Becoming Psychic
Who do you think you are?
Who are you?
Who are you inquiries about the nature of your being-
Who do you think you are suggests that there is a gap between who you Think you are and who you are Being. There can also be gaps between who you are being and who others think you are allowed to be.
There is so much in this dynamic.
And how much does/has this impression become internal for (me)us?
What we are thought of by society shapes how others treat us.
It can shape how we treat ourselves.
The way we think, the way we love, the choices we make.
When we become aware of all the thoughts between us and our being. Both externally and internally we start stepping into our freedom- we can begin consciously choosing both.
Who are you?
Who do you think you are?
For a long time I have avoided talking about some of the things I would categorize as ‘extra’ about me. I have limited my being.
These have included simple things like”
“Knowing” just what someone needs to hear and ‘accidentally’ arriving there at just the right moment to give voice what needed to be heard-
helping a student shift to a healthier life path and out of struggle
knowing when to call a suffering friend
connecting dancers to each other and the music without self-doubt
creating art that drives questions and provides visual pleasure
It would be easy to call any of these skills common place, and for a long time I just assumed I was empathetic and could help transformation happen so profoundly because I too knew the state they were in. But then there is and was always more and it can be hard to talk about that ‘extra’ because of the ‘who do you think you are’ element.
I wrote a lot post earlier this year, unpacking all the ways I have owned or disavowed my intuitive faculties, what some might call abilities- because of the assumptions, doubt, and stigma so much associated with intuition.
Chicanery
Showmanship
Cheating
Liaring
Predatory behavior
God & Power used to manipulate
I don’t want to be mistrusted. I definitely don’t need to call on the supernal to defend my thoughts or actions or to take power from another. I do not want to be seen as fake, a liar, one who would preys on the weak-and I don’t fancy guilt by association.
Yesterday I had a god awful headache. My head swelled with noise. Actually, it felt like I was vibrating- I almost couldn’t focus my eyes. Everything was extra. It was too much. I got almost nothing done. I’m starting to recognize a specific pattern to my migraines- They occur on days when I have been doubting or ignoring or judging or putting into a box something that is more than typical reality: Some that craves feeling and doing and cannot be tamed by knowing and defining.
In this cacophony a voice arrived in my head, saying his name was Paul and that he was there to support one of my clients who was getting another type of service from me. And I immediately did not want to tell this client about Paul.
And here is where my migraines start. I do not want to be wrong. I do not want to share for fear of not being right, being a fake medium. I feel like that’s what it seems like when you tell folks you are psychic or a medium or intuitive. You are lying or you are crazy- Horton Hears a Who comes awfully close to how I feel like this information is received by the world. I openly wept the first time I saw that movie. And Paul’s voice seemed fleeting to me, hard to hold on to and he went away the moment I started engaging my resistant dialog- not me, someone else can do this for you- any one but me.
(cue Alanis Morissete’s Isn’t It Ironic-because hahahah I’m an intuitive practitioner)
That ship has sailed.
I am coming to realize that intuition, though navigable, is an awful lot like a ship on the ocean- you know where you are going, you can know the bit of sea you are privy too but there is so much both below and beyond that is simply not accessible in it’s entirety to the singular human awareness and a singular time and space. I can’t imagine the headache my body would conjure when reconciling that one. 😘
Before Covid when I was still getting my sea legs I felt like I was being guided to paint in the park. I had other things that needed to be done that day but I felt like I needed to leave what I was doing and paint in the park- I had a growing headache so why not fill my eyes with color and my body with fresh air and sunshine?! The urge to paint in the park was odd to me- who did I think I was to paint there. I went to the park anyways and started painting a row of trees. After some time a man sat down at my picnic table and weep while telling me that his wife had just died and she was a painter and it made him feel comforted to see me painting at the table she used to sit at.
That was an extra experience.
It’s too much to call co-incidence and yet what do you do with this?
How do you explain it’s authenticity? When do you stop resisting?
Who do you think you are?
Who are you?
I’m still not sure how to declare to the world what I do. I’m also clearly still learning how not to resist messages, because migraines aren’t exactly walks in the park and Tylenol isn’t effective when the issue isn’t biology. I’m still learning to soften around trusting my messages and knowing that sharing is the main way to do that.
My sister asked me recently what I do. I told her I connect people with their spirituality so they can heal and understand themselves and believe that their lives have purpose. I am still formulating clearer and clearer words for this- a main reason why you’ll continue seeing my growth through this website and it’s offerings. For now, I like to say that I am living with my ears and my eyes open and a heart full of healing. I am living knowing the vast spectrum of spirit, of god, of the moment of love and divinity in each of us. I am holding a torch for others to light theirs from, in the hopes that there will be a world where we live and feel by truths un-shadowed by social doubt, with out the gap between who we are and who we think we are.
It’s not all migranes either.
When Patrick (my hubs) and I were caught in the maelstrom of moving I woke up feeling sad and lost about leaving the thriving plants in our yard. My mother had given me peonies what were given to her by my grandmother. I’ll have to post sometime about gardening and heritage but for now: I had also planted lilacs- which I adore the smell of and which my mother picked for her wedding bouquet from my grandmother’s yard. I think sometimes about how lucky she was they were in bloom for just that specific day- nature is so abundantly supportive.
I was feeling sorry for myself and feeling a migraine coming on. So I sat down on in the August heat picked up my typewriter and typed the following letter. It seemed hilariously grandiose to me at the time and parts made no sense but the tap’tap’tap’ding’ of the act seemed to soothe my head.
“When I brought you forth into the world my dear I had forged you, warm, living from earth and sky- with wells of water sustaining.
You were like a book, already written with pages not yet read. A wonderous mass of experience waiting to happen with all that is and lost set forth both emerging and completed.
You are on a page so dear now. A new chapter. A new beginning yet you already know what is in store. You have been reading ahead. Yet it is for you to do so. To more forward confident that you have everything you need to know to feel secure and you have all the tools you need to deal with those things that will arise before you and move you to growth.
For you are my most beloved. She who I seek and is sought. You are grace my child and it radiates before you like blankets of yellow flowers in the Kentucky spring.
Do you know, I send those beauties before you even now. That you may remember and know what you are loved. And though you must wait for their arrival. They will strike you as wonderous love. As the way life flows around you. For we are the generous now.”
I looked at the letter written in the steamy summer and thought it was odd. I folded it up and tucked it somewhere and I forgot about it. We moved to a house with a seemly barren yard- coated in ice.
As spring came, I remembered the words as the yellow flowers bloomed on the train track near my house. I felt thankful. In my yard the bleeding hearts rose, peonies, lilly of the valley, forsythia, clematis, and knockout roses joined them. Everything was waiting for me, already here except the lilacs, which are apparently popular in Massachusetts. Lilacs taunted me in all my neighbors’ yards. I stepped off the sidewalk and buried my head in lilacs remembering smells from home- but still feeling like I lost a connection with my history.
And then, like a miracle- three of the bushes in my yard which had initially appeared to be burning bushes erupted with lilac blooms a full month after the neighbor’s lilacs had lost their last. I am still processing the way I feel about this. Patrick almost chopped them down to get more light on the new raised beds! 😳
When I was carrying stacks of boxes around the house the same week the letter dropped out and I read it again understanding what wonderous love meant.
This is the way we are intended to live our lives ya’ll. In full knowledge that we are cared for with miracles and signs and connection blooming around us. We are and can be more connected than we may ever know and each of us has a profound way to be of service.
What speaks to you?
What calls you?
Are you willing to listen?
What do you give your voice to?
How will you serve?
If you made it all the way to the end of these thoughts. I hope my story invites you to soften around who you are and who you think you are so you can claim all that is meant for you. For you too are desired, beloved, that which seeks and that which is sought.
