to as a “novena”). After that comes the burial. Once people are laid to rest, we don’t talk about them. It’s believed that doing so disturbs their peace.
When I was growing up, being a psychic medium wasn’t at the top of the list of things I wanted to do in my life. It wasn’t at the bottom of the list either. In fact, it wasn’t on the list, period. People from Guam are typically Roman Catholic, so psychics and psychic phenomenon are not topics of conversation in the typical Guamanian household. While my mother did read her daily horoscope, I didn’t even hear the word “psychic” until I was nine years old.
So how did I know that I could talk to dead people? This book is the story of my journey. It’s a chronicle of my life, dealing with how I went from not talking about people who had passed away to talking to people who had crossed over and what I’ve learned along the way.
I did not have any formal training as to how to be a “medium.” I was taught how to do this work by the souls who inspired their loved ones to contact me for a reading.
I’ve learned a lot along the way, and I’m still learning from the souls on the Other Side who use me as an instrument to reconnect them with the loved ones they’ve left behind. In this role, I’ve been privy to messages of love, hope, and healing.
I used to wonder what happens after we die. I dreaded the idea of never seeing the people I love ever again. I’ve since learned that what we refer to as “death” is simply a passage from this reality to a life that continues on in another plane of existence and that those we loved and those who loved us do not die. It’s my hope that after reading this book, you’ll know this too.
The best way to help you understand these lessons is to tell my story and those of some of the people who have come to me for readings over the years. Everyone you’re about to meet is a real person who has graciously shared the experience of the reading with me.
I’ll be honest, for years I wondered why souls wanted to communicate with their loved ones and whether the readings served any purpose at all. Typically, once the session was over, I didn’t hear another word from the person, or people, who had received the reading. Because of this, I didn’t think that there was any real benefit from hearing what the souls had to say.
Then I received an email from a producer of the Oprah show who said she wanted to do a television show on mediums and asked if I would I send testimonials from people who had received a reading from me.
I asked around and found people more than willing to write one for me. When I read them, I was stunned to find out the effects that the messages from the souls had had on people.
The letters were powerful and illuminating for me. I decided to share a few of them with the hope that they have the same effect on you. You’ll find them under “My Reading with Anthony.”
I was brought into this work kicking and screaming. Now I do it with a sense of awe and amazement at the beauty of the souls who do the communicating and of the God who wills it to happen. I’m so overwhelmed by the experience of what I do that I don’t feel any need to embellish or exaggerate any of the stories to make a point.
This is as accurate a portrayal of my life as a reluctant medium as I can make it. As my friend Jim used to say, “Believe it . . . or don’t.”
Blessings,
Anthony
April 2, 2012
I seriously doubt I would even be doing this work if it weren’t for my aunt Sue. Sue isn’t from Guam, but from Japan. She is married to my uncle Joe, who is my mother’s brother.
It’s very common for young men from Guam to sign up for military service. My father was a career Navy man, working on an aircraft carrier, the U.S.S. Yorktown, up until I was ten years old. My uncle was career Army. Both of them served overseas during the Korean and Vietnam wars. My family and my Aunt Sue’s family lived in Southern California, so we spent a lot of time at my aunt’s home.
One night, when I was eight years old, my aunt told me a Japanese ghost story that frightened the living daylights out of me. It scared me so much that I jumped out of my chair, and to this day I believe I actually had to use my hands to keep my head from hitting the ceiling!
Everyone laughed at me, but after that, I was hooked. Every time I’d spend the night at her house, I’d ask her to tell me another ghost story which usually meant I’d be so afraid that I’d have to change my underwear and lie in bed terrified of the ghost I was sure was going to come for me, either out of the closet or from under the bed.
“Were there really such things as ghosts?” I wondered. The answer to my question came one night when I was watching television with my mother. My sister Meridith and my brother Eddie were both asleep, and after watching an episode of “Batman,” I was ready to fall asleep as well. The television set that my mother and I were watching was in the bedroom I shared with Eddie. As soon as the show ended, I asked my mother if she wanted to keep watching television.
My mother asked me if I was ready to go to bed. Since I indicated that I was, she told me to go ahead and turn off the television. As soon as I did, we both heard a very loud, male voice call out my mother’s name.
“Rosalia!”
I stood next to the television looking at my mother. We were both wondering the same thing, “Had someone broken into our house?”
“Who are you?” my mother asked.
Once again we heard the same voice say, “Rosalia!” “What do you want?” my mother asked, clearly afraid.
After that, we heard muttering and what sounded like the front door being slammed shut, followed by the screen door. “Go check the front door and make sure it’s locked,” my mother told me.
I ran out into the living room and checked the front door. “It’s locked!” I called out to my mother.
“Check the screen door!” I opened the front door and let her know that it was locked too.
I don’t know how long it took my mother to finally fall asleep, but I fell asleep rather quickly, happy to have had what I thought was my first experience with a real “ghost.”
The next day my mother decided we were going to spend the night at my Aunt Sue’s house. When my mother told Sue what had happened, my aunt said (of course, I was eavesdropping on their conversation) that someone had been knocking on her back door for three straight hours! Sue told us that she kept asking, “Who is it?” When no one answered and the knocking persisted, she picked up a carving knife, held it up in the air, and said, “Come in!”
No one did, but the knocking on the door continued.
The next day my mother received a call from one of her sisters. Their father was ill and in the hospital. At one point, my mother was told that my grandmother was unconscious and kept muttering, “Rosalia, José,” over and over again.
Technically, what happened is what is referred to in parapsychology as a “crisis communication.” Typically, crisis communications occur when someone is seriously injured, ill, or dying, and that person telepathically reaches out to someone
