Sometimes, I can’t believe the words that come out of my mouth. And, actually, they’re not even my words! It happens on occasion when I connect with a spirit that has come for one of my clients – I can deal with a few naughty phrases that might slip out in the privacy of a one-on-one reading. “Did your father curse a lot?” I’ll then ask, and get a nodding head in reply. But when off-colour remarks pop out at a public message service, or when I’m serving at a Spiritualist church – yikes! A few blue words, and I’m red in the face. It just goes to show: When we transition to spirit, it’s not all harps and angels.

I’ll never forget the message event in Bolton when I saw in my mind a tall, good-looking man with wavy brown hair and a thick mustache. He wore a sleek black leather coat, and the first three buttons on his Hawaiian print shirt were open, revealing a well-toned chest. I described what I was getting to the audience, but no one raised a hand to claim him.

Come on, I mentally spoke to the spirit. Give me some more information about yourself so someone can identify you.

Suddenly, I heard loud, thumping music. The fellow gave me a lascivious smile, then started shimmying and taking off his clothes. My jaw dropped. As he wriggled out of his shirt, he winked and showed me perfect six-pack abs. The guy could’ve stepped off the cover of a Harlequin romance paperback.

When he undid his belt and loosened his pants, I turned away. But you can’t turn your back on spirit! He laughed at my embarrassment, and I thought I heard him whisper, “Gene.” I passed that bit of evidence on to the group.

A young woman in the second row gasped. “Might that be Jean?” she asked, giving his name a French inflection.

“Possibly,” I said, then cleared my throat. “Was he, uh… a stripper?”

The woman laughed. Jean stopped dancing when he got down to his G-string – thank goodness! – and I helped the young woman connect with a former boyfriend who had died six months previously in a car crash. Jean blew his girlfriend a kiss, and before he returned to spirit, he gave me another wink.

I blew out a breath, then paused to take a hearty drink of water. I had to do something to lower my temperature. Whew!

And then there are times when I let spirit speak through me, and the presence chooses words I wouldn’t even use after stubbing my toe. It happened last summer when I was serving before over 200 people at a service in Lily Dale. Lily Dale is a gated Spiritualist community about 30 minutes west of Buffalo, New York, and every summer mediums from all over the world visit and give bring proof of spirit at several daily outdoor message services (unless it’s raining). The community is over 130 years old, and mediums are expected to behave properly because they’re representing not just Lily Dale, but Spiritualists everywhere.

So imagine my surprise when I connected with a middle-aged fellow in the audience who sat on a bench with his arms crossed over his chest, and a look on his face like he’d rather be cleaning a cat box than listening to messages from spirit. But I’ll give him some credit – he had begrudgingly come to accompany his wife, who was sitting beside him and enjoying every minute of the afternoon.

I felt the presence of an older woman, and in my inner ear I heard the word “mother.” I described her as a bit rotund, with brightly painted nails and blonde hair out of a bottle. She passed into spirit from lung cancer in her late 70s, and chain-smoked unfiltered Camel cigarettes until the day she died.

“She calls them ‘nails,” I said. Not being a smoker, I wasn’t sure what that meant.

Suddenly, that grumpy fellow’s face lit up, as if a flashlight were trained on it; spirit was directing me to whom the message belonged. “I think this woman came for you,” I said, pointing at him. “Are you alright with it?”

He shrugged. His wife giggled and elbowed him in the stomach.

“I feel this is your mother,” I told him. “She says you’re expecting to be the last person in the world to hear from someone. In fact, you don’t even want to be here. Well, guess what? You’re here, and so am I!”

I noticed my stance: right hand on my hip, left hand pointing at him. “Is this how your mother would stand?”

He nodded.

“Damn right!” I said, then caught myself and turned away, embarrassed. Oh my God, I thought, you’re not supposed to swear in front of crowds at Lily Dale!

I can’t remember what else I said to the fellow, but after the service I apologized profusely to the chairwoman of the service. Please don’t write me up! I thought. But she chuckled and said she understood. “Sometimes,” she said, “even spirit makes me blush.”

If you have any questions or comments on this subject or on any other spiritual matter, feel free to write me at mail @ . And please visit me again!


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