A Visit from a 911 Fireman

A Visit from a 911 Fireman

The trip to New York this week was my first visit.  While there I decided to pass on a message from a fireman who had come to me in a dream.  The fireman told me his name, the ladder he was with and that he was married, I also thought they had two kids.

On the way to the fire house, I was on the subway train sitting next to a woman who was with her mother and uncle.  We were talking and I asked her if her father had passed away.

“Yes he had.” she said.

“Did he die of a heart attack?”  I asked.

“Yes he did.”  She replied.

Then I heard the name Frank in my mind. I said nothing even though they were Italian, because I knew that it was not her father’s name.

So we eventually got to the fire house.  There were three firemen sitting around and I asked them if any of them had known the fireman I was interested in.  The one I was talking with didn’t know him personally.

Then the fireman says.  “There is one guy here that knew him, Frank.”

So he goes off and fetches Frank.  I asked frank over away from the others and told him my story about how the fireman had visited me after 911. Frank listened and then told me that there were two guys by the name I said, from their fire house that died in 911. He took Marti and me upstairs and showed me their pictures.  Then he told me that only one of them was married and had kids. I had only found a memorial to one guy so I had assumed it must be him. Then Frank told me that the married guys wife gave birth to son two days after 911 and I realized the fireman must have been trying to tell me about his son born two days later, not that he had two kids.

Frank was very open to all that I told him and promised that he would convey to the wife what I had said.  Frank then told me one of his experiences several months after 911 when his crew was caught in an explosion in a building hurling everyone about.  He heard the voice of his fire captain who had died in 911 telling him to dig out his crewmate from under the debris and an invisible hand on his back pushing him over to the spot where he was buried.

Waylon Jennings & his Manager

I recently had a meeting with Waylon Jennings and his manager.  The Manager was the main person I spoke with in our session for our client who was someone very close to him.

When he first connected with me and I saw him I asked him what he did while he was on earth he told me he was into music and that he was a manager. And told me that he managed a rock band but also a country western singer.  When I asked him the name of the singer he showed me an album cover called Old Dogs which happened to be one of the only country & western records my wife and I own.  I felt the singer connecting with me and I knew which one he was, from the picture on the cover, but I couldn't remember his name.

Marti pondered for a few moments then said.  "It's Waylon Jennings isn't it"?

I knew that she was correct and was pleased she got the name.

The client confirmed that it was and that the manager had designed the cover for that album.

Waylon said a few things to the Client but was kind of quite.  I also felt George Harrison for a moment and it turned out that the client had known George pretty good as well.

I decided some days after the contact to look up some history about Waylon.  I was surprised to see that he had played with buddy holly.  I have always been a big fan of Buddy Holly since I was little but was unaware of his connection with Buddy.  So as I contemplated on Waylon and his struggles, my thoughts were that a lot of his problems had to do with the plane crash in which Buddy Holly was killed.  I browsed the internet I found this site.

www.buddyhollyandthecrickets.com/related/jennings.html

American Civil War

Civil war Great Great Uncle

A few weeks ago when engaged in a large group session, a man on the other side told me he had been blown up in a war.  I also felt his leg had been badly injured in a previous engagement.  He told me that the person he was trying to reach was sitting in the back row of the audience.  He conveyed some more information and eventually a lady spoke up, asking if he could have been in the American civil war.  I queried the man and he affirmed that he was.  He then told the lady that he was a sergeant in the union army and that he had played the bugle. 

I wondered in my mind where and when he had died, he responded to my thoughts, telling her that he had been killed just before the war ended, in one of the last big engagements of the war, after having made it through most of the war.  He said he was blown up whilst running across the battle field.

The lady affirmed that everything he had said was correct and afterward showed me a Diamond ring she was wearing. 

The diamond was taken from the tiepin of her great great grandfather who was the brother of the man speaking to her.  She informed me that she had been a skeptic before she sat down but wasn't any more.

A foot in the door.

I find it quite hard to bring to a close spirit communication, as I am fully aware of the needs of our audience.  I try too keep to a certain length of time and usually our spirit friends keep to that.  There are however exceptions and sometimes there is just one more spirit that wants to speak before we end.  This letter from Deborah is one instance.

  First of all I need to let you know that, about 3 days after my son died my daughter and I where shown in a dream that a red 4 door car was chasing my son down Old Hwy.80 near Buckman Spring Road.  I had called her the morning after I woke up and she had told me she had the same dream, almost identical to mine.  We wondered about it and we both agreed that Andrew my son was trying to let us know what happened. >>>>>>>>>>My Daughter and I had always wanted to see if we could hear from Andrew.  A friend had told me of Michael Perry who was a Medium.  He and his wife where going to be in El Cajon.  We jump at the chance to talk to my son. >>>> When we arrived, we were very hopeful and excited that we might hear from our beloved Andrew.  There were about 40 people there, but our hopes were very high.   I went looking at the jewelry and found earrings that were Sea horses.  My Andrew would carve Sea horses out of sand stone and chain saw.  To this day I am not sure why.  But I did buy these earrings. >>>>>>>>> Michael started.  There was a young lady that had just lost her son within 2 weeks of our readings.  He did die an almost same way my son died.  Things kept on coming up and we were sure Andrew was trying to come through.  Marti had been drawing and Michael would ask if anyone knew this person?  

Time went on and on.    Over two hours had past and nothing.  Michael was getting very tired.  

Then he said, “If I don't connect for these people they will go home very sad."  

He walked over to my daughter and me and said, "Your son has past?"  

I nodded yes.

He started pulling on his ears and asked, “did he wear earrings?"  I said no.

He said, "Then why am I bothered with my ears?"

He went on.  He was in a car wreck.  A man named Joe helped him out of the truck.  He was alone in the truck right?  

I nodded, yes.  

Do you know a man named Joe?  

Yes. 

Then Michael said “He was being chased by a RED CAR!”  

My daughter and I about fell on the floor!! 

You walked on the beach last week?  

I said, yes.  

Your son was with you.  He resting place isn't far from where you live?  

I said, yes.  

You also have a monument near you house?  

And I said, yes.  My daughter looked at me and said NO.  I said yes the carvings of the Sea hoses out front.  

Michael said "you mean like the ones in your ears!"  

We laughed.  Andrew had told Michael that if we returned he would be there again for us.  What a night, one we will never forget!  I had to hug the lady that had just lost her son.  When we left there, we had decided to have a one on one with Michael and Marti.  Michael is so on the spot!  I love him so for making me and my son’s sister so happy that night.  We did return.  My oldest Daughter Sunny, Chelsie my youngest daughter that came with me this time reserved a date and a night with the remarkable duo.>>>>>>  Marti and Michael next story will be this coming week.  I don't have a computer at home.  So I have to wait until I get to my daughters to write.  I will go home and do my best to get that cassette out and rewind it to listen again.  Michael said John Wayne had been there all day long. 

Thank you.   Deborah

Marley's Story

An Amazing Reading with Michael and Marti Parry

By Marley Gibson

I was attending GhoStock 6 in Savannah, Georgia, in May of 2008, mainly to do research on my upcoming young adult teen fiction series, GHOST HUNTRESS, that comes out in May 2009 from Houghton Mifflin’s Graphia line.  I've been to several conferences and many ghost investigations, but I’d never had a “reading” of any kind done.  This would be great experience for my book.

I had seen Michael and Marti Parry first-hand when they had a session at the Darkness Radio event at The Stanley Hotel in March of this year and had been blown away by what the did.  You see, Michael jumps in quickly, seeing relatives, friends, and associates of audience members.  He identifies them not with the vague “I see a ‘J’ name in this section of the room.”  No, he says things like, “Third row on the right, there’s an older man in a police uniform and he’s smoking a cigar.”  Lo and behold, a woman raises her hand and says, “That’s my father.”  All the while Michael is making contact with the spirits, Marti has her own focus.  She’s seeing images of the deceased, and with her amazing artistic talent, she’s able to draw them in exquisite detail.  Not only that, but every one of her drawings are claimed by audience members as relatives or acquaintances who have passed.

Imagine my curiosity at having the opportunity to sit with them one-on-one (or rather two-on-one) and see what kind of reading they could get for me.  Now, to start with, I didn't think I had lost that many people in my life...my four grandparents, some pets, a cousin here or there, so I wasn't sure we’d be able to fill up the entire half hour.

After Marti convinced the hotel construction workers to please, please, please take a break from their demolition of the floor above us, the reading started.  Michael began by sliding the box of tissues across the table at me.  He had no idea why he’d done that and said he hadn't done it before during his other readings.  I’m not exactly a boo-hoo’er (as Michael called it), so I waited to see what he’d say.

Of course, when you come into anything like this, you hope to connect with those people you’ve lost who were especially close to you...but you never know who’ll show up to wave a cosmic “hello.”

Michael started off with, “there’s a cat here” and immediately my tears began.  I’d been hoping that my kitty might step forward.  And she did.  Michael said she walked across the table like she owned the place and flopped down in front of me.  He saw a multi-colored cat, one who liked her stomach rubbed, but was a nipper when you did it.  He pegged that we used to feed her chopped tuna from the can and cut up shrimp tails.  Yep.  That was my Puddy Tat.  She’s been gone for eleven years now, but a day doesn't go by that we don’t think of her.

After I dabbed my eyes from the emotional surge I’d felt, I sat back and listened and took notes.  Michael had an A.G. name that was coming through.  We couldn't understand who this was.  Certainly not anyone I could put my finger on...until he realized it wasn't a name that started with AG, but two names, perhaps?  Well, sure...my great-grandmother:  Ada Glovenia.  That was it.  She brought through with her, my maternal grandmother, a proper, red-headed woman, and my paternal grandmother, a woman who didn't wait to be asked to be seated, but made herself at home.  In fact, Michael even discerned who I called “Grandmother” and who I called “Grandma.”  Very cool.

Next were a slew of random cousins that I’d totally forgotten about who were all connected to Ada Glovenia.  First was a mention of my cousin Ralph, who I grew up around.  He’d always bring candy to me at choir practice.  His granddaughter, Claudine, came through, as well.  Michael said he felt someone connected to Ralph who had died in an accident by their own hand.  That was quite accurate.  My cousin had been expelled from school for cheating, went home and called the principal at her school, threatening to kill herself.  When he came over to her house, she was poised with a shot gun to take a pop at him, but the bullet ricocheted off the top of the door, and the ceiling and shot her in the back of the head, killing her instantly.  A very tragic ending for a fourteen-year-old.

Next, was a reference to Ralph’s sister, Sara, who is still on earth.  Only, Michael spelled her name “Sahra,” which is how, I was told, it was spelled on her birth certificate, although she never spelled it that way.  Michael told me about automatic writing and how sometimes he’d switch hands and write with totally different styles from one word to the next.

He knew that my mother and father were both still alive and that my father’s side of the family was of Germanic decent.

Still, Michael was unsure as to who was telling him all of this – who was this narrator who was bringing all of these people through to me?  He had “a real fun energy with this lot” and was enjoying himself.  So much that he ran over my agreed-upon half hour time slot.

He was picking up something about breast cancer and wondered if anyone in the family died from it.  No, not that I knew of.  Well...Michael was picking up something about breast cancer and another Sarah name in the family.  I told him that I had an Aunt Sarah who was married to my Uncle David.  He was a radiologist who specialized in breast cancer and had diagnosed literally hundreds of cases.  And, he is Ada Glovenia’s grandson.

Michael finally figured out who was speaking to him about all of these people.  An older man who said to reference “Bob.”  My dad has a brother named Bob and immediately, Michael said, “It’s your Grandpa.”

Again, by distinguishing the speaker as “Grandpa,” I knew Michael was right because I had a Grandpa and a Granddaddy.  This was clearly Grandpa because he referenced the children that he and Grandma had lost before my dad was born.  Three still-born, full-term babies.  This was definitely my Grandpa.

He showed Michael that he’d had a stroke on the right side of his face and upper body.  My Grandpa had suffered from many mini strokes in his later years.  However, Michael assured me that he wasn't in pain now or experiencing anything like that.  He was young again and perfectly healthy.  Oh, and he told Michael that he thought I was delightful.  Awww...

Then, Michael said that Grandpa had a dog with him.  He thought it was a German Shepard, but most importantly, it was a police dog.  I explained that my father had a German Shepard when he was a little boy, but that he had a police dog before I left for college.  In fact, Sheba, the dog, and Grandpa were great friends.  Michael said Grandpa wanted to let us know that he had Sheba with him and in fact, he may have the German Shepard, Bama, as well.

There was more family banter about what a tease and story teller Grandpa was and he referenced my dad’s “cheffing” abilities as nothing more than cooking up spaghetti.  Michael also saw Grandpa with a big cigar, which mirrors a picture of him that I have at home of him sitting back in a chair with a big stogie as while he was working on one of the Broadway shows he was master carpenter of during his days in New York.

Michael saw Grandpa at a place near the ocean.  He and Grandma did, indeed, move to St. Petersburg, Florida in their later years.  That’s where Grandma died.  I was able to ask the question if she suffered and could we have saved her because Grandpa was so far away from her in the house when she had her heart attack.  Also, his hearing was really bad and he refused to wear a hearing aid.  Grandma said, “That idiot didn't hear me.”  Michael correctly pinpointed that she had her attack in the bathroom and had crawled to help before succumbing.  Grandma told Michael that she and Grandpa were fine now.  “Oh well...everything’s good.”

In addition to all of this, Michael knew that I had bought a new car...an SUV...a black one.  Yes, yes, and yes.  He asked me what happened to the Chevy?  That’s what we traded in for the new car.  He said, “It had a black roof?”  Yes...a black soft top.  Michael laughed and said that we got a better deal for the Chevy than we’d expected.  That was an understatement.  The car’s air conditioner, power steering and stereo were all shot, yet we got a good deal above the blue book value.  Michael snickered and said that Grandpa may have had a hand in that.

After the long reading was finished, Marti showed me the picture she’d sketched.  I admit that I was disappointed not to recognize the face.  I had hoped for one of my grandparents, or at least my Puddy Tat.  Instead, I got this pleasant, round-faced, older gentleman.  I had to tell them I didn't know who it was.  However, Michael said it wasn't for me.  The picture was for my dad.  The man was an old Navy buddy of his from WWII.  His name was Gary or Cary or something to that effect.  I took the photo to my father several weeks later to show him.  He didn't recognize the man off the bat, but said there was “sincere familiarity” to the picture.  Then, he told me of a WWII shipmate of his who had just died and he had visited with the widow recently to share pictures of when they were on their ship together.  The man’s name was Harry.  Since Dad hadn't seen him since they were eighteen years old, he couldn't identify him, but he had a feeling.  In the least, Dad thought the picture might be Eisenhower!  I asked, “Did you know Eisenhower?”  Dad said, “Not personally.”  Well, Dad, that’s not how it works!

All in all, it was a wonderful reading with Michael and Marti.  I’m astounded by their connection to the other side and the way they work together.  They are definitely the real deal.  Their readings are not vague or guessing in nature, nor are they applicable to just anyone.  The information is specific and detailed.  I recommend to anyone, if you have the chance to sit and get a reading, nab it.  You won’t regret it.

Freindly Fire

It was Memorial Day weekend at Mystic Sisters, a new age store in Monrovia.  Our group that day was smaller than usual.  The meeting began with a bunch of WW11 veterans saying hello to a lady in the back row; mostly her father and some uncles.  Then they brought in a young man who made his presence felt to me.  He told me he had died in Iraq, that he had been blown up and had died along with about 18 of his buddies on the way into Baghdad, at the spearhead of the attack, as he put it.

His wife was in the audience, sitting in the front row.  She cried and acknowledged that the soldier was her husband.

He was very clear and spoke to her for a long time, sending his love to her and his two little boys.  There were also several of the guys that died with him that day saying hello to her.  One of the main ones was his friend and commanding officer, a very tall individual.  The wife knew all of his friends, as they often had barbecues at their house.  The husband also conveyed the fact that they were all killed by friendly fire, describing the whole event in detail.  The wife understood what he was telling her.  She had heard from some of her husband's friends who had come home, that her husband and the others were killed accidentally by their own side.  She believed it was true, but the military were not very forthcoming with the facts and would not confirm it to her.  Her husband told her to tell his fellow soldiers not to take vengeance or commit any atrocities on the Iraqis, as they were not to blame for the deaths.  Her husband said he was OK now and was with his friends on the other side.  Then he said his goodbyes.
 
One evening, several months after my connection with the soldier and his friends, I was watching a documentary movie that had just arrived that day by mail.  I was about half way into watching it when I felt as though I knew a woman in the film.  I told Marti this and she thought that I was confused, that I had mistaken the woman for the soldiers wife we had connected with that Memorial Day, as she looked very similar.

"I know it's not her," I said to Marti.   "I don't know how, but I know this woman!"

A few minutes later the woman's husband appeared in his uniform on the documentary.

"That's one of the guys that came through at Mystic Sisters!"  I exclaimed to Marti.  Marti looked at him, but thought I was still mixed up because the soldier that had talked to his wife all those months ago was Hispanic and short; not at all like the soldier in the film.

"No!"  I said to Marti.  "He's the tall officer, the friend of the husband, that also said hello to that guy's wife."

"Are you sure?"  Marti asked me somewhat incredulously.

"I'm positive!  I know it's him!"  I said.

Just then on the documentary it stated soldier's full name as he stood on stage.  I grabbed a pen and wrote it down.

The next day I looked up the number of the young woman who had attended the group.  She answered and I told her what had happened the day before.  I told her the name of the guy in the documentary and that I recognised him as her husband's friends; his commanding officer who had said hello to her that night.

"That's him," she replied.

Slightly taken aback she continued, "You know, that's really strange.  The day you watched it it was the monthly anniversary of when they died." 

Now I knew why I had recognized the woman in the video, who was the fiancee of the officer.  I figure that he must have been in the room with me as I was watching it! 

I spoke with the wife for a short while longer on the phone and she told me that she had told as many of her husband's friends what he had said to her, regarding not going back to Iraq and harming Iraqis over his death and that of his friends, all in Charley company, and most of them understood.

Two good friends say hello

Two of my best friends in my teens were Mark and Nicky.  They both died in their early twenty's.  Each of them found a way to say hello to me from the afterlife.  I was about 21 when I attended Mark's funeral.  I tried to console Mark's parents, but I did not have my abilities as finely tuned as I do now.  It was a very depressing affair.  I think it was his mother who told me that the family had been watching a program on TV and it got to a part where there was a funeral and everyone was crying and carrying on.  Mark suddenly got up and said:  "If I die tomorrow, I don't want everyone crying and being miserable.  I want them all to go down the pub and have a good piss up (have a few beers) and a good time!"  Then he left the house.  The next day he was killed in an accident by a train at his work. 

A couple of years went by, when one day, Mark came in to say hello to me through a medium that I had gotten to know.  The medium described a young man who said that he was a friend of mine and that he was well dressed, wearing a suit.  The medium said some other things as well, but I knew immediately by that description that it was Mark.  When Mark was on earth he was into the whole soul music scene.  He was probably one of the few white guys in the black music clubs in the East End of London.  He would spend all his money on expensive suits and fancy accessories, so he could "pick up the chicks!" as he would say.  The medium was very good.  I had told him nothing.  Mark's personality came through loud and clear. I don't remember much now of what was said, except the last few things, which I will never forgot.  Mark told the medium to tell me, that I knew more about the other side than he does and he lives there!

   

Some five years later I had a dream that I was on a train and I was with my friend Nicolas or Nicky, as he was known.  I remember we seemed to be traveling along near what looked like an ocean.  Again, I don't remember what was said, but I did remember that he just opened the door of the train and jumped out.   Several months later, while I was at work in a shoe store in Kensington, London, not far from where Nicky used to live,  a lady walked in, came up to me, smiled and said,  "Hello Mike." 

I didn't recognize her and apologized. 

"I'm Nicky's mum," she said.

I remembered her then.  I said hello and asked how Nicky was.

She paused for a moment and said, "Nicky committed suicide.  He jumped off a train."

When I look back on that moment, I think I must have been in a state of shock.  I don't know why I didn't ask her for more information.  I could have asked just to meet her again or a phone number, that kind of thing.   His mother did tell me that he was incredibly frustrated at not being able to do real Archaeology, because of the politics involved.  That's why he ended his life.  Nicky and I used to spend weekends at his parents' country home, near Salisbury Plain.  Nicky was into Archaeology and we would go digging for artifacts.   I told his mother about the dream, and that I thought it was a visit from Nicky.  I hope that it gave her some solace.

Cash register head

There is a lady that Marti and I have come to like very much, who I think was quite the skeptic when she first came to see us in a group.  This lady had a son who had died.  The son has spoken to her on numerous occasions since the first time she attended a group.  One of the things he told me on that first visit, was that his mother had a nickname for him, that had something to do with money.  He told me it was unusual and that I probably wouldn't get it.
I said to his mother, "your son says you have this name you call him,  I'm not sure what it is, whether it's dollar or dime or something else, but it has to do with money."  Well she sat there saying nothing and I repeated what I just said, adding another monetary word or two, still no response until her friend sitting next to her made her speak up.
"Well I used to call him cash register head."  She said.
To which entire room full of people, erupted in laughter.
Shaking my head, looked at her and said.  "Did you expect me to say Cash register head?  Your son already told me it would be hard for me to get."
Later on another occasion this lady came to see us privately, and the first thing her son did when he showed up, was to hold the Ace of spades card for me to see.  I told her this.  To which she responded by saying.
"Oh my god!...you just blow my mind."  She didn't say what the card meant.
"Good I'm glad."  I responded with a chuckle.
Then a few minutes later her son made me feel a tattoo on my left forearm. I told her this as I traced the outline of it.
She gave me a look of disbelief.  "That's where he has the Ace of spades tattooed on his arm!"  She said.
I came to like her a lot.  It made me happy for her to know that her son was visiting her, but as with so many people that come to see us, I thought she was being a bit difficult with me when I first met her.

Hung

We had a young man come to see us once, he looked Asian, I asked him what nationality he was to which he said he was half Chinese half Korean. I told him I only wanted to know so that it would be a little easier for me to listen for the sound of the language from any of his relatives that never spoke English.  The session began with two men immediately appearing to me.  The young mans father and behind him his grandfather.  Then one of the names they got me to write down was Hung, when I heard it, it sounded like Hong but I was told to spell it Hung.  When I wrote the name on my note paper the young guy's eyes almost popped out of his head and in a raised voice he exclaimed incredulously.
"How did you get that!?"
I looked at him a bit puzzled  "Get what?  What do you mean?"  I asked.
"How did you get that name?" he expanded.
"Your grandfather told me. how do you think I got it!" I said.
"That's my real name!"  He stammered.
(he had written down a very unusual American first name in our book, but I had not seen what name he  had written.)
I must admit I did have a chuckle at his reaction.  His father then spoke to me telling me his name was Frank and that he had died unexpectedly of a heart attack.
The young man became quite emotional while acknowledging what I was saying was correct even though he still couldn't quite believe what I just told him.
I just carried on though, and the session went very well. After it ended I asked him why he had reacted the way he did during the session.
He responded. "I just thought this was going to be another generic session like I've had with other psychics"

Marmalade

Spokane Washington was the venue for a large convention which we attended. having purchased a booth we sat around a small table doing what we do for two and a half days. We had been there a day and a half already, and on the second day at about lunch time, a woman sat down with us to have a session. The woman's husband Immediately made his presence known to me, he was a good talker and had no problem conveying what was on his mind to her, although she was hardly saying a word I could see that this was affecting her a lot, until her eyes got so puffy that she could hardly see. It was obvious  that she was holding back the tears, then he said something about marmalade to me, "Tell her about the marmalade he said." When I did she just shrieked and put her hand to her chest.  "Hmm...this is really intense," I thought, but she said nothing. We continued till we were nearly done, she quietly acknowledging a few things through her emotion, until Marti put down the picture she had drawn for her to look at.  The Woman just jumped back on her chair grabbed her chest and screamed out loud.
I just remember thinking "bloody hell!, she 's going to have a heart attack and I'm going to get arrested."
Marti had sketched her husband!!!  The woman was very Quite when she left.
after this somewhat intense session was over, Marti and I joked about what would happen if she died while sitting with us.  We decided to take a small break to eat, and have a quick wonder around the show to see some other booths, and we came across the same woman again at another booth. It turned out that she was an exhibitor there, we said hello to her she was a little more talkative and thanked us. later that day we had a few more clients, who, had apparently been sent over to us by that lady.
Eventually we arrived home, I could not help thinking about the woman with the extreme reaction.  I decided to call her to make sure she was alright, she answered the phone and we talked, then after a few minutes, she revealed to me that she had actually come to sit with us, to make us out to be the frauds that she thought we were!
I was a bit stunned by this remark. "Really?" I said.
"Oh yeah I came around there to cut you down to the Knees" she said
"What?" I replied. I must admit I wasn't sure whether I felt upset with her or not at that moment I just couldn't believe what I was hearing but I continued listening.
"I had found out about you from someone there, and I thought to myself, how dare they take money from people over their grief.  I thought you were just ripping people off, so I came storming round there to sort you out!" She said.
the conversation was revealing and needless to say she had changed her tune!
I called the lady again a while later because I wanted to know what the marmalade reference meant.
This is what she wrote me.

Marti and Michael-

The marmalade part of our reading was just one more thing that no one could have known about unless they had a direct line to the source.  I personally can't bear to even think about eating the stuff - however, Harold absolutely loved it...ate it right out of the jar with a spoon. When the jar was about half empty, he'd make a little joke about how WE had eaten so much of it that we'd have to go back to the store for more. I probably haven't thought about marmalade since he died, until Michael said the word. It seemed to send an electric shock through me...needless to say, that would have been the LAST thing I would have expected him to say.

Love to you both -
Lori

The Balloon

I've had a number of profound or unusual moments in my life. One of which happened when I was working at a Diamond Tooling Factory. I was about 20 at the time.
I had recently read a book called Autobiography of a yogi as well as a book called Illusions by Richard Bach. I was also using the I Ching. I used it every day. I carried it everywhere with me. I was focused intently on penetrating the seeming reality of life. Trying hard to reach a state of pure perception.
I was sitting outside the back of the factory taking my lunch break. It was pretty quite back there as I sat in a state of contemplation looking across to the railway station about 50 yards away. It was a perfect summers day, warm with virtually no wind at all.  I observed a large gas filled Balloon with string attached that some child had probably let go, move very very slowly over the roof of the station from left to right, and move down and hover motionless for some time above the Station platform.
A thought came to me that it would be really cool if it came over to me so that I could capture it. Suddenly the Balloon began to move up and over the high wire fence and gently bound strait towards me several feet above the old abandoned railway tracks, not deviating at all lifting up over the factory fence and on toward me until it stopped and sat motionless above my head the string dangling inches away. How cool I thought in amazement. Then I desired that it go up into the sky so I pointed at it saying go up. The balloon began to ascend into the sky going higher and higher and Higher still no wind to speak of.  The balloon directly went up, so high I lost sight of it!
The work bell sounded a few minutes later for the end of lunch break and I came in feeling a sense of elation. One of my work mates came over to me and quietly said. "I saw that!" and went off to carry on working. Unbeknownst to me he had been sitting round the corner outside, when I had assumed I was alone.

Little girl

We were out of state some years ago and were doing sessions for a week in a new age store. All arrangements were made for sessions by the store owner, so that we had no idea who our clients would be until they came in for their appointment.

The first session started at 10 AM. We were tucked away in a corner out of sight.  Our first client, a young man, came in and we said our hello's as he sat down. As we began, a little girl appeared to me.  She was very pretty, with beautiful blond hair. I thought she was about three years old.
I asked her how she got there. (Died)

She said, "My daddy ran me over."  I didn't know who she was yet to the young man.

"Who is your daddy?" I asked.

"That's my daddy," she said motioning to the young man.

"Oh wow!" I said to him.  "This is your little girl?"  It upset me quite a bit at that moment. I wondered how I would cope with such a tragedy. She was very happy and just a joy to listen to. She wasn't bothered by how she died. She described the vehicle that ran her over, which he had since sold, and the new one he now owned.  She also spoke of another vehicle and something about motorbikes.

She told her dad that it was not his fault, because she had pulled away from her slightly older sister, who she was holding hands with, and ran out behind him as he was backing out his truck. She told him that he and Mommy needed to stay together because they were going to have her baby brother. He was not saying much, but responded by saying that the police had said to him they probably would not stay together as that was pretty common in these type of circumstances.

It was a very difficult session for me personally; a very emotional one. At one point, she just ran of to my left and disappeared around the corner.

"I don't know where she went," I said to the dad.  I continued for a few minutes speaking to another deceased relative that had been present. Suddenly, back into view came the little girl.  She had her arm wrapped around the neck of a large dog, tugging it into view to show her dad. I described the dog, which he recognized as the family dog who had crossed earlier.

Finally, the session drew to a close. I ended up with a bad headache and the rest of the day seemed last long.  I found out later that he felt anger towards me for some reason that he couldn't explain.  We have had this happen on a few other occasions.  Perhaps the reality of the communication is just too much for them to bear.

The next day we were back in the store continuing doing sessions. The second session was with a young woman and to my surprise the little girl appeared again.

I said to the woman, "You know, yesterday a little girl who had died by being run over spoke to me and now she's here again. She wants to talk to you."

She told us that she arrived at the house with her husband and witnessed the whole tragedy. They were friends with the family and had listened to the recording of the session the father had with us. She produced a long list of the things that the little girl had said that were true, some of which the father had not acknowledged or understood at the time. She told me that the little girl had described their vehicle, which contained quad bikes (which I had thought to be motorbikes).  They were all going out for the day to ride and she had run to greet them. The father did not immediately know he had run her over. The session with her progressed smoothly and she understood everything the little girl told her.

I think it was about six months later when we again visited the same store and I had another encounter with the little girl. The session was with a couple we had never seen before.  All I remember from that meeting was that she climbed onto his lap and started playing with his divers watch, turning the dial.  He became quite emotional and told me that's what she used to do when he would hold her. This couple were also friends of the same family.

At our home, several months later, during a session with a couple where their little boy who had crossed from cancer came in to speak to them, there appeared a little girl with him who had blond hair. Their son then mentioned his sister, which I mistakenly assumed to be the little blond girl I could see.

"Does she have blond hair?" I asked.

"No, his sister has dark hair and she's alive," they said.

I didn't know what to make of the little girl I was seeing.  Obviously it wasn't his sister, so I carried on with whoever was speaking to me.  I could see that they were struggling immensely with the loss of their son.

As the session drew to a close I said to them, "I can't imagine how hard it is for you to deal with the loss of a son, but I would like to tell you about a session for a young man who had accidentally run over his own little girl."

I don't really know why I wanted to tell them this.  Something in me told me that this would help them.

When I told them the location of the tragedy they looked at me and exclaimed, "We know that little girl!  She and our son are cousins!"

Once again, the little girl had paid us a visit. They appeared happy to know that the two children were together.

I think it was the following year that we went back to the same out of state store. Marti and I were there for several days, when one morning, as Marti was fixing some coffee and waiting for the next client, I suddenly saw a familiar figure.  It was the little blond girl I had seen so many times before.  I called out to Marti and told her who I was seeing.

"What are you doing here, sweetie?" I asked the small child.

"Someone is coming to see you," she responded.

"Oh!  Who is that?" I asked.

"My mommy!" she said.

"Really, when?" I asked her. (Marti and I had never met her mother before.)

"Now," she replied.

A few minutes later, the shop door bell chimed and in walked a very pregnant woman. She made her way into the store, and I walked over to her and said, "You're the mother of the little girl that was run over aren't you? She is waiting to talk to you."

I won't discuss the session here, but it went very well.

We saw both the husband and wife together on another occasion.  They told us that she did give birth to a son.  Against all odds, they had become closer than ever and were once again a happy family.  Just knowing that their precious little girl was fine and just a whisper away made a difference that can't be qualified.

A father never known

We had a very interesting session one time with a lady at a Mind, Body, Spirit Expo. The father of the lady showed up to speak to her.  I conveyed to her how he had died but she told me she didn't know if her father was alive or not.  I described her father to her and also asked her father what his name was and he said it was James, to which the woman shrugged her shoulders and said she didn't know.

"I don't understand," I said to her.  "Are you telling me you know nothing about your father at all?"

"Yes, that's right," she told me.

"Oh, brother!" I exclaimed.  "I don't know how I'm going to prove this to you.  Are you sure you know absolutely nothing at all about him?"

"No, I don't.  In fact, until I was 15, I thought my mother was my sister."

This lady was over 50 years old and told us that to this day no one in her family would tell her anything about her father.  It was as though he didn't exist.  A non-entity.

I found out from her father a lot of details about her life.  He obviously had followed her life during his life and after his death.

When the session coming to an end, Marti handed me the portrait she had drawn.  I recognized it immediately to be that of her father.

"This is your father, James", I told her.

She thanked us for the session and went on her way.

About a week later, the lady contacted us and told us that out of the blue she received some mail unexpectedly from a great aunt.  It was a large brown envelope.  When she opened it, contained inside were some papers and one photograph of her father.  On the back of which was written the name James.  The photo was a perfect match to Marti's drawing.

A recent visit from Albert Einstein

A husband and wife came for a private session recently and as we were about to start, Albert Einstein appeared to me, saying he wanted to talk. I wasn't going to say anything to my clients at first, but Albert said they might find the connection interesting. I told them he was in the room and the husband told me that was interesting because he works in the patent office and has done for many years. That is where Albert worked whilst forming his theory of relativity.  We proceeded with the session and the husband's two great grandmothers on either side of his family came in to speak to him and his wife about where in Germany they were from. I got out my "Times Atlas of the World", a very large book, and just opened it up at random.  It opened at southern Germany.  I was able to locate the approximate location of the town from where one of the grandmother's, who identified herself as Margaret, came from. The wife sitting with us, who was trying to trace the family history, believed I was off with the name and thought her name was Magdalena. I ended up pointing to a tiny town where I thought this great grandmother was from.
Speaking with the lady a few days after our meeting, it transpired that she had hit a wall in the family tree with name Magdalena so she tried the name Margarita.  Voila!  She discovered that the name was correct.  It led her further back into her family history.  Curiously, the small town where Margarita hailed from was about 15 miles from where Albert Einstein's family was from!