
I brought John’s advice to Sweetie and we discussed it – and we think this will really help. We haven’t had a chance to try it out yet, but I think it could really be the tool we need to diffuse the hurt and emotion from our infrequent conflicts.
We always have and continue to find compromises we both feel at peace about, but I look forward to reducing the pain of the process.
Over New Years, Sweetie & I travelled a few hours away to visit friends on their little hobby farm. We invited John to come with us for whichever parts he liked.
I’ll tell you about New Year’s Eve in a subsequent entry – that night deserves its own entry.
The funniest part of the weekend was when we toured the city with our friend Shelly, and John came along. I’ve done some readings for Shelly before, and since the reading I wrote about, she’s had a few more from me. I was very happy when we started to get some things we could confirm for her – things like her cat describing her surroundings to such accuracy, I could not possibly be making it up. Since Shelly now seems to believe in and respect my psychic skills, she’s a lot more open to really hearing what I get for her, when she asks about her future or her relatives.
And yet I did not tell Shelly John’s last name when he showed up at our New Year’s party, but I did introduce him as a spirit-friend who is helping me practice, which is true. My friends are REALLY understanding and have cut me a lot of slack, weirdness-wise, and yet I hesitate to test just how far they’ll suspend their disbelief for me by telling them I’m talking to John Lennon.
John thought it was really funny that we’re keeping his *true* identity a secret, and so he kept cracking jokes and saying things to get me to trip up and accidentally spill the beans, or drop enough hints that Shelly would figure it out. To make matters worse (or funnier) John was wearing the above pictured Big Floppy Hat paired with a pied-piper colourful coat and huge platform boots with heels. He has such a picture strolling around on those long legs of his it was all I could do to not describe his every nuance or vogue-pose!
Because I’m so used to just letting the words flow, I often will just mindlessly narrate whatever John says, which is where the *real* challenge was.
Sometimes it comes out as a callback to one of his songs (making Sweetie snicker). Or, a Beatles song will come up on the radio (which happened A LOT this past weekend) and he’d chime in with little back-stories for the songs, which I’d have to keep to myself or, if I blurted it out, pretend I’d read it in some magazine.
My favourite was when we drove past a VW Bug and I exclaimed “John says Oh look, a Beatle!”
If Shelly caught onto anything, she didn’t say.
I think that’s it for this week’s John Lennon Friday. His advice to bring peace into our partnership was one of the best things that happened this weekend – and we had a *great* time.
Thu Dec 22:
Kat was reading over the people who were buried in the Pere Lachaise cemetery, Paris. Many famous people are buried there, including Jim Morrison, and Picasso.
Sweetie went, “Ugh,” thinking about Picasso. John asked why she didn’t like his work.
“Ugh, cubism. It’s just so cerebral, so intellectual. It’s more head centered and less heart centered, and I think that art should come from the heart.”
John says, “I think he’s okay. I like this,” and shows Sweetie this painting:
Sweetie googles the painting and finds this article:
From the article: Guernica shows the tragedies of war and the suffering it inflicts upon individuals, particularly innocent civilians. This work has gained a monumental status, becoming a perpetual reminder of the tragedies of war, an anti-war symbol, and an embodiment of peace. On completion Guernica was displayed around the world in a brief tour, becoming famous and widely acclaimed. This tour helped bring the Spanish Civil War to the world’s attention.
Guernica should be seen as Picasso’s comment on what art can actually contribute towards the self-assertion that liberates every human being and protects the individual against overwhelming forces such as political crime, war, and death.
“Wow,” Sweetie says. “It’s a very political painting. I’ll stop hating on Picasso now. I guess it’s been a while since I’ve been to art school.”
“Yeah, me too,” replies John.
Fri Dec 23 – email from Sweetie
I was thinking more about Picasso today. Thinking, “Well Guernica is good. But Les Demoiselles d’Avignon is awful”.
It’s a bunch of French prostitutes with faces that look like African tribal masks. As I recalled. Kinda racist and sexist, right? Like sexual savages, or something.
So John asked, “Why don’t you look at it again?”
So I looked it up:
It was very controversial when Picasso first exhibited it, because the women in it are sexual in a way that is not demure. They stare down the viewer and confront him/her.
Then it occurred to me — these women are *powerful*. Picasso saw strength and power in women. It probably scared him, and he probably felt threatened by it, but he recognized it. And French society saw it too, through his eyes and condemned it. Damn. It’s the Sacred Feminine. They’re like temple prostitutes.
I actually think John likes Picasso a lot, come to think of it. If you look at his line drawings, there’s some influence there.
Dec 28: Conversation between John & I
As I am reading the latest “In Touch” magazine…
John: “You know, those people in the gossip magazines are real people too. They have feelings and prefer to be private. If they wanted those pictures out, they’d release them.”
*sigh* I really enjoy gossip rags. I come by it honestly, my mother was a fan of the National Enquirer. I prefer the US Weekly or Star! and I tend to buy them when there’s some gossip on the celebrities I care about.
John: “Reading those magazines is like doing a reading on someone without their permission.”
Right as usual, John. Which brought me to this entry on ethics.
Thu Dec 29:
Kat has been hearing John’s song, Mind Games, in her own mind. Now I’m that person who posts song lyrics in her blog; but seriously, read it, and see if it describes telepathy to you too:
We’re playing those mind games together
Pushing the barriers planting seeds
Playing the mind guerrilla
Chanting the Mantra peace on earth
We all been playing those mind games forever
Some kinda druid dudes lifting the veil
Doing the mind guerrilla
Some call it magic the search for the grail
Love is the answer and you know that for sure
Love is a flower you got to let it grow
So keep on playing those mind games together
Faith in the future out of the now
You just can’t beat on those mind guerrillas
Absolute elsewhere in the stones of your mind
Yeah we’re playing those mind games together
Projecting our images in space and in time
Yes is the answer and you know that for sure
Yes is surrender you got to let it go
So keep on playing those mind games together
Doing the ritual dance in the sun
Millions of mind guerrillas
Putting their soul power to the karmic wheel
Keep on playing those mind games together
Raising the spirit of peace and love
(I want you to make love, not war
I know you’ve heard it before)
The Christmas holidays have been a very spiritually intense time for me so far. Sweetie and I spent most of three straight days in our house, in the company of spirits and spiritual conversation – you know, afterlife, the nature of good and evil, art, music – the usual.
We went through a lot of alcohol. A lot. Much of it was libations – for every spirit guest we hosted on Christmas Eve, Christmas Day, night and Boxing Day, we had a chair for them and a glass of either whiskey, wine, Yagermeister or Bailey’s. I’m told, Yagermeister is the drink of geniuses, as it was requested by one of our spirit guests.
There is a point when two sane people look at each other and their room full of empty chairs and full glasses and ask each other, “Have we gone completely crazy?”
I’ve become so self-conscious about how crazy my experiences SOUND when I talk or write about them, I’m going to refrain from naming any more spirit guests we had over the holidays, just so I can feel a bit more comfortable writing this, and feel less like someone who may be reading this as the first post they encounter on my blog will not *immediately* write me off as nutter.
But here’s the thing – we keep getting these confirmations that we really *are* making contact. Just last night, Sweetie and I were watching Ferris Beuler’s Day Off, wherein he mentions John Lennon’s “Walrus”.
I have not yet seen this song/skit that was referenced by the movie, but John pops into my head in an overstuffed chair, with a huge moustache and a big cigar – he takes a drag of the cigar, waggles it at me and says “It makes you think!”
Today, Sweetie tells me it was his Groucho Marx impression – I didn’t even know who Groucho Marx was! I just googled him to get a picture for this entry, and there he is:
Yup, that’s John’s impression, all right.
One Christmas present we received from John was an increase in our understanding of how time functions. You know how he did this? He has been making “topics of conversation” suggestions for the last two weeks, without us realizing it. Sweetie and I have discussed all manner of historical figures, celebrities, political history, etc, in these last weeks of 2011.
Christmas eve, we sit down, John as our only spirit guest that night. We pick a TV show at random from our sparse DVD collection – the Simpsons, season 5. We spend three hours watching our way through the first three discs of Season 5 of the Simpsons, and EVERY DAMN EPISODE, sometimes twice an episode, there was a callback or reference to a conversation we’d had in the last two weeks.
John explained that he had gone back in time after we’d made the DVD selection for the evening and post-emptively influenced our conversation of the last two weeks so that what we were watching would reference it.
Uh, what? Really? WHAT?
Sweetie & I came up with a new expression that night: “This is blowing my mind-hole!” This happens when your mind has been blown so many times, there remains but a smoking crater where once your mind had been – and this crater is still exploding with every mind-blowing synchronicity, that you experience the blowing of your mind hole.
For three hours, we were gifted with a reference to our previous spiritual conversations every ten to fifteen minutes. Newton. Beatles. References to Casa Blanca. It was unbelieveable.
And yet it was happening.
That night, as we were sealing off the apartment energetically so we can have some peace and privacy from visiting spirits, John did something amazing: We have this little solar powered light mounted in a mason jar. The light is supposed to be charged by the sun during the day, and glow pleasantly after dark. Well, it’s been so rainy this past week that the little light hasn’t been able to charge – but as John left, he made the light glow bright, and slowly fade out and blink, “Good night! Merry Christmas!”
Just in case there was any remaining doubt that he had actually shared the evening with us.
Blowing our mind-holes, I tell ya.
Julia Cameron, author of The Artist’s Way liked to say that “Going sane is a lot like going crazy,” meaning that when you let go and truly get in touch with your creative process, it can be so out-of-synch with the culture surrounding you that you think you’re going a little nuts.
But in your heart, you know you’re only going sane.
I was re-reading the previous entry which mentioned this period in my life when I went through a terrible period of depression and experienced suicidal thoughts. I have never been so deeply sad in my life before or (thankfully) since, although I have been obliged to manage seasonal depression relating to weather, light levels and the stress of a high-pressure job in a stressful city.
I know what going crazy feels like. I know what it’s like to be mentally ill.
This Isn’t Crazy.
This is simply me, finally becoming and encompassing all aspects of myself. Young. A woman. Queer. Psychic.
And the joy of being a whole, complete person, finally, finally.
I feel too healthy to be crazy. I feel too happy to be sick. I’m not crazy; I’m just psychic.
I did a reading for a friend of mine, Sara, who was understandably skeptical. That’s OK. I’m cool with healthy skepticism, so long as it comes with an open mind.
Sara wanted me to read for her boyfriend’s dog, who had passed on. She wasn’t sure if I could get a read on the dog, since it wasn’t her dog, and she had never met him. I asked why she wanted to do the reading, and she said, “To get to know my boyfriend better.”
I said it’d really be better if her boyfriend came in too, so that the dog understood he had permission to talk about him. That was a pretty cut-n-dried ethical call, I think.
So instead, for fun, we decided to do a past life reading for Sara.
I prefer to work with a person’s spirit guide or a loved one on the other side, so this person can give me messages relevant to my client. I haven’t yet figured out how to read someone’s acashic records for myself (Sylvia Browne uses this term to describe a person’s life plan and records) and honestly, I think it would be too much information to sift through. I think it’s better for me to consult someone on the other side who has the client’s best interests at heart.
I asked Sara, “Is there someone on the other side, or a spirit guide who could help us?”
Before she finished saying “My grandfather,” he was there. He was wearing a red shirt and making small things out of wood. I described him and asked if that’s what her grandfather looked like – Sara shouted “YES!” and burst into tears.
At the time, I thought I was seeing the “tears of truth” – it’s completely normal to suddenly feel like crying during a psychic reading – it’s our bodies and emotions giving us confirmation that the connection is real.
A few days later I was talking to Ellie, with whom Sara had discussed her reading after the fact. Ellie gently suggested to me that it would be better to give people a chance to adjust to the idea of talking with a deceased loved one before putting them in touch.
See, Sara and her grandfather were so close, and she’d never completely processed his death. Some people look at death differently than I and my family has – death is an end, a finality, the Big Goodbye. It was utterly wrenching for Sara to talk to her grandfather without having had even thirty seconds to adjust to the idea of the possibility – and to suddenly be confronted with such indisputable proof that I had *indeed* contacted him. How else would I know about his favourite red shirt and his favourite hobby?
In my family, and my mother in particular taught me this, we have always believed in reincarnation. My mother talks about our Great Aunt Ruth who watches over all of us from heaven. I haven’t experienced the complete gut-wrenching grief when a family member has passed on, and I’ve been incredibly blessed to not (yet) have to endure the passing of someone I’m *really* close to. I have to remember to be careful and sensitive around this issue, approach it carefully.
I did endure the sudden and tragic deaths of several friends when I was a teenager – there was a horrible rash of suicides at this time. I went through a dark period of depression and felt suicidal myself, but again my mother saved me – she got me to a great therapist STAT.
And then, there was the shocking passing of Ben. I’ll tell you, I was so happy to get back in touch with him this month.
Since moving away from our home province, Sweetie and I have made many new friends. We love them dearly. It’s just that there’s something about hanging out with people from your home town, people you’ve known since you were 15, people who know your history, your thought processes – it’s just so grounding. We miss our home town friends, and the idea of being able to talk with Ben whenever we wanted was utterly gratifying.
But in the past two weeks, Ben’s grandmother, who is also on the other side, got in touch with me. She explained that Ben has been procrastinating, that he died accidentally and needs to reincarnate in order to move forward with his life plan. But Ben, horrified of the pain he caused his family with his premature death, scared of the possibility of doing it *again*, refused to move on.
It became clear over the next few days that Ben was not really *working* like most spirits on the other side, who have completed their life plans and have taken on new tasks such as protecting loved ones who are still incarnated, or whispering inspiring ideas into the ears of our scientists. Ben was sort of stagnant. He asserted he was inspiring rebel graffiti artists, and showed me an incredible creation on the side of a water tower. But this is not what he was supposed to be doing, and he knew it.
I asked Ben if he would consider crossing over completely and reincarnating on Christmas night, Dec 25th, the ghost party we’d invited him to. Ben’s grandmother informed me that there is a new baby boy coming into his same family, and that he had the opportunity to reincarnate as his mother’s grandchild. He said he’d think about it.
Christmas night rolled around, and all the spirits we’d invited showed up. We watched the Simpsons, the Sound of Music, enjoyed coffee with Bailey’s, fireball whiskey and Yagermeister. I narrated the thoughts that popped into my head as the conversation slowly meandered around various topics, until we finally landed upon Ben.
“What would it take, Ben, for you to feel okay and safe about reincarnating? How many angels? Do you need an additional spirit guide?”
Ben expressed again his fears of repeating history, dying too early again and inflicting so much grief on his loved ones. He shared with me his mother’s extreme grief. He showed me his own grief and paralyzing anxiety.
It was an hour or so of working through all this with Ben. The emotions were so overwhelming I cried myself most of the time – not racking sobs, but a slow, continual leeking of tears from my eyes, and the need to control my breathing and direct the emotion out my feet in order to stay focused.
Eventually, the other spirit guests in the room, Ben’s guide and Ben’s own grandmother convinced him he was protected. Accidental deaths rarely happen twice in a row, and Ben would return to his family as a new baby, but fortified by an additional spirit guide and a small army of angels. This little boy will be so well protected.
And then he left.
And then I really started to cry. Because then it hit me – I will never talk to Ben again. Damn, even as I type this I’m tearing up again. This is what it’s like to say the Big Goodbye. And while I know I’ll see Ben again in heaven, it won’t be the boy from my hometown.
I am so happy to see him go, and so sad to feel him gone.
So this is an experience to bring forward, to help me be compassionate and aware of my client’s feelings before reintroducing them to a loved one on the other side. Some people have already said the Big Goodbye to their loved ones. And now, I can begin to imagine what that is like.
We decided to have every Friday be John Lennon Friday here at Psychic in Training. Every Friday for the next six weeks, I’ll post updates on the conversations between my Sweetie and John. Sorry if this first entry is choppy – it should flow a little better when we post updates as they happen.
Wed Dec 21:
He started talking to me when I got up to pee last night:
“I was talking to my mum about what you said about my song. She said she thinks it’s a lovely song, but she does see your point about it”.
I’m like, “Oh! That’s so nice that you get to see your mom now. Yay! (I think they like to play banjo together). Sorry if I hurt your feelings or made you feel embarrassed, I do like *some* things about the song… anyway, I need to go back to sleep”.
“Oh ok”. Then he said something else about “Christmas-time” that I didn’t catch because I’d stopped listening.
I started to wonder if he remembered me. I started thinking about where I was when I contacted him when I was 13, my room, what I looked like, all my doubts, anxieties and insecurities. He said, “You’re all grown up now. Look at how beautiful you are”.
(Awww! This next bit refers to Sweetie asking John earlier what he thought of the Occupy Wall Street movement, which I think she referred to as “this whole mess” – the economy, human rights, you know. World Problems Today. At the time, he said he would have to think about it for a while.)
He got back to me about the World Problems today. He said that I can’t change what they do, that I can only change what I do. That the way out is spiritual. I’m like, “love?”
“Yes. No, not ‘love’, Love. Universal”.
Then he shows me this flower opening. The one from this video:
Me: “Oh. Yeah”. I remembered Sunshine talking about Buddha and the flower the other day. “Yeah, I don’t really understand the Flower Sermon”.
So he says, “I hate to say it, but you probably should talk to your white cat”.
This is hilarious to me. Earlier this week Sunshine, our white cat, was explaining how Buddha looked into a flower and saw the whole universe. Sunshine has become the Minerva McGonagall of our household – a brisk teacher with high standards constantly chiding us to “keep up!”
Sunshine has become more insistent that Sweetie simply talk to her directly, so Sunshine will give Sweetie teasers through me, such as the Buddha flower thing. Sweetie discovered that Buddha did indeed see the universe in the flower, and there’s a story of him simply holding up a flower to his students as a silent lesson.
We figured Sunshine would get to John, sooner or later.
A really cool thing about being psychic is being able to talk to dead people – even famous dead people.
Many people whose lives had a huge impact on earth continue to do their work from heaven. John Lennon is one of them.
My Sweetie first told me about her contact with John a few weeks into my practice talking to dead people. John first came to her when she was 15 and attending a catholic high school, just before her confirmation. She wasn’t sure whether she wanted to be confirmed, and she and John had their first conversation about religion.
Today, Sweetie sends me an email – she had another conversation with John. I’ll cut and paste it:
I think Sunshine is a bit exasperated. After you left this morning I told her that since you were going to work we’d have to finish the conversation about Bali another time. So she said, “Well, *you* could talk to me. You talk to John all the time”.
Which is not exactly true, in any case. It’s more like he’s been talking to me. Ever since Sunshine mentioned that he’s been hanging around (which I sort of suspected, I thought I felt him around but I wasn’t sure and I guess she wanted to confirm that for me) he’s been popping into my thoughts. Which is ok, it’s not really freaking me out or anything.
And you know what he wants to talk about, of all things?
Although it’s not yet clear to me whether he wants to *learn* about 3rd wave feminism, or if he just wants me to know that his own understanding of the subject has broadened since he was alive in the 70s.
I was listening to this old Beatles song called Run For Your Life — one of his — which is just this really toxic mix of sexism, jealously and a broad lack of self awareness. He pops in shaking his head. He’s like, “I don’t believe that. I don’t think that way. If I felt that way at the time, I certainly don’t feel that way now”.
And I’m like, “Oh, it’s ok. I get it. I get the 60s, I’ve seen James Bond movies”. (‘Cause I don’t know. What does one say to that?).
Last night before my nap I was looking through the track listing for Shaved Fish, which has this song called Woman is the Nigger of the World. (Check out the lyrics, it’s really not what it sounds like).
At which point I whispered out loud, “Ohhhh man, that song makes me cringe”.
And he says, “Why?”
I’m like, “I hate that word”.
And he says, “But that’s the point”.
And I say, “I know. But. I *really* hate that word”. And then I think for a moment.
And I say, “It’s more than that. Some people are black *and* women. It’s different for them. This song doesn’t consider what it’s like for them. No one makes them “paint their face and dance”, like you say, some people don’t consider them at all. You’re only talking about a certain kind of woman, of a certain status. So it’s kind of classist, also”.
And he said, “Oh. I hadn’t thought about it that way”.
And then he got quiet and I felt like he was *really* embarrassed, and I didn’t understand why. I’d expected him to defend it, or something, but instead there was this embarrassed silence. Like a total overreaction.
But then it dawned on me — oh! He’s English. The whole class thing is a huge hairy deal over there. And he’d built this career on *being* working class, keeping what is still considered to be a low-class accent when most performers learn to talk like Londoners, writing that song Working Class Hero, wearing a shirt that said the same thing, etc.
Oops. I guess that was kind of a slap in the face.
So then I started back pedaling.
“Well, it’s ok, don’t worry about it. Everyone still loves you. You took a lot of chances in your work, you can’t get it right all the time…”
So this morning I asked him, “Why the interest in feminism? I thought you didn’t believe in ‘isms’ “.
And he said, “It’s not that. I don’t believe in mindless dogma. I think you should think for yourself. …I mean, *people* should”.
Also, I won’t be that surprised if I hear, “You know, you should listen to your white cat”.
John Lennon. Still a really cool guy.
He likes to talk to people – anyone interested in talking to him should just ask. He’s just as much into dialogue now as he ever was, and he makes time for people because he believes that every individual is important.
He is still working for world peace.