Lily: An Important Task Completed
About the Oracle:
The origins of the Little Lenormand Oracle are shrouded in mystery. We do know that the deck's creator, Marie Anne Lenormand, lived in France in the eighteenth century. She met Josephine de Beauharnais while both women were detained in the Bastille. It was a fateful meeting that would alter her life forever. After their liberation and Josephine's marriage to Napoleon Bonaparte, Marie Anne Lenormand became the official fortuneteller for the royal couple. Later in her life, she taught small, select groups of students how to use her oracle. Unfortunately much of this knowledge was passed down by oral tradition, so modern psychics have been wracking their brains for two hundred years over these vexing cards.
My first copy of these cards fell into my hands in 2002, but they sat on a shelf collecting dust until the publication of Secrets of the Lenormand Oracle by Sylvie Steinbach in 2007. This book was the first and only manual for learning these cards to be published in English. (If you are interested in learning this oracle yourself, both the book and several versions of the card decks are available for purchase online).
The basic interpretations of this reading are drawn from Ms. Steinbach's brilliant book; the rest of the insights are mine.
The Reading
Lily: An Important Task Completed
Last summer my best friend summoned me to her house under false pretenses. Her text message read something like this: "What are you up to? I have wine."
Since it was a Monday evening and Two and a Half Men was a rerun, I was up to a whole lot of nothing. I grabbed my keys and trotted down the street and around the corner. "Where's the wine?" I bellowed as I burst through the front door.
"In here!" she called faintly. She was standing in the middle of her bedroom floor ... but the bed was missing. There was a chilled bottle of Chardonnay, frosty with condensation, and two wineglasses on the nightstand. The nightstand looked kind of forlorn without a bed. "I bought a new frame from Ikea," she announced. "Do you think you can help me put it together? It came with directions." She flapped a pamphlet at me. "How hard can it be?"
Four sweaty hours later, we put the unopened wine back on ice. I slunk home unquenched, exhausted, and blistered - but victorious. We put together a bed frame!
Psychologists say that in order to maintain good mental health, human beings must continue to pursue new challenges. The Lily represents the feeling of satisfaction you earn when you conquer a challenge you think you will never be able to achieve: running a marathon, losing twenty pounds, writing a book, learning how to meditate, assembling furniture. It is a symbol of hard-won wisdom, maturity, and peace of mind. I see the Lily often in readings when a client is about to pass an important test, achieve a well-deserved promotion, or retire from an illustrious career. It is a card of perseverance, contentment, and taking pride in your accomplishments.
Whatever challenges you face today, I wish you good fortune and prosperity. May your efforts be rewarded with a lifetime of Lilies!
If you would like to have a reading with the Lenormand cards, give me a call. My extension is 0439758#.
Bouquet: Granted Wishes
About the Oracle:
The origins of the Little Lenormand Oracle are shrouded in mystery. We do know that the deck's creator, Marie Anne Lenormand, lived in France in the eighteenth century. She met Josephine de Beauharnais while both women were detained in the Bastille. It was a fateful meeting that would alter her life forever. After their liberation and Josephine's marriage to Napoleon Bonaparte, Marie Anne Lenormand became the official fortuneteller of the royal couple. Later in her life, she taught small, select groups of students how to use her oracle. Unfortunately much of this knowledge was passed down by oral tradition, so modern psychics have been wracking their brains for two hundred years over these perplexing cards.
My first copy of these cards fell into my hands in 2002, but they sat on a shelf collecting dust until the publication of The Secrets of the Lenormand Oracle by Sylvie Steinbach in 2007. This book was the first and only manual for learning these cards to be published in English. (If you are interested in learning this oracle yourself, both the book and several versions of the card decks are available for purchase online).
The basic interpretations of this reading are drawn from Ms. Steinbach's brilliant book; the rest of the insights are mine.
The Reading
Bouquet: Granted Wishes
As I read the meaning of the Bouquet, "granted wishes," it made me think of fairy tales, Disney movies, and all kinds of "happily ever afters." The Bouquet indicates blessings that seem to come out of nowhere. Think about the last time someone gave you flowers. It was pretty unexpected, right? If you're anything like I am, a gift of flowers might even embarrass you. After all, it's big and unwieldy. It's not like you can just slip it into your pocket and pretend it didn't happen. On the contrary, a bouquet is meant to be displayed on your desk, coffee table, or mantelpiece. There's no hiding it.
The Bouquet is a wonderful omen that something great is about to happen in your life ... and everyone will know about it ... even your office nemesis who sits down the hall and is probably plotting and planning your demise right now. Wow, is she going to be peeved! Go you!
If you would like to have a more extensive reading with the Little Lenormand Oracle, please give me a call. Have a great day! K.
I had a challenging relationship with my grandmother. I don't think it was my fault, especially when I was a kid. She was a mean old lady. She bullied any family member who would let her get away with it. (Think of Charlie and Alan's mother on Two and a Half Men, minus the sex appeal). With the perspective of adulthood, I realize that she was probably afraid her children would gang up on her and to force her into a nursing home, so she encouraged them to fight about everything: her money, her jewelry, her houseful of moth-eaten antiques, her attention, her love. Divide and conquer. It was a highly effective tactic. Grandma died in 1996 but the spectre of discord lingers over the family even now. On the other hand, we're Irish. It could be argued that we enjoy discord. But I digress.
My grandmother was always very devoted to Saint Jude. Saint Jude is a Roman Catholic saint who is known as the patron of hopeless cases. Jude was a kinsman of Jesus, probably his cousin, and one of the original twelve Apostles. He followed the Lord to a violent death. The theory is that for the first thousand years or so after the Resurrection, he was confused with Judas, Jesus's betrayer. As a result, no one ever called on him for help or sought his intercession for anything. It is unclear when people first started calling on him for help, but when they did, his reputation as a powerful miracle worker spread rapidly.
But not with me. I decided early on that any saint who was a friend of Grandma's was no friend of mine.
Poor Jude. Sometimes I imagine him as a nerdy kid who is so desperate for friends that he will do anything for you: write your paper, do your homework, loan you his XBox. You want a new job? Done! Healing the sick? Done! Wrestling with an addiction and need sobriety to stick this time? Done! But I couldn't get past his friendship with my grandmother. When I became a professional psychic and started encouraging clients to call on the saints for help, I just avoided mentioning Jude. By then, Grandma was on the other side so I figured he probably had his hands full anyway.
Then one day, Karen came to see me.
I was sitting in the little classroom in the basement of the new age store where I worked for many years. This beautiful lady came down the stairs and stood in my doorway. "Kathy, do you remember me?"
I looked at her. There was definitely something familiar about her ... but the faces of all the people you have ever read for can become blurred together, like images in a dream. "I know I've read for you but it must have been a long time ago?" I invited Karen to come in and sit with me for a few minutes.
Karen told me I had read for her in 2000, which my first year as a professional psychic. At that time she had been wrestling with serious drug and alcohol issues. "I am six years sober!" She bent down and pulled a tattered booklet out of her bag. "Do you remember what you advised me to do?" she asked.
"No, I'm sorry. Not a clue."
She handed the book to me. It was a little pamphlet dedicated to the Catholic saints. "You gave this to me and told me to call on each saint one by one, then start over again if I needed to. But I stopped at J." She touched the pendant at her throat and I saw that it was some sort of a religious medal. "Once I started praying to Saint Jude, everything changed. Saint Jude saved my life."
About a year after Karen's visit, I taught my first class about the saints. I wanted my clients to know about these powerful beings of light who are willing, ready, and able to help us. All we need to do is call on them. Although I still had personal reservations, I couldn't very well leave poor Saint Jude out of it. One night after staying up doing research very late, I dreamed of a man with dark hair and dark eyes who was dressed very simply, like an ancient shepherd. He smiled at me, but there was deep sadness in his eyes. I actually thought it was Jesus for a minute. Then he reached out, put his hand over my heart, and said, "I am Jude." His immense healing power flowed into me. We've been friends ever since.
There are a lot of excellent resources where you can learn all about Saint Jude and his patronages and miracles. Here are some of the issues with which I have experienced his help firsthand:
Financial troubles
Worry & insomnia
Curbing addictions
Restoring hope and a more positive outlook
Fast, emergency help in any situation
Saint Jude responds very quickly to a plea for help. It's not necessary to be Catholic or to say any formal prayers; simply thinking, Saint Jude, help me! will summon him to your side. You will know he's around when you get the sense that no matter what problems you are facing, everything is going to be all right.
May all the Saints bless you!
All right, I'll admit it: I am getting older. I broke my foot two years ago, gained a lot of weight, and have been struggling to take it off ever since. I prayed for help and became inspired to order a step and some step aerobics dvd's. I realize the workout is dated, but believe me, it is still kickass! I have already lost a little bit of weight. It is also great because it engages your mind. You have to focus to master the steps. If you like dancing, aerobics, or are just interested in a fun workout, I highly recommend looking into it.
Sometimes my workout sessions go awry, though. I have several great step dvd's that I can do at home in my living room. Last week after completing a 45-minute routine I was drenched in sweat. I wandered into my kitchen and stripped off my workout clothes right in front of the washing machine. I stood there for a moment, savoring my workout buzz and gazing mindlessly through the front window .... suddenly I realized the UPS man was in the yard, frozen like a lawn jockey, gazing right back at me!
Oops! Poor guy. Too bad, he's a sweetheart. His name is Sam and he works out at my gym. I hope this doesn't make things weird.
I hope you are all having a wonderful Sunday. If you are looking for a reading I will be available for most of the day. And remember, if you want to run around naked in your own house, that's your business and nobody else's. It might be prudent to close the blinds, though.
Have a good one!
When I was about fourteen years old, I was awakened one winter night by a gentle, androgynous voice speaking to me in my mind. "Kathy, please go out into the hallway and sniff." Sniff? Like a bloodhound? Because I was only half awake, I obeyed without question. When I opened my bedroom door I discovered that our house was filled with black, oily smoke. It was cold too. Our boiler had clogged. The house was filling up with choking soot, smoke, and carbon monoxide. If the angels hadn't woken me up our entire family might have died. As it was, it was very difficult to wake up my parents. But we all survived.
Two weeks ago, I woke in the pitch darkness to a skull-rattling alarm.
"Oh my God, what the hell is that?"
While I was dancing around in the hallway with my hands over my ears, my sister emerged from her bedroom. "I put in new smoke alarms," she shouted, reaching past me to disable a new, evil-looking device over the back door. I had failed to notice it in the dark.
"All right," I said. "So where's the freaking fire?"
"It must have gone off by accident," she said. "That happens." Apparently it happens a lot. That thing has gone off no less than twice a week in the last month - and yes, you guessed it, there have been no fires.
Don't get me wrong, I think smoke alarms are a fantastic idea - when they work properly. But if I lived alone I wouldn't feel the need for one. Throughout my whole life, even before I began to study the psychic arts, that same gentle voice I heard that night so long ago has guided me out of the way of danger, no matter where I was or what was happening around me. I trust that it always will.
Have you had any experiences with hearing the voice of a guide or angel at a perilous moment in your own life? How did the situation work out? Angels and spirit guides stand quietly by, whispering guidance and encouragement, but it is very subtle unless we ask for their help and learn how to "hear" their voices; however, they can and DO intervene when we are in danger. Practice calling on your angels and guides for help every morning with everything, not just a timely warning. It will immeasurably enrich your life.
A couple of weeks ago, a friend and I went to a Christmas festival at the World Trade Center in Boston. One of the booths had beautifully engraved signs that you can hang on your front door, in your kitchen, in your cubicle, etc. Among the more exalted sayings like, "Believe," "Live, Love, Laugh," "Peace on Earth," and "Just Breathe," I stumbled upon this gem:
It is better to have loved and lost
Than to live with a psycho for the rest of your life.
That one was a keeper! It is now hanging proudly over my desk. I am hoping it will serve as an amulet against psycho boyfriends past, and psycho boyfriends yet to come.
On a more earnest note, I hope you are all pursuing love in your lives with reckless abandon, in spite of any scars you may still harbor from past hurts. Have a wonderful day!
When I was a little kid I thought Saint Joseph bestowed ice cream on good children - kind of like Santa Claus with toys. Let me explain.
My mother was a third grade teacher at a Catholic elementary school in the late sixties. This was back in the days when most of the teachers were nuns, though not all of them. My mother stopped working for a few years after I was born but the sisters came to visit us often. Whenever I heard their car pull into the driveway, I would run into the living room and hide behind my grandfather's rocking chair. Eventually I gathered my courage and poked my head around the dining room door, and there they were: an assortment of sweet-faced old ladies in dark dresses, wearing gold crucifixes and wimples that covered all but a few wisps of hair. They were Sisters of Saint Joseph, which is a teaching order.
Sister Bonitus was their leader. She was the school principal and the mother superior of their convent; she was always the one behind the wheel of their huge black sedan. Sister Bonitus was tall and elegant, with snowy white hair and bright blue eyes. It was apparent that she loved God, loved being a nun, and loved everyone around her. As an adult, I realize that she had charisma and what I can only describe as "star quality." Not usually something you associate with a bride of Christ, but nevertheless, this lady had it. As shy as I was, I always wanted to be near her and I would usually sidle up next to her chair sooner or later.
My earliest memory of Sister Bonitus is probably the first time she slipped me some ice cream money. "Here," she whispered to me one afternoon when my mother had left the dining room, pulling me close and pressing a five-dollar bill into my hand. "Take this. It's a present from Saint Joseph. Tell your mother to take you out for ice cream ... but don't give her the money until we drive away." Then she grinned at me and winked conspiratorially. I smiled back. The last time I spoke to her was in 1994, when my mother was dying. She must have been very old then - her voice wavered and cracked a little - but her energy was as powerful as ever. "We are all praying for you here, honey," she said. "Saint Joseph will protect all of you. It's okay to be angry with God. He understands." When I hung up the phone I sat down and cried for an hour, which I had been unable to do until then. After that I had a sense that everything was going to be okay, no matter what happened.
A lot of folks bury a statue of Saint Joseph in their yards to sell a house quickly, but the foster father of Jesus means so much more than that to me. You can call on Saint Joseph for anything, but he is the patron saint of the following issues:
Families
Fathers
Carpenters
A happy & holy death
Real estate
Employment
Because of my family's association with the sisters of Saint Joseph, we all grew up asking this great saint for any special favors we needed. Saint Joseph is very powerful miracle worker and responds quickly to prayers. You don't have to say anything fancy or formal; just thinking, Saint Joseph, help me! will call him to your side. He has a very gentle, loving energy, like you are being enfolded in a warm hug. He responds to the prayers of all people, of all faiths, everywhere.
I hope you are having a good day. May all the Saints bless you!
Yesterday afternoon I was sitting in a restaurant, eating fish cakes and minding my own business. A curmudgeonly older gentleman sat down next to me at the bar and started telling me everything that is wrong with my life. Among other things, he informed me that I am too fat and opinionated to keep a man. Who knew those two attributes go so well together? I thought about hitting him between the eyes with a meat cleaver; then I realized I didn't have one in my purse. I invoked the angel Camael instead.
Camael's name means "one who sees God." Camael helps us to process anger and righteous indignation; if necessary, this angel will help you to hold your own in a debate and express yourself in a powerful but loving way. Camael will also encourage you to keep your mouth shut if there is nothing to be gained by engaging in conflict. That was the message I got yesterday: walk away. It's not worth arguing. I smiled, wished him a happy Veteran's Day, and sashayed out of the restaurant. And for the record: I am not fat. I am curvy.
The other day a client asked me a question. When I answered, she asked me, "Is that what the cards say?" That question got me thinking. If these cards could actually
talk, they would make a hell of a ruckus! The love stories that unfold in the world of the tarot ... the battles that are lost and one ... all the diverse personalities ... yep, it would be noisy. Then I started thinking: what if the tarot could not only talk, but come to life? Then I started scribbling. Here is the beginning of what I think might happen if the Tarot came to life one night. More will follow. I hope you enjoy it.
The Mystic took of his glasses, setting them down carefully next to the lamp, and wearily rubbed the bridge of his nose. He had studied fruitlessly for hours. He tried to peer out into the moonless winter night, searching for inspiration or distraction; but the window across from his desk revealed nothing but his own reflection. The image of a slender man in his early twenties, with gray eyes and unfashionably long hair, gazed back at him. "I don't think we're making any progress. Do you?" His reflection shook its head.
"Right. Bedtime." The Mystic picked up the deck of cards in front of him and patiently turned them all right side up. He set the cards down next to the lamp and his glasses and laid a small wooden cross on top of the pile. "Good night." He turned off the lamp and climbed into bed, burrowing deeply under the covers. Within minutes he was snoring.
An hour passed. Two. Somewhere in the recesses of the house, a grandfather clock struck the hour of three. The mournful light of a single star pierced the darkness of the room, falling on the wooden cross. The cards began to fidget. The cross held them in place. Suddenly there was the faraway sound of a horse's whinny and the clinking of armor; and then the cross was lifted, moved, and placed reverently to one side. The nighttime in the room seemed to fold back upon itself and a soldier on a magnificent white horse stepped out of the shadows. The man was of medium height and sinewy build. His graying hair was cut short and adorned with a laurel wreath. On a less masculine figure the laurel wreath might have looked ridiculous; but it conferred a touch of royalty and civility that was strangely appropriate to his dented armor and tattered cloak. The soldier alighted from his horse and spoke reassuringly into the animal's neck.
"Be quiet, Scout."
Letting go of the horse's bridle, the man stepped forward. His armor and sword in its scabbard clinked gently. Tossing back his cloak, he leaned close to the young man in the bed. The Mystic had thrown off the covers and his torso was exposed. His chest rose and fell rhythmically. The solder pulled a vial from a leather bag tethered at his waist and sprinkled something in the young man's nostrils, then glanced over his shoulder and whistled a signal into the darkness. His horse shifted nervously but made no sound. The soldier waited patiently.
It was safe for the others to come forward with their precious cargo. The Mystic was sleeping.
The other day a client asked me a question. When I answered, she asked me, "Is that what the cards say?" That question got me thinking. If these cards could actually
talk, they would make a hell of a ruckus! The love stories that unfold in the world of the tarot ... the battles that are lost and one ... all the diverse personalities ... yep, it would be noisy. Then I started thinking: what if the tarot could not only talk, but come to life? Then I started scribbling. Here is the beginning of what I think might happen if the Tarot came to life one night. More will follow. I hope you enjoy it.
The Mystic took of his glasses, setting them down carefully next to the lamp, and wearily rubbed the bridge of his nose. He had studied fruitlessly for hours. He tried to peer out into the moonless winter night, searching for inspiration or distraction; but the window across from his desk revealed nothing but his own reflection. The image of a slender man in his early twenties, with gray eyes and unfashionably long hair, gazed back at him. "I don't think we're making any progress. Do you?" His reflection shook its head.
"Right. Bedtime." The Mystic picked up the deck of cards in front of him and patiently turned them all right side up. He set the cards down next to the lamp and his glasses and laid a small wooden cross on top of the pile. "Good night." He turned off the lamp and climbed into bed, burrowing deeply under the covers. Within minutes he was snoring.
An hour passed. Two. Somewhere in the recesses of the house, a grandfather clock struck the hour of three. The mournful light of a single star pierced the darkness of the room, falling on the wooden cross. The cards began to fidget. The cross held them in place. Suddenly there was the faraway sound of a horse's whinny and the clinking of armor; and then the cross was lifted, moved, and placed reverently to one side. The nighttime in the room seemed to fold back upon itself and a soldier on a magnificent white horse stepped out of the shadows. The man was of medium height and sinewy build. His graying hair was cut short and adorned with a laurel wreath. On a less masculine figure the laurel wreath might have looked ridiculous; but it conferred a touch of royalty and civility that was strangely appropriate to his dented armor and tattered cloak. The soldier alighted from his horse and spoke reassuringly into the animal's neck.
"Be quiet, Scout."
Letting go of the horse's bridle, the man stepped forward. His armor and sword in its scabbard clinked gently. Tossing back his cloak, he leaned close to the young man in the bed. The Mystic had thrown off the covers and his torso was exposed. His chest rose and fell rhythmically. The solder pulled a vial from a leather bag tethered at his waist and sprinkled something in the young man's nostrils, then glanced over his shoulder and whistled a signal into the darkness. His horse shifted nervously but made no sound. The soldier waited patiently.
It was safe for the others to come forward with their precious cargo. The Mystic was sleeping.
Good afternoon, everyone! Happy Monday. I hope you are all enjoying a beautiful late summer day.
So many readings deal with romantic relationships that I pulled out a deck I forgot I owned: the Relationship Deck by Susan Woldman. I bought this deck many years ago on a whim at a new age store in Cambridge, Massachusetts, then promptly neglected to use it. I have been flipping through it all morning. It's a wise little oracle and I feel it has a lot to say.
The card of the day is: Compassion. Here is the message from the back of the card: "Do not enable bad habits nor retreat in anger. Instead, allow the compassion in your heart to penetrate the situation. Remember what is truly important."
Compassion. Huh. If you are anything like me, compassion may be a difficult concept for you. When my last boyfriend dumped me, I was in pretty bad shape for a while. Every time I thought about him, I wanted to hit him between the eyes with a meat cleaver! A bad breakup is an extreme situation .. but what about the little problems that arise from day to day even in a good relationship? How do you find compassion in your heart when your significant other glances at another man or woman on the street, or doesn't call when he/she says they will, or cancels plans with you at the last minute?
When I took karate many years ago, I learned that most people will fight harder in a physical confrontation to protect their egos than they will to protect their bodies. I think this is true in romantic relationships as well. Think about it: when you love someone, he or she has power over you. It's like you have turned yourself over as a hostage to your loved one's whims, moods, and issues. When something goes wrong who's the first person we blame? Usually ourselves! "Why did he leave me? Was it because I am too fat? Too old? In debt? Can't dance? Can't cook? Don't like camping?" Any of this sound familiar?
I truly believe that the most important relationship any one of us will have during our lifetime is the relationship we have with ourselves; all other relationships stem from that one. If you don't like yourself, if you cannot cherish your lovable qualities and make peace with your shadow side, any connections you form are destined to fail. It won't matter if you meet the most wonderful, adoring, devoted partner in the world: there will never be enough love to make up for the fact that you don't love yourself.
Just for today, have compassion on yourself. Overlook your faults. Appreciate your good points. You are a beautiful, perfect child of God. Deep down you accept that that is true of others; today try to believe it about yourself. Have compassion for everyone around you, but most of all for YOU.
The Eastern goddess Kwan Yin is known as the Goddess of Compassion. Kwan Yin has vowed to walk on the planet and not to leave humanity until we have all ascended, or reached enlightenment, or been redeemed. It does not matter what you call it. Kwan Yin responds quickly and you do not need to say any formal prayers to call her to your side. Simply thinking, "Kwan Yin, help me!" will summon her. Remember to express your gratitude for the goddess's intervention in your life.
I hope you are all having a great day!
love, WaterQueene
Affirmation: I begin each new day with energy and enthusiasm.
Angel: Gabriel
Most of you are lucky enough never to have woken up in the morning in the same house with me (for which you should be thankful) but let me just say that in my relatively short life, I have raised “getting up on the wrong side of the bed” to an art form. I face each new day in a cranky, mean, pissed-off mood. On a typical morning I wake up with bleary eyes, snarled hair, and a nagging feeling that I just dreamed something of vast importance but now I can’t remember it. I slither out of bed onto all fours like the house is on fire and I have to stay close to the ground; grope for my glasses on the nightstand to look at the clock; cuss and swear when I realize it’s time to get up. At that point in my morning ritual there are a couple of different ways to go. Some mornings I drop my head into my hands and wail, “Oh God! I can’t face it! I just can’t face another day!” Other mornings I burst out of my bedroom and hurl myself into the shower as though I’ve just been exposed to radioactivity and have to scrub all my skin off immediately to avoid being vaporized. Still other mornings, my mind turns to thoughts of original sin and how the necessity of getting out of bed every morning is sure proof of my own collusion in that first act of disobedience to the will of God. This whole chain of events is complicated by the fact that many years ago I contracted plantar fascitis when I was taking karate lessons. If you don’t know what that is, it is an injury to the tendon on the bottom of your foot at the edge of your heel that makes walking or running excruciatingly painful. It tends to tighten up during the night. Over the years it has healed for the most part but sometimes it still flairs up, particularly on chilly mornings, when I hobble from bedroom to bathroom with a pronounced limp and a bladder that is ready to burst. There is usually a boisterous, tail-wagging black Lab in the hallway who refuses to let me pass until I kiss her on the lips. (Yep, it's gross). And as though all this were not enough, for some unfathomable reason the water in the shower will never get hot until about thirty seconds before I am ready to get out.
In my lifetime I have endured run-ins with many of you “morning people” (you know who you are, you bastards). My mother was the worst. She used to get up at 4:30 every morning, toss a load of laundry into the washing machine, read a chapter in her book, then do some Hoovering right outside my bedroom door. She loved harassing me and my sisters (all three of whom are anti-morning, like me) and would often pick fights with us just for shits and giggles the minute we rolled out of bed. (I remember waking up one morning in 1991, sitting up in bed and praying to die right then and there; my mother appeared at my door and said, “So, have you thought about how you are going to pay for graduate school?”)
It is extremely unlikely that I will ever manage to put today’s affirmation to work in my daily life, but what the hell. It’s worth a try! Our affirmation today is:
I begin each new day with energy and enthusiasm.
Whenever I affirm something that will be particularly difficult for my conscious mind to accept, I like to add, “By the grace of God” to the beginning of the affirmation. By the grace of God – and only by the grace of God – I begin each new day with energy and enthusiasm. As always, if the name “God” is not compatible with your belief system, feel free to substitute another name.
Our Angel today is Gabriel. Gabriel is one of the Angels who rules over the night and bestows peaceful sleep and healing dreams on all who call upon her; invoke Gabriel to help you to sleep well during the night and wake up refreshed, rejuvenated, and excited to tackle the challenges of your day, whatever they may turn out to be. Gabriel will also help you to remember your dreams and interpret them. If you find you are dreaming too much and it interferes with your sleep, or you suffer from nightmares, a quick prayer to Gabriel will remedy this situation.
I hope you are all having a good day!
K.
I now release everything that does not resonate with my true self.
Angel: Chamuel
This is the story of a sad breakup. I have had others and I always try to find the humor in them, so keep reading!
On a late summer morning a few years ago, I was sitting in church saying the Rosary when this affirmation popped into my head. I almost never interrupt a decade of the Rosary once I have started it, but this seemed important. I stopped praying for a minute and affirmed: I now release everything that does not resonate with my true self. I now release everything that does not resonate with my true self. I now release everything that does not resonate with my true self. Then I paused to reflect; it felt good. It felt right. I resumed praying and thought no further about my affirmation break until around noontime, when I realized there was a message on my cell phone. It was from Dan, once my boyfriend, who had now apparently become my ex. The message was brief, brutal, and to the point. It went something like this:
“Yeah, hi. I don’t want to see you anymore. Take care of yourself.”
OUCH!
See, this is why I am often reluctant to check my voice mail: IT IS ALMOST ALWAYS BAD NEWS! Name me one good thing that has ever come of a voice mail message. Go on, I dare you. I remember one time, I was sitting in my nail salon having a pedicure. There was another woman sitting next to me who was having a manicure and a pedicure at the same time. Her cell phone rang in the recesses of her purse; she disregarded it. It rang again, more insistently. I said, “Do you need your phone?” and reached for her bag.
“DON’T TOUCH THAT PHONE!” she bellowed. “THAT CALL IS FROM SOMEONE WHO WANTS SOMETHING!”
I have thought often of that lady over the years and pondered the wisdom of her views on cell phone usage, or non-usage. On the other hand, I’m sure that whoever was calling – her mechanic to tell her that the problem with her car was bigger than he initially thought and thus the repairs were going to cost substantially more money, her husband to tell her to cancel their dinner plans because he had to work late, her elderly mother’s neighbor to inform her that she had been knocking on the mother’s door for two days but got no answer - left her a depressing voice mail message.
However, my voice mail did serve one very important purpose: it bought me time to pull myself together and prevented me from reacting in anger, or shock, or grief. I calmly replayed the message a second and then a third time, hung up the phone and slapped my forehead. “Duh! I knew this was coming!”
The fact was that Dan was not exactly the wisest choice I could have made for a partner in a long-term relationship. My sister Beth put it very well: “Look, I love the bastard, but he is an ex-criminal, a former heavy drug user, a bigot, cheap, stubborn, and a grouch!” Yep, that pretty much sums it up.
Or does it? That night I tossed and turned, tormenting myself with the thoughts of all I’ve lost. I remembered the night we met, on a dinner cruise on the Spirit of Boston; I watched out of the corner of my eye as this adorable, unassuming guy checked me out from across the room, then slowly made his way through the crowd and sidled up next to me where I stood at the edge of the dance floor, holding my friend’s purse. I remember thinking he kind of looked like Barney Rubble; that was my very first impression of him. I thought of all the nights last summer when I would come out of work and find him parked in front of my building, waiting to surprise me and take me out for dinner and a movie. I recalled the first time he met my family, how charming and funny he was. Dan loves dogs and is particularly smitten with our pug, Chloe (or was – I suppose he has dumped her now, too). I thought of all the afternoons this winter when he took the dogs outside in the yard to play, then brought them back inside and patiently wiped their feet with a dishtowel while they pranced around, trying to jump up to give him a kiss and splattering him with mud in the process. I remembered his telling me that he hated Christmas, then gradually relenting because I love it so much and making me a CD of Christmas songs which he called, the Only Christmas CD You’ll Ever Need! I thought of the day he came to brunch to meet my father and stepmother (by the way, he wore a jacket and tie to brunch that day because he wanted to make a good impression); remembered his concern and worry over my father’s illness; replayed the memories of him sitting beside my father’s hospital bed for hours; then, finally, standing with his arm around me at Dad’s grave. All these things made him the man I loved. That other guy – the angry, stubborn, hostile monster whom one of his friends refers to as “the Beast” – is the one who left me the breakup voice mail after I had expressed my desire to be set free: I now release everything that does not resonate with my true self.
Many years ago when I was dumped by another guy, a friend cut out a picture of a Stop sign and taped it to a Popsicle stick. She told me to hold it up every time I thought about Joe and tell myself to STOP! This method did not work right away but it did work. It will eventually work for Dan, too. I now release everything that no longer resonates with my true self.
Our Angel today is Chamuel. Chamuel is one of the most powerful healers in heaven. Just thinking about him is enough to call him to your side. Invoke Chamuel whenever you are hurt, depressed, or confused. He will come swiftly to your aid. A good simple prayer is, Chamuel, heal my broken heart. Repeating this prayer over and over will bring relief. Maybe not immediately, but relief will come.
I hope you are all having a great day!
I have been a fan of Archangel Michael for many years. Michael's name means, "who is like God." This indicates that he is one with the mind of God and carries out the will of the Almighty, but it's also a question: "Who is like God?" And the answer is, "no one." In my opinion, though, this archangel comes pretty close. Michael is the angel who drove Lucifer and the other fallen angels out of heaven. He is the ultimate protector in any situation of heightened conflict or stress, in which you feel your safety or security might be threatened, but he is also very helpful in day-to-day life.
A lot of people don't realize this, but Michael, like all the angels, has a wicked sense of humor. When you begin to call on Michael for help every day, some comical situations are going to arise. Here is just one example.
Earlier this year, I took a temp job with a financial firm downtown. I hadn't worked in a fast-paced corporate environment for a while and it was very stressful; also, I had mixed feelings about giving up on doing psychic readings full-time and I harbored fears that I would sabotage myself (as so many Pisces tend to do). I started invoking Michael every day while I rode to work on the commuter rail. You don't need any fancy prayers to connect with the angels, so I usually make something up based on the situation in which I find myself. This was my prayer at that time: "Archangel Michael, protect me from myself." I would repeat this little mantra over and over at different times during the day, whenever I felt that circumstances were about to overwhelm me. And it worked ... for a while. Things were going okay until one fateful Wednesday afternoon when I innocently went into the kitchen to grab a Diet Dr. Pepper as my late-day caffeine fix.
Now, before I tell you this story and completely incriminate myself, let me just say in my defense that this was the kind of office where there was free food everywhere: donuts and bagels in the morning, Sam LaGrassa's orders for lunch, cookie runs in the afternoon, you name it. I was not used to this. My last job was at a consulting firm where we all ate like pigs, and I wouldn't turn my back on food if it was for one of my meetings because inevitably, someone would gobble it up. (I once ordered lunch for a group meeting around Halloween; before the meeting even started, one of the other executive assistants tried to steal the cookie platter. She was mesmerized by the witches, bats, and pumpkins. But that is a story for another day). What happened to me next was an accident.
That Wednesday afternoon came at the end of long, difficult day. I was tired. I was hungry. One of the people I supported had taken me to lunch, which is never a comfortable situation. I wanted to order a burger the size of a Frisbee and wash it down with a pitcher of margaritas, but instead I had a bowl of soup and an iced tea. I wandered into the kitchen feeling pretty sorry for myself ... and there, on the counter, was a leftover cheesecake. I vaguely remembered seeing an e-mail earlier that day about a birthday party for someone named Mary. Who the hell is Mary? I wondered, and went back to work. Now there was leftover birthday cake. "Wow! Thanks, Mary!" The cheesecake was cut in sections with each piece nestled individually in its own ruffled paper. I grabbed a plate and fork from a drawer and helped myself to a wedge of the cake. And let me tell you, it was delicious. Moist, dense, rich, with a glaze of caramel on top. Yum. I perched on a chair by the window and gazed out at Post Office Square while I ate. Aaah. The tension of the afternoon began to recede. Thirty floors below me, the streets were getting crowded. People were beginning to leave work for the day and traffic was backed up all along Congress Street. I started thinking about what I would do after work: go to the gym? Head straight home with a bottle of wine and drink it with my best friend on her patio? I was leaning towards wine on the patio when all of a sudden it dawned on me: hey, this cake tastes really fresh. Like it just came out of the fridge. I looked towards the counter. Huh. That kind of looks like ... a whole cake with only one piece missing. All of a sudden my throat closed and I paused, mid-bite. All right, don't panic. This place is free food central. Maybe there was more than one cake. Even I can't believe what I did next: I calmly set my cake down on the windowsill, sauntered casually over to the wastebasket, and began going through the trash. I was looking for discarded plates, forks, the usual birthday party detritus. All my search yielded was an empty box from the Cheesecake Factory.
Holy shit! I am eating Mary's birthday cake! The party hasn't even happened yet! I'm a dessert burglar!
My eyes darted around the kitchen. I might still escape undetected. I glanced at my half-eaten cheesecake and for a split second, pondered shoving the rest of it in my mouth. Then with great regret, I buried it in the bottom of the trash barrel underneath someone's empty Lean Cuisine box. Okay, don't panic, just get the hell out of here. On the way out of the kitchen, I grabbed a Diet Dr. Pepper as a decoy. As exited the kitchen in one direction, I heard the birthday party revelers coming down the hall a different way.
I scurried back to my desk and I waited. After ten or fifteen minutes, people started trickling back to their desks. A small group went into one of the offices down the hall and as the door shut, I heard a woman's voice say, "Did you hear what happened to Mary's birthday cake?" Then a burst of laughter. I pretty much skulked at my desk and kept a low profile for the rest of the afternoon. Nothing happened. Nothing at all. A few people made jokes about it during the rest of that week, but no one really seemed to care. After all, it was only a cake. In fact, I now think it could be argued that I performed a public service but giving the whole crew a good laugh.
Saint Michael, protect me from myself. I have no doubt that the great Archangel was looking out for me that day. Consider the facts: no one came into the kitchen, I didn't get caught in the hallway, no one asked for my dental imprints as evidence. I completely escaped detection. Michael will protect you from all kinds of serious dangers: traffic accidents, crime, fire, persecution for any reason, domestic abuse. But apparently he also doesn't mind stepping in to help you hide the evidence when you have done something dumb!
As I said earlier, you don't need to say any specific prayers to invoke the help of Archangel Michael. If you are interested, there are many lovely, formal prayers available online. But a formal prayer is not required. Just thinking, Michael, help me! will summon him to your side. The angels cannot interfere in our day to day life unless we ask them. They will intervene if you are in a life or death situation, but that's it. It is important to call on them for help everyday. Try invoking Michael in your own life for the next couple of days and see what happens. Your day will unfold more happily, successfully, and harmoniously. Maybe most important of all: you won't find yourself hiding cheesecake in a trash barrel.
I hope you are all having a good day. May all the Archangels bless you!
Ah, Halloween. How I love you: the bright and dark colors, the crisp air, the parties, the
candy! But every year the same question arises: to costume or not to costume?
Now, as you can probably imagine, psychics get invited to a lot of Halloween parties. More often than not, the host or hostess expects us to work. For many years I have done a slew of Halloween parties in the two weeks leading up to the big day, and I always respectfully decline to wear a costume. I try to dress in all black whenever I am working in public and I know a lot of energy is going to get thrown at me. It's not that the energy is bad, it's just that too much of it will make me manic, and that is a bad state of mind in which to try to do readings. Calming, soothing black deflects that energy and neutralizes it. Plus, I feel that if I were to show up dressed as Marie Antoinette or Cleopatra, for instance (two costumes that I recently rejected at iParty), it would cheapen the readings and lessen their impact.
However, this year I have been invited to a party at my favorite restaurant. I am attending as a guest, not the Psychic for Hire. My best friend and I recently cruised the malls looking for an outfit for me. I considered and rejected all the fancy and risque stuff: Pirate Queen, Dominatrix, Fairy Princess, Angel, Female Vampire. None of those felt like me. The only costume that even remotely tempted me was on the clearance rack at the Halloween Shoppe. The body resembles, well, a boxy burlap sack. It looks like it's made out of felt, actually, with drawers and handles down the front. There was a lampshade for me to wear on my head. The costume was called - are you ready for this - "The One-Night Stand." Hilarious!
Can't you just hear the jokes?
"What are you supposed to be?"
"I'm a one-night stand.
"Not in that outfit, you're not!"
Anyway, I couldn't resist. The One Night Stand is now hanging in the Lone Coat Closet, just waiting for the party on Friday night. I'm not sure what kind of shoes I am going to wear with it, but when you show up with a lampshade on your head, I guess the shoes are beside the point.
I hope you all have a safe and blessed Halloween. In between running back and forth to holiday events, I will be online offering a special rate of $1.99 through Sunday, October 31, at midnight. Happy Halloween!