we were working with telepathic psychics possessing unique and specially trained abilities? We were all psychically aware or perceptive once we gave ourselves permission to tune into the natural ability we each have built into our originally issued physical equipment.
As the seminar came to its conclusion, Hardy and Jan reminded us that this weekend experience had provided us with both opportunity and permission to experience our emotions to a much greater degree than ever previously imagined. We learned it was now O.K. to cry (tough one for me, raised with the notion that men do not cry); it was now O.K. to be angry (an emotion many believed led to trouble and should be suppressed). We were reminded that as we used this oft-neglected tool, doors to our natural intuition would open as never before.
Most of us, beginning in early childhood, had learned to deny the full experience of our own emotions. As a result, to one degree or another we had all missed much of what life had been originally designed to offer.
We now had a new way of being!
And it felt good!
CHAPTER 5
First Experience
As the workshop closed, we all exchanged the customary hugs and promises to stay in contact with each other. About a dozen of us agreed to have dinner together in order to compare experiences and to continue celebrating our increased sense of personal awareness.
A local member of our group recommended a nearby, quiet restaurant to which we exuberantly headed. We jockeyed for specific places at the table, and I found myself seated next to a middle-aged, pleasant-looking woman named Susan. It was her license which I had correctly identified during the eye-opening experience earlier that morning.
We all had a wonderful time, eagerly sharing our newly discovered emotions with people to whom we had grown quite attached during these precious few days. We exchanged addresses, though we knew that we would probably never get together again in spite of all our good intentions.
As we were enjoying our after-dinner coffee, Susan casually mentioned in an innocent, matter-of-fact voice that she was intrigued by my success with several of the intuitive processes during the seminar. She continued by listing some specifics I had correctly identified before opening the sealed envelope containing her driver's license.
I responded that I, too, had been amazed at my success. I speculated, however, that I would most likely fail should I ever attempt to repeat the exercise in the future.
Susan promptly rejoined that she wasn't surprised at all. Leaning toward me as if to share a confidence, she whispered that she knew from the moment we met that I possessed an extrasensory gift. She stated emphatically that it was not just a coincidence that we had ended up being partners and that her observations regarding my success had merely confirmed her previous knowing!
Addressing what must have been a puzzled look on my face, she revealed that she was a professional psychic, having flown up from southern California to attend the workshop because of her friendship with Hardy and Jan. She went on to say that it was important I understand that I was very psychic. Furthermore, she was certain that a major part of my life's purpose was to use this natural ability for the benefit of others!
Now, you have to know that I wasn't even sure what a psychic was, and I doubted that she could be one, since she looked quite normal. After all, the old movies generally portrayed psychics as short, wearing ill-matched, second-hand clothing and looking like they had just escaped from a carnival!
Then, quite unexpectedly, Susan turned her gaze to the ceiling as if to reply to a question posed from above her head and over her shoulder. Following the direction of her gaze, yet seeing nothing, I debated about asking what had suddenly drawn her attention, but I decided to remain silent
"My spirit guides," she said, anticipating my question while maintaining her stare at a point in the air above the table. Holding up her hand to suspend further questions, she completed her silent exchange with whatever she seemed to perceive was up there.
"Spirit guides?" I asked quietly when she turned back to me, wondering whether I really wanted to pursue this whole line of thought with someone who had apparently gone over the edge. At the same time, I was fascinated and extremely curious about the bizarre situation.
She briefly explained that guides were her spiritual helpers, much like angels. They talked to her and gave her guidance.
"Of course," I replied in a low tone. I was wondering just how I could politely extricate myself from this bizarre dialogue. She returned her gaze to the ceiling again as if to complete a thought.
After a few moments of a scene that was clearly out of "Pretend Corner," down the block beyond Mr. Roger's Neighborhood, she abruptly concluded her private conversation. Turning back to me, she asked if I would be willing to try something which would prove that I truly had a psychic gift.
Having no other place to go and definitely intrigued, I said something like, "Sure, why not?" At the same time I felt apprehensive about what might occur.
Straightening up, she issued clear and specific instructions for me to target an individual within view of where we sat. She informed me that her guides would help me in detecting specific information about the person I had chosen and would provide me the convincing proof that I required.
"Be sure it's someone you have never met," she cautioned.
I peered out from the raised platform overlooking the lower floor of our pleasantly decorated Italian restaurant. Arbitrarily, I selected a fairly attractive woman about 30, wearing a fashionably tailored red dress, seated in a booth approximately 20 feet from where we sat.
Acknowledging my choice, Susan directed me to close my eyes and give myself complete permission to visualize a future event concerning the woman I had designated. She again assured me that her spirit helpers would assist me and that I should just let it happen.
If she meant to calm me with the assurance that her mysterious voices were going to speak to me, she had not read the situation accurately! Nevertheless, she was so convincing in her enthusiasm for whatever she thought might happen that I found myself caught up in this entire procedure in spite of the consequences.
"Make up a story as you did with my driver's license, and my guides will take care of the details," she advised.
With my heart making thumping noises that I thought might alert others at the table, I closed my eyes, certain that everyone in the restaurant would be staring directly at me. Susan coached me, advising me to breathe slowly and not to rush. She continued to remind me that I would receive whatever information her guides wanted me to know.
Obeying, I closed my eyes and waited for something to happen.
Nothing did!
"Don't try so hard," she cautioned. "You're doing fine; just let it happen."
Slowly, after a brief time elapsed, I became aware of what I can best describe as a visualization beginning to emerge in my mind's eye. The experience was not unlike playing a child's game in which a heroine is left in a perilous situation by a storyteller, and you use your imagination to construct an immediate means of rescuing her with some degree of plausibility.
Susan repeated the instruction to 'just let it happen" several more times. I cautiously began to fantasize that my heroine, the lady in the red dress, was engaged in what seemed to be a fight or struggle. I could see a man's hands grasping at her throat
