My Life As a Medium (12 page)

Relaxing one evening after a particularly busy day, I watched in amazement as the profile of a very dear friend built up on the wall. Then a voice said, ‘He needs you.’ The profile disappeared and reappeared at five minute intervals. Smiling to myself, I could imagine his incredulity if I was to phone him and say ‘Hi! this is Betty. I’m now a medium, and I’m ringing because I’ve seen your face building up on the wall.’ The more I thought about it the more hilarious it became. Then the voice spoke again. ‘He has had an accident, and is in need of your healing.’ This did disturb me.

I hesitated to call him, as we had not been in contact with each other for about seven years. I had been living in Spain for many years and, when I returned, the mediumship had taken over my life. I decided to take my time thinking about the situation. The spirits, however, did not approve of this decision and the profile of my friend appeared on every wall in my home. It was obvious that they thought immediate action was necessary.

I picked up the phone and called him. The next part of the story is described by my friend himself.

Many years ago, I had the privilege of being Betty’s singing teacher. We had not met, or even spoken to each other, for seven years, when, quite out of the blue, she called me. My partner answered the phone, and I heard him say, ‘No! This is Stewart.’

Then he said, ‘Good heavens! Betty, Betty Shine! I thought you were still living in Spain. How are you?’ Betty apparently asked about my health, because I heard Stewart say, ‘If you had asked me that question two days ago I could have told you that David was very well, but I’m afraid that the situation has changed since then.’

There was a pause, and then he said, ‘How could you know that?’ Apparently, she had told him that she was now a healer, and that her spirit guides had told her about my accident. I remember Stewart asking her if we could call her back later that day. It was quite extraordinary. I had fallen the previous day, and had injured my arm and thumb very seriously. After having had them set, I was required to stay overnight in the hospital. The next day Stewart collected me and brought me home. I had only been in the flat for a few minutes when Betty called.

I later spoke to Betty for some time, and at the end of our conversation she told me that she was giving me healing.

I retired to bed that evening in some considerable pain. I was also extremely worried by the fact that the doctors had not held out much hope
of my recovering the full use of my arm and thumb. This disability would seriously affect my work.

I was woken up in the middle of the night with the most extraordinary sensation in my arm. Then I endured a series of quite violent manipulations – and had no control over my arm at this time. I could find no explanation for this phenomenon at all.

The next morning I called Betty and told her what had happened. She simply laughed! and said, ‘Oh! That was my spirit doctor. These manipulations are all part and parcel of the healing process.’ I was extremely impressed, especially as my arm and thumb quickly returned to normal.

I was particularly thrilled to have been able to help David, as he had been such a source of inspiration to me in the past and it was the nicest way I knew of saying, ‘thank you.’

I had from time to time been asked to co-operate with experiments that were being carried out by scientists and doctors. I did this whenever possible, but the experiment and results were always kept secret and this attitude bored me to tears. Also, on several occasions, I felt that my intellect was being abused. How on earth do these people expect to make things happen when they have no idea what they are tampering with?

There were one or two scientists who were open-minded enough to admit that although they did not
understand psychic energy, they were convinced that it existed. I tried to explain that we simply do not know enough about these energies to be able to evaluate them correctly, and as they were not interested in having an intelligent rapport with the medium it all seemed such a waste of time and energy. I found the whole process so dreary. I preferred the instantaneous phenomena, which were more exciting, and if I could not prove the existence of another dimension to the whole world, then I certainly would not lose any sleep over it.

Most phenomena are spontaneous for the simple reason that everything has to be just right for it to happen. Mediums usually have a feeling that something is about to happen, but this is only after many years of working in this field. But then, when you think you are beginning to understand, it changes – that is why the mystery remains unsolved for the moment. Every day I was intrigued by new happenings, and so I decided to make use of my clairvoyant sight, and study the energy that was constantly appearing in my home in one form or another.

It is extremely difficult, I know, for those people who do not have clairvoyant sight to understand those that do. Mediums have been the butt of jokes for centuries, and it was the norm not so long ago for the media to stoop to ‘medium-bashing’, as it was called, when there was nothing more newsworthy around. As I had never previously been interested in the paranormal, I was completely unaware of the hostility that surrounded this profession.

An open mind is the secret of life. Allowing your mind the freedom it needs to seek knowledge, and return it to you ‘gift-wrapped’, is the most wonderful experience. The next story is an example of this.

A young lady in her twenties asked me to teach her how to meditate. We met once a week for an hour, meditating and talking. One day she said, ‘Whenever I meditate, I visualize mountains and valleys but before I can lose myself in the scenery a totally different picture overshadows it.’ Intrigued, I asked her what this was.

‘It’s a white cottage beside a lake. Then, the sun rises from behind some hills, and the lake begins to dance as the sunlight is reflected upon the waves. It is very beautiful.’

‘Anything else?’ I enquired.

‘No! That’s it.’

‘Does this scene stay with you during the whole of your meditation period?’ I asked.

She thought for a moment. ‘Yes, it does,’ she said. ‘Do you know what it means?’

Pausing to think for a moment, I was given an explanation. ‘I think your mind is linking into your future. The fact that the sun is rising over the lake signifies that it hasn’t happened yet. In other words, you are giving yourself your own clairvoyance.’

She frowned, then laughed. ‘I don’t think I want to live with a fisherman,’ she said.

I asked her to concentrate on a particular
object when she meditated next. She followed my instructions, but the cottage and lake overshadowed everything she tried. Each week there were additions to the picture; first there was a car, then two black dogs, and most significant of all, a ski-lift in the background. Being an adept pupil, she soon learned the art of meditation and continued practising on her own.

Eighteen months later I received a letter from Switzerland. The same young lady was now living in a white cottage on the Italian/Swiss border, on the edge of a lake, with two black dogs, two cars, and from the photograph she had sent me I could see a ski-lift in the background. She had added a PS: ‘Why didn’t I see both cars? Because the second car was a present from my husband, and it was a secret!’

What was so refreshing about this young lady was the fact that she accepted without reservation everything that she was given. I have no doubt that her own clear vision will enable her to map out a successful future for herself.

It is so easy for others to put you down simply because they cannot share your beliefs and talents. I have seen so many lovely open-minded people lose out because they hadn’t the courage to combat the cynicism of partners, relatives and close friends.

I was extremely lucky. My family backed me all the way. Although they could not see the spirits them selves, they knew I was of sound mind, and they were
often well aware that peculiar things were happening all around them. Doors inexplicably opened then shut of their own accord, and muted voices were heard by everyone, even visitors.

There was always a tremendous amount of phenomena – for all to see – at Christmas, a time which is very special to me. When I lived in Sutton I always had a huge Christmas tree in the hall, decorated with the usual trinkets and flashing lights. Behind the tree a tape recorder played carols. One of my male patients was admiring the scene when he suddenly started to crawl around the tree on all fours.

‘Is this some kind of ritual?’ I laughingly enquired.

He looked up. ‘Are these lights powered by batteries?’ he asked.

‘No, they’re plugged into the socket behind you.’

‘Betty, the plug is under the tree. The lights are working without any source of electricity.’

I thought he was pulling my leg, but when I joined him at the back of the tree I could see the plug lying amongst the presents.

‘Where the hell is the power coming from?’ he asked.

I had no idea.

It was a complete mystery. The lights flashed all day of their own accord and went out at night. The next day, unfortunately, we had to resort to the use of electricity again.

This was the beginning of what I was to call the ‘electric phenomena’. I would go into my bedroom and find that the bedside lamps had been switched
on. If I had left them on, they would be switched off. Walking into the lounge I would find the television on, with no apparent source of supply, as the plug had been removed from the socket. When I was healing, the light would mysteriously dim until sometimes we were sitting in total darkness. But when I had finished the light would return to normal again. The answerphone would suddenly have a bout of whirring, with occasional bits of conversation drifting in and out of the noise. It suffered a breakdown, as did five other subsequent answering machines. Whilst looking at television one evening, the screen suddenly went blank, and I found myself looking at a man with strange penetrating eyes and peculiar garb. He had a hypnotic effect on me. A few minutes later the programme reappeared. I wondered later whether I had been dreaming, although I knew full well that I had not. After a while that is how these phenomena come to affect you. Living between two worlds all the time is not easy, and not always welcomed. On rare occasions it can be positively disrupting.

One such occasion was when I was entertaining a friend for the evening. I closed the door of the lounge, and we sat down to enjoy our drinks. Within minutes we both heard a creaking sound coming from the other side of the door, and when we looked over, we saw the handle being turned. We knew that there was no one else in the house at the time, and so immediately thought there might be an intruder. My friend picked up a heavy ornament for protection as the door slowly opened, but when we investigated there
was no one there. We closed the door, and the same thing happened again. By this time we were both annoyed, and looked in every nook and cranny in the house to make absolutely sure there was no other human being around playing tricks. But there was no one. In all, it happened four times that evening, but I was to be plagued by this particular phenomenon for some time. I wondered why if spirits could walk through doors, this one was turning handles to open the door.

Typical of the trend throughout my mediumship, this experience was the catalyst for a whole range of such happenings. Lying in bed one night I heard two ladies whispering together as the door slowly opened. The energy they brought with them caused my bed to start moving. Although I could not see the spirits, I ‘knew’ who they were. The previous occupants of my house had been three elderly ladies. In their youth, two had been actresses and a third a dancer. It was only after the death of her two companions that the third had sold up.

I had found masses of newspaper cuttings about all three in the attic and, on reading them, had found that they had been very talented. Artists are often very psychic, and I believe that these two ladies were simply visiting their beloved home, hoping to meet with their friend again.

At first I had found these night-time visits disturbing, and had asked for them to be curtailed. So I was surprised to find later that they no longer bothered me, mainly because the love these entities
brought with them was so tangible that I could almost touch it.

Love! There it was again. That word had become part of my everyday teaching – mainly because I was meeting so many people who felt unloved.

One such person was a middle-aged man who had asked me for healing and counselling. He complained that his family treated him badly, and that his children positively disliked him. I could understand this, as I could ‘feel’ the aggression which was simmering below the surface. We talked for some time and then he said, ‘They should respect me. After all I am the breadwinner.’ I suggested that if the breadwinner was unloved then the family could actually be choking on the bread.

He looked at me and said, ‘Do you really think I am that bad?’

‘I think you might be,’ I replied.

‘Why?’ he asked.

‘Because I can feel the aggression within you.’

‘You know,’ he said, ‘not so many years ago, we were a big happy family. I don’t know what went wrong.’ I was able to give him an account of the past so that he could identify the problem.

He came for healing every week for two months. Although he had been cured of his arthritis in the first two weeks, I guessed that he just wanted a sympathetic listener. On his last visit,
he said, ‘I like you, you don’t give me any bull.’ I laughed.

About eighteen months later, he called at the door and handed me a bunch of roses, saying, ‘I’ve made my peace with the wife and kids, thanks to you.’ He smiled. ‘It took some doing. I can tell you. I had to eat humble pie for the first time in my life, but it was worth it to have them hug me again.’

To feel unloved is terrible. To know that you are unloved because of your own past actions is worse.

It became obvious to me, through survival evidence, that the majority of people felt that their mother had been the only person in their life to have loved them unconditionally. Tears would flow, when their mothers recalled their childhood and sent them messages of love.