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Notes from a Crusty Seeker

Psychic Messages?

Sometimes the messages I receive are really straightforward — like my dog vaulting out of bed at 4 a.m. this morning and demanding we go for an emergency poop.

Sometimes they’re questionable — in the form of sudden information that fills my cranium about something I have no way of knowing.

Sometimes they’re nothing spooky at all. Really just the product of observation — like the character Patrick Jane explains in the TV series, The Mentalist. I love that show. In this New Age carnival we’re in, it seems like everybody wants to declare their extra-sensory perceptions, and most of the time I think there’s nothing psychic about knowing stuff. It’s just a matter of watching and listening.

But this morning, post-emergency poop, lounging in my chair at 5 a.m. drinking coffee, in the middle of feeling extremely cozy and mellow, I suddenly “heard” some disruptive news. To tell you the truth, if this stuff is real, it really pisses me off since there is not a damn thing I can do about it, and I know from past experience that most people don’t want to hear warnings about psychically-known disruptions. (Myself included. How many times have I ignored that stuff in order to do it “my way”?)

Unlike my professional psychic mogul/astrologer/author friend Stacey Wolf, I cannot know things at will. When they come, they come unbidden, sometimes unwelcome, sometimes waking me up.

But I was already wide awake when my dog announced her emergency this morning. (Perhaps because I slept backwards. Stacey had informed me the feng shui of my bed was wrong, and although I’m not sure I believe in feng shui, I thought it might be fun to reverse my head position after 30+ years of sleeping in one direction.) In any event, when my dog leapt over me, I was so grounded I bounded right after her, almost happy for the adventure of going to Central Park in the frigid dark and scooping up invisible diarrhea with a plastic bag as a police car lingered, no doubt wondering if I was nuts.

And when I returned home, I was still grounded and happy. And perhaps that’s why I am appreciating the message that followed the disruptive one. It goes something like this:



In case you can’t read that, it’s Thomas Moore’s book Care of the Soul. The title was lit up as if from an inner luminescence. Yes, I know it’s because it’s designed in gold leaf which picked up the light from my little end table lamp. But the point is, it picked up the light. Something made me turn my head and notice that it was picking up the light.

“Take care of your soul,” it was saying.

And I thought you might like receiving that message too.











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