Evil Woman by SalaBoli: flickriver.com
When I do psychic readings for people, I have a few procedures that I follow to ready myself for our session. Firstly I close my eyes, centre myself and offer up a prayer for the Highest Good, and then I allow myself to move into a channelling space. When I am firmly anchored in this energy I open my eyes and connect into the ‘seeker’ – the person I am going to read for.
If I am doing a reading by distance (ie by skype, phone or from a photograph) I do this energetically. But if the person is sitting right in front of me I like to hold their hands to make that connection.
Image from mywedding.com
Once again I close my eyes, and then I psychically ask permission to work with that person. When permission is obtained I open myself to any first impressions, and then I open my eyes and begin the session.
In the thousands of people that I have worked with I have only been refused twice.
The first time, I got a clear ‘no’. I was surprised, as that had never happened before. And the explanation? It was not ‘Right Timing’. I apologised, and ended the session. A few months later the person came back and the session proceeded beautifully – at a time that was perfect, given the sudden changes in that person’s life.
That taught me something valuable – the need to always honour Universal Wisdom.
But it certainly didn’t prepare me for the second person I turned away.
I awoke agitated on that day, with an annoying headache that wouldn’t budge. Before I’d even begun work my last two appointments rang to reschedule – something that rarely happens. Trusting in Right Timing, I got ready for my only other appointment that day. As the time grew closer I felt more and more ill, and my head throbbed as if it might explode. I wondered if I was getting a migraine, although I’d never had one before.
Finally my appointment showed up, ten minutes late. I ushered her in, sat her down and began.
My own connection took much longer than normal. I sat patiently, and when I was finally ready it felt as if I had been surrounded by a heavenly host of Angels, an energy I don’t usually work with. I felt very safe, very calm and very loved.
Image from poemsbycc.com
And then I took hold of this woman’s hands.
Whoosh. It was as if I had been sucked over the edge of a deep abyss. There was nothing. Nothing but darkness. But the darkness wasn’t empty. And it certainly wasn’t friendly.
My eyes snapped open in shock, and I saw her watching me.
“Sorry,” I apologised. Then shutting my eyes, I tried again.
All I felt was fear – my fear – and a deep sense of unrest. No matter how I tried, I just couldn’t connect. It was as if she was behind a wall I couldn’t penetrate.
I let go of her hands and opened my eyes. “I’m sorry,” I said to her. “I’m feeling unwell. I just can’t work with you today.” My skin was goosebumped, and I sensed shadow all around us. All I wanted to do was get her out of my home as quickly as I could.
Image from miserablesongs.blogspot.com
When she was gone I cleansed my house, did a healing meditation, and put myself to bed, completely drained. It took two days to come back to a place of feeling my normal, optimistic self.
That session really disturbed me, but I was never able to access any more information, and eventually I put it behind me. Two years later an older man turned up for a session with me. He came through my door very unwell and weak, with a great weight of sadness. My first instinct was to greet him with a hug.
My connection with him was easy and strong. And very disturbing. As I held his hands a bitter taste flooded my mouth and I felt my own body weaken. My heart rhythm went wonky, and my vision blurred. A shocking awareness came to me. I dropped his hands and asked, “How are you feeling?”
Vincent Van Gogh’s ‘An Old Man’s Winter’s Night’
He batted away a tear. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’m so tired all the time, and I just can’t seem to come right. I feel like I’m dying.” He took my hand in his. “I’ve got cancer, haven’t I? You can tell me. I just need to know what’s wrong.”
“No,” I blurted. “It’s not cancer. You’re being poisoned. And you’re in grave danger.” The information poured out of me. His wife. His wife was poisoning him. And she had done this before, to previous husbands.
“Her first three husbands did all die,” he said to me, almost unbelieving. “But she loves me. She’s stood by me even when my own family turned against us. She’s been caring for me ever since I got sick.” He pulled a photo from his wallet and placed it on the table between us.
It was the woman I had turned away.
If you want to read more about my life as a psychic, you might enjoy these posts:
The baby who needed to speak
The power of a Father’s love
The unexpected phone call