Monday, May 28, 2012

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.

Wednesday, May 16, 2012

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.

Monday, May 14, 2012

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! 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.


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"

Saturday, May 12, 2012


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 -

Friday, May 11, 2012

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.

Monday, May 7, 2012

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.