Believe

The Beginning

Pay attention to the signs, Grandma Minnie used to say to me. God is always giving us signs to guide us along our path. The problem is, most people don’t pay attention. Believe in the power of God.

Religion, as defined by Dictionary.com, is:

A set of beliefs concerning the cause, nature and purpose of the universe, especially when considered as the creation of a super human agency or agencies, usually involving devotional and ritual observances, and often containing a moral code governing the conduct of human affairs.

Spirituality is defined as, "of or relating to the spirit or soul, as distinguished from the physical nature: a spiritual approach to life."

I’ve never been religious; however, I’ve always been spiritual, even before I knew what spirituality was.

I was pleasantly surprised after reading a book by the Dalai Lama, because it was the first time a religious leader said, If you like Buddhism, take what you like out of it and incorporate it into your belief systems, but do not convert.

What?

Every other religion emphasized conversion, but not Buddhism. So, that’s what I did. I took what I liked and left the rest behind.

That little book changed my life.

This book is about my experiences growing up as an empath with several ‘clairs’ (a technical term used to define extra-sensory abilities, such as psychic or mediumship abilities), my spiritual development, as well as my resistance and eventual acceptance of my path.

Becoming a full-time professional ‘reader’ was far from straightforward for me. I fought it almost every step of the way.

After all, I had a university education and post-grad diplomas. I wasn’t about to become a ‘fortune teller’ anytime soon.

I’d also changed careers after spending fifteen years in the corporate world. So, changing careers once again ten years later wasn’t on my radar.

The typical doubts and questions that often accompany such radical decisions were very much part of my thought patterns.

A professional career as a psychic medium simply wasn’t something I’d ever considered, but Jack, my tough-love spiritual mentor, kept repeating the same message, Whether you do it now or at 90, this is your path. Why are you resisting so much?

The truth is, I had no idea at the time. Now I know it was nothing other than fear of failure, disappointing others, not being good enough, and self-judgement.

Once I had a clear understanding of where those fears stemmed from, I began to open up more to the idea of accepting myself unconditionally, until I finally surrendered.

I tested Source by saying, If I’m meant to do this for a living from now on, then bring the right opportunities to me.

The next day, I reached out to a woman who was one of the readers at a psychic fair to ask her what her experience had been on the road. She turned out to be one of the show organizers.

The rest is history.

Another thing I’ve learned is that we don’t always choose our path. The path chooses us, and no matter how much we fight it, we’ll eventually end up on it, if that is what we’re meant to be doing.

The sooner we surrender to our path, the faster the internal conflict ends.

I lost friends and family along the way, but I see that as no different than an exfoliation; shedding that which, or those whom, we’re no longer in resonance with.

Although I’ve never been religious, I’ve always been aware of my close relationship with God.

I had a hard time fitting in as a kid. At the age of three, I told my Grandmother Minnie that God and I had a special relationship, and I didn’t have to go to church to be close to God because God was inside of me. I hadn’t been told that by anyone, I just knew it.

However, I have to admit that much like with other interpersonal relationships, there was a time in my life when I told God our relationship was over.

I can imagine the ‘laughing out loud’ emoji wave that my statement created in the Field.

My brother Andrew, who was two years older than me and whom I considered my protector and friend, experienced what was referred to as a nervous breakdown in early 1982.

At the young age of 14, my perspective was that if the all-mighty and powerful God couldn’t heal my brother Andrew’s mind, then there would be no further conversations between God and me.

I had offered my life in exchange for my brother’s healing from the turmoil he was experiencing with schizophrenia, but I was still alive months later; and my brother was still sick.

So, I stopped talking to God. I stopped believing, trusting and paying attention to signs.

If ‘He’ wouldn’t make my brother better in exchange for my life, then what good was ‘He’?

I thought it was a worthy exchange, but at that time in my life, I failed to understand the grander view, soul contracts, soul choices, individual paths, and letting go of the need to try to control others’ paths.

Each of us is a soul who chose to incarnate into a human ‘sleeve’, and each of us has a path to live in the human experience we selected, much like playing a virtual reality game in a holographic reality.

This concept took me years to become aware of, understand and accept.

Jack, one of my spiritual counsellors, whom I mention often throughout this book, said, Do you want to know why you chose this life?

Please enlighten me because I must’ve been stoned and drunk when I chose my mission.

Because no one else would take it, and since you’ve always been kick-ass brave and loved challenges, you said, ‘I’ll do it!’

The following stories depict the miracles which have proven to me time and time again, not only that God exists, but that the God within each of us is indeed, mighty.

More importantly, because God is inside each of us, we are Source energy. We are sacred, and there’s always a higher plan for us.

I’ve let go of many beliefs taught to me in the Catholic religion, including God having a ‘gender’, which just happened to be male, that God is a punishing entity that must be feared, and that forgiveness is necessary in order to be allowed past the Pearly Gates.

I honor the Catholic values that I grew up with, but listen to and trust the messages that Source gives me every day.

Some of you will have experienced similar stories. Some of you won’t believe a word I say. Either way is OK.

My intention is not to convince anyone of anything.

I’m simply sharing my personal stories from the perspective of a soul living a human experience.

Your experience is unique too.

If reading this book helps you believe, understand, or connect with your Divine essence, then it was worth writing.

If not, then perhaps you’ll find it entertaining.

Also, I’ve changed the names of the people involved and other specific details in order to protect their privacy.

Lastly, I end each chapter with a moment for reflection, to encourage you to look into your own life and experiences in hopes that you acknowledge some of the miracles in your life.

A Unique Duck

I’ve always been different, even at birth.

My father, Lalo, often complained that I was born in a public hospital in Mexico City in the midst of what he referred to as, one of the worst rain storms in history.

He was a bit of a drama king when it came to that story.

I’m not sure how much worse it could’ve been, considering that the rainy season in Mexico City is about as bad as I’ve ever seen.

It rains every day as if waterfalls were placed above the city. Wearing rain boots and carrying a sturdy umbrella are a requirement because floods throughout the city are just part of everyday life.

In July 1968, my mother was panting her way to a hospital in the back of a yellow VW Beetle.

I was inside her trying to make my entrance into the world, but the roads were flooded and traffic was stopped.

The scene was biblical, as rain came down from the heavens with blackened skies and rattling thunder that scared even the strongest souls.

Umbrellas didn’t stand a chance against the wrath of winds that moved everything in their way.

The taxi driver was unable to get my mother to the hospital, but was kind enough to drop her off at the nearest clinic.

You were born in candlelight! my father recalled with disgust, as if candlelight was degrading.

I don’t think it was a coincidence, I love dim lighting.

My father had a hard time letting go of the past and talked about my mother till the day he died.

I felt terrible for my stepmother, Bruna, whenever he brought up my mother in front of her.

Dad, it’s been forty years since your divorce. Please stop talking about my mother as if it were yesterday. Get over it.

I didn’t enjoy having to remind him. It was uncomfortable, even for me.

There were streaks of dirt on the walls and the hallways wreaked of anesthetic!

Well, you know me. I had to come into this world in a unique way.

My maternal grandmother, Angela, commented during her second visit to Canada in twenty years, Even at the age of three, you spoke like a hundred-year-old woman. You always had your head on straight. I don’t understand why your mother strayed so far.

I knew I wasn’t like other children. As a child, I was dreadfully bashful. I couldn’t even change in front of other girls, so I went into bathroom stalls or waited till everyone had left the changeroom before putting on my bathing suit or gym clothes.

The private Catholic school I attended in Mexico City didn’t help matters, with their strict ways and sometimes ruthless disciplinary methods, which reinforced the fears that I lived with every day at my maternal grandparents’ home.

To add to this, I didn’t understand any ‘dirty’ jokes my friends made at school until I was in high school.

Sad, but true.

Sure, I laughed at the jokes, but had no idea what I was laughing at. I just didn’t want to be judged as ‘stupid’ for not knowing what they meant.

I’ve always been a walking lie detector, but it was hard for me to call bullshit! whenever someone lied to me. Though as an adult, I often fantasized about saying it, followed by an apology for my inability to hold back due to a speech disorder.

Instead, I tried to convince myself that I was being ‘paranoid’, only to prove to myself later on that I’d been right all along.

Children my own age weren’t interesting to me, but adults and adult conversations were.

I preferred spending time alone with my dolls. I suppose it was because I could control all aspects of the game. It was safer than interacting with others.

Solitude has always been my friend. I feel cozy and warm when I’m in my own company.

‘Seeing’ events before they happened, whether in my dreams or as holographic movies in front of me, really scared me and I had no idea how to stop the visions.

Anxiety was also a friend, although an unwanted one. I was a worrywart and felt a tremendous sense of responsibility, especially when I saw the adults around me behave in ways they shouldn’t.

My stomach felt like it was being squeezed, and the contents would propel in every direction anytime I ‘felt’ things being off.

Now I understand why I suffered as a child from chronic bronchitis, intestinal and ear infections. Worry made me hold my breath, lowered my immune system, affected my heart chakra and the areas where most of my stress collected – my stomach and lungs.

I got ear infections because I didn’t want to hear the words I heard around me – my maternal grandparents’ abusive remarks, my father’s insults towards my mother, and my uncles’ abusive remarks towards Grandma Minnie, my paternal grandmother.

I worried about everyone and everything, feeling responsible for their wellbeing and safety.

My need to ‘rescue’ others was satisfied by bringing home stray dogs and other animals, which drove my mother crazy because on two occasions, the dogs had scabies and I had to be quarantined.

I learned my lesson after the second incident, but suffered in silence at my inability to offer them shelter from the uncertainty of the streets.

Unconsciously, I connected with their feelings of abandonment and wanted to make it better.

Grandma Minnie was my best friend, protector and perfect companion.

She encouraged me to play games which allowed my creativity and entrepreneurial skills to shine.

We would go into her office, just off the main entrance to her house, and take on our avatars, Which would you like to be today, store owner or teacher?

She left it up to me to be the leader or supporting player in the game.

Most times I chose to be the protagonist. Unless I needed to learn something and then I chose to be the client or student.

She encouraged me to apply my math skills by keeping tabs on my sales and outstanding balances in customer accounts, which improved my sales and communication skills.

Not bad for a woman who never went to school and taught herself to read and write. She was one of the most educated people I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing.

Grandma Minnie was born in one of the world’s few and unique matriarchal societies in the world: Juchitán, Oaxaca, Mexico.

Her mother was indigenous, but not her father. She never met him, but her looks were a testament to that.

Grandma Minnie was a blend of beauty from her mother’s roots and her father’s European background. She spoke fluent Spanish and Zapotec.

In Juchitán, women ran both business and government, while men looked after the home and children. This formula worked. I use past tense because I’m not sure how much of it has been eroded over the years.

The commonalities among matriarchal societies worldwide are many, but most importantly, rape or abuse of women are non-existent, wars are unheard of, and disputes are easily resolved in the best interest of everyone involved.

If only we promoted the advancement of women and feminine goddess energy in leadership, what a different world we’d live in.

My love of solitude, and mistrust of others led me to have one or two friends at most – one at school and one at home. I didn’t need any more. Plus the thought of maintaining more friendships gave me anxiety. Even today, my circle of friends is small, but tight.

I was protective of myself and my personal space and had a hard time letting strangers in.

I was also afraid of being seen, and it wasn’t till I was in my forties that I realized why I had tried so hard to be invisible my entire life.

Invisibility had affected the corporate opportunities I went after, relationships, friendships, life choices and business decisions.

I always assumed it had to do with being shy, but realized it had more to do with self-preservation.

My unconscious mind had been programmed by childhood trauma.

I tell clients that people behave in the ways that they didn’t deal with their childhood trauma.

To be seen as a child meant to be beaten by my maternal grandfather. So, I hid from everyone in relationships and jobs, and avoided being put in the spotlight at all costs.

My only ‘sanctuary’ was Grandma Minnie.

Shortly after I turned a year old, my mom dropped my sister, brother and I off at Grandma Minnie’s home.

She said she had to finish her law degree. She was only 22 with three kids under the age of four; two of whom were hearing impaired.

She came back for us when I turned four and took us to live with her parents, while she saved up enough money to buy a place of her own.

I’m not sure why my mother came back for us. The rumor going around in the toxic family grapevine was that she felt guilty after being hit head on by a drunk driver and left for dead on the side of the highway after a night out with friends. But, I know she loved us in her own way.

Always slow down at intersections, especially at night, even if you have a green light, she warned me when I started driving at seventeen.

Lucky for me, I followed her advice and it saved my life on a few occasions.

My mother’s parents’ home was right out of a horror movie.

On one side, there was my grandfather Victor, an angry neurotic man who despised my father and projected his unresolved anger towards us.

Your father is an abuser! He’d yell as he chased us around the house to beat us any time my siblings did something that displeased him, which was daily.

I don’t think he ever considered himself an abuser.

Ironic, I know.

I think our mere existence annoyed him, especially my brother’s.

Andrew was the mirror image of my father, even though my father often claimed that we were not his.

Another irony.

I laughed each time he insinuated that. I think it was his own way of justifying the fact that he had been a terrible father to us.

My sister, Monica was a year older; my brother, Andrew, two years my senior.

They were hearing impaired, but my brother was also autistic, although autism wasn’t diagnosed until much later in life. His schizophrenia was diagnosed after he suffered a nervous breakdown at the age of sixteen.

Although I was the youngest of what I refer to as the first ‘brood’ in my father’s offspring, I was treated as the ‘oldest’ for several reasons.

I was given the responsibility of looking after my siblings, and I took it full on. I was their protector, translator, warning bell, guide, and surrogate parent.

There was an Arctic-like atmosphere at my maternal grandparents’ house. The floors were made of cold white marble, which they covered up with hunter green carpet so we wouldn’t ruin their precious and expensive floors.

The furniture was covered in plastic from top to bottom to keep us from ruining it.

Crocheted tablecloths with a glass tabletop adorned the tables in the living room, dining room and kitchen.

Some people baby-proof their homes. They people-proofed theirs.

The temperature in the house was always cool, as if to keep everyone from getting too comfortable and always on our toes.

The only noises that could be heard were those of my grandfather’s belt striking our skin or my brother’s head, his insults, or when we were lucky, the sound of the TV.

No music was ever heard in that house.

The blackout curtains kept the sunshine out. The patio was desolate.

The food we were fed was often past due or rotting, and it wasn’t until I could prove that it was indeed decayed, that they would stop trying to force us to eat it.

The concept of, If it’s yellow, let it mellow. If it’s brown, flush it down, applied when it came to water conservation in the washrooms.

We also had to be conscious of collecting gray water in the shower and use it to flush the toilets.

Lights had to be turned off, unless absolutely necessary.

Today, I’m grateful for the environmental conservation education because it made me environmentally conscious, but I didn’t particularly enjoy the way in which the lesson was delivered.

My siblings and I couldn’t wait for the weekend to arrive, so we could escape their martial laws and take refuge in Grandma Minnie’s sanctuary.

I played with my dolls in my room, purposely staying out of sight, laying low or hiding in a closet, so I wouldn’t be included in the one-forall, all-for-one beatings that were Grandfather Victor’s favorite pastime.

He and his wife, Angela, were retired school teachers.

I felt sorry for anyone