Chapter 1
In the first chapter, I talked about psychics. The reason I talked about psychics was to plant a seed. I wanted to point out that yes, we can be a bit strange, we can be territorial or dramatic. We can be judgmental and ego-driven. We can be fake, we can be phony. But we can also be right. Go to a bunch of psychics and ask them the same question. Chances are you’ll get the same response, just presented in different ways.
And if we can be right, what does that mean? It means there’s something else out there. It means maybe it’s real.
If life isn’t about making money and scoring toys, what’s it about? Maybe everything we go through happens for a reason, maybe you’re reading this book for a reason. Maybe that’s the point of chapter one.
But let me ask you something. Do you really think that psychics who charge a lot and dress in costumes are better than ones who don’t? Or if a psychic is on tv, does that make them better than the psychics who aren’t?
Because I’m here to tell you, they’re not.
Please stop being so closed-minded. Maybe it’s fear, maybe the whole concept is just too much for you to bear, so you make fun of it. But I’ll try to keep it simple for you folks that have a hard time with it: psychic not bad, psychic good.
Chapter 2
The point of chapter 2 is to show you that answers come from all sorts of places, not just psychics. They come to us every day, in small ways and big. It starts with trusting yourself, trusting that inner voice. Don’t just sit and ask, do something—anything.
Action and movement is the key. The best way to get answers is to act. You hate your job? That in itself is an answer. If you’re sick of your job, that’s different, welcome to the club. I swear there are days when I just can’t take another possession. But if you hate your job, do something. Volunteer at a place you like, take a class you’re interested in, walk a different path than you normally take. Answers will come! Just change it up a little.
If you’re too cynical or afraid to try something, wait until they make your situation unbearable or you get sick, then try something, and not just something lateral. If you really hate your life, remember that you put yourself there. Maybe you didn’t think it was going to be this bad or you thought you were doing the right thing. But you can take yourself out. It’s all about belief and intent. Try it, just try doing something else that you think you might like. Watch how new people and new opportunities come to you.
Chapter 3
The takeaway from chapter 3 is that we all have guides that love us and are around us all the time. Not your friends or relatives, but higher souls and higher energy. Ones that don’t care that we go to the bathroom or have sex, but just want us happy.
You don’t have to believe me. I didn’t believe it either, at first. But I believe it now. I believe it because of what other people have said to me and because of what I’ve seen. It’s comforting, especially when I feel alone or sad.
Use your guides and don’t blame them for the problems you have. Use them to get out of your problems. That’s why they’re around. They’re gifts.
Chapter 4
Chapter 4 basically reminds you that death sucks. I’m a psychic and I hate it; I hate losing people I love. But the dead do come to us, in dreams, through mediums, or in person. They can’t always stick around because they have places to be and staying here would be too painful, for them and for you. But they don’t really die, they just move on.
But here’s the other point: You’re still alive and people you love are still alive. When people die, you don’t have the chance to tell them how much you loved them and how much they helped you. Use this opportunity to tell people that you love how important they are to you and why they are important to you.
One of the biggest regrets the dead have is that they didn’t appreciate and tell the people they loved how they felt when they were alive. You’re alive. Don’t take that for granted, use it.
Another regret the dead have are the missed opportunities or the unnecessary worry over money, time, or being liked. Who cares? You’re alive! Most of the spirits I talk to would give anything for just one more day! Yet we go decades without doing anything better for ourselves.
It’s game over when you die, at least for your body.
Chapter 5
Chapter 5’s point was that you have power over ghosts and you can deal with them yourself. If you still think I’m crazy or the thirty-five million people who claim to have had a ghostly experience are crazy, fuck you, you’re an idiot.
At the very least, have an open mind. If you don’t see or feel them, but one of your family members or friends does, don’t torment them with your ignorance. Listen to them.
You won’t look weak or stupid if you listen to them. You’ll look strong and caring. You’ll look like an asshole if it turns out you really have a ghost, I promise you that.
Chapter 6
Chapter 6 was about reality and fantasy and how thin that line can be. People say to me, “Well in reality, blah blah blah …” I say there are many realities. One man’s ceiling is another man’s floor. Open your mind!
Go to a psychic if you want, but answers will come regardless. But don’t just sit and think, “Oh my life sucks.” Boo-fucking-hoo! Move! Just do something. It doesn’t have to be big. Guides need movement, they need action.
If you have a dream, that’s even better. And if you have a vision, fuck, you’re practically there. Let guides show you, like they showed me.
And do me a favor and cut psychics some slack. Do you know how weird it is to be a psychic? Today I went shopping. I passed by a guy and I saw this movie of him in my head, how he’s going to be a successful athlete and then blow out his left knee. They showed me his X-rays! They also showed me the cashier’s eating disorder and the bag boy’s crush on the manager.
I hear stuff all the time!
And I see ghosts all the time too. I stopped caring whether people had skin or were alive long ago. I assume everybody’s dead!
I walk by people who are about to die or get sick. I hear peoples’ thoughts and fears. It’s constant.
You know when you round a corner and you bump into a person? I turn the corner and there’s a ghost standing there looking at me! Try having that experience at two in the morning when you’re alone.
There was a time when none of this would have mattered. I was six! If I saw a ghost, I’d wet my pants and run away! Problem solved.
But things happen, coincidences occur. And it’s impossible to run away.
What’s the Point?
Minneapolis in the ’80s was a hotbed for comedic talent and acting.
Places like the Guthrie, Mixed Blood, the Children’s Theatre, and Old Log were attracting all kinds of talent. Louie Anderson, Mo Collins, Al Franken, and Pat Kroft all came from that time and that place. The town had a feeling of creativity to it. For me, one of the main spots for creative, cutting edge comedy and acting was a place called Dudley Riggs’s Brave New Workshop. Dudley’s was a sketch comedy improvisation theatre that had been around since the ’60s. They put on shows, usually with a political theme, nine times a week, Tuesday through Saturday, and did improv after the shows on Saturdays.
I worked at the theatre in my early twenties. Not as an actor, I didn’t have the chops. I took tickets, worked concessions, swept up, basic Gilligan stuff. The money wasn’t great, Dudley was known to be a tad tight with a buck, but the benefits of being around and learning from some of the best performers I had ever seen was priceless to me.
I had gone to the Children’s Theatre, I took classes at the Guthrie. But this place was different. The actors were fast, funny, and smart; they made the Saturday Night Live crew look like the cast of Full House. Every night, they seemed to kill, and every chance I got, I watched. They didn’t care if they offended anybody, they actually seemed to like it if they did. They danced with each other with words and actions, they challenged each other to be better, to not be lazy. If they fucked up, they made it a part of the show. No one actor tried to outshine the others, and watching them was like watching a ballet. They flowed. One of the best actors, as far as I was concerned, was a guy named Jeff Gadbois.
I didn’t know Jeff. I think the only words he spoke to me were, “Hey asshole, get back here, it’s fucking intermission.” (Long story. I saw my ex walk by with a guy and I kinda left.) But I watched him, I studied him. This guy could think lightning fast. He could change characters in an instant. He wasn’t just funny, he was smart funny; he didn’t just make you laugh, he made you think. I would watch the audience whenever I knew he would talk because I loved looking at their reactions. I was in awe of this guy.
I learned a lot of things back then about people, comedy, and how each audience is different. But one of the two big things I learned was that talent wasn’t always rewarded. People like Mark Bergren, Chris Dent, and Jeff Gadbois should have been household names, but they’re not. I realized that talent is only a small part of what makes a person famous. In some cases, you don’t even need that. Luck, karma, life lessons. Those things seem to play a bigger role in fame.
The other big lesson I learned came from Jeff. As I mentioned, after the shows the cast would do improvisation, like the show Who’s Line Is It Anyway?, only a gazillion times better. This one night, the audience got to ask questions. When one guy asked, “How do you make what you do funny?” the cast got quiet, then looked at Jeff like, “Well?”
He said, “You don’t try to make it funny, you either are or you’re not. But if you’re just trying to be funny, you look like a clown. Everything has a reason, everything has a point. Before you say something, always know the point. When we do what we do, it has a reason. We never just get up here and act goofy. We ask, what is our point to this story? The comedy comes from getting to that point. Without it, there is no comedy.”
As simple as that was, it has stuck with me all these years. “What is the point?” When he said it, he didn’t sound condescending. He sounded honest, he sounded like he wanted the audience to know that it mattered to him and the cast that what they did was thoughtful, not stupid. Even if they all wore rubbers on their heads, there was a point to it.
The more I thought about his answer, the more I thought about things in my life. What was the point of so-and-so in my life, why did I need this or that?
In conversation, I stopped to think of what I was saying—what was my point?
And in readings it was especially helpful. Why did this person get sick, why did they get well, what was the point of losing their boyfriend, what was the point of taking this trip? Everything we go through has a purpose, a point, a reason.
As a psychic, I know that everything that happens to us happens for a reason. Everything. I’ve seen it a million times.
You lose your job? Your guides have another one they want you to get. Feel separated from people, always have? Maybe you are! But maybe you are for a good reason. Maybe because you’ve felt separated from people your whole life you aren’t bound by the same fears that stop people from reaching their goals. You might make a fool of yourself. You might fail. So what? You’ve felt like a failure your whole life!
I can’t tell you how many times guides look, in wonder, at the stupidity of people.
The answers are right there. Look at what’s happened around you and ask yourself why things happened to you the way they did.
Trusting Intuition
My friend Marlene is one of those people I’ve known since I started out long ago. I would describe Marlene as a cross between a hooker and Yoda. She could be edgy and cold, but wise and understanding. Even back then I could tell she had been through a lot. She was very attractive, but in a hard way. She was about fifteen years older than I am, and because I looked younger than my years she always called me kid.
The first time I did a reading for her was at a restaurant. She had been referred to me by one of her friends, who described her to me as “larger than life.” When she walked into the restaurant, I recognized her immediately. Big hair, big boobs, attractive face, smoking a tiparillo cigar. She was met by the manager, who told her they didn’t allow cigars in the restaurant. “Sure, sure,” she said as she ignored the manager and looked for me. Only after she spotted me waving did she acknowledge the manager and assure him she would put it out. She came over to the table and put out her hand to shake mine.
“So you’re the psychic wonder boy I’ve been hearing about?” she asked. She shook my hand and sat down.
“Yup, that’s me,” I responded and I asked if she was the wild and crazy Marlene I had heard about. She studied my face and cackled. Just then the waitress came over and asked us if we wanted anything to drink. She pointed out once again that they didn’t allow cigars in the restaurant. “Oh,” she said, “I talked to the manager and he said it was okay. I’ll take a Coke.” Surprised, the waitress paused and then asked me. I asked for a Coke also, and the waitress left the table.
“Look kid, I only got a few minutes before they kick me out, so I just want to ask you a couple of questions, okay?”
“Ask away,” I said.
“This guy I’m seeing, Harold, is he cheating on me?”
I smiled. Even at that age, I knew that was a bad question to ask. If he was, she probably wouldn’t leave anyway. If confronted, her boyfriend would point out that the information came from a stupid psychic, and why would you believe a psychic over him? And if he wasn’t, she wouldn’t believe me because I might be wrong.
I noticed the waitress having a chat with the manager and pointing in our direction, so I knew I had to get to the point. “Yes,” I said, “he is,” and watched her take a deep draw off her cigar.
“That bastard,” she said quietly, as she blew out the smoke. Now the ladies next to us were coughing. Marlene was oblivious.
The manager came to our table and asked Marlene once again to put out her cigar or leave. Ignoring the manager, Marlene asked me if it was a woman named Debbie. I looked at the manager, then to her. “Yeah,” I said, “that feels about right.”
The manager, now animated, asked Marlene if he heard him. Just then, the waitress came back with our drinks. Without acknowledging the manager, Marlene took one more puff from her cigar, stood up, blew it out angrily, and put it out in her Coke. “I fucking knew it,” she said, and threw a five dollar bill on the table. “Thanks kid.” And with that, she was gone.
That was my introduction to Marlene. I liked her immediately.
I saw Marlene a lot over the years. Sometimes she would disappear for a year or two, but she always came back, like the swallows of Capistrano. Each time she came back, she had a new adventure to talk about, a new romance, an exotic city. And when we talked it wasn’t like a typical reading, it was more to confirm what she was already feeling. She trusted her intuition 95 percent of the time, but that last 5 percent, she was iffy. For me, she was the easiest person I’ve ever given a reading to.
If she had a feeling to go someplace, she would go. If she felt she needed to do something, she would do it, most of the time.
Each time she came, like all of us, she was getting older. Something about her fast life seemed to age her quicker than most. Then one day her daughter showed up. I stood at the door, uncertain what to say, and I heard this growly voice say, “Kid, it’s me, Marlene.”
She had gotten a face lift and she looked twenty years younger.
She never minced words or beat around the bush. If she disagreed with what I said, she’d tell me it was bullshit, but then pat me on my knee and cackle at my reaction. She wasn’t much of a hugger, which was fine because she smoked like a chimney. I always tried to stay downwind.
The last time Marlene came for a reading, she was happy. Smoking and age had taken a toll on her face and teeth, but she wasn’t concerned. I asked her if she was going to get another face lift, but she replied that one was enough. Besides, she said, she knew it was the smoking and she loved her smoking. She had been told to quit a long time ago, but it was her contention that they couldn’t always tell her what to do. “I don’t always listen to my intuition,” she said.
She came to ask me what was next. This was unusual for her, because like I said, normally she would ask for confirmation on what she already knew. But she said she wasn’t getting anything anymore.
When I sat down to figure it out, my heart sank. I got that feeling, when I know a person’s time is almost up. She could tell by my expression that I was struggling for the words to say. She changed the subject. “Do you ever get tired of telling people things they already know?” she asked.
“Yeah,” I replied, “I do.”
“Maybe you should write another book, but this time, point that out.”
“Jesus,” I said. “With my ADD I barely made it through the last book.”
She smiled. “Hey kid, I’m going to go,” she said as she got up. I was relieved, but also sad. We both knew what was going on, but neither of us wanted to talk about it. As she got to the door, she paused. “Will it hurt?” she asked.
“Writing another book? Fuck yeah, it’s going to hurt,” I joked.
I saw her looking in my eyes. “No,” I said, “it won’t.”
She reached out her arms and hugged me. “I love you kid,” she said and walked out the door.
Marlene passed six months later in her sleep.
I don’t know that I would have written this book if Marlene didn’t come that day, though maybe I would have. But she lived her life believing her guides and trusting that everything happens for a reason. The least I can do is do the same.