Control room: You can ask questions, and we'll pa.s.s them on.John (repeating): There's a connection to a brother or husband who had pa.s.sed. There's a connection to two "J" names. There's an engagement or special announcement I'm feeling very excited about. I think this is happening within the year. And there's a connection to April as a birthday. The pa.s.sing of this male isn't long ago . . . maybe two or three years. Do you understand that? (repeating): There's a connection to a brother or husband who had pa.s.sed. There's a connection to two "J" names. There's an engagement or special announcement I'm feeling very excited about. I think this is happening within the year. And there's a connection to April as a birthday. The pa.s.sing of this male isn't long ago . . . maybe two or three years. Do you understand that?Control room: Yep.John: There's a "me, too" thing here. One male figure to the side is connected to a Michael, and one wants me to acknowledge two nephews or two kids. And I think I'm supposed to say the name "Jeffrey." Is there a Jeff connected to you?Erin: Jeff is my cousin who pa.s.sed, and his brother is Mark, not Michael.John: Mark might be the "MK"-sounding name I was getting. I get Michael, Mark, Mickey, names with strong "MK" sounds, the same way.Control room: That works in here, too, John.John: I knew I was going to get a "me, too." I have dueling brother/husband figures here. [To Erin]: Mark is your cousin? Is the Mark or Mike connected to the control room?

Then Doug, the stage manager, slips up. Or at least I think he does. He tells me he's going to check that last "Mark" validation in the control room "with him." I give Doug a dirty look. He just gave away that it was a man I was reading! And did he mean he was going to check with "Mark"? We have a "Mark" in the control room, so this must be for him, since his name was being thrown around. This must be for Mark, I'm thinking. Yep, I thought for sure it was . . . until . . .

Control room: No, the "Mark" doesn't make sense in here.John: I want to be clear that the "MK" name is Mark. His mom is still here?Erin: Yes.John: You have his photo in your house, right?Erin: I do . . . at home I do.John: Is there snow in the background of the photo?Erin: There might be . . . he visited us in Michigan during the winter.John: I need to bring up the snow picture . . . does that make sense for the control room?Control room: No.John: Okay, I need to bring up some kind of . . . it looks like a ski lodge. There's a woodsy feeling. And . . . he might be to the side, but would you see him as older?Erin: A little.John: Is Jeff older than he is?Erin: Yes.John: Just let Jeff know he came through. Tell Jeff he sees the fact that he moved. With your cousin Mark, the spiritual event I'm getting that's coming up is more in connection with a child-as if a child is christened or had a confirmation.Connected to the control room, I get an engagement, a wedding. And I'm seeing my cousin's birthday, August 19th, so there must be an August 19th connection in the control room?Control room: Yes, August 20th.John: The brother figure has someone who pa.s.sed in a vehicle accident with him . . . unless that's how he pa.s.sed. There's a vehicle impact that takes place. Is this for the control room?Control room: No.Erin: Mark had a landscaping accident.John: It has to be an impact. I feel like I'm being impacted.Erin: No.John: I need to be clear. Connected to the person in the control room, someone pa.s.ses in a vehicle accident. They're not driving or responsible for this, but I feel like I'm supposed to say Marilyn or Mabel or Marabel, which is connected to this in some way. Some sort of unique "M" name.Whoever pa.s.ses with the impact . . . there's like a misprint in an obituary. Like the cause of how they pa.s.sed was wrong, was incorrect. But it was rectified. But a big deal wasn't made about it.The person with the impact isn't related by blood with the brother. The brother wants to bring this person through and acknowledge that there's some type of split happening in that family, where someone else in that family has pa.s.sed or has left . . . or pa.s.sed . . . an older male. The Jeffrey is connected to the control room, too, right?Living?Control room: Yes.John: The brother figure wants me to say that people need to talk about this pa.s.sing. It needs to be discussed. It's a sad pa.s.sing, but they don't want to upset someone, so they don't talk about it. The guy is making me feel like I want to be talked about I want to be talked about! I'm not getting that from your Mark [looking at Erin]. I'm getting it from the other energy who was the first one to get my attention.I get the feeling that they're teasing that they could do this anytime. Like here at work when I'm walking down the hall and I can get pulled into an office. . . . "Oh, by the way, I've got your brother figure coming through." But they waited until I cannot not not pay attention. For some reason, they chose today's date to do this. There must be something significant about the date today for the family. pay attention. For some reason, they chose today's date to do this. There must be something significant about the date today for the family.I'm also supposed to acknowledge that Richard or Robert has to be connected to them as well. The "R" name . . . that's for the control room.Control room: Not so far.John: Absolutely, there's a Rick or Rich . . . a male "R" name connected to him. There's also a brain-tumor connection. This is for the control room as well. . . .Control room: Yes . . . there's a Rick who died of a brain tumor.John: Connected to the male figure to the side?Control room: Yes, it is.John: Okay, this guy is a pain in the b.u.t.t pain in the b.u.t.t! [laughing] I'm supposed to tease about eating pretzels. Right at this second, are they eating pretzels or something? If not, is there some kind of joke about the pretzels?Control room: Not eating pretzels at this moment.John: Then there has to be a pretzel reference that I feel has to be a joke. Is Dad there, too? Dad must be pa.s.sed.Control room: Yes.John: And Dad pa.s.sed before before him. Dad wants to acknowledge the grandchildren. I also need to acknowledge four or five kids in the family. There's a reference to someone who's known for having issues with alcohol. And there's a reference to some sort of disconnect . . . it's either with the baby of the family, or the "one" . . . like if there are four boys and one girl, it's the girl. It's like they had to make their own s.p.a.ce, and I need to compliment them on what they did. They came into their own by doing that, but never lost sight of the family at the same time. Does that make sense? him. Dad wants to acknowledge the grandchildren. I also need to acknowledge four or five kids in the family. There's a reference to someone who's known for having issues with alcohol. And there's a reference to some sort of disconnect . . . it's either with the baby of the family, or the "one" . . . like if there are four boys and one girl, it's the girl. It's like they had to make their own s.p.a.ce, and I need to compliment them on what they did. They came into their own by doing that, but never lost sight of the family at the same time. Does that make sense?Control room: Yes, it does.John: Mom has to have a brother as well there, besides Dad. There's got to be a brother or a brother-in-law for Mom there. It could also be a close family friend who lost a husband, but I feel it's connected to Mom.Control room: Yes.John: The father figure needs the family to know he's around. There's a wedding or engagement or birth of a child coming up . . . a family event that both the father and younger male want the family to know-this is really important that they're going to be there for this. The family needs to hear this. The brother is pushing the father figure out of the way, like, okay, you're done and now I'm back! And I need to talk about being on TV. This guy is such a ham. There's a total I'm-messing-with-you I'm-messing-with-you feeling . . . feeling . . .He wants me to tease you about the shoes. [To Kristin]: Were you not going to wear those shoes today?Kristin: Me? I wasn't . . . no, I wasn't!John: Why would this person's brother be talking about your shoes? They're showing me fuchsia . . . hot pink. You don't have anything pink on except your lipstick.Kristin: I had a hot pink, fuchsia heart on last night.John: Well, they were with you last night then. Why this . . . this doesn't make any sense. But it's like the person in the control room, their brother, wants me to acknowledge you were wearing whatever this is. I don't understand this. It has to be a conversation you had-Control room: John, this does does make sense in here. make sense in here.John: It does does?Control room: They were together last night.

Okay, so now I'm totally, totally totally confused. Why the heck would someone in my control room be hanging out with Kristin Chenoweth? There's just no way . . . this didn't make sense. I'm racking my brain trying to figure out what lucky guy had a hot date with Kristin the night before . . . and then it hit me. This was not for Mark or any other man-or woman, for that matter-on confused. Why the heck would someone in my control room be hanging out with Kristin Chenoweth? There's just no way . . . this didn't make sense. I'm racking my brain trying to figure out what lucky guy had a hot date with Kristin the night before . . . and then it hit me. This was not for Mark or any other man-or woman, for that matter-on Crossing Over Crossing Over. This could only be for someone who knew Kristin well and who was with her last night at whatever glittery affair she was attending, and who was also in the control room today. . . .

I was baffled and couldn't figure it out (self-psychic amnesia?) when Doug, the stage manager, finally leaned over and let me in on the secret. "John, it's JILL!" I was shocked.

John (pause): What? This is for (pause): What? This is for Jill?! Jill?!Kristin: Yes!

I was stunned-and totally excited. And I had to stop for a second and take a breath. Jill had totally "pulled a Natasha" and had purposely kept details of her family and their history from me. And now here they were, making an appearance. My heart just melted, and I couldn't stop smiling at the thought of Jill up there getting her own reading in secret. Especially after she'd watched me do hundreds of readings, and never once did anything come through for her. As soon as we finished up with Jill's relative coming through, I was able to finish Kristin's reading.

John (to Kristin): On your dad's side, there's this woman-I don't know if you knew her in life, but I feel she's very strongly tethered to the energy of what you do. Is there anyone on your dad's side who used to do what you do? (to Kristin): On your dad's side, there's this woman-I don't know if you knew her in life, but I feel she's very strongly tethered to the energy of what you do. Is there anyone on your dad's side who used to do what you do?Kristin: I'm not sure.John: I would love for you to find out. Because there's such a strong feeling of "she's following in my footsteps." Like someone else did this.Kristin: I've wondered about that.John: There had to be, in your development, some type of overwhelming standing ovation. Like you got out in front of thousands of people at a very young age. But it's spiritual to me . . . like you were asked to sing in church.Kristin: I did-it was in front of 10,000 people when I was nine or ten.John: That event was a pivotal experience. You already had a taste early on of what if feels like to be known and appreciated. And you're now blending the two worlds again. What you did in front of 10,000 people, you're now moving it forward.Kristin: My next alb.u.m will be "Faith and Inspiration."John: Remember how Natalie Cole did the Nat King Cole overlay? Either you're doing an overlay or doing a duet with yourself. As if there were two separate Kristins singing . . . there are two of you. And I'm supposed to tell you that what's not being handed to you today on a professional level probably isn't going to happen for another three years. But it's a positive, not a negative. Something you're going to do will be different from what you're known for, and you'll go in a different direction. Maybe it's publishing or writing music . . . something different, an adjunct, another outlet of the same thing. There's something about going to Europe. I don't know if maybe you're planning to go to Vienna? There's a large international feeling, and you'll be asked to sing in a different language or do something different from what I know you as doing. . . .And, the pull you already have in your leg? Stay on top of it. It's always a warning, so be careful. This is muscle related; it feels like you had a tear. Normally, it wouldn't be a problem, but if you do something like this, it will be an issue.Now . . . did you get the cat yet? They want to know if you got the cat yet.Kristin: I'm giving him my cat! [She points to Denny.]John: These are the trivial little things to show you they know what's going on.They're pulling their energy back. . . .

When the reading was over, we all had a laugh at how Jill's brother had "messed with me," as he put it-and I was amazed and more than a bit freaked out at how the reading for Jill had come about.

"Boom, boom, boom boom-you had everything right," Jill said as she ran down from the control room excitedly listing off the validations: "My dad and my brother have both pa.s.sed. I'm from Pennsylvania, and you said that. The 'JE' and the 'JL' . . . I'm Jill, my brother is Jeff, and my brother who pa.s.sed is Joe. His birthday is August 20th, and he died in May . . . you said there was a May connection . . . and the two-year anniversary is coming up . . . and it was a sudden pa.s.sing, like you said.

"My mother had talked to him the day before, and he said he wasn't feeling well, and he said he was going to go to sleep and we didn't hear from him for two days . . . and he had pa.s.sed in his apartment of a heart problem. He was here one day, gone the next. And then you said April for a birthday . . . my birthday is April. You called my brother a ham, and it's true . . . he used to tease me all the time like the way you you tease me. And then last night, with the pink heart . . . we were laughing because Kristin was going to wear something with a pink, fuchsia heart on it, and we were like; wear it . . . don't wear it . . . wear it . . . don't wear it . . . take it off . . . put it on . . . I never told you any of this stuff, and you nailed it. Except . . . I don't know what the pretzel thing is. . . . " tease me. And then last night, with the pink heart . . . we were laughing because Kristin was going to wear something with a pink, fuchsia heart on it, and we were like; wear it . . . don't wear it . . . wear it . . . don't wear it . . . take it off . . . put it on . . . I never told you any of this stuff, and you nailed it. Except . . . I don't know what the pretzel thing is. . . . "

It was such a rush of emotion and elation that I saw coming out of my friend, and I was so happy that her family had come through for her. And once again, I was amazed at the timing of it all. Why didn't her family come through earlier, during all of our business trips and seminars and lunches and long drives in the car?

"I guess, for whatever reason, it had to take that long-maybe so I could understand the process better," Jill told me. After she explained more about her family, I realized that there was more of a "timing" thing happening than I thought. Remember when I told you earlier that when I first met Jill I felt that there was an important reason she needed to be connected with this work?

Well, when her friend and client Aaliyah died in that plane crash, I thought that was the reason she would be questioning mortality. But I had no idea that the first time I had called her for a meeting, it was almost to the day of her brother's death.

"Actually, that's another strange story," Jill told me. "You called me the first or second day after he pa.s.sed, and I pretty much freaked out because I was like, why is he calling me now? now? What does he know?" What does he know?"

It wasn't until over a year later in conversation when she casually mentioned that she'd lost a brother. I thought it was odd that she'd never mentioned it before, and I asked her why she hadn't.

"John, you always always tell me not to tell a medium tell me not to tell a medium any any information," she laughed, "and if he ever showed up, I'd want to know I hadn't told you information," she laughed, "and if he ever showed up, I'd want to know I hadn't told you anything anything about it." And for that reason, we dropped the subject right away without her telling me any more. I was shocked at how professional she'd been-never taking the opportunity as we worked together to try to arrange a reading for herself or anyone in her family. about it." And for that reason, we dropped the subject right away without her telling me any more. I was shocked at how professional she'd been-never taking the opportunity as we worked together to try to arrange a reading for herself or anyone in her family.

At least she didn't try to arrange it with me with me. Jill had had a little chat with her brother before Kristin's reading. "The other day, I said to my brother out loud, 'By the way . . . if you are ever ever going to come through, why don't you come through on Tuesday when I'm going to be in the studio? Wouldn't that be funny? Ha, ha!' But I still didn't think it would happen. When I was in the greenroom, they wanted me to sign the release form in case I was read, and I told them, 'Look, I don't need to sign the form. I'm with John all the time! Believe me, I'm not going to be read. I talk to him a hundred times a day, and going to come through, why don't you come through on Tuesday when I'm going to be in the studio? Wouldn't that be funny? Ha, ha!' But I still didn't think it would happen. When I was in the greenroom, they wanted me to sign the release form in case I was read, and I told them, 'Look, I don't need to sign the form. I'm with John all the time! Believe me, I'm not going to be read. I talk to him a hundred times a day, and no one ever comes through for me no one ever comes through for me.'"

But let me reiterate: People come through in their own time and in their own mysterious ways. Kristin had to be there that day so that Jill's brother and father could come through.

"And I was glad it was me," piped up Kristin, who was thrilled about her own messages as well. I myself was most curious about Kristin's "international" singing reference and asked her what that was all about.

"I went to London this summer and sang, but I sing in other languages, too," she explained. "I've done Phantom Phantom in German-in Germany. And I was asked while I was in London to come back to do an international festival this summer and sing more of a religious type of music. My great-aunt Inez would always encourage me and come to church and hear me sing, so that's who I think came through on my father's side. in German-in Germany. And I was asked while I was in London to come back to do an international festival this summer and sing more of a religious type of music. My great-aunt Inez would always encourage me and come to church and hear me sing, so that's who I think came through on my father's side.

"I was asked to sing at the Southern Baptist Convention in Oklahoma in front of 10,000 people when I was nine or ten. It was huge. When you said it was 'spiritually based,' it was so true, and my aunt was a part of that. It was a real turning point in my life and a big deal. You nailed that!

"Being a Christian, I know a lot of people don't look at this stuff as being 'of G.o.d.' But I believe that people who leave us are with us. For me, personally, the big freak-out moment was when you said I would be doing a 'blending' of what I did with a more spiritual aspect. That definitely hit home because I'm working on my next alb.u.m with Sony Cla.s.sical, t.i.tled 'Faith and Inspiration.' Then when you asked if I was wearing fuchsia or pink, that cracked me up. Last night I was at the movie premiere for The Music Man The Music Man, and I had a big pink fuchsia heart on, and there was a big discussion about what to wear and what shoes to wear. I wanted to wear these because they're more comfortable, but Jill was like, 'You have to wear the dressy boots!'

"Jill was really adamant about what I wore last night, and that's why I'm laughing . . . because her brother was teasing about it. We didn't know Jill was in the control room during the reading, so we didn't think any of this had a connection to her, and all of a sudden, it hit us like a lightbulb. And then you asked about the pull in my leg? I have a really bad hamstring injury from my high school cheerleading days, and it bothers me still."

I NEVER TIRE OF WATCHING NEVER TIRE OF WATCHING how hard the Other Side works to get their messages through to us, and I'm still amazed after all these years at their elaborate methods. In this case, Kristin's family acted as a link for opening for Jill's family to come through in such a way that I wouldn't know it was for her-thereby protecting the integrity of the experience, just as Jill had hoped. how hard the Other Side works to get their messages through to us, and I'm still amazed after all these years at their elaborate methods. In this case, Kristin's family acted as a link for opening for Jill's family to come through in such a way that I wouldn't know it was for her-thereby protecting the integrity of the experience, just as Jill had hoped.

When someone's getting a reading and they bring through family for a friend, I call that the widening of the "circle of love." And Kristin's circle opened up to include our friend Jill.

To repeat once more, the Other Side comes through to us when they're ready . . . but more important, when we're we're ready. Jill waited a year and a half for her family to show up, but they didn't arrive until all the elements were right. I can't control who comes through, and neither can you. It's up to them, and they know best. ready. Jill waited a year and a half for her family to show up, but they didn't arrive until all the elements were right. I can't control who comes through, and neither can you. It's up to them, and they know best.

"My mother was always saying to me, 'You work with John Edward. I don't understand why you can't just ask him to do a reading!'" Jill told me afterwards. "She didn't understand why you weren't having conversations with my brother all the time. And I told her, 'Mom . . . it doesn't work that way. If it's meant to be, it will happen. When the time is right, it will just happen.'"

CHAPTER 7.

TEACHERS.

PSYCHIC p.u.b.eRTY.

I HAD MY FIRST ENCOUNTER HAD MY FIRST ENCOUNTER with psychic work in 1985 when I attempted to debunk a woman named Lydia Clar, who arrived at my home one afternoon to do readings for my mother and a bunch of other eager relatives. I, too, had my very first reading that day-reluctantly. I didn't believe in that kind of silly stuff, but I went along with it, at my cousin's urging, to prove that this woman was a fraud. But it was at that initial reading, at age fifteen, when I was told that I'd someday be an internationally known psychic, lecture around the world, and write numerous books on the subject of psychic phenomena. Ha! I laughed at this, thinking, with psychic work in 1985 when I attempted to debunk a woman named Lydia Clar, who arrived at my home one afternoon to do readings for my mother and a bunch of other eager relatives. I, too, had my very first reading that day-reluctantly. I didn't believe in that kind of silly stuff, but I went along with it, at my cousin's urging, to prove that this woman was a fraud. But it was at that initial reading, at age fifteen, when I was told that I'd someday be an internationally known psychic, lecture around the world, and write numerous books on the subject of psychic phenomena. Ha! I laughed at this, thinking, How psychic could this woman be if she can't even pick up that I think she's full of s-t? How psychic could this woman be if she can't even pick up that I think she's full of s-t?

Lydia foresaw my career as a psychic medium sixteen years before it began. And what did she get in return? About $35 and a whole lot of att.i.tude from me. In life, there are many signposts and teachers along the way. Lydia, I didn't know it at the time, was the first person who pointed me in the right direction. As they say, when the student is ready, the teacher will appear. But I wasn't quite ready . . . yet.

One of my most important teachers was a stranger who was to become one of my best friends. My previous book, Crossing Over: The Stories Behind the Stories Crossing Over: The Stories Behind the Stories, is dedicated to the memory and energy of a psychic medium and astrologer named Sh.e.l.ley Peck, who was my dearest pal.

I want to talk about Sh.e.l.ley here for many reasons. One primary reason is because she and I shared much of the same philosophy and thoughts about our work, and even worked in a similar style. At times, it was downright shocking to us how alike we were. After events we did together, we'd talk for hours and compare the "Hey, me, toos" we shared.

I'm sure you'd be surprised to know that Sh.e.l.ley was almost thirty years older than I. One of the funniest moments in our friendship was when I'd call Sh.e.l.ley's home on a weeknight and one of her three kids would answer the phone. They were all around my age, but I'd be asking them if their mom could "come out and play." It was something her husband, Marvin, had to shake his head at. So, how did the Universe arrange for Sh.e.l.ley and me to meet?

After my reading with Lydia Clar that day in my house, I needed to know how she was able to do it. I figured that there had to be something to this psychic stuff because she was extremely accurate in my session, as well as with my other relatives who were read that day. I broke up her reading into three parts.

One part was the "You're going to be a famous psychic" part, where I had to restrain myself from laughing out loud right in her very serious face. Another section was where she came up with a bunch of specific information about my life that was right on target-the cla.s.ses I was taking and how I was doing in them, the teachers I had, and the girls I had crushes on. Okay, could she actually have some ability? I rationalized most of what she said as stuff that would apply to any hormonally charged teenage boy.

Then came the last part, which made me sit up and take notice. Lydia brought up a private situation in my life that n.o.body-not even my family-knew about. She gave me details about a girl I liked, mentioned a few names related to this girl, and even predicted the outcome of the romance. After the session, my head was spinning as I tried to poke holes in the reading, but I couldn't do it. I felt out of control and even a bit . . . violated. That might sound absurd, but that's the feeling you sometimes get from a good reading when a stranger "exposes" your private life out loud like a grocery list is being read. In case you've ever had that experience, you should know that it's normal to feel that way.

Lydia didn't go out of her way to try to "teach" me anything that day. She was there to set me on course. After making her startling p.r.o.nouncements, she didn't even recommend a book I should read on the topic of psychic phenomena. I think back to that reading and consider her more like the first "gardener" of my uncultivated psychic soil. She planted the seeds, and grow they did-my interest was like a weed spreading out of control.

I started out at the library with a few books. Soon, I was reading anything I could get my hands on that was written about parapsychology or metaphysics. Like many of you reading this right now, I had a lot of questions, such as: What's it all about? What's it all about? and and How does it work? How does it work? Soon, I was reading books on the deeper meanings of tarot cards during English cla.s.s instead of focusing on Soon, I was reading books on the deeper meanings of tarot cards during English cla.s.s instead of focusing on A Tale of Two Cities A Tale of Two Cities or or Lord of the Flies- Lord of the Flies- much to my teacher's chagrin. much to my teacher's chagrin.

It was then that I realized I needed professional help. No, I don't mean a therapist who would examine me and dissect my inner psyche. I needed someone who actually did psychic work to explain it and help guide me through it. And since I was fifteen and didn't have a driver's license yet, I needed that person to live close by (Lydia Clar lived in New Jersey, a whole other state). And I needed this person p.r.o.nto. I mean, I was told that I had these "powers" and these highly evolved guides who were ready to work with me-words that sounded straight out of Yoda's mouth in the Jedi training camp. Great! I have these abilities? Where are the instructions? It wasn't like I could wiggle my nose or cross my arms like in Bewitched Bewitched and blink up a prediction . . . or someone's grandpa from the Other Side. and blink up a prediction . . . or someone's grandpa from the Other Side.

The best a.n.a.logy I can give you is that Lydia told me I can speak this "other language"-think of it as the language of energy. And like any other language, you had to develop an understanding and command of it. This is exactly what psychic development felt like for me-learning the language of a whole new world. But until I could find the proper teacher to tutor me, I continued to teach myself by reading and putting into practice anything I learned.

By the time I was sixteen, I was dabbling in readings of my own, and I'd met with moderate success. I'd started to meditate regularly, had taught myself how to read playing cards from a book, and was developing skills in psychometry-the reading of a person's energy while holding something that belongs to them-such as a watch or a ring. Soon, I was able to tell people details about their life, job, relationships, and past . . . and also make predictions that would come true a few days into the future. It felt like I was tapping in to a whole new reservoir of awareness. Of course, if I was to compare my abilities then to now, it's like the difference between a drip from a leaky faucet and Niagara Falls.

WHERE TO FIND A PSYCHIC TEACHER? The Yellow Pages, of course. . . .

Although I was experiencing moderate success, I knew there was so much more I needed to learn. Desperate to find someone-anyone-to guide me, I turned to the only resource I could think of-the phone book. I'm not kidding. I let my fingers do the walking and looked under "P" for psychic. There were only a few listings, and most of them were for the storefront, neon-palm-glowing-in-the-window types. You know, the ones that tell some poor, gullible soul they have a curse on them and it will cost $5,000 to make it go away. If you ever come across a scam like this, do yourself and everyone else a favor-call the police and turn that wacko in, because that's called fraud.

My mother had an experience with a woman like this whom I nicknamed "Madame a.s.sola" (get it?). This woman told Mom that her marriage was really bad because there was a dark cloud looming over her head that had followed her since the day she was born . . . and if my mother didn't give her $1,000 per month to light candles and pray for her, the curse could be pa.s.sed down to her children.

My mom, psychic junkie that she was, wasn't stupid. She politely ended the session by saying, "Thank you for your time, but I will light my own candles in church," and left. When she related this story to me as a young boy, I will admit that I thought about the many arguments she and my dad had, and I asked her if that black cloud was something I'd inherited. My mom calmed my fears and a.s.sured me that as long as you have a strong faith in G.o.d and surround yourself in prayer, no dark clouds would be on your back-words I still believe.

Characters like that manipulating fortune-teller and any of the 1-900-dial-the-dead psychic hotlines make me sick, because they prey on trusting people in a vulnerable condition. They're why I always say it's really important to have skeptics out there to raise the "opposing views" on the subject matter. These skeptics sometimes group me in the same category with the swindlers, which I don't particularly like, but nevertheless, I still appreciate their value.

So back to my search for guidance: I flipped through the Yellow Pages and came across a listing for the Astrological Inst.i.tute of Integrated Studies (AIIS) which, at the time, was located in Baysh.o.r.e, Long Island, and run by a husband-and-wife team, John Maerz and Sandy Anastasi. The first thing I did was to arrange to have a reading with Sandy, who was the resident psychic. Yes, I was looking to develop the skills Lydia said I was capable of, but I wanted to check out the psychic first. This would be like going to a gym and checking out the trainers, or going to a school and sizing up the teachers.

The only snag in this plan was my mother. The psychic junkie herself didn't want me venturing into fresh, new territory all alone. I couldn't figure out if she didn't want to miss out on a good reading opportunity or if this was genuine parental concern. I personally think it was a little bit of both. She insisted that we make two appointments with the psychic, and, because she was the "Grand Dame of Readings," she had to go first. Just in case Sandy was a nut job, she would protect me, her little cub, from the psychic predator.

On the day of the reading, as I waited out in the hallway, my mom emerged from the room and gave me "The Look," which meant that not only was Sandy very good, but I was next. Once in the room, Sandy immediately picked up on my abilities and then followed through with a spectacular reading. When it was over, we discussed the cla.s.ses I should take for my new psychic school curriculum. As I was still in high school, I signed up for weekly sessions on Sat.u.r.day mornings. My mother was ecstatic. Some mothers want their sons to be doctors. My mom? She couldn't believe her luck: Her son was going to psychic school. She envisioned a lifetime of free readings spread out before her.

I signed on for Basic Tarot with Sandy and Basic Numerology with John. I had made it through about half of Sandy's Psychic Development One cla.s.s before she politely kicked me out. She was worried that I'd make the other students feel slow because of my above-average abilities. I remember her joking around, calling me "the up-and-coming Merlin."

My studies at AIIS helped me establish a good foundation that's evident in my work today. Recently, Sandy sent me her current Basic Development book, and I flipped through it, surprised by how similar her style of teaching is to the way I conduct my workshops on developing psychic skills. I e-mailed Sandy and asked how she thought that was possible-did we possess the same guides? She was polite in her response, reminding me that I was indeed her student at one time!

Instead of accusing me of "stealing" her style, Sandy took my nod to her teachings as a compliment-glad that I was able to learn from her and use it as a basis for my own work. Sandy and John-who still help others develop their psychic abilities and now run Starchild Books in Port Charlotte, Florida-were two of my earliest, most influential teachers.

PSYCHIC FRIENDS NETWORK.

DURING ONE OF MY FIRST TAROT CLa.s.sES, held in the bas.e.m.e.nt of John and Sandy's Baysh.o.r.e, Long Island, home, I noticed a list of recommended Long Island psychics pinned to the wall. One person on the list, Sh.e.l.ley Peck, was in the same phone exchange as me. What? There was a psychic living in the Glen Cove area and my mother didn't know her? What? There was a psychic living in the Glen Cove area and my mother didn't know her?

I jotted the number down and telephoned Sh.e.l.ley that afternoon when I got home. She picked up the phone at 4:30 p.m. . . . and we hung up at 7 p.m., after a nearly three-hour intense chat. We had an amazing and instantaneous connection, so I booked an appointment with her for the following week. She was fully booked for months, but because she, too, felt a connection to the voice on the other end of the phone line, she squeezed me in on her day off.

That day could not have come soon enough for me. My mom's brother, Uncle Joey, went with me to make sure his sixteen-year-old nephew wasn't going to be taken in by some crystal-ball-wielding wacko. I will never forget our first meeting. Sh.e.l.ley opened the door, looked at my Uncle Joey, then at me, and extended her hand out to Uncle Joey.

"John? Very nice to meet you. . . . " And I thought, This is the psychic? She didn't even know who I was! This is the psychic? She didn't even know who I was!

I jumped into the conversation: "No, no . . . Sh.e.l.ley, it's me . . . I'm John."

She looked at me and blurted out, "You're a kid! I had a three-hour conversation about metaphysics with a kid?" and she started to laugh. "Come on in and let's talk . . . but I'm not reading you . . . you're way too young," and she shook her head, laughing at herself.

I soon found that Sh.e.l.ley had this very down-to-earth, matter-of-fact, good ol' New York way about her. In later years, sitting in more Long Island diners that I can count, we often laughed about that first meeting. After every house party or psychic fair we did together, we'd make a beeline to nourish the body after the soul had been fed-hamburger deluxes for me, Chinese roast pork sandwiches for her . . . and make it heavy on the duck sauce, please, or "I'll send you back for more!"

Every Sunday, the psychic fair where Sh.e.l.ley and I worked would be in a different location on Long Island. One particular Sunday it was to be in Port Jefferson--about an hour and fifteen minutes from where we lived. We were early, and neither of us had eaten breakfast, so we were starved. We also both realized at the same time that we'd left our wallets at home. At least I had a full tank of gas, thanks to my father instilling that rule in me early on.

But we were lucky that morning, as I happened to be driving a new car at the time-well, a new used used car-a Dodge Charger that I nicknamed the Old Alfer (after the furry alien on the TV show car-a Dodge Charger that I nicknamed the Old Alfer (after the furry alien on the TV show Alf Alf. I always saw Alf as an acerbic cross between Don Rickles and an anteater). There's that tradition you might have heard about, where, when you get a new car, your friends and family throw fistfuls of change in the back seat for luck. Well, picture this scene: Outside the hotel where the psychic seminar was to be held, where people were already lining up for hours to book appointments with Sh.e.l.ley and me, where were we-these two dynamic psychics? We were on our hands and knees digging our fingers between the seat cushions and scrounging change off the floor of my car, trying to sc.r.a.pe together enough for a cheeseburger at McDonald's.

We shared a burger and fries that morning-which led to seventeen years of friendship-where we shared everything about our families and professional experiences, even though we didn't belong to the same generation.

As we worked together over the years, we discovered that there were distinct similarities in how we conducted our readings. For us, it was all in the details. One night we were both booked for a group reading, and I was looking forward, as always, to watching Sh.e.l.ley work. During the reading, I made a connection with one partic.i.p.ant's relative and was able to discern a very unusual combination of illnesses that he had pa.s.sed from-a very specific cardiac condition and a rare blood disease.

Sh.e.l.ley couldn't control herself-she was so impressed that she blurted out, "Oh my G.o.d . . . how in G.o.d's name did you get that?!" It was my background working in the health-care field as a phlebotomist (a lab blood technician) that had really increased my awareness of medical issues.

Not five minutes later, Sh.e.l.ley was giving information to this same woman . . . details about the small town in Prussia that her family had come from. Sh.e.l.ley looked over at me and saw my jaw hanging close to the floor in amazement that she was relaying information about a country that no longer existed. And with this quiet confidence, she smiled, winked at me, and explained: "I majored in geography."

Everyone laughed that night as they witnessed the chemistry between us. Sh.e.l.ley and I worked together often, and just like coworkers at any job, we'd vent to one another about clients. Yes, I will admit, every once in a while (just like in any other profession), a sitter would walk through our door who wasn't especially likable. Either they'd arrive with a whole lot of att.i.tude that I'd have to deal with before we even got started, or they'd just be completely unappreciative of the process throughout the entire reading. Sometimes, as a medium, you're talking to the dead person on the Other Side and wondering why the heck they'd even want want to talk to this living person sitting in front of you. to talk to this living person sitting in front of you.

Another favorite evening for us that will live forever in our shared history was the night of the "perhaps lady." Sh.e.l.ley invited me to her home in Roslyn, Long Island, for a group she was reading, and I brought my aunt Roseann, "Big Ro," with me. We sat on Sh.e.l.ley's U-shaped sofa with a dozen others as everyone waited for Sh.e.l.ley to bring through their loved ones. To everyone's dismay, Sh.e.l.ley spent a good portion of the night locked in on one woman who'd lost her husband. What made it dismal was that this woman who was hogging the reading was a hardcore cynic.

"Your husband has pa.s.sed . . . yes?" Sh.e.l.ley directed the statement to the woman sitting next to my aunt. The woman said nothing and just stared at Sh.e.l.ley as if she hadn't spoken to her.

"Ma'am, I'm talking to you," Sh.e.l.ley said, a bit louder. "Your husband is here . . . he's the man with the colon cancer?"

"Puuuurhaaaps . . ." was the answer.

"He's telling me he's been gone for the last five years . . ."

"Puuuurhaaaps . . ." was the answer.

Sh.e.l.ley went on with this woman, reciting solid facts coming from this deceased husband, and every incredible piece of information she brought through was received with this sing-song "Puuuurhaaaps." After nearly an hour of this, the other people in the room were rolling their eyes and shaking their heads. Her husband was working so hard at coming through, but instead of acknowledging the information, she was responding with all this "perhaps" c.r.a.p. Then came the breaking point.

"He's telling me that there's a major orange connection," Sh.e.l.ley continued, ". . . and to me, I think it's the orange groves in Florida . . . but I feel it's work related in some way."

Of course, we all silently mouthed with her: "Perhaps."

Sh.e.l.ley just lost it. "Look . . . either this does or does not make sense to you. You either do or don't understand what I'm telling you. . . YES OR NO?!" You either do or don't understand what I'm telling you. . . YES OR NO?!"

Finally, the one-word woman spoke. "Well . . . I don't know if I'm reaching to make this fit . . . but my husband was affiliated with orange and vitamin C products, which were all derivatives of the orange groves in Florida . . . but I'm not sure if that's it. . . ."

Sh.e.l.ley just stared at her, speechless. And then got the biggest laugh of the night when she answered: "Perhaps!"

A PAIN IN THE b.u.t.t.

WHEN MY MOM WAS DIAGNOSED WITH CANCER, Sh.e.l.ley would come to the hospital with me to see her. My mom would always perk up when she saw Sh.e.l.ley because she had a great respect for her and knew how much I respected her as well. On one of those visits, I remember telling Sh.e.l.ley as we walked through the parking lot of Syosset Hospital-one of the five or six hospitals my mom frequented from April 1989 to October 1989-that when I was a child, I used to tell my mom that if smoking ever kills her, I'd refuse to go the funeral. I was forever trying to get her to quit, and I remember making this funeral threat at least a hundred times-starting from the time I was in first grade and was taught about the dangers of cigarettes. But my mom would just shrug it off.

So now, it was indeed lung cancer that she was suffering from, and I guess you could say I was a bit high-strung during this time, with so many mixed emotions about it. I was nineteen years old, and I was scared and angry. I realized the gravity of the situation, and I psychically "knew" the outcome. But at the same time, I was praying for a miracle like anybody else would whose loved one was dying of cancer.

But what happened next was like a scene straight out of a soap opera. I'd just finished telling Sh.e.l.ley about my childhood funeral vow as we made our way up to see my mother. The elevator doors opened, and Sh.e.l.ley and I walked out onto my mother's floor, down the hall, toward the lounge area. And there, sitting next to a half-open window, was my mother, in a wheelchair, smoking smoking.

My father, Little Ro, and Big Ro were there . . . but I didn't know which one of them was her willing cigarette accomplice. It didn't matter. I had a complete meltdown and went ballistic. I'd love to recount for you exactly what I said, but all I remember is screaming like a lunatic. I guess that everything I was holding in-my fear of losing my mom and my hatred for smoking, the evil villain that was taking her-erupted from within. Sh.e.l.ley grabbed me and pushed me out of the lounge and back into the hall, but I was totally out of control.

My father stepped out of the lounge to try to calm me down, but he was about four feet away from me when I realized that he he was the one who'd given Mom the cancer stick she was smoking. Even in my hysteria, I had the ability to process what brand of cigarette she was smoking-both Roseanns only smoked Parliament white tips . . . was the one who'd given Mom the cancer stick she was smoking. Even in my hysteria, I had the ability to process what brand of cigarette she was smoking-both Roseanns only smoked Parliament white tips . . . he he smoked the orange Marlboros . . . and mom was smoking the smoked the orange Marlboros . . . and mom was smoking the orange orange one. one.

I felt betrayed by both of them. Back in the lounge, my mom got upset, started to cry, and was apologizing to me . . . but I didn't want to hear any of that. I was outraged and hurt that she would be smoking, and I saw it as a betrayal-like she was cheating on me and the rest of the family with her illicit nicotine. I wasn't thinking logically at the time that whatever damage the smoking was going to do to her was already done. I was just a kid, crazy and blinded with anger.

What happened next, n.o.body expected. WHACK! WHACK! Sh.e.l.ley slapped me hard across the face in the hallway. And I a.s.sure you-she didn't hold back. Sh.e.l.ley slapped me hard across the face in the hallway. And I a.s.sure you-she didn't hold back.

"This is not about one cigarette . . . . . . you know that!" you know that!" She shook me. "Don't make your mom feel any worse than she already does. I'm sorry I had to slap you . . . but . . ." She shook me. "Don't make your mom feel any worse than she already does. I'm sorry I had to slap you . . . but . . ."

I was a bit stunned, but not too dazed to notice my father getting all riled up that this strange, small, blonde woman had the audacity to slap his son around-and in front of him, no less. Sh.e.l.ley didn't really have a fondness for my father, and she completely ignored the fact that he was standing there. She excused herself from me, walked right past my dad, went over to my mom, and told her not to worry about me-Sh.e.l.ley would calm me down and bring me back in to see her in a bit. Later, as we left the hospital, I burst out laughing at the whole scenario.

"Do you realize that you slapped me pretty d.a.m.n hard?!" I asked her.

"Yes, I do. But I had to do something to get your attention. I think I got got your attention, didn't I?" your attention, didn't I?"

"Oh . . . you got my attention all right."

Then, as we walked toward my car, Sh.e.l.ley pulled out a cigarette from her purse like nothing had just happened and started to light it up. I stopped dead in my tracks and looked at her. "Are you kidding me?!" "Are you kidding me?!"

"I'm quitting . . . I'm quitting . . . I know . . . don't say it . . . you want to smack me me now, right?" now, right?"