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Spirit Baby Cries – A Shared Communication of How a Soul Chooses A Family and Body at Birth

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Greetings. I’d like to tell you about a “shared” experience I had. I like shared ones because they validate my own experience. Sometimes the field of mediumship can seem pretty fantastical, and I am happy when something happens that I can’t totally deny. As I said before, as much as possible, proof is essential. Again, I ask that, if you haven’t before, you read my post “Life After Death Evidence,” because to me that is one of the most evidential experiences that proves life after death exists. Out of hundreds of readings, often only a handful can produce “evidence” that this is “real.”

This shared experience took place in Boulder, Colorado, around 1985. It was in the same apartment that the spirit lady appeared and we “bridged dimensions.”

I lived downstairs from Tom and Claudia and their cat and dog. Tom was a counselor, and Claudia was a law student at the University of Denver Law School.

This night, I awoke to the booming cries of a baby. It sounded like someone had stuck 10 rock and roll stereo speakers into my bedroom. Although the sound was booming and surrounded me, I could also detect a direction coming from my spare bedroom, to the left of the room I was in.

I sat up straight for about 7 or 8 seconds (which is a long time when something like this is happening) listening to the booming cries of the “baby.” Finally, the sound dissipated, and I jumped out of bed, ran to my window, looked outside and there was a beautiful, calm, starry sky with the mountains silhouetted in the background. Our house was on a corner lot, and nothing was nearby. It was a very silent, and beautifully clear starry night.

I turned on all my lights, said a prayer for what I thought might have been a spirit baby, and slipped back under my covers.

The next day, I heard a “knock” at my front door. It was kind of a quiet knock, so I listened again, and the knock repeated. I went to the door and there was Claudia. I said to her, “I thought I was hearing things again,” and began to tell her about the baby crying.

At that, she exclaimed, “Wait a minute, I heard it, too!” I asked her what had happened and she explained: “I was sleeping and I awoke to the sound of a baby crying. It sounded like it was coming from our spare bedroom,” (which was over my spare bedroom) “and I jumped out of bed and ran into the spare room. When I got there, nothing was there, and I turned around to see Tom and the cat and dog still sound asleep on the bed.”

We discussed it for awhile and I asked Claudia if she had ever had other such experiences. She said that occasionally she would experience something, but not much. She was a serious law student and really had little interest in metaphysics.

So, I suggested we say a prayer for what we thought might be a spirit baby. The house wasn’t very old, so I wasn’t sure about a baby having died there, but, one never knows. We said some prayers and Claudia left.

About a month later, Claudia came downstairs again to visit. She suddenly said, “Remember that night we heard the baby crying? …. I think I’m PREGNANT, and I think I conceived on that night!”

Sure enough, 8 months later, Claudia was the proud mother of a bouncing baby boy! (Although he didn’t cry a lot!)

Our impression was that Claudia was receiving a “message” from the soul that was to inhabit the baby she would have. And because her bedroom was above mine, and because I’m sensitive and have clairaudience (clear hearing of spirits) which is not blocked by walls or ceilings, I, essentially, “eavesdropped” on her message!

This was extraordinary to me. Claudia and I both independently shared the same psychic experience!

To me, not only was this remarkable in that it confirmed my own experience, but it also illustrates how the soul appears to “choose” his parents, and that the soul is separate from the body. This can be a great comfort to those who have lost a baby, to know that the soul continues to survive. And it is also heartwarming to know that the soul chooses her own family. Not only does the soul choose its family, but it can also communicate its presence. To me, this was a wondrous experience of not only the existence of the soul, but of life BEFORE life!

The miracles of spirits are amazing!

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Can You Feel a Spirit TOUCH You? The Impact of the Shared Necklace


Sunset Psychic Medium Sharon Tenney and David Maze

Can you feel a spirit TOUCH you? Can a spirit communicate in such a way that you actually KNOW it is touching you? For me, the answer is “yes!”

I want to tell you about a young man, a teenaged boy, who came to me during a reading I was giving to someone he was not related to. Sometimes, I’m just as shocked as everyone else when something quite extraordinary happens with spirits. This teenager REALLY wanted to push his way through – and he did!

This young man appeared to me over a year ago, while I was giving a reading for the woman who had notarized some of my readings. She became curious after people kept coming to her to have their affidavits of accuracy about their readings notarized. (I feel it is important when a reading is very accurate to have it notarized, if possible, so that others will know that there is validity to mediumship.)

While I was sitting with Betty, the notary, I was tuned into one of her relatives. Suddenly, I felt a “WHACK!!” across the back of my neck! My body thrust forward as I was pushed and whacked across the head! “Whoa,” I thought! “Someone is trying to break through!”

With that, a young man appeared to me. I told Betty that I had just been hit over the back of the head by this man, and he, obviously, wanted to get through, so I had to see what he wanted. I began to describe him: Tall, sandy hair, happy-go-lucky, and he insisted that I listen to him. I asked if she knew who he might be. At first she didn’t know. Then I started to receive information about his death: the curved road, the trees, the crash. I asked if she had ANY idea WHO this kid was???!

Finally, Betty said, “I think I know who it is. It’s David.” I asked who David was and why he would be here with her. She said that she couldn’t think of why he would be here, except that he dated her niece, and that she was his girlfriend. That was the only connection she had with him. She then told me about the car crash he was in three weeks after high school graduation. The crash on the country road in the middle of the redwoods. And I knew then that the impact I felt across the back of my neck was a simulation of the impact in the car crash.

David was quite animated! Quite a lively, and fun guy. He then began to show me his “girlfriend.” I expected that I was describing her niece. But…no. It was a girl much different in appearance, Betty told me. This girl was blonde; her niece was quite dark. He then showed me an engagement ring in regard to this blonde-haired girl. I assumed that he meant that he was serious enough to marry her. Betty was insistent that it was her NIECE who was his girlfriend when he died. But David kept insisting it was the blonde! It was funny how the spirit of David and Betty, the notary, were, basically, arguing with each other! Finally, Betty actually admitted that although he was still friends with her niece, that just before he died, he HAD started to date….the blonde!

I asked if Betty knew David’s mother, so that she might contact her for him. Betty said she really didn’t know her. I was stumped. I didn’t know what to do – David was trying VERY hard to break through and to communicate – he actually managed to have me FEEL his TOUCH! That IS unusual! However, I did not feel comfortable calling his mother and telling her he had come to me – I had no idea what she would think, I didn’t know this family, and this was the first time I had heard of this car accident. So, I let it go.

Several weeks later, I had a group reading at my house. About 10 people attended. As I was about to begin the group mediumship session, I explained that sometimes people who we are not expecting, or even don’t know, could show up. Then I began to tell them about David Maze and how his spirit had literally hit me across the back of my head.

At the end of the group session, one of the women whose daughter had clearly come through, approached me. She said that she was about to interrupt me when I began to talk about David, but didn’t. After her participation in the group mediumship session, she felt compelled to tell me – she knew David’s mother!! She asked if she might call his mother and tell her about him. Of course, I said “yes.”

It was about a week later when David’s mother showed up at my door for her reading. She was a lovely woman, wearing a long, flowing skirt, with long hair to match. I could see why David was so handsome.

As we went through the reading, David insisted that I practically relive all the different scenes from his short life. At one point, I told David that I needed to have “evidence.” I asked him to please quit reminiscing, and to please give me something to show his mother definitively that it was him.

At that point, David appeared about 10 feet from me dangling a gold chain. I could see from the distance that it looked like a locket, and was elongated in shape. He kept telling me that it was “shared” between him and his mother. It went from her, to him, from him to her, from her to him. I was very confused. I had no idea how it could be a “shared necklace.” So, I told her what he was telling and showing me.

At the end of the reading she said to me, “Would you like to see the necklace?” And she pulled a gold chain from inside her clothing. It was oval in shape and gold. It had been given to her after his death by her former employer. I still was wondering to myself how it was “shared.” Then she opened the locket….and inside were locks of her son’s hair! Certainly, a “shared necklace!”

So, you see, the dead CAN communicate with us! David clearly wanted to contact his family, and I was available. His determined pushing and knocking me across the head so that I was thrust forward with the impact, certainly made an impact on me!

The spirit of youth, the spirit of life, and the spirit of David, are all one. “Thank you, David, for knocking that into my head!”

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A Visit From My Dad – Our Story

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My dad, William Tenney, whom I called “Saint Bill,” was wonderful. I love him very much.

Dad passed away almost two years ago. He was 86, but still had swatches of brown hair amidst the grey. He never had a bald spot, and he walked a mile each day until the day of his last stroke.

Simply speaking, my dad lived a full life; a life filled with challenges, yet simple joys.

As a kid, he grew up in Superior, Wisconsin. His mother had been married before with other children. My dad’s dad, whom I never met, moved from Missouri to Wisconsin and met my dad’s mom. She was Norwegian; my grandfather – my dad’s father – was Irish.  Dad moved to Buffalo after having been there with the Merchant Marines – when I asked him why in the world he would move from Wisconsin to Buffalo, New York, he said, “It was warmer!”

My dad was raised a Christian Scientist. He always had a positive attitude.  Although my three younger sisters, my mom and I, were night owls, he’d religiously call to us on weekends very early in the morning, whistling and singing, “Rise and shine, it’s a beautiful morning! The birds are singing, the sun is shining.” Then he’d be in the kitchen flipping pancakes and making scrambled eggs. He always had a full glass of milk with all his meals.

I came along first. My dad was 21 when I was born in Buffalo, New York. I have photos of him holding me as a baby. He always loved children. There was a delightful part of him that could become child-like in appreciation – the “oooohs” and “ahhhhs” when shown a new computer device that he knew nothing about, yet knew this was one of those “ooooh” moments. At the time of my birth we lived in the City of Buffalo on the Westside of town. It was a huge turn-of-the century brick building near Bryant Street and Elmwood Avenue.   Huge oak trees lined the streets, and it was a vibrant neighborhood. I had a wonderful old woman as a neighbor, and she played a grand piano. I remember going to her apartment often to listen to her play.

When I was seven, my first sister was born. I immediately learned how to change diapers and make formula and heat baby bottles. At first it was fun.

With the coming birth of my first sister, my parents decided to move to the suburbs in Cheektowaga, New York. To me, it was very sad, as I loved the city, and the tree-lined streets, and my friends. It was then that the wheels began turning in the opposite direction. It was the 1950s and families were expected to have about four children. That’s what my parents had – only they couldn’t afford them, and I think we all suffered for it. With the age difference between me and my three sisters, there was an invisible barrier that stood between us – they had their circle together, I had just me.

Our family moved to the suburban projects into a row-house that had a coal-heated furnace. The coal man would come and the truck dumped all those black cubes of coal into our coal bin. Dad would shovel it into the roaring furnace during those long, long cold winters. I’d pull a chair into the furnace room and sit in front of the furnace as if it were a fireplace. Living in an apartment in the city was one thing because lots of families did that. But renting in the projects in the suburbs and not owning a home was looked down upon. Obviously, it was the poor people who lived in the projects – ours was called Tiorunda.

When I was ten, my next baby sister was born.  I remember my little sister, the next after me, breaking the arm of the baby – she had tried to pull her over in the crib and that was it – poor little baby had a big cast on her arm. When I was 14, my last sister was born.  By then I remember that we were still in the projects, and our neighbors across the way had six boys — my mom just had our fourth girl.  I remember Dad carrying my youngest sister in his arms while he went to visit with the dad and his sixth son.  Dad and his sense of humor, held out my youngest sister and said, “Want to switch?”  They both laughed, but I guess dad did want that son.  With each sibling, the responsibilities grew. I learned all aspects of mothering. I had numerous responsibilities.

My dad worked at the Bethlehem Steel Plant as a foreman. It was grueling work and grueling hours. He worked shift-work, which meant one week he worked from 7 a.m. – 3 p.m., the next week from 3 p.m. – 11 p.m., and the next week 11 p.m. to 7 a.m. I don’t know how he did it. He was known to only sleep a few hours a night, yet he thought that we who slept normal hours, slept too much.   Because we had moved into the projects with the birth of my first sister, there were still two other sisters to be born. With each new daughter, my dad began working double shifts to cover costs. When he was 53, he had an accident at the Steel Plant and one of his fingers was cut off. I remember saying to him, “Oh, Dad, I’m so sorry about you losing that finger.” And with his typical positive attitude he said, “Don’t worry about it. I had it for 53 good years!” That’s how he turned things around.

My grandmother, my mother’s mother, had a big farm in Alden, New York.  Fifty-six acres of farmland.  She and our “grampa” raised Black Angus and gladiolas.  That was my time of respite.  We’d get to go to the farm and I could wander on my own out to the back of the acreage down to a creek with Johnny Appleseed apples.  I would see red fox in the distance, hear the cheep of birds, and the whistle of the breeze as it cooled my face in the humid summer.  My sisters stayed back at the house because they were much younger — I just walked and walked for hours in perfect silence.

Dad loved the farm, too.  During harvest season, we’d all ride up the silo while it was being filled with cut corn for the cows.  I remember the day that Dad was out in the pasture and the bull happened to be there.  Oh, boy, that bull caught sight of him and it started charging.  Even while hoping Dad would make it out of there, I couldn’t help but burst out laughing at the sight of him tearing through the pasture as fast as he could go and then “BOOM!” he leaped over the electric wire fence, and dropped on the wet ground just beyond the bull!  What a sight to see!  That was my dad.

Our mom had become ill and was in and out of hospitals for years. She had nine surgeries in ten years. As mother’s little helper, I took over with the kids, and after school, I cooked meals each night for six people, did the laundry, cleaned the house and did the dishes (no dishwashers then). I made my dad’s lunch each day. He loved cold baked bean sandwiches with a slice of onion on top and some ketchup. I kid you not. Although he ate them every day, I never did eat a baked bean sandwich.

On the day I graduated high school with a Regent’s Diploma (meaning I had done additional work to get a “higher” diploma granted by New York State), my dad immediately said I must go with him to the Steel Plant to get a job! I was horrified. As a poor kid and a girl, I was not expected to go to college, although I desperately wanted to go.  It was decided, though, that I would work, not attend college. I could not imagine working at the Steel Plant and I was panicked. Serendipitously, I had (apparently) taken a civil service test during my typing class in high school. That week I received a letter stating that I was number one on the job list, and to come to the State University of New York at Buffalo for a job interview. Thank goodness I was hired, and became a Clerk Typist.   I no longer had to worry about working at the Steel Plant.  My first job was in the Harriman Library at the old Main Street campus in Buffalo.  It was while working full-time that I took college classes at night.

It was a difficult time for me then, but also for my dad. He had many trials and tribulations, and these are just a few.

Now working, I finally moved out of the house. Ironically, I saved more money living on my own, because I had to pay half of my salary to stay at my parents while still caring for the kids after work, cooking for six, doing the housekeeping, and having little rest. I was able to save enough money to go to Europe for three months. I landed in London and traveled through all the countries down to Spain and then back up again to London. It was my dream to go to Europe, and I did it.

I would tell Dad of my travels around the world. He had traveled the world as a Merchant Marine. Because of poor medical testing in those days, he was denied the regular military because of “sugar” in his urine – but he never had diabetes. He still wanted to be part of the coalition that fought during World War II. He traveled all over with the Merchant Marines. He especially loved Italy, the scenery, the food, its people, and, of course, the beautiful women.

Each time I moved to another state, especially after my mother died, he would always make a trip out to visit me. He did not visit me in Arizona, and that was the year my mother died. When I later moved to Boulder, Colorado, he was there.   He loved Boulder! Never had he been in a town where they had actual leather on the bus seats and they weren’t all knifed up (kid you not). When partiers would walk around with bottles of beer at night, they didn’t toss them on lawns, or smash them on streets, they would line them up carefully in a row at the edge of a sidewalk, ready to be picked up by the garbage men. As we walked through the local mall with all the cars, he marveled that there was no rust on the cars! After all, he was used to Wisconsin and Buffalo – winter reigned and so did rust. With the amazing Flatiron mountains rising above the town where the Rocky Mountains began he was in total awe.

When my daughter was born, he immediately flew to Seattle to see her. I was so happy. He was such a proud Grampa. I was touched that he would come all that way to see Celene.

When I divorced my husband in Seattle, I came back “home” to Dad. He was a surrogate father to my daughter – we both adored him.   I realize now that he was about 67 when we arrived on the doorstep needing help. He welcomed us and my daughter, Celene, now had her Granddaddy. I went back to school to finish my college degrees. During those cold winters with ten feet of snow, and me at school, my dad would fetch Celene from the school bus after kindergarten. Although the house was only 3 houses from the bus stop, he drove with the car heated up, lifted Celene off the big yellow bus so she wouldn’t be buried in the snow, and shuttled her into the warm cozy car – then drove up to the drive way, three houses away.

At my college graduation, earning a degree in Communications, I had a plaque made up for my dad. He was unaware of it. During the ceremony, I had permission to ask my dad up to the podium. He had that child-like look of glee and surprise, and as he approached me, I spoke to the audience and handed him the plaque. I publicly thanked my dad for being supportive and loving and told him how much I appreciated him. The plaque read: To my Dad, Saint Bill, Thank you for all your support. Love, Sharon.” Everyone applauded and I swear I saw a tear in his eye.

When Celene was six-years-old, I tried to get a job that paid enough for us to live on, but could not find one in Buffalo. I couldn’t manage as a single parent there. I had a friend in Santa Cruz who said I could stay with his mother and get set up there. I figured I didn’t have anything to lose, so why not? I took a Greyhound Bus out while my dad watched Celene, and I checked out Santa Cruz. It was quite the contrast from drab, cold, snowy, rainy, windy Buffalo. Santa Cruz was a California beach town. So, I decided to move.

Eventually, we ended up living in the middle of the redwoods in Felton, just outside of Santa Cruz in the mountains nearby. My dad came out numerous times to visit. He always delighted in the little things. The ocean – the ocean on which he was a Merchant Marine, and was so beautiful to gaze upon. The majestic redwoods, tall and gigantic, overlooking all who stood beneath the towering forest. My dad loved it here. He adored it. He loved that all the houses were different, that each had its personal mark. How he loved nature! I think he was a natural-born Californian, but only discovered that in his late 70s.

As old age crouched on him, he began to lose his memories. Eventually, he was in an assisted living home. One of my sisters sent me a “letter” he was trying to write to me. I would send letters and post cards each week, always attaching a photo of me when I was about five-years old, because he no longer remembered the present. He had written on one of my envelopes in which I had sent a letter, and it said, “Dear Sharon, How are things in California?” By then, he didn’t know how to send a letter, but he certainly knew how to send a thought. I am very grateful to my sister who had the sensitivity to send that envelope to me to let me know that Dad was thinking about me – in the present. I still treasure that simple white envelope with my Dad’s writing on it.

The last time I visited him in Buffalo I brought Celene – unfortunately, he did not remember visiting us in California and when he saw her he exclaimed, “The baby?!” “Yes, the baby, Dad. She’s all grown up.” Such a sad moment it was to realize that twenty years were gone from his memory. I managed to “sneak” a video recorder into the home, and took a good twenty-minute movie of him talking about his life. By then, I knew he did not remember more recent events, so I had created a photo book for him that had old photos of our mom, his sister, other passed relatives whom he would remember, and even managed to get photos of Superior, Wisconsin, and put those in. I got a great photo of one of the “Meteor” whaleback ships from the 1800s there still perched in Superior! My dad regaled us with stories about the ships, and the Merchant Marines, his time on the boats. He told stories of “riding the rails” of trains while he was a teenager. We talked as far back as I could remember.

With his last stroke, he collapsed during one of his daily walks. It was madness after that. The hospital, the various homes until one was found next to an old monastery. Infections, paralysis, sadness. By then, he had lost his house (which he finally bought when I was 18 years-old) and he had nothing. Just as he came into this world with nothing, he was going out with nothing.

It was a conscious decision for him to die when he did. It seemed that the closer he came to death, the more his mind became intact. I will never forget the moment that I feel he decided to starve himself. My sister who had lovingly sent me that envelope on which my dad was trying to write a letter to me, took me around to some yard sales and we bought some pretty hand crocheted afghan blankets. We took them back to my dad, and he looked at them, and now being paralyzed on one side and no longer able to walk, he said, “They look like they would work for a wheelchair.” I knew then – I just felt it – that he knew he would never have his beloved walks. This was the turning point.

The next day he refused to eat. As my sister and I tried to hand feed my dad, he pursed his lips together and shook his head “NO!” We tried to get him to drink. He refused. He rarely said anything at that point, but as one of the nurses came to give him a shot, he screamed out, “No more needles!” He had made his decision.

A week later, family and friends gathered around him in the nursing home bed. We took turns sitting next to him and holding his hand. My dad was deaf since he was a teenager and he read lips. Although I was not as close to the bed as the others, I still could reach his hand and I had a good view of his face and he of mine. Knowing he read lips, I “talked” to him silently. I kept clearly mouthing, “I love you,” and “You’re doing a good job.” He continued to stare at me – we were talking while all around us others were talking, but not to him. We were in silent conversation.

At 12:28 a.m. on November 19th, 2012, my dad passed. He was awake until the very last breath. He wanted to be present for his own death. No matter how much morphine they gave him, he did not close his eyes. He knew this was a pivotal moment of his life, and he wanted to be conscious for it.

With the passing of my dad, came the passing of our family. We were not a perfect family. Me being the oldest and in a different generation from my siblings, it was hard to communicate. I don’t think my sisters actually understood me, except for the one who sent the envelope to me – she knows I’m different but she accepts me. I was always the square peg in the round hole.

Joyfully, I end this on a happy note. My dad came to me several months after he died!! Yes! I saw him in my house! I was in my bedroom and looked into my hallway during the morning. I saw my dad leaning against the wall of the hallway, with a smile. He was dressed in his favorite white cable knit sweater with the leather trim, he had on his khakis, and his brown tied shoes. He held but did not smoke a pipe in his right hand. He looked at least thirty years younger. His hair was full and brown again. My dad had vitality. He was happy. I couldn’t believe that I saw him! He was there for about ten seconds and then gone. Oh, but I saw him from top to bottom and the smile of love on his face.

Dad, I miss you so much. I love you.

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Touched by a Spirit who Strokes My Hand to Give Message & the Portuguese Grampa

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This was an amazing reading to me. I had recently started working at a local County department in downtown Santa Cruz. I didn’t know any of the people with whom I was working, and was just getting to know them. One of them, Julie, was a delightful, funny, and vivacious woman. I heard her talking about calling a “psychic” while she was on her way to the mailroom. I was curious when I heard that and asked her about it – she told me that she did believe in psychics. So…..I said to her, “Would you like me to give you a reading?” Well, obviously, she was quite surprised to see that I said that – I’m sure I don’t give the appearance of someone who does this work, and especially in a law enforcement setting. But Julie agreed. As some of you know, I like to read for people soon after I meet them (if they’re interested, of course) because the less I know beforehand, the easier it is.

We found an empty office and sat down. I had no idea what to expect. As it ended up, I should have expected a lot – because that’s what we got!!

As I sat there, I suddenly “saw” this older man, who felt like a “grandfather,” standing behind Julie. He was tall, handsome, young, very entertaining, and had on a suit and an old-time hat. I looked at him and told Julie that I felt I had a grandfather here. With that, grampa held the front corner of his hat, took it off his head, and “tipped” it toward Julie. I told Julie, “He says that he ‘tips’ his hat to you.” I didn’t know what that meant, but I heard it clearly. It was later that Julie told me that her grandfather had died in his 30s in Portugal, was an entertainer, and that “tipping” the hat was a gentlemanly gesture of respect. Wow, I didn’t know about her Portuguese heritage.

Then a little boy appeared next to me. I recall it was on my right side – the “mother’s side” of Julie’s family. He was about 4 or 5 with these little summer shorts on. He kept trying to tell me something about the “pets” and I couldn’t quite get it, but I knew they were small and furry – I wasn’t sure what they were. It was rabbits. He told me that he “took them with him.” I didn’t know what that meant, but told Julie.

She later explained that her little brother had died after being struck by a car. Her parents were so distraught that they couldn’t go back to the house right away. Her brother had two rabbits as pets. When her father went back the next day to get the rabbits….they were dead!! He “took” them with him!

Then, next to her little brother appeared a taller man who indicated that he was “taking care of” her little brother. He appeared tall and strong, and after I described him, Julie said it was her uncle who had died of Multiple Sclerosis – he was now “whole” in the afterlife.

There was a big message about Julie maintaining her religious values and being spiritually vigilant. Behind her the spirits (I assume that’s who arranged this) tacked up onto the wall big crucifixes and crosses and pictures of Mary. I mean, the wall was filled top to bottom with them! As I saw each one go up and up and up, I finally said, “That’s enough already!!” I had to laugh at the way they were trying to get the message through.

And then the strangest thing happened. I was sitting there and suddenly – and I swear this happened – I felt a “spirit hand” literally TURN my OWN hand OVER with my palm up. I couldn’t actually see her, however, I could “feel” that it was a woman who had done this (probably from the touch of her hand). And as I sat there, she gently began stroking the inside of my palm. It was so gentle and soooooo relaxing! I don’t know how I knew it, but I told Julie, “This isn’t for you – this is for your mother.” This woman kept stroking my hand, and I felt so comfortable and calm. I almost didn’t want it to stop.

Finally, the reading was over as we were out of time. I think more could have come through had I had more time. However, it was time to end.

When I later walked by Julie’s closed office door, I could hear her chattering away quite excitedly in (what I later learned to be) Portuguese! About an hour after that, Julie came into my office and said that she had called her mother to tell her about the reading – she said that her mother wanted to know “Who is this person who knows all this?” It ends up that the woman who was stroking my hand was her mother’s oldest aunt, Tia Merquinhas,who had died a year and a half before! And all through their lives, Julie’s great aunt would stroke her mother’s hand to calm and relax her! Talk about confirmation – wow!

Needless to say, even I was amazed. I feel that the reason Julie had such a significant reading was because I do believe that she, also, has mediumistic abilities but doesn’t use them consciously. It was just too easy for me to get the information for her. Plus, she is also the person referred to in my Older Entries about “Grampa tugs on ear during group reading.” You can see that her whole family has this latent ability.

And, “Thank You” to Julie’s grampa, in particular, who was strong enough to not only break through, but to give a verbal message, a cultural reference, and literally came in and “touched by tugging her ear” his grandchild. And thank you also to Julie’s Aunt. What an amazing reading that was for me … and Julie.

As always, I must thank the spirits for allowing me to experience such wonderful validations – and the love and comfort they bring to those remaining here. So, “Thank you!”

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Edgar Cayce Clinic Reincarnation Group Karma Experience

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One of my most amazing experiences involved the Edgar Cayce group.  Here is my “group karma” reincarnation experience with the Edgar Cayce Clinic in Phoenix, Arizona.

It all started in the winter of 1977 in Buffalo, New York. It was quite a year of discovery for me. I had not been involved in parapsychology or metaphysics, but I had my own experiences. This particular year, things began to snowball.

A friend of mine, nick-named Houdi, from Pennsylvania had come back to Buffalo to visit. While there, he gave me a ride in his new car and while in the car, he put on a beautiful piece of music. I was so enchanted and asked what it was. He wouldn’t tell me. Houdi merely said, “I will send you a record of it — I want to make sure you have the best recording.”

The next week arrived the record in the mail. It was the Musical Heritage Society’s recording of Pachabel’s Canon in D Major.

I decided to make this a special treat for myself. I made a pot of freshly brewed tea, lit some candles, burned sweet incense, and put on the record. With the cold winter snow outside, and the warmth of the heated inside, I relaxed on the sofa. As I gazed at the white wall across from the sofa, I listened to the sweet violins of the Canon. The violins began to swell, and as they did, suddenly…out of nowhere…appeared a MOVIE in MID-AIR in front of me! It was about three feet tall and two and a half feet wide, in color. It looked like a movie does that is projected on a wall without a screen — sort of transparent. I couldn’t believe my eyes!

I continued to stare at this “movie.” It appeared to be in a castle ballroom. I could see the stones of the castle. A man and a woman were slowly dancing. They each had on powered wigs, and she had on a hooped dress, and he had ruffled cuffs. As they continued to dance, I began to sob and cried out: “That’s the happiest I’ve ever been; that’s the happiest I’ve ever been.” At the same time, I kept thinking in my head, “I must be going crazy, I must be going crazy.”

I watched the movie while the Canon finished, and then just as suddenly as it appeared, the movie faded away. I had NO idea what to make of it. And I knew no one who was interested in paranormal things. I was alone.

As the year progressed, I learned about Edgar Cayce. I had been attending yoga classes, and heard someone mention his name — for some reason, it intrigued me, and I bought the book: “Edgar Cayce, the Sleeping Prophet” by Jess Stearn. Suddenly, it became clear to me. The concepts discussed were things I had never been taught, but intuitively felt.

This year was quite special and packed with new experiences. This was only one of many. (I will relate other “karmic” connections to the A.R.E. in another entry.) By winter of 1979, I had obtained a job at the A.R.E. (Association for Research and Enlightenment — Edgar Cayce) Clinic — a holistic health clinic that was based on Cayce’s medical readings, and incorporated a wide range of modalities.

When I first arrived at the clinic, I walked from office to office. The clinic was an old motel where the rooms had been made into various offices. There was also a swimming pool in the middle of the complex, palm trees shaded the yard, and a fig tree stood tall at the very end.

As I wandered from office to office, I heard the same piece of music coming from each office: the Pachelbel Canon! I couldn’t believe my ears! I finally went up to the Clinic nurse, Peggy, and told her about my experience the first time I heard that piece of music. All she said was, “We know more about it than that.” I was stunned.

About six months after joining the clinic, there was a huge staff gathering at the “Oak House,” a house that the clinic owned and used mainly for out-of-town medical patients and guests. At this staff gathering, one of the exercises we were instructed to do was to meditate to music: “Music and Memory,” it was called.

We took separate places throughout the house and quietly waited for music to start. During the hour of music, one of the pieces played was the Pachelbel Canon. During this time of hearing it, I did not have that same vision. After the music and memory exercise was completed, we gathered in the living room to share our experiences.

About 75% of the people there had the same castle ballroom memory. As each person added their memory, it was pieced together. It was in France, and we were the upper-class (well, I can see I must have done something wrong with money then, because I sure don’t have it now!). As the ball progressed, the French Revolution had begun, and soldiers raced in and interrupted the ball. Many people at the clinic were crying also. So many of us had lost sons, or husbands, or other family to the war. One man remembered having to leave the country as he was part of the government then. It was so overwhelming to hear each story so like mine.

Eventually, I left the clinic and moved to Colorado. However, I still remain friends with various people from that time. And I will never, ever forget that wonderful, yet surprising, group karma experience. What a wonderful affirmation and confirmation to know that we not only travel through time and space, but we travel with our friends.

And, you never know, we might, too, be linked by time and space. I may not remember your face and name, but I could never forget your soul!

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“Bring in Your Tape Recorder” & Pay Attention to Your Intuition!

 

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Now that I am retired, I want to relate an unusual experience that actually helped me during a very difficult time during my work in a local organization.

I HAVE had some very unusual experiences in my life, and in some ways I have felt guided. Are there Spirit Guides or not? Or are there spirits on the Other Side who just happen to have your interests at heart, and pop in as needed? I have never quite figured out how to separate them, and maybe they don’t need to be separated. Just keep an open mind, and wherever the “information” comes from, just be glad you get it!

I was working in a large agency department here in town, and I worked closely with the head of the department. My life had been very up-turned at that point, and I was clearly hypersensitive. Things had happened that made me quite emotional and sometimes I’d become teary-eyed without an outside obvious reason. However…. I always got my work done, and then some. My work ethic was very strong, and although I did a lot, I did not talk about it all – in retrospect, I probably should have because I know people were unaware of the many tasks I had taken on.

As I am mediumistic/psychic, I do have experiences spontaneously, as well as during a reading. In this case, I got “outside” help — prior information, and a stern warning!

I was walking into my office one afternoon, and suddenly, out of the blue, I heard a male voice say out loud (I couldn’t see him, but could clearly hear him). He said, “Bring in your tape recorder!” Well, even to me that sounded kind of nutty. But I had heard it loudly and clearly! “BRING IN YOUR TAPE RECORDER!”

So I did.

I had NO idea why. But having had unusual experiences before, I thought I’d better listen. Besides, so what if I brought in my tape recorder – it could sit at work, as well as at home.

A month went by. I still had no idea why I had to bring in my tape recorder, and I had no idea who the person was who told me to do so.

About a week later, I was called into the office by the department head for a “meeting.” Suddenly, I just “knew” I was to bring in my tape recorder. From the door of his office, I could only see him and a file cabinet. So, I said, “Let me get my notebook and my purse.” I did get my purse, and I ALSO got my tape recorder! I turned it on and put it into my open purse. As I walked into the office, I saw that another person was there. She was a “big-wig” in the department, but known for not being very nice. In fact, she was known as “The Hatchet Lady.” That should give you an idea of what I was in for.

As I sat through an hour and a half of berating, humiliation, and insults – one of which was that the department head’s desk was messy (not mine, mind you, but his) and I should keep his desk clean! For those of you reading and know where I worked, you’ll immediately recognize the situation!  (It’s okay to laugh!)

I had a memo that was handed to me which outlined my “weaknesses,” one of which was my over-sensitivity (hey, I’m a medium people! I am sensitive!).  In addition to my boss’s messy desk, there were little things added in, one of which was  that I might consider some counseling about my “sensitivity,” which I had already begun. (I knew I was fragile, and someone as sensitive as myself can always use a person outside work or family to talk to.)

Now, the other part was, I knew about Personnel – as I had worked in that section for a number of years. I knew that this initial “memo” was the beginning of how they get rid of someone. Although each item that they covered had already been taken care of, or was in the process of being taken care of, it shook me to the core. But…I had taped that entire hour and a half! The person/guide/friend/family – whoever he was, had prepared me for this moment.

I went home and put the entire conversation between the three of us on a CD. I now had ample evidence to support my claims against theirs. Enduring an hour and a half of put-downs, criticisms, humiliations and also being told I should clean my boss’s desk (I already washed his lunch dishes and silverware for him, not to mention that I frequently dropped off the forgotten wallet or keys that lay on his desk numerous time to his house!).

I was rightfully upset and outraged. And I knew “The Hatchet Lady” intended to cut me. There were other cuts falling all around me, and things were changing – I knew I was part of that falling – but…I was not about to fall for things I had not done wrong! THAT was where my CD had every, single word on it.

Yes, I did use the CD to show my “real” side of the story. There was no way to dispute what was said. Eventually, I started thinking about early retirement. I had all the proof I needed, and I used it. However, I also knew that being as sensitive as I am (I mean, how many people have someone who is “invisible” tell you to bring in a tape recorder beforehand, and for a very good reason?), that I should think of just extricating myself from that situation.

The whole CD was transcribed and typed out. It was handed to the officials who needed it. Fortunately, I did not have to go before a board or anything, but I had real proof, verbatim, of what was said. Every…Single…Word!

Are there Spirit Guides, is it our unconscious, and are there spirits looking out for us? I think so. I don’t run around and name any spirit guides, but I’m aware of spirits, in general, around us. I didn’t recognize his voice, so I have no idea who it was, but he clearly wanted me to be prepared. “How” did I know that was the day and that was the time I was to use the tape recorder? It was at a very basic gut level. It can be compared to the simple example of how we just “know” who is calling us, or we are thinking about someone and a few days later they contact you out of the blue. It’s a gut level of intuition that “talks” to you.

Pay attention! That is the key! Pay attention to those people, places and things around you. Allow yourself to relax, even momentarily, so that you are receptive and sensitive enough if someone wants to let you know something.

For me, it brought me much solace to know that “someone” out there could “see ahead to the future,” and “knew” what was coming up – knowing that I did not have that information. So, he did the best he could – he warned me, I got the message and I brought in my tape recorder! Boy, am I glad I did.

Sometimes that “little voice in your head,” may just step outside and tell you clearly and loudly, that it is there! Don’t ignore it – you never know when that “odd voice,” or “gut feeling” will tell you where to go. Trust your intuition and inner (or outer) voice. Pay attention!

“Thank you” to the spirit who so kindly helped me! I am grateful! (Oh, excuse me, I think I hear someone talking to me again…lol…you never know when they will show up!)

 

 

 

 

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