Issuu on Google+

Words of Praise for Diary of a Psychic “I love Sonia Choquette. She’s a beautiful, sweet soul with a Divine connection. Her book Diary of a Psychic shows how you, too, can connect with your own psychic abilities. In my world, Sonia is tops!” — Louise L. Hay, best-selling author of You Can Heal Your Life

“Sonia Choquette is the most authentic person in psychic phenomena I have ever encountered. Her readings are incredibly accurate.” — Dr. Wayne W. Dyer, best-selling author of 10 Secrets for Success and Inner Peace

“It is a pleasure to endorse the work of Sonia Choquette. She is a highly talented psychic with a gift for helping people understand their life path.” — Caroline M. Myss, best-selling author of Sacred Contracts

“Sonia is the unfettered heart, a gifted seer who offers the spiritual truths like so many apples from the tree. She opened up doors for me that were nailed shut, and I encourage anyone who seeks to open their heart to her special brand of sunshine.” — B illy Corg an, singer, songwriter, and founder of the Smashing Pumpkins and Zwan “Sonia Choquette deserves the old-fashioned term ‘oracle.’ She is both a seer and a guide. She not only illuminates the path but the obstacles that may bar our progress. Her help is invaluable and deeply grounded.” — Julia Cam er on, best-selling author of The Artist’s Way


DIARY OF A

PSYCHIC


Also by Sonia Choquette Ask Your Guides The Psychic Pathway The Psychic Pathway to New Beginnings The Psychic Pathway to Joy Soul Lessons and Soul Purpose True Balance Trust Your Vibes Trust Your Vibes at Work The Wise Child Your Heart’s Desire

a All of the above are available at your local bookstore, or may be ordered by visiting: Hay House USA: www.hayhous e.com® Hay House Australia: www.hayhous e.com.au Hay House UK: w ww.hayhouse.co.uk Hay House South Africa: www.hayhouse.co.za Hay House India: www.hayhouse.co.in


DIARY OF A

PSYCHIC Shattering the Myths

Sonia Choquette

HAY HOUSE, INC. Carlsbad, California • New York City London • Sydney • Johannesburg Vancouver • Hong Kong • New Delhi


Copyright © 2003 by Sonia Choquette Pu bl is he d and distr ib ute d in the United States by : Hay House, Inc.: www.hayhouse.com • Pu b l ish ed a nd dis tr ib u te d in Au st ra lia b y : Hay House Australia Pty. Ltd.: www.hayhouse.com.au • Published and dis tributed in the United Kingdom b y: Hay House UK, Ltd.: www.hayhouse.co.uk • Published and distributed in the Repu blic of South Africa b y: Hay House SA (Pty), Ltd.: www.hayhouse.co.za • Distr ib ute d in Canada by : Raincoast: www.raincoast.com • Pu bl is he d in India by : Hay House Publishers India: www.hayhouse.co.in Editorial supervision: Jill Kramer

Design: Tricia Breidenthal

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced by any mechanical, photographic, or electronic process, or in the form of a phonographic recording; nor may it be stored in a retrieval system, transmitted, or otherwise be copied for public or private use— other than for “fair use” as brief quotations embodied in articles and reviews without prior written permission of the publisher. The author of this book does not dispense medical advice or prescribe the use of any technique as a form of treatment for physical or medical problems without the advice of a physician, either directly or indirectly. The intent of the author is only to offer information of a general nature to help you in your quest for emotional and spiritual well-being. In the event you use any of the information in this book for yourself, which is your constitutional right, the author and the publisher assume no responsibility for your actions.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publica tion Data Choquette, Sonia. Diary of a psychic : shattering the myths / Sonia Choquette. p. cm. ISBN 1-4019-0192-1 (tradepaper) 1. Choquette, Sonia. 2. Psychics—Colorado—Biography. I. Title. BF1027.C48A3 2003 133.8’092—dc21 2002152323

ISBN 13: 978-1-4019-0192-9 ISBN 10: 1-4019-0192-1 11 10 09 08 10 9 8 7 1st printing, July 2003 7th printing, May 2008 Printed in the United States of America


a This book is dedicated to my daughters, Sonia and Sabrina. Thank you for the gift of your delightful spirits; your wise insights; your endless sense of humor; your honesty; and your profoundly generous, forgiving, and loving hearts. It is my greatest joy to be your mother and to witness your psychic voices as they emerge into the world. You are my light. And to my mother, who taught me to see what is true in life, I shall be forever grateful for the gifts you have given me.

a


Contents Preface Acknowledgments

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .xi . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .xvii

PART I: NATURAL GIFTS (1956–1969) Chapter 1: Chapter 2: Chapter 3: Chapter 4: Chapter 5: Chapter 6: Chapter 7: Chapter 8: Chapter 9: Chapter 10: Chapter 11: Chapter 12:

A Spirited Family . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .3 Meeting Rose . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .13 Finding Santa . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .17 Psychic Radar . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .23 Eavesdropping . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .29 Mind Reading . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .33 Secret Agent . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .39 Rewriting the Rules . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .43 Seeing Past Appearances . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .49 Moving to Guam . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .55 Solving Psychic Riddles . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .61 Psychic Attack . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .67

PART II: MY P SYCHIC TRAINING (1970–1974) Chapter 13: Chapter 14: Chapter 15: Chapter 16: Chapter 17: Chapter 18: Chapter 19: Chapter 20: Chapter 21: Chapter 22: Chapter 23: Chapter 24: Chapter 25:

Meeting Charlie . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .77 Lesson One . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .85 Help from the Other Side . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .93 Discovering My Psychic Body . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .97 Om! Sweet Om! . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .101 In Earnest . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .107 Be Detached . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .115 In the Trenches . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .127 Graduation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .137 The Murder . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .143 Moving On . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .153 Dr. Tully and the Temple . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .159 Creating a Prince . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .167

PART III: MY OWN FUTURE (1977–2003) Chapter 26: Chapter 27: Chapter 28: Chapter 29: Chapter 30: Afterword About the Author

Into the World . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .177 Meeting My Soul Mate . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .189 Karma and Purpose . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .199 Past Lives, Present Healing . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .207 Passing the Torch . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .215 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .219 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .220


a Every story in this diary is true, but most names have been changed to protect the privacy of those concerned.

a


Preface

W

hen I was in the sixth grade, my family lived in Denver, Colorado, and it was a time of great change for us. Our neighbor, Dorothy, had a stroke and went to the hospital. My grandfather, Albert, who lived upstairs, had a gallbladder attack and fell down in his apartment. My oldest sister, Cuky, finished college, got a job as a flight attendant, and moved to Kansas City. My older brother, Stefan, moved into his own apartment and left for school in Golden, Colorado. My mother became very moody and emotional with all these changes, and my father seemed to be around less and less, as he worked seven days a week at Montgomery Ward. The atmosphere in our home was tense and dark. Most of the time I was afraid. I wasn’t sure of what. Life just felt so heavy and sad. I don’t know if my brothers and sisters felt the same. If they did, they certainly didn’t let on. My mother spent a lot of time in the basement where she had a photography studio and darkroom that my father had built for her. She was either developing or hand-coloring photos, sometimes selling them to clients, sometimes giving them away. Either way, she was mostly in her own world. Not being able to name the source of my unease and anxiety, I was on psychic high alert. It was as if I were patrolling the borders, watching out for enemy invaders—which meant, ultimately, anything that made my mom upset. More and more she was prone to spontaneous outbursts of sorrow, and the slightest upset elicited a huge dramatic reaction. She was troubled and miserable, and felt raw and fragile. I was terrified by her and for her and only wanted to do everything in my power to cheer her up. I quickly learned that the best way to do this was to talk to her about my “vibes” and tell her I was psychic, just like she was. This seemed to be genuinely uplifting to her. Because her world was so completely involved with psychic matters, having me follow in her footsteps gave her a friend and confidante.

xi


D

xii

I

A R Y

O

F

A

P

S

Y C

H

I

C

We witnessed each other’s psychic experiences and acted as each other’s sounding board. When my mother would try to tell my father or my brothers and sisters about her vibes or her psychic impressions, they’d roll their eyes or stare at her, not knowing how to respond. “Okay,” they’d say, listening, but not knowing what to do. They didn’t seem to notice that she dreamed about her own mother whom she hadn’t seen since she was 12, but I was definitely aware. I could see how it made her happy; how it relieved her of a deep pain. They didn’t pay attention when my mother would stop us in the middle of a sentence and say, “Someone’s in trouble. I feel it.” I think it’s because her vibes during this time were most often the bearers of bad news. A vibe from her meant trouble, so who needed it? But I was interested. I wanted to know and to be like her. During this time, my mother also started doing psychic readings for people in our dining room after dinner. These people were mostly her friends, other women who got married during World War II and came over from Europe as she had. There was Charlotte, her Austrian friend, who lived next door; Rita, a Mexican woman, who married another photographer; and Evelyn, my mom’s best friend and my godmother—a Spanish woman from Barcelona who married a man named Fred, had five kids, and lived on the west side of Denver near the mountains. All the while, my own psychic abilities continued to flourish. Every cell in my body became a psychic receptor, and I picked up on all sorts of things from everyone. Quite frankly, most of it was extremely uncomfortable. One of the first people I distinctly remember tuning in to was Evelyn. Like my mother, she was extremely glamorous and exotic looking. She was taller than my mother at 5'5", slim with a large, black bouffant hairdo over milky white skin. She wore dark, heavy eyeliner, with green eye shadow up to the brow and pointed on the side—giving her a sleek, panther-like appearance. She had a dark mole on her left cheek and wore heavy, bright orange lipstick. She dressed in tight, leopard-print dresses, which she accessorized with thin stiletto heels with pointed toes. Evelyn looked a lot like Sophia Loren, which complemented my mother’s own exotic style. She had a peculiar, high-pitched, nasal voice, as if she had a clothespin on her nose, and spoke into the air rather than look you straight in the eye. Fred, a somber, dark-faced man, was much taller than Evelyn and taller than anyone else I knew. Fred wore a beige overcoat and a hat over his


Preface balding head, and every time I saw him, he looked stern, impatient, and humorless. They rarely visited our home together; Evelyn visited alone from time to time, but she and my mother mostly talked on the phone. When Evelyn did come by, she and my mom would disappear for hours into the dining room so my mom could read for her and they could talk. The first thing I ever became psychically aware of was that Evelyn was desperately unhappy, even though she always put on a cheerful face in front of us. Whenever she came over, I felt overwhelmed with fear and worry and thought that she was in trouble. She gave me bad vibes—not because she was a bad person, but because something bleak or bad was lurking around her. I was afraid she might bring it upon my mother, too. All I could do was worry and watch, while they sat in the dining room for hours with the door closed. Sometimes I quietly lay outside the “reading room,” as the dining room was now referred to, hoping I could hear what was going on. I couldn’t hear their voices, but I could “hear” their pain, and it frightened me. The mood in the house continued to darken. My grandfather got worse, and on Christmas day we received a call that he had to be moved from the hospital to a nursing home. My dad and his family struggled over what to do next, and my mother was overcome with grief and despair. Each day was more tense and fragile than the next, and all I could do was ask my spirit guide, Rose, to help me, help us, and show me what to do to keep my mother from further sorrow. One day I came home from school, and just as I walked through the front door, I was overwhelmed with nausea and the desire to pass out. I barely made it to the stairway, where I swooned from dizziness and a dark cloud of anxiety. I remember gasping for air as if I couldn’t breathe. And all I could think of was Evelyn. My mother rushed to the hallway and saw me. Frightened, she shook me and shouted, “What’s the matter with you? What’s going on?” “I don’t know,” I said, feeling weak and confused. “I can’t breathe.” I laid down on the stairway and shut my eyes. Fifteen seconds later, it passed. I suddenly felt perfectly alert and back to normal, as if nothing had ever happened. I sat up and said, “I’m okay now. But I keep thinking of Evelyn.” “Evelyn? How strange!” she said, as confused as I was over what had just happened. “Go to the kitchen and get something to eat. You probably didn’t have enough for lunch today.”

xiii


D

xiv

I

A R Y

O

F

A

P

S

Y C

H

I

C

My mother sounded impatient, which I came to learn was how she sounded when she was really afraid. I got up and headed toward the kitchen, certain that what had just happened had nothing to do with lunch. It had to do with Evelyn. It had to do with all my bad vibes about her and my fear. I prayed for my angels to come. I didn’t know why, but I needed them. Three hours later the phone rang, and after answering, my mother became nearly hysterical. It was Evelyn’s daughter, Sharon. At exactly the same time that I had become sick, Evelyn had committed suicide by getting in her car in the garage and letting it run. She was dead. That day was a turning point for me. Once Evelyn was gone, my mother became very depressed. There were too many losses in her life, too many awful experiences. With the loss of her family, the loss of her childhood, and now, the loss of her dearest friend, I knew I had to do something to help her. I started coming home every day after school, half dreading what I’d find. I’d do a psychic reading for my mom, using a regular deck of playing cards, searching, praying, for things to tell her to cheer her up and catch her interest. I’d listen for my vibes; I’d ask my guides to tell me anything that would keep her looking forward instead of backward to keep her attention and interest on the future, not the past. I knew with every cell of my being that if I didn’t, if I couldn’t, the dark cloud my mother had escaped from would suck her back in, just as it had sucked in Evelyn, and her fate would be the same. My mother was in trouble. Her energy was like a frantic, turbulent ocean with no bottom and no anchor, with nothing to grab onto to find her ground. My father seemed a million miles away because he worked morning, noon, and night to pay the bills. My siblings were clearly consumed by their world. My older sister and brother were gone, and so was Grandma, and now Grandpa. My mother needed help, and my guide, Rose, told me that I came into her life to be that help. With the help of the cards, my vibes, and Rose, day by day I began to see the future. At least enough to let my mother know there was a day to look forward to. My four o’clock readings became a ritual. First we’d sit at the table with a cup of Constant Comment tea with sugar. Then I’d light a small, white votive candle. Next I’d ask my mother to shuffle the cards, cut them into three piles, and put them back together any way she wanted. Then I’d take the deck and randomly pull out cards one at a time and lay them down


Preface in intricate, whimsical patterns. I’d place a card on the table and gaze at it for a long time, wondering what it meant, what it was trying to tell me. I’d stare at the cards for a long and serious time, wondering what they meant, what they wanted to tell me. I wanted them to talk to me, to tell me how to heal my mother’s heavy heart. I wanted them to give me information that would make her laugh, praying they would tell me how to navigate through this cloud hanging over our home, to give me clues to keep us going. And to my utter relief and amazement, they did. They started to talk. I followed them like a detective. I felt as if I were on a treasure hunt, and each card, or each cluster of cards, was another gem. Some clues were ridiculous. But to me, each was meaningful, and as long as it kept my mother going, that was all that mattered. During these readings, I led and she followed. Although I was just a child, I felt as if I really wasn’t one anymore. I was a scout. I knew in my heart that I was in charge. And although I had no idea what all this would lead to, I had to trust in, and simply forge into, the unknown. The amazing thing was that my mother did follow, at least in the reading room. I remember some of our very first readings. In one, I laid out a card, the three of hearts. I stared at it and listened for direction. Sometimes I sat for many minutes before speaking, while my mom waited patiently. “You will get some new shoes,” the card told me. “They will be beautiful. A gift.” She listened, delighted at the news I shared with her. “Really?” she said, like a child hearing she’d won a prize. “Yes.” “When?” “Soon, very soon.” “Good. I’ll write that down.” And she did. She wrote down everything I saw or heard in my readings, no matter how trivial. We worked as a team. I wanted her to keep looking forward. She wanted me to keep looking inward. We both grew. So did my abilities. Soon I went from seeing new shoes to hearing news from Romania and the family she’d lost, to knowing that my father would get a raise. She wrote down every word. And some of it actually began to happen. Even though half the time I suspected I was just making everything up, I believed that it all mattered. And the great and profound thing that

xv


D

I

A R Y

O

F

A

P

S

Y C

H

I

C

set the course of my entire future is that my mother also believed that what I saw mattered completely. Inch by inch, day by day, detail by detail, I saw and heard and felt more from my tattered deck of cards. The cards were my grid, my template, my psychic point of reference. Through them I began to tap in to the other side.

a xvi


Diary of a Psychic by Sonia Choquette