The Accidental Medium

 

I have a dear friend named Bronte.
She’s an excellent writer whose talent lies in the romance / mystery genre.   Her first published booked became a top 5 finalist for a national book award, her second book is already at an Agent’s, and the third book is in creation.

If you’re an astrology aficionado, Bronte was born on the cusp of Aquarius and Pisces; a celestial division line that can seemingly split Bronte’s personality into distinctly opposing character traits – more so than your standard Pisces.

Bronte is hilarious, caustic, insightful, unaware, reflective, judgmental, open, selfish, giving, demanding, clear, confused, attractive, feisty, warm, prickly, practical and an incurable romantic all rolled into one.  In other words: Bronte is human – and a reflection of the dualities found in each one of us. At her best, Bronte is endearing, grounded and wise, at her worst she’s a roiling open wound, an angry inferno with a particular, almost irrational rage towards men.

Addiction is an issue in Bronte’s family.
Bronte’s father was an alcoholic, and her mother ended up having to care for seven kids mostly on her own. Bronte doesn’t talk about her parents much. They died long ago. Bronte is the middle child, lost somewhere between the “haves” of the more stable beginning of her parent’s marriage, and the “have not” children that appeared as the marriage wound itself down.  Each child carries their own unique scars and protective mechanisms shaped by their pecking order in a rocky home.

Like each of us, Bronte is on her own unique spiritual journey. And like most of us, she’s getting her butt kicked something fierce this past year.  Bronte has courageously come to the realization she’s addicted to alcohol. She’s joined AA, has a sponsor and is slowly discovering there are fists of pain that have been stuffed deep inside her heart since her rebellious teen years, but probably longer.

Bronte is divorced and living with her ‘non-wordsmith’ partner of ten years.
Tom’s what we call a “Wood Guy”.  He interacts with wood in many ways: as a tree cutter, a carpenter, a handyman, and an extraordinary rustic furniture maker.  Tom often disappears from a paying job to go off on a “mission” deep into the woods, along winding logging roads in search of the elusive burl for one of his exceptional furniture pieces.

Tom’s needs are simple – but he’s by no means simple minded.  His cutting wit brings things down to their bare essence. Tom’s character and perspective ground Bronte when she’s in emotional chaos mode.

Bronte can be a ranting feminist at times, and during these moments Tom can be difficult to pin down.  He disappears – and rightfully so – I don’t call this post “Bronte’s Inferno” for nothing.

I find it fascinating, the dichotomies in Bronte.
A caring, creative Mom of two grown children, she’s always avoided the kitchen; like it’s some kind of Gulag.  I often wonder how her kids ever got fed.  Bronte can have railing feminist views on the one hand, yet didn’t learn to drive a car until she was 40.

Bronte and Tom live in a lovingly built home – Tom’s design and construction – that is kept cozy warm in our cold winters by radiant heat, fired by a specially-designed wood-burning furnace located about 50 feet outside their house. That means if Bronte is alone, and is out of heat, she doesn’t fire up the electric base boards or call the propane guy – she has to have chopped wood at the ready for her to feed an outside furnace in -20 degree weather, and sometimes at night.

For these practical and other loving reasons, Bronte is rarely without Tom somewhere in the vicinity. I often wonder about this dependence / independence theme that runs through her life.  It’s glaring.

On one of those cold winter days, I bring the girls over to hang out with Uncle Tom while Auntie Bronte and I drink tea and chat.  My husband calls these shared moments our “fix”.

Bronte talks about how she tackles her addiction one day at a time. Lots of past issues around family are coming up – and speaking of family issues, she’s planning her 50th birthday party, and inviting all her city-dwelling siblings here to the woods for a long weekend. None of her siblings have ever attempted a reunion before. It’s too much to orchestrate and they are calling her “brave”.

I ask Bronte: “Who’s going to cook?”

Bronte sinks into the couch and sighs, “I must be insane…”

As we talk, I see an older woman appear behind Bronte.
Grey hair, tender smile, fairly short in stature.  The way she’s emanating love I know this must be Bronte’s Mom. I have known Bronte for more than 10 years. I have never seen anyone around her. And this underscores an interesting aspect about Spirit. When we are closed down, Spirit has difficulty getting through to us. But as we work on our “stuff” and start clearing away the heavy energetic debris that surrounds us, Spirit finds the space to make itself known.

I ask Bronte – “So, what did your Mom look like? Do you have a photo?”

I know it’s Bronte’s Mom but the photo can validate my sight and capture some of her Mom’s essence, her energy.  Even in an old photo with a cloche hat pulled down around her ears, I see the resemblance of the older woman standing here and the younger version in the photo.

I tell Bronte that her Mom is standing behind her. Bronte is startled then quickly tries on nonchalant, but it’s obvious she’s rattled. I’m thinking, why is she so rattled with her Mom here?  You’d think she’d be happy? I’ve never seen her Mom before. hmmm.

Post-family reunion, Bronte is in desperate need to debrief.
I come over for a quick cup of tea before picking up the girls from school.

“Well”, says Bronte matter-of-factly. “I managed, within the first hour of our reunion to revert to a petulant teen, smart-assing my older sisters and condescending to my younger siblings. Wow. It’s mind-boggling. I acted like an insane woman!  I got triggered again and again. I really tried to stay centered, but there were times… oh Lord.  My poor Mum. She had to put up with this?!

Bronte’s Mom has been standing by the kitchen sink since Bronte started pouring the tea at the counter.   I feel her motherly love – she’s so proud of her daughter. Bronte’s growing awareness of the problem, and the recognition that this is a problem she needs to work on.  That’s why she’s come in. Bronte used to be very comfortable sitting in judgment of her siblings – but still feeling left out and not understood. Now she’s starting to see why.

I tell Bronte, “Your Mom’s here. She’s very proud of you.” Bronte nods. Is that faint appreciation for her Mom’s presence? No. More than anything, I think it’s an unsettling thought for Bronte. Hmmmm.

Silently, I’m glad to hear Bronte’s summation of her recent behavior. I’m very proud of her too; she wouldn’t have noticed this about herself a year ago.  The fog is clearing and Bronte’s getting a much clearer picture of her shadow side, and how she has undermined her own ability to be heard.

A couple of months later Bronte sends me an email…
“I had a dream in the early morning hours yesterday that featured a big red stone building, Victorian, and across the street (such as it looked in the dream) was a gray stone building. Both with a center tower and a stone arch. This was clearer on the gray building than on the red building…

She fills in more details. “The red building was blackened with pollution or soot. But the heavy red stones were identifiable. I heard the name or was told the name in the dream: “Broadmoor” – but I didn’t know to which building the name applied, one or both. And a date 1850-1860 although I had the sense this was for the red building.

Bronte continues, “I felt pretty good about the red building. In fact when I woke up I felt reassured. I was thinking about it again this morning. I was just riffling through one of my old Agatha Christie’s to see how Agatha handles revelations at the end of her book – to help in writing my book – and one of the characters mentions Broadmoor-a British prison. I must have had Broadmoor very deep in my subconscious because I don’t recall hearing it before the dream.

“So I Googled Broadmoor and there it is – a Victorian red brick building with an arch that opened in 1863 as an asylum for the criminally insane. The building in my dream was stone, a big square red lumpy thing and Broadmoor is brick but quite lumpy looking in the photo.”

Bronte’s puzzled: “What I don’t understand is how a building for the criminally insane could give me a feeling of reassurance? The gray building is similar but not as real, present or striking as the red one. I don’t know the identity of the gray brick one. Maybe what I felt was the reassurance that I wasn’t inside?? Love B.”

I read Bronte’s email again. It is fascinating.
She hasn’t noticed this kind of synchronicity before – where dreams and reality collide at several levels. I’m sure many people have reached for a book or magazine and it falls open at ‘the’ passage that needs to read – it’s an answer to a question we’ve been carrying around in the back of our heads. And I’ve used Google to get to the bottom of some of my intuitive readings, helping to verify places and people’s faces – Google comes in really handy.

I email Bronte: “Ok so here’s what’s interesting…

“One of your favorite expressions is “Are you insane?” or a permutation like, “Are they insane?” ,,,”Is SHE insane?”… “Is HE insane?” … “Am I insane?” Followed by another favorite – “That’s Insanity”. hmmmmmmm….

I tell Bronte I’ll get back to her about her dream.

Later that night I prepare myself to receive clear messages.
With Kate’s room calm and protected, I do my own chakra clearing as Kate falls off to sleep. Then on to sleeping Matilda’s room, a powerful channeling space where I do a meditation that taps me into my guides. When I’m done and with the girls asleep, I hastily type out the results on my keyboard and email them to Bronte before I fall into bed:

“Someone you loved -someone close to you and someone in a position of power (and male) like a father, but I think it’s a husband, treated you VERY Badly. Crazzzy bad. And you kept thinking it was your fault. You were doing something wrong. And then it got so bad, that somehow it got to court (my guides say that’s the gray building) and the judge deemed your male maniac to be indeed insane. You were SO relieved. It WASN’T you, it was actually him. So knowing that this person was safely stowed away in an insane asylum and that you were indeed not the problem after all, it gave you a great sense of peace. Don’t know what happened after that, except that the maniac person never got out. I keep seeing you walking outside that building – you’re wearing a long dark dress, long dark overcoat and hat.  And you probably did do just that – walk by that red building regularly, because it did give you a great sense of peace. Hugs, E.”

Later that night I’m awakened for no apparent reason but with a dream still top of mind.  I stumble down to the kitchen to send another email to Bronte from my laptop:

“YOU didn’t take him to court – he did something to a male in a position of power and that guy took him to court, and got him thrown in the asylum… That’s why the gray building isn’t clear to you – I don’t think you were even involved or actually in the gray building, just outside it… Interesting that one male abused you horribly. And another male saved your life. Hugs, E”

“Wow. That is …wow.”
Bronte’s reaction to my three emails included a revelation and a shift. Bronte writes,

“The feeling I had about that red building was hard to explain except that it was good, in a very reassuring way–and I wrote very well that day. But it wasn’t ‘joy’ or ‘happy’–it was validation. Comforted. Reassured. I did feel safe thinking about that building. And the feeling stayed with me all day and yesterday. So the reason I would feel this way about a criminal asylum makes sense in your read. I was quite bothered that it turned out to be a negative place where some seriously disturbed men now live.”

Bronte signs off, “And yes! That is my favorite expression: “Are you insane??”

Bronte sees the bigger issue looming in front of her: The overblown responses she has to what she sees as “male domination” that go far beyond the actual situation.  In her email she realized this:

“The issue surrounding a man who was close to me hurting me so very badly is almost too painful to explore. All I know is that all my life I’ve had an overpowering reaction to male mastery. Life and death reactions when clearly the threat isn’t that high. I figured I was just a loon. Thanks so much. I’ll treasure this.”

There is no doubt that this man in Bronte’s past life was violent.
I clearly saw how he was a socio-path, who thought he could manipulate anyone through charm and/or intimidation. And when he couldn’t, he attacked the other man in the scene, whom I believe was his employer.

Bronte had not been in a position of power – she was dependent without the law on her side, unlike the greater legal protections in place for abused women today.  Back then Bronte had no support, no way to complain without repercussion, no way to escape. There’s no wonder Bronte has a life and death reaction to male domination. It was life vs. death at the time. It was lucky that her husband violently attacked his employer before he attempted to do the same to Bronte.

Now Bronte has an inkling of how a past life can impact the present. I tell her “Knowledge is power – so remember this when you start feeling that fight or flight response…”

And I’m adding in my head “when Tom leaves his dishes in the sink…”

To Be Continued…. Brontes Inferno (Part II)

— With thanks to Spirit for infinite return.
(c) 2010, 2011, 2012 The Accidental Medium. UltraMarine Media Inc. All Rights Reserved.

Childbirth is brutal on your body.
What happens after wards is a big secret your girlfriends don’t tell you about. The sleep deprivation.  Your vital organs jiggling inside you, seemingly unattached to your skeletal structure.  The flabby skin jiggling outside you. Gone is the bikini belly along with the possibility of a perky butt anytime soon.  Then there are the pendulous breasts, clearly not your own, that make you feel like a milking machine. Mooooo.

After I had my second child, I had all sorts of additional minor postpartum issues – like misalignment of my spine, twisted sacrum and a problem with a vein that made my leg muscles ache. Child-bearing is not for whoosies.

But the main issue was my child herself.
Matilda had infant acid reflux and she would turn blue and start to choke if left lying flat for too long. She couldn’t be left alone. I tried feeding her at different times, in different positions, raising her head, raising her bed, putting her to sleep in a baby swing, strapping her into a baby car seat. Nothing worked. Functioning on very little sleep, I finally resorted to sitting up with Matilda in my arms and “sleeping” (I use that term loosely) that way each night for 8 months.

Matilda grew out of her baby reflux, but my aches and pains got worse. On the insistence of my husband who has messed up his own body from sitting at a computer too long, I went to see his massage therapist.

I’m always careful who I choose to work on my body.
It’s not just about skill level of or comfort level with the therapist. As an intuitive, I’m aware of and exposed to all kinds of energies, and with significant lack of sleep, there is always the possibility that a lower vibrating energy may glom on to me.  And there are the times I get scared, frustrated or angry and hold that energy in me.  Whatever the cause, it doesn’t feel good.  And when this lower energy eventually finds itself incompatible with me, it can break off and find somebody else to glom onto. I want my therapist to be protected from any bad energy I might inadvertently bring in.

Then there’s the practitioner’s office – it may not be clear.  The therapist may have worked on somebody else with bad vibes, negative thoughts or what have you – and that low energy may be hanging around ready to meld with the next client’s energy. yuck.

I don’t mean to sound dramatic here.
But you know how some places bring you down and other places lift you up? Some spaces feel leaden and others feel airy?  You know how you are attracted to some people but want to stay well away from others? You may have even experienced a blue funk that seems to hang on to you for a few hours or even a few days after you’ve visited a bummed out friend.  You are experiencing your own clairsentience (ability to feel energy). You’ve been exposed to low vibrating energy.

Meditation transmutes lower energies, as does exercise, relaxing in a warm Epsom salt bath,  spending time with happy people, finding the humor in a situation, laughter, being in nature or other sacred spaces.  If you don’t transmute this energy, it stays in the same low form and if it doesn’t stick to you it looks for another place to roost.

We are all energy. We need to protect our own energy as well as manage the energies around us.

Susan is a tall strong woman and a gentle soul.
A single Mom, she started up her massage therapy services just after her second child was born. Her second child is the same age as Matilda. I don’t know Susan well, but we took our children to the same playgroup.

When I walk into Susan’s treatment room, I see that she practices safe energy management. The room doesn’t feel heavy. It’s an oasis. There’s light orchestral music playing in the background. The faint scent of massage oil and incense floats in the air. There is a huge chunk of glistening purple Amethyst sitting on a side table and a healthy plant on another. Scentless candles burn silently in the corners of the room.

Even though Susan is noticeably careful about keeping her treatment room clear, I can see how this room could hold on to low energy. Fresh air flow and natural light help to easily maintain positive energy in a space:  This room is in a basement. It’s located far from the main reception door that leads to the outside. There are no windows. This is a busy health center. Lots of people in pain. Lots of issues in the tissues release themselves here.

We talk about my issues – my sore back and leg – and how best to proceed. She starts working to relieve the tight muscles I’ve developed holding Matilda for months at a time.

I haven’t told Susan about my abilities – but my husband has.
As she works on my aches, I tell her how I appreciate the effort she takes to keep this space clear. Susan admits that the space is not ideal – she’s renting the room from another health care practitioner.

I comment on her giant half geode of amethyst.  Amethyst is known for its energy transmuting properties – the stone helps to clear and protect a space from holding on to lower energies.  Susan stops to show me her favorite book – the Book of Stones. We share a reverence for these rocks – there is something magical about them. They have a strength and vibration that lifts our spirits, and makes us both feel grounded, strong, clear and centered.

Out of the blue, Susan says, “I need to ask you about something. I’ve only told two close friends. They think it’s just in my head. Maybe you might know what’s going on…”

I listen, my eyes closed. “Sure! What’s up?”

Susan starts slowly. “Well, there’s this balloon…It’s in my house.”

“Okay…”

Susan continues. “This balloon follows me everywhere. It even follows me UP the stairs. And it’s NOT HELIUM! It’s freaking me OUT!” Susan’s anxiety becomes palpable.

I’m thinking out loud, “What color is the balloon? Where is it around you?”

Susan mutters, “I don’t remember the color. It just follows me – it’s around me or just shows up in the room. I keep putting it back in the closet and the next thing I know it’s in the kitchen with me!”

Susan isn’t one to freak out easily.
She’s got a lovely calm way about her. Something is definitely up. There’s a balloon in her house that’s following her around like a dog. It’s wigging her out. Yet she doesn’t get rid of it. hmmmm.

With my eyes still closed, I take three deep breaths. In through the nose, out through the mouth. And immediately I see a blue balloon bouncing along invisible air currents and following Susan up a flight of stairs – it’s at her right shoulder.

I’m not thinking, I’m talking. “Has your Dad passed?” I feel he has.

Susan says, “Yes. He died a while back.”

I blurt out. “Did you have a good relationship with your Dad?” I don’t wait for an answer. “No, I don’t think you did. Doesn’t matter. He’s trying to get your attention. He’s trying to help you. So what’s happening with you right now? Something else is going on that’s upsetting you.”

I know next to nothing about Susan’s family. I don’t know how I know, but it’s so obviously her Dad. I don’t even know why it’s obvious. It just is.

Susan pauses. “Well… I’ve been trying to do this quietly. You’re right. I need to be out of this space.  So I’ve put an offer in on the old MacLeary place across from Alan’s Hardware Store. It’s perfect for my family and for running my massage therapy.

“I don’t know if I’ll get it. I don’t know how I’ll get it. I need a mortgage, and I’m a single Mom, and self-employed.  I’ve just started this practice so there’s no business track record. I’m not the best credit risk. And Mr. Alan has been trying to buy that place for years. He’s tried to start a bidding war …

“Luckily, Mrs. MacLeary said she’d prefer to sell to me.  She seems more interested in who gets her house than getting the highest price. But if I can’t get my financing in order fast I won’t be buying it. She needs to sell – she can’t wait much longer. Alan is waiting with a signed check with Mrs. MacLeary’s name on it. I’m stressed.”

Susan goes silent. I get another download.
“Your Dad is trying to make things right with you. Don’t you worry. He’s working in the background. Don’t panic. Just keep moving forward. You are meant to have that house. It’s going to happen soon.”

Faith is a funny thing. You need it most when life gets bumpy and uncertain – and that’s when faith is most difficult to find and hold on to.  Susan is obviously wrung out by this emotional roller coaster. Her ego has taken over, playing this “Will-it-or-won’t it” question in her head. Worrying her. Wearing her down.

I tell Susan, “Do what you can do, and then let it go. It will work out. What else do you need to do to secure the mortgage?”

Susan goes into the details. “My real estate guy says I need to get a co-signer for the mortgage. But the only one is my Mom. But she lives in Florida. But I need to get her to agree to this first, then get all the original documents to her, have her sign them, then get them back to me in time – by the end of the week – then the real estate guys need to do their stuff.  But I just don’t see how that’s all going to happen. It’s too much…”

Susan is overwhelmed. The ‘buts’ are blocking her. I don’t have any rational proof that she can pull this off in a few days, but I am compelled to say, “Just do it. It will happen. Your Dad is on your side. Well, he’s actually on the other side, but he’s pulling some strings. He’s going to make things right with you. After we’re done here, call your Mom, get the documents, call Fedex and get those documents rolling. Then you’ll have done all you can do. Let it go. It will happen.”

One week later.
I walk into Susan’s treatment room. I’m reluctant to pry but I ask anyway. “So… how goes the real estate deal?”

“I got it!!!” Susan bursts into a huge smile.

“I knew it!!!” I think I’m as excited as she is. “And the balloon is blue.”

Susan beams back, “Yes! I wanted to tell you!  The balloon is blue.”

— With thanks to Spirit for infinite return.
(c) 2010, 2011, 2012 The Accidental Medium. UltraMarine Media Inc. All Rights Reserved.