Andrew Brewer, “The Rock n Roll Psychic”

www.rocknrollpsychic.com

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The Metaphoric Mirror

Andrew Brewer

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"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

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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

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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

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“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

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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

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“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

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Dedicated to my girls, Riana and Lehna

Copyright © 2009 by Rudolph Terry Andrew Brewer

All Rights Reserved

ISBN 144998519X

EAN-13 -- 9781449985196

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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).

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“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.

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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

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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

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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

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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.

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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

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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

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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.

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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

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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

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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

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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.

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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.

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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".

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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.

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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

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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

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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

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―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.

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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,

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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.

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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.‖

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―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,

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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

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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.

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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

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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?‖

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―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—―

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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

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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

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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

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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,

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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.‖

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―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.‖

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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.‖

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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

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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.

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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

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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

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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)

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***************************************************************

For more information, please check out:

www.rocknrollpsychic.com

www.myspace.com/rocknrollpsychic

www.facebook.com/andrew.brewer

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“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”

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"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

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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/

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“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.

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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‖

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“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

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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

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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”.

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