I signed up for a mediumship course. If you have no sense of humour about this, don’t read any further, just saddle up your high horse and trot right off.
Me: “So, I’m doing a course on
Saturday morning, could you handle the
kids for me?”
Husband: “Mmm? Okay.”
I thought I’d carried it off quite well.
Me: “I’m leaving now, you’ll remember to do the kids?”
Husband: “Okay. What kind of course is it
anyway?”
Shit. I had hoped this question wouldn’t
arise.
Me: ”I’m not telling you, because you’ll
just make fun of me.”
Husband: “It’s one of those crystal things,
isn’t it?”
Me walking away.
Ever think that maybe you’re just too
pragmatic?
Or just have a really dark sense of humour?
Or just have a daily struggle to take life
too seriously, or seriously at all?
These are the questions that plagued me at
my first session. As I sat in a circle of sock-clad esoterics, I pondered how I
came be here and deeply wished my mother was with me, so we could have one of
those eye-meets where you know the other person totally gets where you’re
coming from.
(As an aside, she is the only person I’d go
on a silent retreat with, because we don’t need to speak to know exactly what the
other person is thinking.)
The time came to do the dreaded “Hi, my
name is XXX, and I’m here to XXX.”
There were two starting options. Me and the
girl on the other side of the table.
I took the split-second advantage and
pointed, “She will.”
‘She’ looked at me in horror.
I shrugged, “It’s either you or me and it’s
not going to be me.”
As the introductions went around, my
trepidation grew. Each added a new spiritual tag on the one before.
I am an empath.
I am empath and an intuitive.
I am an intuitive empath and spiritual
healer.
I am an intuitive empath, spiritual healer
and reiki master.
I am an intuitive empath, spiritual healer,
reiki master and tarot reader.
Bugger. I had nothing. Absolutely nothing.
I should’ve gone first.
I also have the opinion that, if you’re learning something new, don’t go in there saying you already have a PhD in the subject. You’re setting yourself up for failure.
“Hi, I’m me, and I thought it would be fun
to do something different.”
Sound of lead balloon crashing to Earth.
The silence of judgement lay heavy until
the door opened and a new person bustled in cheerfully. She tripped over a chair
and a handbag and her phone rang, repeatedly. I’ve never been so grateful to
meet anyone in my life. She is my spirit twin.
Swiftly moving along, we had to do our
first exercise.
You rub your hands together fast and when
they’re hot you pull them apart and feel the energy between them. Then, you
imagine the energy is a ball of coloured light. Then you toss the ball at
someone else and they have to intuit it’s colour.
Panic attack number 2.
I suck at throwing and catching.
I pictured spiritual balls of light
smashing between my feet as my butterfingers failed to grab onto them.
And, then there’s the colour recognition.
I was going to suck at this, big time.
The tension ramped up as balls were thrown
around the circle and the first three colours were named correctly. Then, a
sliver of hope, the next person had three tries to get the colour. I was going
to be okay. It took me four and a few hints, but I got there. Then I lobbed
mine across the room to the next person.
“Is it yellow?” she asked.
“Um, it wasn’t meant to be,” I said
helpfully, “But maybe it changed colour on the way to you.”
“What colour did you mean for it to be,” asked
the course teacher.
“Purple,” I squeaked.
“It was purple,” he said with finality.
Alrighty then.
Round two, was marginally better for me, but Ms PhD in Tarot couldn’t get the colour and lost her Zen. It was all everyone else’s and whatever planet is currently in retrograde’s fault. I caught a good eye roll from the ladies across the circle and stifled a smile behind a little cough (as one does).
Mediumship is not all M. Night. Shyamalan, talking to dead people. In fact, you don’t have to talk to dead people at all. There are apparently all sorts of other ways to be a medium.
Jokes aside, it was a very illuminating
session and I learned a lot. All the meditation did me good too.
Things I learned:
Find your strength.
Also, don’t let your ego write checks your
body can’t cash.
Be patient.
Breathing
To do this, you have to breathe in at the back of your throat and out making a sort of “gghhh” noise. We sounded like a room full of pervy heavy breathers, but focusing on my breathing helped with some focus and a little less self-consciousness. When you’re in a room of strangers all going “gghhh” it’s a great leveler.
Grounding
The 5-minute tree technique
Take three deep breaths (the “gghhh” ones).
Visualise yourself as a tree.
Put your roots down deep and feel yourself
becoming anchored to the Earth.
Focus on taking your stress and pushing it
out of your feet and into the ground. (Yes, I know that roots suck in and not
out, but it’s a bloody metaphor so go with it.)
Then suck in the energy of the Earth into
your body, trunk – whatever.
This will create grounding energy around
you that will affect everyone with you and help you avoid conflict.
The exercise is meant to help you put ego
aside and focus on the present so that pride doesn’t fuck with you.
Protection
Authenticity. The deal here is that you can’t
be authentic in the light, without also being authentic in the dark. It’s not a
black and white, good and evil thing. It’s just balance. You have to
acknowledge and respect both sides of the coin.
In the morning
Take 3 “gghhh” breaths (I have to find a
cool word for these).
Visualise a blue bubble of light around you.
Visualise a white bubble around the blue
one.
Visualise hundreds of little flakes of
mirror floating in between the two layers.
Say aloud, “Whatever negativity sent to me,
I send back with unconditional love and harming none.”
It sounds pretty passive aggressive, but
kill them with kindness, right?
In the evening
Do the “gghhh” breathing again.
Call the seven archangels to protect you as
you sleep.
Archangel Michael to stand at my right.
Archangel Uriel to stand at my left.
Archangel Gabriel to stand before me.
Archangel Raphael to stand behind me.
Archangel Sandalphon to stand above me.
Archangel Tzakiel to stand below me.
Archangel Metatron to surround me.
Keep me safe in perfect love and perfect trust.
The golden rule
Use this when you sense something hinky nearby.
(By that I mean non-corporeal entities, people.)
Use a no nonsense, take no prisoners,
Mother is talking voice, and say, “Do you walk in the light?” three times.
Basically, despite what I thought, hinky
things from the dark side can’t tell an outright lie. So, they tend to say, “Oh
bugger,” and go poof. And they don’t bring cookies.
Ritual consciousness
This is a good one, especially if, like me,
you’re a nervous wreck of anxiety and looming panic for no reason. Taking a
minute to just bring yourself towards yourself and pull up your big girl panties
is never a bad thing.
Ritual consciousness is a state of
hyper-awareness. It helps you be calmer, focused and creative. You can use this
at any time, any day.
Do 3 “gghhh” breaths.
Visualise a countdown screen in front of
you.
The countdown starts at 13 and moves to 1.
With each number remind yourself to relax
and hold your awareness between your eyebrows.
And then go get ‘em, tiger.
Third eye exercises
- Light a candle and watch the flame. Gradually relax your eyes, do your ‘gghhh’ breathing and watch the energy expand from the flame.
- Ask someone (who will humour you) to stand in front of a white wall and stare at a space above their shoulder. As your eyes relax, you should start to see a shimmer of energy around them.
- Hide under the duvet. Rub your hands together and as you pull them apart stare at the space between your hands. Do not, I repeat, do not, fart.
The last I time I had a medium do a reading for me, she told me that my great-granny said that I made her tomato sandwiches wrong. It’s probably the most accurate reading I’ll ever receive.
It sure sounds like my family. We’re the type who’ll manifest from the other side just to tell our great grandchild that their ass looks fat in those jeans.
Anyway, it isn’t the jeans, it’s the size of my ass.
The Blurred Line 