Destination: Oracle

More excerpts from what I am writing...

"The very first time I discovered my angels, it wasn’t some lah-dee-dah glittery castles in the clouds and rainbows in the heart sort of a revelation high on a Himalayan Mountain top. It wasn’t through intention that I drew psychic experience to me. Intention creates a method with which to control the communications. But with mediumship, you either have it (and hide from it) or you don’t.....

"....As a result, when you have ventured into that territory, meeting spirits half way on the bridge to the other side, your auric field becomes henceforth marked by passage openings like neon invitations. After enough journeys into what shamans call non-ordinary reality, dead people read these invitations like neon signs on the Vegas strip. “Bada Bing! Hot, Young and Willing.” “Live Seer.” “Gorgeous Oracle.” “World Class Psychic Girl.” Naturally, dead people start gravitating to you like you are a tourist destination, a refuge in a time of crisis, even a last stop on their road to nowhere.

"The afternoon my grandmother called me up from the hospital while recuperating from a hip surgery, wasn't the first time I'd been made aware of the fluidity between our world and the other side. I was thirteen and home alone. We always screened calls because of the constant barrage from bill collectors. Forced to leave a message my grandmother spoke as I listened to her in real time. “Pandora,” she gasped in a deep guttural tone, like a wolf with emphysema who had swallowed my grandmother up in one giant gulp. I reached for the receiver, but I didn’t pick it up. Like a coward I was scared shitless by the monstrousness of her voice. "Paaandooora?! I need you." she pleaded, like she was fighting for her life with Cerberus grasping at her neck. I knelt down and leaned in close to the answering machine. “Pandora, help me.” Yes, it really did sound like my grandmother's soul was being yanked out through her vagina and dragged in through a trapdoor into the Underworld.

"In chaotic confusion, her serpentine voice raised in simultaneous crescendo and throaty baritone. “Paannddoorraa……help me!" Clearly, the central heating was melting my grandmother from the inside out like a cheesy potato in a microwave. Hip surgery sucks. Maybe she needs better drugs. "They are taking me!," she yelled in a deep choppy exhale like machinery in a reverberating meat grinding factory. What the fuck are those occupational therapists doing to my grandma? I thought in paralyzed amazement. A few more Pandoras and my grandmother disconnected. I listened to the message over and over again. "Do I call her back"? I asked myself. Rewind. Stop. Play. Stop. Rewind.

"Does hell accept collect calls?" I nervously joked to myself before my dad turned the key in the front door. “Grandma called from the hospital, you should really call her back. Like soon”, I said, pale and standing hunched over gazing at the phone. “When was that?,” he said surprised, his voice soft and tired, his eyes red rimmed. “About twenty minutes ago. She sounded horrible. Like really bad.” “That’s impossible,” he said with alarm. “She did!” I insisted. “She couldn’t have because I got the call forty minutes ago that she died”, my dad informed me before bursting into tears. “I’m so sorry,” I hugged my dad and we cried together until I entertained the thought, Oh?! So, that’s why she didn’t sound so good. "How'd she die?" It was a sudden cardiac arrest. Her hip had been healing fine. She hadn’t had a heart condition. She’d been fine the day before, ready to return to the nursing home. He listened to his mother’s message into the evening, bewildered at its post-death time stamp. By morning my mom had erased it from the tape, but never from our minds.

Angel Lady

It's official, I'm an incredibly happy woman! I couldn't love the work I do more than I do. I love talking to the angels, giving readings and council, providing messages from people who have passed on and archangels.

Mother's Day at The Optimist Cafe

Using psychic ability to predict the future is something I don't subscribe to because I think that there are many potential outcomes. And if there is in fact one more likely future for us, it's possible that we are not supposed to know what it is. I usually rephrase questions posed about the future when clients give them to me. I ask how to avoid certain pitfalls or what is for the greatest good in a situation. In my psychic work with clients, I ask for wisdom from their angels to come through, for the angels to communicate information or ways to interpret elements in their lives to help them move along their path. Being accurate is less important to me than being helpful. My aim is to support clients' in their intuitive sense, joy, sense of purpose, and help them ask questions, and come to their own conclusions and offer various perspectives which I willingly acknowledge as ethereal and not cold hard facts. I try to offer different framework to help them move along in their journey to a more holistic place and offers lens with which to view tangible things. Someone once said that the best answer to a question is a question, right?

I love my dear husband and son very much, and that is worth more than any present. Why do people even give presents, when love is the best thing in the world to receive? ...Although, someone anonymously paid for our mother-son breakfast today at a cafe. That was so sweet! And it was a very lovely Mother's Day gift. In enabled me to leave our adorable harried waitress a large tip...although he probably had already covered that too. I'm not above the sentimentality of the physical world. I wouldn't doubt that some angel was involved in making that happen.

Despite it being my profession, in my personal life I still have the occasional reservation about speaking about angels, because a common interpretation of people who do so is that they are being imaginative, cloying or sappy. My experience of the angels and those who make it to the other side where they become guardians or spirit guides, is that they have just as much texture in personality essence and diversity in their expression of self as do those who are living. Every angel isn't Glenda, the good witch. They empathically understand the ins and outs of what it is to be human, so they are instep with the egoic journeys of those whom they are assigned to assist. Some swear, cry, laugh, play, act headstrong, get frustrated, and some are mischievous.