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.

Today I was compelled.
It was as though someone had a gentle hand at the center of my back, silently steering me in a direction I hadn’t thought to take.  When I woke up this morning I had tons of things to do. But starting another website was not one of them. Or so I thought.

But when Spirit talks, it’s hard to ignore. It’s persistent. I actually didn’t think much about Spirit talking to me as I opened up a host account, downloaded WordPress and started writing my first page. I just did it. It was oddly effortless. I was in the flow but didn’t even think about that at the time:  I just accepted that this is what I was supposed to be doing. So I’ve set up this blog on wordpress, chosen a simple theme, and written three pages.  Now on to this post.

The Veil was thin that day.
Two days ago we’d had a full day.  My daughter woke up early, walked into the living room, sat down on the couch and remarked that she saw an energy around a young middle-age looking woman being interviewed on TV. We don’t make a big deal about this stuff. We take it all in with an open mind and a grain of salt. Kids are intuitive. And they have huge imaginations.

“That’s interesting, sweetheart. Can you tell if it’s a boy or a girl?”
“It’s a man. Maybe he’s her husband. He’s close to her”, she says matter-of-factly.
“Do you know what that lady is talking about”?
“No. Can I have some watermelon for breakfast”?

My oldest daughter is six. She doesn’t like the news. It’s boring.  And she’s too young to understand coal mining disasters or that one had claimed the life of that woman’s adult son. Wondering if information was open to me too, I do a brief meditation on my own and try to tap into the situation. I clearly see three men lying in a dark corner, not breathing, and one man on his side, breathing in another dark place. I hear  the words “For Now”. Later that day, CNN reports there were 3 people still unaccounted for in one part of the mine, and another in a separate area. I don’t watch a lot of TV so haven’t heard of their fate. I prayed for their families and for the safe passage of these men, whether it’s to this, or the other side.

I didn’t see Mr. Fuzzy.
As we drive the kids to school, my youngest daughter comments that the man who lives in the old red house isn’t there today. A neighbor of my parents, Mr. F. died about 30 years ago and all that is left of his property is a tiny red dilapidated outbuilding. My youngest daughter sees him from time to time. But not that day.

My other daughter complains about all the spirit activity in the main bathroom. “Why don’t those people go away? I don’t know them! I can’t help them! I just want to pee”!

I explain to her again about how to set boundaries so they will go away.  The ‘It’s not a big deal. Just do it” speech. My eldest daughter grumbles. I wonder what it’s going to be like when she’s a teenager? My husband wonders if other families have these kinds of conversations driving their kids to school?

Channeling on a Date.
We drop off the girls at school and head for our “date” at Cora’s Breakfast & Lunch. My Husband begins to talk about the latest book he’d read. Another history book on Spain. He’s read hundreds of these books over the years. He’s been to Spain 49 times. He’s done educational films on Spain. It’s his thing. Most of his travels were before my time. I try to focus. My eyes glazeth over. I start silently planning my day. Making to-do list’s in my head.

I stop. I really owe my Husband my full attention. We are on a date after all.  As he talks on about the book,  I concentrate on clearing my head, to become fully present. I’m still not at a point where I’m listening to all his actual words – I hear some of them in the background as I continue to clear extraneous thought – and as I do, I begin to see a bunch of people standing behind him.

“Ahh. Honey…? Sorry to interrupt. But there’s a bunch of people standing behind you.”
“Really? Can you see who they are”?

Mostly men. They are not from this time. A man dressed in finery – a gold brocade cape, black shiny boots, fancy knickers. Rakish hat with a feather.  Quite the dandy. Maybe some kind of courtier? High government official? Somebody close to the King.  There’s a soldier standing to his right, wearing almost full armor and  a metal helmet that allows me to see his full face. A Pancho Villa look-alike stands to the Dandy’s left.  This man is dressed in black, and carries a leather satchel over his shoulder that seems to be filled with important documents. Fleeting glimpses of a young woman standing to one side, wearing a long blue and white gown.  A beautiful black horse appears behind the Dandy man.

“When was this”?
“I’m seeing the number 12. I’m hearing ‘eleven hundreds’. That makes sense.”

I am now channeling a past life event for my Husband at Cora’s Breakfast & Lunch. Information is flying at me and I can barely keep up.  I’m blurting it out as fast as I can. My husband listens, asks me questions and knows better than to agree or disagree or slow me down as I continue to blurt details.  I want the pure information from Spirit to flow through me, and not get stuck in my mind where it can get tainted or skewed by input I’m given from this side. The less I know from this side, the better.

I learn a lot about my Husband this morning. He’d been a military and government Advisor in Spain. He’ d owned a hacienda. He had a family that lived in the city where it was safe. He’d been in the military. He was a gentleman farmer. I describe his house. I’m shown a landmark in the city and recognize what the city is.  I’m shown how my Husband will die – Spirit doesn’t show disturbing details. It’s voice is calm and reassuring, providing emotionless facts and the energy of love.  My Husband would walk into the path of an oncoming horse and wagon. The horse is beautiful, tall and black. Hmmm. My husband wasn’t paying attention. It wasn’t meant to happen. He was too focused on something else. T’was ever thus.

As the reading starts to wind down – the energy wanes like a brown out and the people step back. Except for the Pancho Villa look-alike who steps forward and starts to talk. He turns out to be a close friend of my Husband’s in this life who’d died a couple of years ago. I’d only met him once. He was a travel consultant who’d organized all the documents, made all the arrangements for my Husband’s many trips to Spain. Hmmm. The man’s eyes twinkled at me, he punches my husband in the shoulder and expounds with great affection, “THIS is MY FRIEND”!

I get hit by a huge wave of unconditional love. I start to cry in the middle of breakfast at Cora’s Breakfast & Lunch. It’s so pure, this energy that washes over me – full of joy. This reminds me to mention that the upside of being an Empath is that I feel others’ emotions very strongly. The downside is, I feel others’ emotions very strongly.

My husband says, “I hope you can remember to write this down”.

Then later that morning at a visit to our Homeopath, I see two of the doctor’s Guides leaning over her, one looks over each shoulder as she writes her notes.   She knows I can see her Guides. She can feel them there. She says one draws her attention to focus on specific things – makes her highlight certain notes. The other teaches her more about chemistry – How the mind, emotions and spirit are inter-connected chemically in the body. She is unfazed knowing they are near her. Most people tend to be clairsentient, having the experience of feeling spirit around them at sometime during their life.

My Mom calls that evening and I tell her about our busy day on both sides of the veil. She says, “I hope you’re writing this all down”.

A Tap on the Shoulder.
That night I’m putting my kids to bed, the youngest is in her bed, my #1 child by my side as I settle the wee one down. Eldest child starts tapping me on the shoulder. I ignore her as I plump pillows and cover #2 child with her duvet. The tapping continues and I finally turn my head to the bugging child and say, “Will you please ST….”.

But my daughter isn’t tapping my shoulder. Nobody is. At least nobody I can see.

“What’s the matter, Mommy”?
“Never mind”.

I better write this all down.

Reminders of the Queen Mary.
I’ve been briskly tapped on the shoulder before, on the Queen Mary. And there was nobody around me at that time either, at least nobody I could see physically.  But in my mind’s eye, I saw a young sailor in uniform smiling back at me on the bow of the cruise liner.  I guess he just wanted me to acknowledge him.

I’ve been to Long Beach many times and have stayed on the Queen Mary at least five of those visits. On almost every trip, I’d have unexplainable things happen on the Queen Mary, whether as a guest or not. On this particular trip, the floating hotel  was now promoting scheduled Ghost Tours of the ship and selling a new book about the ‘Haunted Queen Mary’.  Knowing my propensity for weird stuff happening around me on this boat, my girlfriend bought me the book.  But I was resistant to cracking the spine. I didn’t do ghost stories. The thought of reading one scared me. I’d never read one.

After that tap on the shoulder I decided that, as unsettling as it felt in my gut, I’d better read the ‘Haunted Queen Mary’ book.  But only after I returned home. And during daylight hours. With someone in the same room. A chicken sh.t – I admit it openly. The book would confirm that areas in the ship where I’d had experiences were already documented as being active, including the bow of the boat where the soldier tapped me on the shoulder. It was a spiritual whack on the side of the head. I felt a bit disoriented.  Made my hair stand on end. Why was it that I’m seemed to walk into this stuff? It would take me many more years before I’d find out.

When Spirit Gets Physical.
My thinking is that when the Spirit world takes the time and energy to come in physically, my attention is being sought in a big way. I’ve been meaning to write down more of the recent happenings in the past few weeks, but hadn’t tried until now. I was feeling stressed about not doing it, since more was going on and I could quickly forget important parts if I don’t document. But life gets in the way. I have other pressing matters on my mind. Like kids, meals, sleep, making a living.

This website has been an idea for more than two years. Starting it has been a tough nut to crack. So today, when I stopped everything to kick start this site with no previous intention of doing so, I realized that tap on my shoulder two evenings ago was the gentle extra whack I needed to get me moving forward. I need to do this for me and for others who will want to read it.  My site’s got a long way to go. But I found the time and the energy to take action towards this goal by simply recognizing and accepting the nudgings the Universe has been giving me. Starting is the tough part. It should flow much easier now.

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