If you smelled smoke, what would you do? What if no one else smelled it but you? What if you've been smelling smoke off and on your whole life and you've learned that when you smell smoke, there is fire somewhere, sometimes a long way away, but it's there. Thousands of times, you smell smoke, and someone looks into it, finds the fire, puts it out. And maybe also sometimes the fire never gets big enough to engulf a building, but you've discovered dozens of cases where an electrical plate is removed and the fire didn't catch but the wires are melted and the metal is still warm. So over the years, what you've learned to do when you smell smoke is try your best to locate the fire, knowing that if it's inside of someone's home, you can't go in unless they invite you, and even then, they may not believe you, but at least you try. Would you always try? Probably so. Because fire is often dangerous, and you've got a talent for sniffing out smoke, and that's just the deal.
Over the years, I've learned not to talk about my psychic ability. In my twenties, I had a kind of hubris around it, as if it made me better than other folks, because I could see things they couldn't (or that they suppressed). I also felt it was my duty, my responsibility, to tell people the things I saw, the things going on inside them, the things that were coming for them. It took me a long time to realize that neither of these was true.
What I found, almost exclusively, was that folks Do Not Want To Know. Or rather they only want to know if it's around the "good" things in life, like how a geyser of cash is imminent, or the man they just started dating is their soulmate, or the location of the switch to flip or pill to take that will cause their health issue to vamoose in a flash of psychic vapor. What they especially don't want is some chick at a party or on the street or next to them in the cheese section telling them something serious or scary or intrusive.
But what I found out people especially don't like was their friend or mate or neighbor or coworker being able to see what was really going on with them. Seriously, picture it. Think of all the masks you wear, the hiding for one reason or another (of course most all of them done to protect you from the wackiness and potential meanness of some folks). Think of the feelings you don't express to your friends or coworkers. Think of the thoughts you have that you believe are kept hidden as long as you don't verbalize them. Now picture the things you discover about yourself as you get older, the delusions you've had in the past that you lived full tilt out of, insisted were true, but now realize were complete and total bullsh*t.
Now imagine someone around you being able to see it all, who sees through the masks and hiding and cranial walls to what is really happening. What if you had to deal with this person on a daily basis? What if you said one thing, out of tiredness maybe, or to try and sidestep something that you weren't ready to deal with, or didn't feel important to you but might be to the other person, but the person you were with knew the truth of it anyway? What if you stopped being able to separate your inner from your outer?
And now add this in with the fact that the general consensus is that psychic ability, really good, true psychic ability, means that you can predict stock fluctuations, know lottery numbers, tell people exactly how their life is going to unfold, in great detail. But psychic ability is no different than western medicine in terms of scope. You get a ton of clues/bits of data/symptoms, and from this, make an educated, intuitive extrapolation on the outcome, and what can effect a change in the outcome. Sometimes it's strongly obvious, like a tumor on an mri, other times it's stringing together lots of images and tests to see a more cohesive picture.
My gastroenterologist used an endoscope, then prescribed meds for the symptoms of IBS. At no time did he offer any insight or ask any questions about what might have caused it, or what would cure it. And he did this because he has no answers. He can offer the "diagnosis" (which really isn't a diagnosis, just a statement that a collection of symptoms are present that have been collated to be called IBS). He can prescribe meds to take the edge off the symptoms. But other than that, not much else. I can see in someone that the pancreatic cancer has shifted from benign to malignant, and that surgery is needed, but chemo and radiation won't do much, but there is doc in NYC who does things with diet and enzymes that have an 85% five-year success rate when the going rate for pancreatic cancer is something crazy like a 1% five-year success rate. I can work with someone energetically, can go in and look at things that happened in their past, things that are locked in a frozen trauma state in their body, can make suggestions on things they can do to untangle the pattern in their living. But it's like standing down on the tip of Florida, and attempting to make the oil disappear with a wave of the hands. The problem goes deeper than a quick vamoose. Much deeper. . .
As you can probably tell, I feel kind of disjointed about the subject of this psychic ability I have. I've been working on this post for a couple of days, because yesterday morning I woke up with an ominous feeling, and it kept getting stronger, like an alarm in my head that went off for around 11 hours. I never did find out what it meant, or why it happened, if it meant anything outside of my own skin, if it was something that happened to someone I know, or on a more global scale. But dealing with it all day yesterday had me hyperaware of this thing I do, this "sixth sense" that just operates, whether I like it or not, much like the smelling smoke metaphor of above. And yesterday? It was like sitting in the middle of an enormous cloud of smoke, but not a flame to be found. For 11 hours. 11 freakin hours. You can't even begin to imagine how much I wanted to guzzle vodka. But I didn't. Whoopee for me.
It never occurred to me yesterday that something might not be happening, that I might be just nuts or making it up. When I turned 31 years old, I was lucky enough to meet a teacher who'd honed her psychic ability to a strong sheen, and she passed her hard won knowledge and skills to me. And having done professional psychic work for twelve years now, (professional meaning folks pay me for it, which raises the stakes and drastically changes the rules) I've learned that if the signal is coming in strongly, something is up. I might not know why or how or when things will play out, but I know that it will, that my job is to accept the info, do my best to take an action if it feels like I need to (or someone is paying me to).
But I can't really talk to people about it, because where we are currently in this culture, at this stage in human consciousness unfolding, folks don't believe in psychic stuff. It brings out both skepticism and fear. Much like science did when it began to open into the world in the 1600's. Just ask Galileo, or that poor f*cker who first realized that there were tiny little animals that spread between people and animals and caused disease, but was still unseen by the human eye.
I deal with people all day, every day who wear a mask that says one thing, and who they are, how they really feel and think, says another. People think they can hide. They believe that the thoughts in their head are protected from the outside world by cranial walls. Psychic stuff means they aren't. Psychic stuff also means that their delusions are definitely, beyond a doubt, delusions. It means that there is a reality, an actual Truth, and that all of the loops and partial truths and emotional business deals they have with the people around them doesn't make them true, just bullsh*t and lies told and agreed upon en masse.
Do you wish you were psychic? Do you think it means your life would soar above everyone else's, and cash would rain down, and you'd circumnavigate all incoming problems? I keep thinking this is what it should mean, too. But it doesn't.
Instead, I go through my days, dealing with people who smile and make light chat, act cheerful or friendly, when underneath rage and judgment and ill will and anxiety and abject fear roils and boils and comes roaring out all around them. And if I respond as if they were anything other than cheerful and friendly, the sh*t hits the fan. It's like walking through life with people screaming and throwing things at you, and you have to pretend that everything is okay, that missiles aren't incoming, that they aren't screaming at you but instead are saying, lovely day, isn't it?
This stuff kicked in for me very early, when I was very small. But ramped up when I hit my late teens. I spent my twenties really sick with it all, hysterical emotion and alcohol and very bad scenes. But my thirties were a gift, learning how to manage the inflow of data, to stop fighting the current, or trying to drown it out. I learned how to use it in a practical, systematic way. It's a very, very good skill to have, and it saves my bacon on a daily basis. I'm very grateful for it. But it comes with a high price tag.
It's napalm for relationships. I've learned that when it comes to people, I do my best to stay out of the path of the two conflicting outputs they channel into the world. What really works for me is to pull away from folks, stay in my own energies, hang with the cats, be out in nature, tune people out as much as possible. I now understand very clearly why some folks go off by themselves, scary loner folk, anti-social, lone wolves, that weird old lady in the house on the corner.
But people like to talk to me. They seek me out and talk and talk and talk. Maybe they can feel I see them, and as long as I don't offer up what I see, how twisted and tortured it is, it just feels good to be seen by someone, finally, finally seen. But I've found that if I do what feels most comfortable for me, which is to stay quiet, they'll talk for hours, but if I interject random facts about myself, they'll stop talking and let me go. I don't much enjoy talking about myself anymore, but prophylactic chatter is a new found survival skill for me. While folks are talking, they're sending out all sorts of energy and information. They think they are speaking words, and that is the info. But to me, I'm hearing a verbal story, but by far the loudest noise is the explosion of inner data coming out of them. It's exhausting to stand in the path of that.
For the most part, I walk through the world with the volume turned way, way down. But when someone is standing in front of me, if it isn't a client situation where I'm being asked to identify and comment on the tide of energy roaring underneath the surface of their living, it's like being in the presence of a burning bonfire, and after a while I choke on the smoke and have to flee. People don't much like it when you run fleeing from them.
Some people dream of fame and popularity, of being loved and adored. I dream of being left alone, of living on a farm in the middle of nowhere with cats and dogs and chickens and goats and sheep, with clients that contact me via the phone and internet. I dream of silence.
I'll get better at all this stuff. I'll find gentler ways of dealing with folks other than the prophylactic chatter. I'll develop stronger ways of getting the data I receive out to folks who need it. I'll care less that folks think I'm nuts, or pretend they aren't afraid. And in the meantime I'm grateful for kitties, and friends who Get It, and for those of you out there, you Tribe of Yes, dealing with the ways the new neurological channels are turning on inside of you . . .