Messenger Between Worlds

by Kristy Robinett

  I worked every Thursday because the kids were at their father’s house, so I would run home after my day job, grab something to eat and change my clothes, and then run to the center for three hours and then go home and crash. But when Thursday came and I checked my schedule, I once again saw that my name had been erased and there were no clients noted. I was furious and just about ready to walk out when a middle-aged man came in and grabbed me in a hug. I had read for him several times, but not recently.

  “Kristy! I called earlier to see if you were in, but I was told you wouldn’t be. I took a chance and drove by to see, just in case you came in.”

  I clenched my teeth, angry once more that my schedule was being sabotaged and the clients lied to. Not only was I not getting the business, the center wasn’t getting the business.

  I took him to my office, which I was now sharing with another reader, when I noticed that he was dressed in pajamas, and the red flags started to go off.

  “Phil, are you okay?” I asked, knowing the answer, but stalling in order to bring in my guides and his guides so that I could get a better grasp on his energy.

  “No, Kristy, I am not. I have nothing left to live for. I have a gun in my car and if you weren’t here I was going to go to the park to shoot myself.”

  Trying to hold it together as best I could, I begged for anybody from the Other Side to come through with a message. Thankfully, his wife, who had passed away from cancer two years earlier, came through.

  “Phil, if you do this, you won’t be able to be with me,” she said, and I shared the message.

  She begged me to get him help. I explained to him that committing suicide wasn’t the answer and that he would have to learn lessons when he crossed, if he crossed, and wouldn’t be able to be with his loved ones for who knows how long. His mental state wasn’t ready to grasp it, but he allowed me to call the police to get him some help.

  I was grateful for being at the right place at the right time and potentially saving a life, but I was so angry that because of the snarkiness there could have been a whole other ending. I wrote out my resignation right then and there and decided to do readings out of my home. If I attracted clients, great; if I didn’t, great. I decided that I wouldn’t advertise, but would create a website and let word of mouth be my billboard.

  Doing readings out of my home was interesting. The dining room table became my office as the dogs, cat, Chuck, and the kids would go downstairs until they heard me pound on the floor, signaling that I was done. I had a steady stream of customers who came every Saturday to hear what their guides had to say, and what loved ones came through on the Other Side. I had an eclectic group of clients, everybody from lawyers to celebrities to moms to mobsters’ wives. Surprisingly, the gender breakdown was about fifty-fifty. One client who came to me was named Gayle.

  She was a pretty lady with short, bright red hair and blue eyes. I knew that she was looking for her son, but the first visitor who came with a message was a male who claimed to have been her mentor. She was a bit confused until she realized that it wasn’t about her day job, but her side job. During the day she was a paraprofessional, working with special education children, but at nighttime she was a hypnotherapist. It was then her son, Brent, came through. Only in his thirties, he’d died a year earlier from a heart condition and felt awful leaving his mom with a mess, emotionally and financially. Gayle kept a poker face throughout the session, and I didn’t think she enjoyed it at all, although she gave me her business card and a hug on the way out.

  A few hours after Gayle’s appointment, I rushed over to a hotel conference room that was overflowing, standing room only, with over seven hundred people patiently awaiting the arrival of an author who also claimed to be a involved in metaphysics. For one (free) night, two hours of time, he would show everybody else how to be successful in business and in life. Now, I didn’t just fall off the turnip truck last week, so I knew (or did I know?) there was a catch. As always, “free” rarely means really free, does it? But I had followed him for a while through websites, blogs, and books, and since we are in similar fields, I wanted to see what he had to say.

  Sitting in the second row, I mingled with two women and a man who were there alone and we began sharing our stories. They were in dead-end jobs, dead-end relationships, and felt as if there was no other way to escape the routine of life. Were they destined to be miserable? Obviously they didn’t feel that way since they were taking a step in a new direction to hear alternatives. Seven hundred people had similar stories. I explained to them my enlightening year and reassured them that if I could change my life into one of purpose, they too could do it, whether they wanted to go back to school, find a better job, or open their own business—if I could do it, anybody could. Forty minutes or so later, when the author was introduced by a scripted, robotic-type woman, I knew that I was in trouble. Greeted by a standing ovation, the man ran out on stage and began sharing a summary of his life and how he got to where he was. We then had to go through several public exercises, which were truly uncomfortable for me, but I played along and ran around the room hugging complete strangers just as instructed. At one point, I found myself next to the author himself, and he shared a hug with me and it was then … it was then that I had a psychic epiphany that this man, a well-respected man in the metaphysical community, was a charlatan. I saw badges around him, my sign that he would be exposed, causing his reputation and everything he’d built to come crashing down. After we found our seats, the presenter sat down on a stool in the center of the stage and asked for questions from the audience.

  And they did ask, but were very hesitant—to tell you the truth, not only did I not blame them, I felt embarrassed for them because one by one he judgmentally chewed them up. Did they deserve it? Not the way he did it. He went on to explain manifesting secrets, which really aren’t a secret, and detailed life-changing results from people who had gone to his conferences. He bragged about the people he hangs with and yet, in the same breath, explained how he learned from his arrogance in younger years and knew he had to dismiss it. Did he really learn? Two hours sped by and then I waited with apprehension for the catch. And it came and it came quick. Buy this, and buy that, and if you don’t, you won’t ever be successful. As I sat there, I did some quick figures in my head at how much he made off of his “free” seminar, and it went past the half million dollar mark as the lines lengthened to secure their future. The threats continued to echo as I made my way to the exit empty-handed. Or sort of. I left with an epiphany.

  One of the girls who’d sat next to me began to get emotional because she was a single mom who couldn’t afford to fly to the various workshop locations. The other girl, a college student who had lost her job at Ford Motor Company, couldn’t afford the expensive CD and book package, and the man just felt deflated. They looked heartbroken. I was sick, knowing that the author was playing with people’s minds. He was creating the thought that you are a loser if you didn’t do this—the very thing that he was telling the audience to erase from their psyche! He was playing the game and he was playing it well. I wrote on my notepad some websites that they could go to, YouTube videos that would help, and handed them my card and class schedule. I wasn’t pimping myself out and saying I was better, but I was showing them that there are options. A whole lot of options, and it didn’t involve sitting in a stuffy conference room for two days while you gave over thousands of dollars to a multimillionaire as he laughed all the way to the bank in his private cabana in the Caribbean, or Hawaii, or wherever he had gotten that great tan.

  That earlier hug that I mentioned made me realize many things. It made me realize that I am knowledgeable. That I am ethical and honest and that I am talented and funny and that I was filled with love. I hugged this man and all I felt was nothing—nothing but an empty shell of someone enjoying his riches and someone not truly living. Who said nothing was free? I received an epiphany.

  Two days after my
epiphany and my appointment with Gayle, I had one client on my schedule. The kids were at their father’s house, and Chuck was staying at his mom’s house for the night to help her with errands, so I was excited to do this one appointment and then spend time some time relaxing. Working out of my home was irritating because I had to keep it continually clean. While wiping down the kitchen counters, I heard a soft knock that resulted in rapid knocks. I opened my door to see a handsome young man standing there. He introduced himself as Todd, my next appointment, and the man I’d been seated next to at the conference. I noticed his gray eyes and his brown tousled hair as he sat down across from me. Beginning the session as I always do, I asked him to take a deep breath in and out and state his full name. As he completed his instructions, I closed my eyes and wrapped myself in his energy. The vision came rapidly, as if someone was changing the television channel, each one as dismal and as cloudy as the color of his eyes. Typically, I don’t ask for information, but my guides insisted that I do this time.

  “Todd, my guides are telling me that you have something to give me. Can I see it?”

  Todd looked at me, stunned. “How did you … ?”

  I gently smiled and reminded him that I was a psychic.

  He slowly stood up and reached in his back jean pocket and handed me a crumpled up piece of paper.

  Unfolding the yellow-lined paper, I drew in my breath, afraid that the visions that I saw seconds before were spot on. The note read, “I have lost everything and don’t feel as if I have anything to live for. I am sorry if I caused you any pain. I wish I could see a way out.” Below the note were names and phone numbers of loved ones that were to be contacted. It was obvious that it was a suicide note and I instantly went into an adrenaline rush. Did he have a gun with him? My guides told me no. Was he really suicidal? My guides told me that he was and that it was serious, but he wanted to live more than die. He was seeking help. Answers. The reason for his appointment.

  The appointment lasted almost two hours as I explained to him what I saw for him in the future if he sought help. I talked about what it was like for those who commit suicide and how the struggles don’t just go away, that they are merely moved from this world to the other. At the end of the appointment, we had a plan of action, a call in to his doctor, and his family on the way to meet him. It would all be okay.

  You don’t have to be a psychic to recognize the signs of depression or suicide. In this economy, more and more people are losing hope. By being aware of your loved ones, what they are saying, and their moods, you can make a difference. I was at the conference for a specific reason: to offer direction to a suicidal man.

  In each moment of our lives, we receive messages that can be life changing. It doesn’t have to be an earth-shattering experience, but can happen even in the quiet on an autumn walk. Don’t always look for the flashing neon signs, because epiphanies seldom come that way. It could simply be the deer that you encounter in the woods that stops and looks you in the eye before gallantly running away. Or the child who runs up to you with a simple hug. Or a boss who pats you on the back and offers you words of encouragement. But the biggest question of them all is “What lessons will you learn with your epiphanies?”

  After I told Chuck about the appointment, I realized that I needed an office outside of the house, and I picked up Gayle’s business card. It took a few days before I got the guts to call her, only to talk to her answering machine.

  “Hi Gayle, this is Kristy, the psychic medium that you saw a week ago, and I was talking to my spirit guides—well, they said that I should call you to see if you might want to share an office.”

  I wasn’t even convinced she’d enjoyed her reading, so I was taking a chance, but my guides assured me it would change my life, whatever that meant. A few hours later she called me back and invited me to her office to talk. Our talk ended up being several hours long, where we laughed, cried, and talked about her son and her past, my mom and my past. I could sense both her son and my mom just watching us, and it was then that I realized that someone schemed something on the Other Side. The next week I signed the lease for my office in the same building as Gayle. I didn’t have a clue how I was going to pay for it, but I threw caution to the wind.

  Several months later I was taking a shower when I sensed someone else in the bathroom with me. There was Gayle’s son, Brent. I screeched and he chuckled. After I shared my shower encounter with Gayle, she just laughed and said that would be just like her son.

  [contents]

  twenty-seven

  Full Circle

  After my mom crossed over, Chuck, the kids, and I took my dad to lunch to discuss buying a home together. Although my father was physically able to take care of himself and his home, he was emotionally depleted. And we were too. We were taking care of our household and then going over and doing his chores. It was becoming too much.

  We put both of our homes up for sale and waited. And waited. And waited. This was right before the economy tanked and the real estate market was already beginning to slow down. We were also our own competition. Our homes were only a mile apart, so anybody looking at my home was going to look at his, too. For anybody who has had their home on the market, attempting to keep it as immaculate as possible at all times is incredibly stressful. After a few months, we just took the homes off the market.

  I was getting ready for lunch when my cell phone rang, and I saw that it was my father. My heart skipped a beat. He only called me with bad news.

  “Dad? Are you all right?” I answered. I walked out of my office, waved to the secretary, and headed to my car.

  “How soon can we move?”

  Had he hit his head or had another heart attack? Our houses weren’t even up for sale.

  “Did you win the lottery?” I joked, secretly hoping that he did, but knowing that he rarely bought a ticket made me think that wasn’t going to happen.

  “Kind of.” I could hear him grinning. “A lady knocked on my door this morning and is interested in my home. She has a home in Livonia that is too large, and mine is just right. We’re going to trade houses. She’s going to take my home, and we’re going to take hers.”

  “Dad, don’t sign anything yet. We don’t even know what her house looks like!”

  He sighed and I knew that he was rolling his eyes at me. “Kristy, I wouldn’t sign anything. We’re going to go over there when you get off of work.”

  The house wasn’t my dream home, but it was in a good neighborhood and was twice as large as either of ours. A few months later we moved into the gray and white brick ranch home and combined our households. I knew that sooner rather than later I would have to speak to my dad about my side job, but I was afraid of his reaction. Most days (and nights) he had some evangelical screaming on the television and was reading his Bible. I didn’t want him disappointed in me.

  A local newspaper did a story on me entitled “The Ghost Hunter.” It spoke of the different police cases I was working on, and spelled out my abilities. Although I asked that they only use my first name, I hid the paper from my dad, afraid that he would put two and two together before I got the confidence to confess. I couldn’t, however, hide the paper from everybody. The morning after the story came out I saw a group of coworkers in the coffee room reading the article. I ducked out of the way, but one lady caught me.

  “Is this about you, Kristy?”

  I glanced at the paper as if I had never seen it. “Now when would I find the time to do all that?” I sputtered.

  Not long after that article, another article came out in a larger publication, and I once again pulled the section out before giving the paper to my father. I realized that it was ridiculous. I was thirty-something years old and hiding things from my dad, but it was my mom who decided to help me with the confession.

  I think it is important to have dinner together at least once a week. One evening as we sat down at the table for d
inner, we were chatting about the day when a loaf of bread flew from the kitchen into the dining area and landed smack dab on the middle of the table. We didn’t know whether to scream, laugh, or run. I saw my mom standing there in spirit, mischievously grinning, but I didn’t have to say a thing. It was my dad who asked if I thought mom had thrown the bread at him. I nodded and confessed to seeing her, and seeing others. He still looked at me like I was nuts, but the weight came off my shoulders nonetheless, and I slowly began to share my stories of my job with him, and I stopped hiding the news articles or unplugging the cable when a television show featuring me was on.

  It was an enlightening visit from my dad’s sister, Cathy, that helped to shed some light on my gift.

  “Kristy, it’s so wonderful that you’re a medium. You must have gotten the gift from our side of the family.”

  I looked at her, confused.

  “Your grandmother’s father was sought out by women as soon as their pregnancies were confirmed by the doctor. Grandpa could look at them and instantly tell them the sex of the baby.”

  “Really?” I said, giving my dad a sideways look at this new revelation.

  “And your great-grandma, well, she was a tea-leaf reader.”

  My dad continued to avoid my gaze.

  The conversation continued on to reveal that my grandmother wasn’t a fan of her parents’ gifts, so could she have perhaps seen the same gift within me, inspiring her hatred?

  With my great-grandparents on my dad’s side and my grandfather on my mom’s side all being gifted, I laughed, thinking that I was doubly cursed.

  Cathy went on to tell me of some more family history, which involved a relation to a famous witch. A genealogist by hobby, Cathy found out that we were direct descendants to Mary Bliss Parsons, a rumored witch during the Salem Witch Trials.