Leap of Faith

In June 2010, I decided to take another leap of faith.  I had been steadily experiencing more and more psychic awareness, and I decided to finally do something about it.  Over the previous six months I had been accumulating teachers and advisers and other loving beings who saw that I was clueless about this transformation and had taken me in.  I had stumbled upon a reiki master, a few mystics and a psychic adviser, all of whom sensed both my fear and my potential.  My spiritual awareness was gaining magnitude as I struggled to make sense of all of the newness, as well as all of the trials and tribulations.  It felt like I had been thrown on a roller coaster with no breaks; my only job was to hang on and go with it.

And go with it, I did, up to a Buddhist retreat deep in the Santa Cruz mountains.  I was taking part in a five-day course headed by my dear friend and spiritual advisor, Julie McNulty.  As my boyfriend drove me up the dark winding road, he expressed his concerns.

“Is this a cult?” he asked.

“No,” I said, resolutely, but not quite sure I believed that.

“Well, you’re not going to shave your head or anything, are you?”

“No!” I yelled, trying to sound offended, but pretty sure I was only sounding more and more terrified.

As we approached the retreat, his skeptical glances intensified to full-blown, glaring disbelief.  I’m almost certain he contemplated leaving me there and never coming back for me; at that point, I’m not sure I would have really blamed him.

After he had lugged my bags up to my room, and kissed me good-bye, I watched the car drive away and tried to suppress a panic attack.  What in God’s name was I doing there?  Doubt crept in and settled deep in my chest.  “Maybe I really am just crazy,” I thought to myself.  “No one can really do this stuff. And who goes to a class to figure it out?”  I felt like I was entering the dicey territory occupied by 1-900 “psychic operators” who lie in wait to prey upon the weak-minded solely for “entertainment purposes.”

I thought about leaving then and there.  But I didn’t have a ride.  And my cell phone didn’t work in the mountains.  And the fees were paid.  I was stuck. Damn.

So, I decided that, for lack of a better plan, I should just give myself over to the process.  If it turned out I was actually crazy (or if it was a cult), at least I wouldn’t know anyone and I could go home in five days and pretend it never happened (so long as I steered clear of any spiked kool-aid).  However, that was far from what unfolded.  As soon as I sat down that first night after a meal of organic, vegan lasagna, to meditate with the group, it was as though the shades were lifted and I could see clearly for the first time.  And it wasn’t terrifying, it was beautiful.

But then I remembered I had been before to this beautiful open expanse of psychic awareness.  In 1995, in my Presbyterian church-going years, my youth group attended a massive youth retreat in Indiana.  I don’t recall what the over-all purpose of the event was, only that it was the first time I had my heart broken and the first time I had ever meditated.  The subject of the heart-break is inconsequential, but the meditation acted like a touch stone.  I remembered, 15 years previously, I sat in a dark room with 7 other brooding adolescents.  We were each given a lump of green play dough and instructed to sit quietly and let images come to us.  Then we were to sculpt the image that came to mind.  I remember sitting there, going deeper and deeper into my consciousness and feeling like I was on the brink of a great void.  What is perhaps the most ironic thing about this experience was that, in spite of all of the bible-thumping, it was the single most spiritual experience I had ever had.  Clearly, knowing a generic God was the only objective of our youth group “Spiritual Advisors.”  I doubt they would have approved of my communing with the vast Universe in such a fashion, as was demonstrated by their droll scientific explanation of mediation later on.

Indeed, the meditation of my 30s is not at all like the drudgery of mediation in my youth.  Now messages, faces, times and places morph out of the void to tell a story of the person for whom I am reading.  Angels, aliens, loved ones and ascended masters move closer from beyond the void to deliver messages and healing.  It is a gratifying experience.

I will never forget the first reading I gave while I was up in that Buddhist Retreat.  After several long and arduous days of pushing myself farther and farther, I sat down with my new friends to practice our skills.  One woman, who I had felt particularly drawn to immediately asked me to try to communicate with her relatives.  I felt completely daunted by this task.  Not only was she the first person to ever ask me so blatantly, but I could literally see dozens of her dead family members standing behind her trying to talk to me simultaneously.  This was truly trial by fire. But slowly, and with increasing detail, her long-dead brother began to speak to me.  Between the two of them, one living, the other dead, I was told an amazing story of family, love, betrayal and, ultimately, healing.  The power of the information that I was able to translate from the spiritual realm to the living for my friend brought her profound relief.  And at that point I understood.  This isn’t about me or what I can do for “entertainment purposes.” Psychic awareness is about the ability to bridge the physical and the spiritual and bring forward information and experiences for the highest good of all involved.  What I can do is help people consciously raise their own psychic awareness by giving them information that they previously never had access to.  I can help them reconnect to their source, their purpose and the unconditional love of the Universe.



In late 2007, I was a hot mess.  Trapped in a sham of a relationship, owning real estate I didn’t want and driving cars I couldn’t afford, I consistently sought the trappings of a “normal” life.  If I had these things, then it meant I was living up to the benchmarks of normalcy, and that everything would be ok.  You don’t need to be psychic to realize that this was ridiculous rationale.

But the false exterior barely hid the suffering within.  I was waking up in cold sweats in the middle of the night, often screaming.  I drank constantly and escaped to a fantasy land where life was easy and pain was non-existent.  I looked older than I was, I acted like a zombie and lost my temper frequently; I was not the person I thought I would be, or even someone I liked very much.

And then on a warm day in February, I walked away from it all.  Everything.  My relationship, my house, my cars, my cats.  Everything.  I started over from scratch and built my life my way, on my terms, with a man who was all too happy to let me do this.  And we built a life together.  For all of our insecurities and pre-existing neuroses, we did a pretty good job, until we didn’t.  And then I jumped again.

There is a larger theme, here: one of trust and rebirth.  This is the first time in my life I listened to what I truly wanted.  I was in so much pain and so damaged, I leapt out of my old life more out of desperation than anything else.  But I leapt in a direction that called me and to a life that made sense for me.  From that one act, from recognizing plainly what I wanted from what I didn’t want, I wanted to construct a life founded on truth and on love.  And this paved the way for still more miracles, most importantly the miracles of forgiveness and acceptance.

These miracles came in funny packages, however.  In 2009, having thought that the worst was behind me, I was experiencing what I can only describe as a nervous breakdown.  I was hearing, seeing and feeling things that, frankly, scared the crap out me.  I knew that there must be more to the story than simple case of anxiety.  Out of desperation, again (noticing a theme?), I frantically sought answers.  I finally connected with a psychic medium who, graciously, assured me I was not nuts – I was “waking up.”  Over the next year, I gave myself over to the process.  I’ve met some really wonderful people along the way, and developed some pretty amazing gifts.

And what’s more, I am no longer denying any part of myself.  I am standing fully and resolutely in own space with my own truth.  Just as it should be. Oh, and don’t worry, I got my cats back.  A fairy tale ending all the way around.

The Beginning

I’m not really sure how it all began, or from where these unconventional talents manifested.  I don’t remember a time when I wasn’t different, but I remember when I first realized it.  Up until about the age of ten, I was  terrified to think bad things about other people.  First of all, because I was terrified of Jesus (more on that, later), and second, because I thought that people could hear my thoughts and feelings, just as I could hear theirs.  Slowly, over the course of mild childhood traumas, I began to realize that Jesus wasn’t paying attention and “normal” people couldn’t hear other people thinking or feel others’ emotions.  Almost as soon as I recognized I was different, I began “un-learning” all of the things that made me different, so that I could cope and fit in.

But these suppressed talents of mine wouldn’t be suppressed as easily as I hoped.  They kept cropping up in unusual ways.  Most striking, was through my imagination.  My imaginary world was my private refuge, but it also provided fertile ground for psychic manifestations. To this day, I couldn’t tell you if the creatures and playmates of my childhood were figments of my imagination or something… else.

And then, there were my dreams. They were almost always precognitive, or predicted future events.  I walked around in a perpetual state of deja-vu, knowing that whatever was happening in my waking life, I had already seen in my dreams. Even now, my dreams remain portents of the future.

I carried on this way throughout adolescence and early adulthood ignoring a major part of myself.  I never talked about it, and I never allowed myself to think about it.  I developed unhealthy coping mechanisms, too.  Alcohol and drugs were my favorite, but I also threw myself into destructive relationships.  By denying such an important part of myself as a person, I cut myself off from my truth and from Source.  These distractions were shallow substitutions for the love and acceptance I craved.

And then something unexpected happened.  In my late twenties, I found myself in a life that I hated, desperate to escape.  Well, this can’t have been that surprising; I had essentially been ignoring half of what I needed to be happy.  Out of sheer desperation and despair, I jumped.  I simply just walked out of my life and into the void of the unknown.  But it was in that moment of leaping without looking, of trusting that whatever was out “there” was better than what I was in, that I learned to trust.  I could trust myself, and I could trust that the universe would simply just catch me.

This was the beginning of a spiritual journey that has consumed me.  Since then, I am happily accepting all aspects of myself.  The psychic and the mundane, the spiritual and the human.