My Life Across the Table: Stories From a Psychic's Life Page 2

  My Aunt Dorothy was a reader for over fifty years. She gave readings to long term private clients, as well as opening one of the first metaphysical centers in Los Angeles. Aunt Dorothy’s tool was what are called “billets .” They are questions written on a small piece of paper and sealed in an envelope. The reader holds the envelope, never reading the question until after it is answered. It’s what Johnny Carson’s character “Carnac” spoofed on his show. Only when Aunt Dorothy picked up an envelope with a question in it, she really did know the answer, and if she made a prediction, you could count on it.

  I watched her pick up those little envelopes a thousand times over the years, making accurate predictions about divorces, jobs, unexpected pregnancies sometimes to the surprise, and always the delight of the client. I loved watching her work, effortlessly pulling “psychic rabbits” out of her hat. She had always been completely at home with her gift, and never ceased to amaze me. She understood my ongoing wistful wonder of, “Oh, Aunt Dorothy, I wish I could do that.”

  She always reassured me, no matter how many times I said it. With a mischievous smile, she softly patted my hand, “Don’t worry Sweetheart, your day will come,” adding a tender squeeze for emphasis.

  I was born serious, and thought deeply about everything, so starting early in life I repeatedly heard, “Don’t worry Sweetheart, just remember, “Man Plans and God UnPlans.” Those simple, yet profoundly true words became indelibly etched upon my heart, to become the greatest advice my mother ever gave me.

  When I was about eight years old I was having lunch with my mother at our dining room table when she asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up. I thought about the question for quite a while, carefully examining all of my choices, before putting my wishes into words. Even at my tender age, I understood how the power of words and choice could impact a life. I knew words carried within them, the innate ability to love you or hurt you, so throughout my life I have been conscious to choose my words with great care.

  I turned everything over and over in my young mind, finally coming to a decision about my future. With the naiveté and drama that only a small child can possess, I announced my carefully thought out decision to my mother, “Mommy, when I grow up if I can touch just one person’s life and make it better, then I could die tomorrow and I would be happy.”

  My mother knew how serious those words were in my small world, and as much as I could comprehend them, she knew I meant every word. She also knew that I was a little girl that nurtured many big dreams.

  I was such an odd ball in elementary school, because I was the weird quiet girl that just “knew stuff.” I was forever picked on and bullied, yet would never fight back for myself, but God help the bullies if they attacked one of the other kids, or went after one of the teachers. That was when I would step out of my shell, with boxing gloves on.

  Only an altruistic little girl like me would believe I could protect people by becoming a lawyer. Yes, this is where you laugh. You see I thought that lawyers could just magically put away the bad guys, and that the job of a lawyer was to protect the innocent.

  Please remember, I was only eight years old. Though I must confess, I quite naively nurtured that dream, well into adulthood.

  Of course, I hadn’t lived any of those realities yet, so for a couple of years from about eight to ten, I consciously thought of myself as the normal one in my family. The one that didn’t possess the abilities and gifts exhibited by almost everyone I knew, and because I was the normal one, I would have a normal job, and become a lawyer.

  During this time I became conscious of something else, I would be having, a normal, casual conversation with someone, never realizing that I had said something personal to them. Something they had never revealed. Not until I saw the look on their face, did I realize that I must have done it again. I must have said something that I clearly had no right to know.

  This was my normal, everyday life, and most of the time I never thought that any of it was unusual or strange. I was too young to comprehend what the word “psychic” actually meant, or the responsibilities that come along with it.

  Though I was still a child, I possessed a clear understanding of the power of words, and could certainly see, and feel, the impact my words were having on others. I hadn’t lived enough to understand exactly what this was, or the impact of it on my life, and on those around me, though I could definitely see the reaction people had when I spoke to them. They were either intrigued, or frightened by a child with deeply personal knowledge of their life. How could a little girl possibly know that their husband had just lost his job, or that their mother-in-law was in the hospital with diabetes related issues?

  I began to realize that I was making people uncomfortable. What I saw came out effortlessly in conversation, never feeling even slightly uncomfortable to me, but clearly it was to others. I briefly thought that maybe I was losing my mind.

  The things I knew about people were personal, and came to me clearly, and in great detail. Sometimes it was what someone was going through emotionally or physically in life, and at other times it was predictive in nature.

  One day my mother’s friend, Linda came by for lunch. From the moment she walked in the door, she was talking about how excited she was to have gotten her first brand new car. I was very happy for her, and though I heard what she said, all I could see in my mind, were the tires. I had a terrible feeling that there was a serious problem with the left front tire on her brand new car.

  I grew up in a pretty open-minded home for the 1960’s, and now, when I think about naturally being a part of my mother’s friendships was the way I had been raised, I realize how progressive my mother really was. She was very big on us learning respect, and though she was open minded that was taught hand-in-hand alongside the children “should be seen but not heard” rule. Because I was relatively articulate for a small child, and never really spoke baby talk, my mother’s friends always included me in on their conversations.

  The foreboding feeling I had about Linda’s tire needed to be dealt with and I knew I had to find a way to tell her without alarming her, or upsetting my mother. I couldn’t get it off my mind, and didn’t say anything until she was almost out the front door. Standing next to my mother as Linda gave me a goodbye hug, I said, “Linda, I know this sounds crazy, but before you get back on the freeway, will you please have your left front tire checked?”

  She smiled to reassure me, “Oh, it’s a brand new car, Karen. Thank you, but there’s nothing wrong with the tires.”

  I was a little girl and knew that at that moment, she wasn’t taking me seriously. She couldn’t feel the sense of urgency rising within me, and though I knew I couldn’t force her, I had to keep trying. I asked her to please listen, just to stop and have it checked. I pleaded with her repeatedly, until she finally gave in, promising me she would stop at the gas station around the corner, before going home.

  The phone rang about thirty minutes later. Linda was at the gas station having the left front tire changed. They found a big bulge on the inside of the tire wall, one that couldn’t be seen with the naked eye. They told her if she had gotten on the freeway with it, she would have had a blow out.

  Because my mother spent the majority of her time in a professional environment, she didn’t easily share what she intuitively knew about people. Under normal circumstances, I would usually just say what I felt and saw, unless it was one of my mother’s friends, and out of respect for my mother and her friends, I would think twice before saying anything.

  Sometimes I would just blurt things out, and I used to say, “If it was in my head it came out of my mouth.” It is especially funny to me now, because I am so protective of people’s privacy, but at the time I didn’t possess the maturity to realize how sensitive some of these issues were. I was also too young to realize that just because I knew something, didn’t mean that I had to blurt it out.

  During that same period, I started experiencing, what I now call, “Breakthrough Headache
s” that could sometimes last for three weeks. They were pretty frightening, and appeared to come out of nowhere. My mother took me to every doctor, for every possible test, but they could find nothing. The doctors said, there was no medical reason for these torturous headaches, and finally pronounced that they must be migraines.

  They were excruciating, yet I became very aware that after every “Breakthrough Headache ,” some new element, or part of my gift would open up within me and present itself. I experienced them on a relatively regular basis for the better part of thirty years. Now I get them occasionally, and when I do, I understand that another part of my gift is about to present itself.

  I feel these headaches are Gods way of saying, “Pay attention, Karen!” and He reveals a new element of my gift, when He knows I am ready.

  When I was ten, it dawned on me that I truly was my mothers’ daughter, and just like her, I too, just “knew stuff” about people, except I never had to stop and think about it. It was, and is always there.

  By the time I was eleven, though it was still a confusing time for me, this odd gift of mine at least had a name. I was psychic. A lifetime of just knowing things, and several years of terrible headaches didn’t mean that I was losing my mind, and there was definitely nothing wrong with me. I realized that God had entrusted me with a very precious gift and I needed to figure out what to do with it, and how I could utilize it to help people.

  By the time I finished elementary school, I had to acknowledge that this uncanny, laser-like way I had of knowing in detail, a person, their intentions, and what was going to happen in their life was the most obvious manifestation of my gift.

  With every passing year my abilities became clearer, stronger, and strikingly more pronounced, while new ones that I never knew I had, like healing, opened up when I was ready.

  I found that the more accepting and comfortable I became with my gifts, the broader they became. My clairaudience, or psychic hearing, became crisp and clear. I realized my clairsentience, the ability of touch, or to tap into a person’s energy, feelings and emotions, and claircognizance, the sense of knowing and certainty, became dramatically clearer and well defined. The details that show up in a client’s reading are forever astounding to me.

  What I didn’t know at the time was that it was only the beginning of my journey, and I was finding my way. A great peace came into my heart when I finally accepted that I had always just been this way. I finally admitted that being psychic, truly was like breathing for me, and fully embraced my gift.

  Though I grew up around highly developed psychic energy my entire life, they were family. It had taken the better part of my childhood to acknowledge that I was psychic, because my gifts had manifested very differently than my mother, sister or aunt, and to realize that I had been openly, and actively psychic, since I was three years old. They knew that when I stopped fighting my true nature, and truly accepted that I was simply born this way, God would know, and the universe would respond and help me find my way.

  My self-acceptance opened up the world of other readers to me. Almost immediately, I was introduced to a group of other psychics, and found comfort and acceptance only reading for them because I felt that aside from my family, they were the only ones that understood.

  Every Psychic is eventually led to the tools that help them channel their work. A tool they are “psychically” comfortable working with.

  I have discovered over the years that the tool chest of a Psychic can hold many different things, and can be almost anything. They are what we focus on, to decipher what we are seeing and feeling. Some readers utilize tarot cards, others use crystals, and some stare into a crystal ball.

  My tool of choice is “Psychometry.” The literal definition of “Psychometry” is: “divination of facts concerning an object or its owner through contact with, or proximity to the object,” or my personal definition, “vibrations carried through an object.”

  In my case it can be a piece of jewelry, keys, a photograph, a business card, a person’s voice, or simply the vibration carried within a name.

  The group of other readers kept urging me to read professionally, to read for clients, but I wasn’t comfortable doing that until I understood. It took two-and-ahalf years before I felt that I understood my purpose and agreed to see my first client at the age of fourteen.

  That was many years and many, many thousands of readings ago, and I am forever grateful that God heard the prayer of a shy eight year old little girl, and unplanned my life.

  I know that the “perception” of what I do, still makes some people uncomfortable, and scares others, but that has certainly never been my intention.

  I do not force my work on anyone, nor do I try to convince anyone that I am psychic. Nor do I ever just walk up to people and start making predictions, and last but not least, by the time I was about fourteen, I no longer felt the need to simply blurt things out.

  I have a very powerful and peaceful relationship with God. I have not an ounce of conflict within me when it comes to my work, and I am very clear that this is without question, the work that God planned for my life.

  If the day ever comes that God no longer wants me to give readings, and wants me to become a house painter, I promise you, I will be at Home Depot buying brushes the next morning.

  2

  Absolute Destiny

  I had happily been giving readings professionally for more than fifteen years, when suddenly, in 1981 and through a very odd set of circumstances, I found myself owning, and running a bakery.

  My husband, at the time, was a very talented architect and builder, and in the spring of 1981 he had taken on a project to design and build a boutique bakery in Beverly Hills. He asked me to help and divided up the project, with him designing almost everything from the look and functionality of the space, to the signs. I was given the task of outfitting the kitchen, so I set about ordering custom made ovens, sinks, mixers and every piece of top

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  of the line equipment necessary to turn this little bakery into a dream.

  “The Banana Bread Box” was a beautiful little store with black and white tile checkered floors, happy yellow walls, bright green chairs with black tables, and an eyecatching sign depicting huge fiberglass bananas falling from heaven. We were close to completing construction at the end of August 1981, and with all the permits finally in place, custom built ovens and cabinets installed, the stainless steel kitchen was getting the finishing touches.

  We set up a lunch meeting and were excited to turn over the keys, knowing how happy and thrilled they would be with their beautiful bakery. Well, happy was not exactly their response, nor was thrilled. To this day I will never understand the reasoning behind their actions on that fateful afternoon.

  They had never stopped by or been around during construction, and never came by to see the progress of our work. All of a sudden over lunch, and without any explanation whatsoever, they told us they didn’t want the bakery. Out of nowhere and without warning, they had changed their mind, ate lunch and simply walked away. We were dumbstruck, and because he had never been fully paid for all of his work, or the equipment, when they walked out the door, we were left owning the bakery.

  My husband was definitely not going to run a bakery, and had so many other projects going on that I was the one suddenly thrust into running this business. Now, what was I going to do with a bakery? My mother’s wisdom quickly sprang to mind. Over the years I had watched this amazing woman, turn many a bitter situation into something very sweet. Her lifelong endeavors had earned not only my deepest respect and admiration, but also an affectionate title. I had crowned her “The Queen of Lemonade.”

  To this day I can hear her words, “Sweetheart, when God gives you lemons, you make lemonade. You can make it as sweet or as bitter as you like.”

  Well, on this particular day, I had been presented with an entire lemon grove.

  Not one to ever shy away from a challenge, I decided to dive in and make this work. I
was a good cook, and a fine baker, so how difficult could this be? The grand open

  ing was scheduled for September 11th so I had less than

  three weeks to come up with the recipes necessary to turn this into an actual functioning bakery.

  I spent the next couple of weeks in the kitchen, experimenting with all sorts of recipes, and teaching myself to adapt them for larger quantities. I suddenly found myself knee deep in flour and sugar, for this unexpected chapter in my life.

  We had named the business “The Banana Bread Box,” so I knew I had to come up with a banana bread recipe that was exceptional, and different. Since I love chocolate, I came up with an amazing chocolate chip banana bread recipe that was pretty delicious, if I do say so myself. I quickly added different varieties of ginger bread, zucchini bread, carrot cake, and a few other tasty snacks to the menu. With recipes in hand, I ordered all the supplies and quite literally became the “Psychic Baker” overnight.

  Thank God, we were immediately welcomed into the neighborhood. With a steady flow of customers eagerly enjoying my freshly baked cakes, the surprising dose of lemonade served up a few weeks earlier, had become much sweeter indeed. The recent turn of events in my life didn’t afford me the luxury of investing a lot of time thinking about why all of this had happened. I instinctively just kept sweetening the lemonade.

  The decision on that fateful day had caused quick action, and dramatic changes, now affecting every part of my life. My daily work schedule of many years had been turned upside down as I went from waking up at eight or nine in the morning to see my first client of the day, to waking up at one or two in the morning to get to the bakery.