I believe that every time someone judges another they should have to help someone with equal effort who is marginalized. This would bring a social balance quickly and effectively. Imagine raising children of all race, religion, nationality and status to understand and see the necessity of out-reach and creating societal balance for all the worlds members. Imagine children raised without hatred and fear of others. Wow.
When I meet someone I sense their energy and intentions. Quite frankly, I could care less what they look like, who they love or what they worship. When I meet someone new I am not thinking about how much money they make, their body shape or who they know. What I am sensing is how I feel about what energy they are projecting from inside not outside.
People are so complex yet remarkably more similar than dissimilar. If you can look beyond the surface it is easily seen. Try sometime to jump past your “usual” assumptions. Imagine being blind and simply shaking a hand. What do you feel? I doubt you are feeling a color or religion. I bet you are sensing from your intuitive self what energy they are emitting. I challenge someone to disprove this theory. Bring it on!
We are much more sensory beings than most of us understand. For some crazy reason we decided to put more focus on things that are deceiving to the eye and easy to categorize by judging or assuming. What we should be focusing on is listening and feeling from a deeper sense; an inner sense that needs no eyes; an inner knowing that sees far clearer than the obvious visuals or surface generalized categories. This intuitive self is inside of all of us.
Instinct not conditioning & Intuition not assumption
Humanity has drifted so distant from innate balance. As with all things energetic, that which is unseen is just as present as the seen. Our ability to be harmonious and expansive has been with us all along. By simply opening to the concept of sensing versus judging, not being led by fear or hatred, change occurs. Those who judge KNOW they are doing it. They are addicted, habitualized, falsely empowered and intoxicated by an imagined feeling of superiority. Puts me in mind of an old classic – Lord Of The Flies.
What if we all helped each other? What if we were not tolerant of separatism on any level? What if those who categorize and separate humanity through fear, power, hatred and more were seen by the collective belief of the majority that they are BRAINWASHED and need effective deprogramming? Maybe social programs could be put in place to release these useless and harmful mind patterns through a peer compassion training program. They would have to work in charity/outreach programs while letting go of their detrimental backwards mind patterns with the support of psychiatric care. The vibrationally elevated community would all help because they know working together creates balance.
I believe this rather simple and really feel-good approach would create world peace as well as save money, create jobs, expand collective knowledge and extend life, to say the least. When I started writing this blog my thought was that judgers should have to give back. The more I expand into the idea, the more I believe the path to peace is forgiveness, acceptance and outreach. It’s a simple formula to remedy a very fixable human failing/weakness. It only takes one glimpse at how ugly it is to let any of the deadly sins override heart-based TRUTHS and you never think the same again.
Guilt is a really tough emotion to understand. It eats at us with such horrifying ferociousness, devouring our sense of self from the inside out. One might wonder what life would be like if people never felt guilt. I believe it would be frightening and chaotic, dangerous and imbalanced. I believe that societal morals, personal responsibility and conscience are the ribbons that tie successful cohabitation together.
I see guilt as the ultimate teacher. Standing before us in this classroom of life ready to teach us until we learn. Never failing to instruct us forward. The trick of learning guilt’s lessons is to eventually be able to successfully identify what would cause guilt in advance of the decision whether to do something or not. If we do not learn to release and process the lessons of guilt it sits inside us, slowly destroying our inner peace. Built up guilt can make us terribly ill. We need to turn inward and dig guilt out from inside our soul, face it, make amends for it, resolve it and/or learn from it. Left unattended guilt will cause issues and problems unceasingly in ways you might never guess. Unresolved guilt can cause sleep issues, depression, self-destructive patterns, fear, anger, nervousness, anxiety and more.
If you are brave and if you are willing to take full responsibility for all of you actions, there is a surprise inside of guilt many do not know is there. Like a geode full of crystals that cannot be seen from the rock-like looking exterior. If you bravely pull those guilt stones out and start whacking at them with honesty, clarity and a strong willingness to learn and expand, eventually that guilt will break open and shower you with diamonds of strength, self-love and wisdom.
After a mastery of this, you will find there is a natural shift that happens. You learn to gather the diamonds of guilt before doing something that would cause guilt. Image a hand full of jewels you did not have to work for spilling over in your life. You get the confident confirmation that you are making the right choice out of love of yourself. Mastering the ability to avoid internal conflict is the skill guilt is trying to teach us. Don’t hide or run away from those lessons. Once you understand it, you no longer fear it or hide it.
If you have any heavy stones of guilt that you have been drudging around inside your heart, dig those suckers out and get cracking at them. Gather the diamonds of those lessons and become richer for it. Proudly wear those jewels in your life.
“Write, Wendy, write.” That’s what I am hearing over and over again in my head. I hear it and respond to myself honestly asking, “Write about what?” I assumed that writing was about thought, then written word… not the other way around. It does not make sense any other way, does it?
Why is my inner voice telling me otherwise? It’s as if I am supposed to just blindly trust an inner voice, an unreasonable and illogical voice. Trust at the risk of failing? Trust at the risk of wasting my time trying instead of doing? I sit here frightened to venture forward looking at all the reasons not to instead of why not.
I think I’ve maybe done that to myself a lot in this life. Talked myself out of experience because I am afraid to let go and free fall into the unknown. Yes, upon reflection I sure have done that a lot to myself. Hello pattern I can now see and no longer wish to continue.
Have I protected myself all these years by doing this? When I look back into my past, I see that when I did let go of conscious thought were many times at such a tough fork in my proverbial road that I had to. The pain or confusion had become insurmountable and my heart screamed, “Let go!” Beyond thought, primal instinct forced enough change into my path that it saved me. Saved me for sure.
That’s when I did listen. When I finally had to listen to that inner voice. Yet now, now in my life when I am happy, content, and at peace this familiar voice whispers to me not in crisis. Not because I am at the last hope stage, but in my harmony it speaks just as clear. How exciting.
I remember when I was young I would be lucky enough to go home into the heart of the city with some of my great friends who lived outside of the suburbs. I took ballet with my girlfriend Karen near her home and looked so forward to being at her house.
At Karen’s house there was so much love and happiness. People were always coming in and out. Her older brother and his friends were hysterical and related to me as if I was part of the family. No one cared that I was different. I felt more loved and unconditionally accepted at Karen’s home more than most anywhere in my whole life of 50 years.
At Karen’s house whether it was a week day or a week end there would be adults in the kitchen cooking, eating and cracking jokes. Razzing one another and gossiping in a cloud of pure love. It poofed from their pours beautifully and filled the room. All that love, it felt so good to be around. In the living room would often be older teens with music playing peppered in with lots of laughter.
Every now and then a great song would come on the radio. You know, the kind of song that makes you want to jump up and dance but don’t? At Karen’s house it was different. Every now and then 1 or 2 people in 1 or 2 rooms, usually not even near each other, would just stand up and start to dance. Dance to their jam whether anyone else was doing it or not. No partner needed, just themselves. They were dancing and it did not matter about anyone or anything else. It was their moment and they took it freely. Beautiful moments of abandoned thought and limitless freedom. I remember watching at first uncomfortable, even ready to laugh. After some time, I looked forward to being around this joy. This was something I had never seen in my household or in any of the neighborhood households I had ever known before.
The places I knew were love filled, yes. They were full of friends and family as well. What was not there was the disconnect of what others might think. Missing was the freedom to simply express yourself even if someone else might judge you. Entire moments of thinking about no one else and not feeling guilty about that. What an odd thing to be aware of not having as I grew up. Trapped in behaving properly or never making others uncomfortable. Just trying not to do these things creates uncomfortable-ness from the get go.
All my life I have remembered those fantastic feelings at Karen’s house. I felt spiritually lifted in those moments. As I have aged and become more comfortable with myself I hold that liberation as a daily goal. The freedom to just allow myself to freely go where my heart wants to go without thoughts getting in the way. It takes practice to reprogram our heads, patterns and thoughts.
Some days I slip back into old ways. Sometimes I can achieve spiritual freedom with great success and allow myself to feel great about it. As was when I sat down at the keyboard to type this evening, without any thought in my mind as to what to type, somehow I found my way. Found my way to an expressive dance in the middle of my life’s house. Joyful without needing a reason. No desire for acknowledgment or observers and it feels really good. I hope you find your way to symbolically dance somehow in your life today. Find a moment to just follow your heart and celebrate you with no concerns of what others will think or whether it makes sense. It will make sense when you finish. If you can trust that blindly, you are allowing your inner voice to take you to where you need to be.
People often ask me when and how I started reading Tarot Cards. The following is my answer:
When I was in high school I received a gift certificate for a book store for $25 from my paternal grandmother, Grandma Margaret. I put that gift in my jewelry box to use when I was ready.
For over a year I would find myself shopping in the large chain bookstore and at the checkout I would remember that at home in my jewelry box was that gift. My grandmothers gift, just sitting there unused.
Finally one day, I was cleaning out my jewelry box and reread the card Grandma had sent with it. The card read, “Buy something special with this.” I stopped what I was doing, put the gift certificate in my purse and drove straight to the store.
When I arrived and was sitting in the parking lot I decided to let the item I was to buy to tell me for sure it was the right thing…whether it was to vibrate when I walked past, be oddly present in my minds eye or be strangely suggested by an unsolicited person. My deal with myself was that I had to feel psychic and magical.
I walked into the large double door entrance of this huge 2 story business excited about my plan. With nothing but cleaning on my agenda for the rest of the day the thought of having a few hours gobbled up inside a giant book store made me giddy with excitement. The distinctive smell of retail books greeted me as I swung open the second set of doors. My me-time had begun.
I browsed upstairs first. I like starting up there and then descending down into an ever bigger layer of a bookstore always, and still do. Just knowing that there is no pressure to find something on that first layer of my bookstore sprees makes shopping an even more savored experience. This time though, I was not filling a basket with goodies. This time I was to find one thing only. One item around $25 in value, that felt “special” to me, according to Grandmas wishes.
After sitting, reading, browsing and touching a massive array possibilities upstairs I descended downstairs empty handed but still excited. Maybe even more then when I first entered the store. I remember holding myself back almost as if I was teasing and bought a cup of tea first. I sat at a seat so I could visually see as much of the first floors shelves, rows and seemingly endless categories to pick from. I remember drinking that whole cup of tea. I drank it intentionally slow, savoring the anticipation of the next exciting browsing session. Oh how I love bookstores!
As I roamed and browsed I reminded myself that I had an agenda. It had to feel “special.” Just one thing. I would know it when I saw it. It would let me know it was the right thing. Nothing called to me. Nothing psychically persuaded me to need it. The only words I heard from or spoke to the mingling strangers were simple, polite and courteous chit chats as we all do when awkwardly breezing so close, yet so separate from other shoppers.
There were no signs, no special moments and at one point before giving up, I sat at a counter at the other side of the store and meditated. Not weirdly so as to draw attention to myself, but casually. I flew around the whole store in my minds eye looking for the glowing shelf or a floating book. Even a word, feeling or topic I mentally begged for. Yet, felt nothing. I questioned my silly challenge. Felt really nerdy making such a grand magical plan, invested hours and was leaving empty handed. Worse yet, now that I had made this magical pact with myself, I had to follow through and not use the gift until I felt something “special”.in the future. I wondered how long the gift certificate would sit in my jewelry box again. I wondered if my next try would or even could feel nearly as adventurous and exciting as this failed mission.
I turned my back on the interior, accepting magical defeat and walked to the first set of doors. There was a woosh when I pushed them open from the odd mixing between double door space. I was symbolically closing the door of an adventure gone wrong and leaving it behind to return to cleaning. A bummer indeed.
As I approached the door to the outside I heard a flat bang. It made me jump and then stop in my tracks. There, face down in a locked glass display cabinet between the two doors was a large deck of Tarot cards. I had never even seem one in person before. Because it was face down, I could clear as day see its price tag. It read, “$25.00”, the exact amount of my gift from Grandma Margaret.
I bought it and have never been the same again. Who would have guessed that I now have hundreds of Tarot decks, have learned to read anything from crystals to jewelry, tea leaves to shoes. (THAT’s another story in itself) I teach classes in psychic development and how to read Tarot, meditation and manifestation. I have been self employed as a professional psychic for decades with an extensive media portfolio, a radio show and used to own a metaphysical gift and book store. To think that it all began from a teenager playing a magical game with herself and a gift from her grandmother.
Working as a professional psychic for over 24 years has sure brought some of the most beautiful people and blessings into my life. It has also brought some bizarre and quirky characters through it too.
One day I had a man come for a reading. I had already read for his wife, adult daughter and son. He was dressed in business casual clothing. A bulky tall man standing about 6’4”. He was clean cut and made great eye contact when he entered my office.
When the reading commenced, I found that there did not seem to be a lot of messages for him or topics to touch into. He had a good life, good health, happy family, good marriage, career success, plenty of money and more. Because I had been reading for so many years, I know that when I start to get results like this usually the person with me is there because they were pushed by friends or family to come or received a gift certificate and are just using it up.
Ethically, if I cannot help someone I will not charge them for the reading. I was gearing up to say this very thing to him. I started off by saying, “I have been reading a long time and only every now and then do I get a client with me who has a very good life with no real ups or downs. I am curious as to why you have come to talk to me and …”
He aggressively interrupted me at that moment and slammed his fists onto my antique reading table. He hit it with such power that the entire table jumped. I jumped in my seat and immediately felt threatened. Then he slammed those fists into it again lurching forward in his seat and yelled, “I’m not happy! Can’t you see that I’m not happy!”
I changed my tone very quickly, stood up, moved within inches away from him and looked this irate, large, yelling upper middle class man in the eye pointing my finger in his face and said, “I don’t know who you think you are taking a tone like that with, sir, but you picked the wrong woman! At this point I am not a psychic anymore, I am the woman whose house you are in yelling and punching her table!”
Then I proceeded to rant for an hour and a half… I ranted until I exhausted this man. It was he who said the session was over because he could no longer think. My rant started off demanding that he settle down… and inquired if he knew how the human brain works. I went into great description about how the synapse jump with electric currents. I explained that our tendency towards moods, perceptions and feelings are like water on a hill… over time if you keep pouring water its tendency is to follow the familiar path where water has run before. Water will follow the path of least resistance and the path that becomes familiar. Feelings are like water on the hill.
I encouraged him to work to train his thoughts to go a new direction. Nudged him to be patient and that change takes time. I asked him to recall the last time he felt happy. He at first said he did not know… but as I continued to rant, he interrupted bellowing,” It was when the Beatles played on the Ed Sullivan show!” That was the last time this man recalls feeling happy. That sure was a long time ago. It took me back a bit, but then I settled in to his Truth.
I congratulated him on being able to recall that memory. I encouraged him to spend time meditating with that memory, to become increasingly aware of how happiness feels inside again. I suggested he work to teach his mind to recognize happy feelings again. I encouraged him to do it daily. Practice to notice fleeting feelings of happiness, even if it was for a tiny moment. A great golf swing, eating a delicious olive, the comfortable feel of drifting off to sleep and more. I told him to work with his emotions like training water to go down the hill a different way. Awakening his brains synapses to begin to conduct and electrically vibrate with feelings of happiness whether they are through memories or fleeting daily moments of awareness.
What I stressed to him over and over again until he tired was that happiness is a choice. Happiness is not a thing we can hold or buy. It is not something we earn. Happiness is something we choose to experience no matter what our circumstance.
Some of the most joyous people I have ever met live some of the most humble existences I have ever seen. Some of the wealthiest people I have met are some of the most unhappy. Running away from his current existence, divorcing his wife, having an affair, buying more things was not going to make him happy. He had to learn to cultivate happiness from deep inside of his own mind and heart. He was the reason he was not happy and only he could transform and create change from within.
When it was all said and done, I realized that the cassette recorder had recorded our entire meeting. I plucked the tape from the machine, handed it to him, walked him to the door and said good bye, charging him nothing. Honestly, I wanted him to leave my sacred space and never return. My adrenaline had been in high gear for an hour and a half. I was exhausted.
I nibbled away at that man’s excuses for his misery, with science, logic and common sense. I pleaded to his subconscious that he was in charge and no one else. He was one of my 3 most challenging clients all these years. When he yelled and became violent my initial instinct was to get him out of my office as quickly as possible. When I began to defend my harmony and my personal space I suppose I also seized the moment to hopefully teach or enlighten him. What started off frightening turned into a very purposeful exchange. I believe that session, as uncomfortable and as weird as it was, happened for a reason.
My mom passed away July 7, 2014. She died with dignity, on her own terms in my father’s arms. I really don’t know how she did it. She dug her willpower in and ended her own life the only legal way a person can in New York State. She stopped eating and drinking. It took 13 days from start to finish. Faster than anyone anticipated.
You see, 3 years prior, mom found out that she had ALS. It was devastating. This strong, health conscious woman was clobbered with the cold hard truth of her diagnosis. A chronic debilitating disease that was going to shut down her muscle control of various parts of her body eventually fading away her ability to swallow or breathe causing her to drown in her own mucus. Mom was not going to have any of that! She set her mind to controlling her own end and not letting this terrible diagnosis have its way.
She and Dad got right to work. They quickly sold their 3 story large home and downsized into a low maintenance condo. They had weird uncomfortable evenings where they invited all of the immediate family over to take turns choosing items off of fold-out tables from that week’s cleaning, packing and clearing.
At first it was really awkward, how boldly and without emotions they were purging their life’s belongings. Such benign items as a second strange coffee grinder that had been on a shelf for years to a huge pile of hangers, a nose hair trimmer to boxes of wrapping paper and various other oddities that I had never seen before.
Once they were settled into their new condo they traveled to the rest of the places mom wanted to go on the planet. She sure did know how blessed she was to have been able to travel so much in her lifetime. She talked about how lucky she felt to have been born into such a life. For her, she truly felt she had lived a full one, jam packed with great relationships and experiences.
In her final year she and Dad let their family, friends and church members know what her plan was. She decided and announced in December of 2013 that the upcoming June was when she was going to put her plan of death into motion. I remember lying awake night after night in my bed plotting how mom can kill herself faster. I researched ways to commit suicide, legal death, what states and countries allow assisted suicide and how she could do it without any legal ramifications. I called mom one morning after a particularly awful insomniatic-night crying. I wailed, “I’m lying awake at night thinking about ways to kill my mother!” and she laughed…yes, laughed. Then told me to stop. Told me that she was not leaving Rochester, that she was not going to break the law and that she knew what she had to do. She was not afraid and she would not change her mind.
As the date drew closer letters from friends, family and the community began to pour in. Mom read each and every one of them out loud to us. She felt so very loved. She would say that these were the letters that people would have sent to all of us after her death if she had died suddenly and she would have never gotten a chance to read them all. It was the start of what I consider a myriad of gifts that came out of her decision.
As the date got closer she stopped seeing most people. She did not want to talk about world issues or politics anymore. She finished writing letters to all of her close family and friends, she finished a few quilts for possible great grandbabies that might come along. She gifted away every piece or her jewelry, artwork and collections. Keepsakes from my brother and my childhood that only a mother would keep we each received in large manila envelopes. Inside was my first grade report card, weird art items I had made, a girl scout badge or two, neat odds and ends that only a mom would keep. She also handed me another manila envelope. In that one were all the things her mom had saved from her childhood. Her childhood art and report cards, school papers and more were inside. I knew that mom knew what it felt like to receive this envelope from her mom before her mom’s death and somehow it struck me harder than I could ever explain. The weight of those envelopes in my shaking hands I will not forget, nor minimize. When I pass them to my own daughter and son, along with the envelopes of their childhood trinkets and papers I have saved, I will know what they will feel in that moment, the weight of it all.
In the final weeks we dined together on all of her most favorite foods. She ate butter and deserts, she laughed until she cried. She smelled flowers with such deep breaths. Still, even as I type this, I can see and hear her leaning in to take a huge full sniff of a magnificent bloom. This memory I love so much.
When it was time, her time, the moment she decided it was to begin, it did. She just stopped eating and drinking. My father, brother and I all fasted with her for the first 24 hours out of solidarity. As we began to eat again, she did not. I avoided mentioning food to her and if she would ask what I had for breakfast or dinner I would lower my voice and crinkle my lip and say, “oh nothing much… it wasn’t that good anyway.” She stopped me from doing that quickly. She wanted to hear all the delicious details of food. She said it helped her. She meditated and talked about things she was grateful for. She kept a small stack of those wonderful loving letters from various people in her life right by her side and would read a few different ones each day.
When it was over and she was gone, we went to the funeral she had planned. There was not much to do besides support Dad and each other. Mom had done it all already. She had made her death easy on us as best she could. Some people were uncomfortable with her choice to end her life and I understand that. I admit that I too am uncomfortable even still with it. She died with grace and dignity. She died on her terms feeling loved and grateful. I am so proud of her and often wonder if I would have such class and strength if facing the same situation. Mom taught me how to live and how to die.
I still sometimes think that she would still be here with us if she had let the disease take its natural course. Yes, most likely she would be bed ridden, incontinent, unable possibly to speak or feed herself, but she would be here with us, holding her great grandson. Quickly I stop myself thinking that way and ponder what a selfish though it is for me to have; to wish her here beyond her line of dignity and independence. I have had to learn that my wants do not trump the wants of others. I’ve learned that my line of tolerance will never be the same as another’s. I’ve learned that even if I do not agree with another’s decision, I can still support them with every fiber of my being with limitless acceptance.
I remember her need to have quality not quantity of life. How she felt she had done everything she ever wanted except growing older. When her smile and her laugh float back into my mind’s eye I am comforted by the pride I have to be blessed with the gift of her life, her choices, strength and determination. I am humbled and honored to have witnessed my mother die with dignity and I am so very proud of her. Mom was always protesting one thing or another in her life. We walked together in the Million Mom March in Washington, DC. Mom pushed for women’s issues until her final year. Mom knew that staying silent helps no one. Mom taught me that it’s ok to disagree as long as we are all still talking about issues. It’s ok to talk about doctor assisted suicide. It’s important to talk about. It’s important to implement change so that it becomes easier for families and loved ones to go through this experience.
10 Easy way to tell if your psychic
is a good person or not.
An ethical, professional psychic welcomes open conversation about what a
reading with them is about. They will encourage you to take time and feel for
yourself if it is the right fit or not for them to be your reader. You should
get a reasonable answer back if you ask about what happens if you are not
liking the reading as it goes along. An ethical psychic will encourage that. A
good psychic knows that they are still learning as they go and that sometimes
readings just don’t fall into place.
No one should ever tell you what you should or should not do. A psychic
who is getting that involved in their reading has lost their way. Your
psychic’s job is to talk about possibilities, trends, tendencies and patterns
in your life. They can identify with you options for change but should never
take your power away from you and tell you what TO DO.
It is a sign of a good and humble person, especially in such a high
paying field of work, for them to be charitable in their actions. Being a
psychic affords one to be able to help others in more ways than one. Part of
keeping successful balance in the material world is to spend energy in the
ethereal world as well. Releasing from materialism from time to time helps
psychic abilities expand. Being able to do humble work helps expand ones heart
chakra. It is necessary maintenance for spiritual workers.
If they do, then they are lying not only to you but to themselves as
well. Accuracy is not measurable for psychic services. A good measure of a
psychic service is that the client feels empowered, helped, supported and aware
with more clarity of their own intuitive answers. It is controversial, but I
believe true, belief that every encounter we have with each person in our life
is important. I believe that if you have spent time with an ethical psychic it
was a purposeful moment. What was said was what was supposed to be said at that
moment in time for purpose much bigger that the self. With that knowing, I
believe that trying to measure accuracy indeed will always fluctuate due to people’s
ability to veer away from coming circumstances or probable outcomes. Because a
psychic told you something does not mean that it is destined to happen. In the
knowing of whatever was said, you, the client, then have choice to move towards
or away from it. Because of this, accuracy has too many variables influencing
it that it cannot be measured. A psychic with an imbalanced ego and no
understand of their roll with their clients, to me, is the only reason they
would boast of accuracy claims.
Be very wary of psychics who claim any ego boost from what they did or
didn’t see for you. Worse yet, gloating over chaotic circumstances because you
did not follow their bidding. This is a warning sign and it might be best to
look for a new psychic. Try one who you hear great things about through word of
mouth or the one you feel most comfortable with after calling and interviewing
10 different ones. Many professional psychics do not know how to disassociate
themselves from their clients. They sometimes struggle with being over involved
with their client’s lives. Many cannot rise up above their own judgement of
others in their lives, therefore unable to be unconditional with their clients.
Sometimes you might need a doctor or psychologist to help you through whatever
crisis you are in. Sometimes you might be better served with a different type
of psychic service. A psychic who thinks that they can fix any and every one is
a dangerous person.
They can promise to TRY to answer all your questions, but they should be
able to say that if they can’t see the answer, they will tell you so. Many
psychics feel a need to always know all the answers and that’s just not
realistic. Some things are not meant to be known. Other things might not be any
of the questioners business about other people’s lives and so on. A psychic who
is willing to give you their best but also know their own limitations is what
you seek… not a person who has some mystical all-knowing power. That’s just
silly and you are easy prey to a con artist if they know you believe that is
possible.
No? Why not? If you are with an ethical psychic who is confident that
their efforts are for your highest good they would encourage you to record the
session so that you can take your time and relisten later. If they give you
some crazy talk that a recording device will mess with their psychic
connection, run away… get out… find another.
You can be sure that that psychics got some bills due soon if they are
making that call. No psychic should ever tell you to come for a reading. Your
heart is what should tell you and nothing else. I know some of these psychics
and they gloat over knowing they are going to shock or coerce you into giving
them your money. Not too sure how those psychics sleep at night, but I assure
you they do, on fancy pillows paid for by the frightened minds of innocent
people.
Well
if that is the case, be sure to get paid by them when your session is over.
Your reading should be about you. It should remain focused on you. Most
readings are pay-by-the-minute. Be very tuned in to how many of those minutes
your psychic has spent talking about their own life or their own opinions about
things in your life. Venting to you as if you were their therapist is a great
way for a con-artist to whittle away your money and your time.
Trust yourself above trusting them. If you have a red flag,
pay attention to it. Never forget that you are a psychic too. Your gut
instincts know the good from the bad if you stop and listen.
Ok, this just happened.
Jewels and I logged in for our radio show tonight, revved up and excited to talk about our topic, and we met with network maintenance messages. We waited the full hour, but were not able to record tonight’s show. So, I still feel a need to talk about raising the vibration because I was looking forward to feeling it tonight.
THE MORE YOU FOCUS ON GOOD THOUGHTS, THE MORE YOU FEEL GOOD THOUGHTS.
It’s a strange, beautiful spiritual science. A weird science for sure, but it works. Thoughts become things. A curious paradox: When I accept myself as I am, then I can change.
I choose to no longer linger in conflict within. I accept that I do not have to look constantly towards the dark, sad, stressful-ness of existence. I can accept that it exists, but I do not have to wallow within that knowing.
I choose to wake up each morning thankful for my breath. Thankful that no matter what I am facing in my life, I am still IN my life.
I choose to dance even when I’m alone or when no one else is dancing. It makes me feel good to be happy and to move with rhythm and joy whirling inside of my body.
I choose to feed my creativity through any means I can. I garden with reckless abandon, doodle like an old pro and write my thoughts in a format that makes me feel awake in every cell of my body, no matter the content.
How about over these next 2 weeks, between now and when we produce the Lost Show we all make a pact together?
How about each of us does something, anything. that makes us feel really good inside every day until that show. Give ourselves or someone else a compliment, help out someone in need or dance when you are alone. Take a bubble bath, not to wash, but to simply relax and be 100% in the moment. Write a letter to yourself in the future tell yourself what you are really proud of today.
We will be on air August 18th with our Lost Show – Raising The Vibration
Peace & Light,
~ W
Spiritual Soup with Jewels and Wendy
Beacon Of Light Radio
7pm - 8pm Thursday nights (EST)
Back in the early 90’s I was working in health care. I worked a full time position in one facility and had part-time jobs as a “float” at 2 other facilities. As a float, you go to whatever floor the facility needs you on for your shift. I worked all overnight shifts (11pm-7am) with an occasional day or evening shift sprinkled in. I had been doing this already for years. In Rochester, NY working in healthcare facility to facility you get to know a lot of people.
One night I was scheduled at one of the float jobs. When I woke up before the shift my eyes were itchy, red, gooey and irritated. I had slept until the very last moment and did not have much time to get ready. As I drove to the other side of the city, my eyes got worse and worse. I was really concerned. I’d had pink eye before and knew this is what it felt like.
When I arrived to work, I went right to the nursing supervisor’s office. When I walked in, the evening supervisor was there with an agency supervisor covering for the night shift. I told both supervisors that I woke up with a terrible case of pink eye that seemed to be worsening by the moment.
The agency night supervisor took a long look at my eyes and announced that there was no way I had pink eye. She then said that she would fix whatever it was and proceeded to tape a gauze patch over one eye and told me to get up to the 7th floor. I objected and told her that I really know its pink eye, it’s unmistakable and that it would not be in the best interest for the patients or other staff. She told me I was off base, wrong and to go to work. As I was walking away from the supervisor’s office I heard her say to the evening supervisor that she was sure I had purposely irritated my eyes in my car to get out of working. I turned around and walked back into the doorway. I said, “If I did not want to work tonight I would have called in sick from home, not gotten up, dressed in my uniform and drove 30 minutes across the city, that’s for sure.”
When I got home from work the next day after an awful, itchy, messy, painful night, even more exacerbated by the gauze I went to my doctor immediately. Guess what? I had a really bad case of pink eye. My doctor’s office called the facility right away and they had to quarantine the unit I had been on for several days.
A few weeks later I was given another floating shift there. When I showed up to the supervisor’s office for my floor assignment, there she was. She spun around like a misfit Barbie smiling at me. Her bright red lipstick matched her healthcare-senseless shiny red stilettos.
She said grinning evilly, “I’m your new weekend night shift supervisor.”
So, I replied, “Let me get this straight. You are now my supervisor if I continue to work here?”
She said, “That’s right.”
“Then I quit. Good night ladies.” I responded and out I went. I only worked at that location two or three nights every few weeks and was fine letting it go, but felt really badly for the staff that was left behind to be mismanaged and abused by that woman.
Jump ahead a few years. I had a full time position on a new 15 bed locked, experimental, restraint-free unit for brain damaged, violent and sexually aggressive adults. It was the first pilot program of its kind in New York State. It was a wonderful job and I worked with great people.
All was moving along great one night when we heard the familiar beep of someone key-carding into our unit. I heard a clip-clop clicking echo, turned to see red stilettos attached to the Barbie-like, red lipstick wearing grinner. She was being introduced to all the night shift because she was going to be our new part-time supervisor. She walked up to me and grinned.
I said, “Hello again. Welcome to MY facility.” After touring our unit she left. As soon as the doors locked behind her I told my coworkers the whole story from before.
It was only one shift later when I was called into a supervisor friend’s office. He closed the door and told me how grateful he was to have heard my story about that red-shoed woman a few years prior over some beers on a day off. He said that she had immediately written a report against me letting the facility know that we had had conflict in the past because she caught me purposely irritating my eyes to get out of a shift and was a problem at her past job. He encouraged me to tell my side of the story, for documentation purposes right away, and I did.
The next shift she was on I let her know that I had read her report against me and that I documented my side of the event. She let me know that she would be sure myself and my friends would all soon be fired from my unit. That did not sit well with me, and I admit, I felt frightened that she was capable of twisting things and possibly firing my friends. It was within a week that she filed a report against one of my friends saying she had threatened her in an elevator. Then filed another report against me stating that she did not see my do my full rounds because she had supposedly watched through the windows from outside. All the staff wrote counter-reports stating the opposite. Stories of conflicts between her and staff on other floors were piling up. So I started a petition against her. I got signatures from staff of all 3 shifts on all floors of the building. There were 3 full 2 column pages of signatures from not just nursing staff but housekeeping, office staff, day services and more.
The facility called me during the day, as it always is when you are an overnight shift worker, to tell me to gather “my people” to have a meeting about this conflict. The meeting was to be a few days away. I had one more shift with her before then. It started off with a bang. She strutted onto our unit clicking those heels all the way down the hall. Dre, Onieda, Roderick and I all stood up. She stormed up to me pointing her overly long, fake red fingernail into my face and said, “I know what you are doing and you won’t get away with it. I will ruin you.” My girl Dre spoke before I could, and man oh man, Dre was one tough woman. She launched herself over the nurses station, not even bothering to open the gate and went off on little Miss. Red Shoes. Less than an inch from that woman’s frightened quivering nose Dre yelled that no one comes round threatening anyone like that and that she was in the mind to stomp the shit out of her. We restrained Dre dramatically and little Miss Red Shoes frantically ran away down the hall to the swipe pad yelling that this was all she needed now and we were all done for.
On this experimental unit we had a dog. This dog was pet-therapy and a member of the staff to all of us. We enjoyed the break to take him out for his walks and most of us were smokers too, so it was an even more welcomed break. After we had all calmed down, I took the dog out for his walk. I walked around our unit, pondering how to save Dre from being fired. The dog finally decided where he was to do his business so we stopped. I looked up into the star filled sky breathing deeply so worried that I had been the cause now of a worse yet- true report against my dear friend. As I was reaching into my pocket for a rubber glove to pick up the dogs deposit, I realized that the dog had chosen to poo right next to Miss. Red Shoes car. A sign maybe? I will never know. What I do know is that in that moment I grinned just like her and pushed that whole turd under the handle of her driver’s door, warm and fresh.
When I got back on the unit we all laughed until tears ran down our faces. It was so hard for me to even get it out I was laughing so damn hard. She did not come for rounds the rest of the shift. We knew she was no doubt frantically typing a crazy, scathing report against Dre and us all.
When our shift was over we all went outside and instead of getting into each of our own cars, we all piled into Dre’s van to watch. She did not come out for a long time, but eventually she did. We watched and laughed with our hands over our mouths like wild 9 year olds inside that van. There she was, pristine and red. She unlocked the car door and went to open it. She reeled back looking at her hand, then sniffed it. Gut busting laughter was pouring out of the van at that point. She turned and marched back into the facility aggressively.
The next night when we all reported to our shift, my friend supervisor was there to greet us with paperwork in his hand. He had some of the evening shift stay a few moments late so he could talk to all of us. We went into his office. He said, she had been fired. She was fired because that morning after filing awful papers against us and requesting police report against Dre she ran back into the facility screaming that I had put dog poo under the handle of her car and written a threatening note to her. When she could not produce the note, they assumed she had made the whole thing up.
Is that Karma? Was it some kind of divine plan that I ended up having to scoop poo right next to her car? I will never know, but to this day, remembering how hard we were all laughing in that van, trying to be quiet, is by far one of my funniest lifetime memories. For the record, I have been able to live with the truth of my actions with no guilt.