MY PSYCHIC LIFE…

People always ask me,

“What’s it like being a Psychic?”… “Why don’t you just play lotto?…”Because I ‘know’ I won’t win?”… “What am I thinking?“…”Why would I want to !?@## know that?”…“Who will I marry?”… “Wouldn’t a better question be – When will I divorce?” A real answer for “What’s it like being a Psychic” is …“It depends”.

Since I know no other way, being a Psychic seems normal to me. To most people it seems exotic, odd, uncanny, crazy, fill in as many blanks as you wish. Being called Psychic is like having a scarlet “P” around your neck at all times…

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Don’t Picnic During A Police Chase

 

One hot summer evening, my friends and I spontaneously decided to have a picnic dinner in a local park by the Hudson River. Something inside me immediately felt we should stay home. At first I thought it might be because it was later in the day/evening and the park closed at sundown and we would have to rush through dinner, but that said, I just didn’t feel we should go. No one listened to me. Why should they? I only make predictions for people around the world for a living… but this was a nice summer weekend. So, I went along with the group, not wanting to eat home alone. Still the feeling persisted.

We drove to the park, found a picnic table by the water and started to eat. From our picnic table we could see flashing red lights on the bridge a distance away. “Sunday traffic,” someone said.

“Maybe there’s a fire or accident,” said another as we passed the food around.

Soon police helicopters flew above the bridge. “See, I told you,” a friend added, “It was an accident.”

We continued eating while helicopters started to fly past the bridge and headed toward the park. “Probably News helicopters circling the area for a story,” someone suggested.

I said nothing, trying to quell the uncomfortable feeling now growing stronger inside me as police helicopters approached above us.

“Someone’s probably lost in the park,” everyone agreed, except me.

We kept eating.

Suddenly, a beat up red pick-up truck barreled through the now closed park entrance at breakneck speed, broke a saw horse barrier and tore down a gravel walking path not far from where we were eating. It happened so fast, it all seemed surreal.

Twenty state and local police cars with lights flashing and undercover vans sped in a line in hot pursuit down the same path.

Everyone stopped eating.

The knot in my gut tightened as I walked to a young park worker nervously puffing an unlit cigarette in his truck. Before I could ask anything he lifted a radio microphone to his mouth and yelled – “Get out! Everyone! Murder suspects! They’re armed!”

We stuffed our food in the car and quickly drove away. He heard that a police car suffered a flat tire during the chase, but the suspects were finally apprehended in a showdown.

Finishing our picnic in the safety of a house, everyone sheepishly avoided me for the rest of the night.

The next weekend, roughly about the same time of day, the same group decided to go boating on an upstate lake. Again, I was the sole voice that said, “It will be late, and it looks like there might be a thunderstorm.”

“Ridiculous,” someone laughed, “It’s early.”

“We can get there in no time.”

“There’s not a cloud in the sky.”

Some people often need to have life repeat before they ‘get it.’ Rather than remind them of last week’s fiasco, I decided to go along for the ride and let Fate do the rest.

We ordered take-out food to eat in the boat, timing it so that we had plenty of time to pick up our food and go. As we started on our way someone noticed a few important food items missing – like our main dish. We returned to the restaurant, applauding ourselves that at least we caught the missing food before reaching our destination.

Fate reminder number one.

We were making excellent time. Almost there. Until we missed the exit. We had to drive farther, turn around, and retrace our steps. No problem, it was still early.

Fate reminder number two.

We gleefully found the exit this time and drove to the lake, sure that we would still get some quality time on the water before it grew dark. That was before we came to a dead stop after the exit due to a traffic jam. Evening began to descend.

Fate reminder number three.

Of course no one else was noticing Fate riding with us that evening. Having endured enough group mentality, and knowing the outcome wasn’t going to be pretty, I shouted, “Turn around!” to the driver at the next U-turn sign. Reflexively, he followed my command and we headed home.

 Everyone was bummed. Our food was cold and now it was dark. As we reached home, someone suggested we picnic in a small public park. At least we could make the most of the lost evening.

“No way,” I said, “It’s going to rain.”

So we split up. The die-hards dropped me off at my house with my portion of food and drove to the public park to picnic. Had I taken this last bit of Fate into my own hands?

Hardly. I settled down to my meal.

Suddenly a huge bolt of lightning split the dark and thunder rattled every window. Hailstones pelted the ground as I finished the remains of my meal, feeling a possible newfound respect from my friends and knowing that Fate was definitely on my side.

 

 

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WILD DOLPHINS

I was recently  in Los Angeles and decided to take a break and walk along the beach in Santa Monica. The minute I stuck my feet on the wide sandy beach, Some hippie guy pushing his child in a stroller on a nearby walkway smiled as he passed and offered, “Have a nice day. Don’t forget to see the dolphins.”

Dolphins?

I’d been to that beach so many times over the years. There were no wild dolphins there. Too many people. Too close to shore. Sometimes LSD trips take you to new vistas.

So I continued toward the water where people cavorted in the waves or sunbathed on the sand. Wait. Was that something moving in the waves out there? Too far for surfers. Maybe small fishing boats?

I stopped dead in my tracks at the ocean edge. There, sun glinting off their arched bodies was a pod of wild dolphins performing their natural acrobatic water ballet while they swam parallel to the distant shoreline. I looked at the people on and near the beach. No one seemed to notice them. Was I hallucinating? Catching a contact LSD high? No. They were real and swimming out there in plain sight. Wild dolphins just out of reach.

Not for long.

Could I psychically contact wild dolphins? There was only one way to find out. I started to telepathically call them to come closer. Gently I repeatedly  called out to them and watched.

Nothing happened…until all the dolphins in the pod changed direction. They were no longer swimming parallel to the shoreline. They were playfully arching and swimming straight toward me.

I started to panic. What would happen if they came really close and the  people on the beach saw them?  They might scare them,  disturb their frolic and freedom. What would the lifeguards do? Not wanting to find out, I quickly sent the dolphins a message to swim away.

Within moments, the whole pod turned and headed out to sea. Everyone continued whatever they were doing without notice of our grand experiment.  Thankful, but pleased, I continued my walk with no one, except the dolphins, the wiser.

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FOOD FOR THOUGHT

 

A few friends and I were hungry. And we were in one of the greatest cities in the world. Which equals food everywhere, except most restaurants only take reservations.

But we were hungry.

So we chose a restaurant nearby that seemed easy. No calling ahead of time. No VIP reservations. Except when we arrived the restaurant was unduly crowded. In fact, at that time of day everyone in the city must have been hungry because every restaurant we went to was unduly crowded. Even those that don’t offer decent food.

We finally arrived at our last restaurant.  At least the last one we agreed upon to try as a final resort. So we’re waiting inside the doorway after having given my name to the guy taking names – who wished he were anywhere but there – while we faced a dining room filled with  ravenous urban people seemingly with no intention of leaving right away.

People behind us were waiting. People around us were waiting. People at the bar were waiting. My friends were growing impatient. Everyone had a solution. One wanted to leave and find yet another crowded restaurant. Another wanted to bribe the guy. Another just kept staring at customers eating at tables hoping they’d quickly leave. Hunger does funny things to people. None of those possibilities appealed to me.

So I quietly stood there and did what I know.

I focused on the guy making  the seating arrangements in the front of the restaurant and started to send him my name in a telepathic message. I didn’t do it to have an unfair advantage. I honestly did it because I didn’t want to listen to my friends whine around me. And, I had nothing else to do at the moment.

I kept mentally repeating and sending my name to him.

It became a fun pastime, watching him look up from his clipboard each time I sent it and then look down again or get distracted. My friends were oblivious to what I was doing while they continued to plot and whine like two year olds. People waiting around us were arguing. Some were pushing. Some tried to be aggressive with him. No one was being seated.

Suddenly I heard him call my name. I know it wasn’t remotely next on the list. People around us angrily let us pass as we marched toward him.

A couple quickly approached him to point to their names on the list as a waiter grabbed our menus and led us to a table. I heard him apologize, telling them it was an honest mistake and he would seat them next.

They were soon seated nearby. I never told my friends. All was well in our restaurant world for the moment as we ordered our meal.

Jan. 29, 2017

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GOOD VIBRATIONS

My office is next to a therapist’s. As I passed his open door I saw a client of mine who was going through a rough emotional patch and Lorna, her three – year old daughter that I only saw in a photograph. Lorna was beyond shy. She was angry, actually furious, and rejected any friendly overture I offered. So I excused myself and went into my office to give a Reading.

After my client left Lorna, still angry, and her mother stopped in my open doorway to say goodbye. For no logical reason I asked Lorna if she’d like to see my office.

Without hesitation, the moment she stepped in my office she instantly changed. She happily examined in my office, and finally sat down on the couch, looked at me, smiled and asked, “So how is your day?” I looked at her mother who just shrugged.

After they left, because her emotional change was so abrupt, I asked the therapist if anything happened in his office just prior to Lorna and her mother’s appointment. He off-handedly told me the client before them was a hedge fund trader angry about some things in at work. Out of the mouth of Babes.

Maybe we should all check ourselves at the door…

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The Tiger and His Cage©

A PARABLE

The Tiger bellowed inside his cage. The sound rattled, but it did not bend or move every thick iron bar around him. Angrily he rose to his feet. His massive paws paced the small enclosure. He sniffed every inch of the cold hard floor, hoping to find an opening to free himself. But the slits between each bar permitted only shafts of light to slice the dark shadows within the Tiger’s cage.

The ferocious Tiger roared. He crouched…and listened. Whispers of silence greeted him. Rearing on muscular haunches he pounced at the bars of his impenetrable prison. The crash of massive flesh against hard steel echoed through every part of his soul. He gathered himself and desperately lunged again, and again until tired and defeated he fell into a gasping heap on the cold, hard floor.

It was then a bird smaller than a Tiger claw softly started to sing. Too weary to move, the Tiger’s eyes followed the tiny fluttering wings overhead. Instantly the Tiger sprang to his feet. With graceful ease he leaped – higher and higher – his body soaring like a beam of light over the topless cage and into the sweeping sky.

 

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 SUSPICIOUS TURKEYS

On this day of Thanksgiving, I thought I’d add a thankful story of inspiration. I know, you probably imagine something profound, well maybe.

The Nyack Homeless Project collects coats, hats, gloves, new socks and toiletries and boxed and canned foods for 8500 people in need, especially children in over 35 programs/places/shelters so they are warm and fed during cold winter months. nyackhp.org

But the story begins…  while collecting boxed and canned foods one year, volunteers inadvertently accepted two fresh turkey donations at a supermarket… may I emphasize FRESH TURKEYS! and no one knew.  The donated storage space was filling with bags of boxed/canned food and warm clothing. It was near the end of the Winter Drive when volunteers began to smell a strange odor. Not exactly strange- more like rancid, sickening, rotting. Hidden somewhere among hundreds of grocery bags waiting to be sorted for direct distribution,were two defrosted turkeys- souls already gone, by the way- smelling their way toward destiny.

The smell became so bad, no one wanted to enter the space. So we found our finest human scent -finder volunteer- we really should lend him to airports -who  wandered the rooms filled with piles of grocery bags disguising what food they held inside. It took him several hunts and smells until he discovered the suspicious turkeys deep in the mix. We gave them a thoughtful burial and then de-fumigated the space so we could have it donated again!

None of the food was contaminated, and all were delivered on time. So on this day of Thanks Giving…be thankful for who you are, what you’ve accomplished, how and who you love… and make a difference… payback is rich.

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A  HALLOWEEN STORY

So although this didn’t happen ON Halloween… it is a fitting Halloween Story. And if you lived through it, you’d think so too.

It was a cold wintry night. Fierce winds were blowing, heavy snow was falling, visibility was near zero and the sky was fitfully black. All of my family filled with fright, were tucked in our warm beds trying to sleep. Every sound, every shaking window, settling of the house made us jump. There was an escaped murderer on the loose from jail and he was roaming our neighborhood. My father and mother slept with a baseball bat, their only weapon near the side of their bed.

Around midnight, while the wild winds were blowing snow in drifts against cars, covering roads, creating snow blindness our doorbell rang. With a collective gasp we sat up in our beds, frozen with fear. The doorbell rang again. There were no cell phones then, no way of rushing into a kitchen with the only phone in the house to call for help.

We could hear my father’s bed creak and his footsteps as he walked from his bedroom. Peeking from behind our bedroom doors we watched him move to the front door, bat in hand in the silence of the wintry night. What would this man do to us? Tie us up? Rape us? Beat us? Kill us? Unspoken violent thoughts rushed through our young minds as my mother stood shaking in the bedroom doorway.

We watched my father put one hand on the doorknob, the other wrapped around the baseball bat. Slowly with bat raised, he opened the door to the cold ready to attack if attacked. Silently we held our breath.

There on the snowy step stood a young boy, hardly dressed for winter. He was no one we recognized from the neighborhood or our school or anywhere. He looked up at my father and innocently asked him if he would like to buy some candy. At midnight? In the snow? With no car or car tracks up our street? My father checked out the area around him to see if someone else – an escaped murderer might lurking in the dark. No one was there.

My father asked him what was he doing out so late? Selling candy, he said. None of this made any sense. My father told him it was dangerous to be outside in the snow and right now, he added trying not to totally alarm the young boy still holding his box of candy. He told him to go home.

The young boy turned and left before my father could invite him inside, or call his parents. He simply disappeared in the blinding snow. With bat in hand, my father searched for him for a short while until he was too cold to stay outside any longer. There was no trace of footsteps or the boy.

He finally closed the door behind him and entered the warm house again. He could not answer any of our questions about the boy- or where he went or about his safety. Maybe his parents parked down the street and couldn’t drive up the hill near our house because of the snow. Maybe the whistling wind quickly blew snow to cover his footsteps. My father realized when he opened the front door to the boy, it wasn’t truly locked at all. He quickly locked it, checked the lock and returned to his bedroom with bat beside him.

Was the boy real … Or maybe just a visible reminder to us to lock our door against danger. The murderer was apprehended the next morning.

HAPPY HALLOWEEN!