What The Sitter Wants part 2

SO, WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU RECEIVE A READING?

When I posed the question, “What do you want from a perfect reading?” I should have realised that the question would eventually be asked of me — and it was. Fair enough, but at the time I was too busy being amazed by my colleague’s answers.
Fortunately, I’m reasonably good at thinking on my feet (even though I was sitting down) so I answered.
Like everyone else, I’m interested in which Spirit has come through, so a crisp description comes in handy. If it is an open reading (the Medium is not going directly to me), I tend to latch onto specific details. Recently, the Medium referenced sore knuckles (I had some due to a lot of typing and constant gardening), so I ‘tuned in’ and the reading was for me. This seems to be happening to me more and more — which is interesting. So now, the Medium has asked if they can come to me and I’m listening intently (my head tilts slightly when I listen intently, and my eyes glaze over when I’m not). I’m looking for physical characteristics and signs of a personality. This last one seems to be very important to me — I remember people by their personality. I listen to the words the Medium uses because I can pick up a turn of phrase that will give me a clue.
I’m a bit more tuned in than most people when it comes to readings because I participate twice a week in Circle. I’m tuned in to certain clues, and I know what to listen for. The average ‘sitter’ is under a lot more pressure than I am — they need more time to digest the information.
Most of all I want to be reminded of how good it was to know this person. I want to bask in the feeling of them. I want to hear that they remember me and I made a difference in their life. I also want to hear about what they are up to now, but this very rarely comes up in a reading, and I think this is a shame. From time to time I have experimented with bringing through a sense of what the Spirit is up to now, and it often reflects something that they loved to do when they were alive — which is very interesting to me.
When it comes to messages, I’m looking for encouragement and direction. I need encouragement on a daily basis — it’s like omega 3s, you cannot store them up, you need more each day. I like specifics in a message, and I love the message to emerge during the reading, not just at the end. I can always use a few insights as well, but I know these are rare and as everyone should, I filter the information and its value to me through the relative ability and intent of the Medium. I take some readings with a grain of salt while others are taken more seriously.

TRUST is now an AUDIOBOOK!!

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Audiobooks.com

Soon To Be An AUDIOBOOK

In very exciting news: TRUST is soon to become an audiobook.

I’ll keep you up to date, but it should be very soon. I’m sorting out a company to distribute it (in the same way that Smashwords distributes the eBook).

To show my appreciation to those wonderful souls who have purchased either the paperback version or the ebook, I will offer the audiobook at half price ($10 AUS). 

In further good news: TRUST is now available on AMAZON as a paperback!

An AK 47 & a Banana

 

This story is now part of TRUST and SLIGHTLY SPOOKY STORIES.

A bloody fingerprint on my credit card made the store clerk hesitate for a moment, but I guess he wanted to finish his shift with a minimum of fuss because he put through the transaction, handed back my card and wished me a good day, all without a single change in facial expression.

My facial expression, on the other hand, could be described as a grimace. Not the bloke in the McDonald’s commercials, but the one where you are in a lot of pain, and it has to show somewhere, even though you don’t want it to.

There was a chance that a bloody fingerprint was a part of everyday life for this bloke. Maybe, he even kept a chart of how many he encountered in a shift.

There it goes again — my mind.

Probably a side effect of losing so much blood.

It’s difficult to think clearly. Fortunately, a lot of thinking is not required. All I have to do is slow down the bleeding enough so that I am still alive at this time tomorrow. The meeting isn’t far from here, and no one takes any notice of a slightly disreputable character in this part of the city.

Melbourne is good that way; ‘big money’ and ‘down and outs’ mix freely, as long as they don’t get in each other’s way.

The bandages and gauze were enough to cover the wound, but at some stage, I was going to have to find the courage to stitch it; was not looking forward to that.

It was Sunday, and the tourists were out in force.

Lots of kids, and mums and dads.

Cameras and carry bags, giggling teenage girls and puffed up teenage boys, none of them interested in me.

Twenty-four hours is not a long time in most people’s lives, but it was to me, especially since I acquired that hole in my side.

Once it was over, if I was still standing, I was going sort out the bloke who perforated me, but till then I needed a quite place to sit.

I turned down one of the myriads of laneways that criss-cross Melbourne and I come across a sign that said the Conan Doyle Society was meeting for an afternoon of mediumship. The sign gave a start time, but I had no idea what time it was because my wristwatch was lying in pieces not far from where the fight started.

There seemed to be a bit of activity, so I entered.

The building was ancient, and I passed through an open doorway — crafted about hundred and fifty years ago.

The walls were brick, and there was a faint smell of dust in the air.

“Don’t worry about the dusty smell. It will dissipate in a little while. The building only gets used on Sundays. Ghosts play here during the week.” The lady who told me this was about sixty years old with a smile that suggested that she had left a trail of broken hearts in her wake in her younger days, and now, for all I knew.

The windows of the building were vaulted and filled with clear leadlight. The floors were Baltic Pine, and the plethora of humanity that had trodden on them had sculptured them into hills and valleys around the tight knots in the wood.

Timeworn padded chairs were being laid out in rows by helpers who looked as old as the building itself.

A tiny lady, who was not much bigger than the chair she was carrying, said to me, “Sit here young fellow. You’ll get a good view. You look like you could use a good ‘sit down’. You sit here, and I’ll get you a cup of tea.”

“You haven’t got something stronger than tea, have you, lady?”

“No, but I know how you feel. I could go a good snort myself.”

I laughed, and my side hurt.

The cup of tea had milk and about four sugars in it. I didn’t mind.

The chairs continued to come out through a small door, the same door that the cup of tea had come through and I wondered how many more rooms there were to this place.

Within a little while, the hall filled up with people and soon, none of the forty-odd chairs was empty.

Before the cup of tea and the kilo of sugar, I had been feeling quite sleepy, but now I was wide awake.

The lady running the show stepped to the microphone, which I had not noticed and welcomed us all.

She gave a particular welcome to all the ‘newcomers’ and looked directly at me. She introduced the two people seated behind her and gave their names, but I was not taking much notice.

She mentioned that this group had been meeting for about one hundred and twenty years, under various names, and that its current name dated from a visit by the renown author at the turn of the previous century.

A few people nodded, and the tiny lady who had supplied my cup of tea said something out loud and the woman at the microphone agreed with her.

Things were getting interesting.

The lady sitting next to me didn’t seem to mind that I looked like I’d been in a fight; which I had.

The speaker introduced one of the people behind her, a Trevor someone, and he spoke to the assembled crowd.

He walked across to one side of the hall and asked a woman if she would like a reading. She said yes, and the fun began.

Trevor described a man in fine detail and asked the woman if she recognised this person. She promptly burst into tears, and a box of tissues appeared out of nowhere. Trevor gave her a moment to compose herself, and then he went on with a bit more description and ended with a message. “The gentleman wants you to know that it is okay with him if you want to get married again, and could you please make sure that the rose bushes get pruned.”

The proceedings went on for more than an hour, and the two people on the platform took turns to read for various members of the audience.

I was enjoying myself, but the ‘over the counter’ painkillers were beginning to wear off, and I had a monster headache.

I was feeling sorry for myself when I realised that this Trevor character was speaking to me. “May I come to you, sir? Yes, you, the gentleman with the coat and the upturned collar.”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

“Can you speak up sir, so the audience can hear you, also I’m a bit hard of hearing.”

“YES, I GUESS SO. Knock yourself out.”

“Thank you, sir. May I have your name?”

“It’s Sam.”

“Thank you, Sam. I have a woman with me; she’s presenting in her late sixties wearing men’s work clothes, and she has grey hair. Can you place such a person?”

“Not at the moment, but I had a girlfriend who looked like that a few years back.” I enjoyed the laughter from the audience, but Trevor only smiled.

“She’s carrying an AK47 in one hand and a banana in the other. Can you place that?”

A cold shiver went down my back.

“Yes, I think I can.” I was in shock.

“She’s wearing Army boots, and one of them is laced with string. She says that she always carried a banana because she never knew how long it would be between meals. She wants you to know that the wound in your side will result in your death if you don’t have it seen to today.”

Trevor stopped talking, and every eye in the hall turned in my direction.

Trevor continued. “This lady is telling me that killing people is not the way. Even though she was defending her country against invasion, nothing good came of killing the soldiers that came under her sights. She says that she has met up with them, ‘over there’ and they have made their peace. The soldier who killed her has done the same. She wants you to know that love is the only way. If you try to hold out, without treatment, to make that meeting tomorrow, you will die from your injuries. Oh, and she said that you should eat more bananas and ring your dad once in a while. Can I leave that with you, Sam?”

“Yes, you can, and thank you.”

I’m not sure why I thanked him; it just seemed like the right thing to do.

The meeting disbanded, and food appeared out of nowhere, and conversation broke out in several places.

The chairs disappeared as fast as they had arrived and we all stood around eating cake and drinking tea.

I was probably half dead at this stage, but I have to say that those were the best scones and jam and cream I have ever tasted.

I found Trevor and told him about my ancestor who had valiantly and vainly fought the Soviet invasion of her country in 1956. I wasn’t born yet, but family legend had her name up in lights. My ancestors were mostly ordinary people living ordinary lives, except for the convicts who started our line here in Australia; and then there was Maria, the freedom fighter.

Sixty-three years of age.

She could field strip and reassemble an AK47 in the dark.

The AK47 was and still is, the weapon of choice of the freedom fighter, but for all its virtues, it is not very accurate at range, but somehow Maria became the best sniper in her group.

Sadly for Maria, the Resistance was not able to hold out for very long. It was all over in a couple of days, and at the end of it all, there were only broken dreams and a family legend.

Things got a bit fuzzy after that, but I do remember waking up in the emergency ward at the Alfred Hospital.

I had become quite a celebrity.

Apparently, a diminutive older lady had carried me in on her back, saying that I needed attention for a knife wound.

She disappeared, but not before she rearranged the chairs in the waiting room.

“You’ll get more people in if you spread them out like that.”

The Triage Nurse was okay with the new arrangement, and she didn’t think that any of it was particularly strange.

I guess nurses get to see some weird shit in the course of a day.

I was laid up for a while, and I had to spin an interesting tale to get the cops off my back, but eventually, they said I could go home.

The following Sunday I went looking for that laneway, but the doors were closed, and there was no one about.

I’m not discouraged, though; I’ll go back next week and see what happens.

I get the feeling that I’ll never look at a banana or an AK47 in quite the same way, ever again.

A Long Quest

The One You Listen To

I found this while looking for another story. I wrote it a little over two and a half years ago (which is a long time ago in my Spiritual development). It’s fun to look back and read where I was at back then.

That was how he described himself ‘the one you listen to’.

I had just asked him his name.

I probably should tell you how this conversation started.

It had been a long Saturday. I’d spent the day alone, looking after my two dogs, one of which was recovering from an operation; so our usual walks were out of the question. My wife was off at a surprise birthday party for her older sister and was not due back until after midnight. I’d had a productive day, writing two good short stories. I had the open fire going, and I was sitting in a comfortable chair when I decided that this was the time.

I had been working inside the relative safety of a mediumship circle for some months, slowly developing the skills I didn’t know I had. There was always someone I could bounce off, ‘Are you getting this as well?” But now it was time to do it on my own…..’without a net’, so to speak.

I spoke out loud and asked the question, “Is there anybody there? Can anybody hear me?” The answer came straight back. “Yes, I can hear you.” This was the beginning of a long conversation with one of my guides, although ‘he’ would dispute the title… ‘I’m a messenger’. When I asked him his name, he said, “I’m the one you listen to.” Which immediately sounded like an American Indian name to me. It was an amazing sensation to have his ‘voice’ in my head. Occasionally he would answer my questions before I had finished framing them!

I, naturally, thought that I was making this all up in my head, but I put this to one side when I noticed I was getting answers I would be unlikely to frame.

I asked if he had ever been here on Earth and he said ‘no’. I asked if he was like us and he said no, he was/is one level up from us. I asked about my other guides, and he said that they come and go but he is assigned to me ‘full time’. I told him I felt sorry for him ‘being stuck with me all the time’ and he said he didn’t mind. I was having trouble getting past this point, so I asked him if he got any ‘time off’. He said “when you are asleep’, and he said it in such a way that I felt he was being kind as in ’of course I don’t hang around while you are sleeping’. I sensed a mild form of condescension.

I asked one question that I could not possibly know the answer to and within a few days, it was proved to be correct. My dog had a growth removed from his leg, and there was a possibility it was cancer. “Will my little dog be okay in the short term?” “Yes, he will”.

I wasn’t going to let this opportunity go by so other questions followed.

“Was there a spirit living in my house and were you involved in helping him to move on?”

“Yes there was, but I wasn’t involved in his relocation.”

It was at this point that I heard him say that he was a messenger, and he didn’t get involved in counselling — and I think that includes me as well.

I asked him about Trevor Evans and his work with our mediumship circles, and he said that Trevor is a good person and his work is important and will have far reaching effects.

I asked if my ‘abilities would improve and he said yes, but slowly.

I asked about the book that Trevor wanted me to write for him ‘The Boy and the White Dove.’ I’ve had a strong feeling that I was not the person who was supposed to write this book and my guide/messenger confirmed that it is Trevor who is meant to write it.

I asked if the entity [small Asian guy] who had appeared at last week’s Friday circle was my main guide [as had been described in the past]. He said ‘no’ and that my main guide was off working somewhere else at the moment.

I asked if my writing and my mediumship were connected and he said ‘yes’.

I was so excited by this encounter that I found myself laughing a lot. My messenger seemed to have a good sense of humour but his delivery was very ‘dry’. He was very patient with me, which I appreciated.

I asked if I would earn an income from writing and he said yes but that it would not be our primary source of revenue. This was good news but also annoying as my ego wants my writing to be VERY successful.

Teamwork : a dog’s tale

It is amazing what can be achieved when people work together.

This story begins last Wednesday night. Our Mediumship Circle meets in an old shopfront in Upwey. The building is one of the oldest buildings (probably the oldest) in our district so there is always plenty of ‘activity’. Spirit knows that we meet there every Wednesday night and have done so for many years. We take a break for a cup of tea at around 9:30 pm and that is when we catch up socially, so it is rare for me to go outside at this time. On this night there had been some emotional upheavals among some of the Circle members, and I was picking up the energy. I walked over to the glass front door and gazed out into the night. The street was very quiet even though there are a few restaurants nearby. The cool evening had kept the diners away. Across the road from our shop, I could see flashing lights reflected in a shop window. I stepped out into the cold expecting to see a police car, but when I looked in both directions, there was nothing to see. I looked again, and the flashing lights were still shining back at me as a reflection in the window. When I looked at the downhill side of our street I saw one of our Circle members walking toward me (smokers are the only ones outside on a cold night). Playfully, I asked her if I was going nuts and could she see the flashing, reflected lights. I had forgotten that Wednesday night is ‘practise night’ for the local CFA team, and they were in the car park at the back of the shops (on a hill), and the lights were shining through the laneway at the side of our shop. As we talked and gazed out across the street, we heard the owner of the pizza shop call out, “Is this the dog from Magpie House?” I looked in his direction and told him it wasn’t Polly. At that moment, my friend and I looked at each other with the same thought — if we don’t do something this little dog will wander off and end up being run over. We called her, and the little dog ran up the footpath and greeted us warmly. No collar and no ID. I suggested that we bring her into the Circle and I would get a lead (we always have a spare lead or two) out of my car.

With her new lead on, the little dog made herself at home and charmed ever person in the room. Her presence raised the energy, and she spread herself around, trying not to play favourites. Trevor had dog treats in his bag ( I know what you are thinking, who keeps dog treats in their bag?) so the new member of Circle was very happy.

I went looking for anyone who might be looking for her, without success. I asked the police officer at the nearby railway station to keep an eye out for anyone looking for a dog. There was activity at the cafe a few doors down so I spoke to Sue, the owner, and told her about the little dog. At first, she was concerned that it might be her dog, but this turned out to be a false alarm. Sue asked me to take some photos and send them to her, and she would put them on her cafe’s FaceBook page. We both came to the conclusion that the dog must have come from close by.

By the end of Circle, no one had knocked on our door so Trevor took the little dog home with him (I was concerned about my little dog’s reaction to a newcomer).

The next day I got a message to say that the owner had been located (she did live nearby) and a reunion had been arranged. The dog’s owner was very happy to see her 12-year-old friend and offered a reward. Having these two reunited was reward enough, but the Scotch (we split it two ways with chocolates going to the lady who helped us catch the dog) went down well.

Who doesn’t like a happy ending?

All of this was achieved because a bunch of people worked together to help out a fellow creature (and her owner).

Interestingly, my friend, who was outside the shop when all this happened, said that she had been expecting a small white dog all evening. She is very new to Mediumship, and I hope this gives her confidence in her ability. Someone (her guides? her relatives?) was telling her to expect to see a little dog — and she did!

In the few days since this all unfolded, there have been many ‘ripples in the pond’.

As I write this, a little dog is back home where she belongs, and we are left to ponder.

 

How People See Us

Recently, we’ve had the pleasure of attending a couple of evenings where a prominent author was interviewed. The surroundings were spectacular — a one hundred and seventy two year old Baptist church in the heart of Melbourne.

The sound system was not great and the seats were hard, but it was a chance to listen to someone who does what I do, only more successfully. The two evenings were an interesting contrast. The first night we attended with friends and the interviewer and the author were very entertaining (William Boyd).

The second evening we attended alone and the interviewer was terrible and the author was just short of annoying. They both spoke very fast and the majority of the audience had little chance of understanding what they were talking about. The eye opener came when the floor was opened to questions. The audience’s questions were excellent and the author responded, and for a brief moment, she became moderately interesting. We paid our money and took our chances — one very good, and one was close to a waste of time.

Both nights involved a long train ride and a bit of time in the city — both good things.

In recent times, my role in ‘platform’ work has been to be the speaker. Most Mediums dislike this job and to be honest, most are not good at it. I would always prefer to be doing ‘readings’, but I guess it is my lot to be the speaker.

I must say that most of the time I enjoy speaking, but the challenge is always, ‘what to say’. I’m not an expert on Spiritualism I just happen to be a good Medium who isn’t frightened to get up and speak in front of an audience (and I wrote a book on what it feels like to be a Medium).

I’m not like the majority of Mediums I see about the place and I’m aware that this puts me in a position of being ‘judged’ in some way, and up until now I’ve been okay with that, but just lately I’ve been hearing people’s opinion of me (if I don’t hear it out loud I tend to ignore it) and it has been wearing down my confidence.

Isn’t it interesting that we are influenced so greatly by what other people think of us.

I’ve had a few people say that they go out of their way to come along when we are on platform, but I major on the bloke who fell asleep during my talk and the people who stay away when they know I will be speaking.

I remember watching this bloke fall asleep in the back row. He slowly slid to his right and eventually disappeared from sight. Unlike the bloke in this photo, my bloke was on the end of the row, so I waited for the bang as he hit the floor. I worked out that if my talk went on for 4 more minutes he would have hit the ground, but the polite applause at the end of my talk woke him up. It is amazing what goes through your mind when you are giving a talk!

 

 

The Present

My soldier came back.

You might remember that I wrote about an encounter with a young soldier during a meditation session at Phoenix Spiritualist Centre.

On that occasion I was able to send him on his way — head him towards home. It was a profound experience for me and I have not been the same person since that day. It was a very emotional experience. I felt privileged and I went on a quest to understand what it all meant — which may sound a bit strange coming from a bloke who wrote a book called TRUST.

It is part of my nature to try and understand what is happening to me.

This incident happened just before ANZAC day and it was obvious to me that the two things were connected.

The following week we were ‘on platform’ at this venue. I told the story and it sparked a lot of interest from the audience. Several people had similar stories of helping Spirits on their way. It was touching to hear these stories and made me feel that I was part of something much bigger than myself.

The following week we were not working so we visited Phoenix again to hear a particularly good speaker. When the healing meditation started up, I was wondering if something might happen again but it passed without anything other than a peaceful meditation devoted to friends and family who need healing.

Fast forward to this last Sunday and there was another interesting speaker at Phoenix so we went along. The lady speaker was talking about sensitivity to other people when you are a psychic. This is a subject that is very close to my heart so I listened intently.

When the healing meditation kicked off, I settled in to listen and follow — it was a guided meditation. The lady giving the meditation is excellent and it had been a while since I had heard here mellifluous voice.

She got to the part of the meditation where she described a green sloping hill. In my mind, I could see a male figure standing on top of the hill. As I went further up, the figure walked towards me. It was the young soldier from a few weeks before, only this time he did not speak and he seemed very relaxed — very happy. I had the strong feeling that I have known this man in a previous life. As the woman giving the meditation talked about a huge bird flying overhead, the young soldier took off his slouch hat and lay on the grass watching the bird soaring in the sky. I too watched the bird and glanced at him from time to time. I could feel the emotion rush over me and tears formed in my eyes. I was so pleased to see him happy again.

As the meditation was winding down, the presenter talked about a gift. I didn’t see a gift, but I did notice that my soldier sat up and unbuttoned the top left pocket of his jacket. He reached in and pulled out a folded sheet of paper. He reached out and handed it to me. I unfolded it and even though I could not see the words clearly I knew that this sheet of paper contained a list of all the books I have written and am likely to write. There were a lot of them and they filled one column completely and half of the next column.

The young soldier put his hat back on, buttoned his top pocket and smiled at me. He stood up and walked to the top of the hill and out of sight as the meditation came to and end. He never looked back.

I have a feeling that I will not see him again in this lifetime and that is okay. I feel that he came back to say thank you and to give me something to encourage me on my journey. There are tears in my eyes as I write this — as I relive these moments.

I am very grateful for this experience. Each day seems to be more amazing than the next and long may it be so.

 

Trust gets raffled

On Sunday at Phoenix Spiritualist Centre, I donated a copy of TRUST to the end of the year raffle. The lady who won it waved it at me as she sat down. I think that meant that she was happy, at least, I hope so.