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Beliefs are not hard-wired. They seem like they are because by the time anyone notices something has been made "true" it's already been tattooed in black ink. But once upon an unlined time, our skin was blemish and idea-free, rosy with hope and endless possibility. That’s why every once in a while I do things that are completely the opposite of having an imprint, scaring the rigidity out of me for at least a few minutes and reintroducing myself to the blank page.
Going to see a medium or someone who "reads" a life is unnerving. If one is already wobbling, it can be a method of humorous distraction or a complete upending of the status quo. For me, like with many of my loonier enterprises, it is both.
Tequila shooters all around.
At fifty-six, I question when someone presents themselves as having abilities mere mortals aren't born with. This makes me the perfect person to pay someone to read my spiritual margarita. I'm also my own oppositional twin, so at the same time, I'm the worst person to hear what a reader says. This is the case today.
While a medium recounts what guides, angels, and the Easter Bunny have to say, I frantically write notes and make snarky comments to myself.
"Did you know there is a whole tribe of Indians following you around?"
Oh yeah, we carpool all the time.
The fortune teller is a middle-aged woman dressed appropriately in bangles, scarves, and flowing material. Her voice is not what I would expect, the pitch a cackle high C, a sound that is disconcerting when she laughs. She does this often in weird places and tosses asides about Brad Pitt and winning the lotto.
I shrug a non-committal affirmative. I'd been told a gang of invisible Natives trot beside me on numerous occasions. Apparently, this is something new for this medium, as her excitement increases as she describes them to me.
"Wow. There’s at least a dozen. Holy cow, they're all dancing and drumming. This is amazing. They’re saying you're a healer and have been for many lifetimes. They're telling me that you can feel and hear spirits."
Then they ought to talk louder.
The medium laughs.
"Oh, and you smell them."
The Bonni poop aroma.
Abruptly she switches topics.
"You have two women here, your deceased grandmothers. The paternal one is distant, but the maternal grandma wants to kiss and smoosh you close. She keeps repeating 'my little darling'."
I'm flung backward in time, with my four-year-old face buried in Grandma's breast, the smell of bacon grease and roses wafting around me. Grandma is whispering in Spanish "Mi pequenita".
"She loves you and says that she's always watching over you. Grandma also wants you to know that someone who hurt you is going to show up in your life again."
Dread pools in my belly.
"Grandma keeps repeating 'you choose'. She says that you don't have to do anything you don't want to do. There's nothing to be afraid of."
Instantly and miraculously I am not fearful. My mouth open in wonder, drool nearly drips on my t-shirt.
"Okay. Everyone is saying that you've got to stop burning the candle at both ends. You need to sleep. They want you to take better care of yourself and meditate."
No shit.
Immediately, the medium pounces on my thought.
"Hey. They're not fooling around. They know you aren't doing what you ask others to do. They want you to do this before getting burnt out. They keep saying "walk softly, stay balanced, be grounded."
Slightly chagrined, I remind myself to keep my snark volume on mute.
"Oh. This isn’t good."
The medium's hand is clutched over her left breast.
"You've got an arrow coming out of your heart. This is pain that isn't resolved."
Unintentionally I roll my eyes, remembering the aura reading and the broken heart chakra.
Here we go again.
"This isn't something to mess around with. You need to heal your heart."
I clench my teeth so I don't say something that she'll regret.
"You help people heal wounds all the time. Now you have to do this for yourself."
How about some instructions?
The reader switches gears as another spirit enters the room. Her face softens noticeably.
"Oh hello there. It's a boy, he's a little boy but has the spirit of an adult. He's your son. You had a miscarriage or did he die young?"
"He was one of a set of triplets. I lost him before the third month of pregnancy. His name is..."
"Michael. He says his name is Michael."
Tears well up as I nod my head.
"Michael says that he's always with you. He's telling me that he used to play with his brother and sister when they were little, like an imaginary friend."
The woman's head moves as she converses with what I can't see. Suddenly staring at me dead on, she speaks with resolve.
"You've got to let it go."
"What?"
"You've got to let this anger go. It's sitting there draining you. I know you have issues with forgiveness, they're showing me that, but you've got to figure out a way to move on."
I stare back without an answer.
"Is it worth losing a breast? Having a heart attack or a stroke? Is the anger more important than your health?"
I remain silent. After waiting expectantly, she accepts that I have nothing to say.
"It's better to be kind than right."
I sigh heavily. As the session ends, the medium offers me some advice.
"Look, letting anger go isn't easy. For me, it helped to think of the people who hurt me as having something like dementia or Autism. I suggest seeing them as not being able to do any better and move on."
Later in the day, I read my notes, allowing the messages to become Deb-ified. It's what I do after an interpreter downloads information for me. There's always a thin veil of someone else's stuff that needs to be dusted off so that I can see what is mine to keep.
Let go of pain.
We’re not alone.
Walk softly.
Drum loudly.
Being right is fun but being kind is better.
Yeah. Toss that last one back with a lime chaser.
Going to see a medium or someone who "reads" a life is unnerving. If one is already wobbling, it can be a method of humorous distraction or a complete upending of the status quo. For me, like with many of my loonier enterprises, it is both.
Tequila shooters all around.
At fifty-six, I question when someone presents themselves as having abilities mere mortals aren't born with. This makes me the perfect person to pay someone to read my spiritual margarita. I'm also my own oppositional twin, so at the same time, I'm the worst person to hear what a reader says. This is the case today.
While a medium recounts what guides, angels, and the Easter Bunny have to say, I frantically write notes and make snarky comments to myself.
"Did you know there is a whole tribe of Indians following you around?"
Oh yeah, we carpool all the time.
The fortune teller is a middle-aged woman dressed appropriately in bangles, scarves, and flowing material. Her voice is not what I would expect, the pitch a cackle high C, a sound that is disconcerting when she laughs. She does this often in weird places and tosses asides about Brad Pitt and winning the lotto.
I shrug a non-committal affirmative. I'd been told a gang of invisible Natives trot beside me on numerous occasions. Apparently, this is something new for this medium, as her excitement increases as she describes them to me.
"Wow. There’s at least a dozen. Holy cow, they're all dancing and drumming. This is amazing. They’re saying you're a healer and have been for many lifetimes. They're telling me that you can feel and hear spirits."
Then they ought to talk louder.
The medium laughs.
"Oh, and you smell them."
The Bonni poop aroma.
Abruptly she switches topics.
"You have two women here, your deceased grandmothers. The paternal one is distant, but the maternal grandma wants to kiss and smoosh you close. She keeps repeating 'my little darling'."
I'm flung backward in time, with my four-year-old face buried in Grandma's breast, the smell of bacon grease and roses wafting around me. Grandma is whispering in Spanish "Mi pequenita".
"She loves you and says that she's always watching over you. Grandma also wants you to know that someone who hurt you is going to show up in your life again."
Dread pools in my belly.
"Grandma keeps repeating 'you choose'. She says that you don't have to do anything you don't want to do. There's nothing to be afraid of."
Instantly and miraculously I am not fearful. My mouth open in wonder, drool nearly drips on my t-shirt.
"Okay. Everyone is saying that you've got to stop burning the candle at both ends. You need to sleep. They want you to take better care of yourself and meditate."
No shit.
Immediately, the medium pounces on my thought.
"Hey. They're not fooling around. They know you aren't doing what you ask others to do. They want you to do this before getting burnt out. They keep saying "walk softly, stay balanced, be grounded."
Slightly chagrined, I remind myself to keep my snark volume on mute.
"Oh. This isn’t good."
The medium's hand is clutched over her left breast.
"You've got an arrow coming out of your heart. This is pain that isn't resolved."
Unintentionally I roll my eyes, remembering the aura reading and the broken heart chakra.
Here we go again.
"This isn't something to mess around with. You need to heal your heart."
I clench my teeth so I don't say something that she'll regret.
"You help people heal wounds all the time. Now you have to do this for yourself."
How about some instructions?
The reader switches gears as another spirit enters the room. Her face softens noticeably.
"Oh hello there. It's a boy, he's a little boy but has the spirit of an adult. He's your son. You had a miscarriage or did he die young?"
"He was one of a set of triplets. I lost him before the third month of pregnancy. His name is..."
"Michael. He says his name is Michael."
Tears well up as I nod my head.
"Michael says that he's always with you. He's telling me that he used to play with his brother and sister when they were little, like an imaginary friend."
The woman's head moves as she converses with what I can't see. Suddenly staring at me dead on, she speaks with resolve.
"You've got to let it go."
"What?"
"You've got to let this anger go. It's sitting there draining you. I know you have issues with forgiveness, they're showing me that, but you've got to figure out a way to move on."
I stare back without an answer.
"Is it worth losing a breast? Having a heart attack or a stroke? Is the anger more important than your health?"
I remain silent. After waiting expectantly, she accepts that I have nothing to say.
"It's better to be kind than right."
I sigh heavily. As the session ends, the medium offers me some advice.
"Look, letting anger go isn't easy. For me, it helped to think of the people who hurt me as having something like dementia or Autism. I suggest seeing them as not being able to do any better and move on."
Later in the day, I read my notes, allowing the messages to become Deb-ified. It's what I do after an interpreter downloads information for me. There's always a thin veil of someone else's stuff that needs to be dusted off so that I can see what is mine to keep.
Let go of pain.
We’re not alone.
Walk softly.
Drum loudly.
Being right is fun but being kind is better.
Yeah. Toss that last one back with a lime chaser.
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