Your Loved Ones in Spirit Have Brought You Here Today....
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Julia Mary's Monthly Columns
 
as published in The Beacon NewsMagazine in 2011

Reach a Happy Medium
by
Julia Mary, Psychic Medium


October, 2011

 
I am often asked, “Are you a witch?” I’ve convinced myself that this question probably has less to do with my long pointy nose (hey, I’m Italian), my unruly black hair (can’t find the comb) and my cackle-y laugh (I prefer to call it a giggle), and more to do with my profession. I am a Psychic Medium. I am not a witch. And yes, there is a difference. I don’t have a broomstick-- in fact I can’t even remember the last time I swept the kitchen floor. There are no cauldrons in my kitchen, only an array of “As Seen on Screen” gadgets like the Magic Bullet, Pasta Pot and Ove Glove. And my relatives are from Cincinnati, not Salem. Instead of casting spells and creating potions, I receive messages from spirits. I guess you could say I talk to the dead. More often than not, they talk to me.

I have nothing against witches. Growing up, I wanted to be a witch and have powers like Samantha on the television show Bewitched. Or like Jeanne on I Dream of Jeannie. Magic was cool to me. What could be better twitching your nose and being able to fly through the sky? And I identified with most witches, except for Glinda---why was she the only witch in The Wizard of Oz to be given a name? How unfair is that! And she looked more like a badly aging Barbie Doll-Fairy-Godmother-Miss America-Wanna-Be than a witch. Witches don’t wear crowns. Even as a child, I saw the injustice in that movie. The Witch of the East is crushed to death by a falling house. Before her body is even cold, a gang of munchkins gleefully breaks into song, celebrating her demise. The Witch of the West appears, grief-stricken, merely wanting to know who killed her sister. Instead of answers or sympathy… POOF, the shoes are stolen off of her sister’s corpse. And then Witch of the West is threatened and chased out of town, before she has time to mourn. Bullies. They were all bullies.

After school, while the other kids played kickball and made dresses for their paper dolls, I became the Wicked Witch of the West. A green towel pinned to my shirt was my cape. A piece of rope on the back of my purple banana bike was the tail of a flying monkey. I rode as fast as I could up and down the street, because the faster I peddled, the more it felt like flying. And I laughed and screamed as loud as I could, and it felt wonderful.

I knew I wasn’t a witch, and eventually I stopped pretending. But I was convinced I had special powers. I heard voices and songs when no one was speaking. And I saw beautiful colors around people’s heads. The teachers said I had a vivid imagination. And when I described the blurry colors, I was fitted with glasses.  So I did what any eight-year old who wanted to fit in would do, and I said nothing.

Not too much has changed from my childhood days. Though I no longer have a banana bike, I still think it would be amazing to be able to fly, and I still stick up for the underdog.  The big difference is that now I understand that I am in touch with the spirit world. Those beautiful colors I see are auras.  The voices I hear are from angels.  I am able to deliver messages to those in need.   And that is truly magical.
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Reach a Happy Medium
by
Julia Mary, Psychic Medium

  November, 2011

"If you're a Psychic, tell me the winning lottery numbers."  I have heard that taunt so often but haven’t come up with a concise reply until now. The next time I'm asked I will hand them this column. Hopefully they will gain insight in to what a Psychic Medium does (and maybe The Beacon will gain another subscriber).

A Psychic Medium receives info from those who passed.  The messages vary according to each person’s situation.  I have no control over whom I connect with or what they sayI can give my clients winning lottery numbers if the spirits give me the numbers.  So far, they haven't.  

This is not to say I have never helped my clients prosper. Debbie came to me for closure after her mom passed, not in order to hit the jackpot. Her mom urged her to play a specific slot machine at MGM Grand. Debbie went, put in a quarter, and won $500 on the first pull. Not too shabby. When Leah’s sister came through, she described the location of a missing engagement ring—it was hanging on a door hook behind a blue bathrobe.

Most of my clients aren't looking to become rich or to locate lost items, but they do want specifics--everything from "What is the secret ingredient in my mom’s spaghetti sauce" to "Who is the father of my twins?" (I have to admit, that last one threw me!) It would be wonderful if I were given all the answers. Since our loved ones didn't always give us what we wanted when they were here, we shouldn’t expect them to when they cross over.

Instead of focusing on what you want to hear, it is better to be thankful for what you receive. I re-connected Amanda with her dad who died before she was born. Among other things, he assured her that he would be with her at her June wedding in Texas and he loved that her brother Mark was escorting her down the aisle to “Endless Love”.  He was pleased that her fiancee Brad was a MSU graduate. I felt this had been a strong session--lots of indications showing dad is still in her life.  But Amanda wondered why he didn’t reference her nickname. Obviously dad felt it was more important to give approval of her upcoming nuptials than to say “Amanda Panda".

My client Joan had been praying to her grandpa for tangible evidence that he is in heaven. She would be convinced if she saw three blue jays on her fence. There were robins and blackbirds but not a single blue jay appeared. It saddened her that he did not meet her demands. During the reading grandpa admonished Joan for lack of faith and reminded her that he didn’t like birds. He enjoyed tinkering with clocks and said she would see a broken watch as a sign he is happy. Joan's eyes welled up with tears as she opened her purse and showed me a smashed-up watch she had just found in the Macomb Mall parking lot.

If becoming a millionaire is your motivation for having a Psychic Reading, you will probably be disappointed. From my experience, readings contain messages of guidance and healing. Given the option of receiving a winning lottery number or hearing that my grandma is honored I named my daughter Maria Josephine after her, the choice is simple.  Every message is a blessing more valuable than a winning ticket. After all, there are some things you can’t put a price on.


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Reach a Happy Medium
by
Julia Mary, Psychic Medium

December 2011

“How do I better connect with family members who have passed?”  My answer is, “Treat them like Santa Claus”.

Huh? What? We know that Santa Claus isn’t a real person (Sorry to disappoint you, Virginia).  And we know that our relatives were real people who loved us and are now our guardian angels.  In our minds we believe this, but our actions show otherwise.  We give more credence to the existence of Santa than we do to the existence of our angels.

 We teach our children to believe in Santa—he is watching us so we’d “better be good for goodness sake.”  It was his elves who made the gifts under the tree (we give no credit to dad who stayed up all night wishing he had paid the extra $25 to have Toys R Us assemble the bicycle) We read poems and sing songs about Santa  “coming to town”. His image can be found on everything from boxer shorts and baby bibs to cookie jars and candles.  It would be a fashion faux pas to wear a red and green blinking-light-up-sequined sweatshirt—but it’s okay if Santa’s smiling face is on the front. Santa doesn’t need the extra calories, but on Christmas Eve we leave him milk and cookies. And because Rudolph gets hungry too, we can make “Magic Reindeer Food” (a mixture of oats and red and green food coloring). Santa Claus has kept up with technology with various ring tones, wall papers, and screen savers. Forget the snail mail—you can e-mail Santa and receive a response by going to mailsanta.com. Our actions, our words, and our thoughts honor this mythical jolly old soul whom we have never met. And it makes us feel happy inside. 

 If we give the same treatment to our loved ones who have crossed over, we will feel closer and more connected to them.  Treat them like Santa Claus.  Let your children know that Grandma’s spirit is always around, seeing everything they do.  Tell them that Grandpa is not keeping a list to see who is “naughty or nice”—he has and always will love them unconditionally.  Keep your angels nearby by talking out loud to acknowledge their presence. Come’on, you can sing that a red-nosed reindeer will “go down in history” so it shouldn’t be hard to say, “I love you Grandma.” Keep their photo on the mantle—we all know what Santa looks like, but can our children pick Grandpa out of a family photo? Repeat stories about their life—Santa comes from the North Pole, but where did Grandma live? Do we really need to watch Tim Allen morph into Santa for the umpteenth time—turn off the TV and break out the home movies.

The spirit of Santa Claus instills excitement in children and an uplifting feeling in all of us, especially after the Christmas shopping is done.  We can have that joyous feeling all year long by strengthening the relationship with our angels and making them part of our everyday life. Treat them like Santa Claus.  Make this a tradition that will carry on in your family long after you have passed.  And 100 years from now, you’ll be happy that your great grandkids make you as real as Santa Claus. Merry Christmas!

 


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