After the Britney Spears concert, I thought that I could die happy, even if I never had a moment of peace or satisfaction again in my life. Little did I know that something magnificent was in store for me…something from the heavens.
This story needs some setting up to understand its full impact, I think, so, as Julie Andrews sang, I’ll start from the very beginning.
From a very young age, I’ve always been fascinated by ancient Egypt. There’s something about it that calls to my soul, as if I have been there before, though I’ve never been. I don’t know what it is about Egypt, but I feel as if I know it like the back of my hand. This sense of knowing used to be much stronger than it is now. I used to be able to list the dynasties from the Old Kingdom all the way to Roman times. Nowadays, it’s still a constant interest but much less intense than it was all throughout my life.
Anyway, one day after a piano lesson, I was at the Grimes Public Library, looking for an audiobook to listen to for when I had to mow that weekend. I came across a CD by Sylvia Browne about mysteries of the world with particular focus on the Pyramids at Giza. I knew nothing about Sylvia, only her name, so I didn’t know what I was getting myself into then.
I listened to the CDs with increasing fascination. The things she said, her theories and stories just made sense, they made some kind of connection with my subconscious, and I knew that the majority of what I was hearing was true. It could probably never be proven, but I know it makes sense and that’s good enough for me.
One day at school, I brought up Sylvia to one of my friends in World History class. I didn’t know that she was a Sylvia fanatic like I was becoming. She clued me in that Sylvia was on each Wednesday on Montel. I thought I was in seventh heaven! I could see Sylvia every week! Is there anything better in the world!? I didn’t think so, and still don’t.
For months, I devoured her books on the Other Side, on ghosts, some about dream interpretation, others on the psychic abilities of children, each of them made me open my eyes to what is potentially possible in the universe. Why couldn’t it all be true?
It was at this time that I became much more interested in the paranormal. My sister, father, and I had always been convinced that there was a ghost in our home, but nothing really ever happened. Sometimes a small item would disappear, then reappear exactly as we left it. But once I become more aware of the logistics of ghosts, the activity seemed to increase.
Now, you could hear footsteps upstairs, once in a while you could hear the faint crackling noise of a gramophone playing some kind of instrumental music. Then, I saw one. I saw a ghost in my house! I was playing the piano when I looked over to the living room. Walking across the floor was a man in a long coat and hat going towards where the front door used to be. I was creeped out, but instantly fascinated with what I saw. Skeptics will say it was a trick of the light or a draft of some kind, but I know what I saw. In the years that would follow I saw several other ghosts: a disembodied pair of woman’s legs going through the parlor, a blonde lady would pop up once in a while, a shadow in the kitchen. I have carefully studied each of these presences and have concluded that there is only one ghost in my house, the rest of the presences are residual hauntings. They are nothing more than holographic recurrences of a memory. All places have memories. The actual ghost lives upstairs in a little hallway between my bedroom and my sister’s. You can hear him walking and when you are in his hallway, his eyes are always on you. He almost never makes himself visible, but he’s always there, especially in the fall and winter — I don’t know why that is. Somedays, just going down the stairs can be a trying experience, you just want to run away from those prying eyes. Jessica has seen him once, looking at her through her doorway. He is a very disgruntled feeling spirit, never mean, but I’m getting off topic.
Sylvia managed to open my eyes to all the possibilities around me, for which I’ll be forever grateful.
Then, one horrible day, Montel was cancelled. Sylvia was gone. I felt as if I had lost a piece of myself.
I was lucky enough to go to St. Louis to see a lecture she gave at the Marriot Renaissance, which was unforgettable. I wasn’t selected to ask a question, which disappointed me, but the whole event was amazing. I even got to meet her briefly when she signed my book. She probably thought I was crazy — I lingered behind the rope for a half hour, taking pictures with my cell phone, filling its memory.
After that, I didn’t hear much about Sylvia anymore until she announced she was having a monthly show on the Internet. I was ecstatic and watched each one, until March’s show. I had fallen asleep on the night of the show, and decided to watch it one afternoon after I was home from Paris.
Each month, I would send her a question asking about what I should be when I grow up. It sounds silly for an almost 20-year old to write that, but it’s true. I am so interested in everything. I want to write TV shows, novels, cookbooks. I want to photograph the world. I want to design clothes for my label that I made up. I want to produce music. I want to review hotels. I want to be an underwear model. I want to learn Japanese. I want to explore the world, immersing myself in their cultures and languages and religions. I want to bake tasty breads and pastries. I want to be a bum somedays and see how they live. I want to do everything and nothing at the same time. I’ve never been able to make up my mind about anything that regards my future, so, I felt this would be the most appropriate question for Sylvia to help me with.
Each month, though, I would be disappointed to hear the selected questions about “When will I find Mr. Right?” “Is my mother angry with me because I wasn’t with her when she passed?” Nonsense such as that, while I’m struggling to be myself. It drove me crazy.
A few days after Sylvia’s March show, I decided to watch it. So, I turned it on with absolutely no expectations, and went about cleaning the kitchen. As I was scrubbing the stovetop, I thought I could hear my voice, I thought it was strange and then I realized what was happening — I WAS ON SYLVIA’S SHOW!
I tripped over my own feet in a mad rush to get to my computer! Yes! There I was, looking adorable, asking my question. And then…she (well, actually her son) answered. I didn’t breathe. He said that I should go into behind-the-scenes work in the entertainment industry, probably producing. He said that I was a perfectionist. He said that I get bored too terribly easy. I was in shock. It was as if they had read my mind, which of course, they kind of did. When I finally remembered to breathe, I was in shock.
Coming to my senses, I started screaming and ran around the house to bring everybody to see what I had just seen.
They were all in awe and rather bewildered, as I had been and still am. I am completely honored to have had Sylvia, in her way, answer one of my questions. I may never have that opportunity again, and I’m glad that I had it now. The answer is so perfect, so fitting to me, that there is no way anybody could persuade me to believe that Sylvia is a phony or a liar. That isn’t possible. I know it…and I have proof enough in my mind.