My Life Across the Table (3 page)

When I was growing up in Los Angeles, I thought everyone was just like me; I mean I thought they just knew things in the same “certain” way that I did. Though I was very shy, from the time I was three or four years old, I always tried to tell my mother what I saw.

When I was a little girl we lived across the street from the Willinsale family. They lived in a beautiful two story home, and appeared to be a happy, close-knit family. One day I was staring out of our living room window looking at the Willinsale house, when out of nowhere I calmly told my mother, “Mommy, Mr. Willinsale beats his wife.”

saying, “That’s a terrible thing to say, Sweetheart. I don’t know where that came from, but don’t say things like that, okay?”

Though I knew my words had upset my mother, the clarity of what I saw, and the certainty I felt, didn’t change. “I’m sorry, but it’s true, Mommy, Mr. Willinsale beats his wife.” I didn’t bring it up again.

Not even three weeks later when an ambulance and a police car pulled up in front of the Willinsale home. Within a few minutes, the two teen-aged Willinsale children came out, huddled together and stood, sobbing in the driveway. Mrs. Willinsale, with bandages on her face, was brought out on a stretcher and lifted into the ambulance. A few minutes later, a handcuffed Mr. Willinsale, flanked by two police officers, emerged from the house and was placed in the back of the police car.

After this particular experience, she realized I was seeing something that she could not, and she began to understand that when I said something this specific, it was important to me. I had always been a serious child, and she knew that I would never just make something up, nor would I ever lie. If I felt, saw or knew something, it usually came with a lot of details that at three or four years old, I definitely had no way of knowing. After Mr. Willinsale’s arrest, she never admonished me again for telling her what I felt or saw, no matter how unlikely it may have sounded, or difficult it was for her to hear. I just looked at the world through very different eyes.

My mother and my aunt were incredibly psychic, as well as my mother’s two closest friends, so I grew up in a family that was comfortable with people knowing things they had no logical way of knowing. My mother was a businesswoman, and though she never developed her gift, or gave readings, she possessed an uncanny intuitive ability. She always just knew stuff about people that she shouldn’t have known. If she mentioned someone outof-the-blue that she hadn’t seen, or heard from in years, I could be sure they would show up or call within two hours!

My Aunt Dorothy was a reader for over fifty years. She gave readings to long term private clients, as well as opening one of the first metaphysical centers in Los Angeles. Aunt Dorothy’s tool was what are called “billets .” They are questions written on a small piece of paper and sealed in an envelope. The reader holds the envelope, never reading the question until after it is answered. It’s what Johnny Carson’s character “Carnac” spoofed on his show. Only when Aunt Dorothy picked up an envelope with a question in it, she really did know the answer, and if she made a prediction, you could count on it.

I watched her pick up those little envelopes a thousand times over the years, making accurate predictions about divorces, jobs, unexpected pregnancies sometimes to the surprise, and always the delight of the client. I loved watching her work, effortlessly pulling “psychic rabbits” out of her hat. She had always been completely at home with her gift, and never ceased to amaze me. She understood my ongoing wistful wonder of, “Oh, Aunt Dorothy, I wish I could do that.”

She always reassured me, no matter how many times I said it. With a mischievous smile, she softly patted my hand, “Don’t worry Sweetheart, your day will come,” adding a tender squeeze for emphasis.

I was born serious, and thought deeply about everything, so starting early in life I repeatedly heard, “Don’t worry Sweetheart, just remember, “Man Plans and God UnPlans.” Those simple, yet profoundly true words became indelibly etched upon my heart, to become the greatest advice my mother ever gave me.

When I was about eight years old I was having lunch with my mother at our dining room table when she asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up. I thought about the question for quite a while, carefully examining all of my choices, before putting my wishes into words. Even at my tender age, I understood how the power of words and choice could impact a life. I knew words carried within them, the innate ability to love you or hurt you, so throughout my life I have been conscious to choose my words with great care.

I turned everything over and over in my young mind, finally coming to a decision about my future. With the naiveté and drama that only a small child can possess, I announced my carefully thought out decision to my mother, “Mommy, when I grow up if I can touch just one person’s life and make it better, then I could die tomorrow and I would be happy.”

My mother knew how serious those words were in my small world, and as much as I could comprehend them, she knew I meant every word. She also knew that I was a little girl that nurtured many big dreams.

I was such an odd ball in elementary school, because I was the weird quiet girl that just “knew stuff.” I was forever picked on and bullied, yet would never fight back for myself, but God help the bullies if they attacked one of the other kids, or went after one of the teachers. That was when I would step out of my shell, with boxing gloves on.

Only an altruistic little girl like me would believe I could protect people by becoming a lawyer. Yes, this is where you laugh. You see I thought that lawyers could just magically put away the bad guys, and that the job of a lawyer was to protect the innocent.

Please remember, I was only eight years old. Though I must confess, I quite naively nurtured that dream, well into adulthood.

Of course, I hadn’t lived any of those realities yet, so for a couple of years from about eight to ten, I consciously thought of myself as the normal one in my family. The one that didn’t possess the abilities and gifts exhibited by almost everyone I knew, and because I was the normal one, I would have a normal job, and become a lawyer.

During this time I became conscious of something else, I would be having, a normal, casual conversation with someone, never realizing that I had said something personal to them. Something they had never revealed. Not until I saw the look on their face, did I realize that I must have done it again. I must have said something that I clearly had no right to know.

This was my normal, everyday life, and most of the time I never thought that any of it was unusual or strange. I was too young to comprehend what the word “psychic” actually meant, or the responsibilities that come along with it.

Though I was still a child, I possessed a clear understanding of the power of words, and could certainly see, and feel, the impact my words were having on others. I hadn’t lived enough to understand exactly what this was, or the impact of it on my life, and on those around me, though I could definitely see the reaction people had when I spoke to them. They were either intrigued, or frightened by a child with deeply personal knowledge of their life. How could a little girl possibly know that their husband had just lost his job, or that their mother-in-law was in the hospital with diabetes related issues?

I began to realize that I was making people uncomfortable. What I saw came out effortlessly in conversation, never feeling even slightly uncomfortable to me, but clearly it was to others. I briefly thought that maybe I was losing my mind.

The things I knew about people were personal, and came to me clearly, and in great detail. Sometimes it was what someone was going through emotionally or physically in life, and at other times it was predictive in nature.

One day my mother’s friend, Linda came by for lunch. From the moment she walked in the door, she was talking about how excited she was to have gotten her first brand new car. I was very happy for her, and though I heard what she said, all I could see in my mind, were the tires. I had a terrible feeling that there was a serious problem with the left front tire on her brand new car.

I grew up in a pretty open-minded home for the 1960’s, and now, when I think about naturally being a part of my mother’s friendships was the way I had been raised, I realize how progressive my mother really was. She was very big on us learning respect, and though she was open minded that was taught hand-in-hand alongside the children “should be seen but not heard” rule. Because I was relatively articulate for a small child, and never really spoke baby talk, my mother’s friends always included me in on their conversations.

The foreboding feeling I had about Linda’s tire needed to be dealt with and I knew I had to find a way to tell her without alarming her, or upsetting my mother. I couldn’t get it off my mind, and didn’t say anything until she was almost out the front door. Standing next to my mother as Linda gave me a goodbye hug, I said, “Linda, I know this sounds crazy, but before you get back on the freeway, will you please have your left front tire checked?”

She smiled to reassure me, “Oh, it’s a brand new car, Karen. Thank you, but there’s nothing wrong with the tires.”

I was a little girl and knew that at that moment, she wasn’t taking me seriously. She couldn’t feel the sense of urgency rising within me, and though I knew I couldn’t force her, I had to keep trying. I asked her to please listen, just to stop and have it checked. I pleaded with her repeatedly, until she finally gave in, promising me she would stop at the gas station around the corner, before going home.

The phone rang about thirty minutes later. Linda was at the gas station having the left front tire changed. They found a big bulge on the inside of the tire wall, one that couldn’t be seen with the naked eye. They told her if she had gotten on the freeway with it, she would have had a blow out.

Because my mother spent the majority of her time in a professional environment, she didn’t easily share what she intuitively knew about people. Under normal circumstances, I would usually just say what I felt and saw, unless it was one of my mother’s friends, and out of respect for my mother and her friends, I would think twice before saying anything.

Sometimes I would just blurt things out, and I used to say, “If it was in my head it came out of my mouth.” It is especially funny to me now, because I am so protective of people’s privacy, but at the time I didn’t possess the maturity to realize how sensitive some of these issues were. I was also too young to realize that just because I knew something, didn’t mean that I had to blurt it out.

During that same period, I started experiencing, what I now call, “Breakthrough Headaches” that could sometimes last for three weeks. They were pretty frightening, and appeared to come out of nowhere. My mother took me to every doctor, for every possible test, but they could find nothing. The doctors said, there was no medical reason for these torturous headaches, and finally pronounced that they must be migraines.

They were excruciating, yet I became very aware that after every “Breakthrough Headache ,” some new element, or part of my gift would open up within me and present itself. I experienced them on a relatively regular basis for the better part of thirty years. Now I get them occasionally, and when I do, I understand that another part of my gift is about to present itself.

I feel these headaches are Gods way of saying, “Pay attention, Karen!” and He reveals a new element of my gift, when He knows I am ready.

When I was ten, it dawned on me that I truly was my mothers’ daughter, and just like her, I too, just “knew stuff” about people, except I never had to stop and think about it. It was, and is always there.

By the time I was eleven, though it was still a confusing time for me, this odd gift of mine at least had a name. I was psychic. A lifetime of just knowing things, and several years of terrible headaches didn’t mean that I was losing my mind, and there was definitely nothing wrong with me. I realized that God had entrusted me with a very precious gift and I needed to figure out what to do with it, and how I could utilize it to help people.

By the time I finished elementary school, I had to acknowledge that this uncanny, laser-like way I had of knowing in detail, a person, their intentions, and what was going to happen in their life was the most obvious manifestation of my gift.

With every passing year my abilities became clearer, stronger, and strikingly more pronounced, while new ones that I never knew I had, like healing, opened up when I was ready.

I found that the more accepting and comfortable I became with my gifts, the broader they became. My clairaudience, or psychic hearing, became crisp and clear. I realized my clairsentience, the ability of touch, or to tap into a person’s energy, feelings and emotions, and claircognizance, the sense of knowing and certainty, became dramatically clearer and well defined. The details that show up in a client’s reading are forever astounding to me.

What I didn’t know at the time was that it was only the beginning of my journey, and I was finding my way. A great peace came into my heart when I finally accepted that I had always just been this way. I finally admitted that being psychic, truly was like breathing for me, and fully embraced my gift.

Though I grew up around highly developed psychic energy my entire life, they were family. It had taken the better part of my childhood to acknowledge that I was psychic, because my gifts had manifested very differently than my mother, sister or aunt, and to realize that I had been openly, and actively psychic, since I was three years old. They knew that when I stopped fighting my true nature, and truly accepted that I was simply born this way, God would know, and the universe would respond and help me find my way.

My self-acceptance opened up the world of other readers to me. Almost immediately, I was introduced to a group of other psychics, and found comfort and acceptance only reading for them because I felt that aside from my family, they were the only ones that understood.