The Accidental Medium

Anthony’s Message was written for the family of Anthony McColl about three months after the accident that took the life of a vibrant 19 year old young man.  Anthony was – and still is – the son of dear family friends.

This story was my attempt to recount our own experience in the wake of the possibly avoidable death of Anthony – to offer some peace, reassurance and a life altering perspective on this tragic incident.

A year later, this story was published in the book A Father’s Tears by David McColl, Anthony’s father.   If you have lost a child, or are supporting someone who has lost a child, I highly recommend reading A Father’s Tears.

The recent tragedy in Newtown CT compelled me to publish Anthony’s Message here.  The loss of a child is unthinkable. But when we are forced to think about it, let alone experience it, we may leave ourselves open to a spiritual awakening.

I hope that Anthony’s message will give people hope that life is not what it seems, that there is a higher perspective – an expansive view of life being lived on a continuum. We never lose those we love. They are with us, and here to support us on our earthly journey.  This is the first of three installments. Please read on…

“Mommy!!! Wake up! Wake Up!”
Matilda is sitting straight up in bed in the darkened room. She’s got both hands on my bare left arm, yanking me from a deep sleep.  Kate, Matilda and I are supposed to be in the middle of a Friday night sleepover at Mom’s condo. Matilda and I are bunking in Mom’s room.  We all went to bed late.  It’s now well past midnight, the exact time unsure.  This is too soon to wake up.

I’m barely conscious. “what’s the matter, Mattie?” I murmur.

Matilda is talking in a stage whisper. “Mommy. I’m scared… There’s somebody here. They’re here on my side. I don’t know who it is. Can we change sides? Please? I’m scared…”

“o.k.” I sigh as I slide towards her, pull her up and over me and settle her on the other side of the bed.  I scoot over to Matilda’s well-warmed spot.  I find her soft white blankie and her dog-eared bunny toy nestled there.  I snuggle them down beside Matilda who is now almost back to sleep, then roll over on my side to get more shuteye.

But I can’t.

There’s definitely somebody here.
I stop trying to sleep and try to discern the subtle but pressing energy.  It feels like a male presence.  It’s moving around this corner of the room.  A paper rustles, something softly scuffs a surface.  He’s by the bed again – it’s a calm gentle energy.  It could be my Dad, or my grandfather or …?  The usual suspects would normally let me know exactly who they are. And there are a few others who tend to wake us up at night.  Who is it?

But it’s weird.  Nighttime visitations have never happened at Mom’s condo. Whoever it is,  is not making himself known.  I know I’ll find out soon enough if it’s important.  I try again to settle down to sleep. I can’t.  I wonder what he needs?

Sunlight is leaking around the edges of the drapes when Kate and Mom tiptoe into the room. Matilda is snoring softly on her side of the bed as I whisper to Mom that Matilda didn’t sleep well. We need to let her sleep in. Someone woke her up. Someone has definitely been in the room.  It felt like it was a male.  Mom whispers she’s not slept well either. Kate was very restless, flopping around like a fish out of water. We both agree. Something’s “up”.

Bleary-eyed with coffee in hand.
Mom and I try to revive ourselves in the living room.  As I gradually perk up I think more about last night. Very strange. Matilda would normally tell me to get rid of the unknown visitor  – tell them to go away.  People she doesn’t know she calls “monsters” – I guess because she’s scared, they don’t come in clearly enough to be seen.   I’d say the usual: ‘Thanks but no thanks. We can’t help you now.  Please go.’ They usually do.

During these situations, Matilda always asks me to call in Grampa Grant to watch over us to make sure nobody will bug us.  But last night I didn’t do any of this. Did Matilda feel this person was meant to be with us?  I guess I may have felt that too. At least it never occurred to me to ask them to leave.  The energy was somehow familiar.

With Matilda now up and both girls busy munching on breakfast, I slip into Mom’s bathroom for a quick shower. I’m not fully positioned under the showerhead when I hear the matter-of-fact statement in my head, “ “Someone close to you has died.”

“Whaaat?” I say back, incredulous. This is awful.  My mind whips into worst-case-scenario. Oh God, I hope it’s not my husband. He’s in the air right now on his way here, to be with his family. It’s a stormy morning, with high winds.

I’m given no more details.
But when I get out of the shower, I hear the phone ring.  The voice in my head says softly, calmly, unemotionally, “Here we go…”  I peek out the bathroom door and Mom is in the bedroom, portable phone to her ear, tears streaming down her face. “You better talk to your sister…” she says into the phone.

It’s my brother Andy.  Andy is in charge of calling people. We’re his first call. He can hardly talk. Brief details. Anthony was in a fatal car accident early this morning.  I get hit by a wave of grief.  Anthony is such a great kid.  Everybody loves Anthony. This is devastating. Oh God. Poor Monica and Rufus.  As parents, it’s their worst fear realized. This shouldn’t be happening. It’s not right.

Then a thought bubbles up.  Could it be Anthony who visited last night?  What time was the crash?  What time did Matilda wake me up?  Around 3 a.m. I’d guess. Matilda doesn’t really know Anthony. She was a baby the last time his family visited us at the lake. Whoever it was seemed to be attracted to her.

I’m packing up our sleepover bags.  The girls are readying their gear to load the car, then pick up their Dad at the airport.

A voice in my head says. “He’s with his grandmother. He’s crossed over. It was instant.”

I don’t know if this is wishful thinking or if it’s a clear message. I let it rest.

Hubbie is home safe. 
We’re now in our kitchen at the lake, making platters for the appetizer table at the annual fundraising event for Matilda’s co-op preschool – it’s happening tomorrow.  Kate has helped us finish filling spring rolls and now we’re busily rolling sushi.  For no apparent reason I look up and stare at the stacked ovens.  Why am I looking there?  We’re not using the ovens.

A male is standing there facing me.  He’s a big guy, he’s young. Dark wavy hair falls in front of his face.  It’s not the first time I’ve had Spirit visitors beside my ovens.  All the electricity – it’s a magnet. Spirits often use the energy that charges big appliances to come through to this side.  My fridge has the same power, and the same effect.

Is that Anthony?? I’m not sure. He’s faint. He comes in and out – at least it seems that way.   I sigh. I don’t enjoy this space – not knowing whether it’s wishful thinking, my imagination or a real visit. But I’ve learned what to do. I push away the vision.  If it goes away, it’s wishful thinking. If the vision comes back again, gets stronger with more details, if we interact, it’s the real deal.

We continue our veggie sushi marathon. I look up from my sushi mat, frustrated with an inside-out roll that’s not working for me, to find the young man standing by the ovens but this time with an older woman beside him.  I think it’s his grandmother.  They aren’t talking, just calmly surveying the scene. I acknowledge their presence.  They disappear.  I’m feeling it’s Anthony but my ego needs more proof. I don’t say anything to my husband.

It’s late.
The girls are now in bed and I’m in my upstairs bathroom – my channeling room – brushing my teeth, washing my face.  A subtle presence comes in.  I say, “Anthony, if this is you, I will help you get any messages to your family. I promise.”  There’s no answer.

I don’t sleep well. None of us do. Kate wakes up. “Daddy!”  She’s had a bad dream and can’t get back to sleep.  Her Dad goes down to Kate’s room to settle her down.  I hear her cry out every time he tries to leave. He stays with her.

It’s Matilda’s turn. “Mommy!” Matilda often wakes up in the middle of the night. She gets up by herself to pee, read her picture books, chat with unseen friends, sing pre-school songs, recite newly learned rhymes.  She only calls out if she’s sick, she’s wet the bed, she’s hungry.  Or, if there’s a visitor.

I stumble down the stairs. “Mommy!” Matilda is crying now as I walk into her room. “There’s somebody here!”  Matilda pleads.

“It’s okay, Honey. It’s okay. It’s just Anthony. He’s our friend. He’s visiting.  He’s a good guy.  We love Anthony. Time to go back to sleep. We’ve got a big day tomorrow.”

Matilda seems reassured.  “o.k…  Can you stay with me ‘til when the sun comes?” Matilda mumbles from under the covers.

I agree, crawling into the spare bed.

I dream that Dad is standing by my bed.
He tells me in my sleep, “Anthony and Matilda have the same kind of energy.”

In the morning we are scrambling to get ready for church. I’m back in my bathroom, finished my hair and now doing my face. My Dad, now in Spirit for more than 15 years, is in his usual spot, leaning against the counter, arms crossed.

“Dad? Why Anthony?”

Dad answers back immediately, “Soon you’ll understand.”

I reach into my walk-in closet and dig out some pant stockings from a drawer.

Dad adds, “You’ll say his name in church today.”

ugghh.  I know what this is. It’s a test from Spirit.

Dad knows I like to lie low in the pew. 
I go to church, but as an outlier in the protestant religion, I feel it’s not my place to speak up in church:  I feel I’m in no position since I don’t subscribe to some of its fundamental tenets.  Case in point:  I have not accepted Jesus Christ as my personal savior, yet this is a cornerstone of our religion.

Don’t get me wrong.  I’m a firm believer in what Jesus stood for, his lessons, his compassionate role model, and I am in awe of Christ consciousness that manifests every day, in warm gestures, in respectful responses, in thoughtful deeds, showing how we are all connected.  The Dalai Lama sums up Christ consciousness by saying, “My religion is kindness”.  I subscribe to that. So I go to church.

Dad’s request refers to a quiet portion during the service where churchgoers are encouraged to speak the names of people who are in their thoughts this week.  Gisele, our Minister, then leads the congregation through a spontaneous community prayer that includes the names of these people. It’s an unrehearsed moment where everyone seems to connect.

I make a feeble attempt to lessen my potential involvement at church this morning. “Dad, You know I don’t DO that…”

Dad looks at me and waits.

“But…,”I’m thinking out loud. “I guess if there was a time to speak up, it would be today, after what happened.”

“Don’t worry about it, Putty,” encourages Dad in my left ear.  “It will all work out.”

(Putty is my nickname – because I tend to be on the go, doing something, thinking about something, working on something. Dad used to say I was always putt-putting around. )

I don’t know how this is going to play out. Maybe I will say something. Maybe I won’t need to. I have to wait and see. And trust that soon I’ll understand…

- With thanks to Spirit for infinite return.

(Story to be continued in Anthony’s Message – Part 2.)

 

(c) 2010, 2011, 2012 The Accidental Medium. UltraMarine Media Inc. All Rights Reserved.

You remember pop quizzes in school?
How much did you hate those? Sure it was okay if you’d already studied. You probably felt relieved or smug or both. Or maybe you got an inkling ahead of time so you had a chance to cram in the hallway. But what if you were just hanging out, enjoying life, then WHAM! A calculus quiz is placed face down on your desk. Surprise! You have a limited time to dig deep and find out what you’re made of.

Ugh..

We’re all here to learn. Most of the time we consciously step forward to expand ourselves, whether it’s learning how to create a webinar for your business, perfecting your tennis backhand or whipping up eggs benedict for twenty. We get stretched, but we choose to stretch ourselves. But sometimes a learning opp rises up unexpectedly on our path that we don’t choose. Even though we may try to avoid it, eventually we have to face it.

As a medium, I get a lot of unexpected tests.
And they don’t just happen during normal working hours. They are all about expanding my capacity to understand and communicate messages between realms. I’m always given a break between lessons, to regroup, and assimilate what I’ve learned. I get to relax, and retrain my beliefs before the next lesson begins to reveal it self. It’s very clear it’s a test. Like a pop quiz has been dropped on my desk.

These Spirit lessons don’t stop just because I’m on holiday – in fact it’s during holidays, when I’m out of my usual zone, that it’s easier to get my attention, push me to step further out, trust and expand my ability.

It’s our first holiday away as a whole family.
Our traveling family unit now includes wee Matilda (just two). Along with my Mom, we head for the Riviera Maya. Mexico is a favorite haunt of my hubby. He’s worked in Mexico, photographing its huge landscapes, vibrant culture, archeological treasures and warm faces over many years and many visits. I’ve come to love it too. We choose a sleepy beach town that we both agree is perfect for this first full family vacation. Safe, protected and not particularly touristy, a highlight of this location is renting a casita right on the beach.

We arrive on a Saturday evening, unpack and are asleep before the sunset’s colors soak into the night sky. Soon it’s a beautiful morning. The aquamarine sea calls us down to dip our toes in the shallow surf. On the beach, we meet our first casita neighbor – a real estate man whom we soon discover has the inside track on just about everything. He kindly proceeds to give us a lay of the land, where to get groceries and get our laundry done, the politics of reserving beach chairs, and even who some of our other neighbors are. As we sit under the umbrellas chatting and getting to know each other, an elegant woman strides by, in practical walking attire, a backpack on her back, and a lot of strength in her step. She’s probably my Mom’s age.

“That’s Hope” says Dan.
“She’s a neighbor of ours from back home. In fact, you’ll find a lot of people who are regulars here are from our neck of the woods. She and her husband have been coming here for years – they told my wife and I about this place about ten years ago. We’ve been coming here ever since.”

“Hope’s been through a lot. Her husband Hank – wonderful guy – died on their last trip here just after New Year’s. He’d been sick for a while, but it happened so fast. Right after they arrived. Shocking really. So traumatic. Hope brought him home and the family had the funeral. We were all there. It was huge: Full-blown Catholic funeral. We didn’t think Hope would come back, but here she is. Her family is with her – they are continuing the holiday they’d planned. She’s a strong woman.”

I’m thinking, “Wow. Good on her!”

A mid-day Mexican sun is far too intense for our fair skin so we pack up our beach things and head back to the casita to take a 3-hour afternoon siesta. The girls nap. We nap. We read and do puzzles with the girls. The girls color in their coloring books and play with their dolls. The sun’s rays weaken around 3 pm and we are soon out on the beach sploshing in the gentle waves of the protected bay.

We meet a couple on the beach.
They have a young boy about Kate’s age. Kate has a knack for making friends and immediately develops a buddy-ship. The boy is gentle, happy and fun, and reminds Kate of her friend Jake back home. Our two girls are making sand castles with young William while hubby and I talk to his parents. We learn they are from the same town as our newly found friend Dan. Bill is a real estate developer, and Louise used to be a career technical writer in the computer field but is now a stay-at-home Mom. William is her life.

As we get to know them, Louise tells me that her Dad just died here a few weeks before due to complications from Parkinson’s Disease – he had a stroke before it had gotten really ugly. Louise’s Mom and Dad had only been here two days when it happened.

Louise elaborates. “Even though it was earlier than we expected, Dad’s death was kind of meant-to-be. Dad was staying in his favorite place in the world, in their favorite casita, and had had his last dinner at his favorite restaurant in the world”….

Louise tells me the name of this special restaurant – but I miss it.
In the back of my mind, I’m thinking ‘we need a good restaurant tonight after last night’s cheese and crackers…’ But the conversation has moved quickly into serious life and death territory. I don’t want to interrupt the flow to clarify the restaurant name. This is obviously the daughter of Hope, Dan’s neighbor who lost her husband. The family has been through a lot. Louise needs to talk.

Louise continues. “My Mom is taking it extremely well. Mom went back with Dad’s remains and we had the funeral. It was Mom who decided to come back here. She insisted that we continue the plan of a joint family vacation. We’d all had our tickets bought, and the casita was booked. My sister and her family are staying at the hotel down the beach.”

The sun is setting. It’s now 5:30 pm.
We’ve been floating about in the warm shallows in the bay, but it’s getting ‘chilly’ with the sun going down, so we collect our kids, say goodbye and head back home. The girls are soon showered and cuddled up in their pj’s watching a movie on our portable DVD player. I grab a chance to have a hot shower by myself.  Now THIS is a vacation. Child-free showers!

There in the shower, I’m totally relaxed, not thinking about anything in particular. Just feeling the salt and sand of the day rinse off my skin, the stickiness seemingly evaporates off my body into the steam. Ahhhhhhhh…..

“He’s still here. He’s not passed over. He’s with Hope. You’ll get a chance to tell Hope that he’s still around. He’s having fun with them…. FREEDOM.”

“WHAT??” I say to nobody in particular. ‘oh no…” I’m quickly jettisoned from my underwater reverie.

I may have mentioned this before – for me showers can act like a channeling chamber. Water amplifies and speeds energy transmissions. And I often get key words when getting a download from Spirit. FREEDOM is the keyword this time around. Hank is free to enjoy his family without the limitations of that terrible disease.

I don’t know these people from Adam.
I beg, “I can’t do THAT!” I don’t know these people from ADAM!”

I plead, “You expect me to just walk up and say, Hey! We just flew in on the Chicago flight? I’m a clairvoyant medium and I happened to get a message for you about your deceased husband while I was taking a shower?”

I continue to argue my case. ” What am I supposed to say? ‘Oh. And by the way. I’m meant to tell you your husband is having a blast. And how do you like us so far…?’ I can’t do THIS!!!!”

I’m feeling a bit queasy. All of a sudden I’m hearing the distinctive Lalo Schifrin theme song in my head. I think I’ve just been dropped into an episode of Mission Impossible. ‘Your mission, should you decide to accept it… Good Luck, L…’

This is not a pop quiz.
This may just be Mission Impossible. I can’t do this test. I don’t know how.

Then I hear the name “CHARLES“. I am supposed to ask Hope about someone named Charles. I hear “They will know who it is.” oooh boy. Spirit is not letting up on this one.

As I towel dry, I make a deal.

I say, “OKAY. I will do this but only if you give me THREE signs that CLEARLY show I have to go through with this. And it has to happen in the next 24 hours”.

Deal.

For our first dinner outing, we’ve decided to check out a little local restaurant recommended by Dan. When we get there though, we find it closed. (Not Dan’s fault – if we’d asked I’m sure he’d have told us it’s a no-go on Sunday nights). We’ve passed an interesting looking restaurant on our way to this one, so we back track. I look at the name – “Cueva del Pescador”.

That’s a sign. I recognize it.
That’s the name of the restaurant where Hank had his last supper. I’m sure of it.

“OK. That’s ONE, ” I say to Spirit, “But I need TWO more signs…. !”

So early the next morning, I’m organizing my family, trying to get them down to the beach for some time in the water before it gets too hot. Herding cats, I mutter to myself. We finally get it together. I have the girls on the last of a few steep steps down to the beach when Hope, Louise and her son walk right by us. We say “Hi”.

I comment under my breath, “Is THAT supposed to count? Coincidence…!?!”

We’re on the beach for a couple of hours before I herd my family back up to the casita. Kate has left some toys by the water so I turn back there to pick them up out of the sand. As I hit the first step to the beach, Louise and her sister, and her Mom go by – again. We say “Hi!”

“OK.” I say to the power that is. “Third sign, but overall, if these last two are signs, they’re pretty ‘light weight'”….

Now Hubby and my Mom are getting into “the signs”.
They’ve been keeping track. I told them at the Cueva del Pescador that I’m on a mission. Hubby is fascinated in a bemused yet ongoing observer kind of way. Mom is visibly concerned. She doesn’t want me to have to worry about this: I’m on vacation after all. Then there’s the risk of becoming a social pariah.

Mom keeps asking me, “How is this going to happen? How are you going to do this?” How are you going to figure out how to deliver it in some kind of acceptable fashion? She just lost her husband! What if it’s not appreciated?”

My own ego couldn’t have said it any better.

I tell my Mom, and my ego, “I’m being told not to worry. It’s all going to happen. It will happen effortlessly. I’m just supposed to let go and wait for it. It will work out perfectly. Maybe I’m not meant to tell Hope directly. Maybe I’ll be told to tell friends of hers who’re here, who’ll get the word to her. Or maybe I’m supposed to tell Louise. Or…” and I say this -jokingly to get her reaction, “Maybe YOU’LL tell Hope, Mom.” Mom shuts up.

So now it’s Tuesday. I’m not happy with my three signs – they aren’t strong enough. I tell Spirit to “This isn’t working for me. Step up!”

Again, I’m herding my girls down to the beach. We hit the bottom step and turn because Louise is power walking by saying, “HI! We must get together!” Then 2 hours later I am herding the girls back up to the Casita, and as we hit the bottom step, William walks by with his grandmother Hope, and other relatives. He says to the girls, “HI!”

We’re up to five signs in a day and a half.
But, I say to myself. “These signs are SO lame. Of course we’re going to see these people walking along here. I’m not buying it.”

With that comment, we don’t see a member of Hope’s family for the rest of the day. No more signs. They’ve come to a halt. Maybe I don’t have to do this after all. Or maybe my test has been postponed, if not canceled.

About 4pm we decide to explore the shoreline. We’re gone for more than an hour. As the sun sets, we’re walking back along the waterfront walkway that ambles its way in front of the long string of casitas. I get sidetracked by something Mom is pointing out on the iron shore. The next thing I know, hubby and the girls are gone. Where the heck have they disappeared to?

“Come here! Come on! Come in!” I hear my husband calling us. He’s standing in the garden of an unknown casita, motioning us to come over.

As Mom and I arrive at the door, we’re greeted by Hope, Louise and Bill. It’s the casita Hope’s renting. William is showing Kate and Matilda his lego construction. And there is a very present male energy in the far end of the living room.

My voice in my head says, “There he is.”

I try to ignore Hank in the room.
We chat with our new friends. If his presence goes away – maybe I don’t have to do this? Hank’s energy remains there. His energy is light, but he’s very present.

It’s soon time for dinner. I gather the girls from the bedroom where they have been having the time of their lives jumping on a king-sized bed-turned trampoline with William (something verboten in our house).

I come back out of the bedroom into the main living area with kids in tow, and there is Hank standing in the kitchen in full form, between the sink and the fridge. He doesn’t say anything. I make another half-hearted attempt to block him out, but he’s very much there. Standing firm.

I give.  We’ve found the body.
Astral. But a body none-the-less. I guess I am really going to go ahead with this mission. Hank seems pleased.

Hope and family have plans to go out for a special dinner this evening, so we promise to get together the following day – the last full day before their departure.

The next day will be my chance to get Hank’s message to Hope. I feel it in my gut. The word “How” keeps popping in my head. It’s a word that messes up divine intervention. I acknowledge it and put the How on a shelf in my head. I return my attention into trusting it will all happen, some “How”. My job is to stay open: And trust that an opening will reveal itself to deliver the message.

The next day arrives and we’re all off in different directions.
I finally get a moment to myself sitting on a chaise lounge on the beach. It’s my half hour “off”. This is turning out to be 24/7 childcare for both me and hubby – we’ve been tag teaming. The girls are only two years apart but often their interests and nap schedules don’t coincide. This age is a busy time, even on holiday. It’s certainly easier than usual, but it’s still not easy. I’m tired.

Louise’s husband Bill walks by and calls out, “Let’s get together in a little bit!”

A little later Louise flies by on her power walk and gives an update, “We are getting the troops together – we’ll see you soon!”

It’s late in the afternoon when Louise, Bill and William show up together where all my family is now playing on the beach. Louise advises, “Mom is on her way. Bill, go back to the casita to get some wine. Let’s have a little going away party!”

Bill heads off to get wine for the impromptu party.
I make my way back to our casita for drinks and snacks. I return to a much larger gathering. Other guests and friends have discovered our party on the beach – and are milling about with more wine, more snacks. Hope has shown up and is talking to Mom.

A blue-lipped Kate is upon me. She’s been playing in the waves in the setting sun and is now teeth-chattering cold. I dump my party supplies on a chaise lounge and backtrack to the casita to get Kate into warmer dry clothes.

Kate and I return to the beach to find a freezing Matilda.
As I return to the casita to get Matilda changed out of her wet bathing suit, I notice the group on the beach is even larger now – other guests who’ve been watching from the periphery have beetled in. In passing, I hear a couple trying to sell Amway along with their devotion to Jesus Christ as our personal savior. I get a sinking feeling my mission is sliding off the rails.

Off to one side, Hope is still talking to Mom, while her family members are dispersed along the beach chatting with various friends and guests. Kids are congregating, shrieking and playing along the waters edge. The party is in full swing.

I’m thinking to myself, “This is going down hill really fast.
I just don’t see this happening. How do I have a quiet moment with Hope with all this going on?” Trust is becoming a shaky proposition. I try to throw off the feeling. “Don’t expect anything! It will all happen! Somehow?” I just don’t know…

I finally return to the party with a dry and warm Matilda in tow. I’m now verging on harried, and a little out of breath. I’m resigning myself to things not happening the way I thought. Maybe it’s not meant to be. I didn’t balk at the test. I just didn’t get an opening. And that’s okay.

A warm and dry Matilda heads off to play with her sister and friends as I walk up to the edge of the group. Hope turns to me and says matter-of-factly, “Your mother and I have been talking. She tells me you are clairvoyant.”

A bubble of elation rolls up into my throat.
I stifle a hoot. Mom did it!!! She’s created the opening!

I say, with a smile, “Yes. I am.”

Hope proceeds, “I feel Hank around. I feel him very close. I have to admit, I don’t feel sad. Or at least not as sad as I’m supposed to be.” She pauses. “We’ve been coming down here for years so we have some longtime friends here. Many are from back home. They are making me feel kind of guilty. I guess I’m not the picture of an inconsolable widow. Maybe they think I’m being insensitive – to all that’s happened. I guess it upsets them. I’m not behaving as I should. I’m not grieving. Instead, I’ve been busy, having fun with my family. It’s been hard. But not the way I thought it would be.”

I blurt.
“How can you miss your husband when he’s standing right here?” Hank is standing behind Hope’s left shoulder. “Of course you aren’t grieving. You know he’s here. He was in your casita when we visited you yesterday. He’s around you… Of course… you KNOW that.”

Hope’s face is clearly relieved. She knows he’s here. She just needed confirmation. After the traumatic events of the previous weeks, she didn’t trust herself. Now she can. She got third party validation – from someone not close to the situation. It’s not her wishful thinking. It just is.

“You have no idea how much this means to me.”
Hope gives me a big hug and thanks me. Surprisingly composed, she’s not emotional as much as in a state of recognition as to why she not grieving as she “should”. It’s not because there’s some lack of emotional sensitivity on her part, but because she is VERY sensitive to the fact her husband is with her. It doesn’t feel like he’s gone. He’s not.

I tell Hope the message.
“Hank wants you to know he’s having so much fun being with you and your family. He’s finally free to enjoy this family time now. He wasn’t before with his disease. It was so frustrating for him. Upsetting. His death gave him freedom. I get the word FREEDOM. I’m being told that’s an important word.”

Hope says quietly, “That’s my word too. I am feeling so free after such a hard time. Two years of intense 24/7 care. I told Hank as he was going into a coma, ‘I’m so sorry I have been so bitchy’. I guess I’m feeling guilty for feeling free.”

I say, “So I guess the word FREEDOM is meant for both of you. You are both free now. FREEDOM is good – for both of you.”

Louise joins our private conversation.
Hope tells her I’m clairvoyant and I see Hank. Louise is unfazed. She tells me how she totally believes in reincarnation, that she and William talk to her father all the time.

We get into the details. I fill them in on what I am picking up. Hank’s energy is very light – as though he has passed over. But he’s not. I’ve been told he’s not passed over. And he’s not talking – at least I cannot hear him – so that’s my own indication he’s hanging in the astral plane. But I’m told it is not a problem. He is infinitely protected. He has no problems being in the astral plane.

Having explained how there can be some n’er-do-wells stuck the astral plane, Louise says, “It sounds just like Dad. Dad’s probably set up shop, sitting in a corner, quietly counseling people. He’ll help them on their way.” Hope agrees.

I ask Mother and Daughter, “Who is Charles?”

They don’t know of a Charles.

I think out loud, “Maybe it’s a friend who died? Or it’s a deceased relative? A spirit guide? It’s not clear to me. I’m told you will know. Think about it. Maybe it will come to you later.” I let it go.

Hope asks me how I see the messages.
I explain a little bit about the various ways I receive messages: seeing pictures or movies, hearing words in my left ear, sometimes without a voice – telepathic words just drop into my head – or it’s a feeling in my body, or just downloads of data that fall into my brain. Or a combination thereof. When people come in I feel a change in the pressure in the room, or feel as though someone is watching me, or perhaps I see a translucent oily smudge in mid air – like a watery thermocline, or a desert mirage.

Some times the person comes in very clearly in my mind’s eye – my third eye – or they appear to me physically like a normal person on this side – until I notice they are a bit ‘see-through’. Other times it’s a faint representation of a person on the screen in my head. I can tell if it’s male or female, their approximate age, a few identifying details, how they relate to the person on this side, but not much more. I need to be able to read more energy to get the details: I can read it off the person they are connected to on this side. I normally ask for permission. Otherwise it’s none of my business. I don’t randomly read people. It’s unethical. Not good form.

The air is growing chilly.
Even with the night lighting along the beach it’s getting really dark. More importantly, Matilda has stripped off three layers of clothing and is now lolling around in the surf stark naked. Someone finds a big beach towel that we wrap around her, and hubby takes the girls in to the casita to warm up and re-cloth.

I now have the chance to continue to talk to Hope and Louise without one eye and one ear trained on the girls. All of a sudden, Louise blurts out, “Can the Charles be someone from this side?” Before I can reply, Louise says excitedly, “Mom – Charlie!!!” She turns back to me and explains, “Could Charlie be ‘the Charles’? He’s like my brother. He’s an old friend of the family, and he astral travels all the time. He’s been doing it for years! Why didn’t we think of this before?”

I say, “I was told you would know. That makes sense. That could very well be him. When you see him, ask Charlie if he visits your Dad.”

Hope laughs. She thinks it’s all great. As we get ready to leave the beach, Hope again says, “Thank you so much.”

I tell her, “Thank you. This really helps me too. It gives me more trust in the process. There’s always something new. It can be hard to trust when I don’t know where something is going. It’s not about confidence in myself, but being confident to trust the guidance from Spirit.”

I explain where my head was at the beginning of the trip.
My download in the shower to tell Hope about her husband had really tested me. How I had to get my mind around going up to complete strangers to tell them that their deceased relative was happy and hanging around them.

Hope and Louise laugh. They think it’s pretty funny. Hope acknowledges my socially awkward predicament, “Oh my. What a time you’ve had!”

Hope pauses, “What happens next for Hank?”

“Well, as far as I know, he’s going to hang around you, Hope, until you are both ready. Then he’ll go to “school”.

“They say school?” Hope asks.

“Well – that’s what I say – for lack of a better descriptor. Hank crosses over into the light and part of the process is to completely release his earthbound ego, review his lessons learned on earth and create his plan for the next part in his journey. He’ll be available to you then – but his presence will be even lighter than it is now.”

Louise chimes in, “But Dad had very little ego?”

“I know. His energy is so light. When I first saw him in the casita, I could tell he was not passed over yet his energy felt so light. When someone hasn’t passed over, their energy normally feels much heavier. The heaviness is their ego.” I file this knowledge away. In this test, I’ve learned how light a person’s energy can feel even if they remain in the astral plan.

When I get back to the casita, I corner my Mom.
“I can’t believe it! You were so worried about me having to say something, and YOU end up saying it!”

Mom tries to explain her unusually outspoken behavior. “Well… I was listening to Hope’s story. And this poor woman. She told me she felt her husband very close. And her friends were not being supportive of her decision to come back to finish her vacation. She was being vilified by her own friends for behaving “inappropriately”. And how could she even pretend when she can feel her husband right here? I had to help her!”

I laugh. “Remember? Last Sunday night? I kidded with you – that it might even be you that says something!?”

Mom had forgotten that detail.

Next day our little family heads over to Hope’s casita to say goodbye. Louise and Bill are there with William. Hope comes into the casita’s garden while we’re saying our final goodbyes. She’s been saying goodbye to other friends staying at the casitas.

Hank follows behind Hope.
I think to myself, ‘Should I say anything to her about Hank being here?’ The timing often seems too perfect when loved ones appear. I tend to hold back on what I actually experience going on. People might not believe me.

I wait. Hope walks by me into the Casita and Hank passes by my right side. I feel his energy like a faint puff of air. Hope turns and thanks me again.

“Tell me. How does Hank look? Is he okay?” Hope is asking hesitantly.

I laugh, “He’s great! He’s healthy!” I blurt, “In fact, he is right here.” I point to where his energy is. He’s now standing behind her left shoulder. “He has his arm around you. He’s smiling.”

Hope grins, “He was always standing behind me with his arm around me. In almost every photo we have of us, that’s where he is.”

I reply, “Well he’s going home with you. He’s with you for a while.”

Hope thanks me again, and we share another big hug. “You have no idea how much this means to me. This has made my holiday.”

Mine too.  Mission Completa.  Mission Accomplished.

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

To Our Readers:
This is the continuing email conversation about Ghosts between my old friend McFly and I to help him with his Ghost Tours of New Orleans. Here are Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5 and Part 6.

Dear McFly,
I decided I should cover the much affronted, often shunned Ouija Board in this missive, along with some pointers to practice safe psychic with this tool. So the next question added to the list is:

#7   What about using a Ouija Board to contact ghosts?
Well first of all, Ouija boards have been around for hundreds of years in one form or another, allowing “regular folk” to talk to spirits – no Medium, training or séance required. You can even make your own. Whoo Hoo!  A deal at twice the price.

“Ouija board” is the official name of the Parkers Brothers game but its generic version is a divination tool that is also referred to a “spirit board” or a “talking board”.  Some people conjecture that Ouija means “Yes, Yes” – from the French word “Oui”and the German word “Ja”.

Note to the Uninitiated:
A Ouija Board – pronounced “Wee Gee ” – is a flat board marked with letters, numbers, words (commonly Yes, No, Hello, Goodbye, Maybe) and other symbols. It uses a planchette (a small 3-legged heart-shaped piece of wood) or a pointer such as an overturned glass.  The fingers of the participants are lightly placed on the planchette or pointer and one of the participants ask a question of any “spirit” present: The planchette seemingly slides of its own accord across the board until it stops over one of the words or sometimes spells out an answer to a question on the board.

Schools of Ouija Thought.
There seem to be three schools of thought about the Ouija Board:  Some users see it as just a fun game – and they leave it at that.  (2) Other users believe that they are in contact with Spirits who are spelling out Ouija Board answers to their questions (3) Skeptics believe Ouija Boards are totally bogus and that those using the board either consciously or unconsciously move the pointer to what is selected.

In the ghost-hunting world (of which I am not apart), there is a macho faction where individuals ‘prove’ how courageous they are by going into haunted places, turning off the lights and using the Ouija Board – alone with a flashlight.  Commando Ouija – It’s silly.

I personally believe that the movements of a Ouija board CAN be the result of contact with Spirits, and it can ALSO be unconscious movements by the Users.  In my particular family, with our lineage of intuitives, I believe the Ouija Board often acts as a Spirit Board.

The Ouija Board Talks
My first cousin recounted to me a story of long ago, when my older brother and cousin were 8 and 9 years old.  They were using our Ouija board at our grandparents old farmhouse and came into contact with a 3-year old girl who spelled out her name E-M-M-A, and gave them the message that she had died there and was their cousin. The young Ouiji’ers went to our parents and grandparents, asking them about “Emma”.  The elders were quite shaken by this, asking – How did you know about her?

There was indeed a little girl who died on the farm, before my Mom was even born. The little girl was my great uncle’s first daughter and her name was Emma.  She died of “the preefie” (a generic term for some long forgotten disease). Discussion of Emma was off limits in the family because it was too hard on my great Uncle, and then as time went by, Emma’s existence was all but erased from the family history- until some 50 years later when my brother and cousin were playing around with our Parker Brothers Ouija Board.

Ouija Board goes off limits.
From then on, my brothers and I were not allowed to use the Ouija Board and our own copy of the game mysteriously disappeared from our household.  Some of my cousins, aunts and uncles still use the Ouija Board for a fun evening at the cottage, or as a New Year’s party game.  They have had some amazing “contacts”.  They keep asking me to join in, but I defer. Maybe one day. When I was younger I was too scared to participate because I was terrified of ghosts. And now I can have my own chats, so what’s the point?

Should you use a Ouiji Board?
It’s up to you.  But if you do, there are some caveats. It’s important to know that in using a Ouija Board, you don’t get to choose who comes in. They do.  You may get someone who is in Spirit (from a higher realm who is all love) or someone who is in ghost form (from the astral planes that closest to our physical realm).  Some ghosts are nice, and some are not: You could be giving an open invitation to anyone. You don’t get to choose. Your front door is wide open.  Would you let just anyone into your house? As we’ve discussed, some spirits who have not passed over, a.k.a. some ghosts can be troublesome.

Be Prepared.
Just as we have some nasties on this side of the veil, you may get nasties coming in from the astral planes. You want to be prepared beforehand to make sure a lowlife doesn’t glom onto you – giving you an icky feeling, anxiety, extreme fear or even depression.  Ghosts can be troublemakers that can mess up your aura and make you feel “off”, upset, ungrounded or downright sick.

Spiritual Protection.
Spiritual protection work sounds kind of scary but it’s really about boundaries. Before we venture out into the big world, we need to have our boundaries in place or we get used and abused. It’s no different when hobnobbing with ghosts: it’s important  to create a psychic perimeter of protection around you that tells the lowlifes to buzz off.

Awareness is Key.
Just the awareness that some ghosts can be a pain in the butt can help you keep your natural guard up against a lowlife.  In other words, ‘they know you know about them’ and will more likely stay away.

You can do a visualization.
Before you begin using the board, wrap yourself in sparkling white light from head to toe – encapsulating yourself in a cocoon of protection.  White light does wonders in keeping the ‘ner do wells away.

Call for Back-Up.
If you are so inclined, you can call in your Spirit Guides and Angels, asking them ‘to protect you and clear away any entities that do not have the highest good for all involved.’ You don’t have to know your guides and angels to call them in. You don’t even have to believe in them. Just do it. The more you acknowledge your spiritual posse, the more you will become aware of them and benefit from their support.

Your Spirit Guides.
Spirit Guides are loved ones who have crossed over. You may have known them from this life or another life. They are here to support you on your journey.  You just need to ask for their help. We have access to many guides. Some are with us for life, others at specific times.

The Angelic Realm.
Angels are very real beings from the very high realms: They are non- denominational – in fact many denominations speak of angels – and are not just a product of Hallmark or the Bible. Some say angels have never incarnated on earth, others say that angels can incarnate in a human body.   I don’t think it matters, other than to know that Angels are messengers of Pure Consciousness, God, Allah, Yahweh, Vishnu, Krishna, All That Is, The Divine, Source,  or whatever you prefer to call the omniscient higher power at work every where in the Universe.  We all have at least one angel assigned to us, who watches over us for our entire lifetime.  So if you’ve ever felt you were somehow divinely protected in a particularly dangerous situation – you were. And you are.

A prayer works.
You can also try a group invocation at the beginning of the game, and order that only those with the best intentions and bringing the highest good for all involved be allowed to come in this evening.  You can use your own words to create your prayer, but you get the idea.

Your intention.
Did I mention that Ouiji Boards should only be used for the highest good of all involved?  That goes for this side too. Don’t use it to find out things that are none of your business, manipulative or underhanded.  By using a Ouija Board for ill-intent, you will likely bring in lower vibrating entities who will be dishonest, may say harmful things, and possibly glom on to your lower vibration and take you for an uncomfortable ride.

If you get slimed..
If you start to feel icky during or after using the Ouija board, call it out. “I feel ill!  If there is an entity that is not welcome here, I demand that you leave this instant!”   Again, awareness will banish most lowlifes.

To be on the Safe Side
Whether or not you feel you’ve been infiltrated, you can “cut your chords” during or after a Ouija outing: Literally do karate chops in front of you, and say “Cut!” or “No!” and that will cut any energetic ties to you.  I also strongly suggest that you take an Epsom Salt bath or shower if you have been out hobnobbing with the other side – this will help clear your aura.  Water does that.

Protection work in haunted places.
I also suggest that people do some kind of protection work when they go into a known haunted zone. Wrap yourself in light. Call in your guides and angels. Ask that only those entities who have the best intentions for all involved be present.

And speaking of present…
You’ll want to keep your fear at bay so stay present. How do you do that? Fear is about worrying something will happen in the future. You feel no fear if you are in the present moment.  If you start to feel fear take over you, concentrate on your breathing (feel the air go in and out), tell a joke, sing a song, whistle,  get angry (yell at the air telling the unseen to back off if they do not have the best intentions for all involved). I’ve been known to recite some of my childrens’ favorite poetry such as the family classic, “Cuddles the Cow”.  That kind of thing.

Archangel Michael.
If you are feeling freaked, call Archangel Michael to come in and protect you and banish all low vibrating energies from the space. It really works, and you don’t have to believe in angels to make it happen.

You might feel stupid – but you can call Archangel Michael in your head. Just do it.  It’s amazing how the air clears when you do that. And don’t worry about bugging Archangels for seemingly mundane things like feeling the hair stand on the back of you neck. Angels are happy to help – That’s their job. They’ll come with you even if you aren’t scared. All you have to do is remember to ask. (And say Thank You afterwards).

All this information is not meant to scare anybody.
It’s meant to make you more aware. Awareness of the potential pitfalls of fraternizing with ghosts can help you to avoid said pitfalls. I imagine some of my relatives will say all this protection work is really not necessary – but the more sensitive you are, the more you need to delineate and make your boundaries known. You don’t want to bring home any unwanted stragglers.

There you have it, McFly – Ouija Boards 101, along with an introduction to Spiritual Protection.  Are you ready to say “Oui” to the Ouiji?

I trust your Ghost Tours will rock and go bump in in the night…

Tida (a.k.a The Accidental Medium)

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

I’m overtired.
It’s unseasonably hot and muggy. Not good sleeping weather. It’s Mercury in Retrograde again. And it’s full moon. An old friend of mine – now in spirit – wakes me up. It’s Sunday night and he’s brought a young adult male with him. They are standing at the side of my bed. His young friend just died in an accident. I cannot see this person’s face – I find out later his face was lost in the accident. I’m not meant to see these kinds of details. It’s part of “the deal” I have with my guides. I’ve asked to stay in the higher realms. So no blood, gore, low lifes or threatening entities whenever possible, and I will do my part. There are other intuitives more designed and able to handle this other side of life.

My friend tells me his young friend hasn’t crossed over yet. I realize that’s why I cannot hear the young man talk: If he’d crossed over I would be able to hear him. This fact would be obvious if I were somewhat coherent at 3 a.m. What is apparent is that my services are needed. So for two nights I’m awakened at 3 a.m. to tell this young man I can see him, he’s dead, and he needs to go to the light. He will be fine once he goes to the light. He can come back and visit. But right now, he needs to go to the light. I’m trying to sound convincing while blessed sleep pulls me back under.

It’s in this frame of mind that I’m feeling compelled.
I need to go over to the farm of my daughter’s soon-to-be teacher. Brie has been wanting me to walk through her farm house and environs for months now, to see what spirits are around, to see if I can tap into her guides, and to find out if there’s any ghosts or other energy that need to be removed. But I’ve been so busy, and pulled in many directions. It’s now Mercury in Retrograde. I’ve been doing my best to conserve energy, stay grounded, stay centered. Take care of old business.

So when I get a call from Brie this morning, I’m not surprised. But Brie is shaken. She has a friend who has gone missing – I think this may be another reason why I’ve been so unsettled. In addition to my nightly bedside visits, I’m probably picking up on this situation too. Her friend’s family used to own a farm and Peter was instrumental in getting his Dad to sell the farm to Brie when he retired. Peter has been missing for 4 nights. I’ve never met him and don’t know anything about him – until now.

Peter has been depressed lately. Last Saturday he came to visit Brie and her husband at their farm. They all went down to their lake and enjoyed a swim. Peter was very “up”. He had dinner with them at the farm house, and left their place about 11 p.m. The next day, Brie found his car parked at their lake property, his wallet in the car. A cottage neighbor told her he’d towed their floating dock back to Brie’s lake property that morning. It had gotten loose during the night and had floated over to his side of the lake. It had been a flat calm night so the wind hadn’t torn it loose.

Brie called Peter’s family to tell them about the abandoned car.
They told her their news: Peter had not turned up after his visit to Brie’s. The family had since called the police. So first thing Monday morning, police showed up at the lake with two teams of divers, boats, sonar equipment and surface teams. Now, the police are starting their third day of searching the lake, and still no luck.

Brie wants to know if I can tell if Peter’s lost in the woods and if so, did I think he was still alive, or if he’d fallen in the lake? There’s concern he may have committed suicide. I blurt out, “He’s gone. He decided to leave”. I can feel Brie’s shudder over the phone.

I say, “You did a very good thing, Brie. To give Peter this time with you on the lake, and at the farm where he grew up. This was a gift to him. He was off his meds. I can feel his spirit trying to pop out of the top of his head. He was joyful when he saw you. He was barely holding on to the physical. He was bi-polar. He couldn’t take it any longer. Not feeling. He wanted to be joyful”.

Brie confirms what I’ve said: Peter is indeed bi-polar and known to go off his meds.

I am now seeing a marshy area at the far side of a lake.
Then I see a man fill his pockets with rocks and walk into the lake. I cannot tell where he is on the lake. It’s a close-up. Then there’s an inhale of water. Silence. That’s it. At this moment, I don’t tell Brie what I am seeing or hearing. She asks me if I can come over and see if I might be able to locate him. I agree to come over in the afternoon. I remind her this is not my normal work. But Brie’s just relieved I can come.

When I get to the farm, Brie and her husband are there to greet me. They say that they’ve been thinking Peter may be in a marshy area where the police haven’t yet explored the water. A man appears between them – squat, about 75 with greyish white hair. I asked them what Peter looks like: Peter is tall blond and 40ish.

“Well there’s this older gentleman with whitish hair standing between the two of you with a big smile. Maybe he’s going to help us find Peter.” Whoever he is, he joins Brie and I as we hop in the car for the ride over to their lake.

The lake is small, partially populated, much of it wild.
There are about 25 cottages on the north and west sides. The remainder is natural – and much of that undeveloped part is Brie’s – it’s part of the farm. The police are out in their boats, and there is a cottage cordoned off, being used as the police encampment and staging area.

We park the car at the end of the road and walk to the south side of the lake – an absolutely beautiful hike – near the crest of a hill, in mixed forest. The trail takes us down a steep ravine towards the marshy area of the lake where the police have not searched yet. As I am walking on the hiking trail, I’m picking up that Peter wants his body to be found.

We follow along a stream, the lake’s inlet, down towards a small point of land by the water. At this point, Brie asks to stay behind – she doesn’t want to go to the shoreline. I think she may be worried about encountering a body. The thought doesn’t bother me in the least. The white haired man is still with me.

My view focuses on an outcropping of rocks in the water by the far shore and I get the strong impression Peter had been there. But is his body there? I don’t feel it’s so.The police boats are past the rocks. Then my attention is drawn to a boulder sticking out of the water opposite from the rock outcrop, the boulder surrounded by reeds and fish are jumping around it. These rock formations are all visible from the other side of the lake where the police are searching.

A tall younger man appears.
I don’t know if it’s Peter but I surmise it is. He’s with me for only a moment. The white-haired man is telling me to touch the huge log that’s lying on the shoreline and juts out into the water in that lush marsh. I touch the green mossy log. I feel as though I am meant to stay here. Then I get the feeling I am supposed to act like a beacon to call the police boat over.

As I am thinking that and then start sending messages for the police boat to come this way, the police boat makes a sharp turn and heads towards our end of the lake. Brie comes up behind me – she has watched the boat make the abrupt turn and head towards us. She says,”I was wondering if you willed that boat over”. I tell her it felt that way and added, “There’s something about this log, although I’m not sure what. This man is telling me to touch the log. There was another younger man here but he’s vanished.”

I remind Brie that finding dead bodies is not my forte. Helping people communicate with Spirit is – so this new endeavor feels strange to me. The signs are not clear.

The police boat floats in close to us – as close as it can get in shallow marsh – and the policeman asks me if everything is okay. I ask him if he’s checked this part of the lake and he says no, there’s protocol in searching for a body. They are going through the search grid. I say I understand and wave him off.

I am not sure if the body is where we are.
The fuzzy information I’m picking up is throwing me off.  Maybe I’m being shown that Peter could see these rocks from where he stood at Brie’s dock.  I have to stay open to guidance.  There’s more information but I’m not getting it here.   I look behind me.

This boggy point of land is like a garden. It’s wild but there is symmetry, organization, to the placement of jewel weed, wild snap dragon, irises, jack-in-the-pulpits, ferns, moss and some very unusual plants that I’ve never seen before. I can feel that the police have been here on the land, and then Brie finds foot prints. There are also clean rocks thrown in the water – no moss or algae on them.  Grass on it’s side in places. People have  been here recently and have left a subtle disruption.

I tell Brie this older man is still with us.
She’s trying to place him. Maybe he’s the neighbor who died in December? He loved the lake. If he were alive, he would be helping out right now. Maybe he IS helping now. My description of him makes Brie think it’s probably him.

As we hike back to the car, Brie recalls how Peter was talking to her daughter about University last weekend. Her daughter told Peter she’s a really good writer and wants to be a journalist. Peter said “Wow! That’s so great that you know what you are good at. I think I am good at one thing – seeing beauty.”

I begin to understand a bit more why Peter wanted to go off the medication: It makes everything dull and flat. Hard to see beauty when it’s being intentionally suppressed – and if that’s your gift and you can’t use it, what’s life for?

Brie’s cottage neighbor George is waiting for us back at the car. He tells us he’s been watching us from his deck. What were we doing? What was I pointing at? What did the police say? I don’t know this man but he’s acting a bit on the “untethered” side.

George says he was at his cottage the night of Peter’s disappearance.
George had arrived at his cottage on Saturday night at midnight.  He sat on his deck overlooking the lake until 4 am. He’s an insomniac. He heard nothing. Saw nothing. He also talks about how he had to get rid of his home-grown when the police showed up on Monday. He had it in pots soaking up the sun by the lake and had to ditch them when the police boats started searching the lake perimeter.

George tells us how he told the police that they were going about the search all wrong. How they weren’t in the mind of Peter: Peter would be detaching the floating dock, lying down on it, paddling furiously away from shore; he’d go out to the deepest part of the lake, swearing at all the people who’d done him wrong, and offloading all his anger at the world in general. And then he’d tie something heavy onto himself and jump into the deepest part of the lake. George seems to know a lot about the frame of mind of someone who is about to kill him self.

But this is not at all what I’m picking up about Peter.
Peter’s in a shallow area, close to shore. He’s at peace when he does the deed. He’s not swearing – he’s very calm. He’s ready. He’s happy to let go. As Brie and I leave, Brie says, “George has his own problems with depression. I think he’s made some attempts on himself.”

I reassure Brie that what George is saying is not at all what I am picking up about Peter. Maybe that’s the difference between being bi-polar and being manic depressive?

As George disappears in the rear view mirror, Brie wants to know if we should stop by the police camp and tell them to search in the marshy area. I say “No.  I don’t think so. It’s not clear to me that Peter’s there. I think Peter’s enjoying watching the police try to find him. Let’s just let them do their thing and let Peter have some fun. They’ll find him. Just not now.”

We drive back to Brie’s farm but before we get down the driveway I have a thought. “Brie, would it be possible to go to the area where the dock is? The police have cordoned it off, but can we get in there anyway?” “Of course”, she says, “I own the land.”

So back we go, this time headed in the opposite direction.
We park outside the police cordon at her property lane way, duck under the yellow police tape, and walk the path down to the lake. It’s overgrown, wild, and beautiful. I see the water sparkling through the trees and I hear voices. Brie is ahead of me and starts talking to some people at the water. At first I think it’s police, but no, it’s two of Peter’s family members along with a family friend. They are standing by the side of the lake watching a police boat go back and forth, dragging the sonar behind it.

Brie introduces me and tells them why I’m here. The brother and sister nod. They are in their mid to late twenties. Serious. Articulate. The brother says,”We know about intuitives in our family – I’m not, but my mom sees auras, my sister sees spirits.” His sister nods. They are both smoking heavily: This is stress and they need to ground themselves.

The brother asks me if I think Peter is in the lake.
I say quietly, “Yes. He’s gone. I have no rational explanation for this – there’s no evidence. But I know he’s gone.” The brother nods. The sister takes a deep drag from her cigarette.

I tell them I think Peter’s likes the wild goose chase, watching the police try to find him. He wants to be found, but not just yet. The brother nods, “That sounds exactly like my brother.”

I ask Peter’s sister if she feels him around.
She says – “I’ve been seeing double shadows around me. Mine and someone else’s. Last night I couldn’t sleep and felt a spirit press up against me by my bed. I am open to Peter but I am also concerned about what else I’m open to right now.” I think Peter’s sister is shut down, partially from shock and stress, partially hoping he’s still alive, and then there’s her fear that, in the midst of this crisis, she’s now a target for wayward souls.

I point to the outcropping of rocks across the lake from where we are standing; I tell Peter’s brother and sister I feel the impression of Peter out at those rocks.  The brother says, “Peter goes there. That’s the swimming rocks. That’s his favorite swimming spot.”

I see a tall middle aged man standing in the trees by the water.
I walk over there. The man doesn’t speak. At least I cannot hear him. He’s not crossed over. I am getting impressions from him though. I feel like I am supposed to touch the tree closest to the man. It vibrates under my fingertips. Tingly energy shoots down my arm, through my body, and into the ground.

The afternoon sun is sifting through the forest canopy, its beams touch the foliage, the tree trunk, the ground. The man is Peter. It’s the same energy I’ve been picking up on the hike. He’s now appearing to me, tall, blond, thin, early forties. I am getting an impression that he’s using the energy of the trees, the water, and the sun, to stay present, and be clearly visible. He’s obviously here to hang out with his siblings.  There are no specific messages. A great sense of peace is emanating from this quiet spot, even with the police boat going back and forth, trolling the sonar off to the left of us.

I tell the siblings their brother is here. I say, almost to myself, “That makes sense. He would want to be with you.”  The pair nod. The brother steps down the embankment to the water’s edge. He sits on a rock near the family friend who’s not speaking, just lying on the floating dock. The sister sits quietly in an old chair and closes her eyes. We are all silent. I walk over and sit on an old stump, close my eyes to clear, ground and center. I make a space and wait for more impressions – subtle telepathic information – to drop in.  It’s the state of “no mind” where intuition flows. I hear the wind in the boughs of the fir trees, bird calls, September crickets, and the low drone of the Zodiac’s motor.

Peter’s brother starts talking –
“My brother told my Mom that if he went missing he was with a cinder block in a body of water some where. Peter had bought a cinder block. But when we checked his house on Sunday, the cinder block was there. I was relieved, but now I’m thinking he went the natural route. He used stones from here to weigh himself down.”

I tell him that’s what I saw in my vision this morning. Stuffing stones into his pocket, lying down in the water, inhaling. Very peaceful. “He’s in a much better place. This world was too hard for him.”   The brother nods.

I hear the words ‘not today, not today, not today’. I tell the small group I’m picking up that the police probably won’t find Peter today. I tell Peter’s brother and sister, “Your brother is standing by that tree. Peter’s enjoying being here in this beautiful place with you.  Just peace here. ”

The police boat abandons the search area close to the shore where we are sitting. The boat heads to a completely different area further out in the lake. As we all sit there in the softness of the forest, a piece of the puzzle slots into place:  Peter really does want the police to keep searching – I feel his intention – to spend these moments with his siblings here in this quiet refuge. And it’s happening.  He’s very much present and available to be with them. He couldn’t do this before – when he was alive.

Quietly, I mention this impression to Brie.
And how Peter had chosen, what has turned out to be the most beautiful period this summer has offered, to take his physical leave and be with his family. If he’d checked out earlier or later in the year, his siblings would be bundled up and standing out here in the cold or rain. But no. They have been sitting under the tree canopy by the lake in a peaceful spot for three glorious summer days that we didn’t think we’d get. A gift.

The brother thinks out loud, “The last time we saw Peter was at the end of May. For his 40th birthday. He was happier then. And he let us give him a hug. It was really hard for him to be touched. But that day, he was fine with it. He seemed to like it. Then we didn’t see him at all. Not since then. He just retreats, doesn’t want people around him. Won’t leave his house. This is normal for him.”

Peter’s sister steps down to the water’s edge to sit beside her brother.
They put their arms around each other. They quietly discuss whether or not they should leave now. They’ve been here all day. But they don’t move. I whisper to Brie, “They know they are meant to stay here with their brother.”

I make another connection and whisper to Brie – “The last time they saw Peter was the last Mercury in Retrograde.” She nods. Brie knows about Mercury in Retrograde. People act out, blow up or act on things they wouldn’t normally do. Life can look as though it’s quickly unraveling, where life’s forward motion has stopped and may feel like life’s slipping backwards, losing ground, regressing.  But this is actually a time where great progress can be made, if used wisely.

I am now feeling the need to leave, to let the siblings spend time together by themselves. Brie and I get up. Brie gives them all big hugs. They come over to shake my hand.

I don’t tell them I am sorry for their loss.
I give them each big hugs. I tell them “I think you are meant to enjoy this time together now. Your brother is now able to spend time with  you.  Please enjoy this quiet moment – all of you finally together.”

As we walk away, I tell Brie, “I’m hearing the word “Friday”. Maybe that’s when Peter’s body will be found. But time doesn’t mean much on the other side, and we have free will on this side. The police could decide all of a sudden to change tactics, and Peter could be found much sooner.”

As we hike back to the car, Brie says “You told them to enjoy this time. I felt that too.”

I reflect, “It’s an odd thing to say if you’re totally immersed in the ways and thinking of our physical world: Here they are, watching the police searching for their brother’s body, and I’m telling them to enjoy this time. It’s counter-intuitive to our left brain to think this way. But from a spiritual perspective, from the intuitive right brain, that’s what makes the most sense. ‘Peter is here for you now. Enjoy this beautiful place of your childhood, and the peace it brings, communing with your brother,” and I add in my head ‘before Peter’s body is found.’

I get home and end up down at my own dock by our lake for a late afternoon swim and “poopoos” (my Mom’s term for our happy hour appetizers). My Mom, brother and sister-in-law are down at the dock. My wee girls are in the shallow water playing with my teenage nephew.

My husband eventually comes down to the lake to join us. He starts quizzing me about my afternoon adventure. I answer my husband’s questions. He’s listening intently.  He knows this is new for me. How did it go?

My Mom is used to the daily doses of spirit I receive.
She’s accepting of my experiences, and trusts my instincts. She doesn’t question me anymore, but she has questions about the messages. This reflects her own spiritual shifts this year.

Mom says – “You’re talking about that man who’s missing? I’ve been hearing about it on the radio. It’s in the newspaper today. So sad. You were asked to go see if he was dead? This is amazing!?” My brother appears to tune out. My sister-in-law has no comment.

I rarely talk of these things in front of my brother or sister-in-law.  They are not “receptive”, shall we say. But it’s not my job to teach them, shield them, defend myself or prove anything. It just is. My world includes these outer dimensions, other planes of consciousness. Better me then my brother, I tell him. He agrees with that.

My husband is a force, not to be trifled with.
With my husband there asking serious questions about my experience, my brother the lawyer doesn’t dare to question my frame of mind or argue what ‘really’ could have happened this day: That there’s another  “logical” explanation for this.  Yes, I think to myself: Spirit is everywhere; Logic and intuition work together to receive and decipher these messages.

Later, we’re all sitting at the dinner table. I get a call from Brie. “I wanted you to know that they found Peter’s body just a little while ago. At sunset.”  I blurt out, “So it’s NOT today he was to be found, it was TONIGHT.”  I love the words of Spirit. True but tricky. This is a reminder to always listen deeply to the words.

Brie is amused by the interpretation. “That’s right. They found him off a big log that juts out into the water, just to the left of where we were all sitting.”  Where they’d stopped searching earlier, I’m thinking. The police must have gone back to that same spot after we left.

I say, “The log. Brie, remember that older man told me to touch the log by the shore in the marsh? That’s when Peter first appeared.  I guess I was being shown Peter was near a log that juts out into the water. Not THAT log but A log. Peter wasn’t in the marshy area, but that was his view from where he last stood.

I tell Brie about the messages from Spirit –
They are sometimes literal but are more likely signs, symbols and metaphors for what’s really going on. We have to learn the language to understand what’s being said and not said. At the table, my brother is throwing his eyes heavenward, and shaking his head as he listens to my “Spirit talk” – but he says nothing. At least during earlier dinner conversation tonight, I’ve learned my bro has moved from atheist to agnostic and tonight is claiming he’s “spiritual”. That’s a shift.  He just needs to figure out what “spiritual” means to him. That will be his journey.

Brie tells me that Peter’s siblings have just left her house – They’d come over to tell her that Peter had been found and to thank her for being there, for bringing me, and for us staying with them. They’d had hope, and in this case, hope had been a very painful emotion to manage. They needed to know what happened to Peter:  Our being there helped them to prepare for the moment when Peter’s body was found.  They’d stayed at the lake until sunset, when the Police found the body. When his body was found, they said Peter’s face had a lovely peaceful expression on it. It made them feel so much better to see he really was at peace.

I look back, and I realize my job today was just what I normally do -
I help people to connect with Spirit. It wasn’t about finding a body. It was to help the people here come to terms with the death of a loved one, to hear their messages, to face life lessons, to come to accept difficult realities, to move forward. In this particular situation, the siblings wanted to know not just Peter’s whereabouts.  They wanted to know that he was finally at peace.  The impressions I picked up helped them to feel that.  And then they saw it for themselves.  It revealed their own knowing that Peter was moving to a  better place, finally released from the trials of this world, and is now experiencing the beauty found in peace.

Tonight it started to rain, a heavy subtropical downpour. It’s still raining. Colder weather to follow. You’ve got to admit – Peter’s timing was perfect.

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

(Continued from Bronte’s Inferno – Part I)

Fast Forward One Month.
Bronte is still integrating the knowledge that past life karma continues to play itself out in this life between her and the loved ones in her world.  I invite her and Tom over for dinner to see how it’s going. Little did I know that unfinished business from this life will present itself tonight.

“Uncle Tom” is roughhousing with the girls, doing their favorite most shriek-filled game. We have footprints above our heads thanks to Tom taking turns with the girls, walking them upside down on the ceiling.

Over the din, I hear that Bronte is embroiled in another family drama.  Sister stuff this time.  Bronte’s feeling as though she’s expected to step up and take care of things when she’s in no frame of mind, or position to do so.  I remind Bronte that families are there to teach us, and this is a test.

“Boundaries, baby, boundaries,” I tell her.  I know all too well that Pisces have boundary issues.  (But it’s also probably why I am such a clear channel – I easily cross the boundary between this and the other side).

Bronte goes into the details of her sister issue.
I see Bronte’s Mom come in behind her as she explains her immediate predicament with Sis.  Suddenly Bronte rockets out on another trajectory. She’s now talking about her family situation long ago, the sister issue suddenly left in the dust.

Bronte recalls caring for her second baby, her first child just out of diapers. As many Mom’s do, especially in the 80’s, Bronte went straight back to work. Marital problems were burbling in the background. The family bank account seemed to have a mysterious leak in it. They’d moved into her in-laws home to stem the flow and get the daily support of extended family. She knew her marriage was fraying at the seams but Bronte doggedly kept moving forward. Exhaustion, work and babies made it easier to ignore the signs.

“The last and only time I had one-on-one time with my Mum happened when she came to visit me when Trisha was a baby. It was about a year before Mum died. With all the kids in our family, I never got to be with Mum alone, in my whole life it seems, so this was really special. Having Mum all to myself. But I was so busy, so much going on. And it wasn’t long before Mum started asking for my brother who lived in the same city”.

Bronte continues, “At first, I kind of ignored it, telling Mum, her son was being the usual self-centered male, blissfully sowing his oats with total disregard for the rest of us.  But then Mum started getting really persistent and wanted to know when he was coming to see her.  I was getting really pissed off at my brother. Where the heck was he? Selfish son-of-a. Why didn’t he bother to return my calls? Show up?  Urrrgggghhhh.”

It’s at about this point, Bronte’s Mom starts shaking her head.
I’m not sure what that’s all about. I don’t say anything to Bronte – that her Mom is standing by her chair. I know any small interruption will shut Bronte down and we won’t get to the bottom of this.

Now Bronte is really getting agitated, thinking about the whole (past) situation. “I finally tracked down my brother and told him to get his behind over here and take over with Mum. She was so obviously bored here and wanted to be with him more than me. When my brother showed up at the door, my Mum was all ready to go.  As she’s leaving she says to my brother “TAKE ME OUT OF HERE, PLEASE!”

Bronte’s Mom is now shaking her head frantically. From her reaction to her daughter’s words, it’s apparent that this is not what happened at all.

Bronte is shaking her own head. “And that’s when I knew. That I really didn’t have any value.  My husband… and now even my Mum…And that’s when I started drinking. Seriously.’  Her words break into a deep, painful, breathless sob.

In all our times together, all the secrets and hurts she and I have shared, I have never seen Bronte cry. Not once. This is cathartic.

Bronte’s Mom looks at me pleadingly, “DO SOMETHING!!!”
So I leap out my chair, slip around the end of the dinner table and hold a sobbing Bronte in my arms. She’s a dead weight. A drippy dead weight.  The pain is pouring out of her and all over me, both energetically and hydrologic-ally. I look at Bronte’s Mom over her shoulder. She’s telling me telepathically what to do – To fill in for what she did when Bronte was a little girl in distress. I rub Bronte’s back in a big circle. I hold her tight, rock her gently, and soothe her with words. “It’s okay…”

Finally I whisper through my own tears, “That’s NOT what happened, Bronte.” Your Mom is here. She’s telling me that’s not what happened. It’s in your head. She was there because she knew it was bad. She wanted to help, but you cut her out. You didn’t want to talk, or confide in her. You were so busy. No time for her. And she was there for you – to lessen your load. She was so concerned about you. She KNEW your marriage was falling apart. She’s your Mother! She loved you! She loves you now!”

Bronte is gasping between sobs. Bronte’s Mom is now telling Bronte “I LOVE you Bronte. I would never ever do anything to hurt you. I LOVE your feistiness. I should have been more feisty. I am so glad you’re hearing the truth. You know it’s the truth.  It will help you with your writing. It will give you LEEEVerage with your writing.”

Bronte’s Mom repeats, “It will give you great LEEEVerage.”

Bronte starts laughing as she’s crying.
Her Mom doesn’t say ‘leverage’. She says ‘LEEEVERAGE’. Bronte now knows it’s her. “That’s exactly what Mum would say! She was Scottish:  She always mispronounced words like that!”

Bronte’s Mom is now doing this funny little dance – stamping her feet, pumping her little fists up and down. She’s so excited Bronte knows that it’s really her.  “Bronte, your Mom is doing this crazy little dance. I wish you could see it. It’s quite distinctive!”

Now Bronte is bawling. She really knows it’s her Mom.

“Mum had this silly little girl dance, with her fists clenched and stomping her feet. It was so funny!”

I’m laughing, “It IS funny!”

Bronte’s Mom says joyously, “She’s the first (family member) I’ve been able to get through to!”

Bronte gradually pulls herself together. The shift is palpable. Tom is silent, giving Bronte emotional room.  Frankly, I don’t think he knows what to do. Best to keep quiet.

Later that night I give Bronte a huge hug as she and Tom head out the door. “This was a biggie, Hon! You did it! It was a lie – in there, messing with your head all these years. And you cracked it open. Good Job!”

Bronte smiles weakly. She’s spent. Her footing a little unsure, Bronte holds on to Tom’s arm as they walk slowly towards his truck.

After our “session” I go to bed and pick up a book.
I’m exhausted but have the need to read anyway. I’m into the latest book by Colette Baron-Reid.  A highly skilled intuitive, Colette writes about getting a reading from her gifted medium friend John Holland.  Just so happens, at this juncture in the book John Holland channels Colette’s Mom – and the same thing happens. A belief Colette clung to for most of her life about her Mom turned out to be untrue. After that reading, Colette was basically off the radar for days, crying and trying to integrate what she’d learned. I have first-hand knowledge of this kind of shake down process, but it’s nice to hear it shared by another reputable source.

I email Bronte in the morning, asking her outright “So, how goes the shift?”

I continue, “I’ve been reading, and a passage reminded me to pass on this important detail.  There is a process, after a tightly held belief has been shattered, and it is a shake down process. (I relate Colette’s experience to Bronte).  It’s a reminder that you have to take the time to rewire and integrate what you have learned. It’s painful. But if you don’t, it will be much more painful.”

Bronte emails back later with her status thus far. “I’ve been shaken, baby! Cried a lot. But you know, it’s really hard to resist sticking the whole thing into a box I can understand. One thing prevents me from doing that–the word “leeeverage” That’s exactly how Mum would say that word and I realize there’s no way you could have known that.  And that crazy little girl dance…

“I feel ashamed of myself for doubting her.  She was too loving to hurt me but I kept that pain in me for years. I didn’t look at that moment because it was too horrible and then when I finally did, it was too late. She was gone. I thought ‘I can’t fix it now – so…’ Thank you for this.”

I’m always amazed how Spirit does its best to make amends.
Spirit tries to set the record straight with loved ones: Time and space don’t matter.  We usually need help to hear the message.  Something has to shift. We need to be in the right frame of mind to accept something very foreign to our ingrained way of thinking. And be open to change. I guess that’s what I do. Help people to hear these messages when they are ready.

I also see how we must be patient with ourselves. Our mortal integration process of messages from Spirit takes more than a couple of days, to not only know the truth but feel the truth in our core.

Almost two months go by.
Bronte and I are at a gathering. Talking about her struggle with alcohol, Bronte says, “You know, I’ve been following the 12-Step Program, reading the books, trying to walk the talk. But there was something missing that kept derailing me. But when I heard my Mum’s message, when I knew it was her – the things you couldn’t possibly have known…

“I saw what it was: I had this wrong belief, this pain stuck deep inside me. I didn’t even know it was there. But I now realize its significance: How was I going to stop drinking when I had this huge pain to cover up about my Mum? But I found out it was pain based on an illusion. I don’t need the alcohol to cover up a pain that doesn’t exist anymore. I feel the truth in there now. I think it’s getting easier.”

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