Cracking Open: Adventures of a Reluctant Medium by Isabeau Maxwell & Isabeau Maxwell

Author:Isabeau Maxwell & Isabeau Maxwell [Maxwell, Isabeau & Maxwell, Isabeau]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Intuitive Arts Media LLC
Published: 2020-07-19T22:00:00+00:00

So This is What a Gunshot Feels Like

The next time I worked at Ed’s Healing Clinic I had enough confidence to introduce myself as a psychic medium. As I walked around the space I felt more focused and purposeful, and wondered if this purposeful atmosphere was coming from “them.”

I looked at each of the clients one by one and felt pulled toward only one, a young woman in her early twenties. She sported a trendy hairstyle, classy punk clothing, and tattoos and piercings that speckled her body. As she snuggled comfortably into a yoga chair on the floor, I approached her and asked if she wanted a reading. I felt confident enough to simply sit in front of her and relay any messages that would come through. She agreed and I took a seat, settling in face to face. It felt natural to read this way, both of us resting our backs on ergonomically built chairs that still allowed us to sit on the ground.

“My name is Beau. How are you?” I asked, as I reached out to shake her hand.

“Hi. My name is Carrie,” she said, taking my hand in hers and shaking it gently.

“If it’s alright with you I’d like to just sit silently and see who comes through to talk to you.” As I spent a few moments stumbling through an explanation of how my intuition worked, two things happened. My inner critic put a mental sticky note on the left side of my brain to remind me to get my pre-reading speech in order, and she started to cry.

“I’m so sorry. What did I say?” I asked, stopping my rambling mid-sentence to comfort her.

“It’s not what you said, it’s just that,” she paused. “I just lost someone really close to me a few days ago and I was wondering if they’d show up.”

I sat silent for a while. Before this moment, it was always “my grandfather who died five years ago,” or someone they couldn’t identify at all. Carrie was wondering about someone who had just passed. It drove the point home for me; was I really doing this? Can I really do this? What kind of emotions would I stir trying to connect with someone whose death was so immediately “present?”

“I can do my best,” I said, as I tapped my hand gently on her shin in the most comforting way I could manage. “I can sit and see who comes through.”

“Okay,” she whispered, as she started to pull herself together.

The pressure I began to put on myself was immense. What if I couldn’t see the person she’d lost? Were they even available? I made another mental note to ask someone about how the otherside works.

“I just need to sit for a minute to really, really focus,” I said, trying my best to act like I had done this before, fully knowing that my metaphorical training wheels were just now coming off.

She nodded and the mental chatter in my head started to take off. “Don’t start worrying now! You have to just go with it.

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