Affirmation and Intention: Powerful Tools for Living and Giving

I have a dear friend.  We met in a stand-up comedy class, which taught us both some valuable lessons about writing, performing and the nature of the business. It was a great experience, to be sure. But it paled in comparison to meeting this wacky and wonderful woman who I now count among my closest friends in the world.

Without really trying, she taught me the concept of affirmation.

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Forgiveness: Truly a Two-Way Street

I have been reminded recently of certain topics that nearly always come up during a reading.

The client, also referred to as the “querent” (from the Latin quærēns, “seeker”) tends to ask one or more of the following questions:

“Is ____________ okay?”
“Is ____________ happy?”
“Does _________ hear me talk to them?”

Perfectly normal, reasonable questions you’d ask about anyone you care about, whether they are in the physical world or if they’ve crossed-over.

There’s another question that seems to come out fairly regularly, and it comes from the spiritual realm just as often as it does from the physical:

“Does ______________ forgive me?”

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Sleepless in Phoenix, Restless in Ukraine, Part Two

Before I toddle off to bed I wanted to offer a follow-up to my previous post regarding my possibly picking up on spirit chatter from the Malaysian Airlines crash in Ukraine.

I had a “waking vision” that was rather disturbing, both physically and emotionally. I was in a small seat, surrounded by others in small seats. I looked forward and just as I focused on the people in the front row, I saw a flash of light enter the space, at approximately 45 degrees, from the lower left side of the floor, and up through the space we occupied.

Then, I heard (for the first time) a single voice, immediately to my right, say, “Oh, no… .”

And then, as the vision went dark, I felt a profound sense of falling.

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Sleepless in Phoenix, Restless in Ukraine

On Friday (7/17) I found myself feeling rather cross, and attributed it to not sleeping well, which I attributed to the heat.

As the day wore on, I also began hearing voices. Given my ability and profession, that’s not unusual. What was odd is that I was hearing multiple voices, none of which I could decipher into any sort of message. I also had several different moments over the weekend when I felt physically cramped, as if I were somehow boxed-in.

Many mediums report getting what I call, “woo-woo,” which is similar to a fluttering sensation in the chest. At times it’s almost indistinguishable from a panic attack, which makes it difficult sometimes to figure out just what is going on.

At this point, as I type this post, I am once again feeling “woo-woo,” and it points to a conclusion I came to earlier this morning: I’m hearing several occupants from the ill-fated Malaysian Airlines flight that was shot down over Ukraine.

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Gratitude

Recently I had a phone conversation with someone I think of as both a friend and colleague.

In what has become fairly commonplace, I first “met” him via Facebook, as a “friend of a friend,” meaning that we’d never actually met, but we had a (presumably) “real” friend in common.

This man used to live in the Phoenix area and had since relocated to Los Angeles to study acting.

There are no accidents.

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The Wages of Sin

Recently, at my gym, I was accosted in the locker room by a fellow member whom I must assume was a fundamentalist. He either recognized me from my business cards which are displayed on a wall along with many other local business’ cards, or perhaps by word of mouth.

He began speaking loudly, above the din of the crowd (there were about 8 other men present at the time). “Fortune tellers are the agents of the devil, my friend,” he said. And he began getting rather impatient as he realized everyone was staring at him, but no one was nodding their head in agreement with him.

Perhaps they were simply stunned, as was I.

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Voices Through The Floor: I Encounter Los Desperacidos

We recently returned from a wonderful cruise vacation of South America. While the trip culminated in the multiple-evening festivities in Rio known as Carnaval, it was our first port of call, Buenos Aires, which I am unlikely to ever forget.

First, a little back-story. My personal interest in Buenos Aires was fueled by my love of the musical, Evita, which had been released as a “concept album” in 1976, one year before I began studying music theory and composition in college. Eventually I would be defending my analysis of the score. During that time I also learned a bit about the subject of the work, Eva Peron, Argentina and in particular, Buenos Aires.

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