the metaphoric mirror
DESCRIPTION
The Alchemy of Personal TransformationTRANSCRIPT
Andrew Brewer, “The Rock n Roll Psychic”
www.rocknrollpsychic.com
2
The Metaphoric Mirror
Andrew Brewer
3
"Andrew Brewer - a brain, a heart, a psychic! Has called
the shots and soothed my soul."
Elizabeth Cook, Nashville, TN, Recording Artist, Host of
―Elizabeth Cook‟s Apron Strings”, Outlaw Country, Sirius
Satellite Radio
"Andrew Brewer is a remarkable combination of wit,
intelligence, psychic insight, wisdom and compassion,
deliciously packaged in such a way that you cannot help
but enjoy the conversation and be enriched by it."
Alison Baughman, Numerologist, Host of “Visible by
Numbers”
―Andrew Brewer (A.K.A - Rock N Roll Psychic A.K.A.- The
Great Andini) may go by many names, but no matter
what name he goes by he is a genuine person through
and through. Not only is he one of the most amazingly
accurate psychics but also an amazing astrologer, remote
viewer, and teacher just to name a few! Andy can
4
connect with people on a very intimate level devoting all
his focus, attention, and compassion, in aiding with this
sometimes-difficult journey that each of us endures. He
knows and understands that each issue is very real for
an individual and treats it just as importantly as any
other.
Andy has done readings for me on different occasions
and each prediction has come to pass with uncanny
accuracy and detail. With my own experiences, and
hearing experiences from others, I cannot recommend him
strongly enough to anyone looking for non-judgmental
compassion, guidance, and insight. Andy is truly a
blessing on earth!‖
Tanya Douglas – Psychic, Hypnotherapist, Host of ―Past
Lives, Present Lessons”
“Your personal life story is amazing... beautiful,
successful filled with love and joy, uplifting - the
American dream! one to be envied... almost. then your life
5
and heart were shattered beyond recognition. your
recovery, redemption, and rediscovery of yourself are
more than simple metaphors... your life-story is one that
reminds and inspires others that *living and loving life* is
the most precious way to honour all that was lost.”
Leisa Lanham, Bainbridge Island, WA, Author
"Andrew Brewer is an original. With a combination of
style, talent and sheer class, Andy brings the
metaphysical into union with our daily lives, allowing us
to grasp the inner core of who we are, as well as
recognizing the goodness in others. As an artist, I am
accustomed to looking beyond the exterior and into the
soul of my subject. Andy takes it a step further. He
reaches deep into the soul and then defines its place in
our existence. He has been a good friend to me and my
family and our lives have been enriched all the more for
having had his path brush across our own".
Will Griffith, Los Angeles, CA, Artist and Director of The
Griffith Center
6
“Andy Brewer is an amazing clairvoyant and spiritual
advisor; he says things like, “Well it doesn‟t take
Nostradamus to figure that out.” But it would seem that
“Madame Andre‟ indeed knows all sees all. He will refer
to himself as “Madame Andre” but is better known as
“The Rock n Roll Psychic”.
The truth is Andy ROCKS !!!! Nearly everything Andy has
ever predicted for me has come true except for the stuff he
has predicted that has yet to come true but I have very
little doubt that it won‟t; it almost always does. If you‟re a
skeptic you won‟t be. Andy Brewer is that good;
remarkable really.
I have consulted with many psychics about my problems
before, hoping for some insight – NONE OF THEM ARE AS
ACCURATE, Andy is a wonderful guide and really
understands the principles and the responsibility that
7
comes with being psychic. He is knowledgeable but most
of all what I like is that he will not sugar coat the
information. He tells the truth.
While he can be sympathetic and even compassionate he
will be forthcoming and honest with his predictions
unless he states very clearly that it is his opinion and
only his opinion. Not everyone really wants to know the
truth even though they seek it out. However, If you are
seeking psychic advisement and you want an accurate
prediction Andy Brewer comes highly recommended.
He has been a personal psychic to the stars not all of
them rock n roll stars of course. Sorry can‟t name names.
It seems to be a bit ridiculous to try to convince everyone
but I would say that He could very well be a modern day
prophet. (not exaggerating)”
Simone Kross, Los Angeles, CA, Model/Actress
8
“Andrew. I wanted to thank you for your uncannily
accurate prediction. I was asked by FEMA to give a group
a real tour of the bayous and swamps here that has led
to a job doing just that! EXACTLY like you said.
I have to tell you I was not really buying the psychic stuff
till you nailed it on the head! I was talking to my
girlfriend in New Orleans and told her what you said
even down to the long gate and she is UH UH and I'm
Yeah huh! He did it. She was amazed!
I asked her to pull the archived show and she is blown
away! She asked if you knew me prior and I am like NO I
didn‟t know the guy from Adam! I can‟t tell you how you
have made me reevaluate everything or how positively
you have changed my life! You RAWK! Love ya man!”
Zeke Loftin, Publisher / CEO. Twisted South Magazine
9
Dedicated to my girls, Riana and Lehna
Copyright © 2009 by Rudolph Terry Andrew Brewer
All Rights Reserved
ISBN 144998519X
EAN-13 -- 9781449985196
10
Introduction
by Scott Grossberg
Andrew Brewer is one of those rare gems of a person who
combines both a depth of character and enough spark of
creativity that he cannot help but infect those around him
with positivity and empowerment. His “Metaphoric
Mirror” is, if nothing else, a model others may follow to
achieve the similar results as Andy - I say “similar” as I
don‟t believe anyone could quite be the “same” nor would
they want to be. And that‟s truly the treasure to be found
in Andy‟s work - the hint that others can find that
“something special” in themselves and develop it further
(their own special recognition and resurrection).
Don‟t think for a moment that Andy‟s book is a quick read
nor a transparent instruction manual. There are layers to
this man and his writing that will take you some time to
digest, compartmentalize and adapt (if not adopt).
11
“Metaphoric Mirror” might also be considered Andy‟s
“Psychic Manifesto” - a sort of public resolution of where
he is in the world today and how he got here. For those of
us who know him, most of this is not surprising. Still, it is
fascinating to read in his own words what some of us
have felt but not necessarily expressed to him, in person,
nor on the airwaves when we have appeared as guests
on his shows.
Within the pages of “Metaphoric Mirror,” I believe you will
see and read a brutal honesty and bareness that Andy,
himself, likely did not consciously intend. As a reward for
that openness and starkness, I also believe readers will
ably take Andy‟s written journey and return with a better
empathy for themselves. Indeed, as Andy attests, within
the pages of this book you are treated to a clear example
of how one man‟s (and your own) healing is simply a way
back and his (and your) riches are hidden in plain view.
Prepare to be amazed as Andy spins and spouts his own
magical tale of transformation.
12
If, as Andy announces, rhythm is the control of time, then
this book is the control of that rhythm. You hold Andy‟s
“time” in your hands and, with it, perhaps the key to your
own cycles.
At the end of it all, I find Andy‟s greatest lesson is - his
coded motto to be - “try again.” There in plain sight are
the words he‟s written. Yet, I wonder if anyone has the
patience and wherewithal to do just that. “Metaphoric
Mirror” - like many things - requires determination and
setting aside one‟s preconceptions of how a book should
flow and how grammar should appear. Stay with it. Try
again.
enjoy
the
gift
13
that
is
Andrew Brewer.
Scott Grossberg (www.thinkingmagically.com) has
achieved extraordinary success in the business world as
a business owner, entrepreneur, and lecturer. He has
served for more than 20 years as lead trial counsel,
advisor, and coach, enjoyed a very successful career as
a stage magician and, on top of that, has written three
critically acclaimed books, The Masks of Tarot, The
Vitruvian Square: Discoveries in Divination and Bauta:
Betraying the Face of Illusion, in addition to creating the
oracle/divination cards, The Deck of Shadows.
14
15
Introduction, Part II
by John “Aquaman OceanDefender” Koehler
I finished reading "The Metaphoric Mirror" written by my
dear friend Andrew Brewer. Even before reading this
book I had the utmost respect for him but somehow that
respect is now deeper. I want to reflect back to the first
time I interacted with Andrew. I was asked to go on a
talk radio show and talk about the horrors of Japanese
Whaling in the Southern Ocean Whale Sanctuary. I
agreed to do it and logged into to "Now Live Radio" and
made my first internet radio appearance with Ronn
Jordan and Andrew Brewer.
I was initially very nervous but rapidly Andrew and
Ronn made me feel right at home. From that moment
forward I knew both of these individuals were both very
special. I will write more about Ronn soon but since this
is a write up about Andrew I shall focus on him.
16
Since day one it was evident to me that Andrew was an
individual that had his finger on the "pulse of positive
change". To me our numerous radio show discussions
and his writing blend Idealism and Realism into a
practical sustainable approach combining spirituality,
economics, individuality, the environment, hope, and
most importantly love. Until I met Andrew my approach
was dominated by scientific fact, through his eyes I have
opened up to a spiritual side and view that has
expanded and improved my life and my approach to it.
Andrew has been to the top of the mountain and to the
depths of the valley, through it all he is still standing tall
and now stronger then before. He has positively
impacted many lives (mine included) through his written
and spoken word even if his words are not always what
individuals want to hear. Andrew calls it as he sees it
and speaks the truth that has time and time again
proven to be fact.
17
In his words and actions Andrew encourages us to look
inside ourselves, to find our special gift, our true self
and let it grow as Andrew has, for he is a shining
example of positive change and growth and an ever
evolving individual driven by love and striving to share
his knowledge with us. Do yourself a favor as I have,
take the time and read "The Metaphoric Mirror" and get
to know the man I consider a brother, Andrew Brewer.
John “Aquaman OceanDefender” Koehler
aquamanoceandefender.blogspot.com
18
Preface
“What is whispered in your ear, shout from the rooftops”
Matthew 10:27
The Metaphoric Mirror originally came about as an idea
over 20 years ago when I started doing workshops in the
late ‗80‘s on something I called ―The Intuitive
Advantage‖. At that time, I did public seminars on
creativity and intuition and I have continued doing
classes like that, off and on, ever since.
Stylistically, The Metaphoric Mirror may seem a bit . . .
unusual. But the style and formal components have
been designed this way for a reason. One of the primary
things ―young psychics‖ have to learn, in order to
develop their craft, is not really ―how to be psychic‖. No,
what they really need is to find a way to clear off some of
19
the mental and emotional clutter that keeps them FROM
being psychic.
Those innate instincts are there . . . but our educational
system and our ―rational thinking‖ have served as
conditioning agents to suppress the instinctive and
encourage a more linear cognitive modality. This book
is designed as a vision quest, akin in many ways to a
waking dream, which – if successful – will shake that
linear cognitive bias to its core. In other words, this is
an assault on what the poet William Blake called ―mind
forged manacles‖ . . . the blinders we, perhaps
unconsciously, choose to wear.
There are exercises in the book but they are ―hidden‖
and I hope you approach The Metaphoric Mirror in the
sense in which it was written, as an initiatory puzzle.
Because a puzzle is exactly what this book is . . . and for
that I make no apologies.
20
Just so that you know a bit about me and what ―I
think‖, I am including a piece I wrote a couple of years
back in which I outline some of my ―spiritual
philosophy‖. My ―claim to fame‖, such as it is, is due to
my work as a psychic, specifically as a ―remote viewer‖.
But I see my work primarily as a spiritual calling . . .
more priest than prognosticator, more shaman than
seer.
Over the past couple of years, as I have "come out" more
and more as a clairvoyant and especially after I started
hosting Rock n Roll Psychic Radio, I received lots of
inquiries asking my opinion on a variety of topics, such
as past lives, spirituality, psychic ability, and several
others . . . so I have decided to respond to a few of them
here.
GOD -- Yes I believe very strongly in a divine creative
force in the universe, what we call God. I also believe
21
that God is in all things, not only people, but animals
and trees and mosquitos and all other living creatures--
and I think Mother Earth is also a living breathing
spiritually-infused entity, as well. God's presence and
Love is in ALL things.
Past Lives -- I believe very strongly that reincarnation is
true. I also believe that past life influences will often
"seep into" this life and that an awareness of past lives
will (a) give insight into optimal ways to lead this life and
(b) confirm a stronger sense of spirituality and God-
awareness.
I do both "past life" readings and "past life" regressions. I
also believe I can discern past life influences through
astrology. In my work as a clairvoyant, my readings are
more easily quantified and validated than "past life"
readings which can never be fully "proven"; it is all
subject to debate. If I say that if you drive down the
street and make a left turn and there is a big white
22
building with a covered wagon in the front yard and it is
there then I am right . . . if it is not then I am wrong.
"Remote viewing" can be validated . . . but all past life
"influences" are subject to, at its core, some level of
"faith".
Religion -- I have such a deep faith in God and the
spiritual interconnectedness of all beings. I believe it
with every fiber of my soul. I am also intellectual enough
to realize that it is only an opinion and cannot be
"proven".
I am what might be called an "Esoteric Christian". That
means that I believe in the divinity of Jesus the Christ
as a spiritual light, a true master and a historical figure-
-a man who physically lived.
I believe HE is the TRUE LIGHT.
23
I believe deeply in the spiritual teachings of Jesus as
captured in the New Testament and other source
material. However, I think that we do not really follow
the teachings of Jesus very well in this culture and so,
on that level, I am extremely disappointed in Western
Christianity.
I think there are many wonderful spiritual teachers on
the planet--both now and in years past. I feel that Islam
is a beautiful religion, too, and believe in the divinity of
Muhammed as well as Jesus. Does that make me
Islamic? I don't really know.
The two "religions" I feel the most "intense" connections
with are (a) Russian Orthodox Christianity and (b)
Sufism. I don't go to church anymore and am not a
member or follower of Orthodoxy or Sufism but I do, on
a soul level, feel drawn to both.
God loves all creatures. All religions that honor God and
24
Mother Earth and her lovely brood are a "true" religion.
Just as there are many languages and many places on
this Earth, all unique creative aspects of the Divine, so
too are there many religions that also creatively depict
and honor the Source. To say that one religion has all
the answers and all others miss the point is nothing but
ego and arrogance and is blasphemous in the extreme.
Whenever people look to God, whether alone or within a
group, in that moment they are practicing "religion".
I honor ALL religious traditions . . . so long as they come
from a place of love. If there is love in their heart then
they are beautiful in God's eyes and the followers of
those religions are also beautiful in my eyes as well.
Jesus loves the little children, all the children of the
world. Red and yellow black and white they are perfect
in his sight; Jesus loves the little children of the world.
I sang that song in Sunday School in Ohio when I was a
25
little boy. It is spiritual TRUTH. Why do the churches
who sing this song so often live their lives in variance
with this? Jesus is hope and light . . . for ALL races ALL
cultures and people . . .
I also hold several "heretical" viewpoints . . . ideas that
in a different time might lead me to have a shorter more
violent life, i.e. dangerous notions that would, literally,
get me killed. That "memory" is a part of my "karmic
DNA" but . . . here goes:
1) I believe Jesus had brothers and sisters, I believe he
was married to Mary Magdalene (who was also a
spiritual master like Jesus) and I believe they had
children. Is the whole Da Vinci Code Holy Blood Holy
Grail thing literally true? I don't know but I think that
version of Jesus is CLOSER to the truth than the myth
portrayed in Western Christianity.
2) I believe religion is an experience not a teaching. I
26
believe one can connect to God without the benefit of
clergy and so I am a Gnostic and, historically, a religious
trouble maker.
3) I believe in the power of Nature, that everything is
filled with light and spirit. I am a pantheist, what some
might call a Pagan, others would call a Witch. Once
again a heretic and rebel and a candidate for a nice
warm fire beneath my feet.
4) I also believe that I have a "spiritual mission" and that
is to help others find their way to the God within them. I
use my clairvoyant abilities as really just a tool to get
attention for my "ideas" about both religion AND politics
but being "The Rock n Roll Psychic" is not truly all that I
am . . . I am primarily one who is a seeker after God . . .
I want to know God and have God know me . . . and I
am looking to share that search now more and more
with others who also feel this burning flame within
them. I feel it and I know others feel it, as well.
27
Psychic Ability -- During my first go round as a psychic
back in the '80's and 90's I thought that my "ability" was
a "skill" . . . something that I developed and "mastered"
(on whatever level that may have been) much like one
might develop a high level skill as a musician or athlete
or surgeon. I took ownership of it and, as a result, had
kind of an "ego" attachment to it.
I also believed everyone had this and could, with a little
work, develop it just like with enough time and patience
one could learn to play the guitar or be a good chess
player.
I have changed "my tune" on both counts. I think of
psychic ability as a "gift" . . . one given to me directly
from the creative source we label as God. As a result of
this gift also comes the responsibility to develop it and
use it as a honor to God and not as an honor to myself.
28
Since I am by nature both lazy and egotistical
(hahahahaha not a surprise I fear to some who know
me) I sometimes "rebel" and feel the need to play and/or
"act out" . . . the wild child hell raisin' psychic.
I think now that Spirit often sees me as a cute little
child playing in the streets and I feel their love and
patience with me but I also know there is a reason I
have been given this gift and the time and money (and
temperament) to fully develop it.
I now recognize my "abilities" as a spiritual calling and
not a vocational one. I am a "psychic" because I allow
that label to attach to me but truly I am just someone
trying to find his way back to Spirit, a God-thirsty
beggar on a glass wire, dancing on the edge, trying to
live in two worlds all at the same time.
LOVE is the answer, the only answer . . . the truest
expression of the God within. That is my "truth".
29
As I mentioned earlier, The Metaphoric Mirror has been
designed as a guide, on whatever level possible, to break
down the barriers we typically have regarding the
―unseen‖ spiritual world. There is absolutely a spiritual
core to all we do . . . a spiritual interconnectedness
between all creatures.
The alchemists of old attempted to take base metal and
turn it into gold. But the true gold that the alchemists
were seeking is not the kind of gold one holds in their
hand, but rather the integration of the physical and
spiritual ―selves‖ into a cohesive, productive whole. As
the philosopher said, ―the unexamined life is not worth
living‖ and it is through making the effort to look within
that we can most fully embrace our unique God-given
gifts.
30
It is my hope that this book will help you, in subtle but
hopefully meaningful ways, open up to the spiritual core
within. It is not for the casual reader – punctuation and
capitalization rules have been, if not broken, stretched
quite a bit. Jesus spoke in parables for a reason.
By looking at parables and stories one brings their own
unique history and internal thermostat to bear in
interpreting the tale. Meaning is subjective and one
sees the story only within the context of who they
currently are. Of course, that can change – just as our
personal histories can change, over time.
No past event is fixed. Our interpretation is fluid; we
may see an event in one way at a particular time in our
life and then completely differently later on. At the time,
that event seemed like a disaster, but, in retrospect,
perhaps a golden opportunity came about because of
the ―disaster‖ which preceded it. This suggests that
31
history is what we make it and it is my belief that our
―free will‖ is exercised primarily in our attitudes about
ourselves and our personal histories.
I think, since I – mainly through the usage of astrology –
and others, have made accurate predictions of events
happening on specific dates that there is an element of
―fate‖ in our lives . . . I personally do not believe we are
as ―free‖ as we may wish to believe. But the power to
change our minds and see with fresh eyes, that is
something very much within our control.
The formal components of The Metaphoric Mirror –
techniques replicating ―stream of consciousness‖, for
example – are designed for very specific reasons, in large
part due to the nature of language acquisition and
cognitive development within the individual. Words
mean nothing – yet they ―take on‖ a meaning (and lead
to emotional triggers based on that ―meaning‖) that is
32
often more significant than the thing or feeling which
the word ―represents‖.
Remember – ―the map is not the territory‖ and words,
though critically important, are NOT the FINAL answer.
We use words to ―describe‖ things or feelings or actions.
But the word is simply a means to convey something to
someone else, analogous to a truck shipping fruit from
California to Kansas.
―The body doesn‘t lie.‖
Remember that -- ―the body doesn‘t lie.‖
The body and how we feel (and look, too) is the truest
barometer as to what is ―real‖ for each of us. We may
―think‖ a certain way but ultimately it is how we ―feel‖
that is the most direct connection to our own personal
33
―reality‖.
This book is "an initiation" . . . it is meant to go at a
certain speed, with a certain breath pattern. Breathing
techniques are part of the adept's training and the style
of the book is meant to synthetically induce specific
breathing techniques – as well as challenge your
relationship with both words and security.
This book is designed to help facilitate the awakening of
personal power.
34
35
Calcinatio
“The mind is its own place, and in itself
Can make a Heav‟n of Hell, a Hell of Heav‟n”
John Milton, Paradise Lost
like all stories my life is filled with beginnings and
endings, twists and turns and loves, both good and
perhaps not so good, death and yes rebirth and all the
dark stormy nights and bright sunny days of popular
fiction. to many my life seems very much a fiction but I
assure you my story is all too real. I am a psychic, a
clairvoyant—someone who ―sees things‖, has ―visions‖,
travels astrally to other towns, perhaps, even, to other
worlds. To some I am a prophet to most a second
thought but to quite a few—and seemingly that number
grows with each passing week—I am an enigma—a
36
talent both rare and strange, a voice crying in a
deafening wilderness
the defining moment of my life, for life is filled with
defining moments, was the death of my child. when little
Lehna failed to escape the womb intact and instead fell
into the world with closed eyes and frozen fingers, at
that moment my life began to change. for those of you
who have lost a child no explanation is necessary, for
those who have not—no explanation is possible
I was like an open wound after Lehna died, emotions
running wild, digging deep, deep into some lonely dark
sea, peaking through twisting vines and trying, so hard,
to make it back. Ever since then I have been struggling
with some level of acceptance in my attempt to find a
higher purpose for losing my darling child
37
I have struggled . . . and I am not necessarily proud of
that fact. It is not so much that I have turned away from
certain shared aspects of living but, more importantly to
me, that I have questioned the hows and whys of God's
wisdom so often
Yes, I have cursed my fate and wondered why it was
that my daughter and the life I had so meticulously built
had to die. Why, on some level, I (or the ego that I had
grown to believe in) had to die . . . at least in the sense
that my focus was no longer on THIS life but on the
world that exists in that elusive somewhere between life
and death -- the realm of spirit
I am a drifter now . . . and as I go further and further
within . . . as I open up more and more to this POWER I
seem to have to see things that, in theory, cannot be
seen
38
I find that it (the work) has taken me, lifted me and
though I fear the fate of poor Icarus who flew so high his
wings melted and he fell ingloriously from the sky I find
more and more that the emotions, the pain, the rawness
of it all is like a drug
and to see what I see I feel myself more and more and
more giving in to this heightened sensation. I am like an
addict but the drugs are already in my system. I can see
and do things, with only my mind, better than any drug
I am living flat out . . . and I am afraid . . . but I find
myself unable to slow the car down any more because I
want to see what lies around the bend so badly. But
taking this path opens me up to a heightened and
increasingly intense PSYCHIC perception. Walking this
path has its price but an enhancement in my psychic
abilities seems to be one of the rewards
39
when I was 24 I went (for the first time) to California. I
studied, I meditated, I wandered the streets, a
basketball always at the ready, a god thirsty beggar
looking for something I couldn‘t really quite define
I was hungry, again, like an addict is hungry but I
couldn‘t figure out which drug would work best. And so
I wandered a bit longer drifting from life to life trying on
different hats different ―identities‖ always thirsting for
God, always thirsting for love—An addict, an adrenalin
junkie, a baby Faust, a Don Juan, an exotic bird in a
sea of similarity. What drug would work best? I didn‘t
really know the answer
40
Was it books, sex, the perfect body, transcendence,
alchemy, mystery, suicide? Were any of these right? I
tried each one on for size rolled it around my tongue,
savored it, let the smell and taste wash over me, through
me; some I swallowed (whole) others I spit out, some I
kept planted against my gums in case I needed the taste
but still . . . the years passed the hunger persisted . . .
the addictions continued
I learned that for me there is really only true path to
follow . . . one speed to drive and that is . . . Flat out . . .
crash or arrive at the foot of that beautiful scenery just
around the bend. I have given in to it . . . all . . . an open
wound but a wound that, I hope, has the power
to heal
41
I came back to California, again, 26 years later, this
time as an executive a ―hired gun‖ . . . money in hand
girlfriend and story book life in tow, soon a baby to be.
but this was a baby that was not meant to be and her
death her sweet little cheeks cold to the touch broke me
. . . broke my heart and a broken heart too soon
dissolved into a fractured brain . . . the world the
attractions OF the world . . .
broken . . . like me
but this is not a story of loss . . . it is a story of rebirth,
spiritual redemption. it is a road map a Rorschach to
God, spots and stains wrestled into some meaningful
pattern, fingerprints, handprints, clues and whispers . .
. it is a story of redemption my Redemption and as such
it is the story too of your redemption as well for my path
is your path and although the stops are different and
the train looks a bit strange still the paths are all, really,
42
the same path . . . they are filled with love and sadness
and disappointment so many disappointments storms
and heat and chilly nights with barely enough to find
our way yet we somehow find our way back for all of life
is simply a way . . .
back
a way back . . .
to God. That is all life is . . . a way Back to God. There is
nothing else
43
44
Solutio
“At sea a fellow comes out. Salt water is like wine, in that
respect.”
Herman Melville
we live in an interesting time. it is a time of innocence
and roses, destruction and secret cabals, vapors that
will know no end. patterns are written on gray paper
old men dance to stolen tunes
in the mornings when the world slips a bit to the South
and the old stories are scattered amongst the wheat and
berries of a secret world it is then that the days will
change. in 2010 and 2011 the weather begins to shake,
storms rage, fires grow hotter winds grow hotter the
water boils a bit more each day . . . sailors with small
45
pups lose sight of the stars and hollow thoughts echo
along black walls
in the summer of 2010 the world shakes from within . . .
the dollar dances in a whispering flame all secrets stop
for an instant . . . in the summer of 2010 a new word
appears a new song appears birds fly north instead of
south and prophets fight for a blue stage
the world is spinning sideways the world is spinning like
a child‘s toy madness disguised as rationale hatred
played out in a sea of love jesus buried jesus reborn it is
a time of deceit the world waits for 2012 but the true
time the time of change is 2010
we live in interesting times
the first to fall of course are the banks . . . the next to
fall are those who travel . . . water is the key it is the
46
secret to it all and the dark eyed financiers put blinders
on those staring at the trough . . . where did the money
go poof into the thinness of a secret world
the riches are hidden in plain view owners hold deeds to
zones no more stolen doorways opened into a portal of
doom . . . the first to go are the banks
commercial paper written down then transformed . . .
buildings owned by committee, committees owned by a
single flame . . . old hurts reborn old hatreds reborn
simple thoughts simple minds complex transactions . . .
the world spins sideways . . . the banks begin to fall in
the summer of 2010
new religions come and go messiahs by the sides of the
road selling eggs and vinegar . . . prophets sell
insurance and the truth is burned . . . when men burn
books they will soon burn men . . . we‘ve seen it before it
47
will happen again men will burn books and the books
will turn to men . . . it is a time of innocence a time of
fear old hurts reborn secret words in an old vase,
flowers rotting . . . beware the summer of 2010
make peace with your neighbors make peace with your
brothers make peace with your visions of God . . . the
world is a test you are being put through a test it is up
to you to pass . . . when a child goes hungry can you
feed it when a dog needs a kind hand will you pet it . . .
when the world turns dark can you offer any light?
these are the questions of 2010 . . . it is not as dark as it
may seem the chance for deliverance is truly within
reach . . . it is not 2012 it is 2010 that matters
with these words I open a book it is written in the sky I
sit by and look upwards it is frightening but only for a
time I am taken my hand in a gloved hand of gold I am
48
walking along the way . . . this is the record of what I
see
there are pictures scattered everywhere we could scoop
them up and make a fine quilt but I am told to listen
and no longer to think I am listening and looking and
wondering what hides in this secret world
this is the record of my journey . . . in the beginning
there was light it is written that way as it should be all
energy is transmuted light all essence is light all God is
light to understand the keys to transformation one must
first understand light
I am being shown an image it is a young woman there is
a snake around her chest she is holding a knife in her
right hand but the snake is not afraid I see another
image there are young women they are standing near a
49
pool a young baby is being bathed by the young girls all
is innocence it is the secret to knowing how to live
I do not understand but I continue to walk along this
path . . . after a while a man appears he is tall with a
beard it is the way I would imagine a man of holiness
and that is his role his disguise he also takes my hand
and we walk for a bit . . . he shows me things asks me if
I understand
I don‘t but we walk further . . . he says to me there are
three eggs take one hold it in your hand. I take the egg
balancing it in the palm of my right hand it turns brown
then green then red a small bird with three heads I don‘t
understand the image but I am told not to worry
the egg grows solid turns into a purple stone sugilite I
rub the egg thinking about the three-headed bird . . . he
hands me a second egg it also changes before my eyes
50
first blue then a lighter blue then a pale yellow inside is
a creature with hair a soft brown fur it has a beak it is a
bird that looks like a bear I ask what does it mean I am
handed a third egg
inside the egg is a picture I am wearing a hat like a
soldier of the first world war the hat is green I see myself
in a plane flying landing in an open field I see blood on
my chest an open wound my right hand holds tight
pushing back the blood my head grows pale I feel light
headed my soul slips out my throat and a thin blue mist
like chalk in a pool hall rises in to the sky
I see another picture I am a girl a young girl my hair is
blonde I have on a dress pretty dress I am standing
outside a large home I look down at the water reeds
jutting in to sky I walk to the water slip and fall I am
drowning I am drowning I see it happening I see the
people in their dark suits running screaming trying to
51
pull me out these are pictures that are given to me by
the man with the beard
it is part of the third egg he says you will now be shown
a world unknown to you until this day
I open a book there are more pictures knights large
battlements trucks crossing dark plains rings and fancy
lace . . . I am handed a new book it is in gold script I am
told it is the secret to how to live do not ask do not ask
or question simply write what you see
three cards are laid out in front . . . the first is The
Moon. I recognize the card I know a bit of tarot. the
second card is The Tower. I see the lightning the
building tilting on its side
the third card is the Ace of Swords. I wonder what it all
means I am told it will all be revealed I am asked to
52
simply listen write down what I see . . . I am told now
that I am the Ace of Swords. what does it all mean?
I am still wondering about the cards when another
image comes into view. there are many people they are
reaching up with their hands they are all pulling
themselves along the ground, glued on one side they
cannot stand upright
I wonder what this means as well . . . I hear people
talking they are referring to the ―glides‖ . . . I don‘t
understand but a young woman in a white lace dress
comes over to me
she tells me the ―glides‖ are souls who have left part of
their beings in another world. I am still confused. they
are trapped, she says . . . they have left their souls in
another place
53
what does it mean, I wonder she hears my thoughts
they are souls who have left something in the other
world they are not fully welcome they must return over
and over until they find the missing parts
am I missing a part, I ask . . . she doesn‘t answer but
then I am shown a scene soldiers generals are standing
in a room in a large estate they are planning movements
of large bodies of troops maps are on the wall tapestries
along another wall I know I am there but I cannot see
cannot see any more
am I missing a part this question continues to bother
me but now there are additional people standing before
me they are showing me cards like flash cards I am still
confused and then they stop look over to a man in a
long hooded robe he walks over to me slaps me hard in
the face he pulls my left ear I tilt over then fall to the
ground banging my knees
54
you must listen to what I say I hear his thoughts yet he
has no mouth or tongue . . . his thoughts are now my
thoughts I am listening to the words in his head he is
telling me write it all down he is telling me to do as he
says he is . . . stronger than me
what you must do he says is find the key there are
several keys that you can use they are signs to spiritual
truths principles that you can use in the world in which
you live
is that true I wonder. yes he answers here is a riddle a
parable why is the man like a mule because he simply
pulls along what is left on his back why doesn‘t the
mule simply throw off what he carries the answer
because he fears another larger burden will be added . .
. is this true I wonder it is a riddle he says
55
I think about riddles for a while there are many that go
through my head . . . I watch the others watching me I
understand they see me yet I don‘t really see them
because my fear is greater than my sight . . .
what is the key I wonder in relinquishing fear . . . he
answers you must put a greater fear in its place
what? I don‘t understand. you must put a greater fear
in its place it is hierarchical . . . a fear can only be
replaced by a greater fear there is no way to overcome
the fear it must simply be replaced by a fear more
frightening
how does that work I wonder . . . he answers the fear of
failing in life of being a ―glide‖ should be stronger than
any fear in an earthly life . . . the ―glides‖ are real there
are others, too
56
is this hell I ask
in one sense yes it is like hell but all hell is transient it
can be replaced but how is that possible I wonder it is
done through thought
but how . . . it is done through thought you think and it
changes light is a wave that is activated through
thought remember in the beginning was the word and
the word was filled with light that is the key to have
words thoughts that move light . . . moving light about
is the key to transformation. transformation is the goal
of living to transmute in to a higher form that should be
your goal he says
but how -- how do I do that? he looks over at the young
girl in the white lace dress. she is a key you must
understand what she represents. I am still confused it
57
is like a play filled with Russian dolls one doll pops out
another will fall to the floor I am confused I say
she will perform and you will begin to understand
I look around there are ornaments and feathers and
many changes of clothes . . . there is a stage and I see
the riggings for the curtains a small set of steps on the
right hand side . . . she takes a step back reaches into a
brown bag and hands me a small frightened bird it is
white and sits quite still and content on the ends of my
fingers . . . I reach over kiss the bird on its tiny little
head
I see myself standing on the stage she points both at me
and the image of me I am wearing a cape it is black and
comes down below my waist gold cufflinks with many
jewels adorn my wrists I have a small cravat tied tight
around my throat. My shirt is white high-collared laced
58
with gold thread I look up at the ceiling I see people in
the audience they are also looking up above
Several birds are circling in a line around the seats at
the foot of the stage I am amazed at the uniformity of
their flight the young girl looks at me and smiles she
says to me ―it is time for you to play‖
I see myself now as a magician on stage the lights are
filled with gas I feel now as if I am transported back in
time back to another world . . . I have always been
interested in magic written about magic and magicians
it is part and parcel now of my professional identity yet I
am not a magician
―You are very much the magician‖ she tells me ―I will
watch you now perform‖ . . . I am thinking that it is she
who is to perform but I am the one now on stage ―look
up‖ she asks if I see anything unusual
59
―there are two men‖ I say ―they are holding short
swords. one has a dark beard one has light hair he has
a helmet it is golden and there are giant birds with
golden wings adorning his head‖
―that is you‖ she says ―you are the one with the golden
helmet‖ it is now the time for the stage show to begin I
feel it happening I feel the others looking at me asking
with their eyes ―what is to be done‖
in a moment or two another woman comes on stage she
has a fancy headdress like an Indian fakir she is tall
and thin with a thin face and beautiful lips and teeth I
find myself staring at her mouth it opens but the words
come out as letters not sounds they are golden letters
and they float across the stage and drift slowly up
towards the ceiling what does it mean I wonder
60
a young man comes on stage he is carrying a small
golden cage inside is a stuffed bird why do you have a
stuffed bird I wonder he answers because my bird
knows all I think how is that possible this bird does not
even live how can it know anything
he laughs although again there are no sounds it is
simple it repeats what I say to repeat then it is you I say
not the bird he argues with me for a moment his head
thrown back in a hearty laugh no he says it IS the bird
who speaks
do something magical I hear the audience they are
asking for a trick I hesitate for just a moment then I
reach into my pocket I pull out small watch it is on a
chain and opens when I push the stem see this watch I
say I can make it disappear
61
the audience members laugh thinking to themselves
perhaps this is not such a fine trick but it is because it
is the time within that is disappearing
ahhhh the audience falls into a light sleep I tell them to
imagine they are in a circus I have them think of an
animal in the circus imagine the animal takes you in his
or her teeth and chews you up your body is swallowed
and resides now within the animal after a time the saliva
in the stomach causes your body to grow back together
you are now in the rhythm of another creature time is
different
ahhh they say this is a trick . . . rhythm is the control of
time you see it in music in most things but changing
rhythm is truly changing time I will give you an example
you are late for a meeting everything in your
consciousness is focused on the tardiness you feel and
time drags like a steel weight tied tight around your legs
62
there is a heaviness to your step a heaviness to your
spirit
change your rhythm and you change time I pull another
trick out of a tall black hat look here I say see this small
stone I hold in my hand
the audience looks up at me their eyes straining to see
what I hold in my hand it is a rock it is the rock of the
true church another trick they say what does that
matter to us we know where the churches stand we did
not need you to play a trick upon us with your tiny
stone
but it‘s true I tell them here watch what happens I throw
the rock into the air it disintegrates but after a moment
it turns into sparkling rays of light it is a trick they say
what does it mean it means that the essence of the
church is light that springs forth no matter what or
63
where the foundation destroy the rock still the light
glitters from within
what does that matter they say I think for a minute look
over to the girl for assistance . . . she nods I look back
over my shoulder at the Indian girl she is holding a
trumpet she plays it with one hand in her other hand
she pulls on her skirt balls the fabric up in the palm of
her hand look at her the girl says she is connecting and
grounding all at the same time
what is she doing I ask the audience also does not
understand she is grounding her energy yet she is able
to make sounds without using any of her senses the
trumpet is in her hand yet she fingers the horn only
with her mind her fingers cannot reach so she uses her
mind to make the sounds
64
it is a trick no she says it is magic and all magic is
simply making sounds without using your fingers
without using any of your senses magic is making
sounds that come only from within your mind
I will give you another example she says you are walking
along a bridge you look down at the water you imagine a
rock smashing in to the water below you see the tiny
ripples of a wave hear the splash yet there is no rock no
ripples in the wave it is all within you . . . you have
made the ripples yet there are no ripples for anyone
other than you your world is changed it is entirely your
creation your memory your imagination your WILL
causing the world to conform to your vision in that
moment you are a God a co-creator of the natural world
but what good is that a young man stands up and asks
it does not matter what we think the water is still there
65
it is not moving the fact that you imagine it to be so is
irrelevant ah she says not so
the fact that you can imagine it so clearly gives you the
power to create if you could not create the rock hitting
the water below in your mind you could never change
your world would be static unfulfilled
it is the ability to picture the rock so clearly see and
hear the effects of the rock hitting the water below THAT
is the power of God light made manifest
it is the imagination that is the bridge to consciousness
the bridge to another world all who can imagine can find
their path it is through imagination that one realizes
God
66
a woman stands up she asks me how can I see how can
I open myself up to these visions I ask her do you see
things now not exactly she says
but what is it like for you do you have some sense of a
connection to your spiritual self she stops for a second
looks off to the left then braces herself looks me in the
eye I don‘t feel connections to anything
how can that be I think but then I realize remember
what it was like for me I‘m sorry I say I think that I can
help you come on up here on to the stage I can see
that she‘s nervous that she would prefer to stay put but
I reach out my hand to her and she scoots along out in
to the aisle nervously walks up to the steps along the
side of the stage
67
come on up I say let me help you what is your name
Serena she answers ah that‘s a pretty name when was
the last time you felt connected to a sense of spirituality
even a sense of wonder can you remember
I ask
she looks at me blankly for only a second the only time I
can really remember she says is when I was a little girl
what happened when did you stop?
I don‘t remember she says I question her for awhile
trying to determine when this spark was extinguished
and it hits that she has been hurt perhaps physically
abused when this happens it is very common
especially for young women to shut down suppress the
memories bury them beneath a more acceptable façade I
believe this is what she‘s done but I can‘t say that yet
68
and so I look at her and ask her to reach out her left
hand
she does and I take it in my hands then loosely tie a
bright red and yellow scarf around her wrist I am going
to make you disappear what?
I am going to make YOU disappear but how where will I
go? you will go to another place and then you will
reappear and then after that you will come back to this
place I will be holding the scarf the whole time so you
are tied to me corded to this world
but I‘m afraid she says but I remember what the hooded
man said to me about fear is that really your biggest fear
Serena is there anything else that worries you
the exercises work like this you imagine that you are on
a train you are looking out the window. every so often a
69
new road sign appears along the side of the track . . .
you feel the train slowing down and you can more easily
read each sign
but what does that mean she asks
each thing you see is a sign we will follow the signs they
will be what we take from our journey. if you focus on
looking at the signs out the window that is what your
trip will be
you may arrive at a specific destination but the signs
outside are in one sense the actual trip. that is what
you take with you if that is what you focus on so if you
look at a group of signs along the side of the track
perhaps one will stand out it will register in your mind‘s
eye. you feel drawn to it more so than the others this is
reflective of your life choices
70
if there were only one sign then you would only
experience it but in this case there are many signs and
you can choose which one to focus on. at the end of
your trip those signs form a backdrop to your memory of
the journey
so too with life by focusing on one sign as opposed to
another you change the experience of your trip that is
what we will do with you now your focus will shift to a
different sign and it will be the foundation for your
memory
but what does THAT mean? it means that all history is
fluid all life‘s travels can change based on what we see
but if we choose to focus on a specific sign -- even
though there are others present as well – we will change
the nature of our trip
71
life is a trip do you know that expression well in this
case that is just what we mean
I have you within this cord I can point you in any
direction and wherever you go will register big or small
in the back of your mind go to the same place many
times and like a stone laid at the foot of the mountain
eventually those stones will change the view of the
mountain that first existed if enough stones are laid
there then it will, eventually, eclipse your view if you
stand in a particular place
72
healing is about laying those stones trinkets from the
mind‘s eye at the foot of the mountain that stands
before you . . .
73
Coagulatio
“Great is the man who has not lost his childlike heart.”
Mencius
your mind is shifting again let me tell you another story
One of my favorite games as a little boy was marbles.
You don't see marbles so much anymore not like you did
back then. I remember having two big coffee tins full of
all different kinds of marbles, big cobbs, "shooters", and
all sorts of assorted colors and patterns of colors. I
would sit in the front yard on Van Buren Drive and draw
out a circle with a stick and shoot marbles for what
must have been an hour or more all by myself.
Sometimes the marbles would roll down the slope of a
hill in the front yard but they never got very far
74
When I was a little boy I used to have lots of guns to
play with, too. I remember having my detective pistol
and a wad of play money I kept in my desk drawer. Once
my mother bought me a beautiful new bedroom suite
with big brown bookcases that wrapped all the way
around my room. I loved that room but mom sent it all
back and I left my pistol and the money in the drawer
even though my mother warned me not to leave
anything I didn't want to lose in the furniture. The
workmen heard it rattling and gave it back to me but I
was sad nevertheless
Big brown furniture filled with books and toys. I had it
for a few days when I was three or four—who remembers
exactly how old they are when things happen as a
child—but it was taken away from me by the workmen
on the truck and so I was determined to never let it
happen again
75
Maybe this says something about me. About why I do
things. I know that a lot of what I do, or what anyone
does for that matter, says a lot about them sometimes
big and loud other times subtle like a whisper or a
secret shared only amongst friends but you never want
those whispers to turn and run loose behind your back
or in school or church or wherever. I'm rambling a little
but I'm trying, honestly, to piece it all together, even
now after all these years of wandering in the dark of the
night, when the furniture all comes and goes but the
torments never end
I have thought about killing myself a lot over the years,
a lot, but I'm afraid to die and besides I'm just so damn
curious to know what's going to happen to everyone
else. It's not like I'm nosey, which I'm really not, so
much, but I'm just intellectually mad for knowledge so
maybe that mania to know and collect and covet keeps
me going when the times don't ring so true
76
Hemingway wanted to live but he wanted so much, too,
to check out which is what he finally did. I don't think
I'll go that way. I don't want to. I want to die when I'm
old with a couple of dozen books and my family by my
side like Clifton Webb in those old movies from the fifties
I read a lot and so I have a tendency to remember
everything through the context of a book or a play. For
example, just yesterday I read in a book by the German
writer W. G. Sebald, Vertigo, about Henri Beyle (later to
go by the nom de plume of Stendhal) and how he could
never remember things clearly as they really were but,
rather, through the lens of a painting he had seen years
later. In other words, memory is a tricky fellow not
always to be trusted, a coquette with red lips and grey
blue gums, a bottle of glue found open in a crowded
drawer. Memory lies, a fool's gold, in the frozen arms of
a subjective truth
One of my earliest memories is of the hospital when I
77
was a little boy; I was in Cincinnati to get my tonsils
yanked. There are two or three pictures that twist
around my brain even now. One is of the hospital room
itself. I remember the bed butting up against the wall on
my right side with the door at the foot of the bed. Was
this the way the room was laid out? Probably, but am I
certain? Certainly not. Especially since one of the
strongest and most compelling memories of my life not
only may not have happened but, in looking back now,
fifty-two years later, seems so unlikely as to beg the
question of whether god or gods exist and to what extent
they come out of their cocoons in Heaven if they do and
come down to earth and play amongst us
Who am I? This is a common enough question but yet it
is the one driving force of our narrative. Who am I? Who
is he, the narrator of this tale?
Who are any of us, really? Are we the sum of our
experience? The stuff of our dreams? Why are we here
78
on this twisted speck of rock three stones from the sun?
Why
are
we . . .
Here and not some other place? That is what he wants
to know, what I want to know. Why here? Why not some
place
. . . else?
Do you believe in reincarnation? In life, after death?
Well, it turns out that during the first regression we did
I was some kind of king in Eighteenth Century Germany
and as a result of my karmic heritage (and natural good
looks) I got invited to a couple of parties in Mill Valley.
The advantage of attending said parties was to allow me
79
the opportunity to ignore the advances of some very
beautiful little New Age divorcees from Southern
California since I was entirely too stupid to realize what
was coming down and, therefore, would have the
opportunity for the next thirty years to feel bad about it.
However, it did afford me the opportunity between bites
of tofu to hook up with one of the best psychics in the
world—at a time when finding somebody like her was
ultra-critical to my development (and maybe sanity, too,
perhaps). At the time of the regression, though, I really
didn't know shit about Eighteenth Century Germany or
psychic development so when the crazy old wench in our
class from Austria filled in the blanks as to just how
accurate my little trip down (past life) memory lane
really was—while taking the sideline opportunity to
belittle the American educational system (quite justified
it would seem judging on how little I knew, don't you
think?)—it just made my cinematic inner journey all the
more compelling
80
After all, I have a kingly kind of persona. Maybe it was
true. How else could I have seen the things I saw that
night?
Of course, all of you of a somewhat philosophical bent
are poking big whale-sized holes in my twenty-four year
old logic but (at the time) it made perfect sense to me. I
knew I had lived before. And I still believe it because I
think it's true. However, the ways and means of
justifying that belief (and what, really, is life if not an
elaborate means to justify some half-baked idea or two?)
have gone through a somewhat erratic evolution
Like all stories, there has to be a beginning. Once upon
a time—or some other variant of the once upon a time
theme—that is how the story should begin
Once upon a time, high above the city, in a manger filled
with straw, the three wise men descended upon
Jerusalem
81
Sorry, wrong story. Let's try again
Where to begin? I was born on a cold snowy day in Ohio
the only son of parents proud and true. No.
Try again.
I was an only child blonde and beautiful with a bag full
of toys and marbles and puppy dog tails and all was well
and then I fell off the world and the world grew dark and
my hair turned brown like shit and I lost my soul and . .
.
No that is not the story, either.
Once upon a time, a little boy was born. He was chubby
with long coal black hair and a dimpled chin and his
mama and poppa loved him very much. He was an
82
energetic lad with a quick mind and—
Sorry, AGAIN, this once upon a time shit can get kind of
boring so I'll sum it up by saying that I was born in Ohio
in 1955. I was an only child who grew up to become a
tormented teen with a crazy mother and a KKK totin'
factory workin' father. Since my family was from
Appalachia (with the accents to prove it) there was a
very distinct form of snobbism at work in my home town
directed towards them and their kind; this was reserved
by native Ohioans for those families who had fled
Kentucky during the war to come up to Ohio and work
in the factories. The point you are supposed to get from
all this is that the trickle down effect of this snobbery
rained down upon my psychically vulnerable little head
and caused irreparable damage to the even development
of my self-esteem and sense of self worth. The
economics of 1960's America were such, though, that a
factory worker with a good job (in my father's case
General Motors) and the drive to succeed could make a
83
very good living. My father was many things but idiot
was not one of them. Out of place, yes. Politically
incorrect, yes. But, idiot, no
My mother, though, might qualify for a big Yellow Y on
both the out of place and the idiot ticket; although her
heart was (I think) in the right place her means of
execution often was a tad twisted. Since my father was
something of a poor man's money making machine we
lived in the best area of town with all the bank
presidents and executives from Kroger
As a result, my childhood often had a kind of reverse
Eddie Munster in Hell look and feel to it. Escaping to
California and the attendant terrors (and joys) of the
way deep subconscious mind was, therefore, a
consummation devoutly to be wished. That night after I
got back from San Francisco (the class was held in the
attic of a house on 15th Avenue) and before settling in to
bed in my Berkeley rooming house bedroom, I tried to
84
recreate in my mind the steps I'd gone through during
my earlier regressions
I remembered that we had gone through a series of
commands where we were supposed to imagine someone
rubbing our feet and legs and upper body so as to relax
ourselves. I had never done this before. Of course the
visions really started after that and for many years they
never stopped. But I don't want to see visions anymore
or sing late night songs to the darkening stars while
tribes of tiny little wet-haired angels fornicate on a
crooked pin
All I really want now is just to water my perfect green
lawn on a sunny Sunday afternoon, curl up with a good
book or a good ballgame, and let the moons roll past,
one by one by one
Of course the truth if such a term exists when it comes
to self revelatory types of things is that I do see angels
85
fornicating on the head of a pin and the songs I hear
floating up beside me in the silky white night make that
morning drive to work a little more difficult. Some days,
though, when I feel like it, I can still see the stories of all
the people around me trailing behind them like the long
red train of a stolen wedding gown
Every story is a sad story too even the happy people
their stories are all so sad. So sad buried deep down in
the worn blue folds of some long forgotten midnight
slight or the bright sunny burst of fire from a demon
sun all so sad
And Death is a terrible thing
Even if you want to die even if the wheel of karma may
spin around a little bit higher the next time through still
the thought of death for what really is death but a
thought because once it comes then the thoughts are all
that is left here vapor trailing behind you even then you
86
must admit it is a terrible thing. It is a terrible thing to
die. For beauty to die. Or love. Or the sweet heroic
stories of a perfect history
The heroes are all dead. Don't you think? Bones rotting
worms singing in the lonely night. So on we go as best
we can weaving consensual sunny day stories all
masking a deep dripping secret pain too stony for the
fertile ground of a midwestern Tuesday afternoon. To die
to sleep
No more will we love the night you say, say it out loud
you do I know you do don't you?
You are worrying about me again; that's OK I've come
lately to expect it. After all, the wisdom of death is a
terrible secret to share for it is the secret I'm sharing. To
die to sleep. No more will you sing no more will the
sweet sudden breathes of a warm touch touch you
touch you deep inside where the songs won't sing off key
87
key to what secret door to what secret passageway we've
all heard all heard but forgotten too soon forgotten and
buried deep inside. It is death of which I sing
I am the troubadour of death
Come along with me you sinners and defilers of the sun
come with me and raise a toast to the only god that
really matters. The god with the key to turn
you
and
me
off
There I've said it. The god of which I sing of which I am
asking you to join me in a chorus or three is the god of
88
death.
Thanatos of thee I sing. Of thee
I
sing sing with me won't you all sing with me better yet
take a journey with me walk with me and the god we all
call Thanatos and walk through his secret chambers let
his warm crooked smile crease ever so gently across
your wet upper lip for too soon we will see him see him
standing there in the sweet
in the sweet
by and by in the sweet by and by we will see him
standing
there
89
90
Sublimatio
“Every action is seen to fall into one of three main
categories, guarding, hitting, or moving. Here, then, are
the elements of combat, whether in war or pugilism.”
B. H. Liddell Hart
you don‘t understand this story at all do you? It is
different than the parable of the train and the signs
outside your window but it also instructive about how
we SEE and also about what we fear
fear and vision vision and fear remember what was said
earlier . . . a fear can only be replaced by a greater fear
there is no way to overcome the fear it must simply be
replaced by a fear more frightening
91
here I will give you another story it too is a story of loss
it goes something like this
In the cheating hour, when the stains from some secret
sin creep like dead soldiers along the pale blue walls, he
sits, hands pressed hard against cheek and head, and
thinks, of her. He thinks of her face, perfect, carved from
the wheel of a potter's son, or the strong slow curve of
her cheek, the pout and sweet breath of her lips and
eyes, the sinewy play of light and dark in her breasts
and legs. He thinks of her, too, in love, gently arching,
the slow then sudden breath quicker then quicker
arching up and then the delicate whoosh of her voice,
her hips and legs dropping slowly into place and when it
is done she lies, still, dancing silently to the beating of
wet wings on a red willow. The nights the days the
perfect breath and skin and beat of her heart. The
perfect beat of her heart
He is a sad man
92
Memories like a scarecrow's whisper, he sits in the dark,
counting stolen angels on a slippery pin. First a finger,
then two, then a finger and thumb, gently stroking
caressing her lips and thigh, smooth skin like silk
through a Chinaman's finger, he bends down to kiss the
sweet dark hairs of her sex. He touches her sex he is her
sex she is nothing but sex. Nothing but sex. He dances
now, alone. Stolen angels on the head of a slippery pin
In the morning when the night has dissolved into faded
tomboys and blue trombones he will wake and look at
the warm day too soon twisted into frozen night. He
thinks, hard, too, about the days past, the days of her
Picture it. A man—tall but not too tall, with broad
sloping shoulders, narrow cowpoke hips and the
crooked swagger of a man chasing a mule. He is a pack
rat, a seller of dreams, a snake-oil desperado with a
leather case and a platinum tongue, quick-witted but
93
quick to take offense, famous as a cool head but
privately white hot
He is a lover a fool a spinner of tales tall and deep. He is
troubled, too, damaged long past unable to be too
talented not to be good too fractured not to discard all
that he gets too blessed to lose for long too twisted not
to wish, to lose
He is a sad man
He lands in shit and smells like roses. Again and again.
His glass is always half full yet he still pours wine onto
barren ground then prays for light where light cannot
truly be found. He is a golden child a fair-haired boy
He is an angel
Yet demons are his friends. He is nothing, if not unique
94
He thinks, always, of her. He is thinking now
Of her
Demons are his friends. He is a golden child. The glass
is always . . .
For those in the know this is a confessional a trip down
memory lane a suicide note for pregnant ears and
aficionados of the night. He is acquainted with the night.
He lives for the night. The right night
But not in the way one might think. He is neither dark
nor devious nor cool. He does not wear nor worship a
dark or twisted cross, does not wring the necks of tiny
birds nor wish ill of elderly women or babies with
inappropriate birth marks or mothers with multiple
tattoos. He is a lover of art, of birth of Jesus and Gods
one or many-sided. He is a student too he knows many
things he has read many, many things
95
Experienced—
many
things . . .
He is an angel yet demons are his friends. He has seen
angels dance devils spit and walk upright in to the bold
light of a perfect day. He has seen things many things
that live deep in the night. He wants to share his gift the
gift of the night. This is a gift his gift—to you
The gift
of
the
night
96
The gift
of
death . . .
in both stories the narrator experiences fear and in both
cases he looks to death as some form of measuring
stick. who is he, what should he do? he is like Hamlet
to be or not to be that is his question and like the
Danish prince he weighs the undiscovered country
death and its potentially greater darkness – are there
glides for example – against the trials and tribulations
he sees in the present day
all life is choice it is the only thing that matters but it is
not the choice as to what should be done but RATHER
what should be THOUGHT
97
thinking feeling seeing things in a certain way that is
free will that is GOD that is all that is as above so below
to see from God‘s vantage point the interconnectedness
of all things that is seeing the world as it truly is
life is a way back to God to God‘s creative vision . . . we
are all connected to and through God there is no God
but God . . . God is all that is all that will be the beauty
and wonder of life is learning to see with God‘s eyes the
imagination the sense of wonder at what exists at what
might grow from a tiny seed
so now once again
another story but this is a story taken directly from my
life . . . it is ―true‖ in the sense that facts and dates are
―real‖ . . . can be measured, checked, analyzed but it too
is a personal vision a moment in time a thought a
thought about an event that like the signs outside a
98
speeding train may change based on which sign or part
of a sign we choose to direct our focus
and so . . . from my past life as a TV psychic pitch man I
give you my story entitled
99
Prophet and Loss
“The believer is happy, the doubter is wise” – Hungarian
Proverb
I'm sure you've seen the ads, 1-900-PSYCHIC, he was
just like a friend. Maybe you've seen those infomercials,
as well, you know, the ones where a bunch of old out of
work actors and the cast and crew from General Hospital
sit around and talk about their own personal psychic
friends
If you watched these back in the early nineties there's a
good chance you may have seen me, too. I was on one of
those myself—along with Erik Estrada, Jenilee Harrison,
Stuart Damon, Richard Roundtree, and a host of others.
My little blast with prosperity consciousness aired
100
throughout the U.S. and Canada twenty-four hours a
day, seven days a week, for about a year and a half, all
the while serenading multi-billionaires to sleep with its
sweet clanging song while simultaneously robbing lonely
hearted waifs and welfare mothers who could not
possibly afford the calls
On TV my name was Obsidian, like the rock, and for
just $3.99 a minute, you, too, could call and talk to me,
or one of my caring professional assistants, from the
privacy of your own home. Of course the sad part of it
all was that for your $3.99 a minute you were more
likely than not going to end up with some apprentice
witch with a bad haircut, with no talent, no experience,
no compassion and absolutely no idea what Pandora's
Box her little song might unleash in the collective
psyches of late night America
The phone lines were populated--for the most part
anyway--by a subculture of six dollar an hour aliens
101
hooked up to an oral IV of the nation's secret ills. And
these physicians of the soul were often times none too
well themselves
But, of course, the old adage "man who sleep with dogs
wake up with fleas" seems to fit my role here pretty well.
These lines were billed (and I do mean billed) for
entertainment purposes only, although in my brief
tenure there never once did anyone ask me anything
that sounded remotely as it they were seeking
entertainment
Most of the people who call these lines are desperate for
answers, any answer, and they are obviously willing to
spend real money in order to find one. What is so sad
about the whole affair is that most psychic predictions
are based on probabilities, not absolutes, but this
doesn't seem to sell quite as well as cosmic omnipotence
so the real story gets pretty much swept aside
102
Misery loves company and quite a few enterprising
entrepreneurial types have capitalized on that notion in
a pretty big way. Back when I worked on the lines, in
1992, a Prime Time Special aired on ABC and at that
time Prime Time's "media expert", Ken Macaldowny,
reported that these lines earn well in excess of one
hundred million dollars a year. (I read recently that this
figure has now gone up to Nine Hundred Million per
year, just on the phone lines alone)
Add the millions that are spent on crystals, audio and
video tapes, and assorted novelty items such as ouija
boards, affirmation stickers and tarot cards to that
figure--as well as books; people into metaphysics (no
better example of that than me) are readers--and you
can see that metaphysics is a much bigger market than
people would initially assume
Forbes magazine once estimated back in the early
nineties, that the New Age market did 3.43 BILLION
103
dollars in annual revenues with over a billion dollars
being spent annually on New Age books alone. That
number most certainly has gone way up
The prophecy business tends to do well when times are
tough and times were tough back in 1992 when King
104
George I was still perched on his hollow throne. The
early nineties, in my opinion, was the ultimate bull
market of late night metaphysics, the IPO go-go years
before the reality of just how bad some of the telephone
psychics really were became known
However, with an ever-growing social and economic
malaise sweeping like wild fire throughout America, first
under the dauphin King George II and the watchful
crossed eyes of the imperial regent Sir Dick, and now
under President Obama, I wouldn't be surprised to see
the metaphysical marketplace rebound a bit in the
coming years
The target demographic for most psychic phone lines are
minority women, particularly women on some form of
public assistance, and as a collective these women
probably see America's social ills more clearly than all
the psychics in the world combined. It may seem
curious that an economic group so poorly equipped to
105
absorb eighty-five dollar phone calls should form the
financial backbone of a multi-million dollar industry.
But they do
Since I expect the ranks of those of us seeking public
assistance to swell in the near future, the market base
for supplicants at the house of what's in store for me
next is likely to be strong for Round Two
This is really pretty sick, don't you think? And since the
money involved is so incredible, and the overhead for
most of these operations so relatively minimal, the
budding entrepeneur is awash in financial possiblities.
(Bad karma aside) Like its bastard cousin, the "Busty
Babe" hotline, the 900 number business is BIG
business. But as the volume of calls escalate manpower
problems become very important. The IP's (read: money
men) who front the money for these lines are not just
going to let the money set on the table, manpower
shortage or not. So they hire whoever they can
106
I've seen people come in, right off the street, literally.
who taped interpretations to the backs of their tarot
cards and read them off, card by card. Nothing more.
Certainly nothing that anyone with twelve dollars for a
tarot deck couldn't do for themselves
I agreed to do the infomercial because of one thing. I
knew my appearance on national television meant
money--serious money. Initially it was going to go
straight into the till for the producers but I knew that all
this TV exposure could also have a pretty strong trickle
down effect for my own account as well. After all, if fifty
million people see a bunch of TV stars sitting around
saying I'm one of the premiere psychics in the world
today, some of them are bound to believe it
And when my accurate prediction that Jenilee Harrison,
Suzanne Sommer's replacement in Three's Company,
was going to start doing live theatre was included at the
107
end of the infomercial, thus proving that these really
were the best psychics in the world (better than that old
Linda Georgian's), especially me, well it didn't take a
marketing genius to see the kind of money I could
potentially make
All I had to do was change my name. No problem.
Andrew is not my real name anyway; my first name is
Rudolph, so I had absolutely no ethical dilemma about
changing my name from an infamous Christmas icon to
a big black rock
108
At least that was the plan. But after I was there for a few
months I began seeing that all was not well in the
metaphysical world. People were being hired to answer
calls who had absolutely no business doing so. I didn't
care so much that they were amateurs but many of
them were amateurs with bad attitudes. Neurotic cynical
misanthropes
And these neurotic cynical misanthropes were getting
the opportunity, partly because of something that
everyone in America had the opportunity to see me
actively promoting, to plunk their little neurotic cynical
misanthropic selves down right next to me and give
absolute bull-shit advice to a lot of desperate people who
truly needed help
And then laugh about it when they were done
So I quit
109
I don't have access to the media buys for the infomercial
in which I appeared but I can guesstimate that in the
eighteen months it aired, at approximately 150 times a
week, nationwide and in Canada, that the take from it
had to be close to $75-$100 million, maybe more
I don't know who calls these lines but I do know that
they must have their phones conveniently placed near
their TV. Since the average call lasts about nine minutes
(at $3.99 per) and many callers call back week after
week, sometimes three or four times, my guess is that
somebody is making (or has already made and stashed
away somewhere) some serious money
Karmic debt meets Dun and Bradstreet
"A man gazing at the stars is proverbially at the mercy of
the puddles in the road" -- Alexander Smith
For close to fifteen years I completely vanished from the
110
metaphysical world. Only now I'm back and my
approach and understanding of all things "psychic" is
much much different than it was before. Hopefully my
TV legacy is pretty well behind me. It is the spiritual self
that matters most. Love and compassion for others,
sharing your kindness with others--that is what's truly
important
As we move towards more and more difficult times, it is
important that we hold true to our spiritual nature.
Don't let anyone tell you that you cannot make a
difference. As a famous man once said "love is all you
need"
When I was 24, I took a class on Past Life Regressions
and that night I went home and regressed myself and
within a couple of months I was pretty much flying
along. The regression class showed me a way in which I
could slow myself down and could also more easily focus
on sorting out the images I saw in my head
111
I was lucky enough to meet Sanaya Roman at a cocktail
party in Mill Valley and studied a bit with her and she
showed me some techniques for opening up the "third
eye" that I have used (and taught) ever since. I, literally,
meditated for 4-5 hours a day 4-5 days a week for about
4 years and as you can imagine that "changed" me. In
the beginning too I was extremely psychokinetic--shit
moved, man, I was like a baby poltergeist on wheels--
but after a few months of things being INTENSE all that
slowed down to a trickle
I believe that all psychics need to learn techniques to
help them focus no matter how naturally gifted they
may be
The first thing I do when I try to "teach" psychic
development is work with imagery techniques to control
the body. Anything that you do, if you stay calm you will
112
do it better. Right? So when I was a basketball player if I
could stay calm I would play better and part of my
ability to stay calm was to KEEP A PICTURE IN MY
HEAD that I was a good player and try not to stress
about things
OK, so far so good. With visualization techniques, in
essence what you are trying to do is "trick" the body in
to conforming to what you want so that the body will get
out of your way and you can then see more easily. Think
113
of clairvoyance as if you are a passenger on a train. The
train is going really fast and there is stuff flying by out
the window. Maybe the window is dirty and grimy and
hard to see through
The first thing you need to do is slow down your train –
remember our image of the train? The second thing you
need to do is clear your window, get a little mental
windex and THEN you have a better shot because
images fly by--what you want is to hold on to the image
longer so you can more easily make sense of it
One technique involves "pushing light" out of your third
eye, the pineal gland, the area just above your nose in
the middle of your forehead
First, deep cleansing breath, sitting (I find I like laying
down but do much better sitting up) straight imagine
sending energy out the bottoms of your feet into the
earth to ground and out the top of your head to connect
114
Next imagine a rod of light working through your body.
Feel it getting hotter. Keep picturing this rod and light
expanding and warming the body while maintaining
your connection to both the ground and the heavens
Now feel yourself protected. Picture a bubble around
yourself. Imagine a warm glowing light glowing in your
stomach. The light and color expands to fill your body
and the protective bubble around you
Be strong. FEEL yourself getting strong, powerful,
CONNECTED. KNOW that you ARE connected. Allow
that feeling to grow within your body. When you are
ready then PUSH light out your forehead, strain if you
have to
Push the light out through your forehead. This is one
way to open your third eye
115
Another technique to help develop psychic awareness is
by using past life regressions. Most regressions involve
some form of "image quest"--you are directed to climb a
mountain and then look in a mirror or you're directed to
go look for your guide or any of a number of different
scenarios
Another important "tip" in developing "psychic ability" is
to think of information as, literally, being on a grid, an
info super-highway, that you can tap in to. This
information grid, analogous to what Jung called the
collective unconscious and what some psychics
(including myself) believe is akin to David Bohm's
theories of the implicate order in physics, is a vehicle for
remote viewing and reading the akashic records
I have done this for over 30 years now and I believe that
the mind is a powerful force that can be molded to a
large extent to fit your will: "do what thou will", right? I
116
think regression work or any type of internal "vision
quest" is a positive and, with practice, it will transform
you just as lifting weights, eating healthy, or practicing
yoga will transform you. Practice, practice, practice for
the pearl of great price will not be easily found
117
The Empress of Brazil – Coniunctio
“The alchemical operation consisted essentially in
separating the prima materia, the so-called chaos, into
the active principle, the soul, and the passive
principle, the body, which were then reunited in
personified form in the coniunctio or 'chymical marriage'...
the ritual cohabitation of Sol and Luna.”
C.G. Jung, Mysterium Coniunctionis
The music man always wore an old brown felt
hat. He was a funny old man and he played his guitar
during the afternoons and evenings out by the river.
Some nights we would sit on the curb or up along the
banks of the river and listen to him sing. He was good,
real good, the music man, with that deep throaty bluesy
voice of his, and those old fingers, still quick and limber,
sliding up and down the neck of his baby blue guitar
118
and on a good evening, when the sky was clear and the
air warm and crisp with a hint of the sea blowing in off
the river, groups of twenty or thirty people might pull up
along the curb and listen for awhile. Some nights the
tourists would ask him if he‘d played somewhere before,
meaning, in their way, to be complimentary but the old
man would just turn gruff and say, ―just found this here
guitar washed up on the shore this very evenin‘; sounds
purty though, don‘t it?‖ and go on, oblivious to everyone
and everything except the feel of the crowd around him
and the sound of quarters and dimes dropping into his
old brown case.
The music man always carried a leather satchel
with him full of old photos from the twenties: here‘s one
of the music man, dapper and neat, in a tight black
tuxedo, smilin‘ from ear to ear; here‘s one of the music
man, standing with a group of black musicians in front
of a big sign—―Ezzie and the E Notes‖—smilin‘ and
looking fit, or another one of the music man sitting next
to a skinny little fellow with big ears and big sad eyes
119
holding a tuba; this one, worn from years of wear, is the
music man, in a big convertible, sitting next to a
chocolate skinned beauty in a white dress, her eyes like
a bottle of fine cold whiskey; or this one, the music man,
sitting at a table with a group of men, all of them white
but himself, all of them fat with black mustaches and
stubby round fingers wrapped around big cigars, eating
and drinking in an old bar with gigantic beer steins
littering the walls behind them; and, finally, the real
one, the music man‘s pride and joy: Josephine Baker,
naked, black and sleek, slithering like a snake, her tiny
breasts straining towards the sky, with a look of calm
certainty mixed with the slightest hint of some deep
secret or regret.
I knew all of this because I‘d seen them.
There were a group of us sitting out by the square
one day talking about the weather, wondering when the
sun would ―strut itself back‖ across the gray Louisiana
sky, when the old man walked over to our group and sat
120
down. ―Our dear God‘s in misery today, fellows. Just
look how the poor man‘s a-weepin‘.‖
―What do you think, music man? You think it‘s
going to clear up?‖
―I‘d say it‘s the will of God, now, fellows, but just
between us right here, I do believe it‘s going to rain just
a wee bit longer.‖
―You think so, do you?‖
―Yes sir, fellows, I do believe it‘s going to rain just
a wee bit longer.‖
The Amazing Timothy, a juggler and unicyclist
who did his act, when the break dancers weren‘t there
first, out in front of the cathedral, was constantly trying
to get into it with the music man about God and ―Jesus
the magician‖ because, according to the music man,
Jesus was nothing more than the spirit of God in
human form while to The Amazing Timothy, Jesus was
just a very great wizard, a magician, a showman, like
himself and there was a book over at Brentano‘s that
121
said just the same thing; ―don‘t you believe me, you old
fool, we can go right now and look right at it,‖ but the
music man was infinitely patient, at least about Jesus,
even if he had no time for the poor white tourists who
asked him where he learned ―to play guitar like that‖, so
he just smiled and went on his way but one day he took
me aside and asked me ―ain‘t you that reader who does
them cards?‖ and we talked for awhile then he said to
me ―you‘re a smart one, you are. Real smart. Tell me a
little bit more and I‘ll show you something special.‖
―What do you think about the old guy?‖
―He‘s nice enough. Why?‖
―He show you them damn pictures?‖
The music man wasn‘t the only crazy wandering
around New Orleans with his hat on the ground jangling
full of quarters dropped by nervous conventioneers from
Kansas City or old fat housewives from Indianapolis.
122
There was, of course, The Amazing Timothy, not
particularly all that amazing as a juggler but still pretty
amazing as an example of just how weird one person
could really be and then there was Old Jim, at least
ninety years old, who did those lewd dances out on
Bourbon Street and whose act consisted of either
sticking out his snake-like tongue and tipping his
beakish nose with it or rotating his old hips, kind of like
an old concrete mixer, a jammed-up beat-up very old old
concrete mixer, to the beat of the music coming out of
the giant boombox he always carried. Old Jim was
weird, no doubt about it, weirder even than The
Amazing Timothy, but my choice for the weirdest most
eccentric character in New Orleans was Miss Jessie Mae
Bonner—the stripper.
―Somebody‘s got to do something about that old
woman; she is nuts.‖
―Yeah, she‘s a little weird.‖
123
―A little weird! Man, she is the pee ass duh re zis
tonsse of weird.‖
Miss Jessie Mae—that was her stage name; really
she‘d been married five times, once to the Mayor of New
Orleans‘ son, once to a famous race driver, and once to
a black Marine Corps drill sergeant she met and married
on a 48 hour furlough from Camp Lejeune—had been a
―superstar‖ on the burlesque circuit of the thirties and
early forties. Her granddaughter showed me some old
pictures and she really was beautiful, with long dark
hair and exotic-looking eyes (kind of like Ava Gardner).
She was tall and thin and ―chesty‖, and it wasn‘t too
hard to believe that, yes, this woman could have been
quite a star attraction at one time.
But of course that was then.
Nowadays she took her act—at least what was left
of it—to the street. She would stand on the corner,
124
bumping and grinding, rubbing her knotty fingers up
and down her arm, waving a ragged old white glove
above her frazzled head. Sometimes she would try to
sing; her poor old high-pitched voice crackling like an
old radio. I always fantasized about a twin bill starring
Jessie Mae and Old Jim; Old Jim gyrating one way, Miss
Jessie the other, with The Amazing Timothy in the
background riding his unicycle and juggling flaming
torches while some little girl in red tap shoes and a little
Miss America dress sang ―America the Beautiful‖.
Of course it never happened. Jessie Mae had her
corner, Old Jim had his, and The Amazing Timothy
always worked alone.
Always.
But then all of us who worked the square worked
alone: Old Jim, the music man, Tom and Gary and
Celina and Abdul and all the other portrait painters and
artists, certainly Miss Jessie (perhaps she more than
125
any of us); then there was that short little man with the
big nose who made little yellow dachshunds and bright
red airplanes out of twisted balloons or the little woman
with the funny hats who sold crystal jewelry; there was
the old Irish Tenor, Mister O‘Reilly, who sang ―Danny
Boy‖ so sweetly, and me.
I read tarot cards. This automatically qualified
me as being something especially deviant, even among
such select company. Every morning around 10:00
o‘clock I took my cards and an old fold-up card table out
to the square. I did $5.00 readings from then on until
around 2:00 or 3:00 o‘clock in the afternoon, sometimes
taking a short break to run over and grab a bite of food
at Lena‘s Tavern. Every once in a while I did a ―fair‖
over in Baton Rouge or up the river in Memphis but
mainly my ―practice‖ was limited to New Orleans.
Sometimes I even got clients who were interested in
more ―in-depth‖ readings ($25.00) and I did those in the
evenings out in the courtyard beneath my room.
126
I did this for about three years. Three very
interesting, very educational years—I talked to people
from all over the world, too, sometimes telling them
things so accurate that it scared me. One day I did a
reading for a young woman from Virginia, very
attractive, with a beautiful lilting voice and dark brown
oval eyes.
―The first card here is the King of Cups; is there a
man in your life, someone who‘s especially important to
you?‖
―No. There is no man in my life.‖
―OK, well, let‘s see now—it‘s crossed here by the
Seven of Cups: an illusion of some kind, perhaps. You
may have had some kind of romantic illusion of some
sort.‖
―I‘m sorry. Can you be a little more specific?‖
―Yeah, sure, I‘m sorry. OK, let‘s see what we‘ve
got here. The Three of Coins and then the, uh, the Six
127
of Cups. Hm. That‘s interesting. You‘re very creative,
aren‘t you?‖
―No, not really.‖
―Are you sure? Don‘t be modest.‖
―Well, maybe. I don‘t know.‖
―I think you probably are. That‘s interesting,
though. Look at this.‖ I pointed to the cards lying on
the table. ―I bet you must have some very creative way
of making money. That would tie the Three of Coins
with the Six of Cups. Does that make any sense to
you?‖
She smiled. ―Go on.‖
I turned over the next two cards: the Ten of
Swords and the Nine of Swords.
Not good.
―Are you having any kind of problems right now?
You know, like adjustment problems, maybe something
just recently that‘s been bothering you?‖
128
―Like?‖
―Well, I don‘t know exactly. A death in the family,
perhaps?‖
―Something like a divorce?‖
―Yeah, sure. A divorce would certainly make
sense. Has anything like that happened recently?‖
―No.‖
―No?‖
There are times when you know that your client
is not being, how do I say this?, particularly ―truthful‖.
When that happens the best thing is usually to plead
ignorance and let it go; give them the money back and
go on.
―I‘m sorry, but you know I‘m just not getting
much out of this. Some days I just can‘t seem to get—―
―No, please, you‘re doing fine. I would like you to
go on.‖
―I really think that—―
129
Very sternly: ―Please, I would like you to finish.‖
I laid out the next four cards: the Seven of
Swords, the Queen of Wands, the Two of Swords, and
Number Nine, The Hermit.
―You‘ve had some kind of split, I‘d say, most likely
in some kind of relationship. And I‘d say that you‘ve
split up with that person—if that‘s what it is—very
recently, too. Here, with the Queen of Wands here, that
probably represents your mother or maybe someone
who you see as being very much like your mother and
I‘d say that whoever it is is probably pretty upset by
what‘s going on—some kind of lost money perhaps?—
and that they are giving you, more than likely, kind of a
hard time about it. Does any of that make any sense to
you?‖
―A little.‖
―Well, OK, now let‘s look here for a minute.‖ I
pointed to the Two of Swords lying beneath The Hermit.
―Is there anything you really want to do, I mean really
130
want to do that so far you haven‘t given yourself the
chance to?‖
―Why do you ask?‖
―I‘m just curious. I think that perhaps knowing
that might help you resolve a few of your problems.‖
―Well, I‘ve always wanted to paint.‖
―That‘s good. The Hermit here is kind of a
solitary—―
It was then that I knew, and she knew that I
knew. ―I‘m sorry but all of a sudden I‘m really very
thirsty. Would you like to join me and go get something
to drink, a coke or maybe a beer, perhaps? We could
talk a little bit more privately then about some of the
ways you might consider trying to get a little more in
touch with what you might want to do about all this.‖
―No, thank you, I appreciate your offer, but I
can‘t.‖ She was starting to cry so she reached into her
fringed leather handbag and pulled out a pair of large
131
round sunglasses. ―You‘ll have to excuse me, but how
much do I owe you for your time?‖
―I charge five dollars.‖
―You‘re very good.‖
―Thank you. We could talk a bit longer, if you‘d
like?‖
―No, thank you, unfortunately, I don‘t have much
time. I‘m meeting someone. But I appreciate your
concern. Really, I do.‖
She reached into her hand bag and handed me
the money. ―I‘m sorry, but I just don‘t have change for
this.‖
―It‘s all I have, please, take it.‖
―No. Really, I can‘t. Perhaps if you‘re going to be
around here tomorrow you could bring the money by
then.‖
―That‘s very sweet of you. But please, take it; I
have plenty, really, and you‘ve deserved it. Honestly you
132
have. Here, please.‖ She handed me a crisp one
hundred dollar bill.
―Thank you. Very much. But I wish we could
talk a little bit longer. I think perhaps we could—―
―Excuse me, but I‘ve really got to go, right now.
But thank you, again, very much. You‘ve helped me a
great deal. Truly, you have.‖
One page three of the local section of the next
morning‘s Times-Picayune was an article about the
suicide in a local luxury hotel of one Jane Briggs, 29, of
Roanoke, Virginia, daughter of a former congressman
and recently divorced from a prominent young patent
attorney. The article said that Ms. Briggs‘ body would
be flown back that day to her family‘s estate in Virginia.
I folded up the paper, tucking it neatly under my
left arm, picked up my table and walked back home to
my apartment. I took the deck of cards and, one by one,
133
started cutting them in half and dropping them in the
trash.
―What‘s up, Mike? Ain‘t you workin‘ today?‖
―No, Gary, I‘m taking a few days off.‖
Miss Jessie Mae was already on her corner,
bumping and grinding away, waving her threadbare
yellowed glove above her crazy old head. I walked up to
where she was standing; a couple of nervous tourists
were standing around, whispering amongst themselves.
―What do you think everybody?‖ I asked. ―Isn‘t Miss
Jessie Mae Bonner still the most beautiful woman in
New Orleans?‖
There was a little nervous laughter. Nothing
more. I took Jessie Mae‘s arm. ―Come on Jessie, I want
to show you something.‖
―I can‘t let no one steal my corner now, Mikey.
You know that. I‘ve got another show to do.‖
134
―It‘s OK, Jessie Mae. Honest. I want to show you
something. It‘ll only take us a few minutes. Come on
now. I promise no one‘s going to steal your spot. OK?‖
Jessie and I walked together over to Portoret‘s. an
elegant women‘s hat shop on Canal Street. An older
woman with dyed red hair and a slow, slow southern
drawl came over to wait on us.
―May I help you?‖
―Yes, ma‘am, Miss Bonner and I would like to
look at some new gloves.‖
―Mikey!‖
―Shh. Yes, ma‘am, Miss Bonner and I are
interested in a pair of long white gloves, silk perhaps. I
turned to Jessie. ―Silk, Miss Bonner?‖
She nodded.
The woman brought out several pairs of gloves.
Jessie Mae slid her poor old arthritic fingers into each
one of them, holding them up looking at them.
―You look very lovely, Jessie Mae.‖
135
And she did.
―Yes, ma‘am, we‘d like this pair right here.
Wouldn‘t we, Jessie?‖
Jessie Mae nodded her little gray head,
sheepishly looking up at me, with the most quizzical
beautiful old blue eyes I think I had ever seen.
―Do you have a box for these?‖
―Why yes, we do.‖ She rang up the bill. ―That
will be seventy-eight dollars and ninety-two cents
please.‖
I handed her the hundred dollar bill.
Jessie Mae and I walked together back over to her
corner. It was empty; she could still put on her 1:00
o‘clock show, just like always.
―Mikey, honey. Thank you so much. But, sugar,
why did you buy me them beautiful new gloves?‖
―Well, Jessie Mae, one of us has got to work.‖
136
About the Author
Andrew Brewer, known internationally as ―The Rock n
Roll Psychic‖, is a nationally televised clairvoyant and
astrologer, host of Rock n Roll Psychic Radio, and
Publisher / Managing Editor of The Alchemical Heart
Andrew has hundreds of appearances to his credit on
radio and TV, perhaps most notably as the featured
psychic and co-host, along with Erik Estrada (Chips)
and Jenilee Harrison (Three‟s Company), of Kebrina‟s
Psychic Answer, which aired throughout the United
States and Canada from 1992-94.
Andrew was the resident morning psychic for many
years on Magic 99.7 FM—Columbus‘ leading Rock
station—and was also featured in a segment on PM
Magazine. A talented writer, Andrew has published
articles on a wide variety of metaphysical topics. He was
at one time a featured columnist in The Free Press and
has been quoted in front page articles in both The Los
137
Angeles Times and USA Today.
Labeled ―The Rock n Roll Psychic‖ due to his many
clients in the music industry, Andrew has advised major
players from Hollywood to Wall Street and his client list,
both past and present, includes Actors and Directors,
Recording Stars (from L.A. to Nashville, San Francisco to
Berlin) and business executives, internationally known
super-models, NFL Cheerleaders and professional
athletes in both the NFL and the NBA.
A dynamic speaker, Andrew has led workshops for both
corporate and non-corporate audiences all across the
country. Not content ―only‖ to be a psychic, Andrew
―retired‖ from metaphysics in 1994 to ―prove‖ he could
make it in the big bad world of business and over a ten
year six figure plus career, Andrew managed projects for
several Fortune 500 companies and was twice selected
for inclusion in Who‟s Who in Business.
138
Author’s Statement
Back in the late 80's and early 90's I worked as a
psychic and astrologer and had a pretty successful
career. I had a long running gig as the "Resident
Morning Psychic" on a local rock station and a weekly
column on metaphysics in The Free Press.
It was fun--for a long time. I jetted around from LA to
New Orleans to Washington DC and all points in
between and appeared on local and national TV many
times, including a nationally televised infomercial with
Erik Estrada, Jenilee Harrison and half the cast of
General Hospital that aired throughout the U.S. and
Canada twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, for
about a year and a half.
When my daughter was just a toddler I decided to stop
doing readings professionally and "retired" for awhile in
139
order to provide, hopefully, a more "normal" Middle
Class environment for my beautiful baby girl.
I set out to prove that a psychic could make it in the big
bad business world (something that to most people
probably would have seemed impossible); but my ability
to analyze (and talk!) allowed me to do just that.
As a Management Consultant, I specialized in Change
and Problem Management, Training Development and
Delivery, Business Analysis and Strategic Planning and I
have been elected twice (in 2000 and again in 2005) for
inclusion in Who's Who in American Executives. Weird, I
know, but absolutely true.
I have spent many many years reading and studying
and "trying to figure it out". I am still trying. When I was
young I wandered around the country chanting with
Buddhists and hanging with witches and mystics and
140
crazy people and along the way I somehow found time to
drop out of several very nice colleges--I was at one time
the academic wunderkind, then, later, the creative
writing wunderkind. I never did graduate but now have
the fancy liberal education of a Ph.D.
My real education is shamanic, metaphysical--out of
this world.
Not real resume material. And as a former New Age
poster boy,
once labeled ―The Psychic Adonis‖,
I had what is commonly referred to as ―attitude.‖
In order for me to develop my gifts as a psychic I needed
to follow my own--very winding--path. I had to do it "my
way"--no matter what it cost me. For now I am content
to steal from several religious traditions to make sort of
141
a syncretic spiritual stew--the Sufis, Russian Orthodoxy,
the Power Puff Girls, the Jewish Kabbalah, with New
Agey stuff everywhere you look and a heavy dose of
Paganism for those cold winter nights.
I believe very strongly that GOD exists
I believe the essence of GOD is within every creature
I believe in the power of LOVE as a positive, creative,
healing force
Spirit and the "Supernatural" are active, pervasive forces
throughout the Universe
All Races, Genders, and Nationalities are equal in the
eyes of GOD (and in my eyes, as well)
142
***************************************************************
For more information, please check out:
www.rocknrollpsychic.com
www.myspace.com/rocknrollpsychic
www.facebook.com/andrew.brewer
143
“A complete reflection into what gives purpose in life with
those mirrored belief systems we all have making perfect
reference into what is much more than here in this life.
Andrew captured the no nonsense approach keeping it
real stating it like he sees it and seeing is believing! Love
how Andrew uses all aspects of real spirituality and
combines that with your being, giving you the opportunity
to walk along side him during his writings which is a
great master‟s way of saying we all share in the
belonging.
Many prophets have come to teach over many centuries
and share in the word of spirit, Andrew continues this
purpose through „The Metaphoric Mirror‟; are you peering
into the mirror, maybe you should!”
Robbie Thomas, Criminal Psychic Profiler, Star of ―Dead Whisper‖, ―Sallie House”, and “Paradox”
144
"Andrew Brewer -- he is real, down to earth and
wonderful! his love for people and souls goes beyond
anything i have ever known i love him!!!!!!!!!!!!! he is true
to what he does!!! and truly a very gifted soul!!!”
Teresa Farris, Nashville, TN, Recording Artist
“Andrew Brewer has lived and lives what he writes. “The
Metaphoric Mirror” is like a powerful circular current of
water that cleanses the soul and links the human heart
with a Universal Force. Andy is a gift to give oneself.”
Sydney Darnell, Rancho Cucamonga, CA, Author
“Andrew Brewer in my opinion is top notch in his field. He
brings straight forwardness as well as compassion to his
clients during his readings. His honesty, and integrity
along with his caring and sincere ways make going to
him for readings a much needed experience. I have
consulted with Andrew on different situations and every
time he has held his code of ethics to a high standard
145
and even though I might not have wanted to hear his
answers, I knew what he had to say was the truth as
everything he said was far more accurate than anything I
expected anyone I know. I would highly recommend
Andrew Brewer to anyone who is looking for answers to
life's many experiences.”
Stacy Lupinacci, SF Bay Area, CA, Host of “The Positive
Side”
"Andrew does amazing, heartfelt readings. He combines
his intellect and psychic abilities to offer powerful insight
for his clients. Everything he told me in his reading in
June, and I mean everything, has happened, or is
happening . . . in some very interesting, exciting ways :)"
Alicia Kent, Registered Jin Shin Do Acupressurist --
http://www.akashabloom.com/
146
“You are a man with such a great depth & complexity
that without the warmth you naturally exude to all you
meet, one might be caught feeling a little intimidated.
You are spiritual, earthy, vibrant, creative, intelligent,
multifaceted, expressive, gentle, strong, bold, sweet, &
loving...and this brief list just scratches the surface. I am
honored to be among your circle of friends.
You are never distant and you are always generous with
your time. Music is a passion that you and I both share.
Perhaps the shared spiritual/musical passions are the
glue that will see that our connection will be long lasting
& will deepen over time. I will hope so. You are a
wonderful man & I am certain that all who meet you see
that truth.”
Veronica Ashe, Lead Singer, Smoldering Ashes
147
"Andy„s calling is helping others to strengthen their
intuitive muscles. I say that because there are some
people who teach and then there are others whose energy
serves as a bridge to possibilities and opportunity. And I
would say that Andy is among the uniquely gifted who
openly allows himself to be a conduit for the healing
energy needed by others. I have no doubt that his new
book will have wildly, diverse, healing effects on
everyone who reads it. "
Wendy Franklin Muhammad, The Authenticity Coach ™
“Andrew Brewer is one of the most unique and spiritual
people that I have ever met. His quiet spoken and gently
prompting way, of getting a person to discover their own
path, and find the right answers, makes him truly a
talent to behold. There are not enough words to describe
the triumphs and the tragedies in his life; instead the
action taken to get there is the true essence of his
journey.
148
He is a walking, living instruction manual for the common
man. Anyone walking in his shoes would discover a life
of rich enlightenment and truthful observations. They
would wonder at the people he has met, the places he
has seen and the abilities that he developed.
Come with me in discovering „Andrew‟ and in doing so
you will discover a side of you that is waiting to unleash
your full potential”
Peter Dibbs aka Psychic chef, Perth, Australia
“From the first moment that I spoke to Andrew Brewer, I
knew his psychic talents were real and that he had a
very important message to deliver to the public. Now,
after years of friendship, I can say that Andy's message
is much greater than a public message... it is a personal
appeal, an individual call to action communicated to the
largest audience of all - those who seek enlightenment."
Beverly Van Pelt, Seaside, CA, ―The Gothic Gourmet‖
149
“Your trials, tribulations and passions. From your life, to
Spirituality, to personal experiences, to politics and back
to the focus of YOU! You and I, both know, there is no
escape from our Purpose. We make take detours, but
we're always lead back to our Purpose. This is
beautifully written”
Dominique Alexandar, Columbus, OH, Intuitive
Counselor
“You are an awesome Consciousness, my friend.”
Colleen Duffy, “Devil Doll”, Los Angeles, CA, Recording
Artist
"Andrew Brewer has in "the Metaphoric Mirror" found a
way to eloquently and powerfully express his own
colorful journey, thoughts and perspectives. In doing so,
the reader cannot help but become involved, and absorb
150
helpful tools and insights for his/her own spiritual
journey.
Andy writes in a language that is honest, straight
forward, engaging, and easy to digest. This book
emanates a spirit of love all the way through. Every time I
return to a segment of the book, I find a different angle or
a deeper meaning then before.
It is a true joy to read, and will be a helpful source of
inspiration for anyone, regardless of what station they
are on their own personal journey.”
Anna Lieb ~ Healer, author and motivational coach
“Thank you for sending me this profoundly heartfelt and
intelligent book. The forthrightness with which you've
written about the loss of your daughter, and the language
you've used, is a beacon to reawaken us to the
unimaginable preciousness of life. As the father of
151
two boys, I've been tremendously moved by what you've
written here and on your website.
Being a parent opens a person's heart in a way that
nothing else can -- yet how often the slightest disruption
of the day's events can close one's heart. You've given us
a sacred reminder that the preciousness of life should
never once be allowed to be forgotten while we're mired in
in the moods of daily existence. I can't escape those
moods; but your story reminds me of the wish to live in a
better way.”
Mitch Horowitz, New York, NY, Editor-in-Chief,
Tarcher/Penguin, Author of “Occult America: The Secret
History of How Mysticism Shaped Our Nation”
“Thanx 4 being real!”
Pride, Las Vegas, NV, Model/TV Hostess/Recording
Artist, Founder of “The Deadly 7” and “Pride and the
Vanities”.
152