Elvis Has Left the Building
Night before last I asked my husband about a pretty little child’s book, a hand illustrated poem written by a little girl. The pages were all enclosed in plastic sleeves, like you would a chap book of photographs. On the back flap there was a handwritten card with the directions to return the book to a lady.
I said to him, “Dennis, don’t you need to return this book?”
He got this funny look on his face and sort of tilted his head at me. He said, “She died and her daughter (who wrote the poem when she was little) told me I could keep it.”
I am a psychic. I should know when people are dead. I just should. This is where I have applied commonly expressed ideas about psychics to myself. I see Spirits. I sense them. I can see them in my mind’s eye. Yesterday, I wrote an article about a bit of a conversation I had with one of them.
So, this morning I sat with Spirit and asked the question, “Why didn’t I know she was dead?”
They explained to me, “Nowhere does it say you should always know when people have passed. At this point in time, you would be too overwhelmed. So, for you it is the images that come to you. You sense the yellow wallpaper with butterflies. You sense the older woman, bent over and careworn. You see in your mind’s eye someone beckoning you to follow them down a sun dappled driveway…
