‘Cross my palm with silver,’ Psychometry is the art of ‘reading’ objects and places. Gypsy fortune tellers would say, ‘Cross my palm with silver.’ Their client would hand over the coin not realising that a little piece of them went with it. The fortune-teller would pick up on that energy. In a previous post, Eddy’s Place and other haunted houses I wrote about doing psychometry on some aboriginal artefacts he owned. The physical effect on me was quite alarming, this is why I don’t like surprises. Not the surprise of what I may discover but the suddenness of a revelation. About seven years after leaving the police I visited a still serving colleague for lunch at his home. We sat out in the BBQ area and talked about old cases, workmates and his job, that of scenes of crime officer. I’ll call him Jed. The conversation came around to my burgeoning psychic skills and psychometry in particular. Jed snorted, got up from the table and disappeared inside. He reappeared in the doorway, and said, ‘Catch this.’ A small, silver object arced through the air and I raised my right hand and caught it. Of course I gripped it tightly, not wanting to drop it. Will I ever learn? The imagery was instant, along with the sudden pain of a huge impact to the back of my skull. I saw a bearded man in a green, chequered shirt standing next to a large gate post, a rolling valley of green grass and an open grave. Then the man slumping into the grave. I saw petrol being poured on him then his body was set alight. I gave Jed a filthy look and said, ‘This belonged to a murdered outlaw biker, he was shot in the head and buried somewhere north of here. Oh and they burnt his body.’
Jed stared at me for a moment and said, ‘Well, I guess you weren’t pulling my leg.’ I opened my hand, a silver ring with an Indian chief’s head on it sat there. I didn’t feel comfortable holding it and handed it back to Jed. ‘You keep it Smithy, I don’t want the bloody thing. It was bad enough recovering his body from the scene.’ The ring was the real deal, not one of those cheap metal ones you can buy. Shrugging I slipped it in my jeans pocket. That evening at home I took it out of my pocket and placed it on the bedside table. My dreams were nothing if not uneasy that night. The following day I decided on a little experiment and put the ring on. I felt as if someone was watching me and my demeanour changed. I felt angry, disoriented and downright mean at times. That evening one of my old clients came over for a healing. I’d taken the ring off before starting and she asked me about it, I filled her in and said I was going to throw it out. ‘I’ll have it, it’s a nice ring.’ I gladly handed it over. Two days later she rang, “Okay, I believe you there’s something wrong with the bloody thing. I threw it out yesterday, and it’s back in my bedroom this morning.’ – ‘Bring it back to me.’ She dropped it in the letterbox the following day. I took it into my workshop, put it in the vice and worked it over with a hammer until it became a shapeless blob of silver. A quick trip to the river and in it went. The ring’s original owner, I believe, remained firmly attached to his ring. The suddenness and ferocity of his passing embedded a part of himself in the metal.
More Rings. When a client rang to make an appointment I always told them as a backup measure to bring a piece of jewellery they normally wore. This was in case the client became uneasy about being read. Everything we wear, sit in, or touch leaves a little bit of us behind. Don’t worry it’s never-ending, you wont disappear. One woman came for a reading and asked me to read a ring for her. ‘Is it yours?’ – ‘Oh yes it’s mine.’ I took it out of the box and held on. Nothing at first, zilch, nada then, heat, a relentless roaring inferno type heat. ‘You haven’t worn this ring, it’s been in a fire.’ – “Well it’s mine, I own it. I bought it from a jeweller’s shop that burnt down.’ Gawd help us.
Another lady brought a beautiful antique ring along and wanted me to read it. I held it and said, ‘Look this is really old and it’s obviously had a few owners.’ – ‘I know, it belonged to my great grandmother.’ – ‘You do know that the wearer of this ring who had the strongest energy field will come through don’t you?’ – ‘Of course.’ Well it wasn’t hers that came through. Luckily she had photos and letters of her g/grandmother and knew about her. Because everything that came through was relevant to gran.
Odd stuff. I love going into antique shops and museums, then slowly walk around touching things. Sometimes I feel a presence and find out it’s only a memory of a person. This usually occurs around old chairs and beds, places where people spent a lot of time. Some objects give off vivid images when touched, showing faraway places and people of old. I made the mistake one day of touching an exhibit in a whaling exhibition at the South Bank Museum in Brisbane. Like the rest of the world up until the early 1960’s whaling was commonplace, with whaling stations on the islands and coast around Moreton Bay. So, what did I touch? A huge iron pot used for rendering the whale blubber. To say I was overwhelmed would be an understatement. I felt the emotions of thousands of dead creatures and I cried. I couldn’t move my hand, it felt welded to the pot while wave after wave of sadness kept coming through. I won’t be doing that again.
The Family Portrait. I’ll call the lady April. I spoke to her on the phone and she asked, ‘Can I bring a photo? – ‘No worries.’ I used to go out to the gate when a client turned up and greet them. April struggled to get a huge picture frame out of the boot of her car. (Trunk for those over the pond) I went out and carried it back inside the house for her. With the preliminaries out-of-the-way I said, ‘What can I do for you today?’ – ‘I want you to read this picture for me. I don’t want the cards, just tell me what you can about my family here.’ She flipped a cover from where it hung over the glass. Even though the picture had been taken at least 15 years previously, I recognised April sitting next to her husband and three children. Two boys and a girl. The girl would have been 17 in the picture and the boys in their early teens. I felt drawn to the girl first then went to the husband. I can’t remember a thing about the reading I did for April, with her husband everything was tinged with sadness and guilt and the boys? I couldn’t tell you. I know that after I finished each one I kept saying, ‘I’ll leave her to last.’ I touched the face of the girl and held my finger there for a moment and said, ‘Now I know why your husband feels so guilty, she died in a crash and he was driving.’ April cried for a little while and her daughter came through from spirit. Naturally she took me through the crash and her ejection from the car, she didn’t have her seatbelt fastened. I know one thing, the years don’t diminish the pain and guilt when a child dies, especially in a tragic accident. April left feeling lighter and happier knowing that her daughter held no animosity towards her Dad. That she was happy and to her, still alive.
A photograph creates a link to the person whether dead or alive. I have used a date of birth and a first name scribbled on a notepad as a link to a person. It’s like dialling a phone number although it can take a little longer to make the connection. The best items in order of my preference are: The client, a piece of jewellery worn constantly, an item of clothing or footwear, a photo then the written d.o.b. Did he say read the client? Yes he did. I know this may sound a little confusing, so bear with me.
Psychometry on the Aura. I’ve talked about reading the client’s aura which contains everything that has ever happened or will happen in this life, preceding lives and lives to come. Most of the information is definitely on a need to know basis. Yet it can be accessed by using psychometry on the aura. Ideas come to me about these things and I broached the subject with Janice, a 65-year-old member of a meditation group I ran. I figured that if the aura stored the information then it would be in fine slices, from the feet upwards. Then came the problem, where does one start? I concluded that starting around the heart centre would be as good a place as any. Janice stood still and closed her eyes as I began rubbing the thumb and forefinger of my right hand in her aura. The aura spreads out six feet from the body, like an egg made up of a fine filament of energy. Janice was an excellent psychic and made a fine subject as she quickly felt the intrusion into ‘herself.’ Her aura retreated to nothing and I asked her to let it out again. Then I began seeing a previous existence, sometime in the early 19th century. I moved my hand up slightly and rubbed again, late 19th century, another move then I came to her present. She had no trouble with me talking about it and asked me to move forward. Fortunately I wasn’t shown her ending in this life but was taken forward to her next incarnation. I felt a little uncomfortable because I couldn’t see her next life as anything to be happy about. She still lived in Australia although life seemed harsh to the extreme for her. I told her this and she shrugged it off with, ‘I obviously have a lot more to learn.’ I went back for three other future lives and believe it or not, on the last one I could see nothing earthly at all. There was something harsh and unyielding about the place. It could have been anywhere. Actually I don’t think I really wanted to know. Did I do any from the area around the feet? Yes and it shook me at first. If you really want to know, email me. I might sound looney enough as it is without writing about what I saw then.
Babies. I love reading babies up to about three months old. They’re fresh from spirit, their crown centre is wide open and they remember who they were and where they come from. They’re easy to talk to and have a lot to say about their parents, surroundings, life and diet. I held a baby at three days old and he startled me. So much so that I nearly dropped him when a man appeared in front of me, yelling his anger and frustration at being back here. You may mock me about what I’m going to say but hey, I’m used to it so I’ll go ahead and write it down anyway. He was dressed in a cotton shift, bald, brown-skinned and stood in front of a wall covered in Egyptian hieroglyphs. I could see it was a tomb and the man, he wasn’t happy at all. Above the noise of baby yelling his lungs out and this angry man, I gathered that he was some minor official/priest who found himself buried alive. I don’t know exactly what baby had to learn but I still have contact with him and he’s had a tough 20 years to contend with. Mainly to do with his attitude.
Baby 1. Her mother brought her along to a reading 19 years ago, she was breastfed and Mum didn’t want to leave her with anyone. After the reading Mum asked if I could read baby. No worries, so I stood up, held the little darling and tuned in. What an experience. Her guardian came in and told me about all of the highlights to come for the following 20 years. I recounted them and Mum scribbled furiously. She left and I thought nothing more about baby. Roll forward to 2006 and who should I see working in the local chemist shop? Yes, baby’s Mum. She was very pleased to see me and blurted out that everything I’d said about her girl had come to pass, then, “She’s going to Uni and doing law, what do you reckon?’ – ‘Nope, she’s going to change. She’s met someone and will be doing the arts.’ – ‘Oh no, she’s wanted to do law.’ – ‘Was that what you wrote down years ago?’ – ‘Hmm, no.’ A few months later I saw her again, ‘You were right, she’s changed her mind and doing arts.’
Baby 2. A couple of years ago we were at a birthday party and a lady had her baby with her, the poor wee thing was terribly distressed. I asked to hold her ( the baby ) she handed her over and I walked away. Putting a hand on her tummy I asked what was wrong. I was shown a bottle of milk and then a paddock full of goats. Easy-peasy, I took her back to Mum and said, ‘Give her goat’s milk, she’s suffering here.’ – ‘They told me at the clinic she didn’t need it and that I should try another powdered formula.’ – ‘It’s up to you but what have you got to lose by trying goat’s milk?’ Apparently she had nothing to lose, she called us a few weeks later extremely happy that baby took to the milk with a vengeance and settled down.
Next week; About ladders and inventions, oh and other stuff.