Attachments

Even the most talented mediums have attachments. Its not something we ask for, instead an attachment or spirit that follows you and stays with you may have the ability to form a chord with you and so you hear the term cutting the chord ie millennials cutting the cord with the cable box and streaming live TV and movies and things like that we have to cut the cord with attachments

I never expected to be followed back from a location and usually I’m pretty careful about protecting myself telling Spirit they cannot follow me. However spirit saw an opening and I let my guard down. I knew I had the spirit with me I just didn’t know who and when I finally confronted them they admitted on video that they were from the crime scene from Connecticut. I turned on my video and I heard the humming of the gray area. It’s a mechanical hum and it equates to me like nails on a chalkboard so when I first originally asked them how I could help them and do they have a name, the man gave me his name, Walter, but the woman said “don’t tell.” A good spirit would never say this. Thats how I knew they were not exactly the upstanding Christian community leaders they made themselves out to be.

Once a trickster in life they never change their spots in death unless they’ve had that psychic change and decided to turn a new leaf and follow God. The spirits had not done that and even got to the point where they were coming up to me where I slept and yelling in my ear for help. The problem is in one of the pictures I took of the crime scene there are several demons waiting for their souls and the demons are there to collect them now that they are dead. This man and woman will do anything to stop from going to hell. What they don’t realize is that when they come to me it’s their judgment day because ultimately if I cross them then they are going to face their maker. I tried crossing them until I realize what I was dealing with and I simply could not cross these two. Their earth bound crimes were such that no amount of trying to cross them helped. Either they had something to do with the missing girls or they knew about it and did nothing or they let it happen or perhaps they participated in it.

Also no amount of trying to trick me saying on video we have new leads we can lead you to the bodies we know where they’re buried to screaming in my ears at night to haunting my friends who have GIFTS could cross them.

I was pretty desperate to get rid of these pesky evil doers because they stayed with me for six months. Finally I reached my breaking point. I told them they had to return back to the crime scene and they needed to make amends to all of the victims that are still there. Then maybe, a big maybe, I could cross them. The victims are standing in my photos and they needed to make amends and apologize for what happened to them and then and only then when the soul has genuine remorse can it ask for guidance and help in crossing into the light. So far they haven’t followed my suggestions bugging friends of mine with gifts to try and cross them and they show up from time to time such at my work or apartment. And it got to the point where I pinned them with the help of two very gifted mediums back at the crime scene and they will stay there until they have remorse for what they did to others in life. Or we can hope. hope is an optimistic word.

I’ve had a lot of people say I wish I had your gift. It’s not fun dealing with souls trapped in a vast black void that need crossing, guidance, and tremendous help.

Recently I walked into a bedroom of a new apartment I just rented and the spirit said “I missed you”. I’m like how could you miss me you’ve never met me and then I realized they were back. and so the games begin again. I think I’m just going to call the demons in to come get them, or have a friend do it for me. I like the latter idea.

Remember this: once a trickster in life and they don’t change their ways they become a trickster in death.

Crime Scenes:Why You Need To Take This Serious

I recently was called to a crime scene investigation in Connecticut where over30- 50 years ago little girls disappeared.

Police FBI they don’t take me seriously. They don’t believe in a gift like mine which actually could help them because if it’s a cold Case crime it’s left unsolved.

I mean really what do they have left to lose and I deal in hope, hope that maybe we can recover their remains based on what I know because it comes directly from spirit and based on what I can show in my photographs and film because it’s spirit standing there.

Case in point here are a few photos That I took while on the scene you can clearly recognize a few of the missing children.

Where they are standing is where I believe they are buried by the killer and I have photos of the killers standing next to the victims so we know who did it.

This comes from a higher power much greater than mankind.

The killer would dress the girls in gowns white pure untouchable like the dolls he wasn’t allowed to touch when he was a child

I come in to help not to hinder if it’s a cold Case crime why not use someone like me with my abilities ?

There is a reason I have these gifts. You can choose to believe or not but the victims need some sort of help because they’re standing there asking for it.

No They Are Not Ghosts Once They Are Dead

4411F55C-2545-46C3-BC21-A410C8967BF7you see Ghost Adventures on Tv. Then theres Kindred Spirits, Nick and Katrina and Nick and some model type paid actress to Ghost Brothers and Tennessee Wraith Chasers all claiming to hunt Ghosts. They all want to be the first to show a ghost on film. Sorry guys, I did it. Only you havent seen it. My team Lisa, Joe and Myself did. A deceased human soul is speaking to me hanging from a tree in daylight. Another soul is in the tree beside him. It doesnt get any more real that folks.  I have the unique and rare ability to show the dead humans in daylight. They come out of their graves for me. Literally, come through their tombstones, and climb out of their graves as I walk by or come close when I am in a cemetary.

I show them by the hundreds. Why? Am I someone special? I honestly dont know. I do know God chose me to show this. The one unique factor of my gift as a portal is that I can show the otherside  and that anyone who has a gift that gets close to me will have their gift amplified. It happens all the time.

How can I show the dead in daylight? Its because I am a portal. Its because I don’t have a hidden agenda like they do. My heart is pure in wanting to help them. Its also because half of my soul is on the otherside because my identical twin died before me. She bridges the gap for me. But its so much more than that. It is a gift unlike anyone else in the entire world.

FYI: They are not ghosts, or spirits but humans without the human body. They are still living their lives on the other side, some deciding to stay on earth, others going on to heaven. My pictures confirm it. They are not the only ones, the animals have souls too and I have shown that. They just dont have their bodies. Once they reach the otherside, they have jobs to do if they can do it. Some wait for their loved ones. Some have died traumatic deaths and cant move on. Some are lost, some are there to help the living.

So when you hear the tv shows talk about hunting ghosts, they are hunting for human souls. Frankly, I dont believe in doing that. That is terrorizing a soul that might have been terrorized in life, or hunting someone’s loved one like an animal.

Would you do that?

What’s Real and What’s Not

Youve seen the paranormal tv shows asking if the spirit is there, (sigh) and every other spin off that a paranormal series can muster.  Granted, as a medium, remote viewer, psychic I have watched my share of it. It was the highlight of my weekends. When you are not married, middle age and have cats, your life is not exactly full of hot dates, and oh, if you are a medium, might I add, men avoid you. I’ve been married twice. It scared them as one ex husband told me. “Don’t meddle in that.” Well, how can I not? I was born with a gift.  So two husbands later, I still have my cats and my gift and not so real paranormal shows. If you were to walk in my shoes, you would turn the channel when those shows came on  because they have nothing on what goes on in my life. Are they for real? Why can’t they capture what I get on a daily basis? It’s simple, its called spirit and a gift.

It amazes me what happens to me on a daily basis. It is like a child discovering new surroundings when I wake up. Spirit never fails to show me another side to the otherside. For several years its been spirits in my hair. They catch a ride. Some are good, most are, some are not so good. I immediately know when it happens to. My energy level has sunk to a record 0. Photographs always confirm this. Sometimes I have spirits follow me from other locations. Not attachments but followers hoping that my energy can help them cross. I had a spirit follow me from the Deep South to Paris France and show up in a group photo. Then there are the spirits that show up in daytime. that is a part of my gift that stands out among all of them. Others have tried but not to the extent I have been able to show them. They once had lives, once had families that loved them and even maybe animals, kids too. Even the animals have souls. So when you think you are watching something entertaining, think again. Most spirits are more than capable of doing something resounding only they dont have to sit up and beg for treats. They don’t need to. Respect is the word that needs to be learned when dealing with spirits. They know all and see all once on the otherside.

To take away from reading this, how would you like it if someone chased your dead mom and grandad around to get them to speak or interact with you just so they can be famous and show something that might be more than most people show on tv. I don’t chase spirits, I simply don’t have to. They want to be around me. It’s my energy and I am not out to make a dime off it. I give it away more than I am given.

The Dark Side of Beautiful

The marsh and tidal creek lay just out front from the large plantation house, with its majestic oaks draped with Spanish moss . It’s a beautiful setting for a low country wedding, and a place I fell in love with and could stay forever. With the price of beauty comes the side of darkness of its past.

Last year I went there from a request from the owner to see what was there. I primarily concentrated on several areas of the house and got lengthy Evp’s from the still lurking around owner from the 1800’s. This year, it was different.

I asked to speak to the kind man I engaged with last year. A voice came back to me over Evp’s that said, “He’s dead.”

My reply was, “Do you know you are dead too?” I was irritated that a spirit decided to screw with me as a medium and thwart my endeavors as to why I came.

“What do you mean he is dead?” What kind of spirit says that? Not a good one that is for sure. I had to dig deeper. I asked for a name and I got it. The next day I went to the library to get information and found out that the name given to me over evp by spirit belonged to the man who was ruthless, making this estate the richest during his lifetime for the area. He lived during the 1700’s. It was him I heard. It only got worse from there. The night time cameras catching us sleeping showed our project manager sitting on the edge of the bed rocking back and forth in an unusual manner around 2-3 am and all of sudden the footage showed his back contorting into a balloon. It was not humanly possible to do so unless you have helium to blow your back into a bulbous round shape. His did. Then you see the same spirit come over to me when I was sleeping and yank the covers from my feet and lay down beside me. I was not about to sleep alone in that house and he was my best friend. For three days I watched my friend turn into a 80 something year old, a man I did not know. Even his voice changed and his eyes narrowed, shutting for most of the time. Who was he? Not my friend Joe.

Later, his back hurt so bad that I took him to the emergency room. The doctors came back in and said his back had a compression fracture and a cracked rib. I know what caused it. He kept saying he wanted to go back home. We were home and now over 500 miles away from the estate.  Apparantly, this home was not the one he intended.

I asked out loud over an evp session when we were at the estate “Who is the evil entity here? Can they hurt someone?” I never heard the answer at the time, and it was “Yes”

After we arrived back at the house a few states away, having gotten home from the hospital, Joe’s phone turned Siri on, by itself, and a message came across the front screen,  “You don’t know true evil yet.”

After I left the estate last year, I got a message on my phone that said, ” What do you call a slut in the ground?.”

Pure evil lurks behind the beautiful sometimes.

“What Michael Looks Like”

I had passed out. It was January 2001. All I remember about the incident was that I came too sitting in a chair with people around me. What I saw when I passed out, was a golden light, sort of like an encompassing tunnel but a tremendous golden light in front of me. It seemed closer than what it was. It was brighter than looking at the sun but it emitted an all loving feeling.

So i decided to head towards the light. It was as if I was floating. For a brief moment, I realized, that this light was not from the sun but of our Heavenly Father,  God. Simply, I asked, “God? is that you?” and I heard a resounding yes. I remember smiling because it was an all knowing feeling I had and that he had answered me. Deep, the voice was deep and it sounded as if he was on a microphone, but my lips never opened to ask the question.

Then out of the clear blue came this bronzed  all over, golden in color angel wearing a short sleeved, roman tunic that came down to his thighs with ropes around the waist. He had outstretched wings, and I could see the tendons in them. They spanned greater than what appeared to be ten feet wide. I was that close. His eyes locked with mine and they were pitch black, full of compassion yet determination. The distance between us was no more than a couple of feet. There was a purpose to his visit. When I looked into his eyes,  I heard the name Michael. Never did I know that there was an angel named Michael. Apparantly,  I missed that bible school lesson.

I looked behind him, into the golden light and I tried to go around him but He wouldn’t let me. He was floating right at my level. First on the right hand side and then on the left hand side of me. The realization was fruitless in trying to sneak my way into the kingdom. There was a reason I was not allowed. It was not my time.

What I will never forget is his appearance, the black hair that had curls all over but appeared bronzed, to his muscles, his wings with tendons to his piercing black eyes. He was dressed like a gladiator but without the helmet, and shield. I suppose he didn’t need that with me figuring I was a lost wayward soul whose time had not come and he was there to turn me away back into the life I had. The bronzed angel stayed on the left hand side of God for my brief visit. I will never forget what I saw. But why Michael and why me? This I won’t know now, not until it is my time.

The second time I saw him, he was standing at the opening of a cave looking out into a lush hillside,  like an eternal garden filled with flowers. What struck me was the cave. It was not a house per say as we know it by todays standards but a home with a round opening like a cave. I was withered, old, grey hair, wrinkled body  wearing a robe with a hood and he held out his hand. Both of us were standing inside the warm cave. Slipping my hand into his, my outer skin with its looks fell to the floor and a beautiful young auburn haired woman stepped out of the empty shell. (I naturally have auburn hair).

This experience made me want to find pictures of the Arch Angel to see if what I saw was real or a dream.

On a visit to Fairfield Auction house in CT several years following my spiritual experience, with my now ex husband, I saw a statue from across the room and I immediately knew who it was of. I ran up to it. My face looking as though it had seen a ghost.  It was the same angel I had seen, Michael. No one had to tell me who it was, I innately knew deep within that this was the same angel that found my wayward soul and turned it back. I also came across another artist who had seen the Arch Angel Michael and sketched what she had seen and my heart stopped when I saw the rendering.  It was indeed the exact same face as what I had seen. There stood my proof that I without a doubt had seen Michael,  not once but twice in my life with a foreshadowing of events to come but apparantly with a great ending..

We tried to buy that sculpture that day at Fairfield but it was too pricey. I realize I don’t need a sculpture to tell me or remind me of what I had witnessed. He will be with me for the rest of my natural life. Maybe I will see him again before that event.

 

Better Late Than Never

He had heard about me from my hairdresser. So he became my friend on a social media site. That was it. He never sent me a message or contacted me. I think he wanted to. He never did.  Actually I sent him one. As soon as I saw his picture, his old partner came through and he wanted me to contact him because he had something to say.

So I did

If I contact someone it is to deliver a message from spirit. This spirit was his former partner who took his life. He had to get his message known. So I persisted and we agreed to meet. I am sure when a medium contacts you, there might be hesitation to find out what they want to tell you. He was very open to it which made the process better. I somehow ended up in the wrong location and spirit was there hanging onto my shoulder the entire way, nervous that his ex partner was about to show up. Eventually I made it to the right location. It was a very eclectic, diverse and very popular place on a weekends. It was the first time I saw a cat in a stroller and loving it. Usually you see a smaller dog being pushed in a baby stroller, certainly not a cat.

You might ask, well, if the living have grief, and gotten over it, maybe the dead can too. Even if the living human has gone through the grieving process and forgiven the suicide victim, it is not over for the suicide victim themselves. They are still trying to come to terms with what they did, why they did it and to find closure, most want to say they are sorry, the biggest word is sorry. Some dont want to let go, others will remain in a grey area because they can’t forgive themselves but most are in the light upon death. They don’t go to hell unless they are extremely bad people in life. He was still around, still hanging around.

So we three sat down, me and two men. One was the new partner. Of course spirit was not happy that he was there but he knew he was dead and couldn’t do anything about it and just wanted his old partner happy. He just wanted happiness for him. I told him I was shown pills and a rope. This was how the suicide victim took his own life.

Burial plans were discussed and I suggested that they follow his wishes. Keeping his remains was not an option but perhaps granting what he wanted with maybe a second option to appease the living was the answer.

All in all, the suicide victim was happy in that he could now move on, and go into the light knowing that he said what he wanted to say, and that was a simple but heart felt sorry and to grant forgiveness and receive it. Better late than never I say.

 

 

Measures in Time

Measures in Time

The eternal smile, worn tight, fosters an agist culture that demands youthfulness. Constant bombardment of natural cures, anti aging creams, cool sculpting to going under the knife for the sake of erasing time stares back at you in the mirror. The deep circles or sagging neck, the jowls all define the human person as it ages. The greying of the hairs, crows feet flying, smaller eyes, are but the signs of father time and the measures he places upon the human body.
The time it took someone to experience life, to outgrow diapers, to spell, read and write, hit their first baseball, or learn to ride a bike, is wiped away. Where did the line go that signified true loss and pain or , the moment you captured love in the eyes of another? Is it magically lessened? Sent away in one knife and one pull of the skin? Where did the smile upon attending the grandchild’s first birthday go? What happened to the wrinkle that upturned on its own, that symbolized the marriage to the love of your life? The frown line when you scrunched your face thinking? That cuteness with abandonment filled by botox. When the character lines are erased, where might have the character of the moment of that particular memory have gone? Each subtle pull of the fingers, tightening ever so gently, takes away what life intended you remember. The scar from falling in the river on oysters, the laugh lines from the comedy club, a night spent with friends to the minutest engravings left behind after the worst breakup, where has it gone? Holding the lifeless furry body of your best friend after getting hit by the car, where is the life line on you to connect you to that moment? It’s gone. This is life found in the memories of your skin, character lines of where you have been, and what your soul has experienced.
The attention placed on the soul must be greater than the attention placed on the outward appearance if one is to remain forever young.

The Brown Leather Satchel with the Gold Buckle

It was kept in the trunk of my fathers old Chrysler. The smell of leather and cherry pipe tobacco came from the bottom of it when the satchel was open, and when he did have to open it, there in lay his syringes, his stethoscope, and other medical necessities that the local small town doctor carried with him on house calls. When he came home, that same brown leather satchel had prizes in it for us children who stood on the steps leading to the spare room waiting to surprise him when he came home. We would jump on him and act as though we had not seen him for years. Out would come the trinkets the pharmaceutical reps would have brought him during the day, now presents for his children. They were pens, to spinning balls with names on them that we had never heard of or understood how to pronounce but they were the highlights of his coming home beside himself.

He was the first doctor and the last doctor to practice the art of going to someones home to tend to the sick and elderly. After he passed, no one I knew or came to know made house calls. A rarity then, certainly unheard of today unless the doctor is a concierge medicine practitioner, just another name for high dollar visits. There was nothing uppity about my father. Nothing that said affluence or better than in position or life. Most of his patients couldn’t pay for their care let alone the medicine that he gave so freely. They were the poor, the starving, trying to survive in a small southern town in South Carolina. Money was the reason he became a doctor, the honest route, to help was in his nature. When they couldn’t pay, we would come home from school to find pies, baked items, fresh produce from their garden on our door step. “A way of payment back for what he had done” can be heard echoing in my mind from my days as an adolescent. Several times we would have gifts of puppies or other animals. There began my love affair with nature and animals of all kinds. It came from my father.

If it was on the weekend, they would come to the house and the garage turned into his medical exam room. Like clock work the cars would be coming down the driveway to see Dr. Lawton.

The first time my ex husband, 15 years my senior met my daddy, my father sat him down and brought out the brown satchel bag with the golden buckle and pulled out hydrogen peroxide and band aids. Mending people with that salt and pepper hair, those black rimmed glasses and soft demeanor was Daddy’s way. He had a fan that day. He still does.

When he passed I was given his national geographic collection dating back to the 20’s and his brown leather satchel with the golden buckle. I put every memorable thing that I had from his medical practice in that bag to include pharmaceutical statues of African chiefs that my father kept on his shelf at the office. Perhaps I could have wanted more but those were the items that meant the most to me and still do.

Eventually my sister went on to fill his shoes but in a different medical setting and in a different town, this time a city, not the country were our life began.

Many years later,  I went into my attic and saw that precious parcel sitting all by itself. I emptied out the brown leather satchel with the golden buckle and handed it to my sister at Christmas. It was now her turn to mend the sick, and put band aids on grown men.

%d bloggers like this: