“Now I know what a ghost is. Unfinished business, that’s what.”
~ Salman Rushdie, The Satanic Verses
As a psychic, I can never truly plan what happens in my life. I’m in the city just now. Working.
I didn’t blog yesterday because it was one of those days .
After one of those nights.
A young girl died.
I took the call a little before ten at night, while she was still alive – but precariously, and caught a taxi to the hospital.
I was there to hold her hand until her mother came.
I held her mother in my arms after her daughter passed away.
I came home as dawn was breaking, and climbed into bed, bereft and emotionally drained.
A short time later the young girl, recently dead, began whispering in my ear. She came back again and again until she’d told me everything she felt I needed to know. I didn’t end up getting much sleep yesterday, or again last night.
Some of what the girl revealed was deeply troubling. All of it needs to be passed on to her parents.
Yesterday I blew up nine lightbulbs, tripping the safety switch and plunging the house into blackness nine times. All I had to do was reach my hand out to a light switch and BANG. A bulb would blow. Sometimes my hand didn’t even make it to the switch.
After a while I left what lights were on, on. I didn’t touch any more switches. I stayed away from my computer. I stood barefoot on the earth for the longest time.
It happens like this sometimes. It’s as if all the energy builds up in me and needs somewhere to discharge.
Finally, when I was almost on my knees from being psychically available and in that heightened energy for so long, I spoke to upstairs (You know what I mean – I spoke to God, Guides, Ancestors – whoever was listening). “Enough for now, okay? I could use some time out. A break would be good.”
My husband rang five minutes later. He’d gone home to our farm to move our cattle to higher ground before the predicted heavy rain and floods later this week.
“You’ll never believe this,” he said. “I found my glasses.”
Ben lost his reading glasses a fortnight ago. He only uses them for computer work, and he usually keeps them in his computer bag in a little case. He’d had them in the bedroom at the farm, staying up one night working on his laptop. The next day when he was packing up to come back to Brisbane he couldn’t find his glasses. He searched everywhere.
Over the past two weeks we have torn both houses and the car apart, looking for them. Nothing. Finally, Ben asked me to ask my fairy friend, Sokli, who is sometimes helpful with lost things. “Oh no,” she said. “They’re not there, silly. They’re in the other place. The sometimes place.”
In other words, they were gone, so stop looking.
It has happened to us so many times before. Things disappear. Days, weeks or months later they turn up again, in plain view.
Ben’s glasses were suddenly on top of a bunch of papers in a drawer he has checked at least seven times.
Today I’ll be spending time with my friend who has just lost her daughter. I’ll be helping her navigate this terrible next part of the journey. I’ll be passing on the last of her daughter’s messages. I’ve not had much sleep this past forty-eight hours. It gets like that sometimes.
I’m still in that heightened place, psychically. It’s as if my skin holds an electrical charge. Everything looks enhanced. Brighter. More defined. My heart beats a little faster. I feel deeply in my body, and not. All at the same time.
My husband rushed back to Brisbane to be with me, so he’s in charge of turning lights on and off until things settle down again for me, energetically speaking.
He knows, and I know, that when this is all over I shall crash in a heap for a while. That’s just how it is.
This is what it is to be psychic. This is my life…