It doesn’t matter how many times you’re right, people will still pick you up on one thing. As I’ve mentioned in previous posts a psychic/medium has to prove themselves with every sitting. I’ll call her Tammy. She came to see me on a wet, wintery day. I put the little electric heater on in the reading room and made us both a cup of hot Milo. Like many clients she didn’t know exactly what she wanted other than, ‘Tell me what you see.’ This can be fraught with peril as what you see might not be what they want to know. Luckily things were taken out of my control and a man came through in spirit. His presence was quite strong and he gave me a name straight away, Eric. No formalities here, he appeared in my minds eye larger than life. He lay propped up in a large bed. Dark haired, handsome in a rugged way he smiled broadly at me and said, “So, you can actually see me?’ (Let me say here that when they speak it comes into my mind like a thought.) ‘Yes I can.’ – ‘Good, now tell her I’m okay.’ Those in spirit have a huge need to let the living know that they’re okay, that there’s no more pain. I passed this on to Tammy and she nodded, giving me the old, you’re trying to con me look.
Eric, her Dad, felt her negativity and began to show me exactly how his life went until he passed on from lung cancer. I felt as if I were watching a 3D movie and saw every item in his room. Because he didn’t want to spend his last few months in hospital, his family set the room up with all of his treasures. There were shelves of books, some of which I described to Tammy. Photographs adorned the walls, of family members and friends. Collectable items sat on shelves, he had a TV and record player and I told her about everything I saw. She agreed that what I saw did indeed adorn her father’s room. He showed me his friends who visited and gave me their names and what they talked about. I must admit, I was stoked. This was by far the best reading I’d channelled. He showed me where he worked and the route he took to the station. There were his pets and hobbies, the list goes on. He ended the reading by showing me a Blue cattle dog, which he patted daily. It sat at the entrance to the suburban railway station Eric commuted to work from. He would stop, pat it on the head and give it a treat.
Well, Tammy’s reaction was quite a surprise. She pushed her chair back, stood up and yelled, ‘You’re lying to me, he never owned that dog. He never told us about it. You’re full of shit.’ She flung her money on the table and left. Hmm, I thought, that didn’t go to well at all. I sat back and thought through the reading, trying to see where I’d gone wrong. Oh well, it takes all kinds. Let’s fast forward six months and I’m in town paying a bill. I get off the escalator and head towards the bank, when I hear a woman calling my name. Yes, it’s Tammy. She came closer, stopped about ten feet away and said hurriedly, ‘The dog, it used to wait for Dad every day when he went to work. I told Mum about the reading and she said it was true about the dog, and everything else.’ Then she turned and fled. I felt rather chuffed after that. I knew the reading was good, she did too, deep down. Perhaps I’d frightened her with such a vivid portrayal of her father, who knows? What I do know is this, you can tell 99 truths and it only takes one doubtful piece of information to ruin the whole thing.
I still can’t win. Darkness, utter, complete darkness. I could hear the pinging of cooling metal and smell burnt paint, fuel and cooking human flesh. The darkness retreated and a long road appeared. I stood there trying not to look down into the gully at the twisted, blackened metal. Instead I kept looking away, at the cat’s eyes glimmering on the white line and the lazy flash, flash, flash of blue lights coming from the police car parked further up the road. Her voice cut through my vision, ‘Well come on, tell me how he died.’ – ‘You know how he died,’ I said slowly, part of myself still stayed with the vision, ‘he died instantly in a car crash.’ – ‘That’s not good enough, what was his body like?’ I knew what his body would look like. As a police officer I’d spent hours waiting next to a burnt out car for it to cool down. Then removed the bodies of a man and a boy, burnt and roasted beyond recognition. I didn’t need to see her brother, Peter in that condition. Looking at the car again I saw a perfect, unblemished, white male body, hanging half out of the driver’s window. I said, ‘He was drunk, speeding and lost control. Sliding off the road the car rolled, burst into flames and landed against the fence. He had brown hair and was well built.’ – ‘I want to know what his body looked like.’ Opening my eyes I rubbed them and stared at Rachel. I couldn’t understand why someone would want a description of a charcoaled relative. I’d given his name, description, job, type of car. Still not good enough. ‘Look,’ I tried to keep my tone even, ‘the reason I’m not being shown his burnt body is because of my earlier experience with death by fire.’ She still wasn’t impressed, I went on, ‘Why is it so important that you need a description of the burns?’ – ‘Because if you can’t tell me everything, then you’re a fake.’ I could live with being called a fake. Although I don’t know if I could’ve lived with her knowing that he hadn’t died instantly like the police said. They wanted to save her from the trauma of knowing that he had burnt to death, screaming and wailing while hanging halfway out of the car.
They come in groups. She stood naked in the doorway of a small bedroom. Flicking her long, black hair away from her face, she ran the tip of her tongue over her lips. Then slid her hands slowly down over her breasts, coming to a stop at her lower abdomen. Turning she stared at the man propped up against the silky oak bedhead. His thick beard couldn’t hide the grin on his face, though thankfully the damp sheet hid him from the waist down. Raising his hand he beckoned her back into the room. The scene changed and I heard a voice say, ‘It’s her sister and her boss.’ Sitting back I took another look at my client and thought, Hmm, it’s not her, her hair’s a different shade and short. Not wanting to beat around the bush I said, ‘Your sister and her boss are having an affair.’ She looked at me for a moment, shook her head and replied, ‘I, well I couldn’t say.’ I described the boss and the scene being played out in the room. Her face turned a little white, ‘Oh, well, maybe.’ Sally, still dressed in her uniform from the chemist shop, primped at her neat hair and asked me for a card. We finished the reading and she left. Half an hour later I received a call from Amanda wanting a reading the following morning.
I held the screen door open for Amanda, she blushed brightly as she squeezed past me and said, ‘I, hmm, think you might recognise me.’ – Keeping a gentlemanly air about me I replied, “I’d know your, err, face anywhere, now come in and we’ll get started.’ She sat down and tried not to look at me, I put on my best, understanding face and said, ‘Look, I don’t judge anybody here. I’m no saint so let’s get started.’ – ‘Thanks, look I, we don’t do it anymore it was…’ I put my hand up, ‘It’s fine, now let’s see what’s happening with you.’ I know she was impressed with the reading and she passed my number around to just about every friend she had. I experienced a burst of calls that went on for weeks.
With Gay abandon. I have no problem with a person’s sexual orientation, which is just as well as a group of Gay men and women, dare I say, came out of the woodwork. Rory, a tall, David Bowie look-alike arrived for an early appointment. Dressed in Edwardian style coat and pants he brought an aura of laughter and happiness into the room with him. He’d taken a taxi from Fortitude Valley to my home in Ipswich after a gruelling night of clubbing. I went into my usual state of mind and looked at his aura. Bright, vibrant and pulsing it amazed me with its mix of colours. We went through the usual, job, family, money, home and when I arrived at relationship his aura seemed to dim slightly. I picked up an image of a man in his late fifties. I saw him as an old Queen. (The term used for a much older homosexual man) I told Rory and he sat back and laughed. Flicking his hand in the air with a dismissive wave he said, ‘Oh, that’s old Alfie, he’s such a sweetie.’ I took another look at Rory’s aura and saw Alfie, large as life and very dark. ‘I see you’re in a relationship with him.’ – ‘Well, it’s like this, he….’ I broke in, ‘He provides you with money for your, hmm, lavish lifestyle and you repay him with…..’ – ‘Well you don’t have to be Sherlock Holmes Laurie.’ He said with a touch of something in his voice. Shame? Self loathing? ‘Look Laurie, he’s not the prettiest thing you’ve seen.’ I nodded, hoping it was at least a sage nod. We completed the reading and Rory left in a swirl, his aftershave outdoing the incense I’d burned earlier.
The following Friday who should turn up but Alfie. A nice sort of bloke who did his best to hide from the old, prying eyes of yours truly. He had plenty to hide. His aura consisted of faded colours, greying around the edges. Expansive, it seemed to fill up the room, this made it easier to see the multitude of black splotches in it. They were of various sizes from pinhead to fist sized. Taking hold of his hands I picked up more information, he was HIV positive. I looked at him for a moment and said, ‘You’re aura tells me that you are quite ill and that you have…’ he broke in and said, ‘Rory told me you were good, go on say it.’ – ‘You have HIV.’ – ‘You knew before I even came here.’ – ‘I had a feeling when I saw you in Rory’s aura.’ – His voice took on a hard edge, ‘You didn’t tell him did you?’ – I thought for a moment before answering, ‘It’s not up to me Alfie, you’re the one who has to tell him.’ The reading didn’t progress well after that, Alfie seemed uncomfortable and couldn’t wait to leave.
The following week was quite interesting and I met every type of gender variation you could name. Even Cherie, a lady/man who castrated himself because he wanted to be a woman. The health system finally took notice and she received the drugs needed to continue with the transformation. Yes they were different and relaxed when they realised I wasn’t judging them. They had all the same life problems as the rest of us: work, money, relationships, loss, grief. Some were deeply troubled souls who, I hope, benefitted from some channelled wisdom. Quite often in cases where people had no one in spirit they would still get a message. Usually one that resonated with them, that gave them hope about their choices. I’ve not coined the term spirit guides in my writing so far, mainly because it’s a term that is bandied about and often refers to some long dead Native American. I do know that there are those in spirit who watch over us, and give us a nudge in the right direction. Yes and they do try to keep us from harm. I have been pulled from behind by my collar, to stop me walking in front of a semi trailer racing past my parked car in a service station. So I tend to think that yes, we have guidance. Is it some great mystic or renowned spiritual leader? I honestly don’t know. Maybe it’s because I’m a down to earth kind of bloke who swears, has a drink now and then, used to chase women and writes adult books. Perhaps I’d been assigned someone of similar tastes. :-) Whoever it was always came up with the goods for some of the troubled souls that I met. Don’t get me wrong, just because these people were different it doesn’t make them any more troubled than the rest of us.
Next Week: There’s no hiding from them and If you don’t want to know, don’t ask.