TWO GHOSTS AND A SAINT: Excerpt from Mediumship and the Flow of Grace

We are born of spirit and are spiritual by our very nature, even as we learn to live in flesh and blood bodies. As human beings, we form a bridge between the seen and the unseen, the physical and the spiritual dimensions. The ability to cross back and forth over this “bridge” is natural to all of us, but in some people the ability is more developed; for them, the focus is clearer, the veil between the dimensions more transparent. They are called “mediums,” “psychics,” “seers,” or “channelers.”

To become a medium is to develop the ability to listen from the heart to your own inner guidance and to what spirit has to say—and then communicate the information to others. To be a medium is to receive and deliver messages of hope, love, and healing.

Mediumship illuminates spiritual truth and opens a window into dimensions of reality that exist beyond the physical world experienced with the senses. It’s at the core of the doctrines of Spiritism and Spiritualism, which embrace the concepts that life continues after death, and that while we are still in the physical body we have the ability to communicate with our loved ones who have “crossed over.”

Although my clairvoyant gifts are useful in many ways, my favorite is communicating with people who have left their physical bodies. Often these “ghosts” show up with something quite interesting to tell the living, as with Orville and Martha, Betty’s mother.


My neighbor’s dad, who died at the age of ninety, is an example of a spirit who could be described as a ghost. I encountered “Orville” early in my exploration of clairvoyance, when his daughter invited me to his funeral. I had never met him in person, but I wanted to support her in her time of mourning.

There were about thirty people gathered at the small country cemetery for the service. I took a seat in the back row. After closing my eyes and going into a light trance, I observed Orville sitting on top of his coffin with one leg crossed over the other. He was wearing a red plaid shirt and appeared to be paying close attention to his family and friends gathered around him.

When his son began to give a personal eulogy, Orville turned toward me, shook his “head” slowly, and said, “I’m so sorry for how I treated the children. I was too hard on them, but that was the only way I knew how to be.”

It surprised me that he was aware of my presence, but I smiled and nodded, acknowledging his spirit-to-spirit communication.

After the speeches were over and the family began to drift away toward their cars, Orville continued to sit on top of the coffin. He waved goodbye to them, as one by one they drove away.

The next day, when I told my neighbor about this experience, she commented that her father’s closet was full of plaid shirts.


We sometimes sponsor a healing circle at our home, and Betty was the first to attend. She arrived almost in tears, because it was the one-year anniversary of her mother’s death.

As I began to pray and go into the trance-medium state, I observed (the spirit of) Betty’s mom standing just behind Betty, who was sitting on the sofa. Betty’s mom gave me a look that said, “Okay, what’s going on here?” and then she “sat down” in the chair across from me. “You must be kind to my daughter because she is very sensitive,” she communicated, and then she began to receive energy healing, which was seen as light.

A visit from a deceased loved one is always a great gift for those left behind, and there are several criteria used in the Spiritualist Church to determine whether the visitation is valid. These criteria include a physical description, the age at passing, the manner of death, the deceased’s name, and a shared experience. So I asked Betty’s mom to tell me her name and how she died. She responded with “Martha,” and then she looked down at her chest with an expression of great dismay, as if to say, “Look at what they did to my body.” From this, I assumed she had surgery in her chest area and later died of cancer.

When the meditation was almost over, another spirit came to “collect” Betty’s mom, as though she was a child who had wandered away. I watched in astonishment as they left by walking right through our front door!

After the meditation ended, I described the spirit visitor to Betty and gave her the name and manner of passing. The information was accurate—her mother’s name was Martha and she had died of lung cancer. Betty said that at the beginning of the meditation she had prayed for healing for her mother’s spirit if she needed it.

At this point, Tom came out of meditation and said the strangest thing: “I got a message from a woman. She told me she was very upset about leaving her shoes behind!”

We all laughed, but then Betty told us her mom was obsessive when it came to buying shoes, comparing her to Imelda Marcos. By the time Betty’s mom died, she owned an entire room filled with shoes.


Each spirit visitor represents a fantastic story offering multiple levels of meaning and lessons for humanity, but Lucia was extraordinary. I met her and her father at a healing faire where I was doing hands-on healing:

I had just barely touched the six-month-old baby, Lucia—who lay quietly in front of me, looking very tiny on my large healing table—when a vision appeared. An ancient woman with white hair hanging down to her waist and brilliant blue eyes was staring directly at me. The spiritual vibration of the woman was strong, and I sensed she was the soul of the child before birth. In other words, she was a representation of the child’s higher self. It also occurred to me that she was the child’s guardian angel, but then I realized she was both. It was as though the spirit of the child was contained within the small baby before me, and in the large spirit entity who was staring at me.

“The child will be a great teacher,” said the woman. I repeated her words to the baby’s father, who was sitting across from me, his child lying between us.

Then I began to receive further communications from the woman, who seemed to put great emphasis on the message. I repeated her words out loud to the father, although it was not me who spoke, but rather the blue-eyed spirit woman who channeled the message through me.

“The child will be drawn to Catholicism, but you must encourage her to experience many spiritual paths. Tell her they all lead to the same place—the divine. Explain also the concept of dogma. She will already know this, but you can prevent conflict by exposing her early to many expressions of worship. Take her to church, the yoga ashram, the mosque, and the Buddhist temple.”

At this point, I opened my eyes and looked at Lucia. She was sucking vigorously on one of my knuckles and holding on tightly to one of my fingers. She stared at me intently with her beautiful brown eyes, and her gaze told me that she understood everything I had said. I also felt that behind her eyes were the blue eyes of the spirit woman. Something went between us for a brief moment, and I realized it was the pure Flow of Grace. I had been touched by God in the form of a baby, and it was a great gift. Then she was just a baby again, wanting only the breast of her mother.

Ecstasy filled me for the rest of the day as I worked with other people at the faire. My heart had been opened more fully, my vision expanded to that of the child’s.

The next morning, I looked up the baby’s name and discovered an entry on Wikipedia for a Catholic saint called by different yet similar names: St. Lucia, St. Lucie, and St. Lucy. The word “Lucia” bears the same root as the word “light,” and St. Lucia is considered the Patron Saint of the Blind. She is said to bring light to the darkness—which one of my favorite images in doing energy healing. Truly, darkness cannot exist when we focus on bringing divine light into ourselves and each other.

The entry included an image of St. Lucia, and she looked remarkably like the infant Lucia I had met at the faire—she had the same gentle eyes, delicate features, and almond-shaped face.



Communicating with the spiritual dimensions requires the sometimes-difficult ability to listen, because any worthwhile conversation must go both ways. Setting our intentions, praying, and asking for blessings are worthy endeavors, but are we able to recognize the results? Even when we are sufficiently focused and able to take in the information, how often do we edit it? Communicating with spirit requires quieting the conscious mind and attuning our awareness to more subtle vibrations. All forms of meditation are valuable in this regard.

I’ve often struggled with listening to my inner guidance, because my mind is so darn busy and noisy. Human thought patterns are strongly affected by outside factors, especially when we are young. As children, we believe what we are told by adults, and this forms the basis of our worldview and perception of ourselves. For a long time, my “self talk” tended to be negative, which can really block out subtle vibrations. Only after years of meditation have I become able to receive communications and energy from the spirit world and respond appropriately.

When I was working as a legal secretary in Walnut Creek, California, I was often exhausted and bored, and I had a tendency to indulge in negative thinking along the lines of: “Life sucks, my life sucks, I’m worthless, and nobody likes me.” You get the idea.

One day, I was walking in the parking garage basement. I wasn’t paying much attention to my surroundings because my head was filled with one particular thought: “Nothing good ever happens to me.”

At that moment, I happened to look down, and there lying at my feet was a $20 bill! This ironic communication from God was difficult to ignore—and no active listening was involved on my part. The message was blatant. From this, I learned that the Universe always provides exactly what we need when we need it, no matter what our interior dialogue might tell us.

Sometimes the message comes through other people, sometimes repeatedly, until we begin paying attention. Once I was stranded in New York City in a cheap hotel on the upper west side, but I wanted to live in a popular hotel on Broadway that was filled with artists and writers and actors. I must have called the rental agent 100 times on the phone and made numerous visits, all to no avail. Finally I got it. “Someone” was trying to tell me that moving there was not for my highest good, and that my next step involved something I hadn’t yet thought of. From this, I learned the best path in life is to go through the open door, not keep knocking endlessly on the closed one.

While still in that same miserable hotel, I was lying in bed one night consumed by the thought: “No one loves me; no one will ever love me.” Just then the phone rang. It was a former boyfriend I hadn’t heard from in several years. I’d known him when he was quite young and confused about how to express his feelings.

“I’m calling to tell you I love you,” he said. Nothing more. I imagined God whispering in his ear, encouraging him to call when I most needed to hear these words.

Around the same time, I attended a folk music concert in the basement of a church. The singer was a rather chubby fellow with a big smile. He seemed so friendly and approachable. After the performance, I went up to him and told him how much I enjoyed his show.

“You don’t remember me, do you, Jessie?”

Indeed, I did not recognize him, and even after he said we had spent time together 13 years earlier at a folk music club in another city, my memory of him was vague. The outcome of this chance encounter was that he gave me an old car, a very old car with a big hole in the passenger side floor that let water splash in when it rained. I was the third person to receive the car as a gift, and it provided the means to get out of New York City and on to the next stage in my life. This type of synchronicity could easily be called “The Cosmic Dating Service.”

Sometimes God speaks to us through objects. In the late 1970s, I was living in Austin, Texas, playing music in the clubs and selling handmade clothing and other items at the crafts market. One year after Christmas, I had 50 little stuffed dolls left over, so in February I went to New Orleans to sell them on the street during Marti Gras.

The first day, I went into an Indian imported clothing store and fell in love with a beautiful blue shirt. Oh, how I wanted that shirt, but I didn’t have any money. I decided that after I had sold a few dolls and had bus fare home, I’d come back and buy it.

While strolling around the French Quarter later that night—and not selling any dolls because everyone thought they were Voodoo dolls! —I walked by the store. It was closed, but much to my surprise the blue shirt I desired so much was sitting neatly folded on the front step just waiting for me to pick it up. For many years, I believed this to be some sort magical occurrence, but I’ve since realized the shop owner must have been moved by the intensity of my desire and left it for me to find. Perhaps this experience comes under the category of “manifesting,” although I didn’t know the term back then.

A few years ago, I went through a phase in which I questioned my spiritual path. Was I was doing the right thing with my life? Did I need to make a change? After meditating on this for several weeks, a greeting card arrived in the mail from a woman I had done a clairvoyant reading for months earlier.

The card showed a beautiful lithograph of an owl holding a lantern with the word “Hope” on it. Inside the woman had written: “This card reminded me of you…a wise, beautiful being, carrying a lantern of hope.” These are lofty words, for sure, and I am constantly endeavoring to remember and be worthy of them.

In December 2012, I had a strong desire to visit the Philippines but couldn’t afford it. I prayed and prayed, and a few weeks later I got a phone call from a friend in California who was sick and wanted to see the faith healers. He asked me to be his personal travel guide to the Philippines and offered to pay my expenses, essentially proving that spirit is always listening, whether we are aware of it or not.

So I make a regular habit of reaching out to the spiritual dimensions with my questions, and then practice the art of listening for answers. If there is something I want to bring into my life, I visualize it in the center of my head, put bright sparkling light around it, and then wait. Sometimes my wishes come true, but when they don’t I work on accepting what is and renew my efforts.



While camping recently, I had the opportunity to communicate with an enormous tree. I was walking in the forest with two friends, when we came upon a grove of old growth redwoods. We drifted apart—each lost in communion with the energy of the place—but when one of the women re-crossed my path she was crying profusely. I asked her why and she said, “It’s so sad that so many of these magnificent trees were cut down.”

As she wandered away, I put my palms and forehead against the trunk of the largest tree and whispered, “Mother, please give me a message.” Then I sat down on a nearby bench to meditate. Once my mind had become sufficiently silent, I distinctly heard the tree speak in a voice that seemed to suggest relief, but also detachment:

“Many were slain, but I was spared.”

As my meditation deepened, the tree showed me her energy body, and how it went into the ground all the way to the center of the earth. It was vast, and the strength of its vibration nearly overwhelmed me.

“This is my taproot,” said the redwood.

Later, we visited Fern Canyon. Wild and verdant, Fern Canyon has been opened up to more people than in years past, and there were quite a few noisy tourists there. I asked the ferns, “What do you think about all the people?” They laughed in a tinkling sort of way and answered in one unified voice:

“Oh…those animals are okay. We don’t mind them.”

Finally, I’d like to share a “gift” I received from a cottonwood tree two years ago. When we bought an old mobile home in need of extensive repair, one of the conditions of purchase was that we tear down a disgusting series of sheds filled with old cars, motorcycles, mold, rats, and garbage. The man who was selling the home was mentally deranged, and he had built one of the sheds around a tree. There were over 200 three-inch long nails and screws into the tree attaching little pieces of plywood.

I could sense the tree’s pain, and I pressed Tom, my partner, to “liberate” it. He couldn’t get to it right away because the building had to be taken down in stages. But, eventually, all of the nails and screws were out and the tree was freed.

In the spring, when the other trees started blooming, our tree remained a tangle of twisted, dead-looking branches. Then a huge storm in February seemed to “wake it up” and bring it back to life.

One day, after the cottonwood had begun to green, I went out to bless it. I put my hands on the tree and asked it to forgive the unhappy man who had caused it so much pain. As I prayed, the tree showed me a vision of herself in full bloom, gently waving in the breeze. So much happiness emanated from her. Then she sent a huge wave into my hands of delicious “thank you” energy that flowed down throughout my body. It was pure bliss, the pure bliss of spirit expressing itself as a happy tree.

So when you are out in nature, try to slow your breath and allow yourself to be very, very quiet. Put your worldly troubles aside for a few moments. Then wait, watch, and listen for what Planet Earth and her inhabitants have to tell you. Bring your consciousness into alignment with the world around you, and in this way you will certainly attain some measure of inner peace.



Everything seen and unseen is made up of vibrating energy and capable of communicating with everything else. This idea is central to the belief system known as animism—a word derived from the Latin word anima, meaning breath or soul.

Another term for animism, which may be more familiar to modern readers, is shamanism. Animistic beliefs are among the oldest human beliefs, most likely dating from the Stone Age. Similar ideas are still found in native cultures around the world. The basic tenet of animism is that everything has consciousness, both living creatures and the inanimate, including animals, trees, rocks, and water. Animism also embraces the idea that everything continually reincarnates in the physical dimension. According to animism, the spirit world and the material world are different aspects of a greater reality, existing simultaneously, and that everything is alive and sacred.

When I was about seven or eight years old, I could hear the grass, trees, and even rocks talking to me. The grass mostly expressed ambivalence about being walked on, and the trees said they loved it when the wind blew. Communicating with rocks was more of an energetic connection, as I held large pieces of rose quartz in my hands for hours and slept with a large box of them under my bed to absorb their emanations.

But as I grew older, without realizing it, I lost touch with this sensitivity. It was replaced by the harsh realities inherent in dealing with other humans and mundane activities such as holding down a job to pay the rent. Fortunately, when I began to meditate in my thirties, my sensitivity and spiritual receptivity started to come back. Now that I have more fully embraced the natural state of mediumship, I am grateful to find I have come full circle. Once again, I am able to experience all kinds of non-verbal communications.

A few years ago, while editing a book on shamanism, the various stones in my house—some of which I’ve held captive for many years—started calling out to me. I began to go through every closet and drawer, but most of all a special shelf where I had long kept objects of special significance. As I collected the stones and meditated on them, some of them told me they wanted to stay with me and help with my healing work. These I kept and later took to a creek for a re-energizing bath.

Some of the to-be-eliminated stones included the crystals given to me by my father after his death in 1998. Others were from my various trips to the Philippines, and also shells from the South China Sea. These will be especially difficult to part with because of my deep love for the Philippine islands, my spiritual home.

While packing up everything to take to the river and release, I remembered one drawer I had forgotten to check. To my surprise and dismay, I found my father’s bolo, a weapon made of three rocks tied together with leather straps. As I held these stones in my hand, an intense wave of sorrow came over me. It was the feeling of the trapped stones, who told me they never wanted to hurt anyone. They will be the first to be thrown into the river, and I will be especially relieved to liberate them.

The book I’d been reading also talked about ancestors, and I was horrified to realize that I had been holding captive some of my ancestors, too. So I took with me the remaining ashes of my parents and Mr. Fluffy (my cat who died), and a clipping of hair from the head of my former spiritual teacher Swami Muktanana. He died in 1982, so it seemed like it was time to liberate that part of him, too.

I headed for the Rogue River at Gold Hill in Southern Oregon, and when I exited the freeway I turned onto Upper River Road. I had never been on this road before, but I was looking for the right place to offer my treasures to the river. After about a quarter of a mile, I passed a bright yellow geodesic dome that stood out against the green of the forest and the other houses. But I kept driving, because how could I go up to some hippie’s house and say: “Would you mind if I liberated my deceased ancestors and rock collection on your property?”

I drove about another quarter of a mile and saw that it was all private property with no public access to the river, so I turned around and went back to the dome and parked the car on the road.

Almost immediately, a golden Labrador retriever and a man with two brown braids came up to greet me. As I began to tell him (cautiously) about why I wanted to access the river via his property, he said: “Oh, I understand. You want to liberate your stone people. But this isn’t the best place to do it. Let me show you. Just walk with me.”

He led me up the road with the dog (who stopped briefly to roll around in a dead otter). As we walked, the man told me he was Scotch-Irish and Cherokee Indian, and that he had lived most of his life with the Native Peoples in Oklahoma, but now he was living in Southern Oregon.

“This part of the river is where the Native Peoples came for centuries every spring to lay down their troubles and their differences. Together as one people, they threw their burdens into the river and they blessed the salmon. They didn’t even take one fish at that time, but let the fish continue swimming upstream to lay eggs, ensuring another season of fish for the people. Just two weeks ago, we held this same ceremony here on the river.”

He stopped at a wide spot in the road and led me to the edge of the riverbank. At this place, two parts of the river that had been separated by a small island came back together, causing fairly wild, white water rapids.

“This is where you should liberate your stone people, because from here the water will carry them down the river to freedom.”

We walked back to the dome in silence. Then, as we were about to part, he said with a somewhat serious and respectful tone in his voice, “Would you mind if I gave you a hug?”

“The Cherokees in Oklahoma don’t hug each other, especially the men,” he added. “So now I’m trying to learn how to hug people. Hold out your hand and I’ll show you how they greet each other.”

With this, he gave me a stiff handshake, and then we put our arms around each other and hugged. As I turned to go, the dog asked me to throw a stick for him to chase. Then I got in the car and drove back to the place where I intended to perform my ceremony. I felt incredibly blessed to have been brought by divine direction to meet this incredible man.

Back at the river, I began throwing the rocks into the river, saying things like “Go in peace.” They were no longer mine, nor had they ever been. Strangely, I felt no particular emotion, no sadness. It was as though I had already let go of them a very long time ago, and this was just the final act of release.

The house seems more peaceful, now that these old attachments are gone. It’s a time of clearing out what no longer serves me so I can focus more clearly on the love and service I have yet to give others.



We are physical beings living in a material world, which we experience through our five senses. But we are simultaneously so much more. Our physical world in the third dimension merges into the etheric plane and from there into the fourth dimension, which is also sometimes referred to as the astral plane. This alternate universe is inhabited by all sorts of spirits, entities, elementals, fairies, and ghosts—much like the spirits on the television show “Ghost Whisperer,” those unfortunate souls who have died but haven’t yet “crossed over into the light.”

Within the fourth dimension there are many levels, which serve as a graduated bridge, or ladder between the third and fifth dimensions—different theories postulate anywhere from seven to 49 astral levels. This bridge allows for the possibility of making contact with the higher spiritual realms, consciously through astral projection, meditation, near death experience, lucid dreaming, and other means. But, most importantly, in order to experience the higher planes, we must first be filled with good intentions and love for ourselves and others. We must also learn the necessary skills to raise our conscious awareness.

The fourth dimension merges into the fifth, which some people call heaven. Some people theorize there are higher spiritual dimensions, but in most religions and belief systems this is the highest realm a soul can reach. There are many theories about the complex subject of multi-dimensional reality, and what I have offered here is simply my personal understanding. Ultimately we will not really know the complete nature and structure of the universe until we die and cross over ourselves.

My experience is that I am “here” in physical reality, but I am also simultaneously “there” in the spiritual realm. I perceive this “other place” with my inner vision during meditation and when I am working with clients doing energy healing and clairvoyant readings. My book Mediumship and the Flow of Grace discusses the retrieval of information for others, but in this article I’d like to share a few experiences that are more personal.

For the past several years, I’ve attended a class called “Monday Night Meditation” in Ashland, Oregon. Many of the exercises (or “processes”) we do together in class involve visualization meditations while music is being played. Perhaps my most dramatic experience occurred the first time I attended:

We were told to visualize a pyramid and sit inside of it. We were also instructed to be aware of the presence of Archangel Michael, who would protect us as we traveled onto the “inner planes.” Our destination was our own future in this lifetime or possibly a future life.

Our individual pyramids moved slowly around us three times and then a door opened. When I disembarked onto the inner planes, I was surprised to see before me the scene of my own death in the future, perhaps in my mid-80s. Most remarkable was the sensation of being in two places at once. Seventy-five percent of my consciousness was still in the present, but 25 percent was with my future self, which was undergoing the process of dying! As I lay quietly on a raised bed, several brown-skinned women fanned me with palm fronds. Given that I have visited the Philippines numerous times and consider it my spiritual home, I assumed this meant I would die there, rather than in the U.S.

I was aware of my breath flowing gently in and out. In…out, in…out, but then there was no breath in. I felt incredibly peaceful throughout the experience. My consciousness floated out of my body and over a bridge, and then I entered a beautiful garden. I recognized the garden as being part of the fifth dimension by its quality of sparkling, golden light. I trusted this place because I had been there before.

In another visualization meditation, we once again traveled into the future via our personal pyramids. This time, I experienced myself as an enlightened master, except I was a small boy about ten years old! He (who was also me) was giving spiritual blessings to many people, who were sitting at his feet. The scene was reminiscent of paintings I’ve seen of Christ walking among the multitudes, Indian gurus giving darshan, or Buddha surrounded by spiritual seekers. I wondered where this was. I was unsure as to whether it was on the future earth, another planet, or simply in an energetic, spiritual dimension.

I heard a voice say: “There will be no more dirt,” and I took this to mean the earth would be cleansed of war, famine, and hatred—all those things so many of us are hoping for. It also seemed like an agricultural society, a “back to the future” sort of place.

Then I noticed the quality of the light, that same sparking, scintillating light. The entire place was made of it, and this told me I was not on a future physical earth. Perhaps, like many people believe, it was a future earth that was no longer physical, an earth that had become pure energy. When the meditation ended, I was “snapped” back soundly into my physical body, which told me I had been far away, out on the inner planes.

During another Monday Night Meditation we were told to go to a time, place, or person in our lives needing forgiveness. At first, I couldn’t think of anything, because I’ve done so much of this kind of inner work already. But then the memory surfaced of a miscarriage I had in my forties. When I asked the spirit of the child to forgive me for not being able to sustain the pregnancy, a vision of a graceful young woman appeared. She blessed me with a smile and said, “I forgive you, mother.” Peace flooded over me, and I knew the few months we had spent together served a purpose, and that she had gone on to incarnate through another woman.

The last vision I’d like to share also happened at Monday Night Meditation. This time we were instructed to go back in time to who and where we were before we were born into our present lifetime. As I went back through the years, I began to get anxious, especially when I reached the time just after birth. But then my consciousness leapt from my physical body and I landed in the middle of a conversation with a large angelic being. This teacher, or guide, was trying to explain to me that it was time for me to take another incarnation.

I looked aghast at the two people who were designated to be my new parents. Then I turned to the angelic being and said, “I don’t think it’s a good idea!”

A discussion ensued during which the angel explained why it really was a good idea. Finally I capitulated, and instantly I was inside of my mother’s body as she was conceiving me with my father. I felt wave after wave of her negative emotional energy, and it was overwhelming.

Just then the meditation ended. Thank GOD! I must add that having worked with the learning situation of my family for many years now, it was, indeed, a good idea to be born of them.

* * *

Whether or not there is a spiritual growth class or meditation group near where you live, you can begin your own journey of making contact with other dimensions by practicing the simple exercises given below. Just focus your awareness on the Divine—and remember…your intention directs your destination.


Sit in a relaxed pose with your feet on the floor and your hands in your lap, palms up. Imagine there is a cord of any color or thickness going from the base of your spine to the center of the earth. Once you create your cord, it will always be available to ground you. All you have to do is think about it. Your cord can go through solid objects, even if you are on the top floor of a tall building or flying in an airplane.

Next, visualize a large ball of sparkling, golden light about a foot above you. Bring this light gently down into the top of your head. See it moving throughout your body: your throat, heart, solar plexus, and abdomen. Send it down your arms and legs, and back up. Finally, flush the light down through your grounding cord, taking with it any “dis-ease” or negativity.


Begin as above, but instead create a cord attached to the bottom of each foot. Visualize earth energy moving gently up towards you through these cords. Feel it enter your feet and begin to rise up into your body until it has filled you completely. This energy will feel thick and relaxing. Try this meditation when you feel over-stimulated, stressed, or have trouble sleeping.


SEKHMET: Goddess of the Sun, Destruction, and Healing

In my practice as a spiritual medium and energy healer, I was invited to participate in energy clearing at a private home. Unexplainable events in this home were causing harm to the people living there. This article is written from the point of view of the Egyptian Goddess Sekhmet, as embodied in a statue. This statue had been “collected” and brought from Egypt to the United States—evidentially against the will of the deity living in the seemingly inert, wooden idol.

Magic and the supernatural were important aspects of ancient Egyptian spirituality, and sacred rituals played an important role in temple life. Through the process of chanting and invocation, idols made of various materials were imbued with the energy of various deities and then worshipped.

Healing of the type described here likely comes under the category of “soul retrieval,” although I do not understand entirely how “soul fragments,” such as those described here, become earthbound. I can only say that everyone involved in this “liberation” felt great joy at being able to help Sekhmet and the others return to the light of the higher dimensions.


goddess of the sun, destruction, and healing. Once known as the fiercest of all goddesses, I brought disease and plague to many, but I am also a master of medicine and healing. I am the daughter of Ra, created when his eye looked upon the earth. My husband is Ptah, the God of Creation and Wisdom—my son Nefertum, the God of Sunrise. Devoted friend of the pharaoh, I protected him in war.

So look upon my countenance with caution and reverence, because I am the Powerful One, a goddess with the face of a lion. You can read my name in the Book of the Dead, for I am both creative and vicious.

But alas, one vital spark of myself, my soul, has been trapped in a room filled with dust and stagnation. Here, nothing lives. Having been carried from my native land and brought to this place, I am unable to free myself—to free the spark, the energy, the lost aspect of my total self and reunite with the whole that is my eternal, complete consciousness.

At times, I am consumed with grief and I rage at my captors. Gathering my remaining strength, I allow my power to burst forth against them, although I take no pleasure in their suffering. I know only that I was created to be worshipped with singing and dancing, but here there is no worship, no ceremony, only boredom and sadness.

There are others also trapped in the room. The two enormous, painted warrior gods from the east, like me, cannot perform their intended function, which is to protect their masters. They appear ferocious with bulging eyes and hanging tongues, but really they are mischievous buffoons who are always talking nonsense. There are dozens of smaller deities and one empty sarcophagus. All of us desire liberation.

* * *

One day as I was lost in my revere, I heard the door open and observed as three humans entered. They were new to me, and they brought with them a bright golden energy field that surrounded and permeated their bodies.

They formed a triangle in the center of the room, two women and one man, and they began to pray and invoke their personal Gods. Then they walked slowly around the room. They seemed to be searching for something, or someone, and I wasn’t sure what to think of it. One of the women came and stood in front of me—but she was too close. She seemed lacking in respect, so I looked her in the eye and gave her my darkest stare. Then I shoved her so hard she nearly fell over backwards.

They returned to the middle of the room, and after some discussion they created a crystal-blue energy vortex shaped like a cylinder. Then they began to encourage the spirits in the smaller statuary to jump into it and “go to the light.” Many of the spirits started to leave. They were ecstatic at the opportunity to be liberated from the room. I watched them as they jumped into the vortex like happy children jumping into a pool of water.

Next, the humans began talking to the two larger beings from the east. After a few minutes, these spirits also came out of the statues that held them. At first, they moved cautiously toward the vortex. Then they jumped into it and embraced each other, laughing with delight as they slowly rose together, up and out of the room.

It was all starting to get very interesting. After everyone had entered the blue light and left, the two women came and stood in front of me—this time at a respectful distance. They again created a column of beautiful blue light. They encouraged me enter it and leave of my own free will, and I understood their intention was sincere. They were creating a doorway, a vehicle for me to return to the totality of my true self, that which is called “Sekhmet.”

Feeling safe in their presence, I stepped out of the wooden statue that had been my prison and showed myself to them as a young woman of transcendental beauty.

I approached the vortex of light. But before entering and ascending, I smiled at the woman I had previously shoved—because of her generous heart and because she had assisted in the liberation and healing of my spirit.

Finally, I stepped into the blue energy. As I began to rise, I heard a soft humming and felt a pleasant, soothing vibration. I felt myself moving faster and faster, until there was no more movement and I awoke in a sparkling green and peaceful place. There, I met many others who were filled with joy to see me again, and I knew I was finally home.


THE TENTH LIFE OF MR. FLUFFY: A Feline Healing in the Fifth Dimension

“Mr. Fluffy” was a Himalayan cat with long white hair and gorgeous blue eyes who lived with us for seven years. I called him my “angel boy” because he was so ethereal, so much more than a mere cat. Sometimes I imagined he was a higher soul who had taken a feline body because of some past-life karma we had together.

Unfortunately, he was quite naïve. As a kitten, he fell off the roof chasing a blue jay, and he contracted liver flukes from drinking the outdoor bird water. He didn’t seem to understand that there were people and other animals in the world that might do him harm, and this made him prone to getting in trouble. In the spring of 2007, he was attacked by a feral cat and contracted the feline version of AIDS (called FIV). He died three months later, despite all attempts to save him.

Even though I am clairvoyant and do a form of energy healing from the Philippines called “magnetic healing,” I was unable to change the course of Mr. Fluffy’s final illness. But the situation did bring us into deeper telepathic communication. Even before he passed, Mr. Fluffy told me that after his body died he would stay with me in spirit. He would be one of my Spirit Guides when I do clairvoyant readings and healing with other animals. He said being in spirit would be much easier, because then he would be pure light and wouldn’t have to deal with the urges of his feline body. As a cat, he had always had a hard time controlling himself.

After he was gone, my telepathic communication with him became even stronger, although it wasn’t always a positive experience. Two weeks after he died—while I was holding Buster, one of our other cats—I felt an energetic wave of loneliness and remorse moving towards me. It was Fluffy’s Spirit. Perhaps he was observing me with Buster, and it made him realize how much he missed me. I had the sense that he was stuck in some sort of “spiritual limbo,” but that someone was telling him it was time to “go to the light.”

At first, I didn’t know what to say or do, but then I started telling Buster, “You can be my number one and a half, but never Number One, because Fluffy will always be my Number One.” I wanted to communicate to the Spirit of Mr. Fluffy that no one could ever take his place.

Sensing it was time for our final goodbye, I lay down on my healing table with Mr. Fluffy’s photo held to my chest. I felt him in spirit as he lay down, too, for one final “heart hug.” At this point, it definitely felt like another a spirit—one that was vibrating at a very high level—was directing everything.

The Spirit of Mr. Fluffy sat upright on my chest and looked at me for a moment. Then I felt the cord between us at the heart chakra level being pulled out. It was extremely painful, both emotionally and physically. I could hardly believe how much it hurt. I began to weep from the pain, but also relief because I knew that now we could both move on.

As his Spirit began to slowly move away from me, I sensed he was holding the hand of an enormous angel, who was guiding him towards the light. He turned once and looked back at me, and then they were gone.

As I continued to cry, I felt my Spirit Guide come towards me as a ray of rose-colored light. He pressed his energetic hand into my heart, as if to close up the wound left by the cord removal. I understood this because I do the same thing for my human clients after removing an energetic cord. My chest became quite warm from my Spirit Guide’s energy, and then I felt him patting my head until I stopped crying.

Seven months later, during meditation, I asked God to show me where the Spirit of Mr. Fluffy had gone. Almost instantly, I was in a place that can only be described as “animal heaven.” It was filled with iridescent crystal light and appeared in the form of a beautiful, colorful garden. There were no human souls there, but rather thousands of different kinds of animals, who were engaged in active play. They were running and laughing, and when they jumped they would rise up fifteen feet into the air, as if free from the constraints of gravity. It was the most incredible thing I’ve ever seen (in any dimension!).

There was just SO MUCH JOY!

Then I noticed the Spirit of Mr. Fluffy, and he wasn’t doing so well. He appeared sunken into himself and filled with sadness. His head was down on his paws and his eyes were closed. I sensed that he had no idea where he was, and that he was feeling sorry for himself. Perhaps he felt like he had failed us (and himself) by getting into a fight that made him sick and caused his physical death.

Mr. Fluffy’s feeling tone of regret was overwhelming. I began to pray to God for help, and I talked to the Spirit of Mr. Fluffy, telling him things like: “I forgive you. It wasn’t your fault. I’m sorry for anything I did that might have hurt you. Maybe I expected too much of you.”

After a few minutes, he opened his eyes and lifted his head. The look on his face seemed to say: “Where am I?”

At this point, my attention was turned away. When I looked back at him, I saw that he was sitting up and looking around in amazement. Again, my attention I was drawn away. A moment later, I saw that now he was lying down in a full stretch and yawning, as if he was coming out of his stupor.

Finally, I observed the Spirit of Mr. Fluffy playing with another cat spirit. He was chasing his new feline friend and having the “time of his life.” At one point, he turned his head towards me, smiled, and winked. It was hard to let him go, but mostly it was a relief to see him moving into a more positive spiritual space.

Everyone knows cats have nine lives, but I was blessed to observe the “Tenth Life of Mr. Fluffy”—the life he is now living in the spiritual realm. I have had other “messages from spirit” telling me that he will come back in a new incarnation, and I remain open to this possibility. But since our Fifth Dimensional healing, I have not missed him quite so much.


About six months after Mr. Fluffy died, I began to look for him because he said he would try to come back to us. I was hoping he would be a dog, because then he might not be so vulnerable. My efforts were futile. Even though I am clairvoyant, I was too emotionally involved to be objective in finding him in a new body. Finally, in desperation, I told the Spirit of Mr. Fluffy that if he wanted to live with us again he would just have to show up in our backyard.

Another six months passed, and then one day I glanced out the kitchen door and was surprised to see a small grey bunny going nose to nose with Buster, one of our two remaining Himalayan cats. The rabbit was not much bigger than a large rat, and he could run faster than any animal I’ve ever met. We quickly gave up trying to catch him, and began canvassing the neighborhood for his possible owner. Actually, “he” could have been a “she.” We didn’t know at that point.

Approaching a house down the street, we met the husband in the driveway. “If I had my way, we’d eat that stupid bunny for dinner.” Knocking on the door, we met his wife, who tugged at her hair and screamed: “That bunny is driving me crazy. He won’t stay in his cage and I have two children and a ten-hour-a-day job. You can keep him!” The kids were staring at their mother and seemed confused.

Keep him we did, and we named him “Mr. Pickles.” At first, our other cats tried to chase him, but we were able to teach them to respect our new friend and not consider him as possible dinner. He’s been with us for two years now, and we are convinced he is Mr. Fluffy reincarnated.

For one thing, he has occasional trouble remembering where his litter box is, and although he tries hard sometimes he “misses.” He refuses to be put in a cage and has the run of the house and fenced backyard. Also, he’s in love with Buster the cat and follows him everywhere. When Fluffy was alive this relationship was reversed—Buster followed Fluffy everywhere. Well, I guess even animals create karma!

Mr. Pickles has taught us many things about how animals communicate, most of it telepathic. He looks at me and projects his thoughts. Usually it’s quite simple. For example, I was reading the paper when he nudged my foot. “What do you want?” I asked. He went to his food dish and shoved it halfway across the room with his nose. Then he looked at me and nudged my foot again. After I put food in the dish, he beamed me his little bunny “thank you.”

He also likes to play. Just today I was digging in the garden with a small tool. I looked down and there he was at my feet. He gave me a penetrating glance and began digging a small hole right next to where I was digging. Mr. Fluffy was also very much into holes, whoever was digging them, so this was another confirmation. Mr. Pickles also favors picking up the plastic dustpan and carrying it around in his teeth and chewing on shoes.

Whatever Spirit lives in Mr. Pickles, we take great pleasure in having him in our lives, and we watch him closely to see what other lessons he has to teach. Perhaps someday I’ll write a book called “Everything I Need to Know I Learned From My Rabbit!”



Living on Bear Creek, we take great pleasure in watching the wildlife. A few days ago, my partner Tom came running in shouting, “Beaver! Beaver in the river!” He grabbed his binoculars and raced to the back window.

I grew up in a big city and thought beavers were ancient, extinct creatures seen only in picture books. I was shocked to actually see one in my backyard.

She was standing in the water on her hind legs, reaching for leaves on a tree that had fallen across the creek. Through the binoculars, I could see her chubby, brown belly and her tiny little hands carefully picking the leaves and stuffing them into her mouth. After she had eaten everything she could reach, she let go and floated down the river.

The image of the beaver stayed with me all that day and into the next. It felt like a gift meant to be treasured. I kept telling myself: Don’t forget the beaver. Hold on to the image of her in your mind.

But Mother Nature was not done with us. The next day, a pair of Canadian geese landed within view. First they had a fight, although Tom said they might have been mating. The male stood in the river, while the female flew up high and perched in a tree. She seemed to be posing for us. They were both perfectly, utterly still and silent. Then the female flew down to join the male and they also floated down the creek. Tom said he had been knocked over by a goose at age five, so for him it was no big deal. But I had never seen geese except flying overhead honking, a form of communication I’ve always hoped to understand.

A few days later, we observed a Blue Heron sitting on a rock in the middle of the creek. It was so close to us that binoculars were not necessary. After a brief respite, the majestic bird spread its enormous wings and flew gracefully past us, flying about two feet above the water. It seemed to be gliding on the air currents created by the movement of the water.

More time passed, and one morning we discovered most of our smallest cherry tree was missing. Gone! I blinked and, yep, the tree was not there. We examined the sliced trunk and wondered: Who sawed down our tree? Do we have an angry neighbor? Closer examination revealed obvious tooth marks and we realized the beaver was the culprit.

Then we noticed the strawberries had been decimated! Chewed down to the ground. Why, just the other day, I was bragging about my foot-high berry patch, telling everyone “Living on Bear Creek is like living at Findhorn in Scotland, where the vegetables are gigantic.”

We have come to understand the phrase “busy as a beaver,” because our nocturnal visitor has also severely pruned the roses in our front yard and tested one branch of an English Laurel bush. She must have decided she didn’t like the taste of the laurel, because she left the branch on the ground. Fortunately, she hasn’t touched the lilacs or the broccoli.

Many lessons can be learned from living on a river. Perhaps it’s about floating—simply flowing with life—or giving up pride in possessing a beautiful garden. In the end, I decided to make peace with “our” adorable Backyard Beaver and allow her to take from us whatever she needs to sustain herself. We can always buy strawberries at the grocery store.