The Metaphoric Mirror by Andrew Brewer

Andrew Brewer, “The Rock n Roll Psychic” www.rocknrollpsychic.com

The Metaphoric Mirror Andrew Brewer

"Andrew Brewer - a brain, a heart, a psychic! Has called the shots and soothed my soul." Elizabeth Cook, Nashville, TN, Recording Artist, Host of ―Elizabeth Cook‟s Apron Strings”, Outlaw Country, Sirius Satellite Radio

"Andrew Brewer is a remarkable combination of wit, intelligence, psychic insight, wisdom and compassion, deliciously packaged in such a way that you cannot help but enjoy the conversation and be enriched by it." Alison Baughman, Numerologist, Host of “Visible by Numbers”

―Andrew Brewer (A.K.A - Rock N Roll Psychic A.K.A.- The Great Andini) may go by many names, but no matter what name he goes by he is a genuine person through and through. Not only is he one of the most amazingly accurate psychics but also an amazing astrologer, remote viewer, and teacher just to name a few! Andy can 3

connect with people on a very intimate level devoting all his focus, attention, and compassion, in aiding with this sometimes-difficult journey that each of us endures. He knows and understands that each issue is very real for an individual and treats it just as importantly as any other.

Andy has done readings for me on different occasions and each prediction has come to pass with uncanny accuracy and detail. With my own experiences, and hearing experiences from others, I cannot recommend him strongly enough to anyone looking for non-judgmental compassion, guidance, and insight. Andy is truly a blessing on earth!‖ Tanya Douglas – Psychic, Hypnotherapist, Host of ―Past Lives, Present Lessons”

“Your personal life story is amazing... beautiful, successful filled with love and joy, uplifting - the American dream! one to be envied... almost. then your life 4

and heart were shattered beyond recognition. your recovery, redemption, and rediscovery of yourself are more than simple metaphors... your life-story is one that reminds and inspires others that *living and loving life* is the most precious way to honour all that was lost.â&#x20AC;? Leisa Lanham, Bainbridge Island, WA, Author

"Andrew Brewer is an original. With a combination of style, talent and sheer class, Andy brings the metaphysical into union with our daily lives, allowing us to grasp the inner core of who we are, as well as recognizing the goodness in others. As an artist, I am accustomed to looking beyond the exterior and into the soul of my subject. Andy takes it a step further. He reaches deep into the soul and then defines its place in our existence. He has been a good friend to me and my family and our lives have been enriched all the more for having had his path brush across our own". Will Griffith, Los Angeles, CA, Artist and Director of The Griffith Center 5

“Andy Brewer is an amazing clairvoyant and spiritual advisor; he says things like, “Well it doesn‟t take Nostradamus to figure that out.” But it would seem that “Madame Andre‟ indeed knows all sees all. He will refer to himself as “Madame Andre” but is better known as “The Rock n Roll Psychic”.

The truth is Andy ROCKS !!!! Nearly everything Andy has ever predicted for me has come true except for the stuff he has predicted that has yet to come true but I have very little doubt that it won‟t; it almost always does. If you‟re a skeptic you won‟t be. Andy Brewer is that good; remarkable really.

I have consulted with many psychics about my problems before, hoping for some insight – NONE OF THEM ARE AS ACCURATE, Andy is a wonderful guide and really understands the principles and the responsibility that 6

comes with being psychic. He is knowledgeable but most of all what I like is that he will not sugar coat the information. He tells the truth.

While he can be sympathetic and even compassionate he will be forthcoming and honest with his predictions unless he states very clearly that it is his opinion and only his opinion. Not everyone really wants to know the truth even though they seek it out. However, If you are seeking psychic advisement and you want an accurate prediction Andy Brewer comes highly recommended.

He has been a personal psychic to the stars not all of them rock n roll stars of course. Sorry canâ&#x20AC;&#x;t name names. It seems to be a bit ridiculous to try to convince everyone but I would say that He could very well be a modern day prophet. (not exaggerating)â&#x20AC;? Simone Kross, Los Angeles, CA, Model/Actress

“Andrew. I wanted to thank you for your uncannily accurate prediction. I was asked by FEMA to give a group a real tour of the bayous and swamps here that has led to a job doing just that! EXACTLY like you said.

I have to tell you I was not really buying the psychic stuff till you nailed it on the head! I was talking to my girlfriend in New Orleans and told her what you said even down to the long gate and she is UH UH and I'm Yeah huh! He did it. She was amazed!

I asked her to pull the archived show and she is blown away! She asked if you knew me prior and I am like NO I didn‟t know the guy from Adam! I can‟t tell you how you have made me reevaluate everything or how positively you have changed my life! You RAWK! Love ya man!” Zeke Loftin, Publisher / CEO. Twisted South Magazine

Dedicated to my girls, Riana and Lehna

Introduction by Scott Grossberg

Andrew Brewer is one of those rare gems of a person who combines both a depth of character and enough spark of creativity that he cannot help but infect those around him with positivity and empowerment. His “Metaphoric Mirror” is, if nothing else, a model others may follow to achieve the similar results as Andy - I say “similar” as I don‟t believe anyone could quite be the “same” nor would they want to be. And that‟s truly the treasure to be found in Andy‟s work - the hint that others can find that “something special” in themselves and develop it further (their own special recognition and resurrection).

Don‟t think for a moment that Andy‟s book is a quick read nor a transparent instruction manual. There are layers to this man and his writing that will take you some time to digest, compartmentalize and adapt (if not adopt). 10

“Metaphoric Mirror” might also be considered Andy‟s “Psychic Manifesto” - a sort of public resolution of where he is in the world today and how he got here. For those of us who know him, most of this is not surprising. Still, it is fascinating to read in his own words what some of us have felt but not necessarily expressed to him, in person, nor on the airwaves when we have appeared as guests on his shows.

Within the pages of “Metaphoric Mirror,” I believe you will see and read a brutal honesty and bareness that Andy, himself, likely did not consciously intend. As a reward for that openness and starkness, I also believe readers will ably take Andy‟s written journey and return with a better empathy for themselves. Indeed, as Andy attests, within the pages of this book you are treated to a clear example of how one man‟s (and your own) healing is simply a way back and his (and your) riches are hidden in plain view. Prepare to be amazed as Andy spins and spouts his own magical tale of transformation. 11

If, as Andy announces, rhythm is the control of time, then this book is the control of that rhythm. You hold Andy‟s “time” in your hands and, with it, perhaps the key to your own cycles.

At the end of it all, I find Andy‟s greatest lesson is - his coded motto to be - “try again.” There in plain sight are the words he‟s written. Yet, I wonder if anyone has the patience and wherewithal to do just that. “Metaphoric Mirror” - like many things - requires determination and setting aside one‟s preconceptions of how a book should flow and how grammar should appear. Stay with it. Try again.

enjoy

the

gift 12

that

Andrew Brewer.

Scott Grossberg (www.thinkingmagically.com) has achieved extraordinary success in the business world as a business owner, entrepreneur, and lecturer. He has served for more than 20 years as lead trial counsel, advisor, and coach, enjoyed a very successful career as a stage magician and, on top of that, has written three critically acclaimed books, The Masks of Tarot, The Vitruvian Square: Discoveries in Divination and Bauta: Betraying the Face of Illusion, in addition to creating the oracle/divination cards, The Deck of Shadows.

Introduction, Part II by John â&#x20AC;&#x153;Aquaman OceanDefenderâ&#x20AC;? Koehler

I finished reading "The Metaphoric Mirror" written by my dear friend Andrew Brewer. Even before reading this book I had the utmost respect for him but somehow that respect is now deeper. I want to reflect back to the first time I interacted with Andrew. I was asked to go on a talk radio show and talk about the horrors of Japanese Whaling in the Southern Ocean Whale Sanctuary. I agreed to do it and logged into to "Now Live Radio" and made my first internet radio appearance with Ronn Jordan and Andrew Brewer.

I was initially very nervous but rapidly Andrew and Ronn made me feel right at home. From that moment forward I knew both of these individuals were both very special. I will write more about Ronn soon but since this is a write up about Andrew I shall focus on him. 15

Since day one it was evident to me that Andrew was an individual that had his finger on the "pulse of positive change". To me our numerous radio show discussions and his writing blend Idealism and Realism into a practical sustainable approach combining spirituality, economics, individuality, the environment, hope, and most importantly love. Until I met Andrew my approach was dominated by scientific fact, through his eyes I have opened up to a spiritual side and view that has expanded and improved my life and my approach to it.

Andrew has been to the top of the mountain and to the depths of the valley, through it all he is still standing tall and now stronger then before. He has positively impacted many lives (mine included) through his written and spoken word even if his words are not always what individuals want to hear. Andrew calls it as he sees it and speaks the truth that has time and time again proven to be fact. 16

In his words and actions Andrew encourages us to look inside ourselves, to find our special gift, our true self and let it grow as Andrew has, for he is a shining example of positive change and growth and an ever evolving individual driven by love and striving to share his knowledge with us. Do yourself a favor as I have, take the time and read "The Metaphoric Mirror" and get to know the man I consider a brother, Andrew Brewer. John â&#x20AC;&#x153;Aquaman OceanDefenderâ&#x20AC;? Koehler aquamanoceandefender.blogspot.com

Preface

“What is whispered in your ear, shout from the rooftops” Matthew 10:27

The Metaphoric Mirror originally came about as an idea over 20 years ago when I started doing workshops in the late ‗80‘s on something I called ―The Intuitive Advantage‖. At that time, I did public seminars on creativity and intuition and I have continued doing classes like that, off and on, ever since.

Stylistically, The Metaphoric Mirror may seem a bit . . . unusual. But the style and formal components have been designed this way for a reason. One of the primary things ―young psychics‖ have to learn, in order to develop their craft, is not really ―how to be psychic‖. No, what they really need is to find a way to clear off some of

the mental and emotional clutter that keeps them FROM being psychic.

Those innate instincts are there . . . but our educational system and our ―rational thinking‖ have served as conditioning agents to suppress the instinctive and encourage a more linear cognitive modality. This book is designed as a vision quest, akin in many ways to a waking dream, which – if successful – will shake that linear cognitive bias to its core. In other words, this is an assault on what the poet William Blake called ―mind forged manacles‖ . . . the blinders we, perhaps unconsciously, choose to wear.

There are exercises in the book but they are ―hidden‖ and I hope you approach The Metaphoric Mirror in the sense in which it was written, as an initiatory puzzle. Because a puzzle is exactly what this book is . . . and for that I make no apologies.

Just so that you know a bit about me and what ―I think‖, I am including a piece I wrote a couple of years back in which I outline some of my ―spiritual philosophy‖. My ―claim to fame‖, such as it is, is due to my work as a psychic, specifically as a ―remote viewer‖. But I see my work primarily as a spiritual calling . . . more priest than prognosticator, more shaman than seer.

Over the past couple of years, as I have "come out" more and more as a clairvoyant and especially after I started hosting Rock n Roll Psychic Radio, I received lots of inquiries asking my opinion on a variety of topics, such as past lives, spirituality, psychic ability, and several others . . . so I have decided to respond to a few of them here.

GOD -- Yes I believe very strongly in a divine creative force in the universe, what we call God. I also believe 20

that God is in all things, not only people, but animals and trees and mosquitos and all other living creatures-and I think Mother Earth is also a living breathing spiritually-infused entity, as well. God's presence and Love is in ALL things.

Past Lives -- I believe very strongly that reincarnation is true. I also believe that past life influences will often "seep into" this life and that an awareness of past lives will (a) give insight into optimal ways to lead this life and (b) confirm a stronger sense of spirituality and Godawareness.

I do both "past life" readings and "past life" regressions. I also believe I can discern past life influences through astrology. In my work as a clairvoyant, my readings are more easily quantified and validated than "past life" readings which can never be fully "proven"; it is all subject to debate. If I say that if you drive down the street and make a left turn and there is a big white 21

building with a covered wagon in the front yard and it is there then I am right . . . if it is not then I am wrong.

"Remote viewing" can be validated . . . but all past life "influences" are subject to, at its core, some level of "faith".

Religion -- I have such a deep faith in God and the spiritual interconnectedness of all beings. I believe it with every fiber of my soul. I am also intellectual enough to realize that it is only an opinion and cannot be "proven".

I am what might be called an "Esoteric Christian". That means that I believe in the divinity of Jesus the Christ as a spiritual light, a true master and a historical figure-a man who physically lived.

I believe HE is the TRUE LIGHT.

I believe deeply in the spiritual teachings of Jesus as captured in the New Testament and other source material. However, I think that we do not really follow the teachings of Jesus very well in this culture and so, on that level, I am extremely disappointed in Western Christianity.

I think there are many wonderful spiritual teachers on the planet--both now and in years past. I feel that Islam is a beautiful religion, too, and believe in the divinity of Muhammed as well as Jesus. Does that make me Islamic? I don't really know.

The two "religions" I feel the most "intense" connections with are (a) Russian Orthodox Christianity and (b) Sufism. I don't go to church anymore and am not a member or follower of Orthodoxy or Sufism but I do, on a soul level, feel drawn to both.

God loves all creatures. All religions that honor God and 23

Mother Earth and her lovely brood are a "true" religion. Just as there are many languages and many places on this Earth, all unique creative aspects of the Divine, so too are there many religions that also creatively depict and honor the Source. To say that one religion has all the answers and all others miss the point is nothing but ego and arrogance and is blasphemous in the extreme. Whenever people look to God, whether alone or within a group, in that moment they are practicing "religion".

I honor ALL religious traditions . . . so long as they come from a place of love. If there is love in their heart then they are beautiful in God's eyes and the followers of those religions are also beautiful in my eyes as well.

Jesus loves the little children, all the children of the world. Red and yellow black and white they are perfect in his sight; Jesus loves the little children of the world.

I sang that song in Sunday School in Ohio when I was a 24

little boy. It is spiritual TRUTH. Why do the churches who sing this song so often live their lives in variance with this? Jesus is hope and light . . . for ALL races ALL cultures and people . . .

I also hold several "heretical" viewpoints . . . ideas that in a different time might lead me to have a shorter more violent life, i.e. dangerous notions that would, literally, get me killed. That "memory" is a part of my "karmic DNA" but . . . here goes:

1) I believe Jesus had brothers and sisters, I believe he was married to Mary Magdalene (who was also a spiritual master like Jesus) and I believe they had children. Is the whole Da Vinci Code Holy Blood Holy Grail thing literally true? I don't know but I think that version of Jesus is CLOSER to the truth than the myth portrayed in Western Christianity.

2) I believe religion is an experience not a teaching. I 25

believe one can connect to God without the benefit of clergy and so I am a Gnostic and, historically, a religious trouble maker.

3) I believe in the power of Nature, that everything is filled with light and spirit. I am a pantheist, what some might call a Pagan, others would call a Witch. Once again a heretic and rebel and a candidate for a nice warm fire beneath my feet.

4) I also believe that I have a "spiritual mission" and that is to help others find their way to the God within them. I use my clairvoyant abilities as really just a tool to get attention for my "ideas" about both religion AND politics but being "The Rock n Roll Psychic" is not truly all that I am . . . I am primarily one who is a seeker after God . . . I want to know God and have God know me . . . and I am looking to share that search now more and more with others who also feel this burning flame within them. I feel it and I know others feel it, as well. 26

Psychic Ability -- During my first go round as a psychic back in the '80's and 90's I thought that my "ability" was a "skill" . . . something that I developed and "mastered" (on whatever level that may have been) much like one might develop a high level skill as a musician or athlete or surgeon. I took ownership of it and, as a result, had kind of an "ego" attachment to it.

I also believed everyone had this and could, with a little work, develop it just like with enough time and patience one could learn to play the guitar or be a good chess player.

I have changed "my tune" on both counts. I think of psychic ability as a "gift" . . . one given to me directly from the creative source we label as God. As a result of this gift also comes the responsibility to develop it and use it as a honor to God and not as an honor to myself.

Since I am by nature both lazy and egotistical (hahahahaha not a surprise I fear to some who know me) I sometimes "rebel" and feel the need to play and/or "act out" . . . the wild child hell raisin' psychic.

I think now that Spirit often sees me as a cute little child playing in the streets and I feel their love and patience with me but I also know there is a reason I have been given this gift and the time and money (and temperament) to fully develop it.

I now recognize my "abilities" as a spiritual calling and not a vocational one. I am a "psychic" because I allow that label to attach to me but truly I am just someone trying to find his way back to Spirit, a God-thirsty beggar on a glass wire, dancing on the edge, trying to live in two worlds all at the same time.

LOVE is the answer, the only answer . . . the truest expression of the God within. That is my "truth". 28

As I mentioned earlier, The Metaphoric Mirror has been designed as a guide, on whatever level possible, to break down the barriers we typically have regarding the ―unseen‖ spiritual world. There is absolutely a spiritual core to all we do . . . a spiritual interconnectedness between all creatures.

The alchemists of old attempted to take base metal and turn it into gold. But the true gold that the alchemists were seeking is not the kind of gold one holds in their hand, but rather the integration of the physical and spiritual ―selves‖ into a cohesive, productive whole. As the philosopher said, ―the unexamined life is not worth living‖ and it is through making the effort to look within that we can most fully embrace our unique God-given gifts.

It is my hope that this book will help you, in subtle but hopefully meaningful ways, open up to the spiritual core within. It is not for the casual reader – punctuation and capitalization rules have been, if not broken, stretched quite a bit. Jesus spoke in parables for a reason.

By looking at parables and stories one brings their own unique history and internal thermostat to bear in interpreting the tale. Meaning is subjective and one sees the story only within the context of who they currently are. Of course, that can change – just as our personal histories can change, over time.

No past event is fixed. Our interpretation is fluid; we may see an event in one way at a particular time in our life and then completely differently later on. At the time, that event seemed like a disaster, but, in retrospect, perhaps a golden opportunity came about because of the ―disaster‖ which preceded it. This suggests that

history is what we make it and it is my belief that our ―free will‖ is exercised primarily in our attitudes about ourselves and our personal histories.

I think, since I – mainly through the usage of astrology – and others, have made accurate predictions of events happening on specific dates that there is an element of ―fate‖ in our lives . . . I personally do not believe we are as ―free‖ as we may wish to believe. But the power to change our minds and see with fresh eyes, that is something very much within our control.

The formal components of The Metaphoric Mirror – techniques replicating ―stream of consciousness‖, for example – are designed for very specific reasons, in large part due to the nature of language acquisition and cognitive development within the individual. Words mean nothing – yet they ―take on‖ a meaning (and lead to emotional triggers based on that ―meaning‖) that is

often more significant than the thing or feeling which the word ―represents‖.

Remember – ―the map is not the territory‖ and words, though critically important, are NOT the FINAL answer. We use words to ―describe‖ things or feelings or actions. But the word is simply a means to convey something to someone else, analogous to a truck shipping fruit from California to Kansas.

―The body doesn‘t lie.‖

Remember that -- ―the body doesn‘t lie.‖

The body and how we feel (and look, too) is the truest barometer as to what is ―real‖ for each of us. We may ―think‖ a certain way but ultimately it is how we ―feel‖ that is the most direct connection to our own personal

―reality‖.

This book is "an initiation" . . . it is meant to go at a certain speed, with a certain breath pattern. Breathing techniques are part of the adept's training and the style of the book is meant to synthetically induce specific breathing techniques – as well as challenge your relationship with both words and security.

This book is designed to help facilitate the awakening of personal power.

Calcinatio

“The mind is its own place, and in itself Can make a Heav‟n of Hell, a Hell of Heav‟n” John Milton, Paradise Lost

like all stories my life is filled with beginnings and endings, twists and turns and loves, both good and perhaps not so good, death and yes rebirth and all the dark stormy nights and bright sunny days of popular fiction. to many my life seems very much a fiction but I assure you my story is all too real. I am a psychic, a clairvoyant—someone who ―sees things‖, has ―visions‖, travels astrally to other towns, perhaps, even, to other worlds. To some I am a prophet to most a second thought but to quite a few—and seemingly that number grows with each passing week—I am an enigma—a 35

talent both rare and strange, a voice crying in a deafening wilderness

the defining moment of my life, for life is filled with defining moments, was the death of my child. when little Lehna failed to escape the womb intact and instead fell into the world with closed eyes and frozen fingers, at that moment my life began to change. for those of you who have lost a child no explanation is necessary, for those who have not窶馬o explanation is possible

I was like an open wound after Lehna died, emotions running wild, digging deep, deep into some lonely dark sea, peaking through twisting vines and trying, so hard, to make it back. Ever since then I have been struggling with some level of acceptance in my attempt to find a higher purpose for losing my darling child

I have struggled . . . and I am not necessarily proud of that fact. It is not so much that I have turned away from certain shared aspects of living but, more importantly to me, that I have questioned the hows and whys of God's wisdom so often

Yes, I have cursed my fate and wondered why it was that my daughter and the life I had so meticulously built had to die. Why, on some level, I (or the ego that I had grown to believe in) had to die . . . at least in the sense that my focus was no longer on THIS life but on the world that exists in that elusive somewhere between life and death -- the realm of spirit

I am a drifter now . . . and as I go further and further within . . . as I open up more and more to this POWER I seem to have to see things that, in theory, cannot be seen

I find that it (the work) has taken me, lifted me and though I fear the fate of poor Icarus who flew so high his wings melted and he fell ingloriously from the sky I find more and more that the emotions, the pain, the rawness of it all is like a drug

and to see what I see I feel myself more and more and more giving in to this heightened sensation. I am like an addict but the drugs are already in my system. I can see and do things, with only my mind, better than any drug

I am living flat out . . . and I am afraid . . . but I find myself unable to slow the car down any more because I want to see what lies around the bend so badly. But taking this path opens me up to a heightened and increasingly intense PSYCHIC perception. Walking this path has its price but an enhancement in my psychic abilities seems to be one of the rewards

when I was 24 I went (for the first time) to California. I studied, I meditated, I wandered the streets, a basketball always at the ready, a god thirsty beggar looking for something I couldn‘t really quite define

I was hungry, again, like an addict is hungry but I couldn‘t figure out which drug would work best. And so I wandered a bit longer drifting from life to life trying on different hats different ―identities‖ always thirsting for God, always thirsting for love—An addict, an adrenalin junkie, a baby Faust, a Don Juan, an exotic bird in a sea of similarity. What drug would work best? I didn‘t really know the answer 39

Was it books, sex, the perfect body, transcendence, alchemy, mystery, suicide? Were any of these right? I tried each one on for size rolled it around my tongue, savored it, let the smell and taste wash over me, through me; some I swallowed (whole) others I spit out, some I kept planted against my gums in case I needed the taste but still . . . the years passed the hunger persisted . . . the addictions continued

I learned that for me there is really only true path to follow . . . one speed to drive and that is . . . Flat out . . . crash or arrive at the foot of that beautiful scenery just around the bend. I have given in to it . . . all . . . an open wound but a wound that, I hope, has the power

to heal

I came back to California, again, 26 years later, this time as an executive a â&#x20AC;&#x2022;hired gunâ&#x20AC;&#x2013; . . . money in hand girlfriend and story book life in tow, soon a baby to be. but this was a baby that was not meant to be and her death her sweet little cheeks cold to the touch broke me . . . broke my heart and a broken heart too soon dissolved into a fractured brain . . . the world the attractions OF the world . . .

broken . . . like me

but this is not a story of loss . . . it is a story of rebirth, spiritual redemption. it is a road map a Rorschach to God, spots and stains wrestled into some meaningful pattern, fingerprints, handprints, clues and whispers . . . it is a story of redemption my Redemption and as such it is the story too of your redemption as well for my path is your path and although the stops are different and the train looks a bit strange still the paths are all, really,

the same path . . . they are filled with love and sadness and disappointment so many disappointments storms and heat and chilly nights with barely enough to find our way yet we somehow find our way back for all of life is simply a way . . .

back

a way back . . .

to God. That is all life is . . . a way Back to God. There is nothing else

Solutio

â&#x20AC;&#x153;At sea a fellow comes out. Salt water is like wine, in that respect.â&#x20AC;? Herman Melville

we live in an interesting time. it is a time of innocence and roses, destruction and secret cabals, vapors that will know no end. patterns are written on gray paper old men dance to stolen tunes

in the mornings when the world slips a bit to the South and the old stories are scattered amongst the wheat and berries of a secret world it is then that the days will change. in 2010 and 2011 the weather begins to shake, storms rage, fires grow hotter winds grow hotter the water boils a bit more each day . . . sailors with small

pups lose sight of the stars and hollow thoughts echo along black walls

in the summer of 2010 the world shakes from within . . . the dollar dances in a whispering flame all secrets stop for an instant . . . in the summer of 2010 a new word appears a new song appears birds fly north instead of south and prophets fight for a blue stage

the world is spinning sideways the world is spinning like a childâ&#x20AC;&#x2DC;s toy madness disguised as rationale hatred played out in a sea of love jesus buried jesus reborn it is a time of deceit the world waits for 2012 but the true time the time of change is 2010

we live in interesting times

the first to fall of course are the banks . . . the next to fall are those who travel . . . water is the key it is the 45

secret to it all and the dark eyed financiers put blinders on those staring at the trough . . . where did the money go poof into the thinness of a secret world

the riches are hidden in plain view owners hold deeds to zones no more stolen doorways opened into a portal of doom . . . the first to go are the banks

commercial paper written down then transformed . . . buildings owned by committee, committees owned by a single flame . . . old hurts reborn old hatreds reborn simple thoughts simple minds complex transactions . . . the world spins sideways . . . the banks begin to fall in the summer of 2010

new religions come and go messiahs by the sides of the road selling eggs and vinegar . . . prophets sell insurance and the truth is burned . . . when men burn books they will soon burn men . . . weâ&#x20AC;&#x2DC;ve seen it before it 46

will happen again men will burn books and the books will turn to men . . . it is a time of innocence a time of fear old hurts reborn secret words in an old vase, flowers rotting . . . beware the summer of 2010

make peace with your neighbors make peace with your brothers make peace with your visions of God . . . the world is a test you are being put through a test it is up to you to pass . . . when a child goes hungry can you feed it when a dog needs a kind hand will you pet it . . . when the world turns dark can you offer any light?

these are the questions of 2010 . . . it is not as dark as it may seem the chance for deliverance is truly within reach . . . it is not 2012 it is 2010 that matters

with these words I open a book it is written in the sky I sit by and look upwards it is frightening but only for a time I am taken my hand in a gloved hand of gold I am 47

walking along the way . . . this is the record of what I see

there are pictures scattered everywhere we could scoop them up and make a fine quilt but I am told to listen and no longer to think I am listening and looking and wondering what hides in this secret world

this is the record of my journey . . . in the beginning there was light it is written that way as it should be all energy is transmuted light all essence is light all God is light to understand the keys to transformation one must first understand light

I am being shown an image it is a young woman there is a snake around her chest she is holding a knife in her right hand but the snake is not afraid I see another image there are young women they are standing near a

pool a young baby is being bathed by the young girls all is innocence it is the secret to knowing how to live

I do not understand but I continue to walk along this path . . . after a while a man appears he is tall with a beard it is the way I would imagine a man of holiness and that is his role his disguise he also takes my hand and we walk for a bit . . . he shows me things asks me if I understand

I donâ&#x20AC;&#x2DC;t but we walk further . . . he says to me there are three eggs take one hold it in your hand. I take the egg balancing it in the palm of my right hand it turns brown then green then red a small bird with three heads I donâ&#x20AC;&#x2DC;t understand the image but I am told not to worry

the egg grows solid turns into a purple stone sugilite I rub the egg thinking about the three-headed bird . . . he hands me a second egg it also changes before my eyes 49

first blue then a lighter blue then a pale yellow inside is a creature with hair a soft brown fur it has a beak it is a bird that looks like a bear I ask what does it mean I am handed a third egg

inside the egg is a picture I am wearing a hat like a soldier of the first world war the hat is green I see myself in a plane flying landing in an open field I see blood on my chest an open wound my right hand holds tight pushing back the blood my head grows pale I feel light headed my soul slips out my throat and a thin blue mist like chalk in a pool hall rises in to the sky

I see another picture I am a girl a young girl my hair is blonde I have on a dress pretty dress I am standing outside a large home I look down at the water reeds jutting in to sky I walk to the water slip and fall I am drowning I am drowning I see it happening I see the people in their dark suits running screaming trying to

pull me out these are pictures that are given to me by the man with the beard

it is part of the third egg he says you will now be shown a world unknown to you until this day

I open a book there are more pictures knights large battlements trucks crossing dark plains rings and fancy lace . . . I am handed a new book it is in gold script I am told it is the secret to how to live do not ask do not ask or question simply write what you see

three cards are laid out in front . . . the first is The Moon. I recognize the card I know a bit of tarot. the second card is The Tower. I see the lightning the building tilting on its side

the third card is the Ace of Swords. I wonder what it all means I am told it will all be revealed I am asked to 51

simply listen write down what I see . . . I am told now that I am the Ace of Swords. what does it all mean?

I am still wondering about the cards when another image comes into view. there are many people they are reaching up with their hands they are all pulling themselves along the ground, glued on one side they cannot stand upright

I wonder what this means as well . . . I hear people talking they are referring to the ―glides‖ . . . I don‘t understand but a young woman in a white lace dress comes over to me

she tells me the ―glides‖ are souls who have left part of their beings in another world. I am still confused. they are trapped, she says . . . they have left their souls in another place

what does it mean, I wonder she hears my thoughts they are souls who have left something in the other world they are not fully welcome they must return over and over until they find the missing parts

am I missing a part, I ask . . . she doesnâ&#x20AC;&#x2DC;t answer but then I am shown a scene soldiers generals are standing in a room in a large estate they are planning movements of large bodies of troops maps are on the wall tapestries along another wall I know I am there but I cannot see cannot see any more

am I missing a part this question continues to bother me but now there are additional people standing before me they are showing me cards like flash cards I am still confused and then they stop look over to a man in a long hooded robe he walks over to me slaps me hard in the face he pulls my left ear I tilt over then fall to the ground banging my knees

you must listen to what I say I hear his thoughts yet he has no mouth or tongue . . . his thoughts are now my thoughts I am listening to the words in his head he is telling me write it all down he is telling me to do as he says he is . . . stronger than me

what you must do he says is find the key there are several keys that you can use they are signs to spiritual truths principles that you can use in the world in which you live

is that true I wonder. yes he answers here is a riddle a parable why is the man like a mule because he simply pulls along what is left on his back why doesnâ&#x20AC;&#x2DC;t the mule simply throw off what he carries the answer because he fears another larger burden will be added . . . is this true I wonder it is a riddle he says

I think about riddles for a while there are many that go through my head . . . I watch the others watching me I understand they see me yet I don‘t really see them because my fear is greater than my sight . . .

what is the key I wonder in relinquishing fear . . . he answers you must put a greater fear in its place

what? I don‘t understand. you must put a greater fear in its place it is hierarchical . . . a fear can only be replaced by a greater fear there is no way to overcome the fear it must simply be replaced by a fear more frightening

how does that work I wonder . . . he answers the fear of failing in life of being a ―glide‖ should be stronger than any fear in an earthly life . . . the ―glides‖ are real there are others, too

is this hell I ask

in one sense yes it is like hell but all hell is transient it can be replaced but how is that possible I wonder it is done through thought

but how . . . it is done through thought you think and it changes light is a wave that is activated through thought remember in the beginning was the word and the word was filled with light that is the key to have words thoughts that move light . . . moving light about is the key to transformation. transformation is the goal of living to transmute in to a higher form that should be your goal he says

but how -- how do I do that? he looks over at the young girl in the white lace dress. she is a key you must understand what she represents. I am still confused it

is like a play filled with Russian dolls one doll pops out another will fall to the floor I am confused I say

she will perform and you will begin to understand

I look around there are ornaments and feathers and many changes of clothes . . . there is a stage and I see the riggings for the curtains a small set of steps on the right hand side . . . she takes a step back reaches into a brown bag and hands me a small frightened bird it is white and sits quite still and content on the ends of my fingers . . . I reach over kiss the bird on its tiny little head

I see myself standing on the stage she points both at me and the image of me I am wearing a cape it is black and comes down below my waist gold cufflinks with many jewels adorn my wrists I have a small cravat tied tight around my throat. My shirt is white high-collared laced 57

with gold thread I look up at the ceiling I see people in the audience they are also looking up above

Several birds are circling in a line around the seats at the foot of the stage I am amazed at the uniformity of their flight the young girl looks at me and smiles she says to me ―it is time for you to play‖

I see myself now as a magician on stage the lights are filled with gas I feel now as if I am transported back in time back to another world . . . I have always been interested in magic written about magic and magicians it is part and parcel now of my professional identity yet I am not a magician

―You are very much the magician‖ she tells me ―I will watch you now perform‖ . . . I am thinking that it is she who is to perform but I am the one now on stage ―look up‖ she asks if I see anything unusual 58

―there are two men‖ I say ―they are holding short swords. one has a dark beard one has light hair he has a helmet it is golden and there are giant birds with golden wings adorning his head‖

―that is you‖ she says ―you are the one with the golden helmet‖ it is now the time for the stage show to begin I feel it happening I feel the others looking at me asking with their eyes ―what is to be done‖

in a moment or two another woman comes on stage she has a fancy headdress like an Indian fakir she is tall and thin with a thin face and beautiful lips and teeth I find myself staring at her mouth it opens but the words come out as letters not sounds they are golden letters and they float across the stage and drift slowly up towards the ceiling what does it mean I wonder

a young man comes on stage he is carrying a small golden cage inside is a stuffed bird why do you have a stuffed bird I wonder he answers because my bird knows all I think how is that possible this bird does not even live how can it know anything

he laughs although again there are no sounds it is simple it repeats what I say to repeat then it is you I say not the bird he argues with me for a moment his head thrown back in a hearty laugh no he says it IS the bird who speaks

do something magical I hear the audience they are asking for a trick I hesitate for just a moment then I reach into my pocket I pull out small watch it is on a chain and opens when I push the stem see this watch I say I can make it disappear

the audience members laugh thinking to themselves perhaps this is not such a fine trick but it is because it is the time within that is disappearing

ahhhh the audience falls into a light sleep I tell them to imagine they are in a circus I have them think of an animal in the circus imagine the animal takes you in his or her teeth and chews you up your body is swallowed and resides now within the animal after a time the saliva in the stomach causes your body to grow back together you are now in the rhythm of another creature time is different

ahhh they say this is a trick . . . rhythm is the control of time you see it in music in most things but changing rhythm is truly changing time I will give you an example you are late for a meeting everything in your consciousness is focused on the tardiness you feel and time drags like a steel weight tied tight around your legs

there is a heaviness to your step a heaviness to your spirit

change your rhythm and you change time I pull another trick out of a tall black hat look here I say see this small stone I hold in my hand

the audience looks up at me their eyes straining to see what I hold in my hand it is a rock it is the rock of the true church another trick they say what does that matter to us we know where the churches stand we did not need you to play a trick upon us with your tiny stone

but itâ&#x20AC;&#x2DC;s true I tell them here watch what happens I throw the rock into the air it disintegrates but after a moment it turns into sparkling rays of light it is a trick they say what does it mean it means that the essence of the church is light that springs forth no matter what or 62

where the foundation destroy the rock still the light glitters from within

what does that matter they say I think for a minute look over to the girl for assistance . . . she nods I look back over my shoulder at the Indian girl she is holding a trumpet she plays it with one hand in her other hand she pulls on her skirt balls the fabric up in the palm of her hand look at her the girl says she is connecting and grounding all at the same time

what is she doing I ask the audience also does not understand she is grounding her energy yet she is able to make sounds without using any of her senses the trumpet is in her hand yet she fingers the horn only with her mind her fingers cannot reach so she uses her mind to make the sounds

it is a trick no she says it is magic and all magic is simply making sounds without using your fingers without using any of your senses magic is making sounds that come only from within your mind

I will give you another example she says you are walking along a bridge you look down at the water you imagine a rock smashing in to the water below you see the tiny ripples of a wave hear the splash yet there is no rock no ripples in the wave it is all within you . . . you have made the ripples yet there are no ripples for anyone other than you your world is changed it is entirely your creation your memory your imagination your WILL causing the world to conform to your vision in that moment you are a God a co-creator of the natural world

but what good is that a young man stands up and asks it does not matter what we think the water is still there

it is not moving the fact that you imagine it to be so is irrelevant ah she says not so

the fact that you can imagine it so clearly gives you the power to create if you could not create the rock hitting the water below in your mind you could never change your world would be static unfulfilled

it is the ability to picture the rock so clearly see and hear the effects of the rock hitting the water below THAT is the power of God light made manifest

it is the imagination that is the bridge to consciousness the bridge to another world all who can imagine can find their path it is through imagination that one realizes God

a woman stands up she asks me how can I see how can I open myself up to these visions I ask her do you see things now not exactly she says

but what is it like for you do you have some sense of a connection to your spiritual self she stops for a second looks off to the left then braces herself looks me in the eye I don‘t feel connections to anything

how can that be I think but then I realize remember what it was like for me I‘m sorry I say I think that I can help you come on up here on to the stage I can see

that she‘s nervous that she would prefer to stay put but I reach out my hand to her and she scoots along out in to the aisle nervously walks up to the steps along the side of the stage

come on up I say let me help you what is your name Serena she answers ah that‘s a pretty name when was the last time you felt connected to a sense of spirituality even a sense of wonder can you remember

I ask

she looks at me blankly for only a second the only time I can really remember she says is when I was a little girl what happened when did you stop?

I don‘t remember she says I question her for awhile trying to determine when this spark was extinguished and it hits that she has been hurt perhaps physically abused when this happens it is very common

especially for young women to shut down suppress the memories bury them beneath a more acceptable façade I believe this is what she‘s done but I can‘t say that yet 67

and so I look at her and ask her to reach out her left hand

she does and I take it in my hands then loosely tie a bright red and yellow scarf around her wrist I am going to make you disappear what?

I am going to make YOU disappear but how where will I go? you will go to another place and then you will reappear and then after that you will come back to this place I will be holding the scarf the whole time so you are tied to me corded to this world

but Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2DC;m afraid she says but I remember what the hooded man said to me about fear is that really your biggest fear Serena is there anything else that worries you

the exercises work like this you imagine that you are on a train you are looking out the window. every so often a 68

new road sign appears along the side of the track . . . you feel the train slowing down and you can more easily read each sign

but what does that mean she asks

each thing you see is a sign we will follow the signs they will be what we take from our journey. if you focus on looking at the signs out the window that is what your trip will be

you may arrive at a specific destination but the signs outside are in one sense the actual trip. that is what you take with you if that is what you focus on so if you look at a group of signs along the side of the track perhaps one will stand out it will register in your mindâ&#x20AC;&#x2DC;s eye. you feel drawn to it more so than the others this is reflective of your life choices

if there were only one sign then you would only experience it but in this case there are many signs and you can choose which one to focus on. at the end of your trip those signs form a backdrop to your memory of the journey

so too with life by focusing on one sign as opposed to another you change the experience of your trip that is what we will do with you now your focus will shift to a different sign and it will be the foundation for your memory

but what does THAT mean? it means that all history is fluid all lifeâ&#x20AC;&#x2DC;s travels can change based on what we see but if we choose to focus on a specific sign -- even though there are others present as well â&#x20AC;&#x201C; we will change the nature of our trip

life is a trip do you know that expression well in this case that is just what we mean

I have you within this cord I can point you in any direction and wherever you go will register big or small in the back of your mind go to the same place many times and like a stone laid at the foot of the mountain eventually those stones will change the view of the mountain that first existed if enough stones are laid there then it will, eventually, eclipse your view if you stand in a particular place

healing is about laying those stones trinkets from the mindâ&#x20AC;&#x2DC;s eye at the foot of the mountain that stands before you . . .

Coagulatio

â&#x20AC;&#x153;Great is the man who has not lost his childlike heart.â&#x20AC;? Mencius

your mind is shifting again let me tell you another story

One of my favorite games as a little boy was marbles. You don't see marbles so much anymore not like you did back then. I remember having two big coffee tins full of all different kinds of marbles, big cobbs, "shooters", and all sorts of assorted colors and patterns of colors. I would sit in the front yard on Van Buren Drive and draw out a circle with a stick and shoot marbles for what must have been an hour or more all by myself. Sometimes the marbles would roll down the slope of a hill in the front yard but they never got very far 73

When I was a little boy I used to have lots of guns to play with, too. I remember having my detective pistol and a wad of play money I kept in my desk drawer. Once my mother bought me a beautiful new bedroom suite with big brown bookcases that wrapped all the way around my room. I loved that room but mom sent it all back and I left my pistol and the money in the drawer even though my mother warned me not to leave anything I didn't want to lose in the furniture. The workmen heard it rattling and gave it back to me but I was sad nevertheless

Big brown furniture filled with books and toys. I had it for a few days when I was three or fourâ&#x20AC;&#x201D;who remembers exactly how old they are when things happen as a childâ&#x20AC;&#x201D;but it was taken away from me by the workmen on the truck and so I was determined to never let it happen again

Maybe this says something about me. About why I do things. I know that a lot of what I do, or what anyone does for that matter, says a lot about them sometimes big and loud other times subtle like a whisper or a secret shared only amongst friends but you never want those whispers to turn and run loose behind your back or in school or church or wherever. I'm rambling a little but I'm trying, honestly, to piece it all together, even now after all these years of wandering in the dark of the night, when the furniture all comes and goes but the torments never end

I have thought about killing myself a lot over the years, a lot, but I'm afraid to die and besides I'm just so damn curious to know what's going to happen to everyone else. It's not like I'm nosey, which I'm really not, so much, but I'm just intellectually mad for knowledge so maybe that mania to know and collect and covet keeps me going when the times don't ring so true

Hemingway wanted to live but he wanted so much, too, to check out which is what he finally did. I don't think I'll go that way. I don't want to. I want to die when I'm old with a couple of dozen books and my family by my side like Clifton Webb in those old movies from the fifties

I read a lot and so I have a tendency to remember everything through the context of a book or a play. For example, just yesterday I read in a book by the German writer W. G. Sebald, Vertigo, about Henri Beyle (later to go by the nom de plume of Stendhal) and how he could never remember things clearly as they really were but, rather, through the lens of a painting he had seen years later. In other words, memory is a tricky fellow not always to be trusted, a coquette with red lips and grey blue gums, a bottle of glue found open in a crowded drawer. Memory lies, a fool's gold, in the frozen arms of a subjective truth

One of my earliest memories is of the hospital when I 76

was a little boy; I was in Cincinnati to get my tonsils yanked. There are two or three pictures that twist around my brain even now. One is of the hospital room itself. I remember the bed butting up against the wall on my right side with the door at the foot of the bed. Was this the way the room was laid out? Probably, but am I certain? Certainly not. Especially since one of the strongest and most compelling memories of my life not only may not have happened but, in looking back now, fifty-two years later, seems so unlikely as to beg the question of whether god or gods exist and to what extent they come out of their cocoons in Heaven if they do and come down to earth and play amongst us

Who am I? This is a common enough question but yet it is the one driving force of our narrative. Who am I? Who is he, the narrator of this tale?

Who are any of us, really? Are we the sum of our experience? The stuff of our dreams? Why are we here 77

on this twisted speck of rock three stones from the sun? Why

are

we . . .

Here and not some other place? That is what he wants to know, what I want to know. Why here? Why not some place

. . . else?

Do you believe in reincarnation? In life, after death?

Well, it turns out that during the first regression we did I was some kind of king in Eighteenth Century Germany and as a result of my karmic heritage (and natural good looks) I got invited to a couple of parties in Mill Valley. The advantage of attending said parties was to allow me 78

the opportunity to ignore the advances of some very beautiful little New Age divorcees from Southern California since I was entirely too stupid to realize what was coming down and, therefore, would have the opportunity for the next thirty years to feel bad about it. However, it did afford me the opportunity between bites of tofu to hook up with one of the best psychics in the world—at a time when finding somebody like her was ultra-critical to my development (and maybe sanity, too, perhaps). At the time of the regression, though, I really didn't know shit about Eighteenth Century Germany or psychic development so when the crazy old wench in our class from Austria filled in the blanks as to just how accurate my little trip down (past life) memory lane really was—while taking the sideline opportunity to belittle the American educational system (quite justified it would seem judging on how little I knew, don't you think?)—it just made my cinematic inner journey all the more compelling

After all, I have a kingly kind of persona. Maybe it was true. How else could I have seen the things I saw that night?

Of course, all of you of a somewhat philosophical bent are poking big whale-sized holes in my twenty-four year old logic but (at the time) it made perfect sense to me. I knew I had lived before. And I still believe it because I think it's true. However, the ways and means of justifying that belief (and what, really, is life if not an elaborate means to justify some half-baked idea or two?) have gone through a somewhat erratic evolution

Like all stories, there has to be a beginning. Once upon a timeâ&#x20AC;&#x201D;or some other variant of the once upon a time themeâ&#x20AC;&#x201D;that is how the story should begin

Once upon a time, high above the city, in a manger filled with straw, the three wise men descended upon Jerusalem 80

Sorry, wrong story. Let's try again

Where to begin? I was born on a cold snowy day in Ohio the only son of parents proud and true. No.

Try again.

I was an only child blonde and beautiful with a bag full of toys and marbles and puppy dog tails and all was well and then I fell off the world and the world grew dark and my hair turned brown like shit and I lost my soul and . . . No that is not the story, either.

Once upon a time, a little boy was born. He was chubby with long coal black hair and a dimpled chin and his mama and poppa loved him very much. He was an

energetic lad with a quick mind andâ&#x20AC;&#x201D;

Sorry, AGAIN, this once upon a time shit can get kind of boring so I'll sum it up by saying that I was born in Ohio in 1955. I was an only child who grew up to become a tormented teen with a crazy mother and a KKK totin' factory workin' father. Since my family was from Appalachia (with the accents to prove it) there was a very distinct form of snobbism at work in my home town directed towards them and their kind; this was reserved by native Ohioans for those families who had fled Kentucky during the war to come up to Ohio and work in the factories. The point you are supposed to get from all this is that the trickle down effect of this snobbery rained down upon my psychically vulnerable little head and caused irreparable damage to the even development of my self-esteem and sense of self worth. The economics of 1960's America were such, though, that a factory worker with a good job (in my father's case General Motors) and the drive to succeed could make a 82

very good living. My father was many things but idiot was not one of them. Out of place, yes. Politically incorrect, yes. But, idiot, no

My mother, though, might qualify for a big Yellow Y on both the out of place and the idiot ticket; although her heart was (I think) in the right place her means of execution often was a tad twisted. Since my father was something of a poor man's money making machine we lived in the best area of town with all the bank presidents and executives from Kroger

As a result, my childhood often had a kind of reverse Eddie Munster in Hell look and feel to it. Escaping to California and the attendant terrors (and joys) of the way deep subconscious mind was, therefore, a consummation devoutly to be wished. That night after I got back from San Francisco (the class was held in the attic of a house on 15th Avenue) and before settling in to bed in my Berkeley rooming house bedroom, I tried to 83

recreate in my mind the steps I'd gone through during my earlier regressions

I remembered that we had gone through a series of commands where we were supposed to imagine someone rubbing our feet and legs and upper body so as to relax ourselves. I had never done this before. Of course the visions really started after that and for many years they never stopped. But I don't want to see visions anymore or sing late night songs to the darkening stars while tribes of tiny little wet-haired angels fornicate on a crooked pin

All I really want now is just to water my perfect green lawn on a sunny Sunday afternoon, curl up with a good book or a good ballgame, and let the moons roll past, one by one by one

Of course the truth if such a term exists when it comes to self revelatory types of things is that I do see angels 84

fornicating on the head of a pin and the songs I hear floating up beside me in the silky white night make that morning drive to work a little more difficult. Some days, though, when I feel like it, I can still see the stories of all the people around me trailing behind them like the long red train of a stolen wedding gown

Every story is a sad story too even the happy people their stories are all so sad. So sad buried deep down in the worn blue folds of some long forgotten midnight slight or the bright sunny burst of fire from a demon sun all so sad

And Death is a terrible thing

Even if you want to die even if the wheel of karma may spin around a little bit higher the next time through still the thought of death for what really is death but a thought because once it comes then the thoughts are all that is left here vapor trailing behind you even then you 85

must admit it is a terrible thing. It is a terrible thing to die. For beauty to die. Or love. Or the sweet heroic stories of a perfect history

The heroes are all dead. Don't you think? Bones rotting worms singing in the lonely night. So on we go as best we can weaving consensual sunny day stories all masking a deep dripping secret pain too stony for the fertile ground of a midwestern Tuesday afternoon. To die to sleep

No more will we love the night you say, say it out loud you do I know you do don't you?

You are worrying about me again; that's OK I've come lately to expect it. After all, the wisdom of death is a terrible secret to share for it is the secret I'm sharing. To die to sleep. No more will you sing no more will the sweet sudden breathes of a warm touch touch you touch you deep inside where the songs won't sing off key 86

key to what secret door to what secret passageway we've all heard all heard but forgotten too soon forgotten and buried deep inside. It is death of which I sing

I am the troubadour of death

Come along with me you sinners and defilers of the sun come with me and raise a toast to the only god that really matters. The god with the key to turn

you

and

off

There I've said it. The god of which I sing of which I am asking you to join me in a chorus or three is the god of 87

death.

Thanatos of thee I sing. Of thee

sing sing with me won't you all sing with me better yet take a journey with me walk with me and the god we all call Thanatos and walk through his secret chambers let his warm crooked smile crease ever so gently across your wet upper lip for too soon we will see him see him standing there in the sweet

in the sweet

by and by in the sweet by and by we will see him

standing

there 88

Sublimatio

“Every action is seen to fall into one of three main categories, guarding, hitting, or moving. Here, then, are the elements of combat, whether in war or pugilism.” B. H. Liddell Hart

you don‘t understand this story at all do you? It is different than the parable of the train and the signs outside your window but it also instructive about how we SEE and also about what we fear

fear and vision vision and fear remember what was said earlier . . . a fear can only be replaced by a greater fear there is no way to overcome the fear it must simply be replaced by a fear more frightening

here I will give you another story it too is a story of loss it goes something like this

In the cheating hour, when the stains from some secret sin creep like dead soldiers along the pale blue walls, he sits, hands pressed hard against cheek and head, and thinks, of her. He thinks of her face, perfect, carved from the wheel of a potter's son, or the strong slow curve of her cheek, the pout and sweet breath of her lips and eyes, the sinewy play of light and dark in her breasts and legs. He thinks of her, too, in love, gently arching, the slow then sudden breath quicker then quicker arching up and then the delicate whoosh of her voice, her hips and legs dropping slowly into place and when it is done she lies, still, dancing silently to the beating of wet wings on a red willow. The nights the days the perfect breath and skin and beat of her heart. The perfect beat of her heart

He is a sad man 91

Memories like a scarecrow's whisper, he sits in the dark, counting stolen angels on a slippery pin. First a finger, then two, then a finger and thumb, gently stroking caressing her lips and thigh, smooth skin like silk through a Chinaman's finger, he bends down to kiss the sweet dark hairs of her sex. He touches her sex he is her sex she is nothing but sex. Nothing but sex. He dances now, alone. Stolen angels on the head of a slippery pin

In the morning when the night has dissolved into faded tomboys and blue trombones he will wake and look at the warm day too soon twisted into frozen night. He thinks, hard, too, about the days past, the days of her

Picture it. A manâ&#x20AC;&#x201D;tall but not too tall, with broad sloping shoulders, narrow cowpoke hips and the crooked swagger of a man chasing a mule. He is a pack rat, a seller of dreams, a snake-oil desperado with a leather case and a platinum tongue, quick-witted but 92

quick to take offense, famous as a cool head but privately white hot

He is a lover a fool a spinner of tales tall and deep. He is troubled, too, damaged long past unable to be too talented not to be good too fractured not to discard all that he gets too blessed to lose for long too twisted not to wish, to lose

He is a sad man

He lands in shit and smells like roses. Again and again. His glass is always half full yet he still pours wine onto barren ground then prays for light where light cannot truly be found. He is a golden child a fair-haired boy

He is an angel

Yet demons are his friends. He is nothing, if not unique

He thinks, always, of her. He is thinking now

Of her

Demons are his friends. He is a golden child. The glass is always . . .

For those in the know this is a confessional a trip down memory lane a suicide note for pregnant ears and aficionados of the night. He is acquainted with the night. He lives for the night. The right night

But not in the way one might think. He is neither dark nor devious nor cool. He does not wear nor worship a dark or twisted cross, does not wring the necks of tiny birds nor wish ill of elderly women or babies with inappropriate birth marks or mothers with multiple tattoos. He is a lover of art, of birth of Jesus and Gods one or many-sided. He is a student too he knows many things he has read many, many things 94

Experiencedâ&#x20AC;&#x201D;

many

things . . .

He is an angel yet demons are his friends. He has seen angels dance devils spit and walk upright in to the bold light of a perfect day. He has seen things many things that live deep in the night. He wants to share his gift the gift of the night. This is a gift his giftâ&#x20AC;&#x201D;to you

The gift

the

night

The gift

death . . .

in both stories the narrator experiences fear and in both cases he looks to death as some form of measuring stick. who is he, what should he do? he is like Hamlet to be or not to be that is his question and like the Danish prince he weighs the undiscovered country death and its potentially greater darkness â&#x20AC;&#x201C; are there glides for example â&#x20AC;&#x201C; against the trials and tribulations he sees in the present day

all life is choice it is the only thing that matters but it is not the choice as to what should be done but RATHER what should be THOUGHT

thinking feeling seeing things in a certain way that is free will that is GOD that is all that is as above so below to see from God‘s vantage point the interconnectedness of all things that is seeing the world as it truly is

life is a way back to God to God‘s creative vision . . . we are all connected to and through God there is no God but God . . . God is all that is all that will be the beauty and wonder of life is learning to see with God‘s eyes the imagination the sense of wonder at what exists at what might grow from a tiny seed

so now once again

another story but this is a story taken directly from my life . . . it is ―true‖ in the sense that facts and dates are ―real‖ . . . can be measured, checked, analyzed but it too is a personal vision a moment in time a thought a thought about an event that like the signs outside a 97

speeding train may change based on which sign or part of a sign we choose to direct our focus

and so . . . from my past life as a TV psychic pitch man I give you my story entitled

Prophet and Loss

“The believer is happy, the doubter is wise” – Hungarian Proverb

I'm sure you've seen the ads, 1-900-PSYCHIC, he was just like a friend. Maybe you've seen those infomercials, as well, you know, the ones where a bunch of old out of work actors and the cast and crew from General Hospital sit around and talk about their own personal psychic friends

If you watched these back in the early nineties there's a good chance you may have seen me, too. I was on one of those myself—along with Erik Estrada, Jenilee Harrison, Stuart Damon, Richard Roundtree, and a host of others. My little blast with prosperity consciousness aired 99

throughout the U.S. and Canada twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, for about a year and a half, all the while serenading multi-billionaires to sleep with its sweet clanging song while simultaneously robbing lonely hearted waifs and welfare mothers who could not possibly afford the calls

On TV my name was Obsidian, like the rock, and for just $3.99 a minute, you, too, could call and talk to me, or one of my caring professional assistants, from the privacy of your own home. Of course the sad part of it all was that for your $3.99 a minute you were more likely than not going to end up with some apprentice witch with a bad haircut, with no talent, no experience, no compassion and absolutely no idea what Pandora's Box her little song might unleash in the collective psyches of late night America

The phone lines were populated--for the most part anyway--by a subculture of six dollar an hour aliens 100

hooked up to an oral IV of the nation's secret ills. And these physicians of the soul were often times none too well themselves

But, of course, the old adage "man who sleep with dogs wake up with fleas" seems to fit my role here pretty well. These lines were billed (and I do mean billed) for entertainment purposes only, although in my brief tenure there never once did anyone ask me anything that sounded remotely as it they were seeking entertainment

Most of the people who call these lines are desperate for answers, any answer, and they are obviously willing to spend real money in order to find one. What is so sad about the whole affair is that most psychic predictions are based on probabilities, not absolutes, but this doesn't seem to sell quite as well as cosmic omnipotence so the real story gets pretty much swept aside

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Misery loves company and quite a few enterprising entrepreneurial types have capitalized on that notion in a pretty big way. Back when I worked on the lines, in 1992, a Prime Time Special aired on ABC and at that time Prime Time's "media expert", Ken Macaldowny, reported that these lines earn well in excess of one hundred million dollars a year. (I read recently that this figure has now gone up to Nine Hundred Million per year, just on the phone lines alone)

Add the millions that are spent on crystals, audio and video tapes, and assorted novelty items such as ouija boards, affirmation stickers and tarot cards to that figure--as well as books; people into metaphysics (no better example of that than me) are readers--and you can see that metaphysics is a much bigger market than people would initially assume

Forbes magazine once estimated back in the early nineties, that the New Age market did 3.43 BILLION 102

dollars in annual revenues with over a billion dollars being spent annually on New Age books alone. That number most certainly has gone way up

The prophecy business tends to do well when times are tough and times were tough back in 1992 when King 103

George I was still perched on his hollow throne. The early nineties, in my opinion, was the ultimate bull market of late night metaphysics, the IPO go-go years before the reality of just how bad some of the telephone psychics really were became known

However, with an ever-growing social and economic malaise sweeping like wild fire throughout America, first under the dauphin King George II and the watchful crossed eyes of the imperial regent Sir Dick, and now under President Obama, I wouldn't be surprised to see the metaphysical marketplace rebound a bit in the coming years

The target demographic for most psychic phone lines are minority women, particularly women on some form of public assistance, and as a collective these women probably see America's social ills more clearly than all the psychics in the world combined. It may seem curious that an economic group so poorly equipped to 104

absorb eighty-five dollar phone calls should form the financial backbone of a multi-million dollar industry. But they do

Since I expect the ranks of those of us seeking public assistance to swell in the near future, the market base for supplicants at the house of what's in store for me next is likely to be strong for Round Two

This is really pretty sick, don't you think? And since the money involved is so incredible, and the overhead for most of these operations so relatively minimal, the budding entrepeneur is awash in financial possiblities. (Bad karma aside) Like its bastard cousin, the "Busty Babe" hotline, the 900 number business is BIG business. But as the volume of calls escalate manpower problems become very important. The IP's (read: money men) who front the money for these lines are not just going to let the money set on the table, manpower shortage or not. So they hire whoever they can 105

I've seen people come in, right off the street, literally. who taped interpretations to the backs of their tarot cards and read them off, card by card. Nothing more. Certainly nothing that anyone with twelve dollars for a tarot deck couldn't do for themselves

I agreed to do the infomercial because of one thing. I knew my appearance on national television meant money--serious money. Initially it was going to go straight into the till for the producers but I knew that all this TV exposure could also have a pretty strong trickle down effect for my own account as well. After all, if fifty million people see a bunch of TV stars sitting around saying I'm one of the premiere psychics in the world today, some of them are bound to believe it

And when my accurate prediction that Jenilee Harrison, Suzanne Sommer's replacement in Three's Company, was going to start doing live theatre was included at the 106

end of the infomercial, thus proving that these really were the best psychics in the world (better than that old Linda Georgian's), especially me, well it didn't take a marketing genius to see the kind of money I could potentially make

All I had to do was change my name. No problem. Andrew is not my real name anyway; my first name is Rudolph, so I had absolutely no ethical dilemma about changing my name from an infamous Christmas icon to a big black rock

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At least that was the plan. But after I was there for a few months I began seeing that all was not well in the metaphysical world. People were being hired to answer calls who had absolutely no business doing so. I didn't care so much that they were amateurs but many of them were amateurs with bad attitudes. Neurotic cynical misanthropes

And these neurotic cynical misanthropes were getting the opportunity, partly because of something that everyone in America had the opportunity to see me actively promoting, to plunk their little neurotic cynical misanthropic selves down right next to me and give absolute bull-shit advice to a lot of desperate people who truly needed help

And then laugh about it when they were done

So I quit

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I don't have access to the media buys for the infomercial in which I appeared but I can guesstimate that in the eighteen months it aired, at approximately 150 times a week, nationwide and in Canada, that the take from it had to be close to $75-$100 million, maybe more

I don't know who calls these lines but I do know that they must have their phones conveniently placed near their TV. Since the average call lasts about nine minutes (at $3.99 per) and many callers call back week after week, sometimes three or four times, my guess is that somebody is making (or has already made and stashed away somewhere) some serious money

Karmic debt meets Dun and Bradstreet

"A man gazing at the stars is proverbially at the mercy of the puddles in the road" -- Alexander Smith

For close to fifteen years I completely vanished from the 109

metaphysical world. Only now I'm back and my approach and understanding of all things "psychic" is much much different than it was before. Hopefully my TV legacy is pretty well behind me. It is the spiritual self that matters most. Love and compassion for others, sharing your kindness with others--that is what's truly important

As we move towards more and more difficult times, it is important that we hold true to our spiritual nature. Don't let anyone tell you that you cannot make a difference. As a famous man once said "love is all you need"

When I was 24, I took a class on Past Life Regressions and that night I went home and regressed myself and within a couple of months I was pretty much flying along. The regression class showed me a way in which I could slow myself down and could also more easily focus on sorting out the images I saw in my head 110

I was lucky enough to meet Sanaya Roman at a cocktail party in Mill Valley and studied a bit with her and she showed me some techniques for opening up the "third eye" that I have used (and taught) ever since. I, literally, meditated for 4-5 hours a day 4-5 days a week for about 4 years and as you can imagine that "changed" me. In the beginning too I was extremely psychokinetic--shit moved, man, I was like a baby poltergeist on wheels-but after a few months of things being INTENSE all that slowed down to a trickle

I believe that all psychics need to learn techniques to help them focus no matter how naturally gifted they may be

The first thing I do when I try to "teach" psychic development is work with imagery techniques to control the body. Anything that you do, if you stay calm you will

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do it better. Right? So when I was a basketball player if I could stay calm I would play better and part of my ability to stay calm was to KEEP A PICTURE IN MY HEAD that I was a good player and try not to stress about things

OK, so far so good. With visualization techniques, in essence what you are trying to do is "trick" the body in to conforming to what you want so that the body will get out of your way and you can then see more easily. Think 112

of clairvoyance as if you are a passenger on a train. The train is going really fast and there is stuff flying by out the window. Maybe the window is dirty and grimy and hard to see through

The first thing you need to do is slow down your train â&#x20AC;&#x201C; remember our image of the train? The second thing you need to do is clear your window, get a little mental windex and THEN you have a better shot because images fly by--what you want is to hold on to the image longer so you can more easily make sense of it

One technique involves "pushing light" out of your third eye, the pineal gland, the area just above your nose in the middle of your forehead

First, deep cleansing breath, sitting (I find I like laying down but do much better sitting up) straight imagine sending energy out the bottoms of your feet into the earth to ground and out the top of your head to connect 113

Next imagine a rod of light working through your body. Feel it getting hotter. Keep picturing this rod and light expanding and warming the body while maintaining your connection to both the ground and the heavens

Now feel yourself protected. Picture a bubble around yourself. Imagine a warm glowing light glowing in your stomach. The light and color expands to fill your body and the protective bubble around you

Be strong. FEEL yourself getting strong, powerful, CONNECTED. KNOW that you ARE connected. Allow that feeling to grow within your body. When you are ready then PUSH light out your forehead, strain if you have to

Push the light out through your forehead. This is one way to open your third eye

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Another technique to help develop psychic awareness is by using past life regressions. Most regressions involve some form of "image quest"--you are directed to climb a mountain and then look in a mirror or you're directed to go look for your guide or any of a number of different scenarios

Another important "tip" in developing "psychic ability" is to think of information as, literally, being on a grid, an info super-highway, that you can tap in to. This information grid, analogous to what Jung called the collective unconscious and what some psychics (including myself) believe is akin to David Bohm's theories of the implicate order in physics, is a vehicle for remote viewing and reading the akashic records

I have done this for over 30 years now and I believe that the mind is a powerful force that can be molded to a large extent to fit your will: "do what thou will", right? I 115

think regression work or any type of internal "vision quest" is a positive and, with practice, it will transform you just as lifting weights, eating healthy, or practicing yoga will transform you. Practice, practice, practice for the pearl of great price will not be easily found

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The Empress of Brazil – Coniunctio

“The alchemical operation consisted essentially in separating the prima materia, the so-called chaos, into the active principle, the soul, and the passive principle, the body, which were then reunited in personified form in the coniunctio or 'chymical marriage'... the ritual cohabitation of Sol and Luna.” C.G. Jung, Mysterium Coniunctionis

The music man always wore an old brown felt hat. He was a funny old man and he played his guitar during the afternoons and evenings out by the river. Some nights we would sit on the curb or up along the banks of the river and listen to him sing. He was good, real good, the music man, with that deep throaty bluesy voice of his, and those old fingers, still quick and limber, sliding up and down the neck of his baby blue guitar 117

and on a good evening, when the sky was clear and the air warm and crisp with a hint of the sea blowing in off the river, groups of twenty or thirty people might pull up along the curb and listen for awhile. Some nights the tourists would ask him if he‘d played somewhere before, meaning, in their way, to be complimentary but the old man would just turn gruff and say, ―just found this here guitar washed up on the shore this very evenin‘; sounds purty though, don‘t it?‖ and go on, oblivious to everyone and everything except the feel of the crowd around him and the sound of quarters and dimes dropping into his old brown case. The music man always carried a leather satchel with him full of old photos from the twenties: here‘s one of the music man, dapper and neat, in a tight black tuxedo, smilin‘ from ear to ear; here‘s one of the music man, standing with a group of black musicians in front of a big sign—―Ezzie and the E Notes‖—smilin‘ and looking fit, or another one of the music man sitting next to a skinny little fellow with big ears and big sad eyes 118

holding a tuba; this one, worn from years of wear, is the music man, in a big convertible, sitting next to a chocolate skinned beauty in a white dress, her eyes like a bottle of fine cold whiskey; or this one, the music man, sitting at a table with a group of men, all of them white but himself, all of them fat with black mustaches and stubby round fingers wrapped around big cigars, eating and drinking in an old bar with gigantic beer steins littering the walls behind them; and, finally, the real one, the music man‘s pride and joy: Josephine Baker, naked, black and sleek, slithering like a snake, her tiny breasts straining towards the sky, with a look of calm certainty mixed with the slightest hint of some deep secret or regret. I knew all of this because I‘d seen them. There were a group of us sitting out by the square one day talking about the weather, wondering when the sun would ―strut itself back‖ across the gray Louisiana sky, when the old man walked over to our group and sat

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down. ―Our dear God‘s in misery today, fellows. Just look how the poor man‘s a-weepin‘.‖ ―What do you think, music man? You think it‘s going to clear up?‖ ―I‘d say it‘s the will of God, now, fellows, but just between us right here, I do believe it‘s going to rain just a wee bit longer.‖ ―You think so, do you?‖ ―Yes sir, fellows, I do believe it‘s going to rain just a wee bit longer.‖ The Amazing Timothy, a juggler and unicyclist who did his act, when the break dancers weren‘t there first, out in front of the cathedral, was constantly trying to get into it with the music man about God and ―Jesus the magician‖ because, according to the music man, Jesus was nothing more than the spirit of God in human form while to The Amazing Timothy, Jesus was just a very great wizard, a magician, a showman, like himself and there was a book over at Brentano‘s that 120

said just the same thing; ―don‘t you believe me, you old fool, we can go right now and look right at it,‖ but the music man was infinitely patient, at least about Jesus, even if he had no time for the poor white tourists who asked him where he learned ―to play guitar like that‖, so he just smiled and went on his way but one day he took me aside and asked me ―ain‘t you that reader who does them cards?‖ and we talked for awhile then he said to me ―you‘re a smart one, you are. Real smart. Tell me a little bit more and I‘ll show you something special.‖

―What do you think about the old guy?‖ ―He‘s nice enough. Why?‖ ―He show you them damn pictures?‖

The music man wasn‘t the only crazy wandering around New Orleans with his hat on the ground jangling full of quarters dropped by nervous conventioneers from Kansas City or old fat housewives from Indianapolis. 121

There was, of course, The Amazing Timothy, not particularly all that amazing as a juggler but still pretty amazing as an example of just how weird one person could really be and then there was Old Jim, at least ninety years old, who did those lewd dances out on Bourbon Street and whose act consisted of either sticking out his snake-like tongue and tipping his beakish nose with it or rotating his old hips, kind of like an old concrete mixer, a jammed-up beat-up very old old concrete mixer, to the beat of the music coming out of the giant boombox he always carried. Old Jim was weird, no doubt about it, weirder even than The Amazing Timothy, but my choice for the weirdest most eccentric character in New Orleans was Miss Jessie Mae Bonner—the stripper.

―Somebody‘s got to do something about that old woman; she is nuts.‖ ―Yeah, she‘s a little weird.‖

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―A little weird! Man, she is the pee ass duh re zis tonsse of weird.‖

Miss Jessie Mae—that was her stage name; really she‘d been married five times, once to the Mayor of New Orleans‘ son, once to a famous race driver, and once to a black Marine Corps drill sergeant she met and married on a 48 hour furlough from Camp Lejeune—had been a ―superstar‖ on the burlesque circuit of the thirties and early forties. Her granddaughter showed me some old pictures and she really was beautiful, with long dark hair and exotic-looking eyes (kind of like Ava Gardner). She was tall and thin and ―chesty‖, and it wasn‘t too hard to believe that, yes, this woman could have been quite a star attraction at one time. But of course that was then.

Nowadays she took her act—at least what was left of it—to the street. She would stand on the corner, 123

bumping and grinding, rubbing her knotty fingers up and down her arm, waving a ragged old white glove above her frazzled head. Sometimes she would try to sing; her poor old high-pitched voice crackling like an old radio. I always fantasized about a twin bill starring Jessie Mae and Old Jim; Old Jim gyrating one way, Miss Jessie the other, with The Amazing Timothy in the background riding his unicycle and juggling flaming torches while some little girl in red tap shoes and a little Miss America dress sang â&#x20AC;&#x2022;America the Beautifulâ&#x20AC;&#x2013;. Of course it never happened. Jessie Mae had her corner, Old Jim had his, and The Amazing Timothy always worked alone. Always.

But then all of us who worked the square worked alone: Old Jim, the music man, Tom and Gary and Celina and Abdul and all the other portrait painters and artists, certainly Miss Jessie (perhaps she more than

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any of us); then there was that short little man with the big nose who made little yellow dachshunds and bright red airplanes out of twisted balloons or the little woman with the funny hats who sold crystal jewelry; there was the old Irish Tenor, Mister O‘Reilly, who sang ―Danny Boy‖ so sweetly, and me.

I read tarot cards. This automatically qualified me as being something especially deviant, even among such select company. Every morning around 10:00 o‘clock I took my cards and an old fold-up card table out to the square. I did $5.00 readings from then on until around 2:00 or 3:00 o‘clock in the afternoon, sometimes taking a short break to run over and grab a bite of food at Lena‘s Tavern. Every once in a while I did a ―fair‖ over in Baton Rouge or up the river in Memphis but mainly my ―practice‖ was limited to New Orleans. Sometimes I even got clients who were interested in more ―in-depth‖ readings ($25.00) and I did those in the evenings out in the courtyard beneath my room. 125

I did this for about three years. Three very interesting, very educational years—I talked to people from all over the world, too, sometimes telling them things so accurate that it scared me. One day I did a reading for a young woman from Virginia, very attractive, with a beautiful lilting voice and dark brown oval eyes. ―The first card here is the King of Cups; is there a man in your life, someone who‘s especially important to you?‖ ―No. There is no man in my life.‖ ―OK, well, let‘s see now—it‘s crossed here by the Seven of Cups: an illusion of some kind, perhaps. You may have had some kind of romantic illusion of some sort.‖ ―I‘m sorry. Can you be a little more specific?‖ ―Yeah, sure, I‘m sorry. OK, let‘s see what we‘ve got here. The Three of Coins and then the, uh, the Six

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of Cups. Hm. That‘s interesting. You‘re very creative, aren‘t you?‖ ―No, not really.‖ ―Are you sure? Don‘t be modest.‖ ―Well, maybe. I don‘t know.‖ ―I think you probably are. That‘s interesting, though. Look at this.‖ I pointed to the cards lying on the table. ―I bet you must have some very creative way of making money. That would tie the Three of Coins with the Six of Cups. Does that make any sense to you?‖ She smiled. ―Go on.‖ I turned over the next two cards: the Ten of Swords and the Nine of Swords. Not good. ―Are you having any kind of problems right now? You know, like adjustment problems, maybe something just recently that‘s been bothering you?‖

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―Like?‖ ―Well, I don‘t know exactly. A death in the family, perhaps?‖ ―Something like a divorce?‖ ―Yeah, sure. A divorce would certainly make sense. Has anything like that happened recently?‖ ―No.‖ ―No?‖ There are times when you know that your client is not being, how do I say this?, particularly ―truthful‖. When that happens the best thing is usually to plead ignorance and let it go; give them the money back and go on. ―I‘m sorry, but you know I‘m just not getting much out of this. Some days I just can‘t seem to get—― ―No, please, you‘re doing fine. I would like you to go on.‖ ―I really think that—―

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Very sternly: ―Please, I would like you to finish.‖ I laid out the next four cards: the Seven of Swords, the Queen of Wands, the Two of Swords, and Number Nine, The Hermit. ―You‘ve had some kind of split, I‘d say, most likely in some kind of relationship. And I‘d say that you‘ve split up with that person—if that‘s what it is—very recently, too. Here, with the Queen of Wands here, that probably represents your mother or maybe someone who you see as being very much like your mother and I‘d say that whoever it is is probably pretty upset by what‘s going on—some kind of lost money perhaps?— and that they are giving you, more than likely, kind of a hard time about it. Does any of that make any sense to you?‖ ―A little.‖ ―Well, OK, now let‘s look here for a minute.‖ I pointed to the Two of Swords lying beneath The Hermit. ―Is there anything you really want to do, I mean really

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want to do that so far you haven‘t given yourself the chance to?‖ ―Why do you ask?‖ ―I‘m just curious. I think that perhaps knowing that might help you resolve a few of your problems.‖ ―Well, I‘ve always wanted to paint.‖ ―That‘s good. The Hermit here is kind of a solitary—― It was then that I knew, and she knew that I knew. ―I‘m sorry but all of a sudden I‘m really very thirsty. Would you like to join me and go get something to drink, a coke or maybe a beer, perhaps? We could talk a little bit more privately then about some of the ways you might consider trying to get a little more in touch with what you might want to do about all this.‖ ―No, thank you, I appreciate your offer, but I can‘t.‖ She was starting to cry so she reached into her fringed leather handbag and pulled out a pair of large

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round sunglasses. ―You‘ll have to excuse me, but how much do I owe you for your time?‖ ―I charge five dollars.‖ ―You‘re very good.‖ ―Thank you. We could talk a bit longer, if you‘d like?‖ ―No, thank you, unfortunately, I don‘t have much time. I‘m meeting someone. But I appreciate your concern. Really, I do.‖ She reached into her hand bag and handed me the money. ―I‘m sorry, but I just don‘t have change for this.‖ ―It‘s all I have, please, take it.‖ ―No. Really, I can‘t. Perhaps if you‘re going to be around here tomorrow you could bring the money by then.‖ ―That‘s very sweet of you. But please, take it; I have plenty, really, and you‘ve deserved it. Honestly you

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have. Here, please.‖ She handed me a crisp one hundred dollar bill. ―Thank you. Very much. But I wish we could talk a little bit longer. I think perhaps we could—― ―Excuse me, but I‘ve really got to go, right now. But thank you, again, very much. You‘ve helped me a great deal. Truly, you have.‖

One page three of the local section of the next morning‘s Times-Picayune was an article about the suicide in a local luxury hotel of one Jane Briggs, 29, of Roanoke, Virginia, daughter of a former congressman and recently divorced from a prominent young patent attorney. The article said that Ms. Briggs‘ body would be flown back that day to her family‘s estate in Virginia.

I folded up the paper, tucking it neatly under my left arm, picked up my table and walked back home to my apartment. I took the deck of cards and, one by one, 132

started cutting them in half and dropping them in the trash.

―What‘s up, Mike? Ain‘t you workin‘ today?‖ ―No, Gary, I‘m taking a few days off.‖

Miss Jessie Mae was already on her corner, bumping and grinding away, waving her threadbare yellowed glove above her crazy old head. I walked up to where she was standing; a couple of nervous tourists were standing around, whispering amongst themselves. ―What do you think everybody?‖ I asked. ―Isn‘t Miss Jessie Mae Bonner still the most beautiful woman in New Orleans?‖ There was a little nervous laughter. Nothing more. I took Jessie Mae‘s arm. ―Come on Jessie, I want to show you something.‖ ―I can‘t let no one steal my corner now, Mikey. You know that. I‘ve got another show to do.‖ 133

―It‘s OK, Jessie Mae. Honest. I want to show you something. It‘ll only take us a few minutes. Come on now. I promise no one‘s going to steal your spot. OK?‖ Jessie and I walked together over to Portoret‘s. an elegant women‘s hat shop on Canal Street. An older woman with dyed red hair and a slow, slow southern drawl came over to wait on us. ―May I help you?‖ ―Yes, ma‘am, Miss Bonner and I would like to look at some new gloves.‖ ―Mikey!‖ ―Shh. Yes, ma‘am, Miss Bonner and I are interested in a pair of long white gloves, silk perhaps. I turned to Jessie. ―Silk, Miss Bonner?‖ She nodded. The woman brought out several pairs of gloves. Jessie Mae slid her poor old arthritic fingers into each one of them, holding them up looking at them. ―You look very lovely, Jessie Mae.‖ 134

And she did. ―Yes, ma‘am, we‘d like this pair right here. Wouldn‘t we, Jessie?‖ Jessie Mae nodded her little gray head, sheepishly looking up at me, with the most quizzical beautiful old blue eyes I think I had ever seen. ―Do you have a box for these?‖ ―Why yes, we do.‖ She rang up the bill. ―That will be seventy-eight dollars and ninety-two cents please.‖ I handed her the hundred dollar bill.

Jessie Mae and I walked together back over to her corner. It was empty; she could still put on her 1:00 o‘clock show, just like always. ―Mikey, honey. Thank you so much. But, sugar, why did you buy me them beautiful new gloves?‖ ―Well, Jessie Mae, one of us has got to work.‖

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About the Author

Andrew Brewer, known internationally as ―The Rock n Roll Psychic‖, is a nationally televised clairvoyant and astrologer, host of Rock n Roll Psychic Radio, and Publisher / Managing Editor of The Alchemical Heart Andrew has hundreds of appearances to his credit on radio and TV, perhaps most notably as the featured psychic and co-host, along with Erik Estrada (Chips) and Jenilee Harrison (Three‟s Company), of Kebrina‟s Psychic Answer, which aired throughout the United States and Canada from 1992-94.

Andrew was the resident morning psychic for many years on Magic 99.7 FM—Columbus‘ leading Rock station—and was also featured in a segment on PM Magazine. A talented writer, Andrew has published articles on a wide variety of metaphysical topics. He was at one time a featured columnist in The Free Press and has been quoted in front page articles in both The Los 136

Angeles Times and USA Today.

Labeled ―The Rock n Roll Psychic‖ due to his many clients in the music industry, Andrew has advised major players from Hollywood to Wall Street and his client list, both past and present, includes Actors and Directors, Recording Stars (from L.A. to Nashville, San Francisco to Berlin) and business executives, internationally known super-models, NFL Cheerleaders and professional athletes in both the NFL and the NBA.

A dynamic speaker, Andrew has led workshops for both corporate and non-corporate audiences all across the country. Not content ―only‖ to be a psychic, Andrew ―retired‖ from metaphysics in 1994 to ―prove‖ he could make it in the big bad world of business and over a ten year six figure plus career, Andrew managed projects for several Fortune 500 companies and was twice selected for inclusion in Who‟s Who in Business.

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Authorâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Statement

Back in the late 80's and early 90's I worked as a psychic and astrologer and had a pretty successful career. I had a long running gig as the "Resident Morning Psychic" on a local rock station and a weekly column on metaphysics in The Free Press.

It was fun--for a long time. I jetted around from LA to New Orleans to Washington DC and all points in between and appeared on local and national TV many times, including a nationally televised infomercial with Erik Estrada, Jenilee Harrison and half the cast of General Hospital that aired throughout the U.S. and Canada twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, for about a year and a half.

When my daughter was just a toddler I decided to stop doing readings professionally and "retired" for awhile in 138

order to provide, hopefully, a more "normal" Middle Class environment for my beautiful baby girl.

I set out to prove that a psychic could make it in the big bad business world (something that to most people probably would have seemed impossible); but my ability to analyze (and talk!) allowed me to do just that.

As a Management Consultant, I specialized in Change and Problem Management, Training Development and Delivery, Business Analysis and Strategic Planning and I have been elected twice (in 2000 and again in 2005) for inclusion in Who's Who in American Executives. Weird, I know, but absolutely true.

I have spent many many years reading and studying and "trying to figure it out". I am still trying. When I was young I wandered around the country chanting with Buddhists and hanging with witches and mystics and 139

crazy people and along the way I somehow found time to drop out of several very nice colleges--I was at one time the academic wunderkind, then, later, the creative writing wunderkind. I never did graduate but now have the fancy liberal education of a Ph.D.

My real education is shamanic, metaphysical--out of this world.

Not real resume material. And as a former New Age poster boy,

once labeled ―The Psychic Adonis‖, I had what is commonly referred to as ―attitude.‖

In order for me to develop my gifts as a psychic I needed to follow my own--very winding--path. I had to do it "my way"--no matter what it cost me. For now I am content to steal from several religious traditions to make sort of 140

a syncretic spiritual stew--the Sufis, Russian Orthodoxy, the Power Puff Girls, the Jewish Kabbalah, with New Agey stuff everywhere you look and a heavy dose of Paganism for those cold winter nights.

I believe very strongly that GOD exists I believe the essence of GOD is within every creature

I believe in the power of LOVE as a positive, creative, healing force

Spirit and the "Supernatural" are active, pervasive forces throughout the Universe

All Races, Genders, and Nationalities are equal in the eyes of GOD (and in my eyes, as well)

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*************************************************************** For more information, please check out:

www.rocknrollpsychic.com www.myspace.com/rocknrollpsychic www.facebook.com/andrew.brewer

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“A complete reflection into what gives purpose in life with those mirrored belief systems we all have making perfect reference into what is much more than here in this life.

Andrew captured the no nonsense approach keeping it real stating it like he sees it and seeing is believing! Love how Andrew uses all aspects of real spirituality and combines that with your being, giving you the opportunity to walk along side him during his writings which is a great master‟s way of saying we all share in the belonging.

Many prophets have come to teach over many centuries and share in the word of spirit, Andrew continues this purpose through „The Metaphoric Mirror‟; are you peering into the mirror, maybe you should!” Robbie Thomas, Criminal Psychic Profiler, Star of ―Dead Whisper‖, ―Sallie House”, and “Paradox”

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"Andrew Brewer -- he is real, down to earth and wonderful! his love for people and souls goes beyond anything i have ever known i love him!!!!!!!!!!!!! he is true to what he does!!! and truly a very gifted soul!!!” Teresa Farris, Nashville, TN, Recording Artist

“Andrew Brewer has lived and lives what he writes. “The Metaphoric Mirror” is like a powerful circular current of water that cleanses the soul and links the human heart with a Universal Force. Andy is a gift to give oneself.” Sydney Darnell, Rancho Cucamonga, CA, Author

“Andrew Brewer in my opinion is top notch in his field. He brings straight forwardness as well as compassion to his clients during his readings. His honesty, and integrity along with his caring and sincere ways make going to him for readings a much needed experience. I have consulted with Andrew on different situations and every time he has held his code of ethics to a high standard 144

and even though I might not have wanted to hear his answers, I knew what he had to say was the truth as everything he said was far more accurate than anything I expected anyone I know. I would highly recommend Andrew Brewer to anyone who is looking for answers to life's many experiences.” Stacy Lupinacci, SF Bay Area, CA, Host of “The Positive Side”

"Andrew does amazing, heartfelt readings. He combines his intellect and psychic abilities to offer powerful insight for his clients. Everything he told me in his reading in June, and I mean everything, has happened, or is happening . . . in some very interesting, exciting ways :)" Alicia Kent, Registered Jin Shin Do Acupressurist -http://www.akashabloom.com/

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â&#x20AC;&#x153;You are a man with such a great depth & complexity that without the warmth you naturally exude to all you meet, one might be caught feeling a little intimidated.

You are spiritual, earthy, vibrant, creative, intelligent, multifaceted, expressive, gentle, strong, bold, sweet, & loving...and this brief list just scratches the surface. I am honored to be among your circle of friends.

You are never distant and you are always generous with your time. Music is a passion that you and I both share. Perhaps the shared spiritual/musical passions are the glue that will see that our connection will be long lasting & will deepen over time. I will hope so. You are a wonderful man & I am certain that all who meet you see that truth.â&#x20AC;? Veronica Ashe, Lead Singer, Smoldering Ashes

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"Andyâ&#x20AC;&#x17E;s calling is helping others to strengthen their intuitive muscles. I say that because there are some people who teach and then there are others whose energy serves as a bridge to possibilities and opportunity. And I would say that Andy is among the uniquely gifted who openly allows himself to be a conduit for the healing energy needed by others. I have no doubt that his new book will have wildly, diverse, healing effects on everyone who reads it. " Wendy Franklin Muhammad, The Authenticity Coach â&#x201E;˘

â&#x20AC;&#x153;Andrew Brewer is one of the most unique and spiritual people that I have ever met. His quiet spoken and gently prompting way, of getting a person to discover their own path, and find the right answers, makes him truly a talent to behold. There are not enough words to describe the triumphs and the tragedies in his life; instead the action taken to get there is the true essence of his journey.

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He is a walking, living instruction manual for the common man. Anyone walking in his shoes would discover a life of rich enlightenment and truthful observations. They would wonder at the people he has met, the places he has seen and the abilities that he developed.

Come with me in discovering „Andrew‟ and in doing so you will discover a side of you that is waiting to unleash your full potential” Peter Dibbs aka Psychic chef, Perth, Australia

“From the first moment that I spoke to Andrew Brewer, I knew his psychic talents were real and that he had a very important message to deliver to the public. Now, after years of friendship, I can say that Andy's message is much greater than a public message... it is a personal appeal, an individual call to action communicated to the largest audience of all - those who seek enlightenment." Beverly Van Pelt, Seaside, CA, ―The Gothic Gourmet‖ 148

“Your trials, tribulations and passions. From your life, to Spirituality, to personal experiences, to politics and back to the focus of YOU! You and I, both know, there is no escape from our Purpose. We make take detours, but we're always lead back to our Purpose. This is beautifully written” Dominique Alexandar, Columbus, OH, Intuitive Counselor

“You are an awesome Consciousness, my friend.” Colleen Duffy, “Devil Doll”, Los Angeles, CA, Recording Artist

"Andrew Brewer has in "the Metaphoric Mirror" found a way to eloquently and powerfully express his own colorful journey, thoughts and perspectives. In doing so, the reader cannot help but become involved, and absorb

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helpful tools and insights for his/her own spiritual journey.

Andy writes in a language that is honest, straight forward, engaging, and easy to digest. This book emanates a spirit of love all the way through. Every time I return to a segment of the book, I find a different angle or a deeper meaning then before.

It is a true joy to read, and will be a helpful source of inspiration for anyone, regardless of what station they are on their own personal journey.â&#x20AC;? Anna Lieb ~ Healer, author and motivational coach

â&#x20AC;&#x153;Thank you for sending me this profoundly heartfelt and intelligent book. The forthrightness with which you've written about the loss of your daughter, and the language you've used, is a beacon to reawaken us to the unimaginable preciousness of life. As the father of 150

two boys, I've been tremendously moved by what you've written here and on your website.

Being a parent opens a person's heart in a way that nothing else can -- yet how often the slightest disruption of the day's events can close one's heart. You've given us a sacred reminder that the preciousness of life should never once be allowed to be forgotten while we're mired in in the moods of daily existence. I can't escape those moods; but your story reminds me of the wish to live in a better way.” Mitch Horowitz, New York, NY, Editor-in-Chief, Tarcher/Penguin, Author of “Occult America: The Secret History of How Mysticism Shaped Our Nation”

“Thanx 4 being real!” Pride, Las Vegas, NV, Model/TV Hostess/Recording Artist, Founder of “The Deadly 7” and “Pride and the Vanities”. 151

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