I Kissed a Ghost (and I Liked It)

by Concetta Bertoldi

  Early in life, we choose our moral compass, but temptation is continually put before us; opportunities to behave thoughtlessly don’t magically end once we’re no longer children. There are lessons, lessons, and more lessons (though we do usually get to have some fun in there too!). The karma we bring with us from past lives guarantees we’ll have things we need to work through with specific people or situations. And we all have a mix of character traits, some positive and some that need polishing. One of mine is impatience with idiots. Oh, I would love to be that person who handles every stressful situation with good grace. But I still, unfortunately, have a long way to go—and believe me, Satan knows this!

  I recall a situation, not that long ago, when I was driving to get a manicure and pedicure. My best friend Mushy, who has been my sidekick my whole life, moved to Florida. I really missed her, and she was in town for a visit and I was going out to dinner with her and the rest of the Jersey girls in our gang. Nails all done, I was driving home to change, and running pretty late, so I was already anxious. I was on a twisty thirty-five-mile-per-hour country road when some mamaluke (For those of you who are not Italian, “mamaluke” basically means “idiot.”) pulled out in front of me and then proceeded to go ten miles an hour. Already, I was nuts, and she kept stepping on her brakes—on, off, on, off—making me completely crazy. Finally I got to a place where I could pass her, and I grabbed the opportunity. But as I passed her, she had her window down and was screaming at me! Screaming at me??? Are you kidding me? She was the one driving like she’d never seen a car before, and she was screaming at me? How dare she! Well, I then returned the favor. I was yelling and waving, and I could literally feel the devil right beside me, happy about the whole thing. My body was literally shaking. I got home and jumped in the shower, still really angry. As I was washing my hair, I looked down and noticed that the water was not going down the drain; it was pooling and getting deeper, and then flooding over the edge of the shower onto the bathroom floor. I started freaking out. I had to run and grab towels to mop up all the water. As I was doing this, I yelled to John. He was going out, too, so I told him to use the other shower because the drain was clogged in this one. I had no idea what was causing it. We’ve had problems with drains backing up when water froze in the pipes, but it was summer, so that didn’t make any sense. Of course, that night when we were both home, John told me that he’d used the same shower I had with no problem at all. No clog, no water backing up. And since then, it has never done it again. What happened?

  Okay, here’s what I believe. When I became irritated with the other driver, I let down my guard. I was already in an anxious state, not thinking properly, and allowing my emotions to run wild. (In hindsight, how terrible would it have been if I had been fifteen minutes late to see my girlfriends?) That allowed negative energy to get right next to me, and it hung on and stayed there. I did not have the presence of mind to ask God or the spirits for help. If there was a better angel on my shoulder, suggesting that I take a chill pill, I was so irritated I couldn’t hear it. I “handled the situation” myself, by acting like a maniac. I practically invited the evil energy to cling to me with all my screaming, and it literally followed me home.

  It was my choice.

  After I had this realization, I was able to breathe deeply, calm myself, and then pray. First I prayed for God’s help, demanding in the name of God that the negativity, the devil, if you will, leave me. Then I prayed for forgiveness and for peace.

  We all have our own challenges, we all make mistakes. But we can all get help and choose to make a change. It’s our decision!

  On the other side, yes, the spirits see everything we do. They know everything. But it’s not like Santa Claus, seeing everything and making a list. They also see our heart. And there is no judgment, it’s gone. The forgiveness is real. The “I remember what you did” is not there anymore. There’s no filing cabinet. Just like that journalist’s grandfather and father standing arm in arm: All is forgiven.

  Only love matters.

  So that’s the difference. When a spirit says, “It’s okay. Let it go. We forgive you,” they mean it. It’s forgotten.

  If we really do feel rotten about something we’ve done, we can use it as an opportunity to learn and grow spiritually. Sometimes it’s important to hold onto the feeling we’ve done something wrong for a while—it can be a vivid reminder that we don’t want to behave like that again. But once we’ve gotten the lesson down, it’s not necessary to carry around the guilt anymore. We can forgive ourselves. We’ll still see it in our life review on the other side, but some of the sting might be taken away if we know it’s something we’ve healed while we are here, rather than something we did nothing to correct and carried around all our lives.

  So, as you doze off to sleep, try practicing forgiveness, both for others who might have treated you thoughtlessly or unkindly, and for yourself if you haven’t quite lived up to your own ideals in some of your behavior. Practice real and authentic forgiveness, not the kind that is convenient, but the kind that surrounds you like a cape and hugs you.

  I forgive. I choose love. We are all one.

  Chapter 5

  Let Your Freak Flag Fly (You Be You)

  While we are here on Planet Earth, each of us has a divine purpose. This might be a particular talent, something that we discover we are better at than others are, something we are passionate about, and that gives our life its shape or meaning. Or it might be something—some mission—that we find ourselves uniquely placed to take on or do. God has given each of us this “something special.” It’s what makes us who we are and colors how we think and what we do. Our divine purpose allows us to be some kind of force in the world. I have always had a gift for entertaining, and I know that I have been one kind of entertainer or another in multiple lifetimes. But I’m not Meryl Streep. She is brilliantly gifted in the way she can become a character and tell a story. What gives my ability to entertain its divine purpose is that added something—my ability to connect with the other side. It allows me to bring messages to folks here, and in that way, I’m able to give a lot of reassurance and comfort.

  Sometimes what we are here to do is a total mystery to us. This can be incredibly frustrating! But do not lose heart. Each and every one of us has a divine purpose. Anyone who is looking for their own divine purpose may have to be willing to think deeply about what matters to them and sift through multiple layers of clues. For example, as I’ve said, I love performing. But my purpose goes at least one layer beyond that to my other ability. The two come together to allow me to make a difference in the world. Somebody else might be very good at numbers—does that mean they are meant to be a mathematician? Not necessarily. Maybe they also love animals, and their skill with numbers will allow them to keep the books for an organization that cares for wildlife. Another person may have a gift for imparting learning. Will they be a teacher? Not necessarily. Maybe they will simply be a mentor, or maybe it is their true divine purpose to be a parent who will use all their talents of communication and creativity and patience to raise great kids. Maybe you already had an entire career. You went to school, took something sensible that made your parents happy, got a good job, and worked your way to retirement. And not until now have you had a chance to take a breath and really think about where your true passions lie. Will you begin to paint and discover a new world of colorful creativity, bringing joy to others? Will you recognize that your true divine purpose is your lifelong desire to teach and mentor a young person just embarking on the career you have already finished? Jimmy Carter had a career as a farmer; I imagine he was good at that. Then he was the president of the United States—that’s a pretty big deal. But when he left office, he built houses with Habitat for Humanity. That was his passion: to help others.

  Or look at José Andrés. He is a Michelin-starred chef. Cooking is in his blood, and yes, in his very soul. Very few restaurateurs ever achieve this level of recognition.
But when Hurricane Maria left millions of people in Puerto Rico without power and food, he left his restaurant and went there to set up giant food kitchens, serving thousands. Clearly, this was his divine mission.

  I’m a huge fan of Bette Midler. She’s a fabulous singer and performer. But I really admire her passion for giving back to her home city of New York and the planet in general, wanting to have it clean and beautiful. She helps clean up neighborhoods that have been trashed and creates gardens. That’s a divine purpose in my book; this passion for making things beautiful comes from her very soul.

  In my own circle, my dear friend Ginger Grancognolo is most certainly living her divine purpose. When she was a young girl, she had some truly terrible experiences and suffered unspeakable trauma. I don’t say this in judgment, but a lot of people who have had such experiences will find pretty negative ways to cope, including excessive drinking or drug use, or at the very least become sad, depressed, or negative people. This girl has not only risen above this, she has trained herself, educated herself, and become a shining example of what you can be when you choose wisely. She has absolutely become her most divine self and went on to give back to the world. She is the most unselfish person I have ever met. She teaches, she sees clients, she gives her personal time to others. She has helped people to recover from all sorts of things that have happened to them in their lives. She works with severely depressed people and children who are struggling with issues of abuse or abandonment. For me personally, she has shown me a road and taught me how to use it, my path back to God. Given where I am now, this may seem strange, but before I worked with Ginger, I didn’t even know how to talk to God. When I went into a house of worship of any kind, I didn’t feel worthy. I felt uncomfortable. She’s the one who taught me that I was worthy, that anyone can talk to God. No special language is necessary; it comes from your heart and through your soul. Through her teaching, I gained a window to communicate with the other side in a way I never had before. I’m grateful that she was living her divine purpose, because it helped me be able to live mine!

  We’re here for such a relatively short time, so it’s important for us to be our true, best selves. This is how we are happy and how we can help make others happy, too.

  Everyone is beautiful in her or his own way. And yet, we live in a world of judgment. Whether we admit it or not, we all make judgments, and we all are judged by others. It’s a constant process of evaluation, every single day. What we need to work on is managing both sides of this. First, to be sure that the judgments we are making about others are not ones that look to tear somebody down to make ourselves feel superior, like body-shaming or talking about someone who maybe doesn’t have the wherewithal to dress in the latest fashions or just has a different cultural or personal style (I don’t want to see stories about young girls being sent home from school for wearing their hair in braids!). I saw on Twitter a while back how kids at school were bullying a young boy because he liked to wear nail polish—the color he was wearing was one he said he thought was cool, and it was one of the colors of his favorite sports team. I was so happy to see that his dad stuck up for him, as did many other people responding to the post. In a follow-up, the boy thanked everyone for taking his side and supporting him. I really hope that we all will be seeing more of this—support for our differences, rather than trying to drag down someone with their own unique charm and trying to make them feel bad about themselves. It’s easy enough to say, “Well it’s not my taste, but you do you!”

  In making judgments—which are simply part of the way our human brains work—we can look at others to see what qualities we admire and might like to try to develop in ourselves. Maybe we’d like to be as brave as that boy, rocking his nail polish just because he liked it. Maybe we’d like to be as protective and supportive as those who wrote and said, “Do your thing, kiddo—I’ve got your back!” Sometimes, when we stick up for the underdog, we put ourselves out on a limb. It can feel lonely and scary out there, even if, in our heart of hearts, we know it’s the right thing to do (the thing we want to do) because it makes us the person we want to be, a person worth admiring. We need to bear in mind that, even if it seems like we’re all alone, the spirits who care about us are there too. You can always talk to them and ask them to help you feel courageous, or to aid your efforts if there’s some action you need to take in order to see justice done or maintained.

  At the same time, we need to guard ourselves to not take others’ opinions about us—what we look like, how we dress, what we want to do with our lives, and so forth—so seriously that they make us feel bad about ourselves. Sometimes even we don’t know the path we are on until things become clearer, so needless to say, others are not qualified to critique. Just take any comments with a grain of salt—or a ladle of marinara sauce if you’re Italian! I know this can be really hard, especially for younger people or sensitive types who don’t have a very thick skin. And with all the crazy stuff that social media has brought us, like online bullying, other people’s opinions of us can be hard to avoid and can work their way under our skin.

  I mentioned in an earlier book that my niece, Bobbie Concetta, has some psychic ability. This seems to be particularly in regard to pets and other animals. She’s so in tune that she can tell when they are not well. There was a cat that looked fine to me, but Bobbie Concetta knew there was something very wrong and was concerned. Sure enough, when she took the cat to the vet, it could not be saved.

  By the time this book comes out, Bobbie Concetta will be eighteen. We don’t yet know what her divine purpose may turn out to be. It may be using her ability or it may be something else, but knowing some of the misunderstanding and mean comments I had to weather when I came out with my own ability (and I heard stories from my father about challenges my grandfather experienced; I even had to convince my own skeptical husband before he became one of my greatest champions), I do worry a little bit for her. There are a lot of people who just like to torment anyone they see as “different.” She’s such a sweet, kind soul, without one mean bone in her entire body. It worries me that she is too defenseless. I want her to be free to be who she is and fulfill her purpose here. I’ll be keeping an eye on her, and I know her angels and protectors on the other side will be, too.

  My brother Harold and I were what they call “Irish twins,” meaning that we were born less than a year apart. As brother and sister, we were extremely close. When I was sixteen, a guy I knew at school said to me, “You know, your brother is a faggot.”

  At the time, I had no idea that my brother was gay. I got very upset and angry and said, “That’s not true!” But when I was seventeen, my brother told me himself that he was gay. This was like the Dark Ages; there was so little understanding or acceptance of being gay at that time. I confess that I was very disappointed. I thought only of myself: How would I explain this to the Italian stallions I was dating? I was angry because I thought he would never marry or have children, never giving a thought to what he needed or what he was going through. I’m really ashamed to say this, and it breaks my heart, looking back, that this was my first reaction.

  Harold came out when he was just eighteen years old. Today that might not seem so incredible, but back when we were teens, announcing you were gay was way scarier. All too frequently, coming out of the proverbial closet meant putting yourself on the front line for every kind of abuse and mistreatment. Harold would not live a lie, but still, he cried when he told my parents, worried that this was something a six-foot-two Sicilian man (our father) would be ashamed of. Instead, my dad told him, “You are my son. I don’t care what you are, I love you and I’m proud of you. Furthermore, if anyone has a problem with that, they have to go through me first!” And today I am infinitely proud of my father who was certainly ahead of his time with his stance of acceptance, understanding, and love.

  What my father knew is that “straight or gay” does not define the person. My brother had way more to him. He was the very
definition of kindness and generosity. He would give anyone the shirt off his back, and he always looked out for and doted on me. When I was thirteen, all the girls in my school had “falls”—these were hairpieces made out of human hair! They went for eighty dollars. I assure you that at age thirteen I did not have eighty dollars, and unfortunately my parents declined to buy me this “must-have” item. Harold was just fourteen but worked part-time at the Pine Brook Auction Market in Pine Brook, New Jersey. (This was a big landmark in the 1960s, but burned down sometime in the early 1980s.) Eighty dollars was a huge sum to him, too, but Harold could not be underestimated. My sweet brother worked all summer saving that money. He bought me the fall, and I was beyond thrilled. But he was like this with everyone. He loved to cook big elaborate dinners with all the trimmings; he took care of everyone. That’s what gave him pleasure.

  My parents were of different religions and ethnicities (Irish and Italian, two that never mixed back in the day); my older brother was gay. My younger brother married a Chinese-American woman, adding yet another ethnicity to our nicely mixed family. I believe that having so many different colors on my family palette, so to speak, allows me to relate to virtually anyone I encounter without judgment, only love. I’m still human, I am not perfect, and I sometimes have to wrestle with my fears. But I understand what the goal is and why it is worth it.

  I was walking through the town of Boonton, where I live, and I ran into the mayor. He knows me, and he greeted me as he was walking down the street with his husband. We chatted for a bit, and he told me that he was trying very hard to learn the craft of mediumship. I offered him a few tips and then said, “Here, I’ll show you.” His husband was standing next to him, and I asked him to say his name, which he did. I said, “Okay, this is what I have: something about California that’s calling you; either you want to go there, or there’s something significant there for you. There’s something about your father who passed away, who very much wants to apologize to you.” His father was explaining that he missed the chance to tell his son how proud he was of him in this life, and that he was not upset with his lifestyle. He described a number of different articles of clothing that his son would recognize and mentioned a few things only his son would understand—one had to do with hiking when he and his siblings were young kids. The father mentioned a special moment they had shared, something to do with a man-to-man understanding of fishing—apparently fishing was something they had enjoyed doing together. He was verifying all these things, and by this time the mayor’s husband was in tears.