Archive for the ‘Signs’ Category

Anthony’s Message (Part 1)

Saturday, December 29th, 2012

The Accidental MediumAnthony’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.


Sunday, March 6th, 2011

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.


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”.


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.

The Man at the Lake.

Thursday, September 2nd, 2010

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.

The Blue Balloon.

Sunday, July 11th, 2010

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Whetstone.

Thursday, July 8th, 2010



Spirit gives me messages in movies.
Not in Hollywood movies.  Movies in my head.  They play on a screen in my third eye.  I can see them best if I close my eyes.

But when Spirit wants to give me a heads-up about something particularly important, it gives me a snapshot. I could be looking at something as innocuous as a kitchen tool, then my eyes zoom in on the item. And I hear a “Click-Click”, like the sound of an older model camera that’s taking a photo in my head.

I’ve learned that the “Click-Click” is telling me to remember the image – it will be important.  It’s telling me – “Just file that picture for future reference. You’ll need it.” I’m not told why. I just have to wait patiently for the answer to be revealed.

Our long-awaited family reunion has started.
And we’ve just arrived at my great Aunt’s family cottage compound where the party is already in full swing. My husband goes with the kids to watch the croquet tournament on the back lawn. I head to the kitchen to pitch in with the dinner that my Aunts are busily preparing. I once managed restaurants in my former pre-kid life.  The kitchen is a welcoming place that quickly plugs me into the social whirl.

One of my Aunts immediately hands me the job of slicing cold meats for the buffet table. Her younger sister whispers in my ear,  “We’ve been avoiding this job. I hope you find something decent to cut with.  These knives are AWFUL.”

Like the rest of the females in my Mom’s clan, I’m pretty handy in the kitchen. We don’t wait for a man to sharpen kitchen knives – I learned early on to use a sharpening steel or a second knife to get the job done. I open the drawer and find a half-decent slicing knife. But what catches my attention in the bottom of this kitchen drawer is a very old whetstone.


Spirit is very subtle. I would have totally ignored the “Click-Click” before. It’s just an old fashioned knife sharpener after all. But I’ve learned that the simplest things can hold important messages. I file the image of the old whetstone for future reference.

Fast forward 28 hours.
I’m talking with my cousin whom I haven’t seen in a long time. We’re standing in front of the urn he has lovingly carved out of wood. He lost his Dad 6 months before. It’s been a tough time. My cousin has already opened up to me that he feels and even sees his Dad around – out of the corner of his eye.  It comforts him.

My cousin is one of the nicest guys you’d ever want to meet. Calm, gentle natured. Great Dad. Caring husband. Reliable. Trustworthy.  Solid. An empath. He takes care of other people before he takes care of himself.  The Go-To Guy. (Every family has one.)  He takes on way more than most.  He keeps it to himself if he gets anxious, frustrated, fearful, angry.

As my cousin talks about his Dad, his Dad appears behind him. I’ve never seen this before, but with the family reunion, and his family around, my Uncle appears surrounded in a dark purplish blue radiant aura. It’s stunningly beautiful.

My Uncle gently lays his hand on my cousin’s left shoulder. I’m thinking – okay. what’s up? And in my head I hear the instructions,

“Wait for it…!  Wait for it….!”

I wait and I listen to my cousin recounting the last days of my Uncle’s life. Even though it was agonizing, he and his Mom stayed with his Dad to the very end.  Looking back, he says he’ll never regret spending those final hours with his father.

And then my cousin says, “I have one regret.”

Here it comes…
My Uncle starts whispering “It’s okay. It’s okay.” Over and over again.

My cousin tells me a story from long ago. He was still in school. The family was going through difficult financial times. My Uncle was coping but not so well. Like many people, he’d resorted to numbing his fears with alcohol.

After school each day, my cousin would come home and immediately start chores in the family business, doing a lot of the heavy dirty work. On one particular day when my cousin was home and well into his chores, my Uncle sidled in. My Uncle was having a particularly hard day coping and was already well into his cups.

My cousin has set exceptionally high standards for himself. He doesn’t blow. But he blew then. There was a heated exchange between them.

This altercation has been emblazoned on my cousin’s psyche – deeply affecting him some 20 years later.  He cannot let go of the incident:  The argument was not up to the expectations he has for himself. I’m thinking that this incident was probably the first time my cousin ever stepped forward and countered his father, showing the depth of his frustration and disappointment with his Dad and the situation.

My cousin bursts into quiet tears.
His pain is a wave that hits me. But I’ve already prepared myself and let it wash over me rather than absorb it.  Because I’ve stayed grounded, I can clearly hear my Uncle saying reassuringly, “I deserved it.”

I tell my cousin his Dad is standing behind him. I let him know his father does not hold anything against him for what happened in the past.  He needed to hear what my cousin had to say. He knows he had it coming.

But my cousin is still deep in the pain. He explains there is no excuse. He shouldn’t have lashed out in anger. His Dad was doing his best, trying to keep things together. He was human.

Then I get a download and continue talking. On automatic pilot.

We’re ALL human. We can get angry. We can clash, especially in stressful situations. Maybe, just maybe, this is the first time his Dad actually started to listen – because the anger came from a supportive loved one who’d never expressed an angry bone in his body. It just may have been the first of a series of wake-up calls that helped my Uncle to redirect his path for a better future.  He got his Dad’s attention. And that was a very good thing that came out of their fight.

I tell my cousin about boundaries (important for an empath). That if he hadn’t said anything about the situation, that he would be part of the problem. Co-dependent. While it wasn’t pretty, he’d made it clear to my Uncle there were other ways to cope, and that my Uncle was fully capable of coping differently.

My cousin gradually calms. But he’s holding on to this pain – perhaps he’s had if for so long, he doesn’t really know how to let it go. It’s part of his story: In his mind he’s disappointed himself and his Dad. There’s no changing it.  And that view has kept him in his place, holding my cousin back by keeping him full of guilt, and now regret. It happened. It can’t be undone.

Or can it?

Fast forward 17 hours.
We are now on the old family farm – now parceled out. Barns, silos and out buildings long since torn down. Just the big old farm house still standing. It was where my cousin and his family spent the first years of his life. My Uncle was the last in our family to farm this land more than 30 years ago.

A gang of us – three generations of relations spanning 80 years – start the walk into the fields and back towards the woods. There is a special place where my Aunt wants to spread some of my Uncle’s ashes. My Aunt stalls the walk to the woods – it’s overwhelming. My Mom stays with her, in what used to be the farmyard, as my Aunt talks about the old days, getting up her nerve.

The humidity hangs glistening over the cornfields.   We all wait for the two stragglers, while trying to stay cool in the shelter of trees at the edge of the woods. My cousin decides to make the long trek back through the oppressive heat to fetch his Mom and my Mom. When he finally returns with the two women, my cousin is quietly elated. His eyes are sparkling.

He shows me a dusty old whetstone in the palm of his hand. We’d all traveled single file down that same narrow uneven path by the side of the corn field, carefully picking our way across the deep furrows where the corn rows end.  But it was my cousin who found the well-worn whetstone sticking out of the sandy loam – it was the same color as the earth.  Hard to spot.

My Mom comments that whetstones were commonly used by farmers working out in the fields to sharpen the old farm implements on the fly.

My cousin is smiling and shaking his head. “I don’t know why nobody else saw the whetstone. Everyone was on the same path – you all walked over it. It was right there – sticking out of the ground.”

I know why.  My cousin had gone the extra distance. This was meant for him.  I look at my cousin. I smile. I murmur to him. “That’s a gift from your Dad.”

I never tell him why I am absolutely sure it’s a gift from his Dad – About the heads up I got two days earlier while working in the kitchen with my Aunts. CLICK-CLICK.  “It’s important.”

But my cousin doesn’t need that verification. The look on his face tells me he KNOWS it’s a gift from his Dad.

Maybe the healing has begun.

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