THE TIES THAT BIND

IMG_2032In honor of Halloween, I decided to deal with the ghosts in my own house this week.   I have known the house was haunted since before we moved in last spring, but the resident ghosts stuck to the third floor and didn’t cause mischief, so dealing with them was easy to put off.  That said, it did bother me that there was an old lady ghost at the high front window, looking down at us every time we pulled in the driveway.

So, armed with my keen intellect and a pad of paper, I went up to the third floor.  To set the scene……our house was built in 1885 and the third floor is in desperate need of a gut-it-to-the-studs renovation (photo provided).  It looks like the setting for the climax of a Stephen King novel — crumbling plaster, 1800’s wallpaper peeling and falling off the walls, curtains at the windows that haven’t been washed since the 1950’s, scraps of incredibly old linoleum covering the floors.  There are two big bedrooms (with closets!), but I can’t imagine anyone alive agreeing to sleep up there.  We use one of the rooms for storage and the other for nothing.

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A PICTURE’S WORTH A THOUSAND WORDS

ashtrayThe internet is a weird and wonderful thing, and this past week it connected me with a man who lives halfway around the world and is struggling with the death of his mother.  I am about to do a reading for him, even though there is a language barrier — I only speak English and his deceased mother only speaks a regional dialect of her country.  Everyone but me is concerned about this.  I am not concerned because language is only one way to communicate, and is not the preferred way for spirits of the dead.

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SAYING GOOD-BYE

wave goodbyeMy husband is a hospital chaplain and told of a man in the intensive care unit (ICU) who was dying of stomach cancer.  The man had been fighting the cancer for several years, and was brought to the brink of death much faster than anyone anticipated.  He had a wife and grown children, and the wife was angry — angry that he was dying and losing the fight.  She wanted to be married to a winner, did not want to talk about death, did not want to make plans for when he died, did not like what the doctors were telling her, and dealt with this by refusing to visit her husband.

When someone you love is dying or has died, it is easy to get caught up in the fantasy of, “If I don’t say good-bye, they won’t leave.”  But it doesn’t work that way.  Death has a way of taking people away from us whether we like it or not, and whether we say good-bye or not.

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THE DEMON JONATHAN

demonI’m not sure what I believed about demons before I met one.  As a Psychic Medium, I probably should have read up on them and contemplated their existence, but aside from their portrayal in movies and the TV show “Buffy the Vampire Slayer,” I really didn’t think about them at all.  But I think about them now.

I encountered the demon Jonathan in my basement.  I had no inkling that he was there, so the confrontation was sudden, shocking, and terrifying.  Which is precisely what he was going for.

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THE TROUBLE WITH NEWBIES

A friend of mine posted on Facebook that she had been the victim of a racial attack while walking across a parking lot to her car.  She is Korean-American, and the attack came from a Caucasian man screaming insults out his car window.  This bothered me.  A lot.  And not just because this woman is my friend and a wonderful human being.  It bothered me because I couldn’t understand it.

I don’t know what you believe or know about reincarnation, but I believe and know that when we die, our bodies die for good, and our spirits live on, ascend, and are reincarnated into a future body and future life.  Our spirits gain a wide variety of experiences, as we move through different lives that can have us living as one gender, one race, and one sexual orientation in one part of the world, followed by a life as another gender, another race, and another orientation in a completely different part of the world.  Over millennia, we grow and develop a perspective that is naturally inclusive, as we have been a lot of people during that time.  To be racist feels to me like hating myself.  If everyone has been a lot of someones over time, how does racism still exist?

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