How to have a Phone-y Paranormal Experience

Back in the Nineties, there seemed to be a burgeoning of TV ads for the chance to phone up a real psychic for personal advice, night or day, and the anthropologist in me became curious. What, I wondered, makes this a profitable enterprise? Well, I was taking a ‘creative nonfiction’ writing course at the time and one week I was hard up for a topic for my next paper. So, I scribbled a number while watching the Sci-Fi Channel; called the next day. I’ve realized this topic fits right in on this blog, since I do want to offer a balanced perspective on the Paranormal. What follows here is a polished rewrite of that essay.

If they drew a line down the middle of the world, skeptics over here, believers over there, I would be over there, with the believers. Not that I believe indiscriminately. I do not know anyone personally who has ever spotted Elvis in the backwoods, or Jesus in a patch of wet plaster on their wall. I am pretty sure that gray aliens are not threatening U.S. security (we’re doing fine at that, all on our own). And I seriously doubt that anybody is really channeling spiritual advice from five-thousand-year-old Lemurian philosophers. Nonetheless, I do believe that there are many types of unseen energies which produce measurable effects on the physical world. Energies like, oh … gravity … electricity … magnetism … light … sound … thought … hate … love … and the immortal bits of us called ‘soul.’

So, I dialed my way into the great unknown. My Psychic Phone Experience started off with a friendly recorded female voice assuring me that I would receive a ‘free sample two minute reading,’ and that each additional minute would pack a $3.99 wallop to my phone bill. That meant the going rate for arcane mental powers was around $240 per hour. Apparently, WAY more profitable than being a psychiatrist, while offering a similar service; and without that pesky requirement to complete years of training, get licensed, and so on.

A friendly male recording greeted me next. “You are about to experience a real psychic reading … get comfortable and enjoy yourself!” it commanded. Soothing piano music followed, briefly.

“First,” instructed my twangy-voice female psychic, “Tell me your first name and when you were born.”

Aha! I think. Right away she’s going to know that I’m a Virgo. This will give her a starting point on which to base some generalizations, which will result in her seeming to know something about me.

I responded with the month and day, reluctantly. “You want the year too?” Of course she did. Age is an equally useful bit of data when making  guesses about someone’s life.

Then she got right down to business. “Have you got a specific question?”

I suppressed the urge to say, “Don’t you know? You’re supposed to be psychic.” Instead I played it straight. When being dishonest, it’s always best to tell the truth. I did, in fact, have a real question perplexing me (although not one I needed Help from Beyond to resolve). “Yes, I’m struggling with finding the right graduate school; I want to know where I should be looking.”

There was a pause, while she shuffled and dealt out Tarot cards. Don’t use up too much of my two free minutes, babe, was my prevailing thought.

“Have you been depressed lately?”

Well, no. What’s that got to do with my question, anyway? And come on, honey, how likely is it that someone planning to go to graduate school is in depression? If I were depressed, I’d be slumped in front of the TV, endlessly watching infomercials … oh. Ah. Given who is probably doing most of the phoning-up for this service, this must be a stock question they are told to ask.

“Well, just about this graduate-school thing.”

“Why? What’s the matter?” So sympathetic, right off.

It ran through my mind to come back with, Didn’t they instruct you to be a little more subtle when pumping the customers for info you can feed back to them? But I just told her there were no suitable schools in my area.

Another pause. “You know you’re going to have to travel.”

No cigar, psychic woman; I just told you that. But feigning meekness, I played along some more. “Well, I kinda thought that was a possibility.”

“You’re gonna find one that meets your needs, but it’s not gonna be around where you live.”

Gee that’s twice now, you’ve told me what I told you already, said my inner editorializer.

Now she waxed supportive. “You have a driving ambition to get where you’re going.” A safe assumption to make about anyone who had just graduated from UC Berkeley and was now looking at grad school.

“You’ll have to work very hard.”

Really? In graduate school? Thanks for the tip, Sherlock.

“After that, the world will be at your fingertips.”

Well, that’ll be nice! (The world is still eluding my fingers, by the way.) Another three-ninety-nine’s worth of banal interchanges resulted in me telling her my field was cultural anthropology.

“Oh wow! When I found out you were a Virgo, I thought your degree would be in Accounting.”

Oh, please, honey, I thought, If you’re going to be in this game, try to at least have a little imagination — can you really think that approximately one-twelfth of the world’s population are all accountants? Or would all like to be, if they had any choice in the matter?

“Oh, anthropology, that’s so cool!” Stimulated by this revelation, her psychic gifts suddenly burgeoned. “I see you travelling south — maybe to a site in Central America.”

Site — oops, I think she’s got it mixed up with archaeology. But maybe she did mean a cultural research site. I’d give her that much. On the other hand, I have never had much interest in Latin American cultures, I don’t speak Spanish, and being pretty comfortably settled in life, I had no intention of ever doing fieldwork. That’s why I was looking at a master’s in museum studies.

I considered clueing her in, but instead, let her rack up another four bucks or so rambling on about her own dream of going ‘down there,’ and about her husband having gone to Berkeley, and how all her ‘Mensa-type relatives’ living in the Bay Area. She also got around to showing a dutifully flattering interest in me, expressing admiration for my accomplishment in going to college as ‘an older person,’ and for my choice of majors.

(Yep, ‘older person,’ that’s the way to get on the mark’s good side!) Of course, all this chat was part of the job of stretching those two free minutes into five or ten four-dollar ones; but feeling generous, I finally allowed as how my region of interest was in fact the South Pacific — broadly, about as much of a ‘down there’ from where I was in California, as Central America is. So, maybe she was onto something with the ‘down there’ thing. Although I still wasn’t going to suddenly take off on a field expedition, just to keep her honest.

“Yeah?” she perked up, “I almost said Galapalos (sic); I do know it’s definitely down.” We had gotten so chummy that I didn’t want to embarrass her, let alone call her occult powers into question, by pointing out that the Galapagos Islands are among the few locations on Earth with no indigenous humans, and the tortoises don’t have much of a culture going on.

But those late-night ads were making a lot more sense. I recollected delighted people proclaiming into the camera, “I really felt like I was talking to a friend!” “It was like she really knew me!” “I feel like I have a friend I can call any time I want to get advice and talk about what’s going on in my life!” And there it was. In an increasingly alienated society, a person who is willing to be your best friend for only four bucks a minute ws one of the best deals going.

Ever mindful that my new friend had the meter running, I gently indicated that the consultation should be winding down. “Well, what I really wanted to know, is what action I can take in order to locate the right graduate school, and whether I should expect to leave my home for some time.”

She summoned up a last smidgen of guidance for me from the cards. “You don’t know how spiritual you are … ”

Well, yes, I do, actually.

“If you start asking, you’ll get an answer,” continued my paid psychic.

True, I thought, But that’s what you were supposed to be doing for me all this time, at these prices.

“Can you get to Stanford? I’m getting a strong feeling about Stanford.”

And there we left it. Her psychic powers did not reveal to her, that I would never have Stanford-tuition kind of money in this lifetime. I had a strong psychic feeling that Stanford probably didn’t even have a museum studies program. The following year, I started at Cal State Chico — about as far a cry as you can get from Stanford, within California.

Although I actually read Tarot myself , and I have a certain confidence in astrology, and the paranormal has been a fact of my world since early childhood, I knew before I made that call, that psychic phone readings must be the province of charlatans. But at the time, I actually didn’t know how it worked. So, I did get some useful insights out of it — into how charlatans in general are able to hook people who are eager to be hooked. And I got a lot of insight into how desperately sad and lonely thousands of Americans must have been at that time.

Now, of course, we have Facebook and Twitter, and Blogs, oh my — and nobody has time to be lonely any more. And interestingly, it also seems to me, that the era of Phone Psychics has pretty much passed. I think they have largely moved on to becoming Psychic Animal Communicators — of which we are now developing an increasing abundance. After all, in that field, there’s virtually zero chance that the subject is going to suddenly say, “Wuff, hey, no, that’s not what I was thinking about, you’ve got me all wrong!”

And actually, I have encountered one or two Animal Psychics, on whom the charlatan shoe fits very neatly. They ask the exact same type of leading questions, and do just the same kind of feeding-back what you just said, mixed in with comforting generalities, as did my erstwhile Psychic Friend.

So, readers … caveat emptor. I know there are a small handful of people doing Animal Communication work who are “for real.” And there are a lot more, who are “for profit.” Anyone interested in a further, detailed exploration on the topic of Animal Communication, might like to read Animals and the Afterlife, a nonfiction book reviewed by myself, on this blogsite.

If you like my nonfiction writing, you might also enjoy my romantic paranormal novels. Visit my website for descriptions and purchase details: http://carterhaughbooks.wix.com/patricia-a-leslie; I also have a “culture blog” (comments on films, TV series, YouTube videos, etc) at http://www.facebook.com/TamLinAuthorPage

THE DOLPHINS LIKED OUR DANCING

I consider this a paranormal experience, because it involves unquestionably clear, wordless communication between humans and another species.  In this case, though, unlike “intuitive” animal communication, all understanding was achieved through direct physical gesture.  No intuition was required, on either side.

This happened quite some time  back, when Six Flags in Vallejo, California was still known as Marine World/Africa U.S.A.  At that time, the place was neither a conventional zoo nor a thrill-ride park.  It was mostly devoted to human-animal interfacing, and there were no carnival rides at all.  The only rides available were on a couple of elephants.  but the place was rich with opportunities to see trainer/caregivers hanging out with tigers or chimpanzees, to hand-feed giraffes, or watch elephants stack logs.  There were also marine mammals, all trained to perform — sea lions, orcas, and dolphins.

The place was so informal and public-friendly, that it was possible to wander over to the fringe of the site, to where the dolphins lived and were bred and trained, and to just hang out and watch them being themselves in their residential pools, rather than performing elaborate tricks.  We enjoyed doing that.  There was a dip in the pavement, leading past a below-water-line window on the side of a pool where two lady dolphins and their two young ones resided.  There was a structure there by the window, kind of like a bus shelter — open, with a simple roof.

One day we got there shortly after opening, probably on a weekday; there were  no other tourists around.  Nor were there trainers or other staff on hand.  We went and watched the four dolphins through the window, and soon they came over and watched us.  They had some toys in their pool, including a big plastic ball, about the size of a soccer ball.  Almost immediately, one of the adults spiked the ball right up and out of the pool — not only over a netting fence that surrounded it, but also over the roof of the visitor-shelter.  They gathered around their window, and gave us a most communicative stare.  “Please, mister and ma’am, can we have our ball back?”

We had no trouble discerning that this was what they wanted.  So we picked it up, and heaved it back over the netting, into the pool.  They were delighted.  So delighted, that they spiked it out to us again.  And we were in turn delighted to gratify their wishes, and pitched it back in once more.  We found ourselves suddenly playing volleyball with dolphins who didn’t even know us.  We figured it had to be pretty dull for them, going round and round in that featureless round pool.  Clearly, interaction with other beings of nearly-equivalent intelligence, was their major relief from deadly boredom.

Unfortunately, after six or eight back-and-forth tosses, one of the dolphin’s spikes sent the ball onto the shelter roof, where it hung up on something.  It wouldn’t roll down, and it was unreachable from where we were.  It would have required a ladder, or a very good climber.  We had neither with us.  All four dolphins now gathered again at the underwater window, gazing at us with a slightly puzzled, accusatory air.  Once again, we had no trouble understanding them — they wanted to know what we had done with their ball, and why we had cut short such an enjoyable game.  We felt just terrible for them.  And we also felt bad for ourselves, thinking that the dolphins would be left with an impression that visiting humans were at best, no good at keeping up the game . . . at worst, unreliable toy-thieves.

We did a lot of “empty hand” gestures, along with pointing up to the roof of the shelter.  The dolphins weren’t buying it.  They continued to give us the same look our dogs always gave us, if we tried to end a backyard ball-throwing session too early.  So, we did the only thing we could think of to do, to compensate them.  We made up a dance.  It wasn’t a brilliant dance — it consisted, as I recall, of mostly running steps, and square-dance figures, particularly swinging each other around by hooked elbows.

However, it played brilliantly to our audience.  The dolphins were glued to their window, and made us feel like Fred and Ginger.  While both the moms and their kids watched us with those happy dolphin smiles, we danced around for them until we ended up breathless.  They were clearly thrilled with the discovery of a totally new, hitherto-unexpected, form of human behavior.  When we couldn’t dance any more, we stopped and bowed to them . . .

And they applauded us.  This was obviously a behavior they had been taught for their shows — only the two adults knew how to do it.  They surfaced, and each of the lady dolphins lifted one flipper out, and repeatedly flapped it against the water.  We knew they were clapping for our performance, thanking us just as any appreciative audience would, in the most culturally appropriate way.  They knew we had danced solely in order to entertain them, and they knew exactly what to do, to express thanks.  And in this situation, they were not being cued by a trainer, or rewarded with a tossed herring.  They were just communicating.

We had always known, of course, but it was wonderful to experience this truth so directly . . . that they are no different from us.  No different in any way at all.  They understand just as we understand.  They have a sense of humor and of fun, just as we do.  They appreciate what is done for them, and they feel gratitude.  (In this, of course, they do differ quite dramatically from the majority of homo sapiens.)  They care, they enjoy, they love.  Those few minutes — maybe fifteen of them — comprise one of the most beautiful, cherished episodes of my life.

Of course, that was many years ago, and as our understanding has evolved, my husband and I have long since sworn off going to places of public amusement where animals are held captive in cages, enclosures, and pools, to serve as entertainment.  It was sadly clear to us even then, that those dolphins’ lives were dreary at best, or they never would have been satisfied with such a mediocre offering as that dance of ours.  But at least, we threw our tuppence-worth into the balance scales, and once, for a little while, humans provided entertainment to dolphins.

If you like my nonfiction writing, you might also enjoy my romantic paranormal novels. Visit my website for descriptions and purchase details: http://carterhaughbooks.wix.com/patricia-a-leslie; I also have a “culture blog” (comments on films, TV series, YouTube videos, etc) at http://www.facebook.com/TamLinAuthorPage

Kinship with All Life

Kinship with All Life

by J. Allen Boone

1954, Harper & Brothers, New York

157 pages

This is one of the five books that had the most profound influence on my own spiritual growth during my childhood (which, for me, lasted until I graduated from high school, a few months shy of my seventeenth birthday).  I’m reviewing it for this blog, because at present, it seems that “animal communication” comes under the heading of “paranormal phenomena” in our mechanized, urbanized, excessively-explained world.  of course, my goal thorughout all these blog pieces, is to demonstrte that one person’s “paranormal” is another person’s “normal.”

Kinship with All Life is a deceptively small book, containing some really vast ideas within its few pages.  In it, Boone chronicles his own spiritual odyssey, from a very material-minded Hollywood-based writer and producer, to a pioneer of intuitive animal communication.  The catlyst — or perhaps a better word is guru — for Boone’s spiritual journey, was the canine movie star Strongheart — a German Shepherd Dog, a champion in Germany, extensively trained in police and military work.  He was imported to Hollywood as something of a speculative venture by a screenwriter-producer/dog trainer team (Jane Murfin and Larry Trimble), and soon became a sensation, starring in a number of silent films.

At one point, both Murfin and Trimble were called out of town, and Boone volunteered to step in as Strongheart’s caregiver.  At first, he was far from keen on the responsibility.  But almost immediately, Strongheart demonstrated such phenomenal intelligence, that the reluctant dogsitter was forced to completely reevaluate his attitude toward dogs, particularly this one. 

From the moment Strongheart walked into Boone’s house, he took charge of him and his life, even enforcing what times Boone should get up and retire.  Soon, he discovered that the dog was also able to “read his mind,” even when they were separated by solid house walls.  He even details a couple of incidents in which Strongheart was able to read other people’s minds, and then exposed them as fraudulent-minded criminals.

Before long, Boone became convinced that there was an important mental connection between himself and Strongheart, but that he was lacking some essential understanding that would make it a reality.  This sent him on a unique spiritual quest, reversing the traditional “man as trainer” role, to become, himself, a dog’s “student.”  He began to study his four-legged companion’s behavior in detail, noting down all his “qualities of abiding worth,” which emerged from an innate zest for life, and a talent for living in the moment. 

For me, the most moving passage has always been the one in which he describes discovering that Strongheart is actually meditating as they sit together on a mountain ledge ” … motionless but intensely alert … ears straight up … eyes and nose aimed forward … to my amazement, Strongheart was not watching anything below him … his gaze was focused on a point in the sky considerably above the horizon … something was holding the big dog’s attention … And it was giving him great satisfaction, great contentment, great peace of mind … ”

What Boone at length discovered in regard to animal communication, was the absolute necessity to set up a “two way bridge,” and be as humbly open to being taught by other creatures, as we expect them to be, with us.  In his view, once we can honestly accept that a being’s outward form is irrelevant to that being’s inner nature, the possibilities for love, trust, and learning from one another, are infinite.  In Boone’s words, ” … the Mind of the Universe is constantly speaking through all life and for the greater good of all life … thus did we cross each other’s boundaries, only to find that there were no boundaries … except in the dark illusions of the human senses.”

Interspersed throughout the book, are anecdotal encounters between Boone and a number of other people who, in his view, had much greater insights into animals than he himself ever achieved.  these include an old “Desert Rat,” a woman herpetologist, an Indian chief, a Bedouin chief, and a scientist who has an uncommon rapport with micro-organisms.  What he finds they all have in common, is a perception of the creatures in their lives, as being no different from themselves. 

He also details his own memorable experiences of communication with a variety of living things, including a skunk, a colony of ants, and a housefly.  In all these, he uses what he has learned from Strongheart and those remarkable human acquaintances, regarding equal, “horizontal” relationships.  (This is in contrast to asymmetrical arrangements, in which the human is placed on a much higher plane of perfection, intelligence, and deservingness, and delivers all communication downwards, to the “lower” animal.)

Boone went on to write other books (Letters to Strongheart; The Language of Silence) about his lifelong journey of remarkable connection with animals, all of which began with what he learned from this one profound friendship.  His accounts have the ring of truth; no-one could make up a story as idiosyncratic as Boone’s deep bond with “Freddie the Fly,” detailed in the final chapters of Kinship. 

Boone’s relationship with Strongheart was undeniably life-changing.  And for me, discovering this book at a young, idealistic age, his story was also life-changing.  Still, some proudly skeptical readers may find it easier to dismiss his claims as self-delusion, rationalization, and wishful thinking.  This is surely the more comfortable view, because if Boone’s assertions are true, and every living thing — even a common “pest” such as a housefly — is capable of self-awareness and rational thought, then those issues place the issue of vegetarianism (and the vegan ideal of living a life of harmlessness to other living things)  quite dramatically at the center of any discussion of spirituality and ethics.

*The other four books being Felix Salten’s Bambi and Bambi’s Children (no resemblance to the execrable Disney travesty, beyond a shared name); and Beautiful Joe and Beautiful Joe’s Paradise, by Marshall Saunders.

If you like my nonfiction writing, you might also enjoy my romantic paranormal novels. Visit my website for descriptions and purchase details: http://carterhaughbooks.wix.com/patricia-a-leslie; I also have a “culture blog” (comments on films, TV series, YouTube videos, etc) at http://www.facebook.com/TamLinAuthorPage

Animals and the Afterlife (a review)

This book is, to me, a profound example of how we all live in a paranormal world, although many of us only experience it in the most emotionally-charged circumstances.  It is what I would call “paranormal nonfiction.”  Having been published five years ago, it has mostly dropped off the radar in the fast-paced world of publishing and book reviewing.  So, as a public service (because it is a unique work, and perennially relevant) I am putting this review on my blog.

Animals and the Afterlife:  True Stories of Our Best Friends’ Journey Beyond Death

Author: Kim Sheridan

Hay House Publishing, 2006

http://www.AnimalsAndTheAfterlife.com

$16.95 trade paperback; 414 pages

Kim Sheridan, a trained Naturopath and health researcher, has spent six years researching and writing a remarkable book.  I think it likely that this book will in some way permanently change the consciousness of every animal lover — whether believer, skeptic, or agnostic.  The writing style is lucid and accessible, and the contents so compelling that I devoured it in record time.

The genesis of this book (recounted in the early chapters) was the author’s own journey from scientific-minded skeptic to believer, and from animal lover to animal rescuer.  Along the way she has experienced her share of “unexplainable” phenomena, and also made a very systematic examination of the growing field of intutive (or telepathic) animal communication.

Central to the book are scores of first-person accounts of contact with beloved animal companions from the “other side.”  The informants’ demographics cut broadly across regional, cultural, educational and career lines.  Ms. Sheridan adds her own commentaries, placing each anecdote in a more general context (ranging from humane issues to metaphysical wisdom).  Her own profound connection to animals (particularly tame rats), provides a through-line of touching personal experiences and incisive observations as well.

Types of “other-side” contact can take may forms, and Ms. Sheridan devotes a chapter to each.  Interestingly, much spiritual contact is sensory:  still hearing a kitty’s purring or the click of doggy toenails, suddenly smelling the distinctive fragrance of a beloved’s fur, or feeling a small body jump onto the foot of the bed.  Some people receive messages through mediums or animal communicators.  Some have seen their loved ones in vivid dreams, others in waking visions.  There is even a chapter dealing with animal reincarnation.

While these are inescapably stories involving loss, tragedy, and grief, I found them uplifting rather than depressing.  Each is a moving testament to the kind of love which can bind together individuals of different species, even beyond death.  Each account attains closure with spiritual comfort, consolation and hope.  The chapter “Letting Go: Handling Grief,” provides such wise counsel and compassionate insights, that it should be required reading for all veterinary and shelter personnel, as well as clergy and psychologists.

I wholeheartedly recommend this book to anyone who is dealing with grief over the passing of a beloved animal companion, or who is facing such a loss.  It will also be of great interest to anyone who is curious about the spiritual aspect of animals.

This review was originally published in VegNews in 2003, and the Point Isabel Dog Owners’ Association “Pointer” in 2004.

If you like my nonfiction writing, you might also enjoy my romantic paranormal novels. Visit my website for descriptions and purchase details: http://carterhaughbooks.wix.com/patricia-a-leslie; I also have a “culture blog” (comments on films, TV series, YouTube videos, etc) at http://www.facebook.com/TamLinAuthorPage