Murder and Mayhem


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I was contacted recently by a woman named “Anne”.  She had lost a very close friend a couple of years ago and wanted to know if I could contact her.  Apparently the circumstances around her death were…mysterious. The official story is that this friend was accidentally killed by someone she knew.  But those close to her, including Anne, suspected otherwise.  They believed it may have been intentional. Murder. 

I thought long and hard about how to present this story. For one thing the man who killed her, accidental or otherwise, is free. Last thing I want to do is anger him, however remote the chances of him finding this blog are. For another, the circumstances in this case are personal.  I had to filter through what I was going to tell and what not, what I should change, what I should keep the same….if I should tell it at all. So, suffice it to say, the details of this story are altered from the real events, but the gist is the same.

I warned Anne that no matter what came to me, there was very little likelihood that anything could or would be done, and that I was not so sure of my skills that I felt I could “solve” this mystery for her.  She understood and accepted this, and was just hoping for anything I could come up with.

So with that said, I went ahead and gave it a try.  Nothing for the first couple nights.  Not a thing.  I started thinking maybe this spirit was out of my reach…which happens sometimes.  But then, on the next night I tried, I got something.  I started feeling this horrible feeling of being smothered.- no not smothered, held down, compressed, as though I could not move my arms and legs and it was hard to breathe.   At the same time as I started to feel this, I also got this intense message, for lack of  better word. It was not a message in the sense that someone was speaking to me, it was a feeling, an emotion conveyed without words. It gave off a very strong intention of, “Ok, you wanna know? Here you go. THIS is what it was, and it was NOT pleasant, okay?”  I didn’t back off, because these feelings don’t frighten me. I know they are not my feelings, or my experiences.  So I calmly asked why they were trying to scare me, and kept persisting.  The next thing I got was an image, very clear, of what looked like a wall with tall buildings behind it. 

That was the extent of what I was able to get.  When I took this information to Anne, she then filled me in on what had happened to her friend.  Apparently, the man suspected and eventually convicted of killing her (though for manslaughter, not murder),  staged an accident by putting the friend into a car and running it into a wall.  Of course, the coroner was able to prove easily that she had been dead long before the accident. She had been smothered. A piece of furniture in her home was missing–a type of furniture that could easily be used to squish someone to death.  And was never found.  The man who killed her claimed it was an accident and that he had just panicked which is why he staged the car wreck. 

I suppose the shape I saw could have been the missing wooden furniture that was most likely what was used to smother her ( and which was probably what I was feeling when I felt unable to move). It’s possible that our spirit was showing it to me to show me where it wound up.  But I still feel strongly that it was a wall, and so I suspect it is the wall that her killer staged the car accident at.   She was very angry, and not particularly happy about me pestering her.  So I didn’t attempt to reach her again. 

Anne, I think, felt as though her suspicions were confirmed, and seemed content with what I was able to give her. Our spirit, I hope, is content now to be left alone.  I wish that I could feel more content, but instead I feel this sense of helplessness that I am not talented enough to be able to see justice done in any way…either by proving guilt or innocence.  There are mediums who work with various police agencies helping to solve crimes of one sort of another. While I am not certain I would wish to be involved on such a deep level, with the disruption it would most certainly bring to my everyday life,  I envy them that their talent is so clear and they are so able to be of real help to those in need.  All I can do is tell people what I see, which is generally just a fuzzy  series of images, and hope that it will make some sort of sense.  Mostly it does, and mostly the people I help believe in what I am doing and what I can tell them. 

I wish I believed in myself as much.

And I wish our poor spirit peace always.


Really Wild


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I was doing some research the other day trying to discover the identity of a spirit haunting one of two major parks in Burbank, my home town. Well, I didn’t find anything, but I did discover something else.

I turned to my husband, who was sitting on the couch drinking coffee and checking his emails, and said, “Do you remember a couple years ago when I said I felt something at McCambridge Park?”

Him: Yeah.

Me: Do you remember I said it was by a tree?

Him: Yeah.

Me: Well, apparently a man committed suicide in McCambridge a few years ago by hanging himself from a tree.

Him: Huh.

We both went back to our respective laptops and coffees, a typical morning in our household. About half an hour later, I was up getting ready for work, and my husband walks in the room…

Him: That’s really wild

Me: What??? (Truly, I’d moved one, I had no clue what he was referring to)

Him: That you feel this stuff and then it turns out to actually be something.

The article about the suicide is here:

The Mystery of Sixty-Eight


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I was asked recently by a woman I’m going to call Rachel to try to reach her Grandmother Bea. This is the story of what happened.

Rachel told me she had been very, very close to her Granny Bea. I spent a few nights trying to connect to “Rachel’s Grandmother Beatrice”, thinking Bea was short for Beatrice. When I finally did connect, I got the following images:

A mountain road, winding through pine trees. It was very alpine-like and the road was very narrow, possibly a train track.
A hospital bed
After these two, something interesting happened, the images stopped being images, static and still, and became little short moving pictures. That had not happened before. I was fascinated. Did this mean something, or were my skills just developing? I didn’t know, still dont actually, but I digress…

A pair of hands were holding a heart shaped box. The hands moved away and a second pair came in and opened the lid of the box.
I was in the passenger seat of a moving vehicle driving through a smallish city with pale buildings. There were cars and trucks parked alongside the road and I could see a town square at one point. I tried to see a license plate but was unable to do so.
A man in a uniform was very close to me, maybe a cop or soldier. He was leaning over and into me, as though I was on the ground, and there was a shape that looked like a dog barking in my face.
These images did not mean anything to Rachel. That frustrated me. It was the first time someone had said to me, “Nothing is making any sense to me.” I mean, the images had been so strong, so clear…I went through a night of really doubting myself, I’ll tell you. But the next night I tried again and got one thing: the number sixty-eight. That was all, just sixty-eight. Then I went to sleep. Right before I woke that morning, I had a dream-vision. Rachel’s daughter “Sarah” appeared and said very directly to me, “Remember the date!”. Then I woke up. I could not get the dream of Sarah out of my head and it made me think that the number that had appeared, sixty-eight, had more significance than I thought, so I asked Rachel about it. Again, it didn’t mean much to her, but I asked her to get me some more information about Bea. It occured to me that this family was Jewish and perhaps Bea had come over from Europe during WW2. The images I had gotten of a soldier, a train, a European style city…could all be traced to that. Here is some excerpts from the emails we shared afterwards:

Her: Granny was born in Canada…lost her mom at some point and had a stepmother…Her maiden name was —–..Had 4 siblings, —-, —-, —- and —-. She came to CA when her husband died. I have to find out her birthday… I am not a blood relative…my mother married my step father, Granny’s son..but Granny and I were as close as you can get…

Me: And her full name was Beatrice —– ?

Her: Bessie was her name, I believe.

Me: Hey…I had a thought last night…bear with me, I want to see if I’m on the right track before I tell you. Your family is Jewish, right? From where? When did they come over here to the states?

Her: East Europe…Russia, Poland, Germany.

Rachel also gave me the names of her grandparents on her mother’s side. The Grandmothers name was “Sarah” like Rachel’s daughter. Ha! I thought. I WAS on the right track. It had occured to me that I had asked for Rachel’s grandmother, not her step-grandmother, and that it was entirely possible that the woman I had reached was not Bea at all, whom I had mistakenly called Beatrice. Now, seeing that her real grandmother was Sarah, and it had been the younger Sarah that had shown up in my dream, I thought I’d found the right person. Turns out I was still wrong. The elder Sarah had not come from Europe at the right time frame to be the one sending me those images. I was frustrated, but still knew there was something there I had to figure out. I just knew it. Everything was too clear, too strong to be nothing. I had this feeling that all the clues to the mystery were right there, I just had to fit the pieces together. For that I needed one last bit of information. Rachel provided it the next day.

It turned out that Rachel’s grandmother on her Father’s side was named Beatrice. And she was born in Russia in 1904 and moved to the US shortly after. 1904 was the tail end of the Russian pograms against the Jewish people. They were fleeing Russia in droves and would have traveled by train or wagon over mountain roads, gone through cities to get to port, and been harrassed by soldiers and dogs. I had asked for a Beatrice, Rachel’s grandmother, not knowing that Rachel’s blood grandmother was named Beatrice and that the Granny Bea Rachel had wanted to reach was actually Bessie. I had in fact reached exactly whom I’d called for, just not whom I’d thought I was calling.

So now we knew who’d we’d reached, but not why, nor what the number sixty-eight meant.

I spoke to Rachel over the phone about all of this. I asked her when Beatrice had died. She thought maybe 1968 or 1969. I said that could be our sixty-eight connection then if so. Then we talked about Beatrice and Rachel’s history. The full story was that Beatrice had looked after a very young Rachel until Rachel’s mother and father divorced and Rachel and her mom went to live elsewhere. Rachel never really saw Beatrice much after that so they ended up not being very close. But that as a child she had known her grandmother Beatrice had loved her very much. I told Rachel that if I had been a grandmother to a beloved young child whom I lost before age ten to my son’s messy divorce, I would be heartbroken and feel like I had unfinished business still regarding said grandchild. My suspicion is that Beatrice jumped at the chance to come through to me to let Rachel know how very much she WAS loved by this grandmother as well as by Granny Bea. Beatrice made darn sure I was able to identify her and not mix her up with Bea by giving me so many images that were so particular to her and insisting that I remember the date, and the number sixty eight. I had been trying to reach Bea since learning that her real name was Bessie, but had been unable to do so. I explained to Rachel that most likely, Bea did not have any unfinished business with Rachel that she needed to take care of, she never questioned her relationship with Rachel, she knew that Rachel knew how much Bea loved her and was loved in return. Beatrice, on the other hand, had not been given that opportunity in life and so was happy to take the chance now. By the time we hung up, I believe she was feeling a lot of love for her grandmother Beatrice and taking comfort in knowing that there was yet another woman out there who would be waiting for her and who loved her strongly enough to make herself known.

But the mystery had one more little carrot to throw into the pot…Here are the emails Rachel and I shared the next day:

Her: Beatrice died in 1972

Me: Ok, that’s too late then to be our “date”. So the mystery then is what 68 means. It could be a year, it could be a month and a day, like June 8th, or august 6th…… Could be anything, an age maybe…she was born when again…1904? Oh wait….1972 minus 1904 equals 68.

She was 68 when she died.

Rest in Peace, Beatrice, your granddaughter knows you love her and she returns your love. You did good. See you on the other side someday….

Twenty-Six Years


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This month marks the twenty sixth anniversary since My Frenchman and I had to let each other go. Its been twenty three years since I saw him last, and nineteen since I last spoke to him. I dreamt of him last night, seems I always dream of him right around any major events–his birthday, his death, our relationships’ death… I think of him often, of course, but not so obsessively that I always remember when these dates are approaching. But clearly my subconscious does and it reminds me.

In this dream we were sitting together in what appeared to be a cafe or hotel lobby in the present day and he was showing me photos and videos he had kept from our time together. There were no real videos of us ever taken that I’m aware of. Video back then was not as easy or common as in more recent years, but the videos I watched in my dream were moments being played out from our time together. My dream self recognized most of these moments caught on film, but not all of them, and was amazed that he had kept them for so long. My waking self was aware while I was dreaming that I was looking at some moments that were real moments we had had, but also moments that we had not actually shared and that my dreaming mind was creating them. It was an interesting, omniscent feeling of being in two heads at once.

When I woke, I replayed the images from the photos and videos in my head again and wondered to myself if he had in reality kept anything to remind him of me. I certainly had, I have a small box full of little bits and bobs from our time together and the precious few photographs of him I have. What makes us keep things like photos and videos, or momentos like ticket stubs from the concert we went to, or dried flowers from a bouquet once given as a token of love, a cassette tape of a favorite band with a note written on the inside of the jacket? After all, these material items are not the person or pet we have lost. They will not cuddle us at night, or tell us they love us in our loved one’s voice. They can not take us for a walk in the park, or laugh with us at an inside joke. They are just things.

Or are they? Is it possible we keep these things because they hold some tiny spark of energy from our loved ones just because they held it? Its possible. Pyschometery is the art of reading energy from an object. Energy is contained in every single spark of life, down to the tiniest atom and even smaller bits that I dont know all the names of because goodness knows I’m no quantum scientist. Every time we touch something these tiny bits are left behind and that little bit of matter carries some of our unique energy in it. Certain people are capable of “reading” this energy to tell you about the person who used to own or handle the object in question. Many of these psychics work closely with various police forces around the world to help solve crimes. You probably know if you’ve been reading this blog for a while that I can pick up energy from places; houses, buildings etc… This is a form of psychometry. While this is a more developed form than what the average person has, all of us are able to do this to some degree. So that T shirt that he wore all the time, or that book that she was always reading, or that beautiful sketch Grandma made for you one Summer…not only do these things invoke memories of our loved ones, they also, in a very real basic sense, carry a tiny piece of them as well. Its at the nano level, but its there nonetheless. Its not much different than that lock of baby’s hair you clipped and kept so tenderly tied with ribbon and wrapped in tissue. No WONDER we hold on to these things so closely!

So I had to wonder, as I lay there in my bed this morning, whether or not he wanted to keep those nanobits of me close to him over the years as I had kept his. And then I remembered, after I had first found out about his death, how I went searching for more information and found an memorial online for him kept by his family. On this site there were pages and pages of photos of him. Several of these I recognized as pictures I had taken of him on my crappy little poor girl’s camera. Grainy, badly lit, bad composition…considering he was surrounded by folks in the fashion industry, was always being photographed himself because he was shockingly goodlooking, and his best friend was a photographer…my goofy pictures were not anything worth hanging on to for anything other than sentimental value. There were of course no photos of me, but I would not have expected there to be. In fact, I had not expected to see the old pictures I had taken either. It shocked me at the time.

This then must be my answer, and most likely the only answer I will ever have from a source on this side of the Veil. There was indeed some small space left in his life all these years where he tucked those small nanobits of his lost American love and kept them safe all this time till his death.

I’ll be doing the same for his.

The Unexpected Guest


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Only one thing is certain about traveling the In Between, you never know what you’re going to get ( thanks to Forest’s mom, Ms. Gump, for the inspiring line). We may set out on a journey there with the intention of reaching someone specific, but what and who, we find, can oftentimes be very different.

For instance, I received an email from a lovely lady recently, I’m going to call her “Jane”, who wanted to know if I could find out who had been sending her heart signs the last several years. Hearts. She sees them everywhere: in gopher holes, in foil, in crumbs…..they just pop up. Her family rolls their eyes at her when she points out a new one, but she knows they mean something. She is an admittedly incurable romantic and hoped maybe they were from a lover stuck on the other side. I asked her if she had a lover who had deceased and she told me no, only father and grandparents and a teacher. She wondered if it was possible for me to help when I didn’t know the entity I was reaching out to.

I informed her I really didn’t know if I could help or not as that had not been asked of me yet, but that I’d certainly love to try. The first time I tried, I got nothing. The second night I got an image of what looked like an upside down mushroom, or child’s spinning top, and also an image of Cinderella-like shoes. At that point in my journey, my dog started chewing on something and I had to stop what I was doing to get him to quit and settle down. Once that was done I started again. Almost instantly an image of a little girl peeking out at me popped into my head. And then just as quickly disappeared. I ‘chased’ it, trying to let it know not to be afraid of me, she didn’t need to hide, I just wanted to help, could she tell me her name? Another half-image popped up. This time of 2 and 1/2 letters. An S, and an O, and then half of what could have been about any other letter. Was it her name? I wasn’t sure.

I took this information to ”Jane” the next day. It struck a chord of memory within her that I dont think she was expecting. She told me of a child she had lost years ago before birth, and wondered if this entity could be that lost child. She felt badly because she had always felt at fault for what happened. I replied to her that both spinning tops and Cinderella shoes were childish items and that leaving hearts is a very childlike way of showing their feelings, and that I suspected very much that the entity that came to me was indeed this young child and that she wanted ”Jane” to know she loved her and was okay. After talking for a bit, “Jane” felt more at peace and decided to start leaving hearts in return for her lost child.

This is a classic example of how we can set out looking for one thing and find something even better instead. And this extends to more than just the In Between. Day to day life can be filled with unexpected blessings where we least expect them also. All we can do is keep our eyes, and our minds, open to all the wonderful possibilities and beautiful interactions that life ( and death) has to offer on our journey here on Earth and beyond.

“Jane” gave me permission to write about her story. I did of course change the identifying details, but everything else is exactly how it happened. It was a privilege to help her find her answer. If I can be of any help to you in this fashion, please dont hesitate to contact me.

Sequel to the Heart of the Matter


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So remember how I said I had a date with ghost? Here’s how it went. This is the text conversation I had with my friend. I’ve typed it up exactly as it was, but removed identifying details, and irrelevant pieces. I do have her permission to post this. I never post anything without permission.

Me: Hey, so I tried Sunday night but didn’t get anything. Last night I tried again and I asked specifically about your grandmother and the situation there. I got one very clear image. It seems randon but I never know anyway so here you go. It was a purse. Like an old fashioned one, but I dont know if it was really vintage or not. But it was like a handbag that clasped shut on the top. It was a pattern of light and dark. On one corner of it was a metal decoration. It was letters, two. Really similar to the Dolce and Gabana DG but it was GG. I know you called her Gigi, I’m sure thats the reference but I just dont know what the purse means.

Her: Hey baby! I have two thoughts. 1) I have always had this “thing” about going into other people’s purses. I find it rude and just wrong. It came from my mom telling me Grandma caught her stealing a dollar when she was a kid and all Grandma said was “I’m disappointed in you. How can I trust you?” That stuck with me. I hate to disappoint anyone and a woman’s purse is her business. Maybe that was a big old “KEEP OUT” to me [ Jacq says: of the situation she asked me to look into] 2) I have a huge Japanese trunk full of Gigi’s things I have yet to go through. Its in the garage where the spiders live. I hate spiders. Maybe its not a “keep out”, but an “open this”. I have no idea whats in there. Now I’m incredibly interested and ready to brave the spiders. I love you, please feel free to put this up. It might help some people with “secrets” and where to look.

And thats it. I’ll post again if anything more comes up. Or when she goes through the truck. I’m curious myself now.

Bless The Skeptics

Lets talk about skeptics for a bit, shall we? Doubt, disbelief, logical explanations for every little thing, “lets be rational”, “thats impossible”, must have been a trick of the light, your imagination….and so on.

I’ve had this topic stirring around in my brain for a couple weeks, ever since a friend came into my store wanting to talk to me about some interesting things that she had been experiencing and which she felt she couldn’t tell to anyone else because they would think she was crazy. I knew there was a great post in there somewhere but was unsure how to present it until I posted some photos on Facebook yesterday of a visit I took to one of my favorite little cemetery haunts. I took photos from a variety of angles and positions and in the majority of them very odd light formations showed up, including one very distinct face! I mentioned in one description of the photo that the sun would have been responsible for some of it, ie; the streaks, rainbows, etc…but not for everything that was showing up. One gentleman replied to two of the photos with very logical and reasonable explanations of sun flare, reflections, etc…

Now, this post is not to try to embarrass him or debunk his explanations. I am sure he is a very experienced photographer and knows his stuff. I do believe that some of what he said is true, I’d already mentioned that in my own photo descriptions before he ever said a word. I just dont believe that ALL of it is so easily explained. But his comments gave me a direction to go with this topic, so thank you to him!

Why is it that we as a species have grown to disregard, disrespect and even disdain the wonderful, the magical, the unexplained? Why do we feel that every odd happening must have a rational, scientific explanation? I’ll never forget when my son was in 1st grade and some balloons in our house were starting to lose their helium and were floating low…the air vent in the room was making them dance. My son thought it was fairies. I let him watch in wonder and amazement, the magic of it all so transparent on his precious young face, and I saw a future of creativity and imagination for him. When he told his teacher the next day that the fairies had made the balloons dance, she promptly informed him there was no such thing as fairies. I wanted to strangle her. How dare she take away his belief in magic? And putting personal belief in magic aside, what in the world made her think it was HER place to inform him of this? It was wrong, very wrong. Thank goodness my son is intelligent and I was able to help him understand that magic and science CAN coexist. I’d have just liked to do it a few years further along, thank you very much.

For those of us who experience these occurances, whether regularly like I do, or maybe just once in a lifetime, its people like my son’s teacher that create that fear of rejection within us. People we see as authority figures, starting, most likely for most of us, with our parents, tell us that we are imagining things ( my own mother was constantly saying I had “a vivid imagination” -she meant it as a compliment, but it implies that everything I’m saying, seeing or hearing is made up). We learn to keep those things to ourselves, or even to tell ourselves that we must have imagined it. If we don’t, we fear we will be ridiculed, completely dismissed, or in the case of those who insist too much…committed. Even I, with all the proof I get on a regular basis, still find myself having to fight against the urge to doubt my own experience. So, from a young age, we learn to “not see” anything, or to explain it away, or decide we were dreaming, or that the sun must have reflected off of something and left that odd shadow across across the wall or whatever.

But are we better off that way? If you think about it, its really only been in the last one hundred years or so that we have decided that spirits, fairies, and Otherworldy things dont exist. Before that it was just generally accepted as truth that there were things we could not explain away with a couple casual scientific sentences. And there are still many cultures today, modern ones, mind you, not all lost tribes in Africa and so on, that are highly connected with the spiritual. Older, wiser cultures than our own; Japan, China, India for example. But in Western society, with all the advances in modern medicine, science and technology beginning at the start of the 1900′s, the shift has been to believe ONLY in the explainable and not take on faith that there can be anything other than what we can prove using some scientific method. And there’s the rub: no faith, no belief. So it can’t exist if you dont have faith that it can. But I ask you…and be honest with yourself here, okay?…most of you reading this will not be total true atheists who believe there is absolutely nothing, diety wise. Most of you believe in – because you have faith in – some form of higher power: God, Goddess, Allah, Buddha to name a few. So why is it so impossible to believe in ghosts or other entities that you can’t see, touch, hear? Why do we disdain the possibility of those things existing because we have no “proof”, yet say grace with every meal to a powerful entity we have no proof of either? Why are we so quick to jump on any bandwagon that says a higher power might exist, yet immediately start tearing apart any explanation or evidence of anything else? Food for thought at the very least.

All this said, skeptics are very important. Much of our earlier beliefs in the supernatural existed because we couldn’t explain things. As we progress we now are able to find reasons for why some things happen. Thats a very good thing. Not to mention, that if they are going to committ us crazy people who see things, its nice that the asylum conditions have improved! (Little misfit humor there for ya.) But seriously, its all too easy to find ghosts, or little people, or goblins, or name-your-favorite-supernatural-being-here, in everything odd that occurs, when the reality might just be that the air conditioner is blowing the balloons around the room because they are losing their helium. Skeptics force us to look with a rational eye, they remind us that the world is a strange and crazy place and that science can explain a lot of the curious things that happen to us daily. After all, just about one hundred years ago, a voice coming out of a tiny little box would have been considered a ghost for sure! Now its called an Iphone. And there really are people who see and hear things that make them very, very dangerous to society at large and they should be helped somewhere safe away from the general population. But science can’t explain ALL things, and there are many things that just have not been aboslutely scientifically proven yet. And so when someone definitely determines many years from now that ghosts do actually exist and that some of us can interact with them, aren’t all of you who called us crazy going to be really, really embarrassed!!! “No, the earth is flat!!! Oh…its round? Oops…my bad!”

So, my suggestion here is to always always approach anything with a clear head, see if there actually is some logical reason for it. Dont see ghosts where there aren’t any, and dont make them up. But when all else fails, or something happens to you that is OBVIOUSLY spirit related–a visit from your long departed Auntie Georgina for instance–let it be what it is. Embrace it, dont try to dismiss it off hand. Take pleasure in the experience and dont feel ashamed of it, you’re not crazy, you’re blessed!!! And dont forget, most of those “authority figures” aren’t really in positions of authority any longer. You’ve grown up, you are a mature, rational, intelligent adult. Don’t let them bully you just because they could when you were small. If you truly dont think there is anyone else you can tell and you’re just dying to spill, you can always come here and share. You can use an anonymous name if you like. This is a safe place, every post is personally monitored by me before its allowed to go live on here so there will never ever be anyone negative or troll-like here. I know for myself, I am surrounded by doubters. I even doubt myself sometimes..okay, frequently. And I fought long and hard with the idea of creating a website like this and exposing myself to the amusement of skeptics and critics. I still do, with every post I write, every photo I upload, every story I tell, wonder what the backlash will be and what people are saying about me behind my back. But thank the Gods, I am braver than that. I know that I was given a role to play in this game and I am doing my very best to play it well.

And all of you reading this have your own role to play, even the skeptics. So bless you all, and thank you all, and love to every single one of you.

The Heart of the Matter


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A year ago a very good friend of mine lost her father. We were talking via text today and the subject came up. Here is our conversation exactly as it happened. I have left it intact except for fixing typos, and removing any non-relevant information or identifying facts. I do have her permission to post this. I dont post anything without permission.

If I can help those of you reading this in any similar way, please dont hesitate to let me know.

“Me: Do you want me to try to reach your dad? Are you ready for that now?

Her: Sure! He’s a great guy. He would be happy to meet you!

Me: We’ve met actually. While he was still alive that is.

Her: I forgot.

Me: I’m gonna try later. I’m late for work. When I do is there anything you want me to say or ask?

Her: The usual. Is he okay and if his heart is healed.

Me: Gotcha…. ( then later). Hi. So I didn’t get a lot but heres what I saw. I can never make sense of anything but it might mean something to you.

Her: Ok, what did you see, sweetie?

Me: First I saw two bright lights in the dark..maybe headlights on a dark road. Then I just saw one. Then I thought I saw a bikini top but that might have been nothing. Then I very clearly saw the corner of a back yard. The fence was dark wood and the grass was yellowed like it had not been watered. The house attached to the fence was stucco; tan, maybe dark yellow? Kinda 70s looking. Hang on, theres more but I have customers.

Her: Back in [the day] there was not as many street lights in [her town]. What you saw was my Dad’s [muscle car] and my mom’s bikini top. It was one of the first times they got together. The head lights sucked on the [car]. He told me that story. Same with my mom.

Me: Ok, after the yard I saw what looked like a little girl, she was squatting down in the shadow of a house so I couldn’t see her clearly but she had on maryjane shoes. And actually it might not have been a girl, could have been older, but the shoes made me think girl and the way she carried herself seemed little girlish. After that I got an image of a tire, like a motorcycle tire maybe? Or bike? Not a car. Then I saw the back right side and fender and wheel of what looked like a 1970′s sedan. Thats all I got before the customers came into the store.

Her: He’s showing you what he remembers of when he was married to my mom. The bike was his motorbike from the [town] police dept., the dead grass was our old yard, and I used to play with the neighbors dog…I tried to dig a hole so the dog could get through. The fender on the sedan was his “dad” car. He got rid of the [muscle car] so mom had a safer car for me. He’s making sure you know its him. He’s long winded still! LOL! I forgot, you ask a simple yes or no with him, you get the answer and the entire explanation! Good to know he’s not changed!

Me: I asked about his “heart” cuz thats what you asked me to ask. So clearly he took that to mean your mother. He must still love her. Or she was the love of his life anyway…what he thinks of when he thinks of his heart. Do the maryjanes mean anything to you? Oh also, right when I connected I got this…rush..of images. Each one flashed by in a nanosecond. I couldnt make any of them out. I had to ask him to slow down. Does that sound like him?

Her: Not clear on the shoes, but rapid fire images is so him! If he gets excited and happy he would talk real fast and jump subjects.

Me: Maybe you had shoes like that when you were little…who knows?

Her: I did have mary janes…I must have gone outside in them. [my grandmother] used to take me to [the store] and buy them all the time. Thanks. I love you and you were a big help!! xoxoxo ”

The rest is not relevant, but we did decide I should stay in touch with her father if possible. So, I have a date with a ghost later…. Remember…if I can help you in anyway, please let me know. Take care everyone!

The Children Are the Hardest


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Its taken me several weeks to come to grips enough with this one to post it. Here goes. Several weeks ago, I was driving out of the parking lot of a place I go to frequently but which I had not been to in many, many months. As I was driving, I happened to glance out the window to a rock wall on my left. WHAM! The stomach churning and sensation of eating batteries hit me like someone had slammed a baseball bat into my stomach. I gasped, I had no choice, I’d lost my breath. I could feel tears of confusion and fear coming to my eyes, and it was a struggle to concentrate on my driving. I started looking around wildly, even knowing I don’t normally see anything, I felt driven to find the source of such a strong shocking energy! Of course I saw nothing, and I kept driving a couple blocks until the feelings I had stumbled into subsided enough for me to think straight. I pulled over, and once I’d caught my breath I started researching.

I was looking for perhaps a shooting death, but there was none. What I I found was several news reports about a small child who had been struck and killed by an SUV a few months earlier in that location. The poor sweet child had been drug or thrown 50 feet. This event happened during the time I had not been a visitor to this place. It explains the sudden assault of what I felt, and also the confusion and fear. And why I had not felt anything the other times I have been there. Everything matches perfectly….

But oh the dear sweet little baby….how I wish and hope that I am wrong…

Losing A Pet


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My parents lost their adorable and much beloved little Yorkie Terrier, Sugar, today. They are devastated and understandably taking it very hard.

Mourning a pet is something I’ve discussed before, but not till today devoted an entire post to. But I think its time. Those of us who have lost cherished animal companions have all heard things such as,” Its just a dog.”, or “Well, but it had a really long life, right?”, or the ever popular, “Get another one, you’ll feel better” as though our lost pet was a totalled car, or lost pair of earrings. Totally replaceable and just like any other Ford, or Tiffany’s purchase. No one gets a day off for the death of a pet, nor can we provide a death certificate and get an airplane ticket changed or refunded. Nope, we better go on that dang vacation and we’d best have a really great time too, darnit!!! No one gets to skip a family event, or important meeting, or dentist visit. And in fact we best show up as though all things were normal, when deep down we are screaming in pain.

I know this from personal experience. I have surrounded myself with animals my entire life. And so, I have suffered the loss of dozens of cherished members of my family. I used to keep track of how many exactly. I’ve lost count. Some losses were harder, clearly, than others. One such was my beautiful French alley cat that my Frenchman found for me in a Paris Shelter before he and I were together, and during a time of year that no kittens should have been around. Palo, was, in fact, the last kitten in Paris…or so we jokingly referred to him. I had Palo for 13 glorious years. Years in which he went everywhere with me. He travelled across much of Europe, went back forth from the US to Europe, and saw several US States as well. He used to sit on my shoulders as I walked Paris going from one Go-See ( what we models called meetings with photographers, magazines and potential clients), and would happily curl up in my lap on the Metro if it was a longer trip. Same thing when we moved to New York. He was my best friend, my familiar, and the source of my sanity and magic. But he had a heart murmur and died at age 13 of what was most likely a heart attack. I was utterly destroyed. He had been with me through the best and worst times of my life up to that point. What was I going to do without him? I rocked his little body in my arms and wept and wept and wept. I still wept years later any time I thoght of him. I still do. The next day was Christmas and we were expected at a function. I tried to do my best to act normal, but was not as successful as I’d hoped. It pains me to say that my grief was met not with understanding and compassion, but frustration and anger. Aparrently I ruined Christmas.

I say this not to condemn those who reacted this way, because time has healed those wounds, and situations were understood, explained and forgiven, but to demonstrate our cultures lack of empathy towards animal losses. I’m certain most of you reading this probably have a similar story you could share. Looming before me today are two tremendously huge losses: both my soulmate, Pagan ( my horse) and my best friend, Ella ( my dog) are in advanced years and surely I will have lost one if not both within the next five short years. Of all the pet losses, those two might be the singular most heartbreaking for me. I fully expect to be completely and utterly destroyed. I am terrified. Yes, even I. And I know that I will have to suck it up and carry on and when someone asks me why I am so shaken up and I reply because my dog/horse died, I will most likely hear from at least a few people, “Oh, is that all?”

So I am going to ask those of you reading this to do something for me, carry the torch for those of us who understand. The next time you come across someone who has lost a pet, give them a little extra support and compassion to help replace what they aren’t getting from society as a whole. Hold their hand a moment, maybe hug them if the circumstance is appropriate. At the very least tell them how so so very sorry you are. Believe me they need it.

And to my mom and dad; I doubt you are reading this, but if you are, my heart goes out to you. She was a very sweet little thing. As sweet as her name.