A Psychic Confesses
I don't read religious works. I don't discuss my spiritual
life with any religious leader or spiritual guide. Heck!
I don't even go to a traditional church. Ritual makes me
My temper blows if anyone tries to 'convert' or 'save' me.
Nothing makes me angrier faster than someone else butting
into my spiritual life.
Oh, I believe in the Creator. God, the Goddess, Allah,
Jehovah-the Creator has a thousand names. I use 'the Creator'
because the title covers all the bases and is almost poetic.
I'm not knocking religion or going to church. These things
are important and desperately needed in today's sad world.
But some of us prefer to take the solitary path.
My solitary behavior has made me a mystery to my own family.
While they break out the bible around the Christmas tree I
prefer to be alone in my hills.
I have told my family I avoid their gatherings because I
sense their tangled emotions and even snatch a few of their
thoughts out of the air.
You should have seen their nervous, guilt-ridden expressions
after they found out I've been unintentionally eavesdropping.
Being the psychic in a large family is stressful, to say the
least, but can also provoke peals of cackling laughter. From
me, that is.
But my less pleasant relatives scoff at my reason and accuse
me of making excuses to get out of being with the family
or 'sharing'(another shudder). The other family members don't
pay any mind and hope I'm even crazier than they first
And so my temper steams and the stress levels rise.
The simple reason why my spiritual life is a taboo subject is
because I prefer to keep my spiritual life between the Creator
Go straight to the source, I say. Or Source in this case.
I have confessed my reason to my relatives to fend them off.
The more uptight members openly resent my unwillingness
to include the rest of the family in the spiritual side of
You can choose your friends. You can't choose your relatives.
I know you're nodding in agreement. Maybe laughing a little
while you think of your own family? Hmmm?
At the old California Spanish mission near my home is a small
plain room. The room consists of white stucco walls dusty with
age, a rutted clay floor, and a huge old wooden bench. High in
the wall to the right is a small window. The bench sits opposite
the doorway, which looks out onto the mission garden.
During Easter I go to this room alone and sit on the bench. I
listen to the silence in this peaceful room while thinking of
a sacrifice made by a courageous man long ago. I never fail to
I think of the world and its troubles, and I pray the sacrifice
wasn't made in vain. I apologize for those who wielded the whips,
hammer, and nails. One can't help but feel guilty.
I then leave the room to walk in the peaceful beauty of the
mission garden. While doing so I thank the man for his sacrifice.
Not a lengthy ritualistic speech or prayer.
Merely a heartfelt, "Thank you" from deep within me.
Where is the mystery in simply saying, 'Thank you'?
About the Author
Jenny Harker is an experienced writer, gardener, and psychic. To learn how to develop your own psychic ability