The Bridge

This is another lesson I learned the hard way. It happened six or eight months ago, but I wrote it down in as much detail as I could at the time. The article deviates from my intended use of this blog again, but I thought the experience worth sharing and can act as a warning. When you get to the point that you don’t even have to touch something or someone to get information, you can find more than you were looking for without even trying.

By the time I was finally able to get up off the floor, I was still disoriented. The pool of vomit beneath me smelled of sour milk and bile. Pain crept slowly into my elbow from where I landed on the ceramic tile floor when I blacked out.

I staggered to the bathroom to get something to clean myself up with. When I caught my reflection in the wall-sized mirror, it took a moment for me to recognize my own face. “I wasn’t an albino when I woke up this morning,” the face staring back at me was as white as a linen bed sheet. All of the blood in my skin had been drawn into my internal organs to protect them from oxygen deprivation.

I made my way back to the rancid pool of vomit and fell to my knees, then began to clean up the mess. I never realized how much the human stomach could hold until I saw it spilled all over my kitchen floor and had to clean it up with a washcloth, it wasn;’t nearly large enough to even put a dent in the mess so I switched to the dish towel that hung on the handle of the oven.

I never saw this one coming. It’d been years since anything like this had happened to me, and back then, I had no idea what caused it. Now I know better. Eight years can teach you a lot, now I understand.

It all started when I walked back from the office in front of the complex where I live. Everything had been fine for so long that I’d forgotten what I’d gone through to get where I am today, feeling normal, well, mostly normal. On my way back to my apartment I passed by one of my neighbors who sat on his patio out in front of his apartment, smoking a cigarette and staring at the floor. (I say ‘Happened to pass by’ but there isn’t much in my life that just happens. Everything is for a reason and I spend a lot of time trying to figure out what that reason is) 

My neighbor’s daughter had recently passed away and he was in bad shape, really bad shape. I had been counseled in the past to wear or keep a dark colored stone on my person at all times to protect me from absorbing other people’s negative energy. But that’s half the fun of being me, I always want to know why, so I didn’t heed the advice I’d been given. I figured I could handle anything that came at me, boy was I wrong, and what a way to find out.

I walked over to his patio, greeted him shook his hand and asked how he was holding up. That was all it took. He started out slow at first, telling me about the funeral and all the people who came to show their respect. Then he went into the arrangements he’d made for her estate and how much his ex-wife was selling off and keeping the proceeds. He told me that he’d sold and given away, well, donated, most of his own assets because material things no longer meant anything to him.

It wasn’t until he described the hospital room where she died that I got a strange tingling sensation down the center of my body (that was the warning that I didn’t heed or understand). I guess it’s like the aura that an epileptic feels just before they are about to have a seizure. The body is trying to tell you something is coming.

I was absorbing all of his pain, and fast. When he described seeing a coyote minutes after she passed I felt a shudder in my body that caused my muscles to twitch. As he kept talking and pouring out all of his pain, I started to feel light headed and nauseous. I felt like I was going to pass out right there in front of God and everybody.

I cut the conversation short and headed the few hundred feet to my own front door. Barely making it up the stairs still upright, I pushed the door open and staggered in. Everything was going black. I made it as far as the kitchen before I passed out and hit the floor. I guess I’m lucky I spilled my guts as I fell, or at least I think I did, or else I could’ve choked on my own vomit.

I don’t think it was long before I came to. The last thing I remember hearing was the thud of my body hitting the tile floor, but I didn’t feel it. When I opened my eyes and could finally move, the first sensation I could feel was the warmth of the thick, gritty vomit between my cheek and the cold floor.

Everyone calls being an empath or psychic a gift, that’s a bunch of bullshit. It’s a burden you learn to live with like being born with one leg shorter than the other, except no one points and stares at an empath or a psychic, they just think you’re a weirdo.

That was the bridge I crossed, the one between the five physical senses and the sixth. The only example I can think of to help someone relate to my experience is that I felt like John Coffee in The Green Mile. I took this man’s pain into my body to the point of overload on myself. I can only hope that in some way  I was able to help ease his suffering. To believe that would make it worth the while…


Sauce Ladle

DSC_0268Another garage sale. I picked up a silver plated sauce ladle, it was half price. Let’s see where it takes me.


-A man wearing a black suit. A black bow tie. He has a grey bushy mustache and mutton chops. (1870) came as words. There is quail on the table with dinner.

-The men in the room are talking about the king of England (the year was in the Victorian era so they might have been saying that England needs a king) Men smoking pipes and cigars. The servant, a woman, is wearing a white linen cape (apron) with long strings on the back, she comes into the room to clean up. She says, “Guvna” an English accent.

-Wooden roller skates. One of the children that live in the house left them in the smoking room. Someone mentions that the cigars are from Havana.

-The roller skate looks like a tall shoe with wheels on it.


I checked out the skates, the description is in period. In 1870 they had wooden roller skates. Plenty of cigars came from Havana in that year also, especially to England. The servant checks out as well. They wore a cape (apron) just like I saw. All this is excellent proof for me, quantifiable data. There’s just one thing that I can’t figure out. From what I can gather, this ladle was made in 1937. So there must be a connection between the ladle and the men in the room in 1870, what it is I don’t know yet…


(I’m going to deviate a bit from my intended use of the site. This piece describes how it feels on the other side)


What is the big picture? To understand the how and why of it all maybe. To see things from the outside, from a point of view where you remove your ego from the equation. Is that what we strive for, how long does it take to get there? How many years do we have to play the game before you get a chance to be the dealer and see things from the other side of the table? Once you are handed the deck there is no way back to ignorance, you can’t un-know the truth. You can’t hide from it at the bottom of a bottle. If you tried, it would always be there, staring you in the face when you sobered up.


Walk through a group of people. Who they are or why they’ve gathered doesn’t matter, just look at and listen to everyone you can. Does anyone there know the truth? Can any of them see what you see or feel what you feel? Focus on just one person in this group. Young or old, black or white, male or female, rich or poor, none of that matters. Just focus on one and before long they’ll become translucent, wrapped up in the life they’ve created for themselves and insulated from the truth, from the big picture.


Why it is so scary that most of the world hides from the truth, fears it, ignores what’s right in front of them? There is so much here, so much to this life, yet I only ever find those who are looking, seeking, yearning to see what isn’t hidden. I’d give anyone a hand up here if only I could find someone who wasn’t afraid to let go of the thread that tethers them to the world of the seen.


I’ve heard people lie, say that they are here with me, looking at the big picture. At first, I want to believe them. I listen to them and soak up every word they speak, eager to have found someone else who’s evolved, transcended the world of the mundane. I listen, waiting for a word or sign that would show me that they could see what I see. I have faith in them and give my full attention, but as I listen their image fades and their facade crumbles before my eyes. Like everyone else, they become invisible to me, just another empty shell who walks around in a half-conscious daze trying to navigate the maze of life like so many others. In my eyes, no one can hide and the truth always be known…




Item #2

I have a friend, she’s in her late eighties. She asked me to fix a container she kept on her dresser. It was an antique that she’d had for many years and she wanted it cleaned up and painted with glossy gold paint. The brass of it’s intricate top and lead that made up the figures, angles I think, that formed the legs had faded. I took the piece home and cleaned it the best I could, took it apart and painted each piece. The lid was about six inches around with a lip at the edge about a half inch long. Inside was a smooth glass bowl and the base was like a fine lattice, three inches high, and you could see the glass through it. Four little lead figures made up the legs.

I didn’t know what it’s original purpose was when I started on it. I believe she kept trinkets or knick knacks inside. After I had done the work to it and the paint had dried, I decided to do psychometry on it and see what I could come up with. I held it in both hands and got into the zone. As the images came to me, I wrote each one down verbatim. On thing I learned about doing this is that you have to turn off your judgement, you can’t filter what you get through your brain. I just call it exactly like I see or hear it. Sometimes the images I get are followed or preceded by words. So here it is, exactly as I saw it.

This item sat on a small dresser with a narrow white cloth beneath it.The cloth was long and hungover the sides of this dresser and had lace or doily looking edges. The dresser was not square or rectangle, the front of it curved in and out like the top of a heart. The legs had carved feet, sort of fluted, at the bottom.

This item sat off to one side of the top of the dresser. In the center sat a hair brush with a gold handle, boxy and square looking. There were also some hairpins on this table. The color of the wood the drawers were made of was golden maple fading from dark to light. Smooth scrolling on the edges but nothing of the face of the drawers. Alongside the drawers was vertical fluting that went down to form the legs and feet. I run my hand along the surface of the drawers, the wood is hard and smooth. The pulls on the drawer look brass, shaped like an elongated bell or tastle.

This piece of furniture has an ornate mirror mounted to it, oval, sitting vertically. The frame has scrolling around the edge and the mirror is thick with beveled edged glass. There is a picture of a man tucked into the bottom edge of the frame. He’s wearing a dark suit and a bowler hat. The photo is black and white with a whitish background. The man has a thick, dark mustache that looks too big for his face. There is also a short pencil with no eraser or markings on it, like it went to a board game, sitting on this piece of furniture.

The room has smooth plaster walls and a single door. The floorboards creak, the door knob is glass, shiney and new looking. There is a skeleton key in the lock. Buttonhook shoes, arranged neatly. A wardrobe of chifferobe with big wooden hangers inside. The woman that lives here is nineteen years old. The man in the picture is much older than her, maybe her father. There are long hat pins on this table, next to the hairpins.

At the end of the room is a sash window painted white. White lacey curtains on the window, not sheer, but heavy. Wool bedsheet, small rug in front of the bed. Metal frame headboard.

This item is full of powder, like talc. A puffer with a wooden knob in the center, fluffy on the edges with a cloth circle in the center, delicate looking. Red and blue, like needlepoint on the edges of the curtains. Chamber pot and wash basin, bloody rags in the chamber pot. A small chair with a stuffed animal sitting on it. Oval rug in the center of the room. An old woman lives in this house too. She’s wearing a billowy cotton muslin nightshirt.

It jumps around from place to place a bit, but that’s how I get it. Not always in order. That’s psychometry, I pick up an object and read it. I had no idea that the item I was holding was a powder bowl until after the fact. Cool…