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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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A Child’s Past Life Memory in the Bathtub

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I have a very intense reincarnation experience I want to relate — but not today, as I need to do it on an evening when I have more time. So….today, I will relate about an experience that my daughter had. Actually, this can be useful information for others, and, especially, parents.

Children seem to have more vivid memories of past lives. (Dr. Ian Stevenson has written extensively — with a more scientific bent — about children’s memories of past lives, and I recommend him.)

When my daughter, Celene, was about 3 years old, she was taking a bath, which she normally loved. As I was bathing her, suddenly she screamed out: “Get the boy away, get the boy away!! He’s going to hurt me!!” And she was terrified.

I looked behind me, and throughout our tiny bathroom — nothing — just me and Celene and the bathtub. I suppose it could have been a spirit boy, however, I didn’t feel or see anything, and just the way she reacted made me think that she ‘knew’ what the events were ahead of time. I tried to calm her down and told her that there was no boy there. She just wanted out of the tub, so I took her out, dried her off, and she didn’t speak of it that night.

Again, I was bathing her on another night, when again she screamed out: “Get the boy away, get the boy away — he’s going to hurt me!” By this time, I had had time to think over the previous incident and realized that it may have been a past life memory. Unfortunately, I didn’t think to ask her to describe the boy, but she was just too upset to talk to anyway.

I thought that she may have been drowned, or murdered under water in a past life, and she was reliving it.

At this point of her fear of this “boy,” I started to talk to her: “There is no boy here now. You are safe. You are Celene now, and I am your mother. The boy is no longer here. You are safe.”

I still got her out of the tub.

One more night she again became afraid of “the boy.” “Get the boy away, get the boy away, he’s going to hurt me!” Again, I tried to soothe her: “You are no longer there. The boy is gone. You are here in Buffalo with me. I am your mother now. You are safe. That is over. You are safe. You are Celene now, and you are safe.”

Once more, taking her out of the tub, I kept talking about how the boy could no longer hurt her, who she was now, and how she was safe.

And that was the last I heard of it with her. And she no longer remembers these incidents.

Celene was still young enough to remember, and the water must have brought back these memories. I know of another friend of mine whose son had repetitive dreams of an Indian man on a horse, and the horse and the Indian crashing off a huge, high cliff to their deaths. She also walked him through who he was now, that he was safe, and he didn’t need to be afraid anymore. And he, like my daughter, finally was at peace and no longer had the continual nightmares of the Indian and the horse plunging to their deaths. So, keep reminding the child or person of who they are now, and that they are safe. Safety is a big factor.

Does Celene remember more? Not really, although the monks at the Buddhist monastery that she was drawn to on her own, “recognized” her as having been “one of us.” Plus, Celene, who is now 12, has not eaten beef, or “cow” as she calls it since she was six. And her fascination with Asia — perhaps a Buddhist life in Asia somewhere.

I don’t think that everything we like or person we meet is from a past life. It’s probably a little of both: some people we may have known forever, and new souls to know and learn with.

However, occasionally we are allowed glimpses into what had been. I have only had a few glimpses from the past (I wish I had more — they might be helpful). But one, in particular, with the group of people with whom I worked at the Edgar Cayce Clinic in Phoenix, Arizona, was the most remarkable because so many people had shared the same memory independently at different times and in different cities and states. And that will be next.

Although I think that past lives are certainly a real possibility (you know me, the skeptic), I also believe something else which is more important than whether or not reincarnation exists. And that is that we are still HERE in THIS world, in THIS body, in THIS place and time. So, to dwell on what WAS, can hinder what IS or can be. To use the information wisely is one thing, however, being so attached to the past life may not be helpful. Therefore, just like with any experience in life — the past may help to shape you in certain ways, help you along in the present to understand certain behaviors or feelings, however, we still live in THIS moment in time. And this is where we must currently work on ourselves.

So, the past was the future and the future is now. And our present just skipped by! Yikes, where DOES the time go!

Just remember, be kind to the people you meet — because you may be sharing more than just THIS lifetime together!

Until we meet again…..

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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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Knocking on Heaven’s Door. Don’t be Late to Meet Your Loved One for a Reading Appointment!

SeaHorses

The identity of the individual who came for a recent reading is confidential, however, something happened that struck me on a couple of levels. Phenomenon actually occurred while I was waiting for the woman to arrive at my home!

I learned that if you actually prepare for your reading according to the instructions given – meaning you “talk” to your loved ones who have passed and ask them to be at my place on a certain date at a certain time. I knew it was important to ask the spirits/loved ones to meet at the appointed time, but I got quite a surprise during this reading!

This woman was very fortunate that her loved one who had passed was very expressive during her reading. The reading went for over two hours because so much information and various individuals had shown up. The person she wanted to see, a man, did not show up immediately.

I always take the spirits who have the strongest energy and work with them first. In this case, two spirits who immediately appeared had definite messages for her mother. I worked hard to get precise information for her mother, although I know she really wanted someone else to come through. Therefore, when you come for a reading, just be prepared that the individual you are seeking may not show up first. However, they usually DO show!

After I received the information that she had to deliver her message to someone else, I was then able to connect with the main person she wanted to communicate with. It was a very interesting reading with a lot of validation. I do NOT like to know anything about you beforehand, if at all possible. This makes it good for both of us: I do not know anything and cannot be influenced by something you already told me, and you get instant validation knowing I could not know this information.

In addition, this woman had a friend with her who witnessed the entire reading – and she could also confirm the details coming through. It was a wonderful reading and I am so glad that the man she sought came through and that there was a third party to witness it.

As I waited for him to connect with me (some spirits find it easier to connect more quickly and easily than others), I could feel his energy entering mine. Finally, he appeared and more validation came to let her know he was actually present.

Here is the clincher, though …. apparently, he had been at my house BEFORE she arrived.

The woman had called me almost at the appointed time to meet me – around 5 p.m. She explained that traffic had stalled her and she would be about a half an hour late. That was fine, but what happened next was quite amazing.

As I waited for her arrival, I had put my two cats into my sunroom in the back of the house so that they would not disturb the reading. Suddenly I heard a “knocking” at the sunroom door. I figured that although I had a slight opening for the cats, that maybe one of them wanted out with a wider opening. I went and checked and both cats were peacefully sleeping in their respective chairs catching the sun’s rays.

I just figured I had imagined it. Then I heard it a second time: a pushing/knocking against my door in the sunroom. Again, I thought that maybe one of the cats wanted to be in the living room, and again, they were both sound asleep. I looked around the room and noticed that no windows were opened to let in a breeze. So, again, I just figured I imagined it. THEN again, the same thing happened – the knocking/pushing against the door! And again, my two cats peacefully slumbered in the sunroom.

When my visitor arrived for her reading, we sat and much validation came through. [Just as a note, she DID speak loudly, clearly, and confirmed information as it came through, so I think she had much more than some people by following those instructions.]

At the end of the reading she explained that her loved one would make sounds, appear in dreams, and otherwise make himself known. One way was to “knock” on the door! It was THEN that I correlated the knocking (and no one there) with her experience of her hearing knocking. I went and demonstrated what I had heard, and she exclaimed that it was just what she heard!

As I’m sure you have figured out by now…..her loved one had shown up ON TIME, and was making his presence known! She had carefully followed the “Preparation for a Reading” instructions and asked him to meet her there at the appointed time – which she was late for. But HE was there! And he made sure to let ME know! I think she and I were both thrilled that he demonstrated to me what he does for her and her family!

To me, this is a phenomenon that occurred created by spirit. It also shows that spirits CAN hear us ask them to meet us at a certain place, at a certain time, and on a certain date. (I believe that they have things to do on their side, too, so it is considerate to ask them ahead of time to set their time aside to meet you during your reading.)

I was very pleased that my visitor was so good at replying, speaking loudly, connecting with me (and as a result, connecting better with her loved ones), and confirming as information was received (confirmation is a way of getting “permission” to carry forward and receive more information). When she and I both realized that she had been late — but her loved one was not late – that was quite a validation! I heard the very same “knock” on the door as she hears. I just hadn’t figured out what it was – but she already knew!

A word to the wise: if you come for a reading with me, please, please “talk” to your loved ones and ask them to be at my place at that time and date that we arranged. You can be sure that they ARE wanting to connect with you as much as you do!!

Thank you to both the spirits and to the people who come to me for readings and validation. It is my honor to meet you and them. Please be secure that your loved ones DO hear you! They are always around you and make their presence known in many ways – including knocking on “Heaven’s Door.”

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Dreams and Spirit Communication

The Temple Guard - Kyoto - Version 3

Dreams can be one of the easiest ways for spirits to communicate. My feeling on this is that it is easier to telepathically connect through the dream state, than to either materialize or create clairaudience (hearing spirits outside of yourself) — or the receiver person may not have the ability of mediumship.

During my readings, I often will have a spirit tell me that they have contacted that person through a dream. It is their way of confirming for the person that they truly were in touch with them.

Communication dreams are quite different from normal dreams. Communication dreams are usually in vivid colors, almost day-glo colors, there is often audible sound or music, and it “feels” as if the person IS right there next to you. And, of course, they are! The dream may have components of a regular dream, in that there may be symbols, or unusual settings, but the sense that this is different and “real” continues.

Let me give you an example of one I had many years ago. I was married to a man named Bill, when I was only 23-years-old. Unfortunately, Bill died an untimely death when I was 25. Soon after he died, I had this dream.

In my dream, I walked into Bill’s mother’s kitchen. The colors were bright red, orange and yellow. Standing in the kitchen doorway, I looked over and saw a COFFIN on top of the stove! Understandably, I was quite surprised. Looking into the coffin, I saw that it was Bill. At that, I said, “Oh, Bill’s dead.”

Suddenly, Bill jumped up and leaped out of the coffin, stood under the kitchen light which was now creating a glowing white light surrounding him. From beneath this light, he reached out to me and exclaimed, “I’m not dead — I still love you!”

And with that, the dream ended.

Of course, a standard dream interpretation can be applied — I do suggest combining interpretations: standard and metaphysical.

In the dream, to me, Bill’s mother’s kitchen was nurturing. Food is sustenance, and the coffin on the stove meant, to me, that he was not cold in the ground, but rather warm with life. Certainly, his leaping out of the coffin is obvious — he’s alive. Also, the colors in the kitchen were “communication” colors: red, orange, yellow. Standing beneath the “white light” could easily symbolize the light of spirituality and God. And, of course, his “message” to me that he was “not dead,” and that he “still loved” me, was comforting.

Certainly, most dreams are not communication dreams. But, there are the few that may be. I still urge caution to not interpret every dream as a communication from spirit. When you have one, it will be evident how different it is.

But if someone you love dies and shortly thereafter you have a vivid intense dream with a “message,” either spoken or understood (such as in the dream, stroking your hair, or hugging you, but no words), then you may, indeed, have made contact.

It is easiest to remember your dreams (although with communication dreams one does not usually forget upon waking), by keeping a notebook and pencil next to your bed. Upon awakening, do NOT move. Lay there and think about the dream (or dreams) you had. Go over the dream in your mind in detail. After you have done that, THEN reach over for your notebook and pencil and write it down. Also date it. THEN get up and enjoy your morning.

Keeping a dream diary is very useful. Not only may it record communication dreams, but it can help you with sorting through daily issues in your life, give you insight into problems you may be dealing with, or give you guidance about which direction to take. Dreams are obviously essential to life, because we all dream. Therefore, take them seriously, and work with them. After all, “In our dreams, the spirits speak to thee.” And so does our subconscious!

With that, tonight have pleasant dreams.

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Grampa’s Spirit TUGS on EAR to Communicate During Group Reading!

Lighthouse Sailboat - Version 3

My friend, Julie, and her sister, and her niece arrived at my home and joined about eight other people for a group reading. I sometimes enjoy group readings because they are each so different, they usually go faster than an individual reading, and it seems that the group energy helps messages to come through.

I had read for Julie before and had “met” her grandfather. Her grandfather had died when he was quite young – in his late 30s – and was a writer and entertainer. He was well-loved in his small town in Portugal.

During the group session, I noticed that Julie and her sister and niece all seemed to emanate a huge energy field. This is because, I believe, that all of them have psychic/mediumistic abilities, too, only they don’t use them. However, the energy from the three of them combined was so strong that I literally had to separate them from the group and place them together against one wall so that I could “feel” other people’s energy to read for them.

I went around the room and read for the people. One woman with whom I had done an individual reading before, was quite surprised when her adopted mom came through and gave her the message that “it was good for her to continue her new project and that she approved of it.” Of course, I had no idea what that meant, only that her adoptive mom was giving her approval for what she was now getting involved in. This woman gasped, and said that just a couple of days before, she had begun a search for her birth mother. She was delighted to know that her adoptive mom was supportive of her search.

I finally came over to Julie, her sister and her niece. The first person to come through was their grandmother, who had not come through during my reading with just Julie. It was so funny, because I could see the grandmother walking through carrying these huge, heavy books and handing them to her and her sister. I described their grandmother and said: “It looks as if there is something wrong with her eyes, like she might be blind. And she walks over to you carrying these huge, heavy books in her arms and hands them to you.” With that, Julie exclaimed outloud,

“Oh, %*&$#@! I can’t believe she is STILL lugging around those books!!!”

Of course, I had no idea what she was referring to, but then they explained. When they were younger and grandma was still around, she was legally blind. And, each night she would insist that Julie and her sister would read out loud to her – from these huge encyclopedias! We all had a good laugh at that.

Now, not usually do I see spirits “outside” of me, but this was an unusual day. As I continued to talk to Julie and her sister and niece, I actually “recognized” their grandfather! Yes, I had seen him before when I had read separately for Julie and I recognized him. Neither Julie or her sister had met him in real life, as he had died before they were born. However, I saw him — like he was a holograph — with his fancy suit, and “dancing” through the room toward them – just as entertaining as I bet he was in real life! A very exuberant, fun, charismatic man. What a joy to watch!!

I told them that their grandfather was here and he was going and standing behind them. And to just let them know that he was there and loved them. Now, of course, I am sure that some people thought that I was hallucinating. And you may think so, too. But let me finish.

After the group reading, Julie’s sister came over to me and in both amazement and with a bit of trepidation, said to me: “The weirdest thing happened while I was sitting there. I actually FELT someone TUG on my ear!!”

I explained that sometimes I “feel” them, too, and it was just the spirit’s way of letting them know they were there. I figured that was that.

The next day, Julie called me. She was very excited. The two sisters had gone home and told their mother about the day’s events. As they spoke about Julie’s sister’s ear being “tugged,” their mother interrupted and said, “Oh, that was your grandfather!!” To their amazement, she continued, “He was very popular with the village children, and as they would gather around him, to tease them……he would TUG on their ears!!!”

It’s one thing for me to tell someone about their loved one being there, but it’s certainly another to have THEM also witness and experience that communication. This was a very special gift to them. I could “see” their grandfather, but they actually “felt” him. And their mother confirmed it by telling them something they didn’t even know!!!

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